The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

by Kevin J. Anderson

  Jekyll shrank away, embarrassed. "Well… let's not make a saint out of a sinner. Next time, Hyde may not choose to be so helpful." Avoiding further discussion, he turned his attention to the damaged undersea map. The indicators of both the fleeing nautiloid and the larger vessel had fallen off, lost somewhere in the jumble of debris on the floor. "Can — can we still follow Gray?"

  Mina made a disbelieving sound as she sat in Nemos desk chair. "Even if the tracer could still get a signal from the nautiloid, we barely have enough engine power to keep us moving."

  "We were faster," Quatermain said. "Now we're a tortoise to his hare."

  "Not even a tortoise. We are practically dead in the water," Nemo said.

  "So we're… just done?" Jekyll said. "We give up?"

  Sawyer took the challenge. "No, we're alive. If M has ideas to the contrary, that gives us an edge. He shouldn't be making assumptions." He grinned, trying to rally them. "After all, we're the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, aren't we? That stands for something."

  Captain Nemo, though, was not impressed. "The sea is vast, young man. Even if the ship could move, Gray— and M — could be out there anywhere."

  "Well, I'm an optimist. Maybe that's a crime to you twisted so-and-sos, but being the way I am keeps me from going crazy." Sawyer looked at Allan Quatermain, expecting to find support there… but he received none. "We'll figure out something."

  "Your cheerfulness is out of place, Mr. Sawyer," Mina said.

  "You're wrong. We will get our man — at least I will. Tom Sawyer of the American Secret Service." A shadow crossed his expression. "You all aren't the only ones with a grudge, you know. Remember when we first met, the other agent I told you about? The one who was first assigned to investigate the Fantom? Well, he was my childhood friend. He and I were agents together, until that masked madman shot him dead." He wrestled with his emotions, trying not to get choked up. His freckled face flushed red. "The rest of you may be done, but I'm not. I swear I'm going to avenge Huck Finn's death."

  "But this isn't about any one of us, Tom. Certainly not anymore," Jekyll said. "It's bigger than that."

  "Yes, it is, Mister. The fate of the world is in our hands. The world!" Sawyer looked at all the others, wanting to shake them out of their gloom. "Okay, so Dorian Gray was a traitor. And M tricked you into joining him, and you walked straight into his trap." Sawyer showed them a determined grin. "But the way I see it, that was his big mistake… he brought you—us—together."

  The League members looked at each other, considering.

  "He… he has a point," Jekyll said.

  Quatermain cocked a brow at Sawyer, then finally responded with a wan grin of his own. "And the boy becomes a man. Perhaps a leader of men."

  "And women." Mina stood again and smoothed her skirts down. "So now what do we do?"

  First Mate Patel suddenly burst in. "Captain! We're getting a signal! I think it's from the nautiloid."

  "M gloating, no doubt," Nemo said. "He'll want to know if we survived."

  Patel shook his head. "I don't believe it's from the Fantom, sir — and not Mr. Gray either."

  Spurred to action, the remaining members of the League rushed to the Nautilus's radio room. A communications operator adjusted his headphones as he jotted down a message on processed kelp paper, one painstaking letter at a time. The radio apparatus emitted beeps and clicks.

  Quatermain recognized the chatter he had heard at numerous African outpost telegraph stations. "Morse code."

  "What's it say?" Mina asked.

  The radio operator read all the words he had so far transcribed. "It says, 'Hello my freaky darlings'."

  Sawyer and Mina said in unison, "Skinner."

  "So the invisible man has joined M's treachery after all," Nemo said.

  That didn't make sense to Quatermain, though. He scratched his head. "Maybe… or maybe not."

  The communications operator continued reading off the Morse code message. "Hiding on board little fish with Gray and M. On way to base. East by North East. Follow my lead."

  "He stowed aboard!" Sawyer said.

  Quatermain clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Our ace in the hole. You were right not to give up hope, lad." The American agent beamed.

  "You heard him, Mr. Patel," Nemo said. "Fix our heading at East by North East. All repair crews get to work on our engines, highest priority. I want this vessel moving with every ounce of speed the engines can manage, as soon as possible. Once we begin the chase again, we will make the other repairs while we're under way." The new first mate rushed off to follow his orders.

  As the Nautilus floated on the surface of troubled seas, the re-energized crew worked to repair holes in the hull, reattach armor plates, and shore up structural braces from the inside decks. But the damaged engines were the highest priority and underwent an urgent overhaul. Wrecked components were replaced with spares, pistons and shafts were ground and refitted, oil reservoirs refilled, and fresh lubricants applied.

  On the bridge, Nemo worked alongside the men to rewire circuits and connect pipes and conduits. Because the entire submarine vessel was of his own design, the detailed plans remained in his memory. First Mate Patel tested the patched controls while plotting coordinates.

  Mina and Jekyll tended to the severely wounded crewmen, saving many of them, though several of Nemo's longtime comrades had died. The dead heroes were buried at sea in a solemn ceremony the following foggy morning at dawn. Nemo allowed the desperate work to pause for only a few moments before sending the crewmen back to their tasks.

  Inside the sooty and stained engine room, Tom Sawyer lent exuberance, if no particular expertise, to tightening pipes and fixing gauges, wiping away excess lumps of fresh sealant, and polishing the equipment to bring it back to a semblance of the way things had been.

  Still, with every instant the nautiloid drew farther and farther away.

  When all the members of the League had gathered in the control room, along with First Mate Patel and other Nautilus crewmen, Quatermain addressed the group. "Good work. All of you. Captain?"

  Standing on the bridge, Nemo activated the controls. The tense and exhausted engineers and mechanics looked at the captain and at Patel. Then, with a throb and a hiss, the engines engaged, pumping with an ever-increasing roar until they reached full power.

  Finally, the vessel began to move, straining with the effort. The Nautilus crossed many leagues, picking up speed as each additional repair was completed. The open seas posed no hindrance to the Sword of the Ocean. Her jagged bow sliced through the waters like a shark in pursuit of prey.

  The map of the ocean inside Nemo's stateroom was partially repaired. Relief plates of the sea floor and longitude lines shifted to the left as the Nautilus traveled further east.

  THIRTY SIX

  The Nautilus

  Despite the submarine vessel's rushing speed across the ocean, those aboard could do little but wait. Some gathered their energies for the coming battle against the Fantom and his forces; others studied plans, assessing their options; many could not sleep because of either dread or impatience.

  Quatermain retreated to his cabin where he once again pored over issues of The Strand Magazine, Scotland Yard crime reports, and even old records of the first appearance of the real Phantom that had plagued the Paris Opera House. Obviously, they were different men, but M had taken the other villain as his model.

  Quatermain turned the magazine's pages with the hand of his uninjured arm. On Nemo's spare gramophone player, he listened intently as a cracked fragment of his recording replayed over and over. The female recordist's drab voice said, "Ready, Professor… Ready, Professor… Ready, Professor."

  When Nemo entered, Quatermain lifted the needle. He could see immediately that the captain did not have good news.

  "Skinner's signal has stopped," Nemo said. "We no longer have any way to track them."

  Outside, on the ship's observation deck under mockingly sunny skies, Sawyer stood staring at th
e horizon, as if hoping to see the distant and still-fleeing nautiloid.

  Mina Harker came up to him in full green skirt and petticoats, with a bright red scarf wrapped primly around her pale throat. "Thank you," she said.

  The young American turned to her, startled. "For what, Ma'am?"

  "Your fearlessness." Mina stopped close beside him and looked out at the sea. "I've lived such a life of sorrow and regret — a long life — that I've always been rather afraid to step into tomorrow."

  Sawyers chest swelled. "Shucks, tomorrows where I live and breathe, Ma'am."

  "Yes. I see it's not so bad a place at all." The Nautilus struck a set of heavy waves, and spray hissed from its bow, but none of the water droplets splashed them. Mina gripped the rail to steady herself against the choppy motion.

  Sawyer touched her gloved hand with a fingertip. "Hey, if my earlier… attentions offended you in any way, I'm sorry."

  "I am disappointed." Mina smiled up at him again. "I didn't think Americans gave up so easily."

  Sawyer blinked his blue eyes again, liking what he heard.

  Off to one side, Allan Quatermain lay in a deck chair beside which he had stacked his research books and files. Lying in the warm sunlight, the old adventurer appeared to have dozed off, but as he eavesdropped and watched them through half-opened eyes, he allowed himself a small grin.

  Later, in the thrumming communications room, the radio operator settled his headphones in place again and continued to adjust the frequency, listening for the telltale clicks of a coded signal.

  Behind him, Nemo waited patiently, silently, watching with his coal-dark eyes. Quatermain tried to match the captains calm, but found it extremely difficult.

  The radio operator suddenly sat up straight with his full attention. He gave the communication knobs a delicate twist, then gathered his paper and lead pencil. He spared only a fraction of his attention to glance back up at the captain. "It's Mr. Skinner, sir."

  Then he began marking the dots and dashes of the Morse code signal, translating letter by letter. Finally, he read the message. "Sorry. Took a nap. Sea of Okhotsk. Tartar Strait. Amur River. Mongolia west of Hailar."

  Nemo turned to hurry back to his bridge. "Come, Quatermain. We must set a course."

  The engines continued to chug, nursed along by the uneasy engineers. The propellers drove the armored vessel forward through the waves. They were closing in.

  Quatermain and Nemo surveyed gigantic map books that the dark captain had compiled over his years of exploration. Nemo's finger traced a line on the charts. "Our route will take us past the Kuril Islands into the Sea of Okhotsk. The communal waters of China, Japan, and Russia where many cultures merge and shift." He stroked his dark beard. "Then south through the Tartar Strait between Russia and the island of Sakhalin, entering the Amur River at Nikolayev."

  Quatermain nodded, following the long and convoluted route. The names sounded strange and exotic, like the lands and tribes he himself had encountered in darkest Africa. Many of the places on the map remained mysteries, uncharted blanks. He almost expected to see the handwritten notation, Here Be Monsters.

  Nemo now traced the dark line of a river leading deep into the wildest parts of East Asia. "The Amur will take us inland to remote Mongolia, which was once ruled by ruthless Cossacks. Their fortresses still stand as arrogant monuments to power and cruelty. No doubt, that is where M has built his lair."

  "I can hardly wait," Quatermain said. "Let's go."

  THIRTY SEVEN

  The Mongolian Wastes

  As silent as a sea monster, the Nautilus cruised the water's surface along far-flung shorelines, past the snowy land masses of Eastern Russia, where smoky and firelit port towns were visible on the horizon. Small fishing boats braved leaden, wintry currents and the fog, never noticing the armored vessel that passed so close.

  At first the ports were substantial towns, the last bastions of civilization on the fringes of the primitive wastes. Seen from the Nautilus, the prominent architecture included Russian spires along with touches of Japanese influence; a webwork of docks spread out, holding scores of boats.

  But as the vessel passed farther northward, the ports took on the more primitive look of remote China, with rough-hewn wooden walls or stacked stones, woven roofs, and pointed arches. All of it was blanketed by snow.

  Concerned about being seen as they drew closer to their quarry, Captain Nemo ordered the Nautilus to submerge and proceed along its course. It wouldn't be long now before they found where Dorian Gray and M had gone to ground.

  At the Amur River at dawn, a curving silver-blue line of frozen water cut through a windswept landscape of snow and jutting gray rock. A few gnarled trees, bent low from the ever-blowing wind of the constant winter, dotted the monotonous steppe.

  Today, even the ravens had taken shelter in the scrub brush, too miserable to search for carrion. Silence pervaded the frigid atmosphere.

  Suddenly, with a cracking roar and the creak of broken slabs of ice, the Nautilus's reinforced conning tower hammered through the frozen surface and rose into the air with a shower of snow and a spray of icy river water.

  The vessel's upper hatch opened with a clang, and five people emerged, climbing up into the chill northern air. They all wore thick arctic clothing, heavy gloves, and hooded jackets. The wind whistling across the steppes carried with it a deeper chill, but even the biting cold could not bring a rosy flush to Mina Harkers pale cheeks. The others shaded their eyes from the glare of sun on endless ice and snow.

  Skittish Jekyll slipped on the slick coating of fresh-frozen ice that covered the armored upper deck, but Quatermain caught him. "Careful, man. You wouldn't last a minute in water that cold." The slushy Amur knocked ice chunks against the side of the Nautilus, and Jekyll looked down wide-eyed at where he had almost fallen.

  Nemo took his binocular device and scanned the landscape. "According to my charts, we should be very near to our destination."

  Sawyer, Jekyll, and Mina shared a telescope that First Mate Patel had brought up for them. Jekyll peered toward a distant rocky ridge. "Aren't the Fantoms' manufactories over there?" He had a difficult time holding the eyepiece steady in his trembling hands. His teeth chattered.

  Nemo nodded. "We may have to set off overland."

  Quatermain took the binoculars to see for himself. He focused on snow-frosted piles of rock and stripped logs that had once been clustered homes, but had now fallen into complete disrepair. "Deserted peasant settlements."

  Mina took the telescope from Jekyll. "Completely empty, no sign of life. They're close to a river, probably on a trade route. The houses themselves seem habitable."

  "Well, with a bit of fixing up," Sawyer agreed, lowering the binoculars.

  Mina continued to stare, using only her sharp green eyes. "Still, why would an entire village be deserted?"

  Then oily smoke rose up in angry black whorls over the rim of the jagged rise, accompanied by a fiery glow, as if a doorway to Hell itself had been opened — just a crack.

  "Fear, no doubt," Nemo said.

  The icy plains of Mongolia were a far cry from the African veldt, but Quatermain still led the expedition.

  Sawyer, Jekyll, and Mina trudged after him, picking a path over the treacherous ground: slick ice, uncertain rocks, deep snow. Nemo brought up the rear with a squad of Nautilus crewmen, all of them warmly dressed and well-armed. They ascended the steep hillside to the top of the rocky ridge beyond the abandoned peasant village. Behind them, the conning tower of the submarine vessel protruded from the Amur ice, like the ruins of a castle battlement.

  One by one, the group struggled up through a windswept crack in the snow. Sawyer politely helped Mina, though her grip was stronger than his. Loose rocks tumbled from ledges, bouncing and picking up speed as they rolled down the slope.

  After cresting the rise, they looked down to see a Cossack fortress, the lair of the counterfeit Fantom. M.

  The giant structure seemed to be an amalgamation
of a blocky gothic castle and the industrial revolutions dirtiest factory nightmare — a black stone folly of an exiled czar, built to rule over the landscape. Great bulbous minarets spired skyward, and huge blasts of fire coughed forth from tall chimneys atop foundries and processing lines. Its workshops, living quarters, and dungeons glowered out at friend and foe alike. The industrial fires of smithies, smelters, and incinerators made his fortress look like a restless volcano, accompanied by a loud clamor and the syncopated puffs of small explosions.

  Overhead, the wide sky was thick with gray clouds and the wind picked up as the storm gathered, carrying the metallic scent of impending snow.

  "His summer retreat. Can't say I care for the color." Sawyer made ready to move. "Lets nail this son of a bitch."

  "Unprepared and unplanned? No, lad." Quatermain looked around the gnarled rocky outcroppings, the stark lichen-encrusted boulders. The first heavy flakes of snow began spitting down on them from the dark clouds. "This is where Skinner signaled he'd meet us. So we wait."

  Later, the League members and Nemo's armed men gathered around a meager campfire inside a rock cave, surrounded by snowdrifts. Sawyer and several crewmen carrying axes had volunteered to go back to the empty peasant village to chop some of the frozen wood into chunks and splinters. As the storm grew worse, filling the air with pelting snow, the group had laboriously brought the pieces up to their makeshift shelter. Although the light from their fire seemed a mere spark in the vast emptiness of the steppes, for those huddled close to its warmth, the effort had paid off.

  They melted snow and boiled the water, which Mina used to make tea. After taking a long swallow of straight whiskey from his hip flask, Quatermain offered it to fortify the brew, then went out into the continuing blizzard to stand guard.

  The old adventurer sat on a rock at the cave entrance and kept watch, in spite of the freezing cold of the blustery night and blinding snow that whipped all around him. Though M surely believed them all dead and the Nautilus sunk, he refused to let down their guard so near to the enemy's fortress. He would take no chances.