Phoenix Rising (4 page)

“Hold on,” Agent Braun interjected. “I remember Agent Hill going on about these gadgets. He said these came from—”

“Atlantis, yes, Agent Braun. The 1872 case took place there. The House of Usher had seized control of the underground—or to be more accurate, underwater—base many decades ago and were pulling both sailing vessels and airships to the murky depths.”

“And this was in 1872?”

“Quite.” Wellington retrieved the bound volume and flipped to the end pages. “The site was, indeed, the city of Fortuna Prime, what the Ministry research team of 1872 deduced was the capital city of Atlantis. The House of Usher had held that outpost for nearly fifty years, as far as we—the Ministry, to be precise—were to ascertain; but the lead investigator on this case theorized—if you give me a moment . . .” And Wellington's voice trailed off as he flipped to earlier pages, his fingertips selecting tabs marking various key points of the investigation. “Yes, here, Agent Heathcliffe Durham believes the House of Usher held the outpost for a much longer period, possibly dating back to Columbus' first crossing. He recommended that further investi—”

“Thank you, Agent Books,” Doctor Sound interrupted. “I do believe you have illuminated our colonial pepperpot here quite adequately.”

Agent Braun's lips moved as if to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Only for a moment. “Director, if we have access to these resources, why are we not using them more often in the field?”

“Because these resources, as you would believe them to be, Agent Braun, still remain unknown to us.” Doctor Sound replaced the lid on to the chestnut box. “I allowed access to the Gate Keys as this was a return trip for us in the Ministry to the Triangle. Whenever we do tap into these resources, we do so with great caution and responsibility. Unlike some agents in this organisation, Agent Brandon Hill exudes infallible traits of control, trust, and reason.” He paused, his eyes remaining fixed on Agent Braun. A few moments later, he continued. “We investigate the odd, the peculiar, and the unknown; and that investigation continues when time allows here in the Archives. Does it not, Books?”

“Naturally,” Wellington said, turning to the interface and returning the case back to its shelf with the push of a key.

“Tell me again, if you please,” Agent Braun began, “exactly how far back do these Archives go?”

Doctor Sound waved an admonishing finger, “Have you never been down here for research?”

Before she could answer, Wellington chimed in with, “No, Director.”

Both Braun and Sound turned to him.

“I believe,” Wellington said, thankful for the shadows of the Archives, “I would have remembered Agent Braun visiting here.”

“Director, if you recall, my former partner tended to be old-fashioned. I'm sure he would have found this place unsuitable for a lady of my delicate disposition.”

The tiny “
Yelp!
” escaping Wellington's lips caused both of them to start.

Clearing his throat, the Archivist motioned deeper into the chambers. “You asked, Agent Braun, about how far back the Archives go. If you please?”

They continued to the far wall where the shelves' plaque, like the others, caught the gaslight:

1840

“The very beginning,” Doctor Sound murmured, his own pride evident.

“Yes, Director,” Wellington added. “The Ministry's first year. These were extraordinary steps to walk in, I assure you.”

His smile dimmed slightly at Braun's furrowed brow.

“Do you not see?” He motioned at the massive shelves towering around them. “We are standing in the very origins of the Ministry. Before you, I, and even Doctor Sound here winked into existence, brave souls began what would become—”

“My job, Books,” Braun retorted, her own enthusiasm notably lacking. She then turned on Doctor Sound, her back now the only visible thing to Wellington. “This is all well and good, Director, but I fail to understand how a tour of the Ministry's basement will make me a better agent in the field.”

Doctor Sound went to speak; but it was Wellington's voice, now carrying an entirely different tenor from before, that answered. “We learn from the past.”

Braun smirked. “Really? I thought history was written by the victors.”

“That may very well be, but what I do down here is carry on the work and preserve the voices of those who lived it. And it is their case work, their expertise, that serves the next generation in the field, and in many cases brings the next generation home to Mother England safely.”

“So far, Books, I have managed to come home quite safely—as you've seen—by living in the now, and not lingering in the then.”

His eyes narrowed. While he tolerated the disdain of his “fellow” agents, he did not appreciate being so abused in his own den.

And she's a colonial to boot
, hissed the cold voice in his mind.
I do believe this savage needs a reminder of her betters.

Wellington stepped back, his heart hammering in his chest.
No
, he thought quickly.
Not here. Not! Here!

“Agent Braun,” he began, “allow me to demonstrate how important it is that we preserve each case. And allow me, if you will, to pull from your own past.”

She snorted. “Oh, this should be grand fun.”

“I remember one of your earlier cases here at the Ministry took you to India, or was it Egypt? A death on the Nile or some sort of business?”

“Actually, yes, Books. 1892. And it was
several
deaths on the Nile. One of those slow cruises for the upper crust, and the clientele were having a tough time staying alive on this one boat. I remember it being quite the initiation as the bodies of the dead all bled sand.”

“I remember filing away this case. Took you how long to resolve?”

“Five weeks.” Braun shuddered. “I still remember the monumental sunburn I brought back with me.”

Wellington glanced at Doctor Sound who seemed to be enjoying the repartee between him and Agent Braun. Something about the Director's smile unnerved him.

“Five weeks, and I do recall in your report that several times you and your partner were somewhat challenged, if not stonewalled?”

Braun's jaw twitched. “Get to the point, Books.”

“The culprit was not so much a person as it was—”

“The Amulet of Set, what our local contacts told us had been unearthed in an excavation. This amulet was harnessing the power of this God of Evil, and Set was also fond of the sandstorms. Turns out the owner of the boat clued in on this amulet's secrets and started lashing out at the aristocrats that had him ferrying people along a desert's sole river.”

“A necklace of dark magic, you say?” He crossed between them and rested his fingertips on the shelves' filing terminal, muttering to himself, “Let's see now, 1840, and if memory serves—”

“The agent's name was Atkins,” Doctor Sound interjected. “Case reference number 18400217UKNL.”

Wellington looked at the Director for a moment, and then over to Braun. She merely shrugged.

His fingers depressed the keys of the case number into the interface, its final key starting the
clickity-clack-click-clack
melody above them, once again. As it did back in 1872, a winch lowered from above their heads an identical basket containing a small portfolio resting atop a thin, wide chestnut box.

“Case 18400217UKNL investigated by Agent Peter Atkins,” Wellington read from the portfolio's cover, “This was a case that dealt with a series of random misfortunes and, eventually, deaths centered around relatives of Parliament.”

“A rather dark piece of business,” Sound added.

Wellington looked up from the portfolio in his hands. “Sir, this case is over fifty years old. How could you recoll—”

“I can read too, old boy,” the Director quipped. “And my memory, as you see, is quite infallible.”

He felt a heat rise in his skin. “Yes, of course, Director.” Wellington started flipping through the worn, weathered pages of this case report. “But you see, Agent Braun, had you reached out to the Archives, you would have discovered yourself in a similar predicament and saved yourself a great deal of—”

“Oye, Welly,” her voice barked, causing him to start, “did you know this was in here?”

Wellington and Doctor Sound turned to Braun who now rested the chestnut box along her forearm. The soft glow coming from the gemstones seemed to dance in the agent's eyes, and the wider she smiled the brighter the glow became. Her fingers gently stroked the blood-red gems that brightened at her feather-touch. They both heard her sigh of admiration and wonder reverberate around them.

Quickly following the
snap
of the portfolio's closing came the
snap
of the jewelry box's lid. If Wellington had taken a fingertip or two of the colonial's, then so be it.

“And there is your first lesson, Agent Braun, in handling that which no one understands!” bit Wellington, not even bothering to keep his voice calm. “This,” he said, motioning to the necklace case, “was the instigator of the crimes. Agent Atkins was able to trace the perpetrator's source of dark magic to this heirloom, the Necklace of le Fay.”

“Le Fay?” Braun snorted. “As in Morgane le Fay? The Saucy Trollop from Avalon, Morgane le Fay?!” Her laugh cut through him. “Oh come off it, mate. There was no such person!”

“Perhaps, Agent Braun, you should get down to the Archives more often,” Wellington huffed just before replacing the necklace back into the basket. With a few keystrokes and
clickety-clacks
, the items disappeared into the darkness above them, back into their rightful place within the stacks. “I'm sure in the field an assignment ends once you file the final report, but if you ever were curious as to what happened to your spoils of war and battle, they end up here in the Ministry Archives. Here, items are catalogued, sorted, and stored until that operation arises wherein you will need logistics. And while there may be more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Agent Braun, I assure you there are things far more wondrous-strange here in the Archives.”

Braun chuckled. “All right then, if we can't play with your toys here in the basement, Welly, why not this?” she quipped, rapping a knuckle against the Archives' access terminal. “Why are the agents not granted this resource? This difference engine, connected to these remote terminals in such a fashion—
fantastic
! How is this powered?” she asked.

Wellington patted the brick wall beside him. “You know of the Thames?”

“Unlimited power.” Her eyebrows shot up. “Those tinkers are so bloody clever.”

Now he
really
didn't like her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Research and Design. Their imagination knows no boundaries, does it?”

Wellington felt a sudden twinge in his neck.

“Field Agent Braun,” he began, his voice quivering lightly, “firstly, this is not a difference engine. It can do a bit more than mathematics. This is an analytical engine, based off Babbage's original schematics with a few enhancements of my own. Second, I am well aware your ilk rarely visit my Archives, and that you tap into this Ministry
resource
only when and if the need arises. The last resort, I believe one of your colleagues referred to me as. So you would have not known that this analytical engine and its connected terminals are devices of
my
design and implementation, apart from the fact that, unlike many of the prototypes fabricated by Research and Design, it
works.
”

“Well now,” piped in Doctor Sound, “it seems this rather overdue visit to
your
Archives is serving several plagues of the Ministry.”

The Director's timing was impeccable as his words fell on the final stanza of Bach's concerto.

Drip . . .

Drip . . .

Drip . . .

“I'm sorry,” Wellington said, his voice seeming quite loud to himself. “Plagues?”

“Yes, Agent Books—plagues.” Even in the glow of gaslight, Wellington could see the growing tint of red in the Director's cheeks. “I thought giving you a bit of latitude down here, what with Research and Design rejecting your applications to work with them, would keep you passionate about your placement. It seems that it has. All too well.”

Wellington swallowed. “Sir?”

“Yes, it is true that
your
Archives provide perhaps the most valuable of assets to the Ministry, and the work you have done in
your
Archives has been nothing short of spectacular.” From behind the spectacles on his nose, Doctor Sound's eyes went chillingly dark. “But make no mistake—these are not
your
Archives.”