"I'm sorry, sir, but you need clearance to access Mr. Warren's files."
Lance frowned, glancing down at the drawing he had made of the man at the masquerade, pulling the one beneath it out and placing it on top, speaking in the same voice he had been since last night, a voice with a German accent. "Vell, surely a slave's file qualifies as public record."
"Yes, sir, it does, but I'm afraid I don't know who she is."
"Isn't dere some photo index for de slaves at de manor?"
"Not that I have here, I'm afraid."
Lance sighed quietly to relieve some of his frustration. His usual mask of emotionlessness was no longer present. It was obvious he was upset; it was as clear as the frown on his lips. "Den get me whoever I need to speak vid to view Mr. Varren's file." The young woman began to protest, but the young man cut her off. "Get de person. Now."
"Yes, sir. Right away."
Figured it would take a sense of authority in his voice. Seemed to do the trick at times. "Danke."
"I'll have to send Miss Calloway an owl."
Lance leaned over the desk, smiling sweetly at her and glancing at her name on the tiny plaque. "Heidi, vy don't you let me do dat? Write it, I mean."
"If you insist," Heidi replied.
"I do," Lance said, the smile gone and his tone and demeanor all business, no frustration or emotion evident.
She gathered him a piece of paper and handed him a quill. He took both, telling her, "Danke." He looked down at the blank bit of parchment and lightly placed the tip of the quill to the paper. "Miss Calloway, you said?" he glanced at the girl who nodded.[blockquote]"Dear Miss Calloway,
I have an issue of a personal matter with one in rank in your country's government. I need to find information on him. However, his file seems not to be public record. I wish to speak to you about th ematter immediately. Thank you.
At your mercy,
Fredrich Zimmermann"[/blockquote]Lance neatly folded the parchment in thirds and held out his hand with expectation to receive what he desired. "An envelope, bitte." The girl handed him one and he wrote "Miss Calloway" in flowing, neatly slanted cursive before sliding the letter in and sealing the envelope. He handed it back to the young woman who went off to send an owl off with his letter. Lance chose to sit down, smoothing his robes, which he'd "borrowed" from his father's closet. He wouldn't miss them; he had over a dozen. He ran his hand through his brown hair, which was, for once, without gel and flying free. Any day now this Calloway lady would be here.