“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.”
“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 Josephina. “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,” Josephina 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?!” Josephina 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.
Josephina 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 Josephina’s horrified face, her hand outstretched, reaching towards him, enough air between them to be an eternity.
Defenestration, thought Wellington, was a ridiculous word. As much as he liked having words for very specific things, who could possibly have occasion to use a word for being thrown out a window? But here he was, tumbling backward through open sky, defenestrated out of an airship by pirates, betrayed by a fellow agent, and tumbling towards the certain doom of the icy water that would break his body and swallow him whole.
Time slowed, and as it did so he saw, coming towards him, a metal pipe outstretched from the ship. He reached for it with both hands. One hand slipped immediately off, but he caught the pipe in the crook of his right arm. His body yanked violently against the metal, banging against the side of the ship, so that he slipped to his fingertips. Looking below, dark clouds floated serenely underneath him. He looked upward, the air of the ship rushing past him, and heard the crackle of electricity and a loud shriek.
“Not a real mission,” he growled, clinging to the cold pipe. “Practically a paid holiday.” He shifted his grip and kicked upward, wrapping his legs around the support. From above, smoke, fire, and pirates waited for him, if he could actually find a way back inside. He inched up along the pipe, his eyes looking around for entrance back into the ship. A handhold away was a window. But where did the window lead? An empty bedchamber? More pirates?
The window opened, and Lady Kristiana White, of the Taylor-Whites, stuck her head out the window. “Oi!” she cried. “What are you doing out there?”
Wellington looked around him, then back at her. Did he really need to give an explanation? “Pirates?!” he yelled, his voice straining against the wind.
“Thought as much!” said Lady White, holding out her hand. “Give it here, chap! Let’s get you inside.”
Their fingertips barely touched as Wellington reached towards her. “Give a little push!” she assured him. “I’ve got you.”
While it was hardly wise to trust the aristocrat considering Crux’s deception, the cold truth was he couldn’t remain out here forever. He pushed off, and felt a strong hand catch his. Lady White hauled him up into the window with an immense strength, and dumped him, unceremoniously, onto the floor of the ship’s kitchen.
Around him several women gathered, helping him to his feet. “You are—” Tact, Wellington thought. “—stronger than you look.” His heart was beating hard in his chest.
Lady White flexed her considerable muscles. “I used to be a strong woman!” she said, “In the Traveling Circus of the Oswalts.”
He coloured. “You! A Lady?”
“Oh tosh,” said Lady White. “We all have pasts.”
Wellington nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “that we do.”
He withdrew the Nipper from his pocket, thankful that it had remained there this entire ordeal. “Lady White, do you know how to use one of these?”
She chuckled. “I can use any gun. I’m a hunting champion.”
“Excellent,” and he gingerly passed the weapon to her. “There are only a few pirates, and many of you. If you gang up against them, using this, you should be able to overwhelm them.”
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
This “paid holiday” was resembling more and more like a mission with each passing second. “What if I said I took it off a pirate?”
“I wouldn’t ask any more questions,” said Lady White with a wink. Then she took his arm. “And what will you be doing, while we overtake the pirates?”
“They took Baroness Blackwell,” he said. “I intend to get her back.”
“Well, you should run off and get her,” Lady White returned, patting him on the shoulder. “We all know what trouble she would be, if she fell into the wrong hands.”
Wellington’s brow knotted. “You do?”
“Blew up her boarding school,” said Lady White, nodding along with the collected ladies. “Well known. In the right circles, of course.” She turned to the circle of ladies around her. “Now then, Women of the Empire, let’s go show these pirates what we’re made of!”
And, much to Wellington’s horror, she hiked her skirt up, revealing bright, blue stockings, kicked open the door, and charged into the Ballroom. The pirates were quickly overwhelmed by the angry aristocrats, thanks in no s
mall part to the Nipper, and the Lady with an amazingly accurate shot.
Wellington remained close to the shadows, working his way out of the Ballroom towards the Bridge. Through one of the Hammarström’s observation window, he saw the pirate’s vessel, stuck to the edge of the grand airship like a black tumour. He rushed up the stairs, watching the retreating pirates as they crossed a wooden plank connecting the two ships. From the scant light coming from the Hammarström, Wellington could just make out Josephina Blackwell, in her stained red dress, pushed ahead of Baron Dragomir.
“Josephina!” he called out to her. “Don’t go with him!”
Baron Dragomir pushed Josephina behind him. “You are too late,” he bellowed. “She knows who she is. She’s my sister, and my family—well, we create our own rules.”
Wellington was about to run for him when he saw Doctor Blackwell behind her brother, reaching up her own dress. He had to delay him. Just for a moment. “Baron, the people we work for have a lot of money. We would be able to pay you for her.”
The Baron laughed, shaking his head. “You cannot pay for blood,” he said, and motioned to his crew. The connecting plank attaching their two ships began to retract.
The Nipper discharged from behind Baron Dragomir. Her shot went wild, out into the sky. They grappled for the gun, but Dragomir overpowered her in moments, wrenching the gun from her grasp. Wellington’s hand gripped a distress chute on seeing Josephina leaping out over the open sky, her skirts flying, like she was made of electricity and light.
Then she rolled into Wellington, and it was very clear that she was made of flesh, bone, and squishy stuff. Particularly when they landed hard against the Hammarström’s deck.
“Your loss!” cried Dragomir, as his ship floated into the sky. He gave a little bow, holding the Nipper in his hands. It was glowing brightly.
Thrilling Tales of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Page 24
