The Ghost Rebellion

by Pip Ballantine, Tee Morris

  The young man blinked. “Agent Books?”

  “He is well within protocols, Lieutenant,” Vania said, taking a spot at his back. “The Ministry has jurisdiction over all unusual occurrences like this. It’s in the name, and even if Lockhart fights it, the Queen will remind him personally if need be.”

  “Do you have a photographer of any kind on the base?” Wellington asked.

  O’Neil cleared his throat, and then stood a little straighter. “Yes, Mr Books.”

  “I want your men to check any and all of the enemy dead here, solid or otherwise, and I want them photographed.”

  “Yes, Agent Books,” O’Neil said, giving him a salute before ordering his men to pass along his words through the ranks.

  “Sorry, darling,” Wellington said, giving Eliza a weak smile. “I should have let you take command as you are the senior agent.”

  “Old habits.” Eliza patted him on his shoulder before turning to Vania. “Inauthentic æthergate technology, a man presumed dead taking up arms against the empire, and all the elements in play to throw India into chaos. What do you think, Agent Pujari?”

  “Usher,” she replied.

  “We’re going to need to see those photographs as soon as they are ready. Alert Director Smith, and send word to the home office. Inform them of the situation.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Vania said before heading back to the barracks.

  “Well then,” Wellington began, “the House of Usher is apparently supplying rebels with inferior, supernatural technology, India is on the brink of war with Mother England, all while a madman possessing the ability to turn ordinary people into ten feet monsters is on the loose.”

  Eliza bobbed her head, her lips bent in a smirk. “Just another day at the Ministry.”

  “Shall I go put the kettle on?”

  “Please.”

  Chapter Six

  Wherein Our Colonial Pepperpot and Our Dashing Archivist Face a Decision

  “So now we find ourselves in command of a military base,” Eliza said, behind Southerby’s grand desk. “That’s certainly a turn up for the books.”

  She turned and grinned at Wellington, hoping her attempt at levity struck home somewhere, but instead she found he was not looking at her at all. Rather he was staring out the bullet-riddled window as a small group of soldiers carried Southerby to the infirmary. Not that he was able to be helped at this stage. It was the only place to put him. Her partner had a look on his face of such pensiveness that she just knew he was imagining the worst case for this scenario to play out.

  “Wellington?” she pressed, until he jerked around and stared at her.

  “What...oh, I am sorry Eliza, or should I say, Commander Braun?”

  The sentiment made Eliza take stock of this grand office, seeming more appropriate for an Adventurer’s Club than a high-ranking outpost of Her Majesty’s military. Lieutenant General Southerby may have considered himself “one of the boys,” but with the stuffed lion and tiger at opposite ends of the office, the banners of past battles, and the lovely paintings all flanking the larger-than-life sized portrait of himself, Southerby made it clear: Whomever occupied this office occupied a place of power. Eliza had never been one for pomp and ceremony, but she did not necessarily feel out of place. With the general’s office showing signs of the firefight, some of that pomp was dampened.

  Still, the idea that as ranking field agent Eliza was now in control of Fort St Paul was ludicrous. Luckily, the solution was at hand. Lieutenant General Southerby had the best of everything installed at his base, and that included an æthermessage system, which she and Vania had made use of in summoning Director Smith.

  Lieutenant O’Neil stood at the door, waiting at attention. Having an attractive man at her beck and call was something of a fantasy for Eliza, but O’Neil was so serious. He was making her nervous.

  “O’Neil, could you please form a detail that will meet Director Smith of the Ministry? I want to make sure once he arrives, he is escorted promptly to my office.” She leaned on the desk, feigning the authority she hardly felt comfortable in wielding.

  “Certainly, Agent Braun.” O’Neil spun on his heel and left her and Wellington alone.

  Eliza would have never thought she would feel such relief at a handsome officer leaving her sight. Once he was gone, she let out a sigh and sagged into the chair still warm from the Indian afternoon.

  “Starting to feel the weight of leadership across your shoulders?” Wellington perched himself on the edge of the desk. “Would you like me to rub them for you, darling?”

  She wasn’t positive if he was joking or not, so she tapped him on the knee. “Watch your step, Books, or I will have you thrown into the brig.”

  He shook his head. “The brig is for the Navy. In the Army, we call it the stockade.”

  “You’re not helping.” She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, attempting to push back a headache she could feel lurking in her skull. “I should just leave. Let O’Neil handle this.”

  “Tosh, you wouldn’t be able to leave the fort, not with it in this state,” Wellington said. “You’re handling this fine, and you must until Maulik arrives. It’s difficult being responsible for all these souls, believe me I know.”

  She sat up suddenly. “Where did Vania go?”

  The two of them looked around, but the young agent was nowhere in sight.

  “She was right behind us,” Eliza whispered, running over to the window. If another Pujari sister died she would never forgive herself. Ihita’s death was not on her watch, but Eliza carried it with her. She loved Ihita. She was a dear friend. Perhaps, if she had still been active in the field, she could have done something.

  Outside, the chaos was subsiding. Injured soldiers had been cleared into the infirmary, while the dead had been piled to one side. Small fires, whether caused by the Enforcer’s destruction or by the rebel attack, had been put out. When the wind blew aside the smoke, Eliza was relieved to see Vania standing with her back to them, scribbling notes. The soldiers flowed around her, but she remained where she was, head buried in her work. Ihita had been like that; committed to the detriment of everything else about. Eliza smiled at the memory of many lunches shared at her friend’s desk, with Ihita sticking food in one corner of her mouth while still scribbling with her pencil at some report or other. She had possessed a mighty tolerance for paperwork, one that Eliza had never understood.

  Clearing her throat, she jerked her head in the direction of the young agent. “She’s out there taking notes of some kind.”

  Lieutenant O’Neil appeared at the door. He was holding a tape from an æthermessenger. “Ma’am, Director Smith,” he announced before turning on his heel and stepping out.

  Maulik wheeled into the office and took in the surroundings for a moment, slowly turning his chair in place. “I would never picture you in a posh office such as this, Eliza, but with the bullet holes this new position actually suits you.”

  That headache she felt creeping up on her was returning once more.

  “You are here to relieve me, yes, Maulik?” she asked.

  “Of course, of course,” he said, waving his hand. “I’m just genuinely impressed in how you have managed to stumble upon an ongoing case while pursing a completely unrelated one. Well done.”

  “And I thought I had managed to cock things up here.”

  “By stopping this latest incursion from these elusive rebels? My dear Eliza, the fact you and Wellington were able to positively identify the æthergate—or should I say Mercury’s Gate?—has provided quite the breakthrough.”

  “That was Sir Carroll’s name for it, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck,” Wellington said, shrugging. “I was going to suggest making the best of our time, and show you the site of the æthergate’s appearance while Eliza remains in command.”

  “Then I’ll stay here,” she said, taking the lieutenant general’s seat once more. “I will do what I’ve done best so far as base commander and keep the
chair warm.” She added a broad wink. “After all, how much of a mess can one little woman make?”

  Maulik tilted his head, and then looked over to Wellington. “You know, Wellington, I understand this base has an Enforcer. Quite the technological marvel.”

  “Had an Enforcer,” Wellington said gently, glancing at Eliza. She managed to look not the least contrite.

  “Oh yes, yes, yes,” and Maulik laced his fingers together across his stomach, and looked at her. “Had.”

  Eliza motioned with her head to a paperweight sitting at the edge of the desk. “I can reach that, you know?”

  “You said you had something to show me, Books?” Maulik asked, already backing away and turning to the door.

  “Right this way, Director,” Wellington said, leading the way out.

  Eliza was finally alone. With Maulik and Wellington exchanging notes with Vania, Lieutenant O’Neil preoccupied with restoring operations, and the soldiers of St Paul busy licking their wounds, this was her first opportunity to enjoy a moment’s peace. She would need it in order to have a clear head and search this office properly.

  Leaping to her feet, Eliza stepped back to get a better look at the great desk. Six drawers, two on the left, locked, and four on the right. Across the centre section was a smaller drawer, locked. While the base could brag of having the latest in technological marvels, Southerby’s office was nothing of the sort. For one thing, Southerby didn’t enjoy the assistance of an analytical machine, an æthermessenger terminal, or any kind of scientific innovation. So, Eliza thought with a sigh, this is going to be the old-fashioned way. That suits me just fine.

  Rolling up her sleeves to the elbow, she pulled open the first of the four drawers. This drawer, as was the one underneath it, was full of supplies you would expect: paper, stamps, envelopes, and odds and ends that told her nothing. The third drawer revealed a list of numbers, each soldier being cross-referenced rather than listed immediately. A key for the filing cabinets to her left. She let out a soft groan. Typical of the army to make things complicated.

  Eliza sat back and, on hearing O’Neil bark out orders, stared at the window. Fort St Paul would have to adjust their way of thinking after today. Soldiers, generally speaking, concentrated on the here and now: who was in front of them, how much their ration of beer was, and what their next mission would entail. Often times Eliza knew she completely forgot to take into account how some of the things the Ministry dealt with on a regular basis would appear to those unaccustomed to the unexplained. She had spent so much of her life dealing with secret societies, mad scientists and unnatural beings, they had become normal to her. What Fort St Paul had seen here today would change all that, and some of them simply wouldn’t be able to cope.

  Perhaps they would rather wash it away with their regulation India Pale Ale, which sailed in on continuous shipments. Maybe after long enough they would be able to tell themselves they hadn’t seen it at all. Everyone had their own ways of dealing with the strange, the unusual, and the bizarre.

  “Right then,” Eliza muttered to herself, her eyes narrowing on the centre desk drawer. “Back to business.”

  She did not pack her lock picking set on account of she needed to be able to move. This meant carrying only the essentials: her pistols and her taiaha. So, without the precision tools, this would mean using whatever she could find. Her eyes immediately fell on a rather lovely letter opener. From its make, quite sturdy. Then there was the paperweight she had used to threaten Wellington and Maulik—an impressive statue of what looked like Southerby, the general and his horse mounted against a wide base.

  With tip of the letter opener nestled into the keyhole, Eliza lifted the paperweight up over her head and swung. The statue base slammed hard into the opener. Eliza hefted the paperweight upwards and struck the opener again. The third strike gave items on the desk a good shudder. That should have been enough.

  Eliza gave the opener a hard twist, but on the second wrench, the lock disengaged. With a grin, she opened the drawer and found amidst additional writing utensils and supplies needed for one’s office a folder. She placed it on the desk and flipped it open.

  Those in charge of Fort St Paul had bragged of their connection with Lord Featherstone, but from the looks of these documents, it was hardly an idle boast. India had been the recipient of incredible creations of war. Along with the schematics for The Enforcer, an experimental sniper rifle that shot explosive shells, and uniforms that doubled as body armour, Eliza found in this dossier plenty of inventions waiting on approval from Parliament. Turning another page, the designs for the Gatling Garrison appeared, dated two months before the events of the Diamond Jubilee. Eliza’s déjà vu was not unfounded.

  The next schematics were of weapons that she had seen both advancing from the Thames and attacking from the air. Perhaps in six months or so, the Indian sky would be dotted with Mechamen Mark IIIs while the titanic Mark IIs lumbered along Bombay’s perimeter.

  “Oh, tisk, tisk, tisk, Doctor Jekyll,” Eliza said. “You really are quite the cad.”

  Then she thought about Wellington’s prediction. Remember Southerby and Fort St Paul. Parliament and the Crown would rally the spirit of the people, and in a matter of weeks…

  The loud bang of a door slamming caused Eliza to start. The voices of Wellington, Maulik, and Vania were now discernible in the corridor outside the office, but Eliza could hear a fourth pair of boots with them. That must have been O’Neil.

  “As Agent Books remarked earlier, this variation of æthergate these separatists are using is very unstable,” Vania said, her words echoing slightly. “The ionization of the air, similar to what you felt when you touched Talwar, is still prevalent.”

  “Now with my own limited understanding of this device…” Maulik began.

  “There you go again, being modest, Director Smith,” chided Wellington. “You were on the mission that secured Atlantis.”

  “That will do, Books.”

  Eliza smiled at that retort. Maulik really did not care for his new role, but it did suit him.

  “But if my own memory still serves,” Maulik said, “while we might not be able to see it, the fabric of reality does take quite a bludgeoning. One wrong step outside and we could accidentally slip through an ætheric fracture, step into another dimension.”

  “I believe that is the great mystery at hand,” Vania said as they entered the office. “We have no idea what fallout these imitation æthergates may have on the environment.”

  “Usher may be able to build these portals, but without Poseidon’s Key they cannot translate accurately the computations for targeting, power flow regulation, or even the best current for that matter.”

  “They were working with Edison when we tangled with them in the Americas,” Eliza offered. “I’ll wager they are using direct current.”

  Maulik wagged a finger at her. “Books is rubbing off on you.”

  “On all sorts of places,” she said, waggling her eyebrows a fraction. Waiting for Wellington’s blush to flare, she switched her attention to the stern O’Neil standing by the door. “Lieutenant O’Neil?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied sharply, loud enough to echo in the outside corridor.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, man, at ease, relax, or just…” and she fluttered her hand around him, adding, “…stop making me so bloody nervous. I liked you better when I wasn’t the ranking officer here.”

  O’Neil cleared his throat and removed his helmet. “Sorry, Agent Braun.”

  “Much better. Now, a few questions—The Enforcer. A lovely machine, to be sure, but I did overhear Southerby mention that outside of yourself, none of the other men here could operate it?”

  “That’s true. The controls were rather…difficult…to manage.”

  “But you did?”

  O’Neil smiled. “Like you said, it’s a bit like operating a tractor. Many of the officers in the ranks come from privileged homes. You and I, if I may be so bold to presume…”

/>   “You may,” Eliza said with a nod.

  “We come from more humble backgrounds.”

  “And I noticed a few experimentals in your gun rack. Did I see a modified Crackshot?”

  “Oh yes, the Wilkinson-Webley Model X. Higher velocity shells with an advanced targeting system.”

  Wellington leaned forward. “Advanced how?”

  “Southerby told us the shells worked on a biochemical targeting formula. Provided you could obtain a blood sample from the intended target, the bullets would be able to single them out from a crowd.”

  Wellington and Eliza shared a glance before she asked, “And did it work?”

  The question took O’Neil by surprise. “I…I’m sorry, Miss Braun?”

  “Did the Model X operate as promised?”

  O’Neil shifted from one foot to another, his eyes cast down to the floor for a moment. “We had a few challenges with it, as well.”

  “What Featherstone supplied you with was nothing like you had ever seen before, was it?”

  “Indeed, Miss Braun.”

  Eliza turned to Wellington, Vania, and Maulik, holding up the folder of schematics. “Featherstone was offering these weapons as the latest from the Empire; but compromised by Jekyll as we knew him to be, Fort St Paul served as his personal proving ground.”

  Maulik leaned forward in his chair. “Neither Parliament nor the War Department would ever allow untested weapons into the field, let alone protect India.”

  “Not all the experimentals were so unpredictable,” O’Neil protested.

  Eliza pointed to the soldier with the folder. “Let me guess—the Gatling Garrison?” O’Neil’s brow furrowed, but he nodded nonetheless. “That design had already been thoroughly tested, in preparation for the Diamond Jubilee.”

  “The Grey Ghosts?” Wellington asked.

  “Yes,” Eliza said, handing Wellington the schematics, “and from the looks of what Featherstone was supplying the military, Jekyll had been running this little side venture for quite some time.”