The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel

by Philippa Ballantine

  “Everyone all right then?” Sound asked, turning to look at the three of them.

  “We all seem to be in one piece,” Wellington replied. He glanced at Eliza, who was staring intently at Sophia del Morte as if she were a cat and the assassin a sewer rat. “For the time being.”

  Eliza looked the assassin over from head to toe. Neither woman revealed anything in their cold stares. Sophia slowly held up Eliza’s pistols, flipped them handle out, and then offered them back to their owner.

  “Exquisite,” Sophia commented.

  Eliza took her weapons, glancing at the sidearms before returning them back to their holsters. “Thanks.” She ground out the word as if it hurt.

  The small alcove seemed to be closing in on the four of them as the silence stretched on. Wellington remembered the odd, awkward atmosphere of the oubliette he had found himself trapped in with del Morte and Lena Munroe during the Culpepper case. This was far worse because, even in that near darkness, there was space and the slimmest possibility of escape.

  For all Wellington knew, this alcove led to a private office or a laboratory. This was merely a junction between the Archives and the Restricted Area, and now the Archives was underwater, and undoubtedly buried by the demolished Miggins Antiquities.

  “So, do you mind explaining to me what happened back there?” Eliza said pursing her lips.

  “Since San Francisco, I have been looking for an opportunity.” The assassin motioned to the hatch. “One was presented to me.”

  “Taking shelter in an airlock is hardly what I would call a good opportunity,” Eliza muttered.

  Sophia gave a slight shrug. “You should have seen my other options.” She then inclined her head towards the other woman. “How did you know I wouldn’t kill you on the Maestro’s order?”

  “You would have never allowed yourself to get that close to me to make a kill. I could have disarmed you, used a concealed weapon, turned the gun against you. Too many variables.” Eliza gave the woman a crooked smile. “Like you said so pointedly, we are professionals.”

  “That we are,” Sophia said with a nod.

  “Doctor Sound,” Wellington began, stepping in closer to the director. Due to the limited space, it felt as if he were about to become quite familiar with his superior. “Exactly how water tight are these doors?”

  “Tight enough, it would seem,” he said, his eyes still studying the seal between hatch and frame. “They have been designed in case of catastrophic failure—”

  “Let’s not tempt fate,” sang Eliza.

  “—the other door is of a unique design,” he said, motioning with his head to the hatch behind them. “It too is watertight.”

  “Well, at least we won’t die from drowning,” Wellington noted gloomily.

  “That’s it, lad,” Sound said with a light nod, tapping Wellington on his shoulder. “A positive outlook is essential.” He then switched places with him to face the women. “And as I am locked in an airlock with two delightful looking ladies, I cannot think of anywhere else in the Empire I would rather be.”

  What an incurable flirt he is, Wellington thought.

  “So lovely to enjoy close quarters with the formidable Sophia del Morte,” he chortled, leaning closer to her to examine her as if she were some exotic butterfly.

  One of the assassin’s dark eyebrows arched sharply. “Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

  “I have heard so much about you from my colleagues.” He then produced from one of the small cubbyholes behind him in their chamber a long box. “In particular, your jewellery has a rather lethal quality about it.”

  Her brow’s angle steepened, but she gave a slow nod and then removed her leather wristbands, along with the three rings she wore across her slender, pale hands.

  “It is ridiculous to think I would turn on those taking me in,” she stated sharply, placing the accessories in the long box.

  “Yes, well, that is my reputation—mad as a hatter, I am,” Sound retorted.

  Sound snapped shut the box and returned it to its cubbyhole. Free of the stealth weaponry, she offered Sound an inviting smile before extending her hand in a polite, mannerly greeting.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Signorina del Morte,” Doctor Sound said, taking her hand and kissing her fingertips.

  Her smile widened, but then she let out a little gasp when Doctor Sound’s other hand clapped lightly around her wrist.

  “The pulse point,” he said as Sophia collapsed into his arms. “Better introduction of a tranquiliser. Straight into the bloodstream.” His brow suddenly shot up as his face twisted in concern. “I say, Books, if you please?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, shuffling over to his side. Even with the two of them easing her to the metal grating of the airlock, Sophia was of a considerable weight. “She must be wearing body armour.”

  “Stands to reason as she was planning a defection to the Ministry.” Sound gave a light huff as Sophia came to rest. “A rather charming notion coming from her, if you consider our past. Crossing this Maestro character as she was, she must have prepared for more of a rough-and-tumble than the others in her party.” He pressed two fingers against her smooth neck and nodded. “Slow and steady. And more importantly, genuine.” He then went for his left hand and carefully removed the large ring there. “I won’t be needing this, now shall I?”

  “Where did that come from?” Eliza asked, motioning to the deadly jewellery he was placing on a small shelf about eye level with him.

  “Agent Braun, as a director of a clandestine organisation it would hardly be prudent for me to wander out into the world without some form of protection for myself.” He motioned to the ring and added, “An assassin ring is quite subtle, and can be quite handy, if employed properly.”

  Wellington stared at Sophia. Even with her subdued as she was, he still did not feel entirely safe. “How long before she comes around?”

  “Oh, I will wager she will sleep peacefully for a solid four hours. If she was particularly exhausted from undue stress or tension, that may grant us an additional four hours.” Sound returned to his feet and pulled out from the wall in front of him a keyboard similar to Wellington’s analytical engine. He typed as he spoke. “However, I think the lovely signorina will have to accompany us regardless.”

  Wellington nodded and went to pick Sophia up again.

  “No need, Books.” Wellington looked up at Sound, who was still typing, his fingers dancing over the keyboard more deftly than his own. “I’m calling for assistance.”

  Wellington was about to ask who he was calling and how they were going to reach them now that the Thames was on the other side of the massive hatch when he then took closer note of the screen holding Sound’s attention. While the keyboard itself was very familiar, the monitor was nothing like the one on his own analytical engine. For one thing, this one was nearly three times the size, and it was completely flat—the smoothest glass he had ever seen.

  There was also the colour of the light coming from the screen. It was a brilliant sapphire blue.

  And the words appearing on the screen looked even stranger. It was English he saw appear across the glass, but it was the type itself that was nothing short of odd:

  Need stretcher for unexpected excursion member. Subject is approximately 1.7 metres in height, weight 60 kilograms (without corset and armament). Name: Sophia del Morte. Override Apprehension Protocols. Director Authorisation 18950507.

  “Right then, just beyond the secondary hatch, assistance should be waiting.”

  “You mean,” Wellington began, his heart pounding in his chest. “There’s a way out?”

  “Of course there’s a way out. Do you really think this”—he motioned to the tight iron alcove all around them—“is the Restricted Area, or that this door leads to nowhere?”

  Wellington tried to find a good answe
r for that. He gave a rather good try. “Well put, sir.”

  “So if this isn’t the Restricted Area,” Eliza began, “what exactly is it?”

  “I do love your inquisitive mind, Agent Braun,” Doctor Sound said cheerily. “One reason of many why I find you one of our top agents here, make no mistake.” He squeezed his way around Eliza and progressed to the second door. He went to spin the large wheel at its centre but then turned to face them both. “Before we proceed, I must prepare you for what awaits you beyond this point.”

  Now Wellington could hear his heart hammering in his ears. The one question in his Archives was finally about to have an answer.

  “Only a handful of people know exactly what the Restricted Area holds . . .”

  “Yes, sir,” Wellington said quickly.

  “. . . and that secrecy is paramount for us to maintain . . .”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “I would hate to think what would happen if someone of the Maestro’s ilk were to have gained access to the Restricted Area.” He turned back to Eliza and patted her on the shoulder. “You have no idea the good you have—”

  “Sir,” she interrupted, “with all due respect—open the bloody hatch.”

  Wellington felt the flicker of a smile. It was nice to know they both shared the same burning curiosity.

  “Oh, yes, very well then,” and with a nod to both of them, Sound turned the wheel a quarter of an inch to the left.

  The metal rang sharply, its echo lingering in the alcove, even as a small device appearing as a stereoscope lowered in front of the director. He placed his head into the wraparound eyepiece and waited. Wellington could see a blue light rise within the viewer’s housing then dim back into nothing. The stereoscope then swung away and retracted back into its hidden compartment above them.

  “Agent Books, Agent Braun,” Sound began, giving his waistcoat a slight tug, “welcome to the Restricted Area.”

  Jets of steam shot from each corner of the hatch, but instead of swinging open as other entries of its make would do, this one split in its centre into six sections like a mechanical iris, revealing a massive chamber easily three times the size of the Archives. A metal walkway was suspended above them, and rows upon rows of polished, onyx cubes that Wellington estimated were each the size of a parlour lined the floor. The cubes emitted a soft blue light from the top, and standing alongside each was one of the strange, featureless automatons, the cube’s glow reflecting softly across their brushed, metallic skins. Flying only a few feet above the cubes and automatons were the spheres he recognised as having watched over the operations in his Archives. They seemed to be doing something similar here. When he leaned over the gangway, Wellington recognised what he had always known as the signature thrumming of the generators. All this time it had actually been coming from here . . .

  The thrumming was louder, though. Much louder.

  He half expected to hear himself stammer, but somehow the words came out remarkably clearly. “Doctor Sound, if you don’t mind my asking, where are we?”

  “Have you not figured that out yet?” Doctor Sound chuckled softly as he motioned around them. “This is the Archives.”

  Before either one of them could say anything to this remarkable assertion, two automatons quietly approached. Wellington could just make out between them a stretcher, as requested in the airlock by Sound. A breath caught in his throat as he noticed the stretcher was suspended between the automatons by nothing other than air.

  Completely accepting this astounding display of the sciences as an everyday occurrence, Doctor Sound approached the lead automaton and spoke to it as if it were another agent of the Ministry. “The signorina is in the airlock. Please escort her to Event Control. While she is wearing body armour, do treat her with utmost care, thank you. Monitor her condition and if she appears to be slipping out of deep REM, return her there. She must not see anything here. Nothing at all. Are we clear on that?”

  “Yes, sir,” the automaton replied. The Staff began to float forwards but the second one paused on reaching Wellington. “Our apologies, Mr. Books, for not completing full extraction of the Alpha Archives. We did however manage to store approximately fifty-seven percent of Alpha’s artefacts, all of which have been secured in climate-controlled environments.”

  Wellington saw his own distorted reflection in the automaton’s face say, “Er . . . thank you?” He gave a sheepish grin. “Excellent work.”

  “Thank you, sir,” it replied politely, then it turned back in the direction of the airlock with its companion.

  “Well then, perhaps I should start at the beginning.” Sound’s jovial voice jerked Wellington out of the reverie he had momentarily fallen into. He smiled warmly and gave the archivist’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “To better understand this place, I think you will need to understand more about your director.

  “I once took a journey that changed my life. Quite the feat you must understand as, after half a decade, you would think my course in life would be not only set, but enjoy quite the foundation.” He looked around himself and gave a little chuckle. “I suppose you can never be too old to learn, now can you?”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” Eliza dared in this sudden break of Sound’s thoughts, “what did you learn?”

  He blinked at the question, and his eyes seemed to twinkle as his smile widened. “I learned, my dear Eliza, that Shakespeare was right. There are, indeed, more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in philosophy. One of those philosophies includes the sciences. No matter what we learn, no matter what we prove and reaffirm, there is that which cannot be explained. Those people, places, and objects that challenge the sciences, I believed, needed to be understood. As so, with the blessings of Her Majesty the Queen, I founded the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences.”

  Wellington was trying to keep an open mind but that revelation, combined with the image of a slumbering Sophia del Morte floating by them all of a sudden, suspended between two automatons, struck him as hard as Eliza slapping him in the face. “I beg a pardon—you founded the Ministry? The Ministry was founded nearly half a century ago by Professor Culpepper Source. From Ministry records, he was a man of the sciences and academics.”

  “Yes, he was. And so he sat as the director for just over a decade, followed by Dr. Galen Phund. He was then followed by . . .”

  “Woodruff Spring, a professor of the sciences, yes, but—”

  “Bloody hell!” Eliza snapped, startling them both.

  It was the New Zealander who was now looking at Sound wide-eyed, her jaw threatening to become completely unhinged.

  “Oh, you are clever,” she said, wagging her finger at Sound. “I mean, if I’m right . . .”

  “I assure you, Eliza, you are,” he said with a wink.

  “I always thought you were clever, but this?!”

  “Hello!” Wellington waved at the two of them. “I happen to be here as well. Do you mind enlightening me?”

  “You don’t know, Welly?” Eliza pointed enthusiastically at Sound. “You haven’t figured it out?”

  “Figured what out?”

  Her smile was now almost as bright as the director’s. “Really?” She clapped her hands together, giggling ever so softly. “Ooooh, I figured out a riddle before Wellington Thornhill Books. How delightful!”

  “Eliza . . .” he warned.

  “No no no no, just let me enjoy this moment. It’s quite lovely.”

  “Do you mind?” He couldn’t help the rising inflection in his voice; he was becoming rather annoyed.

  “It’s like beating you in chess. Or in a marksmanship competition.”

  “Eliza . . .”

  “Or more like beating you in chess while beating you in a marksmanship competition.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, please out with it!”

  She looked at him with a har
d glare. “You really know how to spoil a girl’s victory lap, you know that?” Eliza opened her mouth, but then caught herself. “On second thought, I’d rather lead you through this little conclusion.”

  His skin prickled; the heat underneath it he could swear was at a boiling point.

  “Go on,” she urged. “Name the directors.”

  “In chronological order?”

  “If that gives you a bit of a thrill, certainly.”

  Wellington gave a sigh, and recited, “Culpepper Source, Dr. Galen Phund, Woodruff Spring, St. John Fount, Basil Sound.”

  “And the pattern you see there?”

  Pattern? There was a pattern? “Well . . .” He looked upward as he whispered the names again and again. Then his brow knotted. He could see in his peripheral Eliza bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet. Terribly distracting. “All right . . . Source, Phund, Spring, Fount . . . hold on . . . Sound. Those are all the same thing.”

  “I know,” Eliza said, the excitement in her threatening to explode as one of her sticks of dynamite.

  “So then . . . Culpepper, Galen, Woodruff, St. John, Basil . . . herbs.” His eyes jumped back to Sound. “Herbert—Wells?”

  Sound gave a soft chuckle. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  “The director of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences is H. G. Wells?!” he asked, his voice echoing all around them.

  “Since its very founding in 1840”—he gave Wellington a wink—“yes.”

  “That’s so bloody amazing!” Eliza bounced on her toes.

  “And this,” began their director, again motioning to the seemingly endless number of onyx cubes underneath them, “is the Archives that I—pardon me, Wellington—we built. Although Beta Archives covers a bit more of the past.”

  Wellington went pale. “I see.”

  “And the future.”

  Earlier, Wellington would have loved a strong cup of tea. Now, all he wanted was a brandy. Several fingers deep.

  “Mr. Wells.” Eliza shook her head. “Nope, sorry, mate. It just doesn’t work for me.”