Reginald Keystone
Location: The Museum - Vera's Office
Skills: Leadership
The ever helpful and always gentlemanly Lord Major Reginald I. Keystone was more than happy to oblige his dear adoptive niece with the transport and repositioning of the crates. It was good for him to get a bit more physical exercise at his age anyway, apart from his regular constitutionals and frequent elbow bends courtesy of many a talented barkeep in various establishments scattered throughout his preferred sections of Cairo. Of course, this time around the bit of exercise that he would be getting was the vigorous exercise of his authority, seeing as the crates took more than one man to comfortably maneuver earlier (except of course for the push necessary to snuff the life of the Reporter). Of course, a more or less sturdy wheeled platform or furniture moving device, such as a sack cart or one of the more native mutumbo lifters would be of better use, especially for an old soldier past his prime.
"Certainly, Lady Munn. I shall look into it forthwith; perhaps I can have an enlisted fellow or two from Supply tend to the items in question." As the conversation continued, Reginald was overjoyed to hear that they might be underway as soon as tomorrow.
"That is excellent news, of course. I can report from the standpoint of the Qasr el Nil Barracks that there are basic supplies in excess that we might utilize for the journey; supplies sufficient to see us there and back with a healthy amount twixt the journey for exploration time." The Lord Major's eyes moved to a starry, faraway distance as he wistfully continued,
"Perhaps, if we find cause to bring the military's interest around, we might be able to establish a supply line. One might stay indefinitely, that being the case. Hmm..." He shook himself away from his daydreams of grub trucks and laundry services traveling to and from Vera's chosen site in regular intervals, perhaps with the occasional bottle of distilled celebratory libation every so often as the end of a particularly productive day had been reached. Ah, life at the head of a well-oiled British Military excursion, following the direction of a particularly talented specialist in her field. But alas, that would have to wait until something of importance to the Crown was established and the appropriate local authorities had been notified for approval. So much red tape for what was otherwise an intellectual pursuit.
"But to business! My dear, if we might be able to leave by tomorrow, then we should decide the manner of transportation this evening. We have access to several methods, as you well know, though I am not absolutely certain about air travel. Does this location have a spot nearby that might serve as a landing strip? Otherwise, we should have to utilize something from the motor pool, or even that being barred, good old fashioned horseflesh. Er, camelflesh, as the case may be." No, for his personal mount, Reginald would insist upon a horse. He had fluently learned the local language, insisted upon the alteration of the assigned uniform to include a burnoose, and adopted several of the local customs in the interests of diplomacy and good faith with the locals. But he drew the line at camels. A proper British Officer rode into battle upon a fine horse. Camels were for hauling gear.
As Reginald neared the office, he could hear the beginnings of a ruckus (or was it the end?) coming from the front entryway. he stopped, raised an eyebrow, and gave the scene a confused look. That is, until he heard a voice. A specific voice, one that haunted his dreams even though it belonged to a highly competent soldier. The man issuing said voice took off from down the hall and did not cease until he was within clear and full sight of Reginald, calling for him with an exasperated utterance of:
"Lord
MAJOR!"
The good Corporal stopped just out of arm's reach of his superior and threw a perfectly angled salute, holding it there until Reginald sharply returned the gesture of military respect. He was obviously there for a reason.
"Report." "Lord
Major, the Corporal is pleased to report that requested supplies have been separated from the Barracks inventory and accounted for in the logs, Sir! Furthermore, the Lord Major's request for sundries and luxuries has been duly processed and will be made available after the morning meal tomorrow, Sir! The Corporal is however ashamed to report that certain items could not be secured this evening free and clear, and requests permission to assign himself to Equestrian-Scooping duties until such time as they are in your possession, Sir!"
For all of his screaming and bluster, the man looked like he was holding something back.
"That will not be necessary, Corporal. Is there anything else?" There had better have been something else. This was something that could have been written in a memo and left on his desk for when he returned.
"Come along then. Out with it, boy." "Sir, that is to say, sir... ah,"
He met Reginald's eyes for a half second before turning his back to the ground. But he was a soldier, and his commander just gave him an order.
"Yes Sir, Lord
MAJOR!" Just get it over with. "The Lord Major received an urgent message upon the wire, Sir!" He handed over a slip of yellow-brown paper, carefully typed with black, blocky letters. Reginald accepted it and began to read.
Reginald's eyes widened, before he forced his face to return to a neutral pose. His very stiff upper lip and aristocratic bearing took a hit, visibly, and he took an extra step to lean against a nearby pillar. Tears, silent but unmistakable ran from his eyes, spilling onto the crisp lines of his uniform.
"Thank you, Corporal." responded the Lord Major, in a voice that was eerily calm. The normally loud and brash subordinate took a fantastically rare moment to speak to Reginald quietly, without the formalities of rank between them; a thing that might be pressed disciplinary action if Reginald was so inclined.
"I'm... I'm so sorry, sir." The man was obviously feeling a pain that Reginald could not demonstrate for himself. Not right then, anyway.
"Thank you again, Corporal." The voice was still striking in its lack of strong emotion, a thing that was belied by the moisture upon his face.
"Corporal? Do organize two additional men to secure a set of crates here for safekeeping at the Barracks, if you would. High priority." "Right away, Lord Major."
It was all he could do for Reginald; follow his orders. And so he intended to do so without fail. The Lord Major, meanwhile, leaned heavily upon the pillar and let the paper slip from his fingers. It glided unerringly to the floor, its writing still visible by any who walked by.
QASR EL NIL BARRACKS C/O LORD MAJOR REGINALD KEYSTONE 4-10-1924
PRIVATE DIRIGIBLE CHARTERED BY COMMANDING OFFICER QASR EL NIL BARRACKS TRANSPORTING TWO PLUS PERSONAL EFFECTS EXPERIENCED CATASTROPHIC ENGINE FAILURE CRASHED SEVERAL MILES NORTH OF CAIRO NO SURVIVORS
CAIRO AIRPORT
"Aziza. Sergeant Walsh. I'm so sorry..."
