The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (6 page)

"Boo!" said the unseen man. "Believe it."

"Enough, Ghost," Nemo said.

"Oooh, he speaks!" the invisible man chortled. "I thought for a moment the
nefarious captain had been stuffed. Pleased to meet you both. I'm Rodney
Skinner, gentleman thief."

M frowned in the direction of the voice. "Skinner, make yourself
presentable."

The invisible thief's coat, draped on the back of a chair, started to move by
itself. It took shape as the man got dressed, tugging arms through the sleeves.
Next, a pot of white greasepaint rose into the air.

Skinner continued to chat as he dressed. "You see, I thought invisibility
would be a boon to my work, being a thief and all. Heh! You can imagine." His
grease-painted lips blew out a sigh. "My undoing—once you're invisible, it's
bloody hard to turn back."

The transparent hand continued to dab greasepaint on his face, distributing
smears so that his physiognomy took shape eerily as he spoke. "And it's bloody
hard to spend your money if no one can see you."

"In the end, we finally caught him," M said. "He'll be a valuable member of
your team."

"And they'll provide the antidote if I'm a good boy," Skinner said,
explaining the real reason for his cooperation.

"And are you a good boy?" Quatermain asked.

"I guess you'll find out, won't you?"

The door quickly opened again, and all eyes turned toward the voice. "Am I
late?" A beautiful woman stood at the door, carefully pushing it shut.

Quatermain blinked at her stunning appearance. She was slender and
fit-looking, dressed in a stylish but not gaudy dress. She appeared to be in her
early thirties with startlingly green eyes and dark hair; a white silken scarf
was chastely tied around her throat. Her skin was ivory pale, as perfect as
milk.

"Why, being late is a woman's prerogative, Mrs. Harker." M showed no trace of
annoyance at all.

Quatermain groaned quietly. This meeting had grown worse with each new
revelation. "Please, M, tell me this is Harker's wife with a sick note."

Her green eyes flashed at him with a surprisingly feral light." 'Sick' would
be a mild understatement, sir. My husband's been dead for years. At the moment,
I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Gentlemen, this is Mrs. Wilhelmina Harker," M said. "Please welcome her to
our League."

"And you couldn't find a chemist with—" Quatermain began, remembering all the
times and all the adventures where women had caused him trouble.

"With the right to vote? Alas, no," Mina said.

M was unruffled. He sucked on the end of his cigarette holder again. "In
addition to her chemical abilities, Mina's… prior acquaintance with a reluctant
team member may also be of use to us."

Mina grimaced slightly, as if she didn't look forward to meeting her "prior
acquaintance" again.

"And that's it? Chemistry and an old friendship?" Quatermain raised his
eyebrows. "Come on, I'm waiting to be impressed." Many lives would depend upon
the abilities of the members of this team.

"Patience… is a virtue," Mina said, then added in a sultry, eerily hypnotic
voice, "Are you virtuous?"

"The clock hands turn, gentlemen," said M, gathering all the dossiers. "As I
said earlier, we have very little time. You have other members to recruit before
you depart for Venice."

"Kicking us out, already?" the now greasepainted Skinner asked. "A moment ago
it was all sherry and giggles."

Still uneasy in their partnership, Quatermain, Mina, Nemo, and Skinner
emerged from the museum onto the street, where it was still raining.

The invisible man wore a long coat, slouching hat, dark pince-nez, and full
white makeup on his exposed skin. He opened an umbrella to shelter himself from
the downpour. "Care to snuggle close?" he asked Mina. "Heh."

"I'd rather get drenched, thank you." She lifted her chin and turned away
from his greasepainted leer.

"Come now, you're not still upset about that little incident at Miss Rosa
Coote's Correctional Academy for Wayward Gentlewomen, are you?"

Mina turned to him regarding his unreadable mask coolly. "That is only one of
the many despicable things about you, Mr. Skinner. Getting girls pregnant by
claiming to be the Holy Spirit—indeed! How am I to choose only one reason to
avoid you?"

As they walked down the wet stone steps toward the street, Quatermain stopped
in his tracks. Instead of a hansom cab, a strange vehicle waited for them at the
curb, massive and six-wheeled with a brute engine under its expansive hood.
"What in God's name is that?"

Mina Harker and the invisible man also looked surprised and puzzled, but Nemo
simply strode forward. "It is mine."

"Good one, Nemo. It really helps when you're so bloody mysterious," Skinner
said. "What
is
it?"

"The future, gentlemen. The future."

"I believe it is an unorthodox design of an automobile," Mina said. "I notice
several fundamental similarities to the contraptions currently being marketed by
Karl Benz in Germany and Henry Ford in America."

Nemo regarded this as somewhat of an affront. Although Karl Benz was indeed
selling automobiles—and would probably become the most successful manufacturer
of the vehicles within a year or two—Ford had yet to do more than build a
prototype. If Ford didn't begin a marketing program soon, Nemo doubted the man's
work would ever amount to anything.

The captain, a consummate designer and inventor in his own right, had
researched the capabilities of every model in the world to date and found them
all wanting, so he had created his own design. He was proud of the innovations
his vehicle represented, but he did not intend to share them with other
money-hungry industrialists.

Nemo stepped up to the side of the muscular automobile. Its steam exhaust
vents and swirling lines were marked out in elegant Hindu style, functionality
with a veneer of ornateness. Though spattered with the dirt and soot of London's
streets, the metallic adornments showed gleaming gold, silver, and chrome over
colorful alloy body plates. The vehicle's six wheels would allow it to drive
overland as well as down the smoothest streets.

A tough-looking older man stepped away from the car and saluted Nemo.
"Waiting for you, Captain. Ready to go." He opened the side hatch and bade them
enter.

Nemo nodded politely to the man and introduced him. "This is my first
mate."

"Call me Ishmael," said the old man.

Curious, Skinner clambered into the dry car then reached out his gloved hand
to help Mina in, but she pointedly entered without his help. "I wouldn't want
you to smear your makeup."

"What, Missy? You were intending to give me a little kiss? Aheh!"

"I meant to smear it with my knuckles, not my lips."

Nemo entered the car, and Quatermain came last, taking a final wary glance at
the street. From the far corner, he once again saw the suspicious looking young
man lurking on a sheltered stoop, still watching them. Quatermain frowned, then
ignored the observer who was so painfully obvious about being unobtrusive. "If
the Fantom hires only amateurs like that, then we don't have much to worry
about," he muttered.

The vehicle's engine rumbled loudly, then the six tires began to turn, moving
them at increasing speed along the streets. "Our destinations not more'n a mile
away," Ishmael said. "Hang on."

"What a cheerful fellow," said Skinner.

Uncomfortably silent, Quatermain, Nemo, and Mina sat in the car.

The invisible man turned to Quatermain. "So how did M get you?"

"It's none of your business. For a thief you certainly talk a lot. No wonder
you were caught."

Skinner snickered. "Oh, I see! Found something to hold over you. Saucy
daguerreotypes? I've heard that jaded travelers find the long-limbed boys of
North Africa a delicious respite—"

"Do shut up."

Skinner turned back to Mina, grinning behind his face paint. "Ah, that's
nothing compared to how the League got me, eh Ms. Harker? Hell! Aheh!"

"A sordid business theme is no need to relate, so as Mr. Quatermain said, do
shut up." Her mouth formed a tight rosebud of annoyance. "I have no wish to
revisit it."

Now the invisible man seemed to be pouting, though it was difficult to tell
behind his greasepaint and dark glasses. "Just making conversation, Ma'am, and
Quatermain. Hold onto your pith helmet. If we're all supposed to work together,
and risk our lives together, what's wrong with a little healthy curiosity?"

Nemo brooded, looking at the others with intense dark eyes. "The thief's
question was perfecdy acceptable, Mr. Quatermain. Why are you here?"

"I have been pressed into service to resolve a situation in which you are all
participants," Quatermain said, which answered nothing at all.

"A little testy, Mr. Q," said Mina.

"Please call me by my full name, Mrs. Harker. Let us leave the mysterious
single letters to our friend M, all right? Besides, I doubt if a woman would
measure danger the way that I do."

Mina retorted, "And I imagine you with quite the library, Mr. Quatermain. All
those books you must have read—merely by looking at their covers… ?"

The confines of Nemo's car seemed to be oppressively close. Quatermain felt
defensive. "It is not an assessment I make without basis. I've had women along
on past exploits, and I've found them to be either a nuisance or outright
trouble. At best, they are a distraction."

"Oh?" Mina said. "Do I distract you?"

"My dear girl, I've buried two wives and many lovers. And I'm in no hurry for
more of either."

"Well, aheh, you can send them my way—" the invisible man said, leaning
forward.

"Skinner, shut up," Quatermain and Mina rang out simultaneously.

Nemo sat stock-still, his back rigid in the seat, as if he heard nothing of
the silly quarrels.

Ishmael brought the car to a gliding halt, and the engine puttered and
hissed. "Here we are, Captain. Tiger Bay, East of Limehouse."

Only too happy to be out of the odd looking car, and the company it
contained, Quatermain fumbled with the latch and eventually figured out how to
operate the door. He stepped out and took a deep breath of the damp air as mist
rolled in after the rain. He could smell the mud of the river and fish from the
markets. Warehouses large and small lined the Thames bank. Water lapped eerily
against the nearby docks,

Nemo emerged and waited for Mina and Skinner to join him. They all stood
together in the street.

"Shall I wait, Captain?" Ishmael called from the driver's compartment.

Nemo's eyes narrowed beneath his turban. "No, Ishmael. Bring my Lady to
me."

The first mate nodded and drove away. The evening fog had already begun to
thicken, and people were hurrying home for the night.

Ignoring the invisible thief, Mina primly touched her hair, regained her
composure, and looked about at the buildings. "Yes, this is the place." She
pointed a chalky pale hand toward an ominous house that spoke of ancient,
moldering wealth.

As Thames fog rolled in, the building seemed to groan with menace and the
weight of years of unforgiven sins. Mina looked far from happy.

"That's where we will find Mr. Dorian Gray."

The door of Dorian Gray's house was a massive wooden barricade with ornate
panels and a heavy brass knocker. The invisible man hung back as the other
League members approached, not out of fear but from lack of initiative; Mina
Harker hesitated for an entirely different reason.

Quatermain looked at Nemo, but the dark captain simply stared implacably, as
if the door would have the good sense to open by itself. It was left to the old
adventurer to step up to the entrance, grasp the handle of the ostentatious
knocker, and rap hard several times. It sounded like a hammer battering a piece
of thick hull plating.

After the resounding echoes died away, Quatermain waited, staring at the door
instead of his fellow recruits. Finally he heard soft, delicate footsteps
padding like a lion approaching prey. The door opened to reveal a suave man
shrouded in shadows and lingering sweet tobacco smoke. "Hello?"

Quatermain squared his shoulders, facing him. They were of the same height,
but the other man seemed much more full of himself. "Gray? Mr. Dorian Gray?"

The man stepped forward into the light. He was a dashing fellow with unruly
hair and a smile that seemed just the faintest degree away from an outright
sneer. He wore a deep purple smoking jacket and exotic slippers. "I am
indeed."

"We… came by way of M."

"Ah, M for mystery… or perhaps it's for melodrama… or mediocrity." Dorian
Gray looked at the old adventurer on his doorstep as if he was nothing more than
a speck. "Well, I told him and I'm telling you— whoever you are—I'm not
interested."

He finally deigned to notice the odd company on his doorstep: Nemo in his
outlandish semi militaristic uniform and colorful turban, Skinner in his dark
glasses and white face paint.

And Mina.

"Hello, Dorian," she said, seeing his eyes go wide with sudden
recognition.

"Mina? Mina Harker! It's been ages… though perhaps not long enough—"

Without comment, she pushed past Quatermain, her skirts rustling, and entered
Gray's front hall. The elegant man backed up to let her inside.

Before the other League members could follow her, she grasped the edge of the
door and flung it shut in Quatermains' face, leaving them standing alone outside
on the rain-damp step. He blinked, at a loss. "She who must be obeyed,"
Quatermain muttered under his breath. "I've heard that one before. And she
already thinks she's our captain. Trouble. Plenty of trouble."

Skinner snickered. "I knew she was a sassy one.  Aheh!"