Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences

by Tee Morris

  *****

  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 Josepha 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 Josepha’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 Josepha'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. “Josepha,” 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 Josepha 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 Josepha gasp. He was surprised he himself did not gasp as well on recognising him from the tinotypes in the Archives.

  “Baron Dragomir 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.

  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.” Josepha 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.”

  “A bit more than that,” said the Baron. “Also, my faithful companion does help me to fool your stupid agents.” Crux bowed and the Baron continued, pacing the balcony. “Your agents watch as I am stabbed, shot, or fall from a cliff. Your operatives close their little cases and I go about my business.”

  Wellington nodded. “Clever.”

  The Baron turned to Josepha. “Dear sister…” he started.

  She folded her hands over her chest and turned away from him. “You don’t get to call me that, not anymore, not after what you did.”

  “I am insulted.” Dragomir place a hand on his chest, his tone of shock far from convincing. “Really, have I truly done worse than blowing up a boarding school?”

  “Yes!” she bit back. “Most assuredly, yes! You used our countrymen, you enslaved citizens and you burned our family name.”

  “Wait,” Wellington interrupted. “Come again? Blowing up a boarding school?”

  They ignored him.

  “Dear sister, I know that you’ve been trying to use your powers for the public good,” Dragomir said, “but it never does quite come together, does it?”

  “That’s not true,” Josepha returned. “I’ve done much good since—”

  “But you could do so much more if you weren’t subjected to silly rules. Join me, sister, and we will take to the skies. Between my abilities to manipulate and your technical knowledge, there is no limit to what we could accomplish.”

  “I have committed myself to unselfish goals. You would never understand.”

  “This seems private,” Wellington offered, turning to the door. “I’ll just leave you two to talk it out.”

  Dragomir motioned to the door and three pirates stepped in front of it, blocking his way.

  “This one,” and Dragomir took in Wellington as if just noticing him. He leaned in, his smile wide. “I am quite gifted at reading people, but you…” He walked around him, and Wellington suddenly felt as if he were a butterfly pinned against a board. “I see through this scrawny, intellectual façade a super-soldier, here to protect you from harm. Inside this man is one that will give me quite an entertaining fight, now won’t he?”

  “Agent Books?!” Josepha burst out into laughter, making everyone’s head snap to her direction. “No, Dragomir. No. He’s just an archivist.”

  A wash of relief swept through Wellington.

  Then Dragomir spoke, and Wellington’s anxiety returned. “That is sad, sister. I had hoped for a good fight out of him.” He shrugged and unsheathed his sword, “But I’m sure even a bad fight is better than no fight at all.”

  Wellington opened and closed his fists. The shadows could prove useful, but unarmed was not the best way to start a fight, especially against an opponent who was skilled at dying.

  Josepha suddenly threw herself between them, her arms outstretched. “No, Dragomir, no.” She hid her face in her gloved hands. “Alright,” she said. “You win. I’ll come with you. I promise. Just don’t hurt him.”

  “Now was that so hard?” asked Dragomir, taking her hands away from her face. He motioned to the pirates who opened the French doors back into the airship. “Dearest sister,” he cooed, “we will conquer land and sea together, and hold the mighty in our grasp!” He waved his hand, motioning to Wellington. “Of course, with so much to do, we simply cannot have excess baggage.” Dragomir nodded to Crux.

  The man was on Wellington in a moment, grabbing him by his arms. Another pirate grabbed his feet and Wellington sailed over the balcony and into the night.

  The last thing the archivist saw was Josepha’s horrified face, her hand outstretched, reaching towards him, enough air between them to be an eternity.
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