The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel

by Philippa Ballantine

  Eliza inclined her head to one side. “So it is a bit like æthergate travel? Only instead of just going from point A to point B as you do there, you’re going from year A to year B.”

  “A simplified analogy,” Sound chortled, “but yes, yes indeed.”

  “And so the technology we’ve seen—the automatons, the Restricted Area, and so on—this is all from a distant future.”

  “Or perhaps,” Wellington ventured, “distant worlds, as you are no longer restricted to planetary boundaries as æthergate travel seems to be?”

  “Exactly,” confirmed Sound, his satisfaction tinged with a hint of pride. “Well done, both of you!”

  “So why not have us jump forwards into time, grab what we need, and then return to Old Blighty?” Eliza asked. “That makes far more sense than having a small band of disavowed agents dive into the belly of the beast, as it were.”

  Sound nodded. “A compelling notion, but the fabric of the universe is delicate, to be certain. Every time technology is brought from the future to the past, infinite possibilities arise of where future technology impacts history, bringing about what can only be described as a chronological chain reaction. This is why I carefully monitor my travels and how it effects my timeline.”

  Wellington snapped his fingers, pointing at Sound suddenly. “That odd clockwork model in your office,” he stated. “I had seen it so many times in your office but never asked you what it was. That was how you tracked the outcome of your visits.”

  “Correct, Wellington. That was what I retrieved from my office. My chrono-model will be coming back to Whiterock. Every time I returned from a journey, either past or future, I would consult my model to see exactly what outcome came with it.” He leaned closer to Eliza. “Yet another reason I chose to shoulder the burden of this technology alone.”

  “So for all we know,” she began, her tone growing colder than the study they were meeting in currently, “one of your trips through time could have sparked this whole mess.”

  “On the contrary, I have been journeying back and forth into the future, attempting to manage any fallout from this approaching point.”

  “What approaching point?” Wellington asked.

  “Event Control has been effectively tracking various points in past, present, and future; but those points have been growing fewer in numbers the closer we grew to 1895. There is an ‘age’ for the lack of a better word between 1897 and 1915 that is simply hidden.”

  “Hidden?” Eliza asked. “You mean, as if it is blacked out?”

  “Yes,” Sound replied, “and ever since this blackout first appeared within my model, Event Control has adjusted and re-adjusted future events to compensate. It was so unpredictable that just before I activated Phantom Protocol, I had to visit my younger self to protect my very existence. Each time Event Control’s calculations are concluded, the outcome either falls back into the future that I know, or other futures of various outcomes, most of which are most unpleasant.”

  “So even with travelling through time . . .” Eliza began.

  “Even with fixed events in the cosmos, time is still fluid and always changing,” finished Sound. “This strange period of lost time, hidden to both Event Control and my model, has but only one constant.”

  “What?” Wellington asked.

  Sound polished off his own drink, took a deep breath, and then stated, “The two of you.”

  Eliza felt Wellington’s warm hand gently take hers. It seemed as if the madness of everything unfolding around her knew no limits. She was suddenly reminded of the death spiral she briefly struggled against when undercover at the Phoenix Society, but then she felt weighted down with Wellington along for the ride. This time, she felt stronger.

  “With each calculation and projected outcomes,” Doctor Sound revealed, “both your names continue to appear as important and influential—in what way remains a mystery. It could be in your victory over insurmountable odds or your death for the greater good of the Empire that sets things right or tips the scales deeper into darkness. I cannot say for certain.”

  “Lovely,” Eliza stated flatly.

  “Bringing more technology from the future presents risks that are just too great,” Sound said.

  “So we have to make do with the technology at hand?” Eliza asked. “Technology of the present day.”

  “Yes.” Sound then turned to John. “Which brings me to you.”

  “I was wondering when I came into play within this delightful drama,” the other man said, setting his drink down.

  Sound’s face darkened. “You know what I need.”

  “How many?”

  “Just one.”

  “One?” He chuckled softly, and then motioned to Eliza. “I would side with this lovely lady here. It is Eliza, yes?” She nodded, tightening her own hold on Wellington’s hand. He inclined his head in a silent reply, then returned his attention to Sound. “I would imagine a fleet is what you need, if I understood your message.”

  “I don’t need an army.” Sound winked, his smile oddly comforting to Eliza. “I just need one. It will suffice.”

  John arched an eyebrow at Sound’s request. “Now, Herbert, you know my head for strategy. What are you playing at?”

  “It’s an endgame I’m laying out,” he replied, “and I’m playing to win.”

  He nodded, his grey eyes catching the warm glow of the room, seeming to dampen the intermittent chill Eliza felt.

  “Very well then. When and where would you like it? The door certainly won’t give you enough room.”

  Sound reached into his waistcoat and produced a small piece of paper. “This should provide both a desired time and coordinates for the landing site.”

  “This won’t be easy to keep secret.”

  “I am well aware of that,” Sound assured him, “but by the time anyone attempts to investigate, we will be under way.”

  John took the coordinates from Sound, nodding silently as he read the information there.

  “Doctor Sound?” the New Zealander asked.

  “Yes, Miss Braun?”

  “Exactly why have you brought us here?” She did not know what Sound was about, but she recalled how he admitted telling people what they needed to hear.

  “Because you and Wellington play heavily in this endgame, and it is my intent to keep you both alive throughout all this.” His face was expressionless.

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” she muttered.

  “No, Eliza, this is more about following the unchanging factor,” Wellington said. “Whatever it is about that blackout of seventeen years, we play into the outcome of it. So Doctor Sound wants to keep an eye on us, see just how important our part in all this is.”

  “That’s just brilliant, that is,” Eliza said with a slight frown, disliking being some kind of pawn in Sound’s games spanning decades.

  “Eliza,” Wellington began, leading her over to the conservatory’s panoramic window, “I know that what is happening around here is nothing short of—”

  “Overwhelming?” she whispered tersely.

  “That’s a start,” Wellington said. “The sole reason I have not run in the opposite direction screaming is that the only other way out was flooded. That, and my own curiosity.” He motioned to Sound with his head. “The technology, not to mention the knowledge Sound—Wells—whatever you wish to call him—has amassed under our very noses is enough to keep me invested.”

  “You don’t think it a little dangerous that Sound is the only one with access to this technology?” She looked into his hazel eyes. “Think of how many deaths could have been prevented—”

  He stared back at her just as steadily. “No, Eliza, no, you cannot contemplate the ‘What Ifs’ with all this. You just can’t.”

  “You know as well as anyone how much I do not like being told what I can and cannot do.” Sh
e could feel her jaw tightening and her dander starting to get up.

  “That I do, but please heed my words on this,” Wellington implored. “Your way lies madness.”

  She let out a long breath, folded her arms in front of her, and tapped her fingers against the sleeves of her blouse. Eliza hated feeling cornered, but this was a situation she could have never planned for. “I trusted that man. He’s a lie. Everything we’ve ever believed about him has been a lie, and you’re asking me to blindly trust him again?”

  She hated it when he was this calm. “I’m asking that you look at this from a different perspective. Doctor Sound has entrusted us with this secret, and he has confided in us our part in all this. Consider all these things his signs of trust in us.”

  Eliza turned away to look at the sunset now under way. The sun seemed smaller for some reason, but that still did not rob the surrounding valley nor the steel-grey sky stretching above them of any grandeur. There was no rhyme or reason to accepting what was happening around them, even with actually seeing for herself, as she crossed from the Restricted Area into this man Carter’s conservatory. She should have demanded more from Doctor Sound once she had deduced his true identity.

  “You’re asking a lot, Wellington,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck, trying to find her own calm.

  “Yes, he is,” came the voice from behind them.

  Both Eliza and Wellington turned to see John approaching. “I still remember when I was first introduced to Herbert’s marvels of technology.”

  “How did you accept it?” asked Eliza.

  It was a strange answer to her query. He laughed. “Asking me something like that isn’t really fair, considering my own experiences.”

  Wellington’s brow furrowed. “Did you have a rough go in America?”

  John’s smile faded ever so slightly. “Just a moment. Sound didn’t tell you where he was taking you?”

  “It bears repeating,” Eliza begrudgingly offered. “Things were moving somewhat rapidly.”

  John turned his eyes to the sunset as he took a sip of his drink. “So, how did I accept this brave new world, you ask? It was hardly easy, but I continued to discover such amazing sights, sounds, and smells . . .” His voice trailed off, and then he shook his head. “Well, all right, I’ll give you that the smells were a bit hard to take, but you build up a tolerance over time.” He took another drink before continuing. “What I learned over the years, even when adjusting from Virginia to Arizona, is that you need to rely on your instincts when it comes to change you accept and change you can’t. It’s a lot to take in at times, I won’t begin to question that; but consider who guides you.”

  “Doctor Sound, you mean?” Eliza asked.

  “Yes. Regardless of whatever name he’s travelling under these days, Herbert should be held accountable based on his actions of past as well as present. I know his work from the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences, and he prefers missions where his agents come home unscathed. The amount of concern he gives those in his service is not only admirable, but the trait of a leader worth following.” John paused for a moment, the corners of his mouth tugging back in a contented smile. “If he kept his Restricted Area restricted, he had good reason. And if he is sharing its secrets with you, then that means he not only trusts you, but he believes you have the ability to accept the fantastic.”

  “That’s our job,” Eliza stated, thinking to the vows she had made when she joined the Ministry.

  “No, your job is to explain the unexplained. Not accept it. You two, however, have something Herbert believes is extraordinary.”

  “No, we’re a constant in an apparently ever-changing mystery,” she said.

  “And you don’t think that is absolutely extraordinary?”

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not sure what I am thinking at present. What about you, Wellington?”

  The silence made her turn to look at the archivist who did not appear to have been paying attention to their conversation. His eyes were turned upwards, taking in the sight overhead.

  What he said told her he had in fact been paying attention. “Actually, I find this view extraordinary.”

  Eliza followed his gaze. Overhead, two moons were emerging from the glare of the dying sun, casting a dull illumination over their valley.

  “I’ve been here for many years. Many more based on the Terran clock. This view is quite lovely.” John then said over his shoulder, “I’ll issue an order for your lander, Herbert. If we give it enough kick, I should have it at your desired coordinates within two years.”

  “That may be cutting it close.”

  “Oh now, cheer up, Herbert,” John said with a sly grin. “It’s more than enough time to reach you. It’s what? February, at the time?”

  “January, actually,” the director replied, joining them at the massive window. “As a matter of fact, I believe at this very moment I am chatting with the two of you on a train platform concerning some rather amazing events on the Edinburgh Express.”

  Eliza whipped her head around to Sound. “You mean, we travelled into the past?”

  “It’s a time machine,” Doctor Sound replied. “It can go in both directions.”

  She nodded. “Of course. Silly me. And as it can also travel through space, it can bring us here.”

  “To Mars,” Wellington added. Eliza wondered if she should have been shocked at someone stating the obvious, but it was actually comforting.

  “See?” John said with a wink. “You’re doing just fine.” He motioned to Sound with his drink. “May I offer you a place to stay? Along with prep time for launch, I will have to train one of your agents here how to operate the lander.”

  “That would be splendid.” Doctor Sound finished off his drink. “If my memory serves, Cassandra will be entering my office reminding me I have a ten o’clock appointment with Sir William Christie. A few days from now, so we have time.”

  “A few days, sir?” Eliza asked. “Don’t we have all the time in the world, literally?”

  Doctor Sound mulled her words over for a moment, then checked his pocket watch. “Only a few days until the next event, then back to Whiterock. Until then, we look forward to your hospitality.”

  “Thank you, Herbert,” John said. He then leaned closer to Eliza. “If you find this sunset amazing, just wait until you see our stars. Quite impossibly beautiful.”

  INTERLUDE

  Wherein Brandon Hill Touches a Piece of Bruce Campbell’s Past

  “I’m telling you, mate, they’re dead. Pushin’ up the daisies, they are,” Bruce whispered to Brandon as they waited in the October chill of a London night.

  That the Australian felt the need to yet again state his mind on the ongoing matter of Doctor Sound’s disappearance, along with their hosts Wellington Books and Eliza Braun, at this particular moment of their mission was largely because he believed it was beneath him.

  It had been five months since Sound had left Whiterock to return to Miggins Antiquities and not a word had come since then. Not a single note, communiqué, or æthermemo. While he knew the director had made clear he, Braun, and that tosser Books could be gone for a prolonged period of time, it really did not bode well. This was the Department, after all. They had made a mess of the Ministry. Even with those lucky few that had managed to find their way to Avebury Circle and then, eventually, to Whiterock, the Ministry he knew was now reduced to a mockery of what it once had been.

  Brandon crouched in the shadows next to him, did not make any gesture to show he’d heard his partner’s complaint.

  The Australian let out another annoyed huff. It was little relief to Bruce that, in the director’s absence, Miss Shillingworth was in charge. He liked the director’s clerk better when she was the mousy, silent bird that Bruce thought she was. The last time anyone barked orders at him like that was during his basic training in the Austr
alian Defence Force. At that time, Master Sergeant Burgess towered over him, could have easily bested him in a fight, and never had to worry about freezing to death on account of the gorilla-like body hair he sported. Shillingworth possessed none of those characteristics, but when she managed to send him to the floor with a lightning-quick aikido takedown and screamed into his face to perform the obstacle course “with a purpose” he knew her authority would never be brought to question. Again. Ever. Full stop.

  Bruce still never found out exactly what Sound was up to in the Archives, let alone that Restricted Area.

  And now, five months without a word? Chances were he would never find out.

  “Dead as damn doornails,” Bruce muttered, glancing up the street to the right.

  “Agent Campbell,” Brandon whispered tersely, reverting to angry formality, “now is not the time to tread this ground again. We are following orders.”

  The Australian was finding this newfound bravado from his partner in the field less and less charming. “Yeah. Orders from the afterlife.”

  Brandon held up a cautionary finger. “Orders from the man who gave you a second chance. Or did you conveniently forget that?”

  The Canadian, during their salad days, would never have questioned Bruce’s judgement or instincts. The two of them complemented one another, and managed to solve cases deemed too impossible or improbable by the director himself. Bruce knew that, and was always anxious to head out on assignment with him. They were a well-oiled machine. Unstoppable. Uncompromising.

  And it made Bruce look even better on paper as a field agent. Something else that he enjoyed the benefits of.

  Everything was different now, and now Brandon was less the devil-may-care partner and more of a conscience-in-the-field that was working on the Australian’s few remaining nerves. Bruce longed for that trust, that sense of reckless adventure; and yet that desire for the old days, he found, continued to war with this new side of him, stalwart in that the Ministry needed him, not the other way around. He preferred self-reliance. The idea of “brotherhood” and “camaraderie” were quaint notions to say the least, but that was a dependence Bruce preferred not to encourage. However, something continued to drive him ever since Rockhampton. Whatever spurned this need for acceptance, Bruce had no inkling.