Ivy whispered as she stroked his hair, “I’m so very proud of you, my darling.” And with that, nothing much else mattered.
Let the summer storm outside rage all it liked. He was safe at home. At last.
NINE
In Which Our Heroes Take Stock of Their Resources
It was a typical summer storm, sudden and uncalled for.
The country bus puffed and rumbled over the road from Salisbury with the passengers stoically silent within. Under her cloak, Eliza was holding Wellington’s hand with her left, while her right held the sleeping Serena against her shoulder. Just a mile or two more, and their journey would hopefully be done.
The Travel Centre had proven a far greater challenge than originally anticipated. Their flight to London had been delayed as the delegation’s liaison was nowhere to be found. His disappearance sent the collected nobility into a chaotic uproar. While that meant the Bommbursts and their party of gifted school children could easily mingle into the Prussian contingent, the contingent’s inability to operate without a Section P agent overseeing every last detail detained the airship. The safety buffer of time Wellington and Eliza believed they had dwindled to a deficit. If they could not pick up a bus straight after their arriving in London, it would be dangerously close to rendezvous hour.
Directly opposite, Alice and the children swayed in time with the bus. Some were asleep, but Alice and Christopher were not. The maid was cloaked and Eliza knew that her hand had to be resting on her knee, close by the rifle concealed in her Ministry-created leg. Christopher, who Eliza had reluctantly armed somewhere over the Channel, had his head turned looking out into the growing gloom.
His face was already that of a man, but the loss of Callum was still plain to read on it. She knew better than to tell him it was not his fault, but she hoped that when they tracked down the missing boy he’d at least forgive himself a little.
Since they were not the only passengers crowded and packed into the public bus, conversation was impossible, but Eliza shared a look with Alice. The young woman had ceased to be a maid, and her face was that of a real warrior. The New Zealander could only hope that Alice would not have to release any of her formidable talents with that shotgun tonight. Tonight they would, if all went well, be at least among friends.
The rain had just begun pounding on the roof when the bus pulled to a stop outside the Red Lion public house. Wellington gave Eliza’s hand a squeeze before taking Serena from her, and stepping out. With a nod to Alice, the children were now awake, alert, and stepping into the heavy English rain. They all scampered towards the low white building with its thick layer of thatch, and Eliza just prayed they were not being observed, because the heavy rain coupled with the final hours of their flight had become so harried it was impossible for her to tell otherwise if they were safe or not.
Serena rubbed her eyes sleepily and slipped out of Wellington’s arms. She always wanted to be treated like a grownup, and any sign that she wasn’t made her rather upset. Her eyes widened at the little pub they all gathered in. It was warm. It was familiar.
But was it safe? Did they make it in time?
“Where are we, Mummy?” she asked, taking hold of Eliza’s hand in a way guaranteed to make the agent’s heart melt.
“The Red Lion Inn,” she told her. “This is the only public house in all of England within a stone circle.”
“Avebury is incredibly ancient,” Wellington broke in, but Eliza stopped his history lesson with a well-placed look. She knew the Seven had been through enough without being lectured on a past they had no interest in.
“I’ll book us rooms,” Alice said, gathering the children around her. A broad-faced woman wearing a rather worn apron was already hustling in their direction. “You go find our friends.”
Christopher did not look impressed that he was being syphoned off with the children, but he nudged Eliza. “I’ll look after ’em,” he said in a low voice.
“I know you will,” she replied with all sincerity.
Wellington was already ahead of her, walking deeper into the pub. A fire was crackling in the hearth, making the room welcoming. With the hour and the weather as it was, there were no locals nursing pints at tables or along the bar. There was only one person present, apart from their own persons and the publican.
Director Sound, a sturdy mug in his hand, stood with his back to the door. For a moment that was all she could see. Her heart surged. While the good doctor remained alive, so did the Ministry.
“Have you seen the circle?” she asked gently. Please, God, if he responded with the passcode, this ridiculous chase would come to a close.
“Far more impressive than Stonehenge.” He turned to look at them both. The smile he gave them both brought tears to her eyes. She had to cover her mouth to smother the sob she knew would escape. “It’s magnificent!”
Doctor Sound was lucky that neither she nor Wellington rushed over to him. Instead they ordered their drinks—a beer for her, a cider for him—and wandered over to join the director at a table. The twinkle in his eyes said all that she needed to know: he was just as glad to see them as they were to see him.
He then said in an overly loud voice, “Can you just imagine all the pagan men and women worshipping their gods here? I bet there were blood sacrifices and lots and lots of carrying on. Some of these rituals celebrated naked I dare say!”
Wellington afforded a laugh. Eliza could not help herself in joining him. Throughout all this, the director still carried his endearing oddities.
“Very good to see you, agents Books and Braun, very good indeed,” he chortled. “How was your trip from Germany?”
Wellington raised an eyebrow. “Sir, how could you have possibly known we were . . . ?”
“I have my sources,” the director assured them, though his confidence sounded a little hollow. “Even in such dark times as these, I still have my sources.”
“It was a comfortable enough trip,” Eliza said, taking a sip of her beer. “But we were all worried about what we would find once we got here.” Her eyes darted around the empty room.
“You find us alive,” Sound said gravely. “At least some of us.”
As if on cue the door to the Red Lion banged open and two men burst into the room, both with rainwater pouring off their hats, which they promptly removed.
Eliza’s mouth opened ever so slightly. “Barry Ferguson?”
The young man—who had chiselled features with auburn hair that was neatly trimmed, save for the top which seemed to flop about a bit—straightened up and tugged at the bow tie around his neck. When his eyes fell on Eliza, he seemed to glow with happiness much like a boy on Christmas morning.
“Eliza Doolittle Braun!” he trumpeted, his pitch far too high and his voice far too loud. “Heavens to Betsy I never did think I would see you again!” Then his voice dropped an instant later, his eyes slowly casing the room which would have made no logical sense as he had already identified her boldly and brashly as it were. “Mind you, I didn’t think this would be the place our paths would cross again. Perhaps a lovely pie shop.” And then he pointed at her, his words a manic stream of consciousness. “A proper pie company where one could get a decent pork and apple pie, or perhaps a pub somewhere in Auckland—your dad’s maybe?” He clapped his hands. “Right, neveryoumind, we are here, we are reunited, and it’s bloody good to see you again, Eliza Doo!” He turned away as if to say, Right then, we’re done, but he held up his finger and waved it in the air as he added, “One more thing—tell your uncle Roger I borrowed his tractor. Hope he doesn’t need it back.”
“You see what I have to work with, Basil?” a gravelly voice replied behind them all.
The man shaking rain free of his cloak had a head of wild white hair. His expression was stern, hardened it would seem over years of service to Her Majesty. Between him and the director, there was a certain famil
iarity. Their hands clapped together in a firm greeting that softened the agent’s expression. “Still, I can’t complain about the young upstart. He did get us here after all.”
“Rough journey from the North Isle?” Sound asked.
“South,” the agent corrected with a curt nod. “We were following up on a case in Dunedin.”
“Managed to catch a rugby game while we were there,” the younger man added. “Blimey, those Frogs do know how to keep that ball moving.”
The director gave a little chuckle, then beckoned Wellington and Eliza over. “Lachlan King, I’d like you to meet Agent Wellington Books. Agent Braun, I’m certain you are familiar with.”
“Oh, quite,” he said with a charming smile. Eliza felt her skin prickle at the man’s greeting. She remembered first meeting him in the Wellington office when she enlisted into the Ministry’s service. Old as he was, King was quite charming, especially when sitting opposite a young recruit at a candlelit dinner. “Glad to see that you are still thriving in the field as I imagined you would. And Books, is it?” His brow furrowed and then he turned back to Sound. “Any relation to that rather odd archivist you have back at headquarters?”
“I am that rather odd archivist from headquarters,” Wellington offered before Sound could speak.
“Really?” King straightened slightly, adjusting his cravat, and then looked Wellington from head to toe. “And you’re out in the field now? A rather lofty jump, is it not?”
“Believe me, Lachlan,” Eliza said, placing a gentle hand on Wellington’s arm, “he is more than fitting for the job.”
“Well then”—he rapped a pair of leather gloves against Wellington’s chest—“if you have won the approval of Braun here, that will suffice.”
Sound then motioned to the younger man. “And this is his partner, Barry Ferguson.”
Barry was exactly as Eliza remembered him back when they grew up together in Auckland. Same bright eyes of wonder, same wide smile, same enthusiastic demeanour that, much like a small incendiary, could explode at any moment. She watched him shake Wellington’s hand, so hard that Wellington nearly lost his balance.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” he said to Wellington, his excitement still apparent as he continued to catch his breath. “Cannot tell you what a pleasure this is. I mean, you and Eliza Doo here, working together, eh? That’s just brilliant, that is.” Again, his voice dropped in its volume but the intensity was still present as he said, “Big fan of that analytical engine you have in the Archives as well. Tried to make one based on the descriptions we have on record. Almost got it. Couldn’t get it to make a proper cup of tea, though.”
“Perhaps I can help you with a new design once this brouhaha settles down?” Wellington asked the young man.
Barry’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh! That would be grand!”
“Barry,” Eliza said, snapping the two men out of their reverie. “When did you join the Ministry?”
“Oh, shortly after you left,” he said, turning back to Eliza. “Seemed like a good job. Good pay, nice people, exciting life traversing the world.” He took a breath, and then his expression of elation slipped away. He now looked a bit embarrassed. It was as if his honesty compelled him even when it was better not to say anything. “It was also a nice way to, well, keep tabs on you, as it were. You know, let your mum and da’ know you were safe.”
“Gentlemen,” Sound interjected quickly as Barry was taking another breath, “if I could debrief with you over here. So far, you are our only representatives of the Antipodeans. I would like to hear the condition of our Australia and New Zealand operatives.”
The three of them adjourned to the fireplace as Wellington and Eliza countered to a small table by the window. Raindrops large and heavy pounded against the panes of glass, occasional claps of thunder making their frames rattle ever so slightly. Eliza took in a deep breath of her own now and smiled. It was good to see Lachlan and Barry again. Delightful reminders of home.
Well, perhaps not entirely delightful as Wellington asked the inevitable. “Doolittle?”
“It’s a family name, I will have you know.” She then grumbled, “You have no idea how close I came to be called Philippena, another family name I was quite happy to avoid.”
“Doolittle?” Wellington asked again.
The second time asking crooked her eyebrow. “Drop the query, Books, if you wish to enjoy my company tonight. Or ever, for that matter.”
On the door opening again, Eliza felt her own smile widen, a rush of both euphoria and relief on the agent shaking the rain free of his own cloak. It was impossible not to recognise the enigmatic agent of the Ministry straightaway, but then again it was impossible to mistake the man for anyone else considering the ebony hood completely encasing his entire head, a pair of dark lenses set where eyes would be.
It was also impossible to mistake Agent Maulik Smith for any other when his synthesised voice tickled your ears. “Oh my goodness, Agent Braun is present. And here I thought I was in a place of safety.”
“Stuff it, Maulik, and give me a hug!” Eliza pulled the bulky man close. “I’ve been wondering about our comrades abroad.”
“Indeed, and far be it an easy task for me to simply ‘blend in’ with the locals,” he chuckled, his laughter crackling through the tiny set of speakers in his throat. “Still, I managed to escape Kolkata. Once out of India’s borders, it was nearly smooth going.”
“Nearly?”
“Bit of a dust-up in Egypt, but I managed to get free with our man, Rateb, here.”
The dark-skinned Egyptian was even more dishevelled than he had been when they had first met in Cairo only six months ago, but when they had seen one another he had been tearing through the streets of Cairo in search of Field Director Marcus Donohue. Now Khaled had the Department of Imperial Inconveniences chasing him to the lush green moors of Salisbury. Quite the change for anyone coming from a land of sand and heat.
“Agent Rateb,” Wellington said, extending him a hand. “I mean this wholeheartedly when I say it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Likewise,” the Egyptian said, clasping hands with Wellington, “which was made possible with Agent Smith here watching over me.”
“Dammitall, man, how many times do I have to remind you?” the concealed agent quipped playfully. “As we are now fugitives, I insist that you call me Maulik!”
“So are you all of the Egyptian office?”
“No. Many of us have ‘gone to ground,’ as you English would say.” He then motioned with a hand to Maulik. “I was pinned down by the Department when Agen—when Maulik found me.”
“What about Donohue?” Wellington asked. “Being as English as he is, I doubt if he will simply blend in.”
Khaled looked quickly between Wellington and Eliza, his skin growing suddenly pale.
“Oh dear,” Maulik interjected, “I’m afraid returning to the field has isolated you a bit, now hasn’t it, old chap? Field Director Donohue is dead.”
“Dead?” Wellington and Eliza asked in unison.
“Yes, poor sod,” he said, his hood bowing ever so slightly. “I suppose the heat got the better of his sensibilities and judgement. Khaled here discovered he was selling artefacts from the Egyptian Archives to those immortality-seeking madmen, Methusulah’s Order. Small, easy-to-conceal items, but ones that pack a rather nasty punch.”
Eliza felt a tightness around her throat. Was this why the entire organisation had been deemed an inconvenience?
“When Khaled had gotten wind of his transgressions, Donohue chose a coward’s death. A Remington under the chin, bullet to the brain.”
“How long had he been doing this?” Wellington managed.
“That’s what we were trying to ascertain when we received the Phantom Protocol order,” Khaled said, a haunted look lingering behind his eyes. “As I was the ranking officer, I r
emained behind to see to our Archives, meagre as they were after only six months. We still don’t know exactly how much damage Donohue left in his wake.”
Eliza shook her head. “Bugger.”
“A tragedy,” Khaled muttered.
For the next few minutes, more agents were filtering in from the outside. Lady Caroline Sidman was a bit of a surprise as Eliza assumed she would have taken refuge within her family. Once free of her own cloak, Lady Caroline smoothed out her skirts and joined the growing contingent surrounding Doctor Sound. Another pair of gentlemen came in from outside, both of them waving to Eliza cheerily before greeting one another, and now the room began to take on a heavy warmth. Her eyes looked from either side of the small gathering of Ministry brothers and sisters, searching for any other familiar faces that had been at the back of her mind during their flight from Germany.
Miss Shillingworth appeared in the room, her sharp eyes darting from each agent before she turned, locked the door, and then powered up the Lee-Metford-Tesla Mark IV, once she gave the director a nod. From the looks of how she checked the weapon, Eliza knew the lady was more than adequate with the rifle.
“Thank you, Cassandra,” Doctor Sound said. He then made a circular motion with his hand as he took the centre of the room. The small crush of people gathered around him, and he stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat and slowly turned in place, taking them all in. “How many?”
“Seventeen, sir,” Cassandra replied, her eyes looking out the small window set in the door.
“Seventeen,” he repeated sombrely. “From all corners of the globe and Her Majesty’s Empire, seventeen managed to find safe passage.” His smile only added to the heaviness in the room. “Cold comfort, I suppose.”
“Considering the Department is taking us to hunt as would a hound to the fox,” Lady Caroline ventured, “I would say that we have fared quite well.”
“I would echo that sentiment,” Lachlan chimed in. “We only just made it from Dunedin, but then again, we had more of an opportunity to elude capture. The South Pacific is, after all, quite a big place.”
The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel Page 17