Phoenix Rising (19 page)

Eliza's heart went out to her. Pushed around by powerful men, denied her trade, hunted, and still she would tell her story. The courage in her eyes was admirable, but whoever had sent those men now lying comatose on the public house floor (save for the one that Buford was taking his aggressions upon) would be unlikely to stop at the Liar's Oath. London, and perhaps all of England, had just become even more dangerous for Nurse Mary Grissom.

A plan began to form in Eliza's mind. “Mary,” she said brightly. “How familiar are you with tropical diseases?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In Which Our Heroes End Up in the Papers
and in Rather a Pickle with Doctor Sound

T
he woman's feet scuffing against stone took his attention from the massive volumes and smaller books arranged before him. Wellington looked at the clock with a start. Close to the end of the morning. Simply amazing.

“I was wondering if you had in fact slipped through a looking glass and were lost in Wonderland, Miss Braun.”

“I was busy,” Eliza's voice echoed through the Archives, “you know . . . investigating?”

“Interrogating,” Wellington reminded her.

“Same thing, different perspective,” she said, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “I was looking into what seems to be quite the colourful lifestyle led by Doctor Christopher Smith.”

He waited until she flopped in the seat opposite him. Eliza rubbed her eyes slowly, the gesture accompanied by a faint groan. Apparently, the previous evening had stretched into the waning minutes of this morning.

“You're late,” he reminded her, punching into the engine his tea sequence.

Eliza's hand dropped to her lap as she let her head fall back. “Yes, Books, I know. I'm such a bad, bad agent. I should be put across your knee and spanked.”

“Your fantasies are not my concern,” he observed dryly, “but if you are going to run this investigation without Doctor Sound's knowledge or permission, you may wish to have a care concerning the schedules you keep. You're in the Archives for a reason. If you continue holding the hours of an active field agent, you will be noticed.”

“Don't you mean ‘we'?” Eliza's head tipped to one side. “You are in this investigation with me, aren't you?”

His reply cracked a bit as he answered, “I suppose I am.”

“You
suppose
?” She sat up, something working at her already stretched-thin nerves. “You mean if things get tight, you are going to leave me out to fend for myself?”

“I didn't say tha—”

“You insinuated it!” Miss Braun snapped. Her words were already filling the grand space underneath the Ministry, and still she grew louder with each word. “I have endured one hell of an evening, and I would like to know if I am in this alone or not. I need to know if I can count on you, and if I can't, we'd better be clear on that
right now
!”

Wellington raised an eyebrow, waiting for her echo to subside. When it did, his own tone was as calm as a millpond in morning. “Are you done, Miss Braun, or would you care to have another row again? I don't think the Dalai Lama in Lhasa heard your earlier train of thought, so please, oblige His Holiness.”

Eliza leaned back in her chair again, her gaze never leaving his own.

“Perhaps you would rather hear what I have discovered in your absence?” he asked, and, on the sound of the chime, began putting together for Eliza a fresh cup of tea.

“Please, go on, Welly.”

After gingerly placing a steaming Earl Grey in front of her, Wellington licked his fingertips and began turning pages, finally stopping on one and then offering the open book to Eliza. “That is the symbol from the playing card, the Death Coach, and as far as I can tell, the scorched sigil at the foundry.”

“And the signet ring.”

Wellington tipped his head to one side. “What signet ring?”

The bauble landed square in between the open book Wellington cradled in his arms.

“That signet ring,” Eliza said, dropping three cubes of sugar in her tea. “Took it off a bloke the other night hired to kill Nurse Mary Grissom.”

His brow furrowed. “Who?”

“You first.” She took a sip, and then motioned to him with her teacup. “Tell me about this crest.”

“This is the coat of arms for the Phoenix Society,” he stated, placing the open book between them.

Eliza leaned forward, setting her tea aside. “The Phoenix Society? I thought that was some myth. One of those society clubs formed to give proper poms a reason to go cheat on the wives?”

“Actually, this group is hardly a myth. They possess some fascinating history,” he said, motioning across his cluttered desk, “possibly predating the Freemasons.”

That made her look up. “Really?”

“The first recording of their crest was in the South Pacific, the Philippines as a matter of fact. There was a grave site that had, emblazoned in gold, the emblem of the Phoenix Society. In fact,” he began, lifting book after book until finally finding the desired volume and covering the detailed rendering with a new image: a woodcut of a Spanish seaman from a far-off age standing by what appeared to be an ornate gravemarker. Wellington tapped the emblem clearly visible, and added, “It was believed that Ferdinand Magellan was one of its members.”

Eliza blinked. “Hold on. Magellan? How does a Spaniard—”

“Become a member of an English Gentlemen's Society? Because this English Gentlemen's Society has deep roots that extend to cultures other than Britannia. This group could very well stretch back to Roman times, when the world was part of the Great Republic and comprised of people from various conquered lands. One thing I have noticed in my research of the Phoenix Society: no instances of this emblem appear in
Roman
artifacts, both documented publically and in our own Archives.”

“So . . . a gentlemen's club that apparently excluded the Ancient Romans. Not very gentlemanly.”

“Unless,” he said, flipping through pages of a volume still on his side of the desk, “that was intentional. Perhaps the Phoenix Society started as a dissident group. An underground movement dedicated to one goal.”

“The fall of the Roman Empire?”

“A common goal for a group of people from all parts of the world, all of them conquered.”

Eliza nodded her head, a wry grin forming on her face. “And from the ashes rises the great phoenix. An interesting theory you have there, Welly.”

“Yes, a pity I have no definitive proof to back it with, but definitely a theory. This is, however, the mantra of the Phoenix Society as seen by this inscription in the crest.” He pulled the more detailed rendering back to the top of the pile. “There you are, Miss Braun,” he said. “The Latin translates roughly to . . .”

“From Ashes and Chaos Arises Order and Balance.” Her own fingertips traced the coat of arms as she studied its detail. “I can read Latin, not that I enjoyed my classes.” Her expression softened as she took in a deep breath. “My Latin
teacher
, however, was a different matter entirely. Quite dashing enough to turn a schoolgirl's head.”

A prickling rose along the nape of his neck, and Wellington tugged slightly at his shirt collar. “Yes, well . . .” he stammered. With a quick clearing of his throat, he continued, trying to ignore the warmly wicked grin now on her face. “The Phoenix Society's history—at least, their
public
history—is sketchy if not outright fantastic. Queen Elizabeth, the court historian noted, had made the Society quite the subject of interest.” He adjusted his spectacles, glancing over an open volume on his desk. “One could argue it was an obsession of hers, really. She was convinced they were determined to undermine her rule, and therefore passed a law condemning anyone found in association with them punishable by death.”

“So underground they remained and Good Queen Bess ruled happily ever after?”

“Apparently.”

“So when do we hear from the Phoenix Society again?”

Wellington nodded, giving a little chuckle as he opened yet another book.

“Good Lord, man, how many books did you go through while I was out . . .” Eliza sounded as if she were about to say “interrogating” but she swallowed back the word and said, “. . . investigating?”

“We all have our methods of madness, Miss Braun,” he said, producing a parchment, “and the Archives are mine. Here,” he said, passing her the document, “is the next instance of the Phoenix Society turning up in England. Perhaps the only real hard proof apart from the instances of the sigil.”

At the very bottom, almost resembling a Royal Seal, was a gold-leaf printing of the now familiar moniker. Age had tarnished the gold and some of the detail had worn away, but it was the emblem they had seen again and again, only this time accompanied by seven signatures.

Her eyes considered the parchment from top to bottom. “What exactly am I looking at?”

“A declaration,” Wellington stated, his smile widening, “bonding those who signed it to reach out to Mary, the daughter of King James II, and William of Orange, in order to usher in an age of change.”

Eliza's head popped up. “The Immortal Seven were members of the Phoenix Society?”

Wellington shrugged. “From the ashes . . .” He gingerly took the parchment from her hands and said, “I need to make sure that this is returned to its proper place here.” Slipping the declaration into a protective leather binder, Wellington continued. “With a throne grateful to them for restoring order to the country, the Phoenix Society could now enjoy a less covert existence. And much like the Freemasons, the Phoenix Society became a secret society that revitalised themselves. First, they became exclusive to Britons. Next, they felt the need to flaunt their influence by emblazoning their crest everywhere. At least they did so until the turn of the century, when their ‘influence' just up and disappeared.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” echoed Wellington. “The last sighting of their mark was in 1810. A group of doctors tending to His Majesty King George III, on the orders of his son. It was their diagnosis that served as the prince's permission slip to usurp the throne via the Regency Act of 1811.”

“Wait a moment,” Eliza interjected. “Are you making the claim that this Phoenix Society led a coup against Mad King George?”

“I'm saying that these doctors brandishing the bird were the same doctors charged with the health of Princess Amelia, when she was on the mend in 1809. A year later, she was dead.”

Eliza went to say something, possibly to tell him he was wrong. She opened her mouth again, but only a dry, hard laugh came out of her.

“And these books, these documents,” she said, motioning to the trail of pages and papers strewn before her, “all this was here, lurking behind the details of
other
cases?”

“Welcome to the Archives, Miss Braun,” Wellington answered wryly. “That one particular document was discovered in a raid of the Immortal Seven.” He shrugged and added, “Seems that in a case back in 1857, Ministry agents discovered their moniker was not too far from the truth.”

She crooked an eyebrow at that, then dismissed her impulse and asked instead, “So with this much influence, why did the Phoenix Society go underground again?”

“That's open to conjecture. No records, no dedications, no formal events, or correspondences ever carried this particular seal of the Phoenix. This time, the Society wholly and truly vanished.”

“Until now, when we find three instances of their crest within a week? That sounds a bit off for their modus operandi, particularly the crest appearing at the factory. Why, if you're a secret society believing that from chaos comes order, would you invest in that which is giving the Empire a solid foothold?”

“Good question,” Wellington conceded.

“Could this be what Harry had discovered?” asked Eliza, her eyes returning to the emblem open before her. “The return of the Phoenix Society?”

“I think
Agent Thorne
discovered them without knowing what they were capable of.” Wellington continued, dismissing her reaction to his correction. “I think the Phoenix Society took measures to mend any possible leaks of their rebirth, and they appear to be growing bolder in keeping their secrets safe. We are most lucky.”

“Lucky? How do you come to that conclusion?”

“We are entangling ourselves with a secret society that dates back to the fall of the Roman Empire, and has steered the course of the British Monarchy for centuries. Look at the fates of anyone who discovered one random fact too many. The Rag and Bone Murders, and Agent Thorne residing in Bedlam.”

“And Nurse Grissom last night at the Liar's Oath.” The colour suddenly drained from her face. “Oh dear God,” and her hands went up to her mouth as she tried to catch her breath.

“Eliza!” Wellington rushed over to her and bent to one knee. He looked up at her, resting a hand on her cheek, “What is it?”

Her eyes sparkled for a moment and then shut tight. Wellington gently took her hands away from her mouth and held them fast as she shook her head. With her eyes still closed, she whispered, “Harry. In Bedlam, he had a tiny scar just behind his ear. A surgeon's signature, if you will. Smith . . . the Society . . .” she hissed through clenched teeth as she said, “They
did
something to him.”