Thrilling Tales of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences (32 page)

“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 small 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.

“You might want to shield your eyes,” Josephina warned just before the darkness disappeared in the wake of a terrible explosion, light and heat washing over them as their own airship listed dangerously.

It was several minutes before they could see or hear again, and by that time, Dragomir’s pirate ship was just so much ash in the air.

Despite the pirate attack, Lady White had insisted that the conference continue. The ladies were energised from driving off the attack. Doctor Blackwell, however, had remained silent for the remainder of the voyage. A trait Wellington knew was not normal.

In their final day, Wellington served Josephina tea, poured another setting, took a seat opposite of her, and made his confession. “I’m going to have to include this in my report to Doctor Sound. It not like we can keep an attack by pirates a secret. Especially since so many others serve as witnesses.”

“But Agent Books! If it’s known that my brother—”

“Now then,” Wellington interrupted, enjoying his tea, something he desperately needed after this experience. “I don’t think it necessary that your relationship with the Baron be mentioned.”

Josephina’s pallid complexion appeared to regain colour. “Truly, Agent Books?”

“Indeed. And this time, we saw him die.”

“But Agent Books, that is hardly an assurance, he has faked his death many times and—”

Wellington knew taking her hands in his was not only most forward but hazardous in the case of Josephina. He did so anyway, assuring her softly, “Agent Blackwell, someday, you may have to face him. But that is not something the Ministry can make you do. It is something you must seek out on your own.”