Phoenix Rising (42 page)

“Very good, sir,” the tall man replied as he stepped into the light.

“And have the lovely
Signora
attend upon your duties tonight. As you bested her so easily this evening, I believe she has a great deal to learn from you.” With that, the cloaked master melted into the shadows of the room, disappearing completely this time.

Sophia pulled her knees up to her chest as Pearson, the trusted head butler of Havelock Manor, removed a long hunting knife from its sheath at the small of his back, ready to set about his charge.

And by the soft glow of gaslight, Sophia watched. She watched, and learned.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Wherein Doctor Sound Is Regaled with an
Exciting Tale of a Weekend in the Country

T
ick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . .

“Now this is exceptional work. You have come far, I must say.” Doctor Sound continued reading. “Your earlier reports—I found them difficult to muddle through. This is a vast improvement.”

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . .

“This is also not quite what I expected, particularly from you. When I read in the papers about the unfortunate accident in the country, I immediately suspected the mayhem and chaos behind it to have been helped along. A failure of the estate's foundations on account of geothermal instabilities? Not what I would think, at first.”

“No, sir,” Wellington Books replied, “I still found myself unable to believe it all as I was also busy assisting Agent Braun usher the innocents to safety.”

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . .

Damnable clock
, Wellington thought to himself. He was already nervous enough about this meeting with Doctor Sound. That clock was
not
helping.

It would have been far easier to attempt concealing their extracurricular activities from the Ministry head had the Fire Brigade, Scotland Yard, and various newspaper reporters not so rapidly appeared on the scene of what remained of Havelock Manor. Eliza had been spirited away to a hospital while Wellington found himself sequestered with all the other survivors after his own wounds had been treated.

So it was to Scotland Yard that Wellington had been forced to reveal his credentials and true identity. This was also necessary in order to make certain alongside charges of treason to the Crown those survivors in league with the Phoenix Society were held accountable for the deaths of the journalists, Doctor Christopher Smith, and Agent Harrison Thorne. He also knew in that moment, as the Collinses protested their arrest and the Pembrokes loosed a final glare on him, that justice would come with a price: an interrogation with Doctor Sound.

After Eliza had awakened in the hospital, she and Wellington quickly compared notes. He could see the question in her eyes. She was wondering whether or not he would truly go through with this. Would he back her up, or would he return to his ways of the Archives? Would he stick to the facts, and keep things accurate and clinical to the last letter, to the final number?

“And just so we are all clear on what you and Braun are reporting,” Sound's voice bought him back to the here and now, “you two were in the Archives for the weekend when you encountered a geothermal anomaly?”

“Yes, sir.” Wellington cleared his throat and began their hastily constructed tissue of lies. “Throughout the weekend, we were having problems with the Archives' analytical engine—its computation times were inconsistent.”

Sound gave a chortle. “Well now, that sounds like a problem I would defer to Research and Design. They do keep us operational in all manners, you know?”

He could feel the hair on the nape of his neck prickle. With a deep breath, Wellington forced a smile and said, “As you know, sir, I do like being self-sufficient within the Archives. Furthermore, Research and Design have so much on their plate to begin with.”

Add to that they are complete and utter tossers.

“Agent Braun and I, in investigating the Archives' difference engine, discovered severe fluctuations coming from the Ministry's generators”—Wellington shifted in his seat, peering over his spectacles as he suddenly added to his recollections—“which reminds me, Doctor, the moisture level of the Archives is still a concern of mine. I know I have sent to your office several communiqués concerning the matter, and I feel it should be addressed and made a priori—”

“Yes, Books, I am well aware of the matter. Please,” Doctor Sound said, gently gesturing with his hand. “Continue.”

He had probably sacrificed an opportunity to really change things in the Archives but Wellington needed that diversion.
It will make your meeting feel more genuine to the Old Man
, Eliza had told him. He could see it in the Ministry Director's eyes: Eliza, once again, was right.

The Archivist gave a slight shrug and, as requested, continued. “Well, I had the engine run a few possible scenarios as to why performance would suffer.”

“Just a moment, Books,” interrupted Sound, “you had the computation device that was acting faulty run a computation to analyse what would make it faulty?”

“A self-repairing diagnostic, as it were, yes, Doctor.” Wellington gave a little smile at his own ingenuity. Not in the concept, but in his storytelling. “It's a bit like noting your elbow is suddenly sore. You ask yourself ‘How did that happen?' and I was doing this, only having the analytical engine ask itself that question.”

“Well played, Books.” Sound leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk.

“Thank you, sir. The scenarios we ran—”

“
We
ran?”

“Well, sir, I was responsible for most of the computations. Agent Braun . . . watched.”

Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock.

He cleared his throat after a long, awkward moment, and resumed. “The computations all seemed to point towards a geothermal anomaly altering the salinity and temperature of the Thames by varying degrees, so we traced back the source of the fluctuations to the Havelock estate. When we asked to see the head of the house to inform him of the potential danger, we were immediately taken into their custody. That was when we discovered the nefarious plans of this secret organisation, whomever they were.”

“The Phoenix Society,” Doctor Sound responded flatly.

“Ah, yes, quite, sir. I think this Society panicked a bit when we revealed ourselves as members of a Ministry. Not that we named the Ministry, but that we served at the discretion of Her Majesty. It was Agent Braun's field training that managed to get us out of their dungeons; and I should add, sir, that could not have been timed better. Their experiments were disrupting natural pressure points in the cavern system underneath the Havelock estate. I ascertained it was only a matter of moments before their daring—but yes, sinister—plots provoked a calamity.”

“Which it seems that they did.” Doctor Sound's expression was revealing very little, making it impossible to tell if he was convinced by the yarn. “Now according to Braun's own report, they were creating some sort of mechanised soldiers?”

“Yes, christened Mechamen. The Mark IIs were these leviathans that were piloted by men, while the Mark Is were self-propelled. From what I gathered on the intelligence Agent Braun collected, it was a natural progression. The first model would be expendable automatons. Shock troops, as they would be produced in mass quantities from an assembly line. The second model would add the human element, creating unstoppable war machines.”

He hoped he wasn't growing pale. The human element of Havelock's still haunted him. Instinct told him not to share it with the Ministry.

“Doctor, are you aware if the Ministry was able to locate any schematics or secure prototypes?”

“The evidence and technology, so it would seem, has been buried under rock and earth. It would take a large excavation to uncover those treasure troves, but something tells me you already knew that.”

The twinkle in Sound's eye was less malicious than foreboding. It was as if the Director knew, Wellington thought quickly, that woven within his detailed report was a confidence scheme.

“I concluded as much, yes, sir.” Wellington adjusted his cravat, and then motioned to the report. “Did a Ministry inspector find any evidence if the lord of the manor—Doctor Havelock, I think his name was—made it out alive or not?”

“Well, according to Campbell, the only bodies that were recovered that matched descriptions you and Braun provided were those of Lord Bartholomew Devane and his wife, Lady Devane. Doctor Havelock's body was not found.” Sound closed the case report and slid it aside. His fingers tapped it idly, and then he looked back. “Seems to have been quite an amazing trip for you, Alice?”

Wellington's brow furrowed. “I'm sorry, sir?”

“Your trip through the Looking Glass?” he said, a slight chortle in his voice. “I daresay that the things you experienced outside the Archives were a bit like tumbling down the rabbit hole.”

“I was grateful for my training.”

“Tosh! You were grateful to have such an agent as resourceful as Eliza Braun by your side. It was quite an amazing set of circumstances you both found yourself in.”

“Yes, sir.” Wellington then chuckled. “I am beginning to wonder if trouble does not find Agent Braun as moths find flames in the night.”

“I wonder the same thing as well, Books.”

Silence, save for the
tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . .

“Will that be all, sir?”

Doctor Sound tapped his fingertips together, his eyes never leaving the Archivist. “For the time being, yes.”

With a small nod, Wellington stood with help from his cane and made for the door. The twinges sending jabs of pain up his leg told him his strides were wider than usual.

“How is the foot, Books?”

Wellington swallowed hard, and then turned to face Doctor Sound. “I'm on the mend, sir. Thank you.”

“Good man.” He then leaned back in his chair and asked, “Before you go, one more query: did Braun motivate you in any way to pursue these events that you two have reported?”

“I'm sorry, sir?”

“Agent Books, one of the forgotten cases down in your Archives directly involves Harrison Thorne, her former partner. Were you aware of this?”

“Of the forgotten case, or that Former Agent Thorne was Agent Braun's partner?”

“Both.”

Wellington suddenly noticed how warm Sound's office was. “I am cognisant of her history. I think the silence of the Archives makes her a bit nervous, to be honest with you. I was not aware of any particular case, forgotten or otherwise, that would motivate Agent Braun to operate outside of the Ministry's operational procedure.” He then straightened up and crooked his eyebrow as he said, “And if I may speak my mind, Director, I do not think that she would be so cavalier as to jeopardize her already tenuous position here. She is in fact quite bright and most efficient.”

“Really?” Now it was Doctor Sound's turn to raise an eyebrow. “You have learned all this after such a brief time working with her, have you?”

“I have, sir. Agent Braun may not be used to the lifestyle of an Archivist, but she is definitely not a hindrance to what I do. In fact, she is quite an asset. I may not have understood or appreciated the decision initially, but I do not mind so much now. We are . . .” Wellington paused. He didn't want to lie to the Director on this point. It meant a lot to him. “. . . getting to know each other.”

“I see.” Doctor Sound gave a curt nod, and turned his attention to another case file apparently awaiting his final inspection and approval. “Well then, good show in this unexpected weekend of excitement, Agent Books. That will be all.”

Wellington was at the door when Sound stopped him once more with, “Speaking of the Ministry's pepperpot, is she still in the hospital?”

“Afraid not, sir. The doctor's had one day with her once she was conscious. She checked herself out the day after.”

“Same as always then.” Doctor Sound shook his head. “So where is she this morning?”

“Personal leave, sir. Just for this morning.”

INTERLUDE
Where Agent Campbell Has a
Most Distressing Meeting

T
he much-lamented Prince Albert might have been a self-important Hun, but he had known how to make things happen. He also might not have been the architect behind the Crystal Palace, but this Great Exhibition had been a brilliant concept. Quite impressive for one man.

Agent Bruce Campbell glanced up at the vaulted curved glass that towered above him. The Crystal Palace had first been built in Hyde Park, but then later moved to be a permanent exhibit on Sydenham Hill. For nearly fifty years it had remained the popular place to spend your free time in London. That was, if you liked your leisure time to be genteel and not involving booze.

In the heyday of Queen Victoria it must have been quite a marvel, but now, like Herself, it was starting to look decidedly shaky. Ever since Albert had been killed while tinkering with a boiler for another of his mad designs, she'd retreated from the world.

And yet they were all still loyal to the little rotund Empress of the world. Well, for the moment anyway. Such were the bitter thoughts of an agent preparing to betray his friends.

Bruce couldn't see Sussex anywhere, but the note he'd found slipped under his front door that morning had to be from him. The meeting place. The very stylish, polished handwriting on the card. Yes, it was most assuredly Sussex.

“This place is bloody huge,” the agent grumbled to himself. However, he guessed that was part of the Privy Counsellor's plan: keep his “Ministry Mole” off balance. Not that he needed to worry on that score. Bruce had been pinned down by gunfire in hopeless situations and still felt more confident than he did now. He was certain Sussex would be less than amused with the recent turn of events.

Five more minutes, he promised himself, and then he'd head off and not respond to any more stupid notes. He was at least grateful that because it was a weekday there were not so many crowds.

The agent blindly turned into the Ninevah Court. One circuit. That would be all. Passing between the nearly twenty-foot-high human-headed bulls, he glanced up, and had to admit they remained impressive. Though he had actually seen the real thing in the deserts of Persia, the awe was dampened somewhat.

On the left was a picture of some long dead Assyrian ruler. The agent leaned forward to examine its details.

“Wonderful to see you educating yourself,” Sussex quipped in Bruce's left ear.

“Bloody hell!” The agent couldn't help it. The explicative echoed in the chamber and several ladies spun around in horror. Their twittering was only silenced when Bruce flashed his smile and made an apologetic bow. It also gave him a second to take his heart out of his throat and jam it back into his chest. No one ever—ever—snuck up on him like that. Not the tribesmen of the steppe, not the Shuar headhunters of the Amazon, and most certainly not a bloody toff from England!

Yet Sussex had.

Bruce cocked his head. Something about Sussex was decidedly off, so he was going to have to watch his step for sure around him. He swallowed back his natural inclination to violence and merely nodded.

Sussex's smile was thin and cold as he stepped away, deeper into the Ninevah Court. Bruce had no choice but to follow. Further on, the Court was full of palm trees and quietly chatting ladies. Even though it was cool in here, Bruce could feel the back of his neck break out in a sweat.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore.

“Look, Your Grace . . . I need more time.”

Sussex spun on his heel, “To do what exactly? I have given you plenty of time to prove yourself, Campbell. Instead this morning I find a report on my desk that the Ministry has uncovered some plot to bring down the Empire.”

Bruce clenched his teeth lest he offend more ladies. Sussex, nearly nose to nose with him now, seemed itching for a fight. Unexpected for someone so highborn. Every muscle in the man's body was tense, and this toff looked ready to knock Bruce down or at least have a go at it. The Australian, however, felt his “Flight” not “Fight” impulses under Sussex's hard gaze. Those manicured hands were clenched into fists, the large thick ring on one hand threatening to make a fine mess of Bruce's pretty face. He might be an aristocrat but there was a coiled menace about him.

The moment drew out, and then Sussex seemed to get hold of himself. Finally he managed, “I confess, I am reconsidering my offer to you, Agent Campbell. The Ministry may have won a small reprieve in the affections of Her Majesty.”

One look in those ice-chip blue eyes said that Sussex wasn't going to be put off. He would not stop, even in light of this development, until the Ministry went down in flames. Whatever the Fat Man had done to earn such enmity Bruce didn't hazard to guess—maybe Sound had been or was presently sticking it to his wife or something.

“With Sound back in the Queen's favour, I may need to consider alternatives. Alternatives that keep you as part of the problem.”

Sussex licked his lips. “My dear colonial, whatever will happen to your children?”

Now Bruce could feel the croc's teeth in his leg again, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Sound is up to something. Something that he doesn't want anyone to know about.”

The Privy Counsellor's eyes narrowed, a disturbing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Admirable bluff, but I have read all the files on the Ministry—everything that there is to know. Enjoy the rest of the Palace,
mate
.” And with the contempt still dripping off his salutation he turned to leave.

“Did you know about the Restricted Area?” Bruce asked, his voice loud enough to catch the tiniest of echoes. “In the Archives?”

That brought Sussex back to him. “Go on.”

“I'm not sure what's in there,” Bruce muttered, feeling a strange swelling of remorse fill his belly. “I asked around, as discreetly as I could, but no one seems to know.” His voice then dropped to a whisper. “I saw him go in there. He disappeared behind the door, and then a moment later he came out. There was fresh snow on his shoulders.

“A private project? Wonderful!” Sussex tilted his head back looking up at the towering frescos. “Do you know your history, Campbell?”

The abrupt change of topic sent the agent's head reeling. He shrugged. “Never been much for that sort of thing.”

Sussex gestured upwards. “Two thousand years ago, the Kings of Assyria had the world in the palm of their hand. They were the masters, but they also made a fatal mistake. They became complacent. Their Empire ceased moving forward—it stagnated.” He straightened. “And I have no intention of ours going the same way.”

Bruce kept his face unmoving. Whatever Sussex was talking about, he'd left the agent far behind. Best to just listen.

“No, our time will not end with the demise of Victoria. We will endure, provided we have nothing to detract us.”

The Privy Counsellor returned his focus on Bruce. “Get inside that Restricted Area and find out what Sound is hiding. Once I know that, I can decide how best to proceed.”

“How the bloody hell am I supposed to do that?” Bruce opened his mouth to give the protest a voice but then snapped his jaw shut. Sussex had given his charge.

“Right-o then,” Bruce muttered. “I'll do my best.”

“You will,” Sussex assured him, “but just in case, why don't you buy yourself a little memento at the gift shop—something to take back to Australia. Just in case.” Then he turned and strode away, leaving Bruce standing there.

Sussex had him right where he wanted. Backing out now would reveal his complicity to Sound and end a lifestyle far more magnificent than what waited for him back home.

Everything relied on finding out exactly what was behind that great iron door. And Bruce could only hope it would be enough to bring Sound and the Ministry down.

When the agent turned and wandered out of the Crystal Palace, he felt as lonely as Judas—with not even twelve pieces of silver to comfort him. And he might not know much of The Bible, but he knew how that story went.