The Ghost Rebellion (42 page)

Jeremy found, even though it was quite comfortable in the café, he was sweating. “You mean, like the presence of Sophia del Morte?”

“
Well, not all surprises are welcome. This camaraderie with the Italian was not anticipated. Fascinating, if you linger on the details.” Holmes glanced at his watch. “I think I shall have Mr Badger send a quick message to her.”

Jeremy straightened up immediately, sending cushions tumbling. “Are you sure that is wise, concerning the events at the Draycott? We lost six Brothers that night.”

“
Six members of the House who severely underestimated our dear Italian asset. To reach the formidable Miss del Morte you must speak her language.” He gave Jeremy a wink. “No need to worry. I’m fluent in it.”

“
Yes, my L—yes, Chairman.”

“
Now we have to set ourselves to finding and capturing Mr Wellington Thornhill Books, Esquire.”

Jeremy was just about to ask how Holmes wanted to achieve that where so many had failed, when a tall form blocked the sunlight falling on them. “After what we have seen today, a rather tall order, do you not think, Chairman?”

His hand gripped the gun under his jacket, but then after a moment Jeremy was able to make out the clean-shaven features of the newcomer, his hair perfectly coiffed, the tailored black suit befitting of a proper gentleman.

“
Mr Cobra,” Jeremy said, sliding his hand away from the pistol.

“
Nahush, at last,” Holmes said, shaking the man’s hand. “Wonderful to see you still in one piece.”

“
Just barely,” Kari said, joining the two gentlemen at the hookah. “You would think with Nahush Kari trapped at the Water Palace, the military would have proven better shots.” He adjusted his spectacles and chuckled. “They needed more time on the firing range.”

“
The æthergate we supplied you did not have any adverse effects, I hope?” Jeremy asked.

“
After I noticed my own issues with Featherstone’s imitation, I refrained from using it. When you have a potential candidate pinned down by gunfire or overwhelming opposition, any loyal soldier appearing from the other side of a tear in time and space will do.” Kari took the offered pipe and drew, savouring the smoke’s taste for a moment. “That’s why you have your pawns on the chessboard. Before every good leader is quality cannon fodder.”

“
After all that time serving as the driving force behind Indian independence,” Holmes said, “I regret seeing your plans quashed today.”

“
On the contrary, the Ghost Rebellion was a rousing success,” Kari stated proudly. “Consider what we have left in our wake between the attacks against Fort St Paul and the Army & Navy Building. Parliament will be in an uproar, screaming for justice. They will tighten their noose around India’s neck, which will hopefully birth new movements, all of them evoking the name of Nahush Kari, gone missing since the Massacre of Jal Mahal.”

“
I don’t think you can hardly call a military skirmish a massacre,” Jeremy said.

“
You can if your men have no way of fighting back.” Kari passed the pipe on to Jeremy and picked up the small tongs hanging against their hookah. He gingerly arranged the coals atop the head, turning them as he spoke. “I had planned for an altercation like this between us and the military. Only few of my soldiers were armed with working rifles. My dear cousin Makeala—the last survivor of the Ghost Rebellion—is now feeding the streets with stories of how we underwent a peaceful pilgrimage to Jal Mahal and were ambushed by the military.”

“
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.