The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel

by Philippa Ballantine

  Normally, that sort of talk would send him into a fury, but Christopher just wanted to snatch whatever valuables he could see in the open and get the hell out of here. He could deal with Callum later at Miss Eliza’s.

  “Look, I’m just thinkin’ this ain’t right,” he blurted out to the young boy. “The doctor’s got something brewin’ here an—”

  “An’ Serena and I kept a good watch on this place, I tolds ya. Good doctor’s not been seen for a time, so we should be fine. Not a worry.” Callum stepped out of the structure, moving deeper into the room. “Toff’s got his fair share of trinkets,” he muttered as he looked over a table of devices that Christopher couldn’t quite make out.

  His hand brushed the corner of an open book, causing him to tear his eyes away from Callum. With those basics of reading and writing Verity and Miss Eliza had taught him, Christopher knew something important when he saw it. What gave him an unnerving concern on turning the tome around to face him were words he did recognise: names. Lords and ladies of England, all high muckety-mucks, their names accompanied by strange symbols and squiggles he couldn’t understand. They burned into his brain. Perhaps later he could decipher them with some help from that toff Books.

  He turned the page, and suddenly his throat went dry. “We have to go.”

  Callum snorted. “Chrissy’s all nervous at the sight of blood and pointy things?” he snickered, flicking his fingers against a rather menacing contraption. It looked like a gun, but with a large needle, similar to the bloody syringes on the tray next to the fainting couch.

  “If’n I say we go,” Christopher insisted, tucking the ledger under his arm, “I say we go!” He then stepped out of the secret chamber and chirped three shrill whistles.

  The other boys and Serena came pounding down from upstairs, all in answer to Christopher’s call.

  As soon as the others reached the doorway of the parlour, Christopher took a quick head count. Save for Callum still doddering in the secret room, they were all accounted for.

  “What’s the game then, Christopher?” Serena asked, her face a mix of concern and frustration. This was, after all, her score.

  “A bad feeling, is all,” he spoke quickly. He looked over his shoulder. Whatever Callum found, it had better be the bleeding sword of King Arthur himself to ignore his call. “Callum, what is—”

  Something invisible hit him, but it was unmistakeably solid. Christopher felt its breath, hot at first then cold like a winter’s gale, as he was tossed back like a rag doll, striking one of the fine leather seats in the parlour. The smell of rotten eggs made him gag, and for some odd reason all of the hair on his body was standing at attention.

  Serena’s scream sobered him up rather quickly, and when Christopher looked up to the secret room, he understood why the girl’s howl threatened to summon the blue bottles.

  From the secret room, a bright white-blue light flickered and flared while tentacles of electricity seemed to dance about the strange, cage-like structure within. Occasionally a bolt would whip out and strike the wall or one of the metallic trays by the fainting couch.

  Through the glare, on the other side of the room, was Callum, trapped by the table of odd contraptions. Christopher didn’t want to tell the younger boy to make a run for it. From the looks and sounds of this electric beastie, one of those bolts could do some harm—harm beyond Miss Alice’s repair.

  Maybe it would die down. Maybe this thing—whatever it was—did this for a spell then stopped. If only Miss Eliza or Verity were here to let them know what was up. “Stay there,” he bellowed to Callum over the sounds of the electric storm, though he could hear no noise from the boy. Something was drowning out his words on the other side of the device, but his mouth moved, and he waved frantically.

  Luckily, Liam was a first-class lip-reader. “He says he’s fine, and what the bloomin’ hell is this thing?”

  It was a terrifying moment, but somehow Callum’s joke made the situation a little less.

  Christopher handed Liam the ledger. “Right, I’m going to go get him. Whatever you do”—he pointed to the book in Liam’s hands—“you get that back to Miss Alice. Miss Eliza and Mr. Books both needs to see it.”

  Just as he turned to run into the storm, the light flared once more, knocking him back only a step or two. The light flickered out just as quickly as it had exploded in front of them, only now inside the cage-like structure was a man. Simple as you please, as if he had ridden the lightning itself. The gent was tall, well built, a cane in one gloved hand whilst in the other he held a doctor’s bag. Something about the cut of his jacket suggested massive muscles—the kind not usually found in the gentry.

  If Christopher could not take the man alone, Callum was behind him. If Liam passed the book to Serena and joined in the fray, the man would be all but done. He was about to lead the charge of his companions, when the man made eye contact with him; and Christopher, try as he might, could not move. His instincts simply would not allow it.

  It was like looking into an abyss. All of the children stood, their mouths agape, trapped in horror, at the thing posing as a gentleman. The creature wore the shape of a man, but his eyes contained no soul. Nothing. He sized them all up as they all sized up the day’s cuts at the butcher’s shop, its mouth peeling back into an inhuman smile.

  This wasn’t some demon conjured by a bad bottle of gin. It was every horror and nightmare Christopher remembered as a lad descending upon him, threatening to smother him completely. This was a monster right in front of them, and the children for once were mesmerised.

  Then the doctor lurched forwards suddenly.

  “Bugger me,” came a voice from behind him.

  Callum had apparently attempted to knock the man down, because he couldn’t see him the way Christopher and the others could. Maybe if Miss Eliza were here, she could take him. Provided she had a stick of dynamite handy. Just to be certain.

  The monster’s hand dropped his doctor’s bag and latched upon Callum, all in one swift, inhuman movement, and hoisted the boy up by that one hand in a curiously weightless way—as if he were a handkerchief.

  “Naughty lad. Whatever shall we do with you?” it asked the boy who was now finally getting a good look at him. The gentleman-creature looked at the two trays of bloody syringes and instruments, then back to Callum. “I can think of several things.” And that smile grew impossibly wider. It was no trick of the eyes. The corners of his mouth were nearly touching his ears.

  Callum wet himself. Christopher could not blame him. Not for being so terrifyingly close to this monster. This monster that would serve as the death of them all unless they moved. Now.

  “Nommus!” Christopher screamed. “For fuck’s sake, nommus!”

  On the street you learned the moment to run, and one look at that creature and Christopher knew they had no chance. The remaining Ministry Seven didn’t need much urging. They bolted down the hallway and out of the back door as if the hounds of hell were on them. Christopher made sure to be at the rear, though his instincts were now screaming to go faster.

  All but one. The book!

  His eyes went to Liam, who was clutching that ledger tight to his breast. Good lad.

  Christopher did not recall the struggle with a door or even a gate. He burst out into the streets, the memory of that smile that threatened to split the man’s head in two driving him on. Looking at the others, he knew they felt the same. Christopher heard nothing behind him, save for the usual sounds of London town. The man, or whatever it had been, had not followed them.

  That did not mean he was going to stop, or tell Serena, Liam, and Colin to follow suit.

  “Jigsaw puzzle!” he shouted, clapping his hands at Liam. “Jigsaw puzzle!”

  Liam tossed into the air the great ledger, which Christopher immediately caught and tucked under his arm, and then he ducked off to his right as the other three scattered
like dandelion seeds in a strong breeze. To any bystander, Christopher’s run would have seemed erratic, perhaps in a panic, but he was—as were his compatriots—gradually progressing to their designated place of safety.

  When he saw the three children in front of Miss Eliza’s apartments, it was the first time he felt as if he could take a proper breath. Together they climbed the stairs, pounded on the door, and were admitted by Alice. One look at their faces was all she needed to know something was wrong.

  Christopher, for once, did not mind the maid’s fussing over them. Much like in their flight from the doctor-monster’s home, he had not noticed being led to any couch. Even the scones and tea before them seemed to appear in the same way as that thing had.

  After a few fortifying sips, Alice turned to the children. “Now, please tell me what this is all about! Where is little Callum? Can I expect some bobbies to break down Miss Eliza’s door?”

  That was when the dam broke. Christopher didn’t even try to stop them all telling the story. He sat still while Liam, Colin, and Serena gabbled out what had happened. Their eyes grew wide again in the telling.

  When they were done, Alice looked to Christopher. “Is this true?” she asked quietly.

  He blinked. “You understood us?”

  “I lived in a house with five brothers and sisters. It’s a bit of a skill.”

  The hard cough from the boy lingering by the door made them all jump.

  “Where’s Callum?” Eric asked.

  “We had to leave him,” Christopher muttered.

  It was as if the sickness slipped away from him like a veil, an unexpected rush of colour coming to his face as he shouted, “You did wot?!”

  “Eric, you weren’t there! You didn’t see . . .” Christopher’s throat tightened. If he cried, he cried. He had earned their scorn tonight. They had been his responsibility. He had promised Verity he would protect the Seven . . .

  What would she think of him now?

  “Christopher,” Liam spoke, his voice almost unrecognisable. He spoke with some sort of wisdom Christopher never heard within the boy’s clever remarks. “You were on the fly, and we were with you. If you hadn’t gotten us out of there, we’d all be in lavender.”

  The burning in Christopher’s eyes raged. What would Verity think? “It happened just like what we all said,” he insisted, turning tear-filled eyes to Alice as a blurry semblance of Eric took a seat next to the maid. Probably life with Miss Eliza had prepared Alice more than most for such a wild tale, but he appreciated that she didn’t dismiss their story as childish fantasy. He then motioned to Liam. “I found something. Thought Miss Eliza should have a look at it.”

  The maid opened the book and gave a slight gasp. “Bless my soul. These are—”

  “Turn the page, Miss Alice.”

  Her brow creased as she did so, and the small scream that immediately followed was only just smothered by her hand. She slammed the book shut with a hard snap and set it on an end table as if it were suddenly too hot for her to hold on to. “This demands the mistress’ attention.” She quickly turned back to the children. “So he got a good look at you then, did he?”

  “Yes,” he replied, feeling like there was a stone lodged in his throat. He knew what she was getting at; there was no place in London that would be safe now.

  “Right then!” Alice got up from the table. “First things first.” She hoisted up her skirts so that her gleaming brass legs were visible. Christopher blushed, even though they were not the normal flesh-and-blood lady’s legs. That much was obvious when a tiny jet of steam shot out of the right one, and it opened like a jewellery box. However, Miss Alice’s idea of treasure was a well-oiled shotgun. Having taken it out, checked that it was loaded, and that she had a good stash of shells for it, Alice closed her leg.

  “Good,” she muttered to herself. “Now, Serena, Colin, and Liam, hurry into the kitchen and bundle up some food. For all of us. We’ll pick up Jonathan and Jeremy on the way. Eric, I want you to finish up that chicken soup I fixed—broth and all—then dress yourself in those clean clothes I had set aside for you.”

  “But I don’t really like the broth, Miss Alice,” Eric protested.

  “Not a word out of you,” she snapped. Everyone gave a start, to which Alice closed her eyes and took a breath. “I’m sorry, Eric. Just trust me without question. We have quite the journey ahead of us.”

  “Journey?” Christopher asked. “I don’t think there is anywhere in this whole world that . . .”

  Alice’s hand wrapped firmly around his shoulder. “Buck up, young man. Don’t think this is the first time I’ve had to go into hiding while in the mistress’ service. We have a plan, a place where we will be safe. All of us.”

  Her eyes were so alive that Christopher believed her. Without question, as she said to Eric. She wasn’t that much older than he was, but she radiated the kind of belief that he was happy to hold on to. Like Verity and Eliza, he trusted her.

  Christopher could only hope that Alice took more from the latter than the former.

  “What about Callum?” Serena demanded, sticking her head around the corner of the kitchen.

  He shot Alice a look, and her expression turned grim. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him back. Miss Eliza and Mr. Books will help us set things to rights.”

  Christopher nodded slowly. He had seen those two accomplish amazing things. They’d certainly give the man with the dead eyes a run for his money.

  It was the other name in the ledger that gave him pause.

  “But how will they know?” Serena persisted, her frown deepening. “She’s all the way in America!”

  Alice didn’t seem at all worried. “Do you still have that scarf the mistress gave you?”

  The little girl darted over to her coat, pulled it from one pocket. She looked suspiciously up at the maid. “Miss Eliza said I could have it, you know.”

  “No arguments!” Alice chided, threatening Serena with the same tone that had startled them all earlier.

  Serena stared at her a moment, then her eyes lit up. “The magic button, you mean?”

  “Bugger it, I’d forgotten about that fancy alarm of Miss Eliza’s!” Christopher exclaimed, feeling like a right idiot. Miss Eliza had given it to Serena as a means of communication around the time Mr. Harry disappeared. He frowned. “But will it work across all that distance? America’s a long way off . . .”

  “It will if you do this,” Alice said, as she plucked the button free of the scarf and laid it on the table. Before anyone else could move, Alice pulled the coal shovel from its place by the fire, and brought it down hard on the little piece of brass.

  Serena let out a scream of outrage. She actually stamped her foot and glared up at the maid with blazing cheeks and eyes. “You broke it! It was a present, and you broke it!”

  Alice pointed to the pieces. “It was always meant to be broken in case of an emergency, child. As a communicator it has a short range, but as a distress signal, it can cover half the globe, Miss Eliza said.”

  All of them peered down at the destroyed button, and they could see the remains of it gleaming faintly red.

  “Wherever she is in the world, she’ll come,” Alice said with deep conviction. “She’ll come and she’ll set things to rights.” She ran her eye over the children standing before her. “She’ll find the quickest way back, but we’re not going to wait for her here. We better get moving before things get nasty.”

  As all the children trooped to the door, Alice laid her hand across Christopher’s shoulders. “This is not your fault.”

  They were kindly meant words, but he couldn’t simply forgive himself as quickly as the Seven did. He could not stop wondering what sort of dewskitch Callum was suffering under the thing they had encountered. He also wondered what he would do if they couldn’t get Callum back.

  Once Eric appeared, dres
sed in similar clothes as theirs—only far cleaner—Alice gave a quick nod. “Right then, are we all ready?”

  Alice then motioned for the children to follow her . . . into Miss Eliza’s bedroom.

  “Um . . . Miss Alice?” Christopher stammered.

  “Drastic situations call for drastic measures,” Alice said and then beckoned for the five of them to follow. “From here on, quiet as the grave . . . lest we truly find ourselves there.”

  TWO

  Wherein Phantoms Take Flight

  Eliza was trying to remember, when was the last time she was this sore and it pleased her this much?

  Their fourth day in the air, their first over the Atlantic, the tension between them she was determined to break, tapping into every detail she knew from Burton’s Kama Sutra masterpiece to consummate their relationship. They had a night and full day in nothing but their naked glory, only interrupted when a steward dropped off a food tray by the door. She had expected, following that exquisite first night together, their amorous adventures to get a bit tiresome.

  What a terrible assumption. Good Lord, but that man was nimble.

  Tempted as they were to enjoy their second transatlantic day lost in a few of the seven deadly sins, Wellington and Eliza dressed and then joined the company of their fellow passengers, and the breathtaking view of their transatlantic journey, with a splendid luncheon.

  During the meal, Wellington leaned in and whispered, “There’s another couple five tables away that appear to be glowering at us.”

  Eliza inclined her head and then reached into her handbag for her compact. The reflection it afforded was a couple of what appeared to be impressive standing, and indeed they were shooting pointed, rather haughty looks in their direction. Each time the man or woman—who had to crane over her shoulder to look at them—did so, they muttered something just before shaking their heads.

  They also looked as if they had not slept well.

  “I think we just met our neighbours,” Eliza quipped.