Good day, sir. Costigan is expecting you. Right this way, please. The butler holds the door,

and spar steps within, uncomfortably recognizing that he is wearing more kinem than the

butler. The fashionable townhouse of former prime consector Olga Costigan is a shrine to her many achievements.

Trophies, commemorative plaques, framed newspaper articles, a formal painting of her in full

Concector regalia, and two eyes.

Back when she still had two eyes.

The butler leads far through corridors and sitting rooms,

bedecked with countless articles of splendid famous memorabilia,

and then out through a back door into a handsome, immaculate formal garden.

Enclosed, as everything in the highest light is,

in sparkling greenhouse-like glass.

The un shines brightly.

Micah glimmers, white clouds waft and roll.

The storm has at last blown through, and the weather today is beautiful.

Kosting's garden is not large, but it is vibrant and impeccable. Perfect beds of high-maintenance flower

varietals are flanked by sculptural hedges and potted trees. In the center, a shallow pond filled

with ornamental fish, spanned by a little arched footbridge. Very cute.

An extravagantly plumed, astonishingly colored peacock-ish bird is on a dainty parade across the bridge,

taking a tour of the garden grounds.

And there is Costigan.

Dressed casually, though Costigan's version of casual still comes across as crisp, clean, and effortlessly chic.

You can take the Con Sector out of the company, but you can't take the company out of the...

...