The Mystery of Emerald Flame (Verity Fitzroy and the Ministry Seven Book 2)

by Pip Ballantine

  Suddenly the realisation that both Christopher and Liam were back up there mattered more than any long dead town or even the power of the Emerald Flame itself. She didn’t stop to see who followed her; she began running towards the gate and the surface, her heart pounding in her head.

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Serious Plan

  Henry wasn't happy about this particular part of the West End. It was called Clubland by many because it was where all the toffs met their friends, drank brandy, and chatted about how bloody wonderful their lives were.

  At least that was his impression. Also each club had its own doorman, who made life very difficult for any street children lingering even as evening drew on. He'd positioned himself at a street corner, at first, which gave him a nice line of sight on Mosby's, but he knew he stood out like a sore thumb, and so after only a few minutes he'd moved. Not too many places to remain inconspicuous in the area, and so it would have to be a chancer.

  Mosby's building was a fine white stone one, with some kind of Greek god depicted on the front, and picked out in gold. For a hideout it wasn’t particularly understated, but then powerful organisations like the Illuminati didn’t need to hide. They had all the power and everyone in their pocket. It was no wonder that Eddie the Scholar had to hide in the mud banks of the Thames to stand a chance of avoiding them.

  Which was one of the reasons what they were about to do made Henry’s stomach clench. All of his equipment was stowed in his bag but he still felt unprepared. The front of the building would have been a stupid way to attempt to get in, but the back had a green, wooded area, probably for the members to stroll about in, weighing heavy matters, and talking about their fancy women.

  The boys already scouted the perimeter, and found a tall iron fence, and a hefty watchman at the gate. His fancy green jacket stretched over impressive shoulders, and he would most likely level any of the Seven with just one punch. Except of course, he had to catch them first, and he didn’t look like much of a sprinter.

  The dog and biscuit was a simple caper street urchins learned in their first few days on the street. Jonathan hid himself away nearby as backup, while Colin and Jeremy pulled the eyeballs. Crowds started to gather, as the West End didn’t just contain clubs, but also many theatres and vaudeville houses. Which made this simple caper all the better.

  Colin and Jeremy appeared around the corner, two little lads with a bundle of flowers under their arms. Usually it was cherub-face girls who sold blooms, but they’d had short notice, and no tinkerer or newspaper boy would sell them their wares. Ada Moon who sold her flowers at Trafalgar Square though, she’d been happy to sell her whole stock, and get home before the snow started to fall.

  Still Colin and Jeremy could look darling when they wanted to. It was an act they used on kindly looking folk, but this bruiser didn’t seem the type, so they’d have to move quickly. Henry adjusted his satchel over his shoulder, and waited for the moment when the biscuit got snatched.

  Colin and Jeremy put on a good front, laughing and chatting to each other as they got closer to the gate and its guardian. He didn’t take much notice until they stopped in front of him. Colin held up his blooms, and though from this distance Henry couldn’t make out the words, he knew them well enough. Please sir, my sister’s sick. Please sir, my mother has the pox.

  The man’s moustache bristled, and he gestured them away. Not quite ready to punch a child in front of all the fine folk on the pavement around him. That was until Jeremy ducked under his arm and grabbed hold of his billfold from his jacket.

  Now Jeremy was a natty pickpocket, and had he wanted to he would have relieved the guard of everything he had on him without him even knowing, but that wasn’t the point of the dog and biscuit. Now if the boy had taken just his handkerchief the watchman might have stayed put, but Jeremy bounded away with that as well as his wallet and a pocket-watch dangling from his fingers.

  The man’s howl of outrage was loud enough to turn several people around. “Thief!”

  Both Jeremy and Colin dropped their flowers and legged it up the street, fast… but not so quick that the watchman might think he didn’t have a hope of catching them. They dodged around ladies, heedless of the sudden hue and cry. Several civic minded passers-by attempted to grab them, but the lads were far too spry for that. However only the watchman pursued them up the street, civic duty went only so far.

  It was hard to say how long he might go after them, so Henry took the chance to dart across the street. The dog and biscuit was such an entertaining show, that everyone within sight stared after it. Free entertainment on their way to their show. The less eyes he had on him, the better.

  He got up and over the fence in the blink of an eye, dropping down in the garden below, race deeper into the shadows. Colin and Jeremy would give their pursuer the slip once they were around a corner, and then circle back to the club, just for support. Now it was all on Henry though, and his little gadgets.

  He didn't plan on breaking into the house—at least not this time. As Verity always told him, don't rush into things. Rushing usually meant running into the unexpected, and as children that was most often a person with a gun, or someone much stronger than they were.

  Organisation was the only strength that the Seven had that set them apart from other street urchins, and it saved their lives many times. Now there were only four of them in London, that only made it more important.

  From the relative safety of the trees, Henry looked up the rear of the building. It was three stories tall, with narrow balconies in between each level. Unfortunately there were no hand holds, and he wasn't tall enough to jump that high.

  Luckily he did have some toys to do the trick. From his satchel he pulled out a light weight grappling gun, which he had liberated from Agent Thorne only last month. He'd lent it to them for a job, and Henry lied to him and said he'd left it behind.

  While the Seven had members that could make something out of nothing, it was always more economical to just steal something if it was good for the job. Henry rationalised it that it was government issue, and he as a member of the British Empire had a right to it. Also, his rotten father had served in plenty of wars for the Queen, so she owed his son something.

  Verity naturally knew nothing about it. She could swipe things with the best of them, but woe betide anyone stealing from her beloved stuck-up Harrison Thorne.

  Henry's lips twisted, as he attached the wire to his belt. He missed having Verity to spar off, and he wondered how she was doing in Turkey. If she had found any answers yet. If she was safe. She'd smiled at him when they left, and it didn't seem to hold anything but genuine caring.

  He was being foolish again, and he hated that just as much as he knew Verity did.

  Concentrating back on the club, he picked a spot on the second level, where no lights were on. He had a vague idea of the layout of the place, since he'd once delivered a message to a gentleman here when he was younger. He'd had to slip past the servants then too. His recollection of the ground floor was all wood-panelling, overstuffed chairs, and men smoking while talking in low voices.

  Upstairs was completely off-limits to anyone not a member, and so that had to be where the good stuff happened.

  Picking a spot between two darkened windows, he shot the grappling guns anchor, and then turned on the little motor. Henry knew he'd grown a lot in the last year, but he was still gangly with it. Luckily this gun was strong enough to elevate fully grown Ministry agents. He was no problem for it.

  Landing on his feet on the balcony, Henry crouched low to avoid being seen from the street, or from the guard. Though he hadn't come back yet.

  Now from his satchel he brought out the listening device which was one of his first devices. He'd fiddled and tinkered with it over the years, increasing its effectiveness as his knowledge of auditory engineering improved. Now it was so sensitive, Verity forbid him from using it in their house.

  The thin brass clip went from his right ear to his left,
where it held in place a finely tuned trumpet, only about three inches long. It wasn't the most handsome of gadgets, but it would help him from stumbling into something he didn't want to. Fixing the listening device in place, and remaining hunched over, he began to sneak along the length of the balcony, his head tilted towards the wall. His device could hear through brick, masonry and wood, very well, but the only problem is he had to be within a foot or so of it. He would much rather have performed this check from the safety of the trees. Still it was better than just barging into a room.

  As he crept the perimeter, Henry was served up a slice of the life of the gentry and upper crust. Mostly there was a lot of snoring, which indicated that he had found the level with rooms for members to sleep. However that wasn't all that they did.

  One room he angled his listening device too, made him blush madly. At least two women giggling and the low sigh of a man. He pulled his cap down tight on his head, and moved quickly on from that one. He was interested in the affairs between men and women as any other young man, but he didn’t care for the toffs at the best of times—let alone when they were engaged in a bit of bread and butter.

  After scanning every room on that level, and finding nothing but the usual activity in a gentleman’s club, he used the grappling gun to fire into the top floor.

  A smaller level with a larger balcony, Henry adjusted his listening scope and crept closer. Only one room was lit, and he hunched low and got as close as he dared. Curtains were mostly drawn, but a small crack allowed him to see in. With his scope on, the chatter in the room was as clear as crystal.

  From his little viewing spot, he observed a row of ladies and gents seated facing a small stage. From what he could see and what he heard, it must have been about twenty or so people altogether, but by the cut of their clothes and the women being draped in sparkling jewellery he knew exactly the sort.

  Up on the stage was a woman, dressed in a lace dress, that glinted under the electric light. Behind her stood a tall draped shape, but it was impossible to see what might be under there. She was an older lady, with steel-grey hair pinned up fashionably, and a figure that could have been described as athletic. Henry was used to most older ladies being either worn to a nub, or rich toffs who sat around and read novels. The woman’s bearing and the way she strode back and forth on the stage suggested she was maybe more active than he was.

  “As you can imagine Mesthulah’s Order is most distressed by all this,” she said.

  The crowd laughed as if this was fine vaudeville, and Henry wished he’d arrived a few moments earlier to find out what ‘this’ she was talking about.

  Her face flashed a smile, but then settled into a stern setting. “All joking aside, dear colleagues. It has been a long and harrowing journey, but I feel we on the cusp of a breath-through.”

  “Madam Jones, we heard many advances were lost in the destruction of laboratory One,” a man with thick curls of ginger hair said, raising his hand as if afraid to ask.

  A flicker of annoyance passed over the face of the woman in black. Wonderful, Jones, Henry thought to himself, about as useful a name as Smith.

  “Yes, unfortunately we had a minor set-back after our first success, but our secondary laboratory has finally be able to replicate it, and I think you will be amazed by what we’ve accomplished.” She turned back to the shape draped in black cloth. With a flourish, she ripped down the cloth and revealed a marvel.

  Henry, like every Londoner knew plenty of automatons, but they were clunky things. Even Potts was a bit of a tin ball as far as Henry was concerned, but what the old woman revealed was something so beautiful, that for a moment he forgot where he was.

  It was a woman, dark-haired, with porcelain skin, and if it hadn’t been for the markings at the points of her articulation, he might have thought it was a real person. With her eyes closed, her thick eyelashes rested against her cheek. Her creator took great care to dress in finely, in a dark green walking dress, such as the most prominent lady would have worn.

  Through the curtain Henry watched the assembly lean forward. The ladies flipped their fans, while some of the gentleman adjusted their collars. They obviously knew something amazing was about to happen.

  Madam Jones lifted one sculpted arm and turned a dial right next to the automaton’s breast. The next moment the creation took what looked like a breath, and then her eyes flicked open. She looked around at the room full of people. The movement of her head was so smooth that Henry didn’t observe anything different from a normal woman’s. He was used to automaton’s jerkiness, as subtle as it could be, it was still there.

  The woman rose to her feet, like a dancer and took a measured step forward. Her dress swayed as if she were about to dance, but what she did instead was not nearly as elegant. Dropping to her knees, she grabbed hold of her head, opened her mouth and let out the most ungodly scream. It bounced around the room, formless but terrified.

  Henry ripped his listening device from his head before one of his ears was blown out. He didn’t need it anyway. Still he couldn’t take his eyes off the exquisite automaton, that now was yanking bits of hair out of her porcelain head, as the mindless wail formed into words.

  “What have you done? What have you done?” She repeated over and over again.

  The audience leapt to their feet, clamping their hands over their ears. The voice was far louder and higher pitched than a human voice could go, yet Madam Jones standing not five feet from it, did not move.

  She observed the automaton’s wailing and distress with all the emotion of a killer watching his victim bleed out. Outside Henry’s hands clenched on the stonework until the rock cut his palms, and still he didn’t look away.

  The creation ripped most of the hair off its head, so that great clumps littered the stage, but its act was not yet over. As its maker took a step towards it, its mouth opened impossibly wide. If it were a human body it would have had to dislocate its jaw to have the same effect.

  Gouts of flame, bright green in the darkness of the room, erupted from its mouth, at least a foot long. It was the same intense colour as the tinier version Henry witnessed inside Potts, however this automaton did not seem to be handling in nearly as calm a fashion.

  Madam Jones still didn't seem impressed, but as the crowd scattered from the room, one of them grabbed the curtain, yanking it from the rod. Henry experienced a moment of blinding panic, as with the a crash it dropped to the floor. The woman on the stage was momentarily distracted by the sound, and when she looked towards the sound her eyes locked with Henry's.

  The automaton behind her, gasped out the last of its green flame and collapsed to the floor, still burning, but thankfully lower. Madam Jones pointed in his direction and though Henry didn't have his listening device he didn't need one. Time to get off this roof and leg it like Jeremy and Colin had.

  Darting away from the window he ran towards his satchel, and yanked out the ornithopter he had packed for just this kind of pear shaped scenario. This was a cut down version of his previous design, which had met an unhappy fate on the back lawn of the Delancy Academy. He'd been lucky to survive that particular crash with only deep bumps and bruises.

  This smaller iteration would not carry him nearly as far, but it would make getting down from this building swift and hopefully safe. He strapped himself in, pumped the engine which should get him airborne for at least a good five minutes or so. He'd be able to clear the square and land at least two streets away.

  Clean and simple. Leaping into the air, he caught a glimpse of a bunch of bruisers erupting onto the top balcony just a minute too late. The ornithopter sprang to life and Henry waved to the men as he sailed out of their reach.

  All went well until as he was on an upward trajectory, he had a moment to catch sight of something else; another, heavier ornithopter coming at him.

  Fashioned in the shape of an eagle, with talons outstretched, Henry banked to the left only a fraction too late. The crunch of wood and canvas sounded like branches b
reaking, and then there he was in clutches of the ornithopter eagle, while his was mangled.

  For a moment he was ready to leap free, until he looked up. Eddie the Scholar bent over the controls of the flying machine. His colander was still in place, though now twisted around to the right. His eyes were wide as was his grin.

  “Eddie, what the bloomin’ hell are you doing?” Henry demanded, clutching onto one leg of the eagle, for fear that he might plummet to the street below.

  Yanking the controls, so that his larger ornithopter turned in a tight circle, Eddie laughed. “I’m saving you, Hal! Look at me saving you in my ornithopter!”

  Apart from the fact that he’d been executing a perfectly good escape himself, the larger machine had crushed his smaller and very efficient one. Henry was just about to let the older man have it both barrels, when the Eddie’s machine let out a strangled splutter.

  That did not sound good. The ornithopter eagle lurched to one side. Eddie’s hand flew over the controls, but in such a fashion that it didn’t appear like he knew entirely what he was doing. Maybe he had made the grand eagle, but whatever the Illuminati had done to his brain after that had left him perilously unable to fly it.

  From below bullets punctured the wings, not adding to the stability in the least. Grasping hold of the leg, Henry reached up, trying to help with the controls, but the eagle began to spiral tighter and tighter, whipping through the air at an alarming rate.

  In that blur of a moment Henry feared he knew his fate; apparently the gods wanted him to die in an ornithopter accident. They’d missed him at the Academy, but sure enough they’d caught up with him now.

  “Make for the trees, make for the trees,” Eddie screamed completely randomly, and then everything became a scattering of branches, limbs and leaves.

  Henry’s last thought before they crashed towards the ground in a mad tumble was how very disappointed Verity would be in this turn of events. She did hate it when he didn’t learn from his mistakes.