Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences

by Tee Morris

  *****

  Wellington could not help himself. He had to know.

  Despite his usual discomfort at going down to Research & Design, and his new discomfort in leaving his charge alone in the Archives, Wellington had to see the condition of Professor Axelrod. Based on the tension Eliza nurtured this morning, he had known just how disastrous the previous evening had gone. How miserable had Eliza been? Had she made a scene? Did Eliza slap him?

  Had Eliza punched him? Oh, he hoped so. The prospect made Books absolutely giddy.

  He walked in without knocking or announcement. “Good afternoon, Profes—OH MY GOD!”

  “If you like. I’m not a religious man, but appreciate some worship as much as the next deity.” Axelrod managed to smirk through puffy lips and cheek. “And good afternoon to you, sir.”

  Whatever situation Wellington expected to find when he walked into the lab, it paled in comparison to what he actually saw. Professor Axelrod was there, all right, but he was singed and swollen, his face a mess of bruises, cuts and burns, his hands similarly scarred. He was sitting in a chair that looked like a half-finished torture instrument—which is probably exactly what it was, Wellington thought upon reflection—as Doctor Blackwell fussed over him with bandages and foul-smelling ointments.

  “I say, Professor,” Wellington said. “Are you quite all right?”

  “Splendid!” Axelrod said, forcing a smile that made Wellington wince. “Just, ah…a bit sore from last night. You know how an evening on the town with Eliza can get, eh? Fortunately, I’ve got Doctor Blackwell here, who has volunteered to play nursemaid. She swears this poultice will have me right as rain in no time.”

  “It smells revolting,” Wellington said, covering his nose.

  “It’s an old family recipe,” Blackwell said. “Would you believe some of the ingredients aren’t even available in this country? What people choose to make illegal always confounds me.”

  “I appreciate you making the sacrifice of your personal store,” Axelrod said, gingerly placing a burnt hand on Blackwell’s pale fingers.

  “Well, I couldn’t have you suffer, now could I?”

  As if this tableau could not descend deeper into madness, Wellington watched as Blackwell blushed. He thought the very action impossible.

  “So, I... Ahem…I take it the evening went poorly?”

  “Oh, no,” Axelrod said. “It went quite well. It’s just…I’m not sure Eliza is the woman for me.”

  “Oh?” Despite the fact that it meant being closer to the horrid smell, Wellington inched toward Axelrod.

  “It was something she said. She was incredibly irate about her singed dress.”

  “That doesn’t sound like her at all,” Wellington said.

  “Ah, well, she may have also been on fire at the time. And cursing.”

  He nodded. “That sounds like her.”

  “You know,” Blackwell said, examining Axelrod’s mouth. “I think I have something that will regrow those teeth. They just might be…sharper than they were before.”

  “I can’t see how that would be a problem,” Axelrod said.

  “Splendid,” Blackwell said.

  Wellington blinked. How did the discussion turn to teeth? “Forgive me for interrupting, but why were you and Agent Braun on fire?”

  “Because of my hat,” Axelrod stated matter-of-factly.

  “Your...hat?”

  “Yes, see after I subdued the Mad Dog with my waistcoat and braces—”

  “Stop.” Wellington held up a hand. “Stop right there. Mad dogs? Flaming hats? Fighting with waistcoats and braces? It is clear you are under the influence of these fumes that Doctor Blackwell’s concoction is creating, and I refuse to converse with you when you are out of your right mind. Therefore, I bid you both good day, before I succumb to utter madness myself. I must return to the Archives. My Junior Archivist has already shattered an irreplaceable vase that revealed the location of El Dorado, and I just left her alone with a collection of unsolved cases. No telling what disarray she has caused.”

  With that, Wellington Books gave a tight smile to Axelrod and Blackwell, turned on his heels, and left R&D, trying to process everything he had just been told.

  He had almost made it out the door when the voice of Doctor Blackwell caught his ear. “What did she say?”

  Books turned to see Blackwell applying more of the foul ointment to Axelrod’s face. She was looking deep in his eyes as she asked, “When you knew it wasn’t going to work out with Agent Braun. What did she say?”

  “Honestly, I can’t remember much after my head hit the roof. Fossillinen will need a few more refinements before it will ever be an adequate crash helmet. I think it was mainly her attitude. So put out over a little flame!”

  “You know,” Blackwell said, delicately running her finger around the burns on Axelrod’s face and neck. “I’m not afraid of a little flame.”

  “No,” Axelrod purred, giving the closest thing to a smile his maligned face could muster. “I imagine you are not.”

  Those lunatics are going to burn this place to the ground, the devil on Wellington’s shoulder whispered.

  For once, Wellington found that voice sensible.