The city hadn't yet woke up.
Fog clung to the outside of Ministry of Warm.
Inside in General Beauchamp's office.
Beauchamp sat with his second cup of coffee, shoulders relaxed, but his eyes alert.
He had learned to read the mood of a day by the temperature of his drink.
Cold coffee usually meant trouble.
A knock at the door.
He called out, "Yes?"
Lieutenant Ravel entered. "Sir, Major Moreau is here."
Beauchamp raised his eyebrows slightly. "So early?"
But he couldn't help and think.
Here comes my trouble.
Ravel nodded. "Said it couldn't wait."
"Send him in."
Étienne Moreau entered and saluted.
Beauchamp returned it. "Major," he said, "if you're here before the bells, it must be important."
"It is, sir," Moreau said plainly, removing his gloves. "I need ten minutes."
"You'll have fifteen. Sit."
Moreau didn't hesitate.
The chair across from Beauchamp creaked as he lowered himself into it.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, calmly, he asked.
