The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel

by Philippa Ballantine

  “Indeed,” she chortled. “Imagine Axelrod and Blackwell’s surprise.”

  He went to agree, but his words drowned in the bile that this clunky prose had already evoked. “I—beg your pardon?”

  Eliza flipped the book to the cover. “H. J. Rodwell is actually Axelrod and Blackwell. This,” she said, flipping back to page twenty-one, “was what you missed being in the Archives. A new contingency plan for field operatives, cooked up by R&D and approved by the Old Man. The idea was to publish a series of encoded messages in a book no one in their right mind would read. This way, we could get the orders safely to secure hideouts by merely purchasing them from a bookshop as opposed to using a secure courier.” Eliza shook her head. “However, no one expected Countless Hues of Crimson by first-time author H. J. Rodwell to become the next literary sensation.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  She held up the red card. “Ready?”

  The card fit the width of the page perfectly, and on lining up the top right corner of the book with the card, Wellington’s breath caught in his throat. The perforated card, which he now recognised as a Cardan Grille, revealed only segments of words and parts of prose. Its original awkwardness was now replaced with a direct message from headquarters:

  There it was—the death warrant. Not only was the Ministry disavowed by the Crown, but the Department of Imperial Inconveniences was now hunting them.

  And possibly, from their reaction to you, his father whispered in his ear, they know what you are.

  Perhaps, Wellington replied to his ghost, but so does she. And I love her. Eliza and I will rise beyond this.

  “Doctor Sound must have sent these orders after informing the Queen that the prince and his valet were killed,” Eliza said, her eyes reviewing the revealed message again and again while working her ring free. “And this is page twenty-one.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

  “This is Phantom Protocol. We are dark. From the postmark and the number on the Grille, we have twenty-one days to carry out these orders. Less than that as we met with Alice and the Seven.”

  “To get back to England?”

  “To reach the rendezvous point, which is this Circle’s Red Lion, whatever that may be.”

  Wellington grinned. “And this is why you could consider yourself fortunate to be smitten with a walking, breathing, analytical engine like me.”

  Her lips pinched and twisted into a smirk. “Explain yourself, Welly.”

  “The Red Lion, a quaint pub located just inside Avebury Circle,” he offered, his head bobbing back and forth jauntily, “and where the Ministry itself was founded in 1839.”

  Eliza blinked. “Really?”

  “Brilliant spot of planning, that is.”

  Eliza looked at the message, her smile fading slightly. “Provided Her Majesty also does not wax nostalgic as Doctor Sound does and deduces his fall-back position.”

  “Fortune favours the brave, does it not?”

  “It certainly favours you,” Eliza said, pecking him quickly on the cheek. “To think it all started with a kiss in the Archives . . .”

  “Later, my sweet, later,” Wellington chided, taking a look at his pocket watch. “We are on borrowed time.”

  “That we are. Children?” Eliza called. “Are we ready?”

  A moment later, the Ministry Seven and Alice appeared. Eliza slipped on the coat and bowler of the Department which, as fate would have it, fit her quite neatly. Alice and Wellington made their own checks of shotgun and sniper rifle, respectively, as Eliza crossed the kitchens to the hearth. She reached up for where the poker hung, but she tugged the poker downwards and the hook shifted forwards and down. The stone floor before the hearth sank deeper into the ground.

  “Christopher, come with me. We need to arm ourselves.”

  “Yes, Miss Eliza,” Christopher said with a nod.

  “Make this a quick arming, if you please,” Wellington said, glancing at his watch and then outside. “Time waits upon no man.”

  “Luckily I am no man,” she quipped before descending with Christopher into what Wellington could only assume was the safe house’s armoury.

  “What be the plan, sir?” Alice asked.

  “We are returning to England. All of us.”

  “Pardon me, Mr. Books,” Colin spoke up, “but no offence intended towards you or Miss Eliza, wouldn’t it be smarter if’n we did do what’s we do’s best and take to the streets? Even in Froggyland, streets are wot we know best.”

  Wellington admired the boy’s fortitude. However, Colin needed to trust him on the matter. “Dis-moi, comment vas-tu se déplacer autour de Paris, même à la campagne?”

  “What are you on about, Mr. Books, speaking all Frog-like?” the boy snapped.

  “I think that was the point Mr. Books wanted to make, Colin,” Eric said, a light snicker peppering his words.

  “I would never doubt your inherent talents on survival in the streets,” Wellington started, placing a gentle hand on the deflated child’s shoulder, “but if you were to be caught by the authorities, it would only complicate matters if they discover you are English children loose in Paris. In the case of the Ministry Seven, particularly as you are truly seven now, we must practice safety in numbers.” Wellington called down to where Eliza and Christopher disappeared. “How’s it coming along down there?”

  “Nearly done,” Eliza returned.

  “Make sure to bring up a map, if you please.”

  “Already done, Mr. Books.” Christopher popped back up with a large folio in his hands. “Shall I remove Old Blighty from here?”

  “Bring the whole collection up with you, Christopher, there’s a good lad.”

  The eldest of the Ministry Seven returned back to the kitchen, only this time he had upon him a small rifle resembling Alice’s and two belts of ammunition and sidearms across one shoulder. Liam and Colin both let out delighted gasps but were quickly silenced by a look from both Christopher and Wellington. In his opposite hand, Christopher carried a large book of maps.

  “No chance of any walking sticks down there?” he called down to Eliza.

  “Concealed sword, single-shot rifle, or reinforced titanium?” she asked.

  “A sword would be lovely, thank you,” Wellington replied, as he opened the book of maps and began flipping through various regions of England and Europe.

  “Beg a pardon, sir,” Christopher began, relieving himself of the small arsenal he was carrying, “but you passed by the England map.”

  Looking up from the atlas, Wellington adjusted his spectacles and grinned. “Well done for knowing your geography, lad. And yes, I did pass by it.” He returned his eyes back to the maps. “We need to map a course back to England’s shores, but,” he said before pausing at a map of the eastern coast of France, “we are going to have to enjoy a more scenic route.”

  “How’s that, Welly?” Eliza’s voice echoed from the connecting chamber of the armoury and the kitchens.

  “We have to assume that if the Department know our safe houses, then the Ministry network has been compromised completely.”

  “Agreed,” Eliza said, piling into the centre of the table more sidearms and weapons, along with a fine dark-wood cane with a lovely brass handle.

  “Then it would not also be a far cry to speculate they are watching all ports at present. Airship, sea ferry, smuggling boats, or otherwise.”

  Her face darkened at his theory. This was sure to be another one of those times where she hated him to be right. “So what’s your suggestion?”

  “We head east, not west.”

  She looked as if she were about to protest, but then gave a slow, steady nod. “Head further away from the safety of Britannia?” Eliza stepped closer to him as they both examined the map. “So how deep are we delving into the belly of the beast?”

 
; “I was hoping you could give us an idea of where to go,” he replied, sweeping his hand across the map of Europe. “Since you have all your field experience to call on.”

  “We could try Barcelona or Madrid, but again we might have the same problem.” Eliza tapped her finger on the map. “Even though we have operatives and offices in so many locations, we really do not have many havens to choose from—not if the whole network is compromised.”

  Wellington felt the need to brace himself against the thick, wooden table. He had only been activated two months prior to this, and now he found himself disavowed and a target of Her Majesty’s Department of Imperial Inconveniences. A cramping pressure worked across his back and shoulders, no doubt a manifestation of the responsibility he and Eliza were undertaking.

  “Welly, are you all right?”

  He looked up at Eliza. Why didn’t he have an answer for her?

  “Stop,” she said softly. “This is our responsibility, and we will see it through. We just have to consider our options.”

  “Yes,” he uttered, his voice dry and strained. “I’m just concerned about the distance we will need to cover.” He then looked up at Alice and the Seven. “All of us.”

  “Are you certain, Miss—” Alice started.

  Eliza immediately cut her off. “I will not have you all leaving my side. Not until we are all safe. The Department, as you all saw today, has a long reach. They could attempt to use you against us.”

  “We kept clear of them peelers once before,” Serena stated.

  “That as may be, but I’d rather not take that chance again.” Eliza made eye contact with them all, even Alice, before adding, “We stay together.”

  “Coo, mum,” Eric said, taking his hat off, “we feel as if we’re being a right trouble. If we has just stayed in London town, them Department blokes would have forgotten about us, seein’ as how big the city is and all.”

  “No, Eric, you don’t know these people as I—” Eliza then stopped in her words, and Wellington was not certain if he should be thrilled or slightly concerned at the light that danced in those brilliant sapphire eyes of her. “That’s it,” she whispered. She was looking out into space, and it was obvious she was planning their trip.

  “Eliza, what’s it?”

  “As far as we can conclude,” she began, flipping back pages of the atlas as she spoke, “the Department is focusing their efforts on our network of safe houses and active Ministry theatres, yes?”

  “It would make the most sense,” Wellington replied.

  “Then what if we were to lose ourselves in one of the grandest theatres of them all?” Her hand turned the page and she straightened to her full height, presenting it to Wellington with a bright smile and breathless satisfaction.

  Wellington looked over the map from end to end. Alice and the children leaned in together, then looked back to their ward with a collected movement that Wellington could swear had been choreographed for the ballet.

  “Pardon me, miss,” Alice spoke, much to Wellington’s surprise, “but that’s a mad thought, that is.”

  Christopher wasted no time in having his own thoughts heard. “Miss Alice is right, mum. We have done some daft things before, but this is—”

  “Bloody brilliant, this is!” Wellington said, placing his hand on the map. “The journey will not be easy by any stretch, but once within the borders we could easily disappear.”

  “All of us?” Christopher insisted.

  It was Christopher’s authority that caught Wellington off guard. The boy was on the cusp of manhood, but it was his age that had made him the “leader” of the Ministry Seven, not necessarily the lad’s confidence or savvy. However, Wellington recognised the tone in his voice. He himself had used such a tone with officers above him when orders would be issued that put his men in harm’s way.

  The Ministry Seven had lost one of their own, and Christopher would not let that happen again.

  “Christopher,” Wellington said, giving Eliza a quick glance before addressing him, “I know this may appear reckless, but I understand Eliza’s strategy. We need to go where the Department will not expect us to go, and the further we get from the Empire, the safer we will be.”

  “But they could still be there, yes?” asked Christopher.

  “It’s a possibility,” Eliza said. “But we will be safe there. I have a reliable contact.”

  Wellington blinked. “You do?”

  “I do.” She crooked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t look surprised, Welly. I’ve not blown up all my friends in my missions abroad.”

  “So, what about us?” Christopher asked, motioning to the rest of the Seven and Alice. “How are we going to get out of this together?”

  Eliza nodded. “A fair question.” She started flipping back through the atlas to the map corresponding with their hideout. “Once we divvy up weapons, food, and gear, we will have one more stop to make.”

  Wellington glanced at the pile of supplies in the middle of the table. Wasn’t everything they needed there already?

  “There,” Eliza answered him, her finger pointing at their next stop within French borders.

  Very clever. “Well played, Miss Braun. Well played.”

  SIX

  Wherein Two Gentlemen Take a Journey

  If there were anything more magnificent than a hypersteam train, Wellington Thornhill Books had not seen it. Until now.

  Standing on the platform of the Gard de Norde, waiting for Eliza to appear, though, he found himself in awe of the Stahlblitz. This was the Franco-Germanic hypersteam express that continued to break all records for travel across Europe. Wellington couldn’t help letting his eye trail rather lasciviously over the technological marvel that dared with each voyage to break what hypersteam enthusiasts called the hundredfold. The train gleamed in the gaslight of the platform lamps like a slim, polished-brass bullet, literally humming with excitement on the tracks.

  His hands itched to examine the refinements German engineers—and perhaps the more gifted clankertons—had made to the original design. Eliza had disappeared into the hustle and bustle of Paris, with vague instructions to meet her at the station at midday. Could she possibly have known that he would be so close to the magnificent Stahlblitz? It seemed like a punishment indeed if she had.

  He was lurched out of his reverie when a hand landed on his arm. His grip tightened on his walking stick, ready to deal a blow to whomever had taken such a liberty with his person.

  One look at the familiar face and the oddity of it all made him stop.

  The sparkling blue eyes of Miss Eliza D. Braun never ceased to give his heart a start, but the light-brown handlebar moustache perched on top of her lip muted that usual moment’s elation. She made for a very dapper, short man, with a dark bowler jammed down over her head, and a suit of strangely familiar tweed on. She had also done a very convincing job of, once more, tying down her rather impressive bosom, so much so that he wondered where it had all gone.

  “Hello, my love,” she said in a voice pitched only a few octaves below her usual voice.

  “Miss . . .” Wellington stammered, feeling his temperature rise a little as he tried to brush off her hand. “I mean . . .”

  “Mr. Elton Bellington,” she cut him off, waving a pair of tickets beneath his nose, while at the same time drawing him away from the press of people passing through the entrance. “You, my darling, are Samuel Cavenaugh, and we are off to Hamburg.” She looked him over, and after a quick glance to either side of her, remarked, “Looking rather spry for a dead man.”

  “What cheek, Elton. Our fellows back at the Department will talk.” He took the tickets from her and examined them. He glanced around them and leaned in closer. “Eliza, these are for a shared single berth, we cannot . . . that is . . .”

  “The Department is looking for a man and a woman, so we not only disguise
ourselves as their own but pose as two men travelling together.” Her smile under the all too convincing facial hair was still the same one he loved. She gave one of the moustache’s curls a tiny stroke with the back of her index finger. “I hope you can accept my little turn with facial hair. It’s all the rage in Berlin, you know?”

  “But you don’t think sharing a berth will attract attention? Two men, one cabin, and a cross-country excursion?”

  The bemusement in Eliza’s eyes faded, replaced by a strange concoction of pity and frustration.

  “Think of where we are going,” she said, taking the hand in which he held their travel arrangements and placing a gentle kiss against it, jamming Wellington’s breath in his throat. “Handlebar moustaches aren’t the only rage in Berlin.”

  Now he knew he was flushing red, perhaps because she had hit a sore spot. Aside from his military service, and the odd holiday or archival business, he was nowhere near as well travelled as Eliza. His education and childhood had not been very conclusive to learning or experiencing anything outside what his father had wanted him to learn.

  It didn’t mean he didn’t want to, though.

  “You really should get out more,” she sighed.

  “Your disguise is rather masterful,” he conceded.

  She winked at him. “I do make a rather handsome young man, if I do say so myself.” She tucked her hand into his elbow, leaning her smaller suited frame against his. “Let’s try and find our carriage. We might have to get a little more . . . relaxed when we get there.”

  The wicked look she gave him sent a frisson of anticipation up his spine. Still, there were other things to consider. “What about Alice and the children?”

  “Oh, I do believe Sister Alice and her children are managing quite well,” Eliza said, craning her neck in the direction of what sounded like a right scolding.

  Wellington followed her gaze to a nun wagging a finger in Liam’s face. He would have come to the boy’s rescue had he not known the nun was, in fact, Alice. The stop Eliza had suggested at the priory had been so they could help themselves to the Seven’s present disguises. The school uniforms and all the children bathed and cleaned to nearly military standards made the Ministry Seven almost unrecognisable. Christopher, Wellington could not help but be impressed, remained in character as a quiet priest, keeping a Bible pressed close to his chest. Alice, donning the habit, was ordering the blushing Liam to return the pinched wallet back to the man. With all attention on the lad caught in the act, the world was oblivious to Serena deftly relieving another two ladies of their coin purses.