The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (9 page)

Mina reappeared, her auburn hair perfectly in place. She casually brushed at
a few small blood spatters on the colorful fabric of her dress. "Oh, don't be
such an old alarmist, Mr. Q. And my hips are none of your business."

She sensed someone behind her, but before she could turn, one of the last
marksmen lurched out of an alcove. Although he knew he was outnumbered and
trapped, all of his fellows slain, the Fantom gone, the marksman grabbed Mina
with a powerful grip and held her before him as if she were a shield. He rammed
a gleaming knife within a hair's breadth of her pale throat. The silk scarf she
always wore would offer no protection from the sharpened steel.

Quatermain drew his revolver, and Nemo dropped into a fighting stance, while
the invisible man froze in the process of pouring himself another drink. Faster
than any of them, though, the mysterious young imposter leaped down from the
upper levels of the library. His boots slammed on the floor with a crack like
thunder. He aimed his flamboyant Winchester at the marksman's face. "Let 'er go,
Mister, or I'll shoot ya!"

Cornered, the Fantoms' marksman had nothing to lose. "Shoot! Go on! I'll kill
her on reflex!" The hand that held the knife twitched against the hollow of
Mina's throat, and she remained very still. Her head lolled forward, obscuring
her face. Her hair fell into disarray.

In the frozen standoff, the young imposter lowered his Winchester. Nemo
remained tense, but took a step backward to a safer, nonthreatening distance.
Quatermain lowered his revolver with an angry sigh. "I told you from the
beginning she'd be trouble."

The cornered marksman fairly crowed with triumph. "I guessed as much! They'd
do anything to protect you." He cinched his muscular arm tight around her narrow
waist.

"That's your biggest mistake., sir," Mina said in a quiet, threatening voice.
"Thinking I need the likes of
them
to protect me." She turned on him,
her eyes demonic red and pulsing now with an unearthly glow. She opened her
mouth to show the long, ivory sabers of vampire fangs. Then she was upon
him.

Though still holding the knife, the marksman gasped in terror and tried to
squirm away, but she easily sank her extended fangs into his throat. He
struggled, beating futilely at her. She bit deeper. Arterial blood sprayed.

Then, with a savage twist of her jaw, she ripped out his windpipe. His dagger
slid harmlessly away from her throat, then clattered to the library floor.

At the drink cart, Skinner gulped down another Scotch.

As if she were discarding a dirty handkerchief, Mina let the dead marksman
drop to the ground.

Quatermain looked at Nemo, stunned. "Extraordinary," the captain said.

Mina's features rapidly returned to her cold pale beauty. Dorian Gray watched
her without surprise. She flicked open her vanity mirror, withdrew a soft white
cloth from her pocket, and calmly dabbed blood from her mouth.

"Boy, they told me European women had funny ways," said the handsome young
imposter, propping his modified Winchester at his side. "There, Ma'am, you
missed a spot." In a gentlemanly fashion, he pointed out a drop of blood on her
ivory-pale cheek.

"Excuse me… and you are?" Mina regarded him with piercing green eyes now.
Quatermain also turned to the unexpected ally, waiting for the young mans
answer.

"I'm Special Agent Tom Sawyer, Ma'am," he said proudly, "of the American
Secret Service."

While the others in the library stared at the young man in surprised silence,
a chuckle came from the invisible man. "So you're a… spy?" Skinner sounded
slightly drunk. "I thought spies get shot."

"Not if they shoot first. Which I did," Sawyer said with exaggerated pride.
"I followed you all. Knocked out a straggler and took his place." He rapped on
his wide-brimmed metal helmet, then took it off. "Darned silly outfits."

Despite his frenetic exertions in the fight, Captain Nemo had not broken into
a sweat. He adjusted his blue turban, seating it on his head, then looked in
barely veiled dismay at the countless books that had been ruined in the recent
battle. Paper and bindings lay scattered and mangled on the floor. When he
noticed the subject matter of many of the volumes, however—detailed analyses of
the Marquis de Sade, drawings and daguerrotypes of numerous people in bizarre
and painful-looking sexual positions—he turned away with a frown, reassessing
the magnitude of the loss.

Gauging Sawyer, Quatermain said, "So Americas aware of the situation?"

Sawyer gave an emphatic nod. "War starts in Europe, how long until it's
crossed the Adantic? We already lost one good man trying to nail this maniac.
The man who fell victim to the Fantom was another agent—and a darned good one,
too. A close friend of mine. He believed in what he was doing." The young man
seemed amazingly earnest, and optimistic. "And now I'm going to finish the job."
His customized Winchester seemed to be all he needed.

Gray noticed Mina sizing up the handsome young American and clearly wasn't
happy about it. He sniffed. "Very noble. But this is a private party. You're not
invited."

Sawyer stubbornly squared his shoulders. "I intend to find the Fantom. So do
you all."

Mina came closer to the young spy, smiling seductively. "Actually, since
Dorian has already declined to join our little effort, we are one shy of a full
deck."

Remembering the incident moments earlier in which she had used her fangs to
rip out the throat of the last hapless marksman, Sawyer swallowed hard and
flinched from her close attention. "Uh, Ma'am…"

Gray took up the challenge. "On the contrary, that unexpected battle was just
the spur I needed. Very exciting, for a change, with the promise of more to
come. And the thrill of an old, sweet friendship renewed."

Mina rolled her eyes.

Gray plucked at his smoking jacket, frowned again at all the bullet holes. "I
will have to change my attire, however." He turned to Sawyer and made a shooing
gesture. "So, as you can see, young man, you're not needed here."

While Sawyer glared at him, Quatermain came forward to inspect the American
agents customized rifle. "Winchester?"

"Modified, American style," Sawyer confirmed, proud to show off his piece and
purposerully ignoring Dorian Gray.

Quatermain took it and sighted on the narrow spine of a book on a high shelf.
"American style of shooting, too."

"Whatever it takes." Sawyer grinned at the old adventurer, nodded toward the
Winchester. "Like it? I brought two of'em."

"He's in," Quatermain said.

Leaving the bodies and wreckage behind, the League exited from Grays opulent
residence into the foggy streets. Dark river water lapped against the nearby
docks, but a thick mist hid the Thames from view.

Tom Sawyer looked behind him. "I sure hate to leave such a mess in there. My
Aunt Polly would give me a tongue-lashing I'd never forget."

"Leave it." Gray was not concerned. "My private staff has had considerable
experience in dealing with messes that were far worse." He didn't explain
further.

"We don't have time for house cleaning." Nemo led the way toward the unseen
docks, striding ahead in his elaborate blue uniform. "We had best be about our
business. According to his instructions, the League has one final member to
recruit before we can be off to Venice."

"Recruit?
Capture
is more the word. It will be quite a hunt,"
Quatermain said. "Though I prefer the open savannah to the streets of
Paris."

"You make him sound like an animal," said Mina.

The old adventurer glanced at her with undisguised curiosity. "Speaking of
which, Mrs. Harker—your conduct in there… let's just say the attacker wasn't the
only one who had his breath taken away. Would you care to explain yourself?"

"Indeed, we're aquiver with curiosity," Skinner said, edging forward with a
grin on his painted face. "After all, you have plenty of dirt on me, dear
lady—as you are so keen to remind me over and over again. Heh!"

Mina looked at the men, each one a member of the odd team sworn to save the
world from a devastating war. "Very well, in the spirit of cooperation." She
touched the corner of her lip, possibly feeling a speck of dried blood still
there.

"My husband was Jonathan Harker. Together with a professor named Van Helsing,
we fought a dangerous evil. It had a name: Count Dracula. He was…
Transyivanian." Mina lifted her delicate eyebrows, but saw no sign of
recognition from her companions.

"European? One of those radical anarchists the newspapers love to report on?"
Skinner said.

Mina pulled down her ever-present scarf, exposing two pale puncture marks
that scarred her otherwise perfect throat. "I don't know, Mr. Skinner. Is the
vampiric sucking of peoples' blood considered radical behavior?"

Tom Sawyer turned away with a mixture of embarrassment and horror. Quatermain
studied the scars, trying to guess what kind of animal would have made such
wounds. Dorian Gray simply seemed interested in admiring Mina's neck.

"In the course of battling Dracula, I was brought under his influence. Rather
violently. That monster has been destroyed now, and I have recovered. Partially,
at least. However, if I ever appear cold to you, it's because I am filled with
enough of Draculas essence that I fear where unbridled emotion would lead." She
turned to Quatermain, as if implying that he had passed some sort of judgment on
her. "Put that in your file." She tucked her white scarf back into place and
strode purposefully after Nemo to the end of the dock.

"Enough stories," Nemo said. "We must be off on our journey."

Seeing nothing but the fog-shrouded pier and the murky Thames, Dorian Gray
crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "Now what?"

At that moment, the jetty started to rumble. Bubbles began to boil in the
black waters, accompanied by a bright submerged glow and a loud throbbing like
massive muffled engines.

Nemo walked to the edge of the jetty, as if he meant to leap into the river
itself. Instead, he stood at the brink, waiting. "Our transportation is
forthcoming." As the splashing, churning noise increased, he turned to look at
them with a secretive smile. "We will be in Paris soon."

"Is it a boat?" asked Sawyer. "I've been on a big paddle-wheel steamer on the
Mississippi."

"Not that sort of boat, Mr. Sawyer, though it goes on water, if that's what
you mean," Nemo said, facing the gathered companions. "And beneath it as
well."

Behind him, a huge black conning tower broke the surface like a breaching
whale. Nemo didn't flinch. The plated vessel rose up, gushing water as it
climbed higher and higher, until its shape loomed over them.

"Whoa," said Sawyer.

But the conning tower was just the tip of the iceberg. High and long with
elegant seafaring lines, the submarine boat surfaced majestically, splitting the
surface of the Thames. Like the scales of an aquatic dragon, it was plated with
white ceramic derived from the shells of mysterious crustaceans and encrusted
with golden statues of Vishnu, Ganesh, and Shiva.

While the invisible man hung back from the mammoth boat in nervous
uncertainty, Quatermain and Sawyer stepped forward together, amazed. Dorian Gray
did not seem impressed, but Captain Nemo showed obvious pride. "Behold,
Nautilus
. The Sword of the Ocean."

The members of the League stood together at the end of the dock and watched
the amazing colossus ease against the jetty. Massive rudders worked with exact
precision, guiding it perfectly into place.

Once it had come to rest, exhaust vents opened with a sigh, and the
Nautilus
let out a breath of air.

So did each member of the League.

The creature bounded across tiled roof slopes, eaves, and chimney pots. His
broad, bare feet slapped on the slats, and he made an impossible leap over a
deep alley to an adjacent building. His clawed hands grasped for a hold on the
gutter, and then he hauled himself onto the angled rooftop. A beasts brutish
shadow momentarily showed in the moonlight, eclipsing the Eiffel Tower, then it
sprang onward.

Its breath was heavy and wet, its grunting halfway between a howl of rage and
a roar of victory. But first it had to escape the hunters. Its every muscular
movement expressed exuberance for the chase, the hot
pursuit
—
even though it was the quarry.

"This way!" Quatermain called, refusing to slow down. "Don't let him out of
your sights."

"I've got 'im!" Tom Sawyer said. The two men hurried through the streets of
Paris, close behind the monster, trying to track its movements as it charged
overhead from rooftop to rooftop. "But I still don't see why our team needs a
big monkey."

Out of breath but keeping pace with the young American agent, Quatermain
said, "That big monkey's been terrorizing the Rue Morgue for months. Imagine the
mayhem he'll give the enemy—if we can manage to get him on our side, that
is."

The American swung his Winchester, searching for a target, then ran onward.
"Well, I still think Inspector Dupin could have offered a bigger reward if he
was so keen on stopping this beast."

"We all suffer from budgetary constraints, Sawyer. Welcome to the modern
world."

Up ahead they saw movement in the moonlight. Quatermain signaled, but Sawyer
had already seen. A large, malformed shape sprang with a heavy grunt from one
building to the next. He landed heavily, sending loose roof tiles clattering
down into the alleys.

Quatermain fired two shots to the left of the monster, shattering a narrow,
crooked chimney. The gunshot sent the monster darting to the right as it reacted
with animal instinct.