Free The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) by Valentina S. Grub Page A

SWSMC.”
                  For a few moments, the man across from him stared at him silently, frowning and biting on the ends of his moustache. Finally he asked,
                  “May I ask why?” Ordinarily, Magnus would say, no, confidentiality and all that, but something in the Welshman’s expression said that his answer was very, very important.
                  “I’m working on a case that involves the SWSMC. The file I was given was meagre to say the least, so I – naturally” he added with a slight curve of his lips, “came here for unbiased information.”
                  More moments of mustachio biting, but finally Glyndwr came to a decision.
                  “You can find information on the SWSMC in the files of any newspaper, or on the lips of any of their employees. But here, you might just find the truth.” He said with a touch of pride. He rose, and Magnus saw that he was only a few inches above five feet tall, and wore corduroys and waistcoat. His collarless, well-pressed shirt was rolled up over his furry forearms.
                  As Magnus rose to follow him, he saw that there was a small cushion on the seat of the Welshman’s chair depicting an oriental dragon curled around black embroidered words that read croeso i uffern . His host saw his gaze and smiled,
                  “My fiancé made that when I was moved down here. She has a sense of humour.” Magnus raised his eyebrows in question.
                  “It means, welcome to hell.”
                  Magnus followed him down the centre of the cases of shelves, all labelled in spidery handwriting. The newsman turned, and led Magnus down another, narrower row, coming to a sudden halt.
                  “This is it.” He indicated more than a dozen, empty pigeon holes.
                  “What do you mean?” A sigh from his companion accompanied his next words, and he leaned back against the steel shelves.
                  “Three weeks ago, George Talliburn, a friend and seasoned reporter, came down from upstairs and asked for all the files on the SWSMC. I thought it was a bit odd that he would need all of the files, considering he would just need  a few for a bit of background on the company if it were a general piece. But he said that, since the miners down in Port Prudence banned together, he wanted to do a larger story on them. As a friend, I let him have the majority of the rolls.
                  “The reporters are allowed to check out the research papers for a week at a time.”
                  “Has Talliburn brought them back? What did his article say?”
                  “As far as I know, he never wrote it. Hasn’t brought the papers back, either, and hasn’t been seen upstairs since.” Magnus paused, then asked,
                  “But it’s been three weeks?” Glyndwr nodded grimly.  He then reached up and snatched down a tube from a pigeon hole. The tube was a metal cylinder approximately a foot long. He twisted it in his meaty hands, and with a hydraulic hiss it opened, unfurling a small ream of pages.
                  Magnus gingerly took the curled leaves and began to quickly scan them for any information he didn’t yet have. Immediately, some things began to catch his eye.
                  “What are these names here?” he pointed to a list at the bottom of the fourth page. “Is this the Board of Directors?”
                  “No- that list in on page…” Glyndwr stuffed the cylinder under his arm, took back the pages and quickly leafed through them, scanning the type-set letters even more quickly than Magnus. “Here,” he finally pointed to one of the earlier pages, “Sir Edgar Clinton, of course; Mr. Obadiah O’Brian- you probably heard of him, he was paralyzed after drunkenly