Arthur Southwell watched the cloud obscured mountains of Romania sweep past through the viewing ports of the zeppelin, as they sailed toward the tiny country of Mordania.  His tall, wiry frame looked relaxed in his brown three piece suit, but looks can be deceiving.  The beginning of a new and possibly dangerous investigation always had him on edge.<br/><br/>Mordania was a backwards little place, to be sure.  It still had a semi-feudal system with few independent land owners.  King Gustav still ruled with an iron hand and was rumored to torture and kill his citizens without provocation, if the mood struck him.  The horrors of his dungeon was legend.  The Eastern Orthodox Church secretly sneaked reports of his atrocities out all the time, but the international community had not though to act upon what were considered internal affairs of a foreign country, until now.<br/><br/>A senator's son had traveled to Mordania in pursuit of his master's degree in history.  He had been visiting old castles and churches, but a month ago all correspondence from him had stopped.  The senator had naturally wanted the very best investigator he could get, so he had hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency.  It was not officially a government operation, but the senator was a powerful man and had pulled strings.<br/><br/>Arthur smoothed back his way brown hair and peered out over his Roman nose.  He supposed he was the best that could be found, but it was hard living up to the expectations.  He was supposed to meet a contact on the airship, who could help, but he was still waiting.  He had only been told that they would be wearing a pink carnation and that they would have knowledge of and contacts within the country, which could greatly benefit him.<br/><br/>Arthur had been with the Pinkertons for three years now and was considered a senior associate.  He had served fours years in the army, fighting in the Martian uprising of 1885 and many other smaller battles.  After that, he had attended university and earned his degree in psychology, before, becoming a Pinkerton.  He had fought against labor union activists, protected important business men and dug up dirt when it was required.  If the job paid, he was their man.<br/><br/>Sometimes he considered settling down, and returning to university to finish a professorship in psychology, but the travel was to addicting.  If he put down roots, when he would be tied into one place.  As it was he been to twenty states six countries and the Red Planet itself.  It was not the same as being a tourist, but for a man of limited means, it was literally the only way to travel.<br/><br/>It was only another few hours until they were to land near the boarder of Mordania.  The zephelin was not permitted in her air space.  Arthur pulled back and looked around the lounge.  Uniformed flight attendance were serving drinks to richly dressed passengers, as they lounged about the room.  It was made up to look like a room in a private club, with richly appointed furniture and carved wooden lentils.  It was oppulent, comfortable and very not what Arthur was used to.  Still, a drink seemed in order.  He sat at a table and set his cane and bowler hat on top of it.  It might not be proper manners, but he'd be damned if he would act like one of these rich travelers.