The Ghost Rebellion

by Pip Ballantine, Tee Morris

  “And Sister Raven? You will be rendezvousing with her soon?” Holmes asked.

  “Pakistan, a week from today. Her sudden disappearance will carry consequences, as well.”

  “Excellent, Nahush.”

  “Tut-tut. Mr Cobra, if you please,” Kari said with a slight wag of his finger. “We must keep up appearances.”

  “Yes, of course. I suppose this means we will see more of you at the conference table?”

  “I would suspect so, Chairman.”

  “Very good,” Holmes said, delighted. “With the Ghost Rebellion now a closed project, we can work with all in attendance, whole and complete, dedicated to one purpose.”

  Jeremy could see, even in the dim light of the café, a look of hope in Cobra’s eyes. None of the other board members had spent much time with Holmes; they couldn’t know him as Jeremy had grown to over these many weeks. They probably only thought of him as a murderer and a bit of an amateur architect. They could not truly understand his genius; he could be convivial, and charming, all the while manipulating pieces into place. Holmes did not care about the status or class of whom he manipulated. Be they rail tycoon, shopkeeper, or mill worker, people were merely means to an end. As Jeremy took another long draw of the hookah, he wondered what all the men and women lodging in Holmes’ castle had thought when they finally realised how he had tricked them, their final thoughts as gas claimed them, their revelations when coming to on his examination table.

  He wondered if his fellow board members would one day undergo the same revelation.

  Mr Cobra, usually the subtlest of their number, looked to be swallowing the bait hungrily. “Before us, Chairman, is a very exciting time.”

  “That’s the spirit, old chap.” Holmes smiled. “Now, concerning Wellington Books, I would like to leave this café tonight with options on how to recruit him.”

  “Since I am still unacquainted about this Books fellow, outside of what I learned from Jekyll, why are we so interested in recruiting instead of killing this man?”

  “Gentlemen, Wellington Books may be seen by some of our numbers as the product of a failed venture and a menace to our operations; but after today, you will stand in agreement when I say Books would be an excellent addition to our current endeavour.”

  Jeremy and Cobra looked to one another. How Jeremy had not thought that far ahead with Project Achilles failed him. A brilliant notion. Holmes was freshening their tea as both men shared a silent agreement.

  “Then I propose a modest toast, gentlemen,” Holmes said, raising his cup. “To Ragnarök.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wherein a Message Is Keenly Delivered

  Travelling with Sophia del Morte was rather like sharing a carriage with a barrel of black powder. It was quite impossible to relax for a moment, just in case something happened to cause it to explode.

  Eliza cast their companion a covert look from the other side of the swaying carriage, and when Sophia turned to lock eyes with her, she cast her gaze outside to the Italian countryside passing by quickly.

  With all our accomplishments and accolades, Eliza contemplated, I find myself asking repeatedly “If we are so bloody brilliant, how in the name of God on high do we continue to find ourselves in the field collaborating with her?”

  It wasn’t like they didn’t have enough to worry about, what with Dr Henry Jekyll and Nahush Kari on the loose, and her lover’s personal demons coming to the fore. Now, compounding on all of this, they were charged by Director Smith to escort Sophia del Morte back into Europe, to wherever she wished. Eliza tried to hold onto her hatred for this known assassin, the woman who silenced Harry.

  Harrison Thorne. Her partner when she arrived in London on permanent assignment. One of the finest figures of manhood she had ever known. Forever trapped in a prison of madness. Perhaps Sophia had done Harry a favour. He would not have wanted to live that way.

  Dammit, Eliza swore. Was she actually putting up a defence for this Italian tart? Much as she hated to admit it, there was something compelling about Sophia. Perhaps it was the adventurer in her, living with the constant danger of getting a dagger through the eyeball.

  The other precarious ingredient in the mix, the source of her own ignition perhaps, was also watching Sophia. Wellington, sitting opposite her in the carriage, did not turn away from the assassin’s eye. Instead he leaned across, and offered her a cup of coffee. The trolley lady had only just been down the swaying carriage, and Wellington was as reliant on tea as any citizen of the Empire, not to mention kind enough to order from the trolley a coffee. Chivalrous to the very end. One of the many reasons she loved him so.

  They were cutting through the lovely Italian countryside at the always-reliable pace only hypersteams could deliver, and she was hoping they might be able to drop off their charge in short order. Wellington had already shared his desire to get back to Whiterock, hopefully unearth some more information about Arthur Books’ legacy, embodied in his only son. It was an inconvenient truth he had to deal with, and hopefully keep in control.

  “Thank you,” Sophia said, as Wellington handed her the drink. “I have become quite used to this little ritual.” She tilted her head. “It is wonderful to have you...how do you say...play mother.”

  Wellington let out a breath, long and slow, but her lover did not rise to the bait; instead, he offered Eliza a cup of tea and a cucumber sandwich before resuming his own seat. “Well, since we have been charged with your safe arrival to wherever this final destination of yours may be, we wanted to be certain you have the best trip possible.”

  “We?”

  “Yes,” Eliza said, turning her gaze back to her. “I am leaving the personal service to Wellington. Had I been serving you coffee, I could not guarantee offering it without using said coffee as a weapon.”

  The assassin gave a little shrug and stared out the window. “I expected no less.”

  A surge of guilt rushed through her. Eliza did not want to feel any sort of admiration for this cold-blooded killer, but Sophia had come to their aid again. Yes, for self-serving needs, but she could have remained in hiding. Instead, she had applied her own unique skills in restoring the Empire.

  That stuck her even harder. The Empire. After what transpired at the Water Palace, was the Empire what she believed it to be?

  She went to ask Wellington his thoughts on the matter, and noticed he was not drinking his tea, merely staring into it. “That’s good. Keep an eye on that tea. Can’t turn your back on it, lest it goes cold on you. Ever vigilant.”

  “That will do, Eliza,” he grumbled.

  “Darling,” she urged, giving him a light tap on his arm. “Would you let it go? You missed a shot. It happens to the best of us.”

  “I missed Kari twice. He was well within range. There was no wind to speak of. I had the shot and I missed. Twice.”

  “Considering the day, you may have been rattled.” Eliza shrugged. “But it could have been worse.”

  Wellington’s eyes widened. “Worse? How?”

  “You could have been one of those poor sods snatched up by the electroporter.”

  He opened his mouth to properly debate her on the point, thought about it for a moment, then said, “Find myself teleported into an empty warehouse on the docks of Bombay, or face the terror from my childhood?”

  Damn, he did have a point. “At least from the sound of the æthermail Maulik received, all our men and women were present and accounted for.”

  “Indeed. I know the feeling of an unexpected trip via the electroporter.” Wellington finally took a sip of his tea. “Most unpleasant.”

  “Hopefully,” Eliza said, turning her attention to Sophia, “it is much nicer where we are going…which is where exactly?”

  “Eliza,” Wellington began, “the ticket reads—”

  “A destination,” Sophia interrupted just before taking a long sip of her coffee. “I would no be so foolish as to trust your Ministry without question. You have a wider problem with double
agents within your ranks.”

  “You are right about that,” Eliza returned.

  Her dark eyebrows raised slightly. “I never thought I would hear you speak those words to me.”

  “We may have harboured differences in the past, but I would never deny you the truth. Vania. The Case woman. We should have been better in our vetting process.”

  Wellington raised a finger. “Well, the Ministry was not the only branch of Her Majesty’s government playing Spellicans after the Diamond Jubilee. If we did not have double agents before then, it is difficult to say how compromised we are as an organisation.”

  Eliza took a bite of her cucumber sandwich. It was a bit soggy for her liking. “But you are trusting us?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Sophia asked. “You have not only been loyal to me, you have risked your lives in keeping me safe. I find the notion somewhat foolish, but endearing.”

  “So where are we going?”

  “Home,” Sophia said with a wicked smile. “I am taking you home.”

  The gentle hills of Tuscany rolled past, an endless expanse of beautiful farmland, charming villages, wine and cheese. However, with their true destination revealed, Eliza suspected what was in store for them would be nothing as tranquil or serene. Rumours of the del Morte’s home, its location, and its security, could never be confirmed by any of the Ministry or any other clandestine organisation for that matter. No one had ever seen it. Or at least lived to tell.

  A part of Eliza was incredibly chuffed about this opportunity, most rare indeed, but she kept her thoughts on the matter to herself. She found herself jealous. Incredibly jealous. Sophia del Morte was a known assassin, her dossier documenting numerous deaths at her hands, leading to toppled monarchies and governments thrown into chaos, and yet she could go home. A family waited for her, offering safe haven in the worst of storms. Eliza silently pined for her own family, wishing she too could have a homecoming like Sophia. It certainly didn’t seem fair that this assassin should earn or even deserve such a thing, but she could not.

  His hand slipped over her own, and squeezed. She looked up into his hazel eyes, and felt a single tear escape her. Eliza believed herself to be travelling in a very ladylike fashion, buttoned and corseted, proper skirts made for hypersteam travel, but it was evident by Wellington’s gesture that he wasn’t fooled by the cool mask she presented.

  “Ah, young love.” Sophia’s green eyes sparkled with amusement. “I do hope my presence isn’t intruding.”

  “Not at all,” Eliza replied. Then she leaned across and delivered a deep kiss to Wellington that put her mind in a whirl for a moment or two, pushing back melancholy thoughts. When she released him, he dropped back into his chair, and adjusted his cravat. Was that regret she saw flicker across Sophia’s face? Eliza could not be certain as Sophia turned back to the window, watching Italy rush by in a blur.

  The train pulled into Siena by midday, and thankfully by then they had managed to remain polite as they sipped tea, and simply ignored each other. Despite the warmth and comfort of their private carriage, a palpable tension lingered. At this particular station, however, Sophia rose from where she sat.

  “We have arrived,” she stated, grabbing the small suitcase from her overhead compartment.

  Emerging onto the platform, Wellington took charge of their small amount of luggage. He disappeared for a few moments, perhaps to find any kind of transportation that did not involve a driver. No need to put anyone else at risk.

  “Despite our current worries with Jekyll being at large and this Agent Case business coming to light,” Director Smith had said to them in confidence before setting off, “the del Morte clan have always been a threat. Wherever she is taking you, learn anything you can about her, and how her family operates. Anything we can glean from her might prove valuable and worth the bother.”

  “You have our word, Sophia,” Eliza said. “We take you home. No trackers. No report filed with the Ministry. Your secrets are safe with Wellington and myself.”

  Sophia looked Eliza from head to foot, then back again. “You surprise me, Braun. This seems out of character for you.”

  “That’s a bit of a lark coming from you.”

  “People can change.”

  Did Sophia del Morte just say that? “Really?”

  Wellington had returned with some sort of news—and not good news, from the look on his face—but was silenced before sharing it when Sophia offered them something totally unexpected. “Would you like to meet the family, and perhaps join us for dinner? No tea though, only wine.” She held her hands up. “And I promise, no poisons.”

  “What about blades or guns?” Wellington asked.

  “Mr Books, this is my family. Do not ask for the impossible.”

  Sophia’s smile was beautiful, and yet also somewhat alarming. In a remote village, populated with an unholy legion of deadly women, surely they would not last long? Yet there was the offer right before them.

  Eliza tilted her chin upwards. She never said no to an adventure. “Yes, let’s.”

  “Follow me,” she said.

  “But that is what I came to tell you,” Wellington said. “I cannot find proper transportation for us.”

  “No need to worry, Mr Books. Mi familia has standing arrangements here.”

  Sophia led the way to the local stables across from the train station, where she procured horses for the three of them. By the sweat on his brow, the owner seemed to recognise her straight away. He handed over mounts quickly, took the money offered, and then retreated. It was hardly a surprise the del Morte family were known in Siena.

  Eliza looked at the tossing head of the stallion she had been given. As New Zealand was a country with few roads and endless countryside, equestrian skills comprised some of her earliest memories. However, with Wellington’s influences, she had grown more comfortable with the steadiness of a motor car. They were, after all, predictable. Horses had minds and instincts of their own.

  “Isn’t there a place where we can hire a motor vehicle for the trip?” Wellington asked, looking over his shoulder as if his steed would magically change into one.

  “Nonna does not care for them,” Sophia replied, already gracefully arranging herself atop her bay mare. “Besides, anything motorised would be futile. No roads.”

  “Come on, Welly,” Eliza said with a laugh, as she clicked her tongue to urge her horse forward. “Better than camels, you must admit.”

  Wellington appeared not to like her reminding him of that particular endeavour. Reluctantly, with reins clasped easily in one hand, he joined Eliza and Sophia on their way out of the stables.

  On the open road, Sophia led them leisurely a mile or two before reaching a grass-covered goat track taking them deeper into the countryside. To say this ride was a beautiful, well-earned respite from their investigation in India would be an understatement. Somehow, it made perfect sense to Eliza that Sophia, with her singular, unique charm, came from such a place.

  “Have your family been in the area long?” Wellington said. It was a delight to see him so relaxed, at peace.

  “My Nonna came here when she was first married. My grandfather’s people have been here since recorded history. Nonna doesn’t like to talk about where she came from.” Sophia shot him a wry grin. “I suggest you don’t ask her.”

  “No questions for Nonna,” he muttered to himself. “Duly noted.”

  “I hope you don’t mind the question, but it’s the elephant in the room.” Eliza could see in the corner of her eye Wellington’s grip tighten on his reins. “Are all your family killers?”

  Sophia’s smile was quite proud. “If you hadn’t asked, I would have thought you far too trusting. The answer is no. Our village, Monteriggioni, is a rather peaceful place. And you are guests. You have nothing to fear.”

  The wistful note in her voice nearly took Eliza’s breath away. There was also a hint of longing that she recognized from when she spoke of New Zealand. Again, a part of her ached.
<
br />   Thank goodness Wellington was in a curious mood. “So do you have a plan for when you get there?”

  Sophia shrugged. “I suppose I will take the path my Nonna did when she retired: find a husband, raise a new generation of del Mortes, and teach them how to weave and throw knives.”

  It was quite a picture, and Eliza could easily see it. Who the lucky, or unlucky, husband would be was another thing altogether.

  Twilight was just stealing over the hills, colouring the landscape with shades of turmeric and saffron. Eliza was about to ask Sophia about the wines of her home when the assassin suddenly kicked her horse into a gallop. She caught on their guide’s face a hardened expression, one Eliza had never seen during their trip from India.

  Then, in the air, she could smell smoke. Not the kind reminiscent of winter bonfires. This was stronger, heavier.

  Immediately Eliza was after her, with Wellington just behind. However, they didn’t have to chase Sophia far as she had galloped to the top of the next hill. As both agents pulled up next to her, they saw why she had stopped.

  On the opposite hill was the town they assumed to be Monteriggioni, small but with walls. The sounds of wood crackling and roof beams falling could be heard across the narrow valley. Tall flames and thick, acrid smoke reached into the indigo and violet sky above. Eliza could tell the town had been burning for some time. Nothing moved within the village walls, apart from the flames. No people were fleeing into the valley. No cries for help echoed up to them.

  The firelight reflected on Sophia’s face, catching the tears in her eyes. Her shock surrendered to sadness and mourning. She shook her head, her hands clenching on the reins. “Nonna warned me about Usher,” she said, her voice cracking. “She warned me and I didn’t listen.”

  Eliza dared to place her hand on Sophia’s shoulder. “You don’t know that it was—”

  Sophia let out a howl, a primitive scream that made the horses jerk sideways in alarm. When she turned to her, Eliza saw an incredible, raw rage. “I know! I know them! I know they came here for me!”