The Janus Affair

407 Pages·2012·2.47 MB·English

by  Ballantine Pip

The Janus Affair
A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel
Pip Ballantine & Tee Morris
Dedication
To our parents, Roger & Pamela and Wayne & Nancy, who never expected their
kids to travel back in time by airship and save the Empire but understand that
sometimes it is required.
Contents
Dedication
Prelude
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Interlude I
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Interlude II
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Interlude III
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Interlude IV
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Interlude V
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Interlude VI
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Interlude VII
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Interlude VIII
Chapter Thirty-Two
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
By Pip Ballantine & Tee Morris
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prelude
Wherein the Perils of Train Travel Are Made Plain
I
t was the smell—the smell of metal baking under a summer sun—that alerted
Lena to the terrible fact that her getaway had been a failure.
The sharp, hot odour burned her nostrils, reawakening the blind panic she had
pushed back earlier in the evening. Now it wrapped invisible, chilling tendrils
around her throat again. Unconsciously, she touched her face with one gloved
hand, wincing as her skin flared under even this lightest of contact. Still, if a
light sunburn was the worst she’d got away with, then she would not complain—
not with what she had witnessed.
Lena had nearly been lulled to sleep with the repetitive rattling of the train,
being wedged between its window and a rather rotund woman with a hatbox
perched on her lap. Even after what she had seen back in Edinburgh, she dared
to take some reassurance once the hypersteam had reached full speed. Her next
stop would be London. She would rush home to Adelaide, hold her close, and
then together they would pack up Lily and head out from the city. Having a plan,
even as threadbare as hers, added to her sense of security, like that of a babe in a
mother’s arms.
That was before the scent tickled Lena’s nose, sending her blood into a heady
rush. Every primitive sense screamed at her, Run. Run now!
Ignoring propriety and decorum, she shoved her way past the damnable
woman—not even bothering to excuse her lack of manners as the lady’s
ridiculous hatbox tumbled to the floor. Outraged complaints of her fellow
passengers packed tight in this third-class car were reduced to distant clatter as
she took long strides down its length. Manners and decorum held no
consequence to her now. Had they known what she knew—witnessed for
themselves what had happened to Maude Wilkinson—they would have
understood. Undoubtedly, they would have joined her in a terrified flight.
She rested one hand on her stomach while her other clutched at her skirts,
lifting them slightly. Her stride grew longer, then faster. Against the momentum
of the train she felt that sinking illusion that she was only running in place.
Beneath her corset, her heart raced as fast as the random thoughts flashing in her
mind. Why didn’t she wear trousers this morning? They would have been so
much more efficient when running for one’s life.
What of Adelaide, waiting at home? What would her love think if she didn’t
come back? Would she believe Lena had abandoned her and their sweet Lily?
What if—heaven forbid—the abomination caught her?
The desire to live, to escape, choked her throat, so huge that it seemed
impossible. Yet Lena had seen so many impossible things today. So many. Too
many.
She stumbled to the third-class door, and the rush of winter’s chill cleared her
mind as well as stirred the passengers unfortunate enough to be in the seats
closest to the junction between cars. The bitter cold lingered against her exposed
skin when she slipped into second-class. Another two carriages remained ahead,
and then came the private compartments of first-class. One more car, after this
one. She concentrated on that as she strode forward. She dared not look back. If
she did, she knew the abomination would be there, on her heels. The last thing
she would see. The other end of her present car grew closer but on catching a
whiff of hot brass in her nostrils, her mind flashed again and again on what
horror she had witnessed in Scotland.
Much as in third, the second-class passengers closest to the door grumbled
and barked at Lena as she continued into the junction. Now in the tiny gangway
between cars, the wind biting at her skin, an idea came to mind. To her educated
mind.
Madness. Nothing, other than madness.
“Madness,” she heard herself whisper even as she slipped out of her overskirt
and tossed it into the darkness, even as her fingers released the catch on the iron
gate, even when her hand gripped the metal rung of the ladder. There was no
reason to say it again as her heels locked into the rungs under her, nor when she
began to pull herself upwards. Then Lena cleared the top rung and any civilised
thought she might have entertained disappeared as the wind struck her hard and
relentlessly. At their present speed of seventy miles per hour across Her
Majesty’s countryside, the January chill ripped though her clothes, through her
chemise; and against her skin Lena felt invisible needles tear into her.
She needed to disappear, if only for a moment. Yes, this was madness, but
also her only chance.
Lena was thankful, still. At least it wasn’t snowing.
The phenomenal speed of the hypersteam train was tearing at her eyes, yet
she dare not spare a hand to wipe them clean. Her gloves, satin creations that
were far too respectable for her current exploits, grasped the roof’s edge, her
fingers searching for any purchase. Lena suddenly felt warmth, only to feel the
cold for fleeting moments, then warmth once again. Is this what that peculiar
extension running along the rooftops of passenger cars was all about? She tried
to imagine the train car before her. What else would be up here for her to grab on
to? A small chimney? Yes. Somewhere along her progress, somewhere in the
near-darkness, she would see it. Would she catch its scent first?
A scream drowned out the locomotive’s rhythmic chuff-chuff-chuff and
caused her grip to tighten. Something was happening to the air around her, and
in moments each breath caused her to gag and retch. A stale, earthy taste
continued to fill her mouth. What was happening?
My God, we are in a tunnel!
Her jacket could not filter out all of the foul soot from the engine’s main