The Ghost Rebellion (30 page)

“
I am not permitted to give real name,” she said, her words sounding a little sad that she could not afford the same intimacy. “You call me Mama Bear.”

“
Mama Bear?” Bruce repeated, nodding. “Well, all right then, Mama Bear, how are we going to handle this rather sticky wicket we find each other in?”

“
We?” She motioned for lliad and murmured something. Her Russian was soft but clear in its intent. With a quick nod from Iliad, the soldier disappeared. “I do not think you understand problem, Bruce.”

“
Aww, now come on, Mama B, I understand the problem all too well. You all are up to no good out here in the woods. My mate here and I are having a butcher’s on behalf of curious parties.” He gave a shrug of his own massive shoulders. “And something tells me if we were to not let our superiors know of our well-being, your little operation here will warrant a lot of attention.”

“
I see,” she said, with an incline of her head. “Perhaps I should let you know a bit more of our operation then?”

Bruce allowed his smile to brighten a bit. Didn’t matter the age, he could always charm the ladies.

His attention jumped from Mama Bear to the door as both the Bloke and the Yank, immediately followed by Iliad, all entered the cell. The two guards’ faces darkened on seeing the stoic Brandon and him sitting there, but their simmering anger lasted for only a moment as they suddenly noticed the old woman sitting in front of them.

“
Gentlemen,” she said, putting her teacup back on the trolley “you recognise our guests here, yes?”

“
Tha’ I do, Mama Bear,” the Bloke growled. “Got scores to settle with the both of ‘em.”

“
Indeed, you do, but first—” and she motioned to the tea and vodka by her side, “—what would you prefer?”

“
I’m not one for tea, Mama Bear,” the Yank said, “so I will gladly partake of the vodka.”

“
The same,” said the Bloke.

She turned to the tray and took up the glasses, passing one to each of them.

“
Ta, mum.”

“
Da, nyet,”
the old lady said, chuckling. She motioned for the two of them to come closer. “I give you drink—good Russian vodka—and you say ‘Ta,’ when you should say
‘Nosdrovia’
which is Russian ‘Cheers’ when drink offered. Come, come,” and she waved her hand, beckoning them even closer.

The two men lowered themselves to one knee in order to accommodate Mama Bear. She took up the bottle and toasted to the two men, and much to Bruce’s surprise, tipped the bottle back and enjoyed a good-sized gulp of the spirit.

The Bloke forced a smile and repeated, “Nosdrovia.”

The American followed suit. “Nosdrovia.”

They were in mid-drink when the old woman switched her grip on the bottle’s neck and shattered it against the leg of the seat she occupied. The jagged edge of the vodka bottle sank into the Bloke’s neck, but it was the twist Mama Bear gave the glass that proved fatal. Blood was now gushing into the bottle fragment, pouring out of the still-intact glass neck. Bruce then watched Mama Bear, calm as you please, reach into a compartment of the tea trolley and produce Bruce’s own Remington-Elliott.

The Yank stumbled back to find himself trapped in the corner of the cell. “Mama Bear, please—” was all he was able to say before she fired off a single shot, decorating the dark corner with a think texture of skull and brains.

“
Perhaps House of Usher could equip us with such fine sidearms, da?” she asked no one in particular as she studied the light pistol in her hands. “You say you understand problem when there really is no problem.” She hopped back into her seat and looked at Bruce. He could see it in her gaze—she was talking to a dead man. “You see what you should not see. You die. Secret kept.”

Bruce looked back over to Brandon. Nothing. Still staring forward. He was really taking this method to heart.

“
Now just a moment, Mama B,” Bruce said, trying to keep calm. “My silent partner and I are just curious travellers, that’s all. Those who employ us—”

“—
will know to stay clear of Usher business,” she said as she raised the pistol.

“
You really are thick,” a voice from behind Bruce stated.

Bruce was on the verge of soiling his trousers, and Brandon just throws the gauntlet down like that?
He’s finally cracked,
Bruce thought as he looked back to his partner.

Brandon’s expression was as menacing as Mama Bear’s. He remained fixed on the babushka, his smile confident, his outward demeanour that of one completely and utterly in command of what was a completely-out-of-control scenario.

“
Fine,” Mama Bear conceded. “I shoot you first.”

“
Kill us,” Brandon said, “and you commit your operation here to a full-scale assault from our replacements.”

The Remington-Elliott lowered slightly. “And why would your replacements mount full assault? They know nothing.”

“
They know about Ragnarök,” he insisted.

“
Goddammit, Brandon, “ Bruce blurted out, “now they know why we are really here! If you had just given me a few more minutes—”

“
Bruce, I know you wanted to handle this without heavy loss of life, but we’ve got no choice in the matter. We’ve tried solving it your way. Now we let Her Majesty’s military handle it.”

Mama Bear tossed the pistol to Iliad and then slipped out of her chair to stand between the two men. “So you are British military, after all.”

“
In a manner of speaking,” Brandon stated. “We’re independent contractors from the Department of Imperial Inconveniences. Some of my connections in the higher ranks got wind of Ragnarök and sent us in for confirmation. We have, depending on the last time I consulted a timepiece, twelve hours before we are counted as overdue. Once that happens, you call down the might of the Imperial Army on this location.”

“
You have seen what we are doing here, yes?”

“
And you know full well what our military is capable of when properly motivated.”

Bruce nodded. “Rest assured, Mama B, if the military is willing to send in blokes like us, the reputation of the Department as it is, Her Majesty is properly motivated.”

She looked at the two of them for a moment, and then barked something in Russian. Iliad and one of their cell guards grabbed the corpses and dragged them out into the corridor as Mama Bear dealt orders to the remaining man. Once the guard snapped her a salute, she turned to face them again.

“
Then I have twelve hours to decide what to do with you,” she said evenly. “My initial option perhaps brings on more problems. We shall see, yes?”

She spared one final look to each of them, and then turned to follow the other two guards. Bruce shot Brandon a hot, angry look, but then loosed a wink. They had just bought themselves time.

With a deep breath, Bruce resumed his own casing of the room. Not much different from before, except now for the presence of a tea trolley. He craned his neck to look at the window behind them. No snowfall. It looked as if the sky cleared up as there was moonlight coming in and falling on Brandon’s hands.

He looked back towards the window again. Clear night. Moonlight.

From the talk with Mama Bear, the Houseboy’s primary language was Russian. Maybe he knew enough English, though, to make the next part of his plan work.

“
You know French, German, and even Spanish,” Bruce chuckled, “and you’re still wanting more?”

Brandon blinked. “Come again?”

“
You’re wanting to learn sign language. You deserve a hand. I mean, that’s good of you, mate. ”

“
Be quiet,” their guard barked.

Bruce looked over to Brandon. “Got to hand it to ya.” Brandon’s brow furrowed. “Knowing sign language? It’s going to come in quite handy.”

“
QUIET,” the guard snapped.

Bruce kept his gaze with Brandon. Then he watched his partner’s brow relax and his eyes go to Bruce’s bound hands.

One. Guard.

On the second time signing this, Brandon mimicked the gestures with his own bound hands.

Watch. Door.

“
What if I don’t want to be quiet?” Bruce asked.

The guard stomped in front of Bruce. “Mama Bear want you alive. Mama Bear do not care if you are injured.”

“
Really?” Bruce barked out a laugh. “Brave man, talkin’ to a guy all tied up.”

“
You forget,” he said, lifting up his M1891, “I also have gun. Does not make me brave.” The guard then swung the rifle butt around, clocking Bruce in the temple. “Does make me in charge.”

Bruce blinked, trying to ignore the stars merrily dancing in front of him. “Good on you, mate.”

The guard snorted, then took a few steps towards Brandon. “You have anything to say?”

Glass shattered, and the guard’s head snapped back. A single bullet to the brow, and she had even compensated for trajectory through tempered glass.

Brandon, after a moment, said, “I do. Cracking shot, Ryfka is.”

Bruce twisted in his chair, turning his own binds towards Brandon. “Right then, work on these knots for me, would ya?” He heard the grinding of metal against concrete, and then felt fingers start to work against the knots out of his reach. “Since we have a moment, what the hell were you all on about?”

“
What? Ragnarök, you mean?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Not a bloody clue. It was something that Yank said just before we jumped him and his mate.
‘We’re all one big happy Usher family now. Ragnarök, after all, depends on that, yes?
’ I’m thinking this is what Usher is up to here.”

“
That explains why there was little to no security on them Firebird feathers. Not sure if them feathers are part of the plan.” Bruce felt his rope slacken, and then he was free. “It’s all about those tanks.”

“
I’m still trying to understand what it was we saw. Tanks are unstoppable, after all, so why reinvent the wheel?”

“
Tanks are unstoppable monsters on the battlefield,” Bruce began, freeing his ankles, “but what about the terrain around here? Those treads and all that metal they’re carrying wouldn’t fare so well.”

“
Build something that can climb, that can manage steep vertical inclines.”

“
Those Bears would do quite well for themselves in cold, mountainous regions.” Once free, Bruce kicked aside his chair and started on Brandon’s bonds. “Russia. Germany. Parts of Spain.”

“
Blimey,” Brandon whispered. “They could revolutionise war with technology like that.”

“
But what was it you said—one big happy Usher family now? Something tells me these Bears are only part of this Ragnarök.”

Once Brandon’s wrists were freed, Bruce stepped into the moonlight.
Amazing shot, Ryfka,
he signed.
We’re making our way back to the east entry point. Meet us there. Urgent.
 

With Brandon back on his feet, Bruce motioned to the dead guard. “What do you think?”

“
Come on, look at those shoulders,” Brandon said.

“
Right then,” he grumbled, taking his own coat off, “since I can’t do any sort of Russian accent to save our lives, and yeah, I mean that literally, I think you should be responsible for any sort of cover story, if we get stopped.”

“
How’s this for a cover story? I lead with a punch and you shoot anyone else who happens to be there?”

Bruce slipped into the Houseboy’s long black coat, and hefted the M1891. He took the offered munitions belt from Brandon, and passed the rife to him. “I like the sound of that cover story.”

“
The coat should suffice,” Brandon said. He returned the rifle, along with a wide, black scarf. “Try to conceal that ridiculous jawline of yours.”

“
I’ll have you know,” Bruce began, tightening his fist around the thick scarf, “that this is a good, solid Australian profile I have. It’s a trademark of the country.”

“
Unfortunate we’re in Russia at the moment then,” his partner quipped. He pushed back the folds of Bruce’s coat, and found in one of his belt’s pouches a series of long, thin instruments probably used in maintenance for the rifle’s scope. “Now give me a few minutes with this lock, and then we’re getting out of here.”

“
East entry point. Ryfka’s meeting us there.”

“
What?” Brandon asked, nearly dropping his makeshift picks. “Are you mad? We need to find the closest exit.”

“
Nah, mate, we meet Ryfka at the east entrance.” Bruce tightened the grip on the M1891. “Mission parameters have changed.”

Chapter Twelve

In Which Our Intrepid Agents Enjoy a Most Extraordinary Train

Standing on the private platform, wreathed in steam on this warm evening, Eliza counted the number of carriages, while Wellington disappeared to examine the working end of things. This was her second stroll along the impressive locomotive belonging to the Indian Office of the Ministry. It was not a hypersteam, but she somehow felt there was an incredible power in this train. Something not only about the engine but the cars had a unique design to them. In particular, the car directly behind the coal car. That particular segment was twice the length of a normal car, and it seemed—somehow—to be
floating
.

“
My, my, so many handsome men—and in uniform too,” Sophia said, her tone resembling a hungry purr.

Eliza tried not to think of the assassin standing behind her; that would only make her back itch. In normal circumstances, she would keep Sophia well within eyesight. So far, this operation had been nothing but odd and unpredictable, even for the Ministry. They originally came to India on the hunt for Henry Jekyll. An æthergate, an electroporter, and a double agent later, she was about to bring to justice a group of rebels comprised of those listed as missing or dead, who might or might not be completely in this world. She had seen a grand number of fantastic things in her time with the Ministry, but this case felt like a perfect storm of insanity.