Page 32 of Holiday Cheese and Capers
“That looks like part of a cheese press to me. Did you see this weapon over here? I’d hate to meet someone wielding one of these in a dark alley!” He pointed to the massive guillotine-like cutter on display in a glassed-in case.
Zephyr and Bayard couldn’t resist tinkering with some more of the pieces, trying to guess their original purpose.
“All of these items are from our farm, and were used in cheese production right here for centuries,” Margot proudly explained. She pointed out some of the more decorative metal plates and some charming figurines on a high shelf on the wall. “These are molds for shaping the cheese and those figurines were carved from dried curds, if you can believe it.”
“That one looks a lot like Fred!” Wren exclaimed, pointing to a small carved duck at the end of the shelf near the door.
“That one is our mascot.” Claire smiled. “You can see her in our logo as well. She brings us good luck! Shall we continue the tour?”
The first thing everyone noticed as they reached the production room was how much smaller and more intimate it was than the industrial operations they’d seen elsewhere. Wheels of Brie in various stages of ripening were set out on wooden shelves along the walls, their soft white rinds glowing softly in the morning light.
“Brie is what we call a bloomy rind cheese,” Margot explained to the group. “The white coating you see is actually a mold. It’s calledPenicillium candidum. It’s sprayed or dusted onto the cheese’s surface, where it grows and creates that distinctive velvety rind.”
“And the magic is in the mold?” someone asked.
“The magic is in everything. Not just the mold but the way it all comes together,” Margot said. “The mold must grow at exactly the right rate. Not too fast, not too slow. For this to happen, the temperature must be precise. The humidity must be perfect.Too much of anything, and the rind becomes bitter or slimy. Too little, and it never develops properly.”
“That does sound like some complicated spellwork,” one of the passengers nodded. “I bet your family’s grimoire is a big, thick one!”
“Oh, now you’re speaking her language,” Claire laughed.
“I’ll never tell.” Margot smiled mysteriously, and winked at the passenger.
GRATE MINDS THINK ALIKE
As Margot demonstrated the spraying process, Bayard and Exandra drifted toward the back of the group. They stood side by side, not quite touching, both staring at the rows of aging cheese.
“It’s remarkable, when you think about it,” Bayard said quietly, “how vulnerable it all is. The slightest change in humidity could ruin an entire batch.”
“Mmm,” Exandra agreed. “Or temperature. A few degrees off for just an hour or two, and the mold development goes wrong.”
“Of course, one would have to be quite clever about it. Can’t just barge in and turn off the climate controls. That would be too obvious.”
“Oh, absolutely. Atheoreticalsaboteur would need to be much more subtle with their gambit.” Exandra’s voice carried an edge. “Perhaps they could introduce a competing mold strain? Something that would look like natural contamination?” She glanced down at the ground. “Your shoe’s untied. Do you want me to get that for you?”
“No. That’s overly complicated,” Bayard said, his tone turning critical as he set aside his cane and knelt to tie his silver laces. For a moment it was unclear whether he was referring to her theoretical plans for sabotage or her offer to tie his shoe for him. He pulled the laces tight and made a double knot while she waited. When he rose, he continued the conjecture. “Any competent cheesemaker would spot the contamination immediately. I believe a better approach would be toslightlyadjust the humidity levels over several days. Make it look like it was an equipment malfunction.”
“Your ‘better approach’ would take too long and leave too much evidence in the logs,” Exandra scoffed. “A truly skilled operative would be more efficient. They would target the mold spraying equipment. A small mechanical failure there, and?—”
“That would certainly be noticed during the next quality check. Come now, Exandra, I expected better strategic thinking from you.” Bayard raked a hand through his fluffy mane.
Exandra turned to glare at him, a cold fire burning in her icy blue eyes. “Better strategic thinking? From the man who once tried to ‘improve’ one of my mission plans by adding seventeen unnecessary contingencies?”
“Those contingencies kept you alive!”
“Because they tied us up in meetings for six hours! That gang of undead art thieves nearly got away.”
“Well, at least I think things through instead of just charging in and hoping for the best?—”
“I don’t charge in?—”
“The Bucharest incident?”
“That was ONE time, and we needed to act fast?—”
“You nearly died!” Bayard hissed. Then he stopped, noticing the beam that Exandra was about to walk into. “Watch your head.”
“We didn’t die in Bucharest. We were fine!” Exandra’s voice had risen as she ducked her head to avoid the jutting beam. Several people turned to look at them. She lowered her voice. “And anyway, we’re only talking about theoretical sabotage here. Hypothetically, if a skilled malcontent were trying to cause problems, they wouldn’t use your overly cautious, take-forever approach.”
