Phoenix Rising by Pip Ballantine

at the book for a moment, then uttered as she wrote, “ The . . . Book . . . of . . . the . . . Dead . Origins?” She looked at it again, then at Wellington who was watching her. The patience he was concerned about was now slipping fast, as she spoke while writing, “Eeee . . . gypyt. Quantity?” Eyes up, then back to her ledger. “One. Description?” Wellington took a deep breath, struggling to keep from erupting into a frenzy as she muttered, “Big . . . black . . . aaaand . . . dead.” She then punched into the engine’s main interface:
    ANNE BOLEYN
    Eliza pressed two more keys, and the pulley system lowered to her side of the desk where she hefted the large book into its basket. The Book of the Dead was hoisted above them after she pressed another key. Watching it disappear, Eliza gave a nod and returned to her open ledger. She gave the item catalogue a single check, smiled proudly, and then closed the ledger.
    â€œRight then, time for lunch.”
    Had he been drinking tea, he would have sprayed it across the desk. “But you just got here!” Wellington insisted.
    Braun stood from the desk as she checked the fob at the end of her bodice’s chain. “Oh, Welly, hush! I think you will agree the sign of a civilised society is a regular dining schedule.”
    â€œWeren’t you just tardy on account of a late tea?”
    With a heavy sigh, she rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue, in a manner hauntingly similar to his own mannerism. “No, had you been paying attention you would have heard me say my neighbor invited me for an early tea, and as ladies do, we got to talking. I needed to get to know her better and she is a delightful girl. Husband is an upstanding man in business. They were talking about having a child, so perhaps it is good I am no longer in the field, what with my ca—”
    â€œMiss Braun!” Wellington snapped. “You just arrived. And it is rather early, don’t you think, for a luncheon?”
    â€œThis is also part of the challenges in adjusting to your more regimented schedule, Welly. I was endeavouring to be on time today so I took in an early breakfast. Then I had the early tea, and now I am hungry once more. So you will have to excuse me. I will not work across from a gentleman with my stomach growling.” Again, she checked her watch and grimaced. “Right then, toodle pip and all that. See you in an hour. Perhaps.”
    With a rustle of skirts, Braun disappeared into the shadows of the Archives and then re-emerged as a bright cutout of light colours against the dark wall supporting the stone staircase.
    Wellington, his fingers drumming against the desk, watched her ascend. This woman had some amazing gall. To show up for her assignment only to leave for a midday meal after ten minutes of work? Disgraceful! How could this insubordinate harridan be one of the most outstanding field agents of the Ministry? Her results must be truly astounding.
    Wellington sniffed, and returned his attention to cataloguing the El Dorado vases . . . minus one. That was when he sneezed.
    Wellington, while removing his handkerchief, sniffed again. And again, he sneezed, this time properly. His nose was starting to clog up a bit, but not before he identified the culprit: lilacs.
    Wait a moment , he thought. Agent Braun was wearing . . . a dress?
    The door at the top of stairs closed quietly, and he felt his back straighten. He gave another sneeze, and simmered at his end of the desk as he blew into his handkerchief.
    Wellington now knew where his patience came to an abrupt end—wherever Miss Eliza D. Braun was headed.
    He walked around to the back of the engine and cast a nervous glance to the hatch Eliza had just secured. Wellington counted silently, and assured himself no one would be surprising him with a visit. Why would today be any different?
    The hidden terminal