“Promise?” she asked. “Like what Mr. Books did?”
Wellington’s fingertips stopped in the comforting touch against Eliza’s skin.
“We’re coming back, Serena.” Eliza kissed the top of the child’s head. “We’re coming back.”
INTERLUDE
Wherein the Queen Reveals Her New Vision
The Regina Immortales stood at her mirror staring at her own reflection with the rapt attention of one utterly consumed by themselves. Lord Sussex, who stood behind her, tried to keep all judgement off his face, and yet every part of him was repelled by the sight.
Victoria had been young once, of course she had, but she had lost the glow of youth, and she most certainly should not have gotten it back. It was against nature, but to say as much would have been the end of his tenure in her Privy Council, and quite possibly his life as well, considering the Maestro and Jekyll’s interest in her.
“My eyes,” the Queen said, swinging herself from side to side examining her other features, “they are somewhat darker than when I was first young.”
“A side effect of the treatment,” he replied as tonelessly as possible. “Our good doctor said that not everything would come back exactly as it once was.”
She actually pouted a little. It was quite incredible that she was in many ways reverting to her previous girlhood mannerisms; quirks that had been smoothed out by time and experience reared their heads again. That particular side effect, unlike the eyes, could carry serious consequences.
Victoria smoothed back her hair, which was now free of grey, and lightly ran her fingertips over her face, now untouched by care or worry . . . or at least seeming to have forgotten about it.
“Well, it should,” she said pertly. She finally gave up the mirror and turned towards the window, where thick fog had moved in to smother the capital. When she pressed her fingers against the glass, her brow furrowed; she appeared to be cross with the weather disobeying her whims.
On the end table beside her, she picked up a small statuette, given as a gift from the people of France. It was a representation of herself, dressed in full regalia, created in commemoration of her Golden Jubilee. Sussex could see Victoria studying the details of the figurine, as if committing the image of her older self to memory.
“I wish the people to see me right now, renewed Regina Immortales as God decreed.”
Sussex shifted slightly in place. The Queen’s belief in her transformation being a miracle from God as opposed to a miracle of science disturbed him as well. She seemed perfectly capable of forgetting all about the doctor’s involvement, perhaps because Jekyll had put Sussex in charge of managing her. The doctor had more than enough to do with keeping both of them on their required regimens. Confined to his laboratory, Jekyll remained dedicated in collecting and processing enough formula to make their plans possible.
Sussex would never have envisioned Victoria as quite this much of a handful. Keeping her in her private chambers, or heavily veiled when outside it, was a struggle, and so he knew what was coming after her pronouncement.
Queen Victoria turned from the window and glared up at him. “I want to show my subjects their queen reborn. This week, if not earlier!”
He pressed his lips together, swallowed and tried to think of the right words. “Ma’am, the plans are not yet in place for your grand reveal. Imagine the horror and panic your . . .” Sussex had to pick the right word. Incurring her wrath, Jekyll had warned, could aggravate the nerves, stimulate senses, and evoke another side effect. It was his imperative to keep the Queen gratified. “. . . renewal would give them. It has to be managed and done at the right time. There is no better time than your upcoming Jubilee.”
The Victoria he had known, the matron, the mother, the Queen of some experience, would have understood that immediately. She’d become sensitive to the will of her people after several incidents, and a few assassination attempts. This queen who stood before him was something entirely different. His words, from the way she regarded him, had not struck the right note.
Her anger flared bright and hot, instantly transforming her eyes to flickering red flames and her sweet face to one twisted with outrage. For a moment he was looking down at something not human, a contorted hobgoblin of anger with the world at her command.
“Are you suggesting they would not love their queen?” the Queen snapped at him, droplets of saliva striking his face and causing him to actually take a step back. Her eyes were mad, lost in a fury. “Are you saying the common degenerates of my realm would not love their perfect, immortal queen?”
An odd creaking sound tickled his ear. Sussex inclined his head, as if to acknowledge his queen and show his deference, but the gesture merely masked his eyes glancing down at the monarch’s hands. Her fists were balled up tight, and the creaking came from the solid gold statuette still in her hands.
He glanced to his right, to the bag the good doctor had left on the sideboard there. Inside were vials that Sussex had been instructed on how to use, but he wondered if he were quite able to restrain the Queen while at the same time dosing her with the liquid. He decided that the best course might first be to see if he could restore her sanity.
“Of course not,” he said. “The citizens of the Empire adore their queen, and all she stands for. It is just that many of those in power might well be adverse to your unexpected restoration.”
Her eyes fixed on him, but her face remained twisted. “You mean my family?”
He nodded cautiously. “Yes. Your family.”
“Too many damn children,” Victoria hissed through her teeth. “Too many princes and princesses who will be only too glad to stick a knife in my back when they know I am not giving up the throne by shuffling off to die.” Her head jerked in a weird inhuman way. “And Bertie. The worst of the lot. He should have died in San Francisco.”
Her eldest son, she had hoped, would have been killed during his visit to San Francisco. This plot against Bertie, apparently hatched between her and the Maestro, had failed on Doctor Sound’s proclamation that Bertie was safe and in hiding. Her son’s popularity continued to haunt her, not to mention the number of heirs of his own left behind.
“Any word from the Department?” the Queen asked.
“Indian and Egyptian Branches were abandoned, but we managed to confirm five more resolutions.” Sussex fought the urge to mock the chosen word for “kill” the Department used in their day-to-day operations. “We have reports of full resolutions in Wales, Ireland, Canada, Australia, and Hong Kong.”
“What about Director Sound?”
Sussex took in a deep breath. “No word, Your Majesty. He has not been seen since his audience with you.”
The Queen, much to his delight, did not explode. “Whatever they need, whatever it takes, I want Sound before me. I must know where Bertie is hiding. Of all the whelps that would dare take the throne from us, he is the worst of them.”
Not for the first time, Sussex bemoaned the fact that his queen had loved her husband so much in her early years. She had birthed a veritable litter of prospective heirs to the throne. If even one of them, in particular Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales, rose up and called her a demon or abomination, then the country and the Empire could be torn apart. Sussex and the good doctor needed Victoria to be accepted as the immortal queen. When they controlled her, they would control all she did. It was so much easier than trying to do it themselves. With a shining example of perfect immortal monarchy at their back, their achievements would be limitless.
“Precisely, you are, as always . . . most wise,” he crooned to her, and was rewarded as the redness in her face faded. “We have to make sure that your family is contained, and unable to cause you any problems.”
“No, we can’t just kill them,” Victorian said matter-of-factly, with a sweet smile. “That would look most unpleasant, and not set the right tone for my immorta
l rule. My reign has to be perfect,” she said, returning to the mirror. Setting the gold statuette on the end table beside the mirror, Victoria lost herself in its reflection, as if it were the first time. “As I am.”
It had taken both Sussex and the good doctor many long hours to wean her away from that particular scenario of maternal filicide. In addition, not all of Victoria’s family lived in her Empire. Many of her daughters and sons had married into European royalty, and so she had many grandchildren in power all over the continent, all of who could lay claim to the throne of the British Empire.
“Yes, and it will be,” Sussex crooned. “All will be as you wish, Your Majesty.”
The duke’s eyes jumped to the solid gold statuette she had held in her grasp during her tirade. What had once been a fine likeness of Victoria had been mangled and deformed as if it had been made of soft clay. The distorted lump, he considered, could have not only been the results of another side effect, but an unintentional representation of what his queen had become.
Her voice made him start. In the reflection, her eyes now narrowed on him. “Henry says to trust you in all things, but I have yet to see results. Sound’s Ministry must be resolved. Completely. There can be none to hinder my plans!”
Sussex inclined his head in a silent acknowledgement, but he reserved the particulars of the Queen’s wishes to himself. Though they had managed to scatter and disempower the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences, Doctor Sound still held influences. There were still many similar organisations in foreign nations, such as OSM in the United States, MOOSE in Canada, and the mysterious OZT answering to the czar, all of whom had worked with the Ministry. After a fashion. It would not do to alert them to what was currently going on in Buckingham Palace.
“All of the colonies are stripped of their branches, any unresolved agents are now fugitives carrying significant bounties on their heads.” He kept his voice calm while he spoke, his gaze never leaving hers. “I do not anticipate many of them will survive the week.” He preferred not to share just how many agents had escaped the Department. His assurances kept her under control, and since no one else saw the Queen, she would never find out their limitations.
“What of the breaking of the Ministry headquarters?” Victoria pressed.
“The headquarters are locked down, and we will breach the defences tomorrow at the latest,” Sussex said, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets, concealing an odd quiver that had begun stealing over him while talking with Victoria. “Our objective will be the Archives. From what I understand, they will yield evidence on where we can find any remaining agents.”
“Quite excited about cracking open that particular nut, aren’t you?” she taunted from the mirror. A single eyebrow crooked as she added, “This is your business. If you don’t take care of it, there will be nothing I can do to help you. I will have to go on without you.”
She returned to her desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew from it a small vial of emerald green liquid. Holding it to the light, the Queen spun it in her fingertips. “Such a little thing to rest a whole magnificent empire on.” She uncorked it, raised it to her lips, and downed the whole amount. The twisting of her face said it was no treat, and Sussex suddenly remembered Henry’s creations were quite bitter. The ones he took to control his outbursts were vile, but necessary.
A common ground for both the Queen and the duke to share.
Victoria wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, staggered back a few steps, righted herself, and stood straight. “So my subjects will wait for the Diamond Jubilee. Do our valiant workers have all they need?”
“They do, Majesty. The grand project proceeds apace and should be indeed ready when planned. The Grey Ghosts will march on the appointed day, and will stand for you.”
Her eyes raked over him. “Then the only thing that remains is for you to take command of that dreadful Miggins Antiquities.” She flicked her hands in his general direction, as if he were a maid she was sending to fetch her shawl.
Swallowing back his rage took every ounce of control the Duke of Sussex had, but he managed to execute a stiff bow and back out of the room. How could he tell her that the Maestro had stolen that particular joy of breaching the Ministry from him already? It still burned him to think of it.
Unless the Queen was secretly in league with the Maestro. That bitch, he seethed. She would turn on me. After all I have done for her, that whiny, self-centred trollop!
The idea of this wretch ruling over the Empire on which the sun never set unsettled him. He could only hope that Henry knew what he was doing when he created her.
THIRTEEN
Wherein Wellington Thornhill Books Has His Heart Dismantled
From the boat’s solitary smokestack, a thick black cloud suddenly belched into the air. A hard, rhythmic knocking vibrated through the deck, and the captain swore loudly while two crewmen opened the booby hatch to access the engines.
This was Wellington’s cue. “Starboard, Cap’n,” he grunted. “There’s a mooring open.”
“I see it!” he barked back. “You tend ta ya’ duties, secure that line. We got a schedule ta keep!”
Wellington tipped his cap while he and Doctor Sound, both of them wearing tattered overcoats and caps of watermen, grabbed one of the larger ropes coiled on the side of the modest cargo barge. They limped their way over to the mooring just outside the rear dock accessing Miggins Antiquities. The lasso caught the piling, and as the stern swung about, Wellington and a smaller waterman leapt onto the dock and pulled at the thick rope.
“I said secure that line!” the captain roared. “This ain’t some leisurely punting we’re havin’ today.”
“Crotchety old bastard, isn’t he?” grumbled Eliza as she and Wellington ran the rope around the thick wooden piling.
“Well, how would you feel if your perfectly operating engine suddenly started sputtering?” he asked her. “Cuts into the profits of the day if the old man is late.”
Once the rope served as solid security for the boat, Wellington and Eliza reached out for Doctor Sound, whose fine fashion struggled to remain hidden under the tattered peacoat, and helped him on to dry land.
“Well done,” Doctor Sound said, his eyes scanning up and down the dock. “Now quickly, as the crew is currently preoccupied with Miss Braun’s speciality.”
At a cursory glance, the morning’s fog long burned off and revealing the various businesses that made up Industry Row along the Thames, Wellington could not see any sign of watchers, snipers, or flashes of tweed. Miggins Antiquities, or at least its rear façade which usually hosted ships of various sizes, remained intact and—much to the outward relief of Doctor Sound—secure. It was odd seeing their headquarters so still. There were no dockhands busy unloading innocuous trinkets no better than glorified junk while specialists hidden within handled designated crates that were incoming finds of incredible value to the Ministry. Wellington caught no shadows moving in front of windows, no agents recently returned from the field or just about to leave on assignment, no dispatches from field offices being hurried to the director’s office. Nothing moved, save for them.
Miggins Antiquities was not dead, though. It was simply secured.
Doctor Sound continued to cast wary glances over his shoulder as he hobbled up to the heavy iron door. He took a deep breath before pressing his thumb into the groove above a numeric keypad. He winced, then sucked at the pinprick point on his thumb while his other hand began punching in a code of some fashion.
“Strange seeing Miggins so quiet like this,” Eliza whispered, an echo of Wellington’s own thoughts. He’d never had a partner before, but he hoped it was a sign of their growing relationship, not that he was going mad.
“I suppose we should be thankful it isn’t crawling with Department agents.” Wellington shuddered. “I do hope they haven’t helped themselves to the Ares: Mark One.”
“Fo
r once, let us think positive,” she said. “They are more concerned over two Ministry agents, one of them a super soldier masquerading as an archivist, as opposed to—”
“Agent Braun,” Sound said with a huff, “as this is a rather lengthy sequence of numbers, the light banter between you and Agent Books is a touch distracting, and I would prefer not to prick my thumb again as that needle has, I’m afraid, become quite blunt.”
“Sorry, sir,” they both replied.
Another five numbers, and then Sound pressed the green button at the bottom of the pad. Seconds later, a bolt softly hissed from the other side of the door, followed by another, and then another. Sound let out a long, slow breath and then turned the large handle downwards.
“Shall we?” he asked, pushing the door forwards.
The iron door groaned lightly, but the echo in the corridor seemed to announce their entrance. When the silence returned, though, Wellington knew without question they were alone.
Eliza threw a switch set in the wall, and the lights set in the ceiling of this access passage flickered to life. “The generator is still operating.”
“As it is powered by the Thames, I would think so,” Sound returned, closing the door behind them. Once shut, the powerful hissing from the hatch’s bolts threatened to deafen them all, but then the sound and the steam settled, and once again all went quiet.
“If you are all armed,” Sound said as he let his long peacoat fall at his feet, “I would recommend you remain at the ready.”
Eliza drew her pounamu pistols while Wellington drew from an inside holster a Remington-Elliot. On considering the compact weapon, he holstered it and then reached to his side to draw a Wilkinson-Webley.
“A Crackshot?” Eliza asked. “Where did that come from?”
“Whiterock armoury,” he said, holding up the larger four-barrelled pistol. “Not quite the stealth of the Remington-Elliot, but a touch more stopping power. Something we will need considering potential close quarter confrontations, wouldn’t you agree?”
The Diamond Conspiracy: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel Page 24
