“Where is the Homing Pigeon now, BirdMaster?”
“In the aviary, m’Lord Defence Minister.”
“And the message it was carrying?”
“It awaits your pleasure in your office, m’Lord.”
“What did it say of the disposition of the main body of the enemies’ troops?”
“I don’t know, m’Lord. I can’t read.”
“And who knows this message has been received?”
“Besides myself and you, no one, m’Lord.”
“Excellent. Come to my office, BirdMaster. I have a decent red that needs decanting.”
A slow acting poison in the wine and message in the fire; no one need know that the Minister had turned traitor.
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