The Books & Braun Dossier

The Books and Braun Dossier

A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Anthology

Pip Ballantine

Tee Morris

Published by Imagine That! Studios 2018

Copyright © 2018 by Philippa Ballantine and Tee Morris

Cover Art and Design by OliviaPro

Interior Layout by Imagine That! Studios

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead is purely coincidental. Any actual places, products or events mentioned are used in a purely fictitious manner.

Contents

Also from Pip Ballantine and Tee Morris

Foreword

A Nocturne for Alexandrina

Tangi a te Ruru / The Cry of the Morepork

The Touch of Hine-nui-te-pō

Sins of the Father

The Precarious Child

Merry Christmas, Verity Fitzroy

Positively Shocking

Darkest Before Darkwater

A Christmas to Die for

The Fawlt in Our Stars

In the Spirit of Christmas

Silver Linings

Home Alone for the Holidays

The Evil that Befell Sampson

A Very Southern Christmas

A word from the authors

About the Authors

Also from Pip Ballantine and Tee Morris

The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Series

Phoenix Rising

The Janus Affair

Dawn’s Early Light

The Diamond Conspiracy

The Ghost Rebellion

Operation Endgame

Verity Fitzroy and the Ministry Seven

The Curse of the Silver Pharaoh

The Mystery of Emerald Flame

The Secret of the Monkey God (coming 2020)

Anthologies

The Books and Braun Dossier

Magical Mechanications

Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales from the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences

Listen to Tee and Pip on the Shared Desk Podcast

Foreword

From the desk of the Director of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences

13 May 2018

Greetings and Felicitations, Agents.

As you read this, I am sure you have many questions. As a descendent of the agents featured in this dossier, I am here to assure you that there are lessons to be learned from this bygone age.

It was once thought we at the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences were something of an obsolete arm of Her Majesty’s government, but following came a series of unfortunate events at the turn of the millennia that showed the Crown and Parliament the inherent need for our unique, particular skills. Since our resurgence, the Ministry has effectively and efficiently solved pressing matters in the United Kingdom, including but not limited to the following:

• The manipulation of markets worldwide by Methusula’s Order in order to slow progress of the Internet.

• A plot to undermine social media founders through The Quiet Podcast engineered by a network of mad scientists calling themselves The Consortium.

• Retrieval of an extraterrestrial spacecraft in Antarctica. Hostile lifeform (masquerading as a dog-wolf hybrid) encountered; but currently sedated in black facility located in LOCATION REDACTED

• Successful return of David Bowie to his home world. Godspeed, Your Majesty.

However, with meteorological and astronomical events that science cannot explain, the elevation of reality T.V. celebrities to highest seats of world power, and the seemingly unending coolness of Idris Elba, our job at the Ministry is far from over. From these cases, you will learn from two of the finest agents ever to serve at the behest of Hey Majesty. Do not dismiss these tales as mere folly, for Agents Books and Braun faced everything from spectral foes, to secret societies, to mad scientists bent on global anarchy. In our modern day world of technology, they may seem to be nothing more than romanticised tokens of our organisation; but from their methods, from their powers of deduction, there are lessons for us to take to heart.

Now is time for us to rise to the challenge to face these mysteries head-on. The Commonwealth turns to the Ministry to explain that which the smartest minds of Scotland Yard cannot. It is we who return fire against those creatures that go bump in the night. When the fantastic, the unknown, and the bizarre threatens the well-being of Her Majesty’s subjects, the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences stands as the first and last line of defence, ready to debunk the grandest of confidence schemes, uncover the darkest of secrets, and explain that which defies explanation.

Except for Idris Elba. We cannot explain such natural badassery. There are some things, even within the Ministry, that can never truly be explained. Only accepted as the will of God.

Good luck, Agents of the Ministry. May Agents Books and Braun teach you something new.

Arlington Hannibal Books

Director, The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences

A Nocturne for Alexandrina

By Tee Morris

London, England

Buckingham Palace

1839

For the first time since becoming queen, Victoria—unequivocally—was not amused.

Today was just one of those days where being queen really was more trouble than the title warranted, and certainly there was a lot of trouble to being queen of the British Empire. First, you needed to look like a queen. That went without saying. Getting up early enough to dress the part. Then there was the pomp and circumstance on the tiniest of life’s most mundane details. Just making it to the table to enjoy a hearty breakfast with her beloved betrothed, Albert, practically demanded an act from Parliament. Then came the maintenance of the Empire itself. Petition upon petition from her overseas representatives, all imploring the crown for more money. Many of these imperative missives from ambassadors were about as dodgy and as superfluous as a man trying to sell high quality sand to a Persian desert gypsy. This, however, did not try her patience so much when compared to the explorers wanting to expand the Empire with her financial help.

Antarctica? Really? Why in the name of God would anyone wish to claim any part of that frozen wasteland?

She then felt a light trickle against the back of her neck. I’m the Queen of the British Empire, she seethed, and with all this technology in my realm they can’t keep this palace cool in the summer? It’s not even two years old! Bloody hell.

Suddenly conquering Antarctica struck her as a good idea. A summer retreat there sounded quite nice. Perhaps this was the price of being the first of anything—a sacrifice of creature comforts.

What gave Victoria a real chill of dismay was that she had only been queen for just over two years. And this miserable, droll routine would be her life for the next few decades. No, becoming queen had not come as a complete shock to her. Victoria’s entire life and training had been leading to this, but certainly this predestination did not make the transition any earlier. Good Lord, just the news reaching her had hardly been an easy process. She could still remember that night involving a rather delightful dream of a Scotsman from good breeding, fine manners, and the kind of calf muscles, just visible from his kilt, that promised thighs and accompanying backsides a woman would take great delight in having within reach. She was enjoying a day’s riding and then a lovely tea—and that was when she knew it was a dream, of course, as a Scotsman, no matter how fine the breeding, would not enjoy a tea, nor describe an Assam as delightful. He was about to become quite forward when she was awakened at the break of dawn by Mamma, informing her that the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Conyngham were in her sitting room, awaiting an audience.

How disappointing. She would have preferred to return to her rather saucy dream, but instead she was to accept the charge of Queen of the British Empire.

Now, Alexandrina Victoria, crowned Queen Victoria, merely tightened her smile and gave the most imperceptible of sighs through her nose. Yes, even queens woke up on the wrong side of beds, even ones as plush and as comfortable as the ones in Buckingham Palace. She had to find a silver lining to this day, or remain trapped in this rut. For the rest of her life. She was queen; but she was human, too. Currently, she was bored and frustrated to the point of tears.

Finally, spoke her Lord Chamberlain, we have a request for an audience.

Then he paused. Queen Victoria crooked an eyebrow, inclining her head to the Lord Chamberlain. Yes. Yes. Out with it.

This request is — well… He went to speak again, but his words appeared replaced by a clumsy silence. He wants permission to establish a new branch of Her Majesty’s government.

I see, Victoria acknowledged with a nod. Let’s see, she thought, suppressing a wry grin as she dreamt up new ministries. We are in need of a Ministry of Truly Appalling Pub Songs. We have no Ministry of Tweed. I think there are some patterns that are in desperate need of regulation. And then of course there is the priority to establish a Ministry of Silly Wal—

Your Majesty, the Lord Chamberlain spoke, his voice shattering her witticism. This branch he proposes would cover the entire Empire. It would be a global entity.

That caught her full attention.

Does this petitioner have a name?

Professor Culpepper Source. The Lord Chamberlain paused to look over the papers in his hands, and then added, He’s a scientist.

Is his name registered or recognised in any of our Royal Societies?

No, Your Majesty.

She turned to look at him. And the reasons behind how he made it this far in the petition process and why I am seeing him this afternoon?

It is the evidence he has presented to his patrons and, in particular, to me personally.

Are you saying you yourself have entertained this Professor Source?

The man’s complexion blanched as he spoke. He looked so pale in that moment that Victoria believed he would succumb to the vapours. I cannot impress upon you the importance of seeing this man.

Perhaps Victoria’s silver lining was at hand. We shall see this man straight away then.

She was a tad disappointed at catching a glimpse of the petitioner when he came around the corner. The closer he drew, the fatter he became. He was a portly gentleman, with a rather bushy moustache that in some odd manner flattered him. The receding hairline, however, she found slightly irritating. Perhaps with a full head of hair, she would have found him quite dashing. In a rather plump sort of way. The suit seemed common enough. Not of any fashion she recognised, but of a tweed that did not speak of any fortune or elevated station.

A scientist. That is exactly what he looked like. A kindly scientist.

On this deduction, she gave a long, low sigh. This day, I fear, she grumbled inwardly, is not going to get any better.

Your Majesty, he announced, giving a deep bow. When he came up, he paused, taking in a deep breath.

Something amiss, Professor Source?

He blinked. Beg your pardon, mum?

Mum?! Victoria asked, her back straightening slightly. Did he just call me ‘Mum’?!

She began to worry about her appearance; she was only twenty, after all!

The man then released a little cough as he began what appeared to be a case of some sort. Do forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. I’m just a bit nervous, is all. I did not expect to see you upon such short notice.

On that, Victoria softened. An honest man. What a refreshing change. Well, professor, it would seem that Fortune favours you as we are having a rather slow day here at the palace. Still, our time for an audience with you is fleeting.