Chapter 4
PANIC AT THE CHEESE CO
The rustic tasting room was located even deeper back inside the caves, past the Yule cheese chamber. This was as far from the main entrance as the public was allowed and was a great place to conclude the tour.
The rounded-out space consisted of a cozy room with long wooden tables.
A small space heater was running in the corner to combat the cave’s natural chill.
Red and white checkered cloths covered the tables.
Samples of various aged Gruyères stood on wooden boards beside large wooden bowls filled with slices of fresh, crusty bread.
“Now,” Bayard said, “this is where you can truly appreciate the differences between—”
A piercing alarm shattered the peaceful atmosphere.
Everyone jumped. Fred, who’d been dozing contentedly in Bayard’s backpack, exploded into frantic quacking.
“What’s happening?” Anja cried out.
Exandra came rushing back from the direction of the entrance, her face flushed, her expression alarmed. “Someone’s broken into the facility! The control room’s been ransacked! I think it’s the work of the Culture Vulture!”
The group surged back toward the entrance, following Exandra’s lead. Minerva gripped Zephyr’s hand as they hurried through the stone corridors. Something was not quite right. Her mouse-sharp senses tingled with wrongness.
Behind her, Bayard moved surprisingly fast, despite his limp.
“Something’s not right, Fred,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
The control room door hung open. Even from the corridor they could all see the damage. Drawers were pulled out from the desk and papers were scattered across the floor. One of the interactive charts flickered erratically.
“No, no, no,” Lukas was saying, pushing past into the room. “Who would do this? Why?”
Anja was already at the main console, her hands flying over the magical controls. “The Yule chamber is offline. The monitoring’s been disabled. I can’t see the temperature readings.”
“It’s the Culture Vulture,” Exandra said grimly. “This matches the pattern from the other incidents.”
But Minerva barely heard her. Something was wrong. She could sense it. Her nose twitched, and she caught a shift in temperature that didn’t bode well: warm air, too warm and too much of it, moving where it shouldn’t.
“Something’s wrong with the temperature in the Yule cheese room,” she said, her voice cutting through the panic.
Everyone turned to look at her. Bayard raised a suspicious eyebrow.
“I can sense it,” she explained. “And I can smell it. The air flow is wrong. There’s hot air…” She closed her eyes, sniffing the air and letting her mouse instincts guide her. “It’s flowing into the Yule cheese chamber. Something’s heating it up.”
“But the door to that chamber is sealed,” Anja protested. “It’s always—”
Minerva was already moving, already shifting into her mouse form as she ran.
Her clothes shrank with her as she became a small gray mouse, whiskers twitching, nose pulling her toward the danger.
She sensed Zephyr behind her keeping pace and heard multiple footsteps pounding behind them as they raced down the stone corridor.
Sure enough, the door to the Yule chamber stood wide open.
Minerva’s mouse heart hammered as she scurried in, immediately feeling the heat blasting in from the tasting chamber next door.
Someone had propped both doors open and turned the space heater to maximum.
Hot, dry air was flooding into the carefully maintained cave.
The thermostat was hanging by its wires, barely still attached to the wall. It had been deliberately disconnected.
She shifted back to human form just as the others arrived.
“The thermostat’s been tampered with,” Minerva said, pointing. “And the space heater’s been used to warm the air deliberately, I think. Look! The doors have been propped.”
“The cheese,” Anja gasped, moving toward the glowing wheels. “The cultures—if the temperature rose too high—”
“How long has it been?” Zephyr asked sharply, already pulling out his wand.
“Minutes,” Lukas said, his voice breaking. “Maybe ten minutes of exposure? The wheels are still cool to the touch, but—”
“We still have time.” Zephyr moved to the center of the chamber, his wand glowing. “Minerva, cast with me. Lukas, Anja, reconnect that thermostat. Everyone else, clear the doorway.”
Minerva took her position beside Zephyr, feeling their magic align as it always did.
It was as natural as breathing, even after all their years apart.
The last few precious months together had only strengthened the bond that was always there.
She focused on the air itself, feeling its temperature, its movement, while Zephyr drew the excess heat away from the chamber, pulling it up and out through ventilation shafts that suddenly glowed with blue light.
“Frigus conservare,” they chanted together, their combined magic creating a cooling ward that settled over the precious wheels like a protective blanket.
Anja’s hands moved frantically over the reconnected thermostat, adjusting settings, restoring the careful balance. Lukas sealed the doors, shutting out the warm air from the cave.
For several long minutes, the only sounds were the hum of magic, the soft clicking of the restored equipment, and Fred’s worried quacking from Bayard’s backpack.
After some delay, Anja let out a shaky breath. “The temperature’s stabilized. We’re back to optimal range.”
“The wheels?” Zephyr asked.
Lukas had his hands on one, his eyes closed, listening to something only a master cheesemaker could hear. “They’re... they’re all right. The cultures survived. We caught it in time.”
The relief in the tasting room was palpable. Anja burst into tears, and Lukas pulled her close. Several of the tour passengers were hugging each other. Jasper looked like he might pass out.
“You don’t think,” Wren asked cautiously, “that this Culture Vulture might still be here, hiding in the caves?”
“Impossible,” Exandra said, reappearing in the tasting room again. “That’s not their MO. Besides, whoever did this wouldn’t risk sticking around for the meltdown. Have you ever smelled that much spoilt cheese?” She grimaced and waved a hand in front of her face, banishing the idea of that smell.
“Thank you,” Anja said, wiping her eyes. “Thank you all so much. Without you, all those families, all those traditions we cherish—they would have been ruined.”
“We’ll send a special crate to your shop,” Lukas added. “The Squeaky Wheel, yes? Our finest wheels. It’s the least we can do.”
Minerva smiled warmly. “That’s very kind, but we were happy to help.”
“You saved the Yule,” Anja insisted. “That deserves more than kind words.”
Exandra sat down heavily at one of the tables and helped herself to a wedge of cheese and a hunk of bread. Despite herself, her eyes closed as she chewed. She nearly moaned with pleasure at the taste of the delicious cheese. No wonder people were so crazy about the stuff.
“You okay, Agent?” Zephyr teased.
“I’m fine,” Exandra snapped. “Just a little peckish. I skipped breakfast.” As she emerged from her momentary reverie, she resumed her normal, impassive expression. Her voice was hardened again when she spoke.
”I’ll need to file a complete report. This was a deliberate sabotage, clearly meant to destroy the Yule production. The Culture Vulture is more brazen than we thought.”
She glanced toward the alcove where Minerva and Zephyr still stood, and an odd look flashed across her face—frustration? Disappointment? Jealousy? It was gone so quickly, Minerva almost missed it.
“Thanks for handling the problem, Zeph,” Exandra said, her voice carefully neutral. “I was just coming back down to—”
“You should thank my bride, not me, don’t you think?” Zephyr asked. “Minerva’s keen senses detected the problems before any of their fancy equipment did.” He placed an arm around Minerva’s shoulders. “She’s quite remarkable. It’s not the first time her wonderful instincts have saved the day.”
Exandra’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes. Of course. Great work, mouse lady. Very... efficient.”
She stood and turned stiffly to head back to the entrance. Bayard watched her go, brow furrowed, his expression a mix of bewilderment and worry. He waited till everyone else left before following her out.
The trip back to The Celestine Queen was subdued. Before they climbed into the sleds that were waiting to tender them back to the ship, Lukas and Anja pressed gifts on them—small wheels of their standard Gruyère, and gratitude that bordered on overwhelming.
Wren had photographed everything. She’d captured the control room damage, the rescued cheese wheels, the relief on Anja’s face, Minerva and Zephyr standing together after the magical work.
Now she sat snuggled in warm blankets in the sled, sipping hot cider and reviewing her shots, occasionally showing one to Jasper, who leaned in close to see the small screen.
“You got some good ones,” he said. “This one of the cheesemakers hugging. Goodness! The relief on their faces. You can imagine exactly what they almost lost.”
“Thank goodness it turned out okay.” Wren scrolled through more images. “I got far more of a story than I expected today. I’m not even sure how I’ll write about it.”
As evening fell and the ship prepared to depart, Bayard found Exandra standing alone on the deck. She was staring out at the Alps, which were turning purple in the fading light.
“Exandra.”
She didn’t turn. “I’m writing up my report shortly. But you should know that my initial findings suggest organized sabotage with knowledge of cheesemaking processes. The perpetrator had to know exactly which controls to disable, exactly how to—”
“You don’t really think there’s a Culture Vulture, do you?
” Bayard interrupted, his voice strained.
He couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“I mean, beyond that trouble upstream that I reported to the director. You knew that was me who called it in, right? I thought maybe it was a prankster, someone playing silly games. I never imagined it might be something more...” He gripped his cane tighter.
What had he been thinking when he made up that crazy story?
But he knew the answer. He’d been thinking, no, hoping, that if there was some sort of threat, Exandra might want to join them on the tour. He never once imagined that the threat he’d made up might really exist. Careful what you wish for, indeed!
“What do you mean, do I really think there’s a Culture Vulture?” Exandra narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you suggesting, Bayard Fontaine?”
”Nothing, nothing at all…” Bayard waved a hand in the air.
“If it is something after all, I guess I’m glad you’re here.
Truly. I just hope you’re not too inconvenienced.
I didn’t think they’d send one of their best agents out, especially during the holidays.
This must be more serious than I realized. ”
Exandra’s shoulders stiffened. When at last she turned to face him, her eyes were bright. Whether that was with anger or unshed tears, he couldn’t tell.
“You guess you’re glad I’m here?” Her voice was sharp. “You didn’t think they’d send me? What exactly are you trying to say, Bayard?”
“I just meant—” He floundered. “I didn’t expect the Society to take it so seriously. To pull you away from—”
“From what?” She stepped closer, and he could see the hurt beneath her defensive anger. “From my very important, very full life? From all the better places I should be spending my holidays?”
“No! That’s not—”
“It is serious,” she said, her voice tight. “And I intend to get to the bottom of it. Whether you think I’m needed here or not.”
“Exandra, I didn’t mean—”
But she was already walking away, her tall frame rigid with wounded pride, disappearing into the ship’s interior.
Bayard stood frozen, replaying the conversation, trying to understand how his gratitude and guilt and relief had come out so terribly wrong. In his carrier, Fred stirred and quacked softly—a sound of sympathy.
“I’ve totally mucked that up haven’t I, Fred?” Bayard whispered.
Fred didn’t quack back. He just tucked his head under his wing.
Below deck later that evening, Minerva watched Zephyr standing at their porthole, watching the Alps recede into the distance as the ship rose gracefully into the clear night sky. He was deep in thought, brow furrowed as he stroked his lush silver beard.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked.
“I was just thinking about Bayard and Exandra,” he said.
“This should be a happy time for Bayard. But I don’t think Exandra’s happy about us all moving on to other things and leaving her behind.
Especially Bay. Those two care a lot for each other.
Always have. But they’ve always been completely unable to express their feelings and say what they actually mean.
Things have never been quite the same since Bayard had his accident.
” Zephyr signed. “It happened toward the end of our training. We’d always assumed we’d end up working in the field together.
But when Bayard got injured, it radically altered his trajectory, and ours, too.
He never returned to the field.” Zephyr tugged at his beard thoughtfully.
“Who knows what would have blossomed between him and Exandra if they hadn’t been split up like that.
I just hate seeing them so twisted up and miserable. ”
“Mmm.” Minerva slipped her arm through his. “The unable-to-express-their-feelings part reminds me of two people I used to know. Spent decades circling each other, never quite brave enough to speak the truth...”
He pulled her close. “Thank goodness we eventually figured it out. Now we get to do all the fun stuff together and make up for lost time.”
“Thank goodness, indeed.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Though I’m starting to fear that all the excitement on this cruise might pull you out of retirement.”
“You’re seriously worried about the Culture Vulture?” Zephyr smirked.
“Amongst other things.” She thought of Bayard’s guilty expression, Exandra’s too-perfect discovery of the break-in, the way both of them seemed more confused than truly alarmed. “Something about it doesn’t quite add up, Zippy.”
“Your mouse nose tingling?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m so glad you said so, Minnie.” He held her closer and kissed the top of her head. “Something’s not adding up for me, either. But one thing I’m sure of. Your instincts are sharp as any Society agent’s that I’ve worked with to date. We’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, together.”