The Secret of the Monkey God

By Pip Ballantine and Tee Morris

The fearless Verity Fitzroy and her loyal Ministry Seven face their greatest challenge yet.

After their Anatolia mission, they're in turmoil and discover that Liam is alive but imprisoned by the Illuminati.

Determined to rescue him, Verity rallies her friends and embarks on a journey to Edinburgh. The city is abuzz with the excitement of a grand scientific exhibition, drawing brilliant minds from all corners of the globe to the ancient castle. Among the attendees is a delegation from the mysterious city of Xel, showcasing the strange powers of the Monkey God.

Join Verity Fitzroy and the Ministry Seven for a thrilling steampunk adventure full of mystery and risk. Can they outwit the manipulative Octavius and halt his sinister machinations before it’s too late? The fate of the world hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ImagineThat Studios
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215276372

Pip Ballantine

Born in New Zealand, Philippa (Pip) Ballantine has always had her head in a book. A corporate librarian for thirteen years, she has a Bachelor of Arts in English and a Bachelor of Applied Science in Library and Information Science. She is New Zealand's first podcast novelist and has produced four podiobooks. Many of these have been shortlisted for the Parsec Awards, and she has won a Sir Julius Vogel Award. She is also the author of Geist and the soon-to-be-published Spectyr. While New Zealand calls, currently Philippa calls America home.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

VERITY’S NIGHT OUT

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It was time for revenge. All the best stories started with that.

Verity got out of her bed and slipped into her clothes as quietly as only a practiced street urchin might manage. She didn’t strike a light lest she wake the rest of the Ministry Seven. This needed to be her revenge, and hers alone.

Though she understood fully that she broke the cardinal rule of the Seven—no secrets. Verity, though, couldn’t bear to put the younger ones in harm’s way—not again. The idea of losing another of their number was unacceptable to her in every way. 

No, it was better she and she alone take on this burden and the danger of this mission. So, with only moonlight to illuminate her path, and her boots in hand, she padded downstairs to the kitchen.

Mercifully, none of the other Seven were about. She might have expected Christopher lurking in a corner somewhere. The other children’s experiences left them unwilling to leave their Safehouse. A week after their reunion—Christopher was the lone child who dared to go out on pick-pocketing expeditions. 

Taking no chances, Verity carefully checked the corners of the warm kitchen, and verified that none of the Seven were about. Since Liam’s loss, the street urchin preferred to huddle in their tiny rooms like beaten creatures in their den. They licked their figurative wounds and barely spoke a word to each other. November might be a chilly month, but it never deterred them from going out before this.

Verity—perhaps because she’d experienced something similar with her parents years before—got to her feet the fastest. Not that she cared any less for their fallen member, but because she fostered the flame of vengeance. This dark, moonless night seemed made for it.

As she turned to go, the tip of her boot grazed the spherical side of Potts, who the younger children called Monkeywrench. Luckily, the little round automaton remained quiescent. His eyes were unlit with the green fire of the Emerald Flame. His spherical head stayed inside his matching body. The judgement of Alexander Potts, the professor trapped inside his bronze body, remained thankfully silent.

This curious mechanical was an experiment by the London branch of the Illuminati. They’d ripped his consciousness from his body and stuffed it into an adorable automaton. The process ended up destroying Pott’s original form, leaving him stuck in an unsatisfactory brass one. Verity knew this because he insisted on telling them daily. However, it meant he kept hold of a few human habits, like sleeping. She was grateful for that.

Stifling a gasp, Verity inched the door open and descended to the tunnel. Once there, she took her collapsable lantern from her maker’s belt, ignited it, and travelled on through the darkness. The Safehouse tunnel led under Onslow Road and emerged out into the park in the square beyond. After climbing a ladder, Verity emerged through a portal artfully concealed in an oak tree. It was chilly but clear. Christmas was only three weeks away, but that was not on her mind.

It was quite a relief to let out a breath and enjoy her success. Which was when Henry spoke up. Verity whipped around to spot him lounging on the nearby park bench. His soft brown eyes locked on her as he pushed his dark hair back to reveal a scowl deeper than most young men his age could manage.

Bet I can guess where you’re off to, he said.

He was—as always—too pretty and far too arrogant. Heat rose along Verity’s collar and flushed her cheeks. Henry? How long have you been sitting there? She was aghast she’d not noticed his absence from the house.

Long enough that I wondered if I’d read you wrong. He unfolded his lanky frame and leaned forward. I take it, you know the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences has got that place sealed up like the Tower of London?

Verity took a slow breath. She’d contemplated asking Henry to come with her, but his imperious nature gave her pause. It always did. Yet, it would be comforting to have someone along with her. 

Verity crossed her arms. I’m going to the Underground Queen, since they know every secret entrance from below.

My thought exactly. Shall we? Henry crooked his elbow and aimed it in her direction.

Verity stared at it and almost took the offer. It was tempting and alarming at the same time; strolling in the park like a courting couple. Her cheeks burned, but the dark of the night provided her cover. Ignoring his elbow, she jerked her head towards the garden gate. How about you follow me and watch my back for any blue bottles?

Police were a constant danger for the Seven, but they’d become adept at avoiding them. It gave Henry something to do instead of glower at her. Verity didn’t glance back as she led the way out of the garden and into the street. 

The warehouse was in a posh neighbourhood, not much danger from toolers, rollers, or nobblers. It felt like a long time since she and got Julia pursued in this direction, but it wasn’t. Last time she’d been breathless with fear, now the fire of righteous fury burned inside her. 

Henry trailed behind her, preventing him from any further commentary, which was fine with Verity.

Together, they trotted down the brick stairs into the Underground station. They slipped past the Conduct-automaton, who was busy being accosted by a very drunk old lady, and avoided any kind of payment. Few people used the train systems at this time of night.

When Henry and Verity stepped onto the train, only some sleepy workers leaned against the windows of the cabin. Nearby, a lone mother cradled her baby and softly whispered to it. Henry and Verity positioned themselves at the rear of the car, and waited until their stop—which was not official at all.

She kept her eyes fixed on the window, and didn’t engage Henry in conversation; she didn’t want to communicate her nerves.

As the train slowed down on a tight curve, Verity jerked her head towards Henry. Here we are then.

She hauled open one door and leapt out, half-hoping he wouldn’t follow. It was not to be. He tumbled down beside her.

Rising to her feet, Verity dusted herself off.

Nice timing there, Truth, Henry commented, as he took out a small headlamp and strapped it over his cap.

She mimed a small curtsey. I’ve been practicing. Now let’s get this over with.

The Underground Queen might have helped them in the past, but she always made Verity nervous. It wasn’t her co-joined nature, but the powers she seemed to possess. It might be useful to see into the future, but it did rather defy the laws of science.

The dank service tunnels and sewage pipes were a rabbit warren, but one the Queen commanded. No one else knew them as well as her subjects—not even those that had laid them. How they joined, and where their egresses opened into, were a labyrinthine mystery.

 Usually, they guarded that knowledge jealously. Verity’s heart thundered in her chest as they approached the entrance to the Queen’s domain. Standing guard outside was an impressive and daunting figure. Naomi—or Giganta, as the patrons of vaudeville knew her—waited for them.

This elderly woman, her eight-foot frame almost bent in half over, stood by the door as she watched. When they approached, she held out a small scrap of paper. Her eyes flickered over the young people before, full of dreadful understanding. Her only words were, Her Majesty foresaw your need. Good luck, little ones.

Relief flooded over Verity that she would not have to face the Queen herself. It might also be a positive sign that her quest for vengeance was just and would come to a fine conclusion. The Underground Queen possessed the gift of foresight, so they should be on the right path.

With another, more graceful curtsey, she took the paper. Henry played the light of his headlamp over the surface. It was a detailed map of the West End.

He shot her a grin. Like a real treasure map.

If you consider payback treasure, she replied with a crooked eyebrow.

Verity found Henry’s face handsome, but when he drew his eyebrows together and glared out from under them, he became almost frightening. I most definitely do, he said, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

They set off together through the hidden tunnels of London. Even the murders of her parents hadn’t lit such an intense flame within Verity. However, the death of Liam consumed her every waking thought.

Through here, Henry whispered, holding up the Underground Queen’s map high enough so the small head lamp illuminated the direction. His eyes were pits of darkness, as if the desire for retribution reflected there. He must feel it as keenly as she did.

Yet, revenge wasn’t without its price.

This tunnel reeked, a mixture of old sewage and rotting things. Verity experienced plenty of odours in her time, but this challenged even her jaded senses. Henry said nothing, but didn’t flinch, so she followed suit and made sure not to either.

However, as they rounded a bend and found a pile blocking their way, she gagged and staggered back. Every human had limits. This pile of grease and shit held together all the broken things Londoners threw away. It was also almost as big as a bus. It might as well be some eldritch monster.

Over here, Henry gasped out, finally succumbing and lifting his elbow over his mouth. She allowed herself to be dragged to the side, and through watering eyes spotted with some relief a half-broken ladder leading out of the tunnel. She’d never scrambled so quickly for anything in her life.

From her backpack, Verity removed the cover-lifter, which she’d pilfered for this occasion. The City of London’s employees kept their tools poorly locked down, in her opinion. She would put it back once their mission was over. She wouldn’t want an unfortunate chap to be docked wages over it.

Placing the small clamp on the underside of the cover, she locked it into place and gave the wheel under the lifter two sharp tugs. The resulting clang echoed down the tunnel, making both Verity and Henry flinch.

He peered up at her, making her very glad she’d opted for trousers on this mission of vengeance. On her return from Anatolia, she’d only had to prod him a little to get the entire story of confronting the Illuminati out. He never said it explicitly, but something about the confrontation with this Esther Jones woman unnerved him. Two Welsh women involved in the quest for the Emerald Flame could be a coincidence, she supposed, but she’d never put much stock in those. When they found Esther Jones and Glynis Driscoll, there would be some necessarily hard questions put to them.

Try to be quiet, Henry whispered, putting his hand on the first rung.

I was, she hissed back, even though her own heart raced, and her fingers slipped clammy on the device. They glared at each other for a long moment before Verity let out a tight huff and turned her attention back to the clamp.

Eventually, she snapped the lock undone, and pushed hard with both hands to unseat it. The rush of fresh air that hit her face was almost dizzying. Verity held herself back from darting up and away from the smell. Instead, she listened out for the sound of footsteps, or doors opening or shutting. 

Henry described the place buzzing with activity. Verity could only make out the wind blowing against the side of the building, and the ticking of a distant clock. It could be a trap.

Once they entered the lair of the Illuminati, there would be no going back.

Verity glanced down at Henry and saw in his eyes that same understanding. His hand tightened on the rung, and he gave her a curt nod. So into the breach together, it was.

CHAPTER 2

AN ILLUMINATI PARTY

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Verity led the way, with Henry a heartbeat behind her. She took a shallow breath and hustled up the ladder into the building proper. Once there, she hugged the floor and scuttled into the shadows. Henry followed close after, replacing the cover, and joining her in the dark.

They entered the basement, where most buildings stored their goods. Yellow lights from the lamps outside peeked through small windows set high on the walls. They illuminated only a few broken boxes and open crates.

Nothing seemed to show a nefarious secret society bent on controlling the world, but then again, everyone needed a basement.

Henry tapped her on the shoulder before leading the way up the stairs. They creaked open the door and peered into the kitchen. Again, no one was about. The light from outside penetrated deeper here, allowing Verity to note the lack of any real copper utensils. No cook worth their salt went anywhere without their knives and pots.

This kitchen lay devoid of anything except a daring mouse scuttling down the skirting boards. Verity leaned over and whispered in Henry’s ear. I think they’ve cleared out.

It made sense. After the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences—in the shape of Agent Harrison Thorne—made a rather dramatic appearance to save Henry the previous week. The Illuminati stuck to the shadows, so were unlikely to wait around for agents of her Majesty’s government to turn up on their doorstep once more.

Henry breathed against her ear. Let’s be careful, anyway. They could have left traps behind… but also maybe a clue or two.

His hot breath against her skin made Verity’s stomach clench; only a biological reaction to a handsome young man. She would have to continue to keep a lid on that or risk becoming quite ridiculous. Still, she nodded, and tried to take his warning to heart.

Henry led the way into the club. She now understood why this place impressed him. The ground floor was all overstuffed chairs, grand meeting rooms, and chandeliers. It was extraordinarily posh when lit up, and the Ministry Seven would never under normal circumstances be in such a place.

Henry and Verity kept on their toes as they explored the darkened gaming rooms and small fiction library. That almost distracted Verity. If they’d abandoned the place, they’d left a treasure trove of literature behind. Fools.

As far as the two of them could make out, the public face of the private club offered no clues or dangers. They climbed the stairs but carefully, looking out for trip wires, or loose steps, and keeping themselves plastered the wall.

A sturdy door at the top of the stairs lay ajar, and Henry gestured for her to remain where she was while he checked it over. It took a moment, but he gave her a nod and pushed the door open.

This is it, he mouthed. The long corridor possessed a couple of spluttering electric lights. Only the best for those planning to take over the world, Verity supposed. Henry led her down towards a small office. Rows and rows of wooden catalogue cabinets stood empty of their cards, like a man with all his teeth pulled out.

Henry pressed his lips together, and Verity dared a whisper. You didn’t really think they would still be here, did you?

He shot her a look and then shook his head. I guess not… but still. He dropped to his knees and examined the floor just in case a card might have slipped loose. Unfortunately, the archivist was very thorough.

Putting her hand on his shoulder, Verity gave it a squeeze. Come on, there might be something in the other rooms.

She hoped that wasn’t a platitude she’d just spat out, because she really wanted something to come from their daring raid. They scoured at least ten cell-like rooms, which made up most of the rest of the floor. A slightly larger reference library seemed the most exciting room in the place until they found the laboratory. Verity stood in the doorway and drew in her breath. Though this looked like it was as cleaned out as the archives, the odour told her everything she needed to know. Science once ruled her. The memory of sulphur and the hint of flame collected in the corners.

This was hers, Henry said in a low voice at her shoulder. Esther Jones. The one who made the automatons.

Standing in this room, with his previous descriptions filling her mind, Verity could almost see it. What she did not have, though, was the Sound. The subtle rhythm in her blood that flowed with nearby mechanications. It’d only grown stronger since their trip to Anatolia, and she felt safer knowing that it wasn’t about. Whichever automatons this Jones made, she’d taken them with her.

Yet something remained. The faintest of thumping echoed in the back of her brain, hovering behind her eyes like an annoying headache. Every time Verity tried to concentrate on what triggered it, the ticking did not reveal any details. It only lingered. 

Still worth more than a cursory glance, she insisted gently.

You’re hearing something, ain’t you?

Verity gave the slightest of shrugs. Perhaps. Let’s spread out and check everything.

Henry took the benches over by the window, while she moved to examine a space near the back wall. The curious burnt smell emanated from there, though at first glance there was nothing that appeared touched by fire. 

Following her nose, something cracked under Verity’s foot. Bending down, she ran her hand over the floor, finding it warped and blackened as if a rectangular piece of metal about four feet long rested against the wood. To the right and left of the original mark were two other identical scorched places.

Her brow furrowed. What sort of device caused such a thing? It was long gone, and beyond the powers of the Sound to reach—which was supremely annoying. Even if it might have been frightening, it would at least have been rather interesting.

Verity! Henry’s hoarse cry echoed alarmingly in the empty laboratory, as he gestured her over. Her confused frown turned into one of annoyance as she trotted over to see what got him in a tizzy. Crouched down by the back of the laboratory bench, he pulled a square of paper loose and held it out to her.

Verity tilted it to see in the unsteady light from outside and made out it was a packing slip—the type adhered to boxes. Certainly the Illuminati would have needed plenty of those to clear their place out so completely.

They were sending their stuff somewhere, Henry said quietly, peering over her shoulder at the