With his gaze still trained on Wolf, Holmes continued. "Mr Cobra, what of your talented engineers in India?"
Nahush leaned into the light. "We have effectively dismantled the æthergate technology that Jekyll introduced to us during the Ghost Rebellion and deduced how it works. Along with its intended use, we are currently applying this science to other weapons in development."
"As we are working in concert with Cobra," Scorpion chimed in, "we will have fully-functioning prototypes ready for testing within a matter of days." He then glanced nervously at Nahush as he added, “Which, Mr Cobra led me to believe was the intent of this operation.”
With each report, heads of territories cast surprised glances to one another.
Perhaps none of the Board knew the full scope of Ragnarök, and that suited Holmes just fine.
"As you can see, Milford Scott Adams III," Holmes stated, enjoying the sight of Mr Wolf. blanching at his real name, "Ragnarök is not one operation that your region has been charged to bring to fruition." Holmes looked to each member of the board. He could hear in his ears the gentle thudding of his heart. Yes, he was excited. It was thrilling to watch the surprise dawn over all their faces. It had been quite an effort on his part to keep everyone working on their own contribution to this event. This incredible, fantastic event. "Yes, I have led you all individually to believe that you were Ragnarök but, in reality, you were part of Ragnarök. Mr Wolf, we engendered high hopes for the Italian operation with Wellington Books serving as a template for future soldiers, for future citizens of this bold, new world we intend to create. Alas, it was not to be, now was it? Does that mean we shut down Ragnarök? We cannot. Not now." He looked over to Sophia and smiled. "Especially not now."
The assassin returned the smile he presented her, and his heart thrummed a bit harder in his chest. Whatever they lost with Books, they were about to gain with her.
"With Badger’s betrayal, we need operations to resume in Europe, particularly with tensions in the Germanic Empire. We must now set pieces into play and do so without having any hand visible to the world. I cannot think of anyone better qualified for this challenge apart from Miss Sophia del Morte," Holmes said, motioning to the Italian, "Miss Badger."
Wolf’s thick eyebrows knitted together. "Holmes, exactly what are you planning?"
"More to the point," Sister Raven spoke up, her dark eyes boring into Holmes, "what is Ragnarök?"
Holmes rose from his chair, and his finger hooked around a green switch set into the table. On flicking it, a low hum filled the room as the wall to his right sunk into the floor. In place of the fine art that had broken the monotony of the long, plain wall, a map of the world appeared, continents and countries all designated by recognised borders and colour-coded by empire.
When the wall completely disappeared and lights above the map flared to life, Holmes stepped free of the table and took a place in front of the once-hidden display.
"Gentleman, ladies," Holmes began, "imagine if you will a World War..."
Chapter Thirty-Five
Wherein a new adventure begins
It was foolish, really. She was no blushing rose, no wide-eyed innocent from the country. She’d seen corners of the world both familiar and foreign. She’d toppled mad scientists and secret societies with a wide away of ordinance. She was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, demolition, infiltration, and espionage. She was a progressive woman of the nineteenth century, ready to face the oncoming mysteries of the twentieth.
Yet here she was, Eliza Doolittle Braun, and her heart hammered in her chest as it had on the day they promoted her from Junior Agent to Active Field Agent status for the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences. Perhaps, she considered, it’s this corset. It’s so... thin. The Ministry issue bullet-proof corset was a second skin to her, and it had been so long since she had worn a simple, mundane corset, that it felt wrong.
So here she stood at the head of a throng of travellers all anxious to set foot on terra firma after a very long airship voyage.
They couldn’t understand what one more step would mean to her. Eliza gripped the end of the gangplank’s bannister, her hold on the polished wood tightening as she took a deep breath. This was not some cruel joke, nor was it an illusion. All she had to do was let go and walk forward. A simple thing. So, very, very simple.
Opening her eyes, Eliza released the bannister and took a step onto solid ground.
She got five steps before bursting into tears. To her right a group of ten or so Māori women were dancing with their hands trembling for the benefit of the tourists. Their smiles were bright and joyous as they moved while the poi tucked into their belts swayed. That was a different dance for later she supposed. Two of the women saw Eliza, and whether it was a trick of her tear-filled eyes or their recognition of Eliza’s happiness, their smiles widened before proclaiming, "Haere mai! Haere mai!" Come here. Welcome.
"Welcome to New Zealand, darling," a voice spoke behind her.
Eliza spun on her heels and threw her arms around Wellington, her laughter now taking the place of tears. It had been so long since she had Aotearoa underfoot, smelled the sea so strong in the air, had the warmth of the South Pacific sun on her skin, she had almost forgotten what it was like. Part of Eliza had almost believed she would never see it again.
Miss Eliza D Braun was home. At long last.
"Welcome home, my love," she managed, struggling to rebuild her composure as she released Wellington. “From the bottom of my heart.”
"Your tears are nothing to be embarrassed over," he said, offering her a kerchief. "You must be slipping in your reflexes already. I completely—"
"I have a stiletto up my cuff," Eliza sniffled, "and my pounamu pistols remain holstered on either leg. Besides, I know your voice all too well."
"Ah," he said. "My apologies if I am spoiling the moment."
"Tosh, Welly," she chuckled. "You’re just looking out for me, is all. Something you are very good at." A sudden meow grabbed her attention. She looked down at the pet carrier in his other hand. "And how did Archimedes take the voyage?"
"Exceedingly well. I thought he would be upset, but air travel seems to suit him."
Eliza peeked into the carrier. "It did not affect his appetite."
"Not in the least." Wellington looked up to Eliza and gave her a wry smile. "While Archimedes can still go by his given name, I am afraid your sweet pet name for me must go the way of the formidable Tyrannosaurus Rex. Extinct, remember?"
Oh, bugger all. He was right. "Remind me what it is again."
"Richard Aloysius McCaugh," he beamed. "Scholar, a learned man of science, and barkeep, at your service."
Eliza wrinkled her nose. "If we are to run a proper pub here, or in the South Island if needs be, then we do need a name more befitting. ‘Richard’ sound too formal..."
"And who in their right mind would wish to have ‘Aloysius’ serving them a pint."
"Exactly." She thought for a moment. "You could go by ‘Al’ which isn’t... bad?"
Wellington shook his head. "No."
"Rich?"
"That fits me about as well as a top hat."
"Dick?"
"Absolutely not."
Eliza took in a long breath, suppressing a need to lash out at the man’s stubbornness, but then she paused. "Richie."
Wellington held up his finger, his mouth open as if he were to disagree with her once more. No protest left his lips. In fact, he looked out over the lush vista stretching out before him, the warm South Pacific wind rippling plants and trees as if they were part of an emerald ocean.
"Richie McCaugh." Wellington smiled. "Oh that just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Richie McCaugh. Yes, I like that. Quite rugged if I do say so." He rubbed his palm against his cheek. "Perhaps it would be fitting if I were to let my beard grow out—let it fill in a bit more."
"Careful, Richie," Eliza wagged her finger. "I’ll have you on the pitch with the lads."
He chuckled, but the laughter
faded as he looked around. It struck Eliza as well and her eyes darted about until she glanced up the gangplank.
Eliza motioned to the girl. "Come along. We’re here!"
Serena was a hardened child of the streets, and after some time with the Ministry, had become a valued resource for agents in the field. Eliza had seen the young girl hold her own against ruffians of all sorts, and yet in her pristine travelling dress and sweet little hat, Serena looked petite, fragile. She also looked terrified. Her eyes were wide and her skin almost as pale as the pastel colours she wore. On another enthusiastic beckoning, Serena proceeded down the long gangplank to join them on the airfield.
"Welcome to the farthest reaches of Her Majesty’s Empire," Wellington said to her.
"Everything is so..." Serena looked around her, watched the dancers for a moment, then turned back to Eliza, "... different."
The honesty of children. It was truly endearing. Here, Serena could be just that. A child, wide-eyed and permitted to take in the wonder of this far-flung island paradise. "Yes, Serena. Yes, it is. You have so many things to learn. About New Zealand, about its people, about the land. School will be an exciting experience for you."
Serena wrinkled her nose. "I know plenty, Miss Brau—" and she caught herself, straightened to her full height, which was not a great deal, and said, "I know plenty, Mum, so I do not see why I need to go to school."
A tightness welled in her throat. "Mum." That was going to take some getting used to, but to hear it with such conviction warmed the cockles of her heart.
"Serena, no one is questioning your intelligence," Wellington said. "School is where you discover more than just mathematics and literature. You can explore science, art, music. You refine yourself. It won’t be easy, but you do your best that will be enough."
Serena nodded. "Yes, Dad."
Wellington cleared his throat. Eliza looked to him. He looked as if he were about to succumb to vapours. "Ah, yes... we—we are..."
"They finalised the paperwork before our departure. We are the McCaugh family, returning to New Zealand after a long absence." Eliza sighed, stroking the back of Serena’s blonde hair. "We’re thrilled you chose to join us."
"Eliza," Wellington said, "are you still upset over the others?"
"I can’t say I am overly thrilled to have left the rest of the Ministry Seven behind."
"You made the offer to all of them, even Christopher. They are old enough to make decisions for themselves. They wanted to stay."
"They’re also boys, mum," Serena offered. "Not always right in the head, boys."
Wellington propped his hands on his hips. "Really? And what makes you say that?"
"Our daughter does have a point," Eliza admitted. "Remember, the last time you were in this corner of the world, it was a woman who lured you here." She then looked down at Serena and then shook her head at Wellington. "No, she didn’t lure you down here. She kidnapped you."
His gaze went from Eliza to Serena, then back to Eliza. "So this is how it will be, yes?"
"Always, my dearest Richie," Eliza said with a smile.
"Always, Dad," Serena added.
He shrugged. "Very well then. So long as I see what lies ahead of us in paradise."
"Haere mai, Eliza Braun!" a voice called out. "Haere mai!"
Eliza turned around, her fingertips tingling as the rest of her body became acutely aware of the weapons she had mentioned to Wellington earlier. That sudden surge of alertness, the rush of blood just before engaging the enemy, receded as would the ocean’s touch against a shoreline. The woman approaching them could have appeared imposing with the tribal moko kauae etched into her skin and the traditional Māori kahu huruhuru rustling softly against a sharply cut suit. The eyes and the warm smile framed by long salt-and-pepper hair that stretched beyond her shoulders brought a tightness to Eliza’s throat. It had been such a delight to have her mentor at Whiterock, but seeing her here was even more special.
From the look on the wizened old woman’s face, she was just as thrilled to see her charge once more on New Zealand shores.
"Aroha Murphy," Eliza said, accepting the woman’s embrace gladly, her mentor’s laughter in her ear the most wonderful music.
"You did it, girl," Aroha said to her. "Aotearoa welcomes you home."
Eliza gave her a gentle squeeze before parting. She touched Aroha’s forehead with her own and took in a breath through her nose. This hongi was so new and so revitalising—even though she had done it many times before.
Aroha stood tall and cast her eyes over her shoulder. "And I see you bring newcomers to the Land of the Long White Cloud."
"Director Murphy," Wellington said, extending a hand to her. "A pleasure to see you again. I don’t know if you remember—"
"Serena," Aroha said, lowering down to reach eye level with her. Wellington left his hand out for an eternal moment or two before withdrawing it. The elder woman focused on the child. "That was some impressive mischief you and your mates pulled off during the Diamond Jubilee. Well done."
"Thank you, Miss." Her big brown eyes darted up to Eliza, who nodded in approval.
"And I believe ‘congratulations’ are in order. Serena McCaugh?” Aroha brought herself up to her full height and looked to each of them.
That was when Eliza noticed for the first time the large envelope tucked under her arm.
"We received your status updates from Whiterock two days ago," Aroha said.
"Two days ago?" Eliza asked. "We’ve been in the air for close on a week!"
"Perhaps the traffic on the æthernetworks has been busier than usual?" Wellington offered. "Or secure connections tend to move a bit slower than the open channels?"
Aroha shook her head. "We should have received your legends while you were over the Atlantic, not just arriving from your trek across the Pacific. It’s rather odd, don’t you think?"
Eliza whipped her head around at the question. Aroha was no longer wearing a welcoming smile. She was grinning.
This was not good.
"Rather," Wellington said. His obliviousness would be charming under different circumstances. "Have your observatories noted any increase in solar weather? Sunspots have been known to play havoc with the Earth’s geomagnetic activity." Eliza pursed her lips as she switched her gaze from Wellington to Aroha. Something was most assuredly afoot. "And such activity could affect æthernetworks on a global scale."
"That is exactly what Barry suggested, but recent observations from the South Island show no irregular activity, flares or otherwise." She tapped the envelope against her fingertips, trapping her bottom lip under her teeth for a moment. "We did uncover, though, the electrics in Auckland were acting irregularly. Christchurch checked in, and they are fine, but..."
"But?"
Eliza leaned forward, so Wellington couldn’t see her. She noticed how he was hanging on Aroha’s every word.
"But now, nothing powered by electricity works in Christchurch," Aroha said. "Lights. Devices. Motorcars. Rail. There are just... dead."
Wellington crossed his arms against his chest. "Perhaps the mecha—"
"No," Eliza stated with such finality and ferocity that Wellington, Aroha, and Serena all looked to her. "Aroha Murphy, I am on to you."
Her mentor placed her free hand on her chest, her face bewildered as she mouthed, "Me?"
"You’re trying to entice Richie here with a bit of science, a bit of mystery, a bit of ballyhoo, and sure as Aunt Fanny’s your Uncle Bob..."
"Eliza, dear," Aroha said, shaking her head ruefully, "you cut me to the quick!"
"And what do you have there?" she asked, pointing to the envelope she carried.
Aroha glanced at Serena, perhaps for help of some measure, but Eliza smiled proudly as the child had picked up her crooked eyebrow mannerism. There was no ally for her mentor there.
"I’m afraid you have me right where you want me," the Ministry director relented, holding up the envelope.
"No. No. And NO." Eliza steppe
d closer to Aroha. The woman’s grin never faltered, even as Eliza stated, "We are out of the game. I’m sure Doctor Sound clearly communicated that to you?"
Aroha shrugged. "That it was, but Eliza—mate—this is New Zealand. Out on the edge. We do things differently down here."
"I can say it for you in the Telegu dialect of India—Kaddu. I can say it for you in Nepalese—Ahaa. The Nandi dialect of Kenya? Achicha. A Mandarin variation? Bu dai. Or would you prefer the Māori dialect? Kao. Pick a language that... you..." and her words trailed off.
Eliza whirled about to look at Wellington. His smile was as bright as the noonday sun overhead. "Please, keep going," he beamed. "You are doing rather well."
Her attention turned back to Aroha. "We are out. My father wanted to open a pub here in Wellington, and that is what Richie and I plan to do."
"Richie McCaugh?" Aroha asked Wellington. She smiled. "Good, rugged name."
"Ta," he replied.
Eliza did not like where this conversation was ending up. "No more chasing that which goes bump in the night. No more secret societies with diabolical plans to ruin afternoon high tea. No more mad scientists hell bent on cross breeding gerbils with dachshunds. From this day forward, it is a simple life of pulling pints, entertaining lodgers—proper lodgers, mind you—and maybe even putting together a rugby team for the odd Saturday afternoon!"
"Point made, Eliza, but just... hear me out."
Eliza inhaled, walked over to Serena, took her hand—not sure if it was an assurance for the child or for herself—and then turned back to Aroha.
Her mentor shrugged. "This is an old case of mine, and as much as I want to see this one through, I am too ancient to go gallivanting about the South Island."
"You have agents of your own, Director," Wellington said. "Why not turn to them?"
"They are a good lot, but this is my history. My past. I need someone I can trust." Aroha took a few steps closer to Eliza and held up the envelope. "I need you, Eliza. I need your magic."
Serena’s grip tightened on her hand as Eliza considered the file between them. She owed the Empire nothing, and she’d given plenty of years to the Ministry. Doctor Sound and the House of Usher could dance on together all they liked. They were made for one another. This was to be a fresh start, not just for her but for all three of them.
Operation: Endgame (Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Book 6) Page 32