The story of the founding of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences. More tales can be found in Ministry Protocol: Thrilling Tales from the Ministry of Peculiar Occurences available in your favourite digital format.
A Nocturne for Victoria
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 Albert practically warranted 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 year’s 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.
