The Mystery of Emerald Flame (Verity Fitzroy and the Ministry Seven Book 2)

by Pip Ballantine

  Julia let out a squeak as the rolled down the slight slope. What a terrible time to be without Agent Harrison Thorne, Verity thought as she felt around for the weapon her friend brought with her.

  Another bullet whipped overhead, and she realised Julia's weapon was lost in the shrubbery on the way day. After deploying his wheel, Potts was already heading for the back gate at a high rate of speed. Much as she hated running from a fight, it seemed like the best thing to do under the circumstances. Yanking Julia to her feet, the girls ran after Potts.

  They zig and zagged through the garden, the Scottish lass clamping her fine purple hat to her head with one hand. No shouts to stop came, only a relentless zip of bullets to either side of them. This wasn’t a machine that Verity could influence, since it had no power source—at least that was how she thought it worked. Leaping over the line of low hedges the young women reached the west gate to find Potts standing on the footpath.

  At first Verity thought he might be waiting for them, but instead his head bobbed from side side. “I don’t know this part of London,” he beeped.

  “This way,” she barked, having no time to feel slighted. Their pursuer might have caught them off-guard in the garden, but they were on the streets of London now. This was where the home advantage was hers.

  She would not risk leading them back to the house and getting any of the Seven shot. Instead she pulled Julia to the right, and yelled to Potts, “Do keep up!”

  Beyond the fence of the courtyard garden, there were streets, urchins, pedestrians, and maybe even a bobbie or two. All of which could be used to her advantage.

  “It’s me they’re after,” Julia gasped, shooting a glance over her shoulder. “My uncle would pay a hefty sum if I got taken…”

  Turning a corner that would lead them to Kensington’s High Street, Verity heartily wished she could share the good news with her friend; they were after the English girl rather than the Scottish one. Illuminati most probably, she thought.

  “No, no, no, it’s me,” Potts bleeped out, his arms waving frantically. A few well-dressed women on the opposite side of the street, giggled at his antics. “I have a great deal of information from the Brunel Institute…”

  Everyone wanted to be important she supposed, but now was hardly the time to argue about it. The foot traffic got heavier the nearer they got to the High Street. Horse drawn carriages were actually preferred in the lofty streets of Kensington. Though they did produce a lot more manure, they were considerably quieter than motorcars and cycles.

  She hurried their little group towards the bustling traffic that led towards Hyde Park. Buses, trams and larger vehicles plied this street making it much busier, but also dangerous. She knew of at least three street urchins who got killed in traffic while fleeing one of the adult gangs of London. On look at Julia’s wide eyes, and the way she jerked her head around, and Verity understood that she couldn’t pull any of the Seven’s usual tactics for shaking off a tail.

  Glancing behind her, she couldn’t spot the man that had shot at them, but the prickle in the back of her neck told her that he was still there. The trouble was Potts was very distinctive. Even though there were a few automatons on the street, his design stood out. The wealthy ladies of Kensington if they really wanted to show off kept a gleaming brass manservant at their side. If they were accosted on the street, he might also serve as a bruiser.

  However, Potts was far too adorable for any of that. As they passed a laden baby carriage, a child reached out for him on instinct. He was that adorable.

  “We have to get off the street,” she muttered, and immediately her eyes lit on the squat white building, of the High Street Kensington Station.

  “Have you seen the city's latest modern marvel?” she whispered into Julia’s ear, hoping to distract her from their pursuer. “The London Tube is something to behold.”

  Keeping her hand tight around her friend’s elbow, she dodged them around a cluster of school children, and towards the curved door with the wrought iron sign above it. Potts kept pace, though since his rather cowardly abandonment in the garden, she didn’t feel particularly concerned about his welfare.

  Verity loved railways, and ahead she could sense the rattle of an engine approaching the platform. For that moment she was wrapped up in the warmth and comfort of the clockwork and steam power ahead, and that was when she let her guard down.

  Their pursuer with his bowler pulled down low over his head, appeared out a crowd of commuters and made a rush towards the three of them. He didn’t have his pistol out anymore, but he barrelled towards them with his greater height and weight. It was all he needed.

  Julia was closer to him, and with her hat tilted he probably couldn’t see her bright red hair. When he snatched her off her feet, she let out a muffled scream of outrage. Verity reached for her, but what could she possibly do against a much taller and more powerful person? It was the same old battle for the Seven in a city of adults.

  Watching her disappear into the crowd with a howl made Verity feel small and weak… but she wasn’t. The Sound made her so. The man with the bowler picked the wrong young lady to come up against.

  Chapter Seven

  Underground Battles

  The Scottish girl was gone, pulled in among the horrified crowd. Yet not one of the good citizens of London moved to help her. Potts wasn’t found of the Scots, or children, but even he was horrified by that fact.

  A peculiar thrum vibrated through his metallic exterior right through to the tips of his fingers and made him come over quite peculiar. He was almost like he was being struck by a tiny hammer, but none appeared to be around.

  At his side Verity stood stock still, her hands clenched, which was in itself strange; he would have expected her to leap after the red-head. Through his automaton senses, he could hear her breathing high and tight, as if she were having some kind of attack. It seemed very rude to enquire about her health—especially in public—but the thug was headed for the exit with her friend.

  The strange thrum grew sharper, and almost verged on pain. This body he was so ignominiously thrust into didn’t experience that, and yet now it was close to that human sensation. Just when Alexander thought he couldn’t take anymore, it reached an extreme pitch.

  His body rattled like a struck kettle and then was silent. At the very same moment, three portoporter automatons burst out from the ramp leading to the platform. One was trailing luggage, that scattered off its back, sending passengers scrambling to get out of the way, while the middle one swung two large valises from his long arms. Alexander rolled himself closer to Verity just in case anyone thought he was with these rampaging mechanications.

  Those in the station stumbled and fled before the out of control automatons, but there was one who they were set on. Spinning around on its axis the lead portoport launched one of the valises at the man who had the struggling Scottish girl under one arm.

  For certain this was not part of the automaton’s original programming, but his missile flew with precision through the air and struck the attacker square in the face. Whatever was in the luggage must have been somewhat weighty, because he was propelled backwards, losing his grip on both Julia and his footing all together.

  As soon as he did the portoporters stopped rolling, their heads drooping, as they went completely still. Alexander never saw such behaviour from an automaton before, and he might have liked to make a study of the phenomenon, but Verity grabbed hold of his arm with one hand, and the staggering Scottish girl with the other.

  “Run!” Verity barked out, which must be the most unnecessary order to give in such a moment. They had nowhere else to go but towards the platform, where the raging portoporters came from. After that kerfuffle the path was cleared for them, but then their pursuer would also have the same benefit.

  Deploying his wheel, Alexander spun hard to keep up with the running girls. Obviously these were not the needle-point and gentle gossip type of young ladies from his youth.

  They w
ere fast on their feet.

  Reaching the bottom of the ramp, a train came into view. The Tube trains were not familiar to Alexander, but he rode one once in his youth. Back then they were rattle-bang affairs, poorly ventilated so choking to death on the smoke generated was a real danger, and lit by of all things bags of gas carried on the roof. That no one had been blown to pieces on those early trains was quite a surprise.

  This one that stood quietly chuffing to itself beside the platform was a cheery green colour and had none of those encumbrances that he recalled. Daring to take a moment he spun his head around to see if they were being pursued. He didn't spot anyone, but he distinctly made out the impact of running feet. It appeared that even after been floored by flying luggage their pursuer still possessed enough vim to come at them again.

  "The train is pulling away," Julia said over her gasping breaths.

  "Run faster!" was Verity's sage advice. "We can make it!"

  Alexander started to fall behind, and his brass articulated arms would only stretch so far. The train's doors began to squeal as they closed, and the sound of the engine commenced building to full power. It was definitely about to leave. They had no chance of making it before the doors were sealed shut, and Alexander didn't think that there were enough mad portoporters left in the station to help them when that man caught up to them. He might carry off the girls, but he would probably just kick Alexander's metallic body down onto the tracks.

  The last door at the rear of the train wasn't closing. Gears ground together, spinning and whirring. It was quite surprising since the service was brand new. The whole idea of the Tube was that apart from the driver there was no other people needed to run it. Maintenance, Alexander thought dismissively, it's always about the maintenance.

  It didn't matter the door might be jamming to their advantage, because the train was still pulling away. Obviously, the driver wasn't paying much attention, but his lack of diligence might get all three of them killed. The shadow of their pursuer crossed over them as he reached the bottom of the ramp.

  "Jump!" Verity screamed and her Scottish friend, did make a leap. Her pretty blue skirt flared out around her, but she made it quite comfortably.

  Alexander immediately saw the problem. He had no way of propelling himself in such a fashion. They would leave him behind to face their pursuer, and he would end up run over by a damned train.

  When Verity scooped him up, his wheel spun uselessly and for a moment he truly hated how all these children were so very fond of doing that. However, when she threw him an entirely different sensation raced through him; embarrassment.

  A child hefted him through the air like he was some kind of croquet ball. If his colleagues at the Institute could see him now they would have quite split their sides.

  Still when he landed inside the last carriage with a solid bang and rolled towards the back, he was forced to admire her calculation of force and velocity. By the time Alexander got his head rearranged properly—these things were more complicated than when he'd been alive—Verity joined them inside the carriage.

  Though he didn't have any lungs fit to burst, he did watch at Julia and Verity bent over gasping, unable to talk for some little bit.

  The English girl recovered first and rushed over to peer out the back window of the carriage. "No pursuit," she said, slumping down on the rearmost seat. Luckily it was just after midday, so no evening commuters got to see that little show. The entirety of the carriage was theirs.

  Julia set about trying to put her wild curls in order. Like most of the heathen Scots, she was finding it hard going. Still the expression she wore was entirely appropriate for a young woman of means who just got chased through the streets of London.

  Finally, since none of them were going to say it, Alexander felt he needed to. "Well, do either of you know what that was about?"

  His gaze naturally fell towards Verity, since of the two young women she possessed the greater experience of the streets... he could tell just by how she dressed. Also she was acting remarkably calm now that they got on the train.

  "Not a local," she said, picking at a loose thread in her trousers. Alexander did not subscribe to the modern fashion for ladies to wear such items of clothing, but he supposed it made life easier for her in her... line of work. "Didn't recognise him, but he could have been..."

  She paused, and he could have sworn she was doing some kind of mental mathematics about Julia and himself. "Illuminati."

  Now Alexander knew she must be positively doolally. Julia's face went quite white though, so she was obviously of the easily swayed variety of young woman.

  "The Illuminati," he said, trying to bring some semblance of logic and reason back to a day of complete chaos. "You have been reading far too many Penny Dreadfuls and cheap novels. I believe it was that writer Maureen Stiles, who invented them, just to sell more of her ridiculous scribblings."

  Julia's expression went from horrified to outraged in a blink. The Scots were like that. "I love Maureen Stiles!"

  Of course she does, he thought to himself. I am not surprised.

  "Stiles novels are pure imagination," Verity said, "but the Illuminati are real, and they have been hunting me since the Delancy Academy."

  "You went to the Delancy Academy?" Perhaps Alexander wasn't quite as good as keeping his thoughts to himself as he hoped.

  "We both did, you big hunk of tin," Julia said, flicking another stray lock of hair out of her way.

  "And they were the one's responsible for its destruction." Verity added, staring down at her shoes. The end of the Academy sent ripples through the scientific community that were still being felt. Many of England’s elite minds tucked their children safely away at the academy. It was very inconvenient for many of them to find new places for their little ankle-biters.

  Alexander supposed it had been trouble in other ways, since scientists needed to be moulded somewhere. Even he had been a child once—or so he heard. Though he hadn’t read the newspapers on the story, it burned to the ground, now that he recalled.

  These two young women were more likely to be the arsonists than the Illuminati. His observations of their behaviour today seemed to suggest that was far more statistically probable than not.

  “But what would they want with us?” Julia asked, but her eyes flicked towards Alexander.

  He hoped that Verity was going to make up some story, but instead she did the worst thing of all—she told her the truth.

  As she spilled out the tale of the monster and when she got to the bit with green flame encased in his brass chest, Alexander just knew the Scot would be demanding to rip him open there and then. If only he possessed some kind of defense.

  When she was done, Julia folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window. Not that there was anything to see out there except for the brick tunnel and miles of darkness. He couldn’t tell if she was sulking or didn’t have a thought in her head to spare.

  The train jerked as they headed around another bend, and Potts who inadvertently forgot his brake on the wheel, shot across the floor and clanged into the wall. Julia let out a most inelegant and insensitive laugh. That he might have damaged his core, didn’t seem to cross the Scot’s mind, but it broke the ice.

  “If this is really a professor’s mind in an automaton,” she said curling her arms around her knees and staring at him, “then I am surprised he hasn’t suggested to you, what this green fire might be?”

  “You holding out on me, Potts?” Verity asked, tilting her head to one side.

  “He knows the story I am sure of it.” Julia McTighe was definitely trying to sow the seeds of discontent. If Alexander had a neck to grow red, he would have. Instead a low rumble of steam raced through his body. It was a peculiar sensation that he hoped not to repeat.

  “I don’t know any story,” he protested, afraid that Verity might eject him from the train. She had shown a remarkable strength for a young lady. “I am a professor of science, with a doctorate in aetherial magnet
isms.”

  “I am thinking it is something like the Emerald Flame,” Julia said, a wicked smile flickering over her lips. She was really enjoying this.

  “Greek Fire?” Alexander couldn’t help a little derisive laugh escaping him. “Oh, along with a belief in the Illuminati, you now want to share fairy tales?”

  Verity’s arm came down on top of his head. “Hold on, I think this is our stop, best discuss it when we get to the throne room.”

  Now both girls were speaking in utter gibberish. The Queen was hardly going to have them for tea, even if one of them was a McTighe. He was just about to suggest some kind of treatment for their evident hysteria, when the door they leapt through, once again slid open. The maintenance on this carriage was beyond appalling.

  “This is our stop,” Verity called, once again grabbing up Alexander. “We’re on our way to see Her Majesty.”

  Now talk of the Illuminati and the Emerald Flame seemed like sane conversation. He barely got time to let out a peep of alarm, before he was tossed unceremoniously out into the darkness. He fully expected to crash into the brickwork and meet his second maker.

  The only surprise was, it wasn’t the Scot who was responsible for the whole debacle.

  Chapter Eight

  Dinner with the Queen

  Verity was getting to quite enjoying tossing Alexander Potts around. Emma might think he was wonderful, but she found him rather insufferable. He reminded her of far too many toffs in the West End, who tried to bargain with a little girl selling violets. It didn't matter who was freezing to death on the street, he needed a discount. She didn't have the time for men like that.

  Still she wasn't trying to destroy him—as fractious as he was—she honestly believed the mind of the professor was in the automaton. That would make smashing him to pieces murder... and she wasn't up for that.