“Families of particular magical distinction, impeccable lineage, significant contributions to our community.” Philippe waved his hand dismissively. “We produce only twenty wheels each season. They are all already spoken for.”
Exandra rolled her eyes so hard Minerva was surprised they didn’t audibly click. She saw the agent catch Bayard’s eye behind Phillippe’s back. Bayard made a face back at her that indicated they were both on the same page. It was a look that said, “Can you believe this pompous idiot?”
This interaction was so natural, so much like old partners sharing a silent joke. Minerva’s heart skipped a beat. Whatever had gone wrong between them, whatever prevented them from speaking their truth, she was certain that underneath it all, they still understood each other perfectly.
“Come,” Philippe said. “I will now show you the Yule cheese ripening chamber. You may look, but I cannot stress this enough: Do not touch anything!”
“Are we permitted to breathe?” Exandra mumbled under her breath.
The Yule chamberwas much smaller, more intimate than the main caves. Inside, twenty wheels of cheese rested on special shelves, each one marked with an embossed golden seal pressed into the wax, and a tiny jeweled crown affixed to the seal. Even through the protective wax coating, Minerva could sense something different about these cheeses. There was a glimmer of magic, a radiant warmth that had nothing to do with temperature.
Jasper leaned close, his voice earnest. “Mr. Valmont, what happens to the cheese if one of the families on the list... doesn’t want their cheese? Or can’t accept it?”
“Impossible,” Philippe said flatly. “No one refuses Valmont Yule Roquefort.”
“But theoretically?—”
“It has never happened. It will never happen.” Philippe was already moving away. “Now, let us proceed to the tasting room where you may sample our standard Roquefort. This way.”
The group began to follow, but Bayard lingered behind, his bright eyes on those golden-sealed wheels. Something in his expression made Minerva pause, too.
But then Zephyr took her hand, pulling her away. “Coming along, my dear?”
“Yes,” she said, but she glanced back over her shoulder once more as she walked through the door.
Bayard had removed his backpack carrier, and was pausing to look inside.
“Just checking on Fred,” Bayard said. “He’s been napping for the entire tour. I should probably find him some water.”
Minerva’s stomach growled. She was getting peckish.
Bayard slippedinto the small anteroom off the main tasting room. The space served as a butler’s pantry. Bayard had noticed some workers getting their sample platters ready in here earlier. The others were all in the tasting room. Valmont was still talking to the group. He didn’t have a lot of time. Bayard carefully lowered Fred’s backpack carrier onto the counter. His hands shook as he unzipped it. Fred lay curled in his usual spot, oblivious to the value of the golden-sealed wheel nestled in the compartment below him.
“Sorry, old friend,” Bayard whispered. “This will just take a moment.”
He looked at the platter of regular cheese waiting to be brought out for the tour group to taste. It held a standard wheel of Valmont Roquefort, perfectly presentable but nowhere near as precious as the Yule cheese. With quick, efficient movements, Bayard removed the standard wheel. He then unwrapped the Yule wheel, and placed it onto the tasting platter, carefully arranging it to look like it had always been there. He then shoved both wrappers and the standard wheel back into the bottom compartment of his backpack.
Fred’s eyes opened wide and he stared accusatorily at Bayard.
“Shh,” Bayard pleaded. “I know. It stinks. But please, Fred, just?—”
“QUACK!”
The sound echoed in the small space like a gunshot. Bayard froze, his heart in his throat, waiting for footsteps, for Philippe’s outraged voice, for discovery.
But Philippe was still lecturing in the other room, his nasal voice carrying through: “—and the crystallization of the tyrosine amino acids creates that pleasant granular texture, which the uneducated palate often mistakes for?—”
No one was coming.
Fred looked up at Bayard with his beady eyes, and if a duck could be said to have expressions, the duck’s expression seemed almost knowing. Almost approving of his mischief.
“You understand, don’t you?” Bayard whispered, closing the backpack. “Some rules deserve to be broken.”
Fred quacked once more, softly this time, and tucked his head back under his wing.
Bayard slipped into the back of the tasting room, hoping that nobody had noticed those few extra moments he’d been gone. Fred’s carrier pack was extra heavy against his shoulders. The duck was asleep again, his soft snores barely audible, unconcerned that he’d just been an accessory to a cheese heist.
Bayard’s heart hammered at the thought of what he had just done. What on earth had he been thinking? This was an actual theft, not a mere prank. But he regretted nothing. The thought of Philippe’s dismissive tone, his snooty “worthiness list,” and the way the cheesemaker had looked at Exandra like she didn’t have any right to be there…
