The rest of your team. For the assault.
“Assault?”
“Assault?” Brandon asked. “What assault?”
Ryfka started signing. “Oh, bugger,” he groaned. “Apparently, Ryfka was expecting us to lead an assault on some factory around here. She’s been watching this facility for a spell, that it’s the Russian Empire enslaving locals and working on building up the military. Looks like the Czar is wanting to give mapmakers some work updating where borders fall.”
Brandon shook his head. “That’s not what we do!” He then turned back to Ryfka and bellowed, “That’s-not-what-we-do!”
“She can read lips, mate,” Bruce winced. “All you accomplish by doing that is making it hard for me to hear out of that ear.”
Ryfka stomped on the floor, earning a sharp snort-snort from Grand-uncle Leib. Why are you here?
“Her Majesty the Queen is ill,” Bruce began. He could feel himself sweating, and knew the sweating had nothing to with how long he had been standing by the hearth. “We’re supposed to be getting Firebird feathers, kept somewhere in that factory, according to Section P. You’re supposed to get us in, and then get us out.”
The once sweet-looking, pretty face twisted into the kind of anger that made both Bruce and Brandon step back. She paced by Grand-uncle Leib, her hands and arms flying in front her in sharp, precise movements.
“So what she’s saying, Brandon…” Bruce began.
“No need to translate, my friend,” Brandon said. “I’ve got the gist of it.”
Bruce watched Ryfka explain the problem, and his heart sunk. Firebird feathers had not sounded too difficult back in Whiterock, but as usual nothing was ever as it seemed. Perhaps he should have just stayed in the boiler.
Chapter Five
Wherein Our Agents of Deering-Do Test the Fantastic
Wellington’s heart leaped into his throat as the central cage protecting Eliza—more or less—from possible gunfire shot upward into the skies, the rockets underneath her carrying her higher and higher away from the battle. She was still gaining altitude even as the flames erupting from underneath her fizzled out.
“MOVE! NOW!” a voice screamed.
It was Lieutenant O’Neil, waving madly, and motioning towards the barracks as if life itself depended on it.
Hands grabbed at him, yanking him backward. His eyes locked with Vania’s.
It was most definitely time to go.
Wellington stumbled backwards, and while his mind was preoccupied with Eliza, his feet seemed determined to follow Vania. Other soldiers were sprinting for the open barn doors of the base offices, while some disappeared into the nearby alleyways created by other buildings. Everyone was scattering, trying to find a new place to defend.
No, that wasn’t quite right; they were not looking for new defensive positions. Everyone was ducking for cover and looking for places to hide.
Once back inside the office, Wellington claimed a bare patch of the floor alongside Vania and Southerby’s men. Mere seconds after he stopped moving, the explosion ripped through the air. Windows shattered, walls buckled, and parts of the roof rained down as the floor rippled underneath them. Shards of glass and pieces of metal were hitting his back, and outside men began to scream. It reminded him of too many terrible things in his past.
Daring to look up at the ruined windows above his head, Wellington saw sunlight coming in through holes big and small. Dust from this mighty show of ordnance surrounded them, making it hard to see anything else in the room. His ears rang, but just through the high-pitched whine in his head he could still hear the steady drone of fire. “What was that?”
“The Enforcer is armed with Gatlings and flame throwers, as you saw,” O’Neil said, picking himself up and brushing the debris from his uniform. “There is also, in the event of a total conversion of enemy forces or no-win scenarios, a self-destruct mode.”
Vania’s brow furrowed. “Has Agent Braun received formal training in the Enforcer’s schematics?”
“No,” Wellington said, pulling himself back to his feet, “she just has quite the innate talent for mayhem and destruction.” He then motioned to the opening of the building’s barn door. “Once more unto the breach, Miss Pujari? I believe after that impressive display we should have the enemy turning on their heels.”
English soldiers were already back in the fray, as Eliza’s final act of defiance had taken out most of the invading rebels, their bodies slashed and torn apart by the explosion or shrapnel from the Enforcer. The survivors were gathering themselves up and attempting to retreat to the portal.
Now able to get a good look at it, Wellington immediately recognized it as an æthergate. The English had collected their ranks and were firing in fluid, precise lines, their bullets claiming a fair number of these soldiers attempting their escape. Others were running through the arch of white-blue energy revealing on the other side another world, or at least another part of India. Where the gate led, Wellington could not ascertain on account of lingering smoke and soot.
The gasp from Vania caught him in mid-stride. Perhaps she had never seen æthergates before. Perhaps it was the sight of people running through them and not appearing from the other side. To the uninitiated, æthergates were a wonder defying all sciences, but her dark eyes told Wellington what she was witnessing was less of a marvel and more of a horror.
Then he saw it for himself. A pair of insurgents were sprinting for the portal, reaching their escape only to vanish in a wild flash of light and cerulean fire. They did not continue on through the other side, nor did they explode as if struck by ordnance. They simply...disappeared. Another group of rebels were making for the gate when British riflemen expressed their displeasure. Many of them dropped, but three others flickered. They blinked in and out of existence as soldiers continued to open fire on them. These three reached the gate only to meet the same bizarre fate at the others.
“We must find Eliza,” Wellington said, his eyes scanning upwards.
Vania turned about, peering at the sky through smoke and flame. “There!”
A few hundred feet above them, a small cage attached to four large parachutes descended back towards the fort. Wellington reached into his coat pocket and produced a small case no larger than his palm. His thumb brushed over a small switch that popped it open, revealing a small pair of opera glasses. He slipped his sun spectacles off and brought the telescopic lenses up to his eyes. He had to be sure.
“I can just make out movement in the cage.” Wellington’s shoulders dropped slightly. “She appears to be laughing.”
“Laughing?”
“Hysterically, as a matter of fact,” he stated, snapping the small binoculars shut and returning his eyes to the protection of the sun spectacles. Relief made him feel quite light-headed. “I will wager you a shilling that she will ask me to build her one.”
A flash, followed by a sudden chill, stole Wellington’s attention from the sky. He turned just in time to see the æthergate begin to close. With a great rush of thunder, light, and electricity, the portal bent and twisted until reality returned to normal. Those rebels attempting to escape now faltered in their run, crying out to no one sympathetic to their cause. They had been abandoned and turned to face British infantry. Their hands raised into the air as they fell to their knees.
“What was that?” Vania asked, her voice shaky.
“Come along, Miss Pujari.” Wellington gave her a nod. “We can explain it all, but presently, we should welcome Miss Braun back to this earthly plane.”
The Enforcer’s escape pod was still descending easily and steadily, an occasional strong breeze toying with it as it fell. It pitched slightly to the left and then struck the open motor pool with a dull thud. Wellington and Vania ran for Eliza as the parachutes collapsed and fluttered to the ground. Over their own footfalls and the whispers of silk, Wellington could hear Eliza’s blissful laughter. She was enjoying herself. Beyond reason.
“The woman is mad,” Vania s
aid with a grin, pushing aside one of the parachutes.
Wellington chuckled as he pressed billowing fabric aside. “I believe it is a necessity in this job.”
The chutes parted just as Eliza threw back hydraulic releases that popped the front of her cage open.
“That,” she began, unbuckling herself from the command chair, “was amazing! Welly, you must build me one of these with all speed!”
Vania looked from Eliza to Wellington, then back to Eliza. Sighing, she reached into one of her belt pouches, pulled out a shilling, and slapped it into Wellington’s hand. “Agent Braun, are you well?”
“Exhilarated, Vania!” Eliza made a swooshing noise, and raised her hand. “The rockets...the acceleration....”
“Did you happen to see the other side of that æthergate?” Wellington asked.
“Afraid not,” Eliza replied, stepping free of the metallic cage. “Too much distortion on the event horizon.”
“Æthergates in India. This complicates things tremendously.”
“Let’s not be too hasty,” Eliza said. Then she shook her head. “Ye gods, I do hate when I sound like you, Welly.”
He shrugged. “I find it quite endearing, actually.”
Eliza crooked an eyebrow, then brushed a single finger against his nose. “Back to the scene of the crime, my Archivist-Agent-Engineer. I’d like to see if either my mind is going, or if you truly are rubbing off on me.”
Wellington glanced over to Vania, and with a tiny nod to her, they followed Eliza back to where the æthergate had appeared. They came upon a rebel lying on his side. He did not appear to be wounded, but the wretch fought to breathe, and there was something definitely strange about the man. They were standing in front of him, close enough to see the ornate details of his white and scarlet robes.
“Poor sod,” Eliza said, crouching down lower. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”
“Not so close,” Wellington hissed.
“It’s all right,” Eliza said, referring to the dying man in front of her. The rebel’s eyes were now darting in all directions. At moments, Wellington believed he saw him, but the man’s face was a concoction of panic and puzzlement. His eyes couldn’t focus on one point. “I’ve seen the rare daguerreotypes of this order,” Eliza said, now motioning to the fallen soldier’s clothes. “If memory serves, this is one of the factions looking to unite the continent with plans to install an emperor back on the throne.”
Vania leaned forward and pointed to the markings in his robes. “Markings of the Mughal Empire?”
“Is that what we were facing?” came a voice from behind them all.
Lieutenant O’Neil removed his pith helmet and lightly dragged his palm across his smooth, bald head. Behind him was a group of ten men. All of them looked relieved that the battle was done, but also confused, trying to fathom exactly what had just been unleashed on their base.
“I was rather impressed with Agent Braun’s efficiency behind the Enforcer.” He gave her a polite salute. “You are a natural.”
“It really was a bit like driving my uncle’s tractor.” Her lips pursed for a moment, then she added, “Well, provided that tractor was armed with a flame thrower and Gatling gun.”
“And a self-destruct mechanism,” O’Neil added, wagging a finger at her, “lest we forget.” His smile faded on seeing the dying rebel before them. “My God. That’s Phani Talwar.”
“You know this man?” Eliza asked.
“I...killed him...” O’Neil spluttered. “Six months ago. A firefight on the docks.”
“But that was an engagement with Free India,” Vania said.
“I know it was, but that was where I last saw Talwar. My men and I had him pinned down. No one from FI walked away from that firefight.”
Wellington glanced at both Vania and Eliza before asking, “Did you see the body?”
“It was pandemonium, Agent Books. Quite a few bodies—both FI and British Empire—fell into the bay. Not all the bodies were recovered, but I did see him take a bullet.”
“Did you see a body, Lieutenant?” Wellington pressed. He knew there were many things beyond what a simple solider might have experience with. Things that the Ministry dealt with almost daily.
“Missing,” O’Neil stated, “presumed dead.”
“False presumption, I’m afraid,” he said, turning back to the man on the ground.
“So it would seem,” Eliza said, removing her taiaha from its holster.
“Any ideas how someone like Talwar and his lot managed to get their hands on æthergate technology?” O’Neil asked, his hand tightening on his pith helmet.
Wellington peered over his spectacles. “Pardon me, but how do you know about æthergates?”
“The War Department spares no expense for us. We tend to serve as a proving ground for various inventions, and the idea of an æthergate was presented to us. Featherstone showed us schematics, looked promising, but Featherstone’s offer was suddenly rescinded. Never really given a reason why. “
“The side effects,” Eliza said, holding up her collapsed taiaha. The collected British soldiers started back as the metal baton passed through Talwar, leaving a strange trail in its wake. Talwar’s face twitched, but he appeared in no more than slight discomfort. “A bit nasty, don’t you think?”
“Dear God,” whispered Wellington. He dared to touch what he believed was a solid body, but Talwar was composed of nothing more than a dense mist. He held his hand in front of him, running his thumb back and forth along the inside of his fingers.
“What is it, Wellington?” she asked. “Something on your skin?”
“No, they are tingling.” He waved his hand back and forth. The sensation crawling against his skin was not painful. It was unsettling. “It’s not stopping.”
“It will in a few moments. I think your fingers have been ionized,” Vania said as she lowered her head closer to the ground. “What does this to a man?”
“An overabundance of æthergate travel,” Wellington began, mirroring Vania, who was looking at Talwar at a low angle. Indeed, she was right. Talwar’s outline appeared solid from above, but at this lower angle he appeared to shimmer. The edge of his robes, even his face, danced and undulated before him. “This is why the Ministry uses æthergates only in the direst of situations. Prolonged exposure to its radiation makes one’s existence…unstable.”
“That’s why he looks so terrified,” Eliza said, looking up at O’Neil. “He is caught—now how did Axelrod explain it to me—between two points of reality. He can see past, present, and future, passing in flashes, but in our time, Talwar is caught at the moment his body hit the ground.”
Vania looked back and forth to each of them. “I thought the Ministry had locked down æthergate technology.”
“We had. Initially.” Wellington looked over to Eliza. “Weren’t you on that mission when the Ministry tangled with the House of Usher?”
“No, but Harry was. He told me about it,” Eliza said. “The Ministry had secured the Atlantean generators...”
“Atlantean?” O’Neil asked, as if he thought he’d misheard. “As in Atlantis?”
“Now you understand, Lieutenant, why we are not called The Ministry of Everyday Occurrences,” Eliza quipped. “The House managed to steal the original parchments. There was one problem, though—Poseidon’s Key. The Atlantean Rosetta Stone. They didn’t have it. We did.”
Wellington looked to Vania. “This didn’t leave Usher so easily discouraged in cracking the mystery of æthergates.”
“London, 1871?” Eliza asked.
“Splendid,” he said with a smile. “Case Number 18710520UKMG. Mercury’s Gate. The scientist’s name was Sir Carroll Ludovic, and he had somehow managed to unlock the basics of æthergate travel. The problem with Mercury’s Gate compared to the true Atlantean æthergates, according to our experts at R&D, was the radiation output and its effect on the structural integrity of organic matter. Sir Carroll’s design was less than efficient.”
Vania look at where the gate had been. “So, what we saw...?”
“A very respectable facsimile,” Wellington said, returning to his feet, “but not the genuine article.”
Eliza pressed the switch extending her taiaha, and placed the weapon inside Talwar again. This time, his body trembled, looking as if he were being poked or prodded with something which, in a manner of speaking, was true. “And this is what happens when that radiation is not managed properly.” Her thumb hovered over the blue button in the weapon. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to him.
Sparks dimly illuminated the inside of Talwar, his mouth suddenly locking in a silent scream. His eyes saw Wellington for just an instant, and then he disappeared in a wild flash of blue light.
“That was what we saw in their retreat,” Vania said.
Wellington looked back to the barracks. “Where’s Southerby? We need to talk to him straight away. With Featherstone so closely connected with Jekyll and this Ghost Rebellion as you call…”
His voice trailed off as O’Neil cast his eyes over to his regiment, all of which, one by one, removed their helmets and caps. Many cast down their eyes, and Wellington let out a sigh as he realised.
“Soditall,” Eliza whispered.
“Determined as he was,” O’Neil said sombrely, “Southerby chose to face the danger just as his soldiers would. He refused to surrender the fort to this lot. To the last.”
“Very noble, save for one thing,” Wellington said, “his intent. If he had lived to claim the day, he would have been hailed as a hero of the empire. With his death, he now gives Parliament the justification to bring all of its military might to bear on India.” He looked around him, noting the tired soldiers carrying wounded mates to what he assumed was an emergency infirmary. “Remember Southerby and Fort St Paul. Quite the rallying cry, don’t you think?”
“Either way,” Vania said, “Southerby gets his wish: the subjugation of India.”
“Dear Lord,” O’Neil said, staring at the devastation. “I never considered that.”
Wellington turned to the young officer, addressing him just as he had once done to soldiers during his days in Africa. “Lieutenant, considering the circumstances, the Ministry is assuming command of this fort.”
The Ghost Rebellion Page 11