The Ghost Rebellion by Tee Morris Pip Ballantine Read Free Book Online Page B

Standing in the door of the conservatory, giving him a cheery wave, was Agent Brandon D. Hill. He had with him a bowl of what looked like almonds. Brandon loved almonds, pecans, and all sorts of nuts. You are what you eat, Bruce thought with a smirk.
    They really were a mismatched pair, but somehow the two of them in the field created pure magic. During the Ministry’s reconstruction, Bruce and Brandon had to part ways for a few months in order to take greenhorns out into the field to get mud on their boots. Scenario training and drills were all very well, but there were things that happened on missions that could not be trained for. Field work sometimes demanded improvisation. That wasn’t taught. It was simply experienced.
    The mission in Wales had been just the two of them, and that was a welcome change.
    Bruce took his boots off the table. “Morning, Brandon, how’d you sleep?”
    Capital, he will probably say, Bruce thought. He loves it here at Whiterock.  
    “ Oh, capital! I love it here at Whiterock!” Brandon said, taking a seat by Bruce. His breath reeked of almonds. “Such a delightful change from Miggins Antiquities. So serene, and what magnificent landscape views.”
    “ Country life isn’t for the likes of you and me, mate,” Bruce stated. He polished off his coffee and set it on the small table between them. “Books’ homestead is posh and all, but too much time here would drive me batty. Don’t you think there’s a reason he doesn’t live here himself?”
    “ Well, Hebden Bridge is quaint enough. Far from the madding crowd, as it were.” Brandon took in a deep breath and exhaled with delight. “And fresh country air. Good for the bowel movements.”
    Bruce frowned at his partner. “Come again, Hill?”
    “ Bowel movements. Why do you think spas and sanitariums are located far outside a city?” Brandon clicked his tongue as he set his snack next to Bruce’s empty cup. “All that smog and soot in the air. Mark my words, those toxins will be the death of the Empire!”
    He knew he would regret asking, but Bruce believed the best way to make a connection with a partner was to understand what was on his mind and how he deduced matters. With Brandon, though, that could be a true descent into madness. He braced himself. “And what exactly does this have to do with bowel movements?”
    “ Damn it, man, you should really indulge more in reading the science page of the London News .” Brandon waved his hands madly between his stomach and crotch. “Your bowels are incredibly sensitive to not just what you eat, but your demeanour, your diet, and—yes—the excitements in the very air. As wonderful as London is, all its pollutants aggravate your bowels, causing the toxins in your body to back up.” He was now making fists and slowly wringing them over his stomach. If it were anyone else, Bruce would have told him to stuff it and let him enjoy the silence. But this was Brandon. He wanted to know where he was headed with this fresh slice of insanity. “All that waste backs up and weighs—you—down. But here? In the country?” And he inhaled again, threatening to suck all of the crisp, clean air around them. Bruce hoped he would, as the lack of oxygen would make them both fall to the vapours. “The excitements are pure. You are refreshed. You are relaxed. Ergo...”
    “ Your bowels are relaxed. And you’re lighter because of it.” Bruce rubbed the centre of his forehead, trying to fight the desire to ask; but he was one for giving into those. “Where do you pick up these sort of ideas, Hill?”
    “ You’re a fine man to have in a brawl, Campbell,” Brandon said, clapping his hand on the man’s massive shoulder, “but you really should broaden your horizons and read a bit. That recent mission of mine, just after that brouhaha with the Jubilee...”
    “ The one that took you to Vancouver with the greenhorn?”
    “ With Junior Agent Mallory, a fine lad, very eager...” Brandon