Phoenix Rising

Phoenix Rising

CHAPTER ONE
Wherein Our Intrepid Heroes Meet for the First Time and Start Off with a Bang!
Wellington Thornhill Books, Esquire, had never heard an explosion that close before. Considering the ringing in his ears, he would most likely never hear another one like it again.
Splinters, both of the wooden and metal variety, pelted his face, but he was far too distracted to notice anything painful. Perhaps they were from the cell door; perhaps they were from the contraption which held him fast. Was the engineer responsible for this torture device still where he was before the explosion? What of the guards? Time slowed, seeming to creep and flow as in the languid dreams of a deep sleep.
Two strange pops rang in his ears through the hum the explosion had left in its wake. He still could see nothing, but was grateful that he had been kidnapped by a gentleman— one that had seen fit not to strip him of his clothes before shackling him to the wall. Only a complete cad would practice such ungentlemanly behaviour. His clothing had served him well as a minimal shield from the debris, but as his wrists were bound over his head, all he could do was turn his head, screw his eyes shut, and hope for the best.
Creeping through the hum in his ears was another sound—the undulating blaring of klaxons alerting the complex to the intrusion. Considering the very liberal amount of dynamite used on his cell door, he assumed this was a full-on assault from the Ministry. He felt a swell of pride. It felt good to be so appreciated.
A lady emerged from the smoke and debris—though her improper fashions indicated she was unworthy of the title. She was wearing pinstripe breeches tucked neatly into boots that stopped just above the knee. More disturbing than the fact this “lady” was wearing trousers were the sticks of dynamite strapped around her thighs. The boots also had several sheaths for throwing knives. The bodice she was wearing was a black leather device, which not only served to lift the petite woman’s bosom up but also provided a secure surface for the baldric she wore across it. All this was accented with an impressive, fur coat that flowed around her like a cape.
The stillness she engendered in the moment seemed odd to Wellington. Her gaze fixed on him, and there was no relief in her expression. She looked to be sizing him up.
Her pistols finally lowered as she spoke. Wellington’s ears had cleared enough that her voice was discernable.
“You Books?” she asked, sheathing her weapons.
Wellington coughed and spluttered before managing a choked, “Yes.”

“Jolly good then—I’d hate to have come all this way for nothing.” She applied a queer-looking key to the restraints holding his wrists.
From the book PHOENIX RISING: A Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences Novel by Pip Ballantine and Tee Morris. Copyright © 2011 by Pip Ballantine and Tee Morris. Reprinted by permission of Harper Voyager an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers