Thrilling Tales of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences (31 page)

Serving as a silent valet, Wellington accompanied Doctor Blackwell to her meeting with the charming Lady White of the Taylor-Whites, a tall, woman who greeted Doctor Blackwell like an old friend. Lady White, in turn, escorted her to a series of talks, including a tea-service, panel discussion and group meetings where ladies discussed the current state of women in the Empire, the world, and current politics.

Doctor Blackwell gave a rather graphic presentation on “Independence though Self Maintenance.” Wellington had to excuse himself from the room in order to maintain his dignity. He was well aware Josephina made devices for the relief of hysteria in women. He knew all too well as during one rather upsetting night, she had made a mould of his forearm for one of her devices, a fact that he tried, repeatedly, to forget. The very idea that women all over the Empire were doing, God knows what, with his
arm
, was a horrifying thought.

Well, most of the time.

Still, on this grand airship, the sea beneath them, the sky around them, it was invigorating. The women bustled and talked, the smell of excellent tea around all of them. Wellington adored the archives, but this wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Sometimes, he forgot how the world of the living could be so stimulating.

At exactly five o’clock, Doctor Blackwell retired to her rooms to dress for dinner. This was the time that they would set their mission to action. They decided that she would arrive fashionably late, after checking the engines to make sure they were clear of fault. Many of the servants would be busy with dinner preparations, so it would be an excellent time to sneak into the engine area, check for faults, and then return to dinner.

After that, it would be only two more days of panel discussions and dissertations. Fortunately, Wellington had brought reading, and with any luck, Doctor Blackwell wouldn’t set off any explosions.

Doctor Blackwell flung open the door to his rooms and caught him with his tie undone.

“Agen—” but then he caught himself. “Baroness, while I am but a humble butler, please do knock!”

“It’s an emergency,” she said. Josephina was wearing a deep, crimson dress with a plunging neckline, her hair piled on her head. “I simply cannot get myself into this dress, and we only have a short window that the engine room will be unguarded.” She turned around to reveal that the back of her dress was open, a jet-black brocade corset under the dress.

“Baroness!” hissed Wellington. “This is most inappropriate. To see another Agent in their undergarments, let alone a—”

“Surely you know how to use buttons,” said Doctor Blackwell, looking over her shoulder.

“Of course I know how to use buttons!” he replied. “That is hardly the point!”

“Time is running out.”

Wellington sighed. “This is most inappropriate,” he muttered as he slid each little silk covered button into its fabric hole. The dress closed around Doctor Blackwell, hugging her curves.

“Done,” he declared, with a sigh. She turned to face him and he saw, at her throat, a small cameo. It was not the sweet coral that most women wore, but black and opalescent, bearing the face of a dragon.

“You are going to have to carry a Nipper,” she said, thrusting the weapon towards him. “I’ve made two for the trip, but mine isn’t easily accessible in this dress.”

“Where is it?” asked Books, then stopped himself. “No, wait. I do not want to know.”

“Excellent,” she said, taking his hand boldly. “Let’s go!”

“Decorum,” he reminded her, extricating himself from her grasp, and they exited the suite.

Agent Blackwell smiled warmly (as best she could, most of her smiles were laced with a sort of wild madness) as they walked through the ships corridors before slipping unseen into a service corridor to the Engine room.

“Someone checks in the Engine room every half hour,” whispered Doctor Blackwell, “more than enough time for me to check on the mechanics, repair anything that needs assistance, and be back well in time for appetisers.”

Wellington shifted on his feet, watching though the porthole from the Engine room to the corridor. “Do be quick,”
he said.

“Agent Books, I am always efficient,” she said, and opened a panel, examining the innards of the engine. Wellington glanced over. He had to admit, the technology was fascinating. An engineer himself, he was delighted by the inner workings of such great machines. Agent Blackwell danced around the engine room, opening a panel here, touching a piece of machinery there. She picked up an oil can and squirted it into a funnel, but a splotch of oil fell from the lip of the can to her dress, right on the front.

“Doctor Blackwell,” scolded Wellington, shaking his head, “Do be careful.” He took out his handkerchief and carefully dotted the drop away. Unfortunately, oil is oil, and a handkerchief, no matter how good, can only do so much. “Ugh,” he groaned, “bit of a mark there. You’ll have to change again before dinner.”

“This is why I usually wear black, you know,” sighed Josephina. “Far easier to hide the stains.”

“Certainly oil stains,” he agreed.

“And blood,” she added, turning back to the engine. “We are done, Agent Books. Everything is in excellent shape and the ladies of the Empire are safe. We have plenty of time to—”

There was a huge bang, a rumble from above the decks and the engine room rocked, throwing Josephina to the grate on the floor, and knocking Wellington’s head against the doorway. His world blurred for a moment, but he could just make out Josephina pushing herself up on her hands. Both of them smelled smoke.

“The engine!” cried Books, and both of them dived towards the controls, quickly checking the integrity of the machine. Fortunately, the engine was functioning perfectly. They looked at each other.

“It wasn’t the engine,” Agent Blackwell said in amazement.

There were hard footsteps outside, clapping against the metal floors. Books reached into his pocket for the Nipper. Doctor Blackwell put a hand on his arm. “No, none of that. We’ll just tell the crew that I got lost. We can talk our way out of this.”

But it wasn’t the crew that opened the door, it was a group of pirates.

Wellington hated to stereotype. Being an agent of the Ministry meant being exposed to different cultures and viewpoints, and certainly, agents were an unusual group of individuals in and of themselves. It wasn’t in his nature to draw quick conclusions about entire groups of people.

But these people were most certainly pirates. With their motley collection of weaponry, from curved sword to rapier, raygun to a clearly repaired brass-gear fist-knife. The three men and one woman who took them captive wore an assortment of clothing, from workmen’s boots to fine (obviously stolen, and ill-fitting) overcoats. The pirates were a patchwork, but a
well-armed
collection of patchwork.

Wellington and Josephina were lead away from Engineering to the ballroom. The ladies were huddled together on one side of the room, where the pirates snatched the jewels from their throats, wrists and fingers. Lady White was nowhere to be seen, and Wellington shuddered to think of her fate. As they were pushed towards the crowd by their captors, he surmised the difficulty within this crowd of ladies for them to slip away, or perhaps plan an appropriate counter-attack. It was unlikely, out of the hundred women on the ship, that they would be noticed as missing.

Then a heavy hand fell on Josephina’s shoulder. Turning, they both looked into the stern face of Ms Crux. Except this time, she had shed her stern bun, and replaced her corsets and skirts for pants and a shirt that was well-open to the navel, revealing the broad and sculpted chest of a man.

“Baroness Blackwell,” he said. “We were wondering where you slipped off to.”

She frowned, her skin blushing. “For my jewels? Don’t bother, I don’t have any of worth.”

“Oh, Baroness Blackwell. Did you think our aim was to steal the jewels from a bunch of aristocrats? We came here for you!”

“What do you want with the Baroness?” Wellington said, stepping in front of her.

The former Ms Crux sized him up. From his military days, Wellington recognised this as a precursor to fist-a-cuffs. As this was a pirate, Queensbury Rules probably wouldn’t be the fighting style of choice.

From over his shoulder came Josephina's voice. She must have been standing on her toes as Crux’s steely gaze disappeared on hearing her say, “If your Captain thinks that my family has any wealth left for a ransom, you might as well kill me now. There isn’t a penny left in the treasury, and the rest of my family is dead.”

Wellington turned to her. “Josephina,” he whispered. “I had…no idea.”

She looked down. “A terrible accident…”

Crux snapped. “You are both coming with us!” he declared.

The pirates grabbed Wellington and shoved him—and Josephina from the sounds of the scuffling and commotion behind them—along the corridor toward the grand balcony of the ship. The French doors to the grand marble balcony swung open to reveal a breath-taking panoramic view of stars interrupted only by mountains of clouds illuminated by moonlight. A figure stood at the railing, and as he was clothed in black he appeared as a cut-out. This cut-out turned and stepped into the light, revealing a man wearing a military suit with a high neck and silver buttons, and a long, crimson cape that flapped in the wind.

Wellington heard Josephina gasp. He was surprised he himself did not gasp as well on recognising him from the tinotypes in the Archives.

“Baron Dragomie Negrubine,” he said.

The man bowed slightly, strands of his long, black hair slipping over his face. He smiled and held out his hand to Doctor Blackwell. “Sister,” he said, with a smirk, reaching for her hand.

Now it was time for Agent Books to gasp.

Baron Negrubine looked up at Books. “My full name,” he began, “Is Baron Dragomir Corb Corax Emilian Negrubine. You must be lax on your Eastern European languages, because otherwise, dear sir, you would not be so surprised. My last name, roughly translated is—”

“Blackwell,” he whispered, cursing silently to himself.

Dragomir laughed. “Very good,” he said, “if a little slow.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Wellington insisted. “The Ministry killed you. Three times.”

“Oh, he’s very good at dying.” Josephina narrowed her eyes on her brother. “He pretends to be a vampire or a wizard and then tricks people into thinking he’s dead with smoke and mirrors.”