The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

SIXTEEN The Nautilus

While Nemo and Quatermain paid little attention to their meals, intent on the plans and discussions for their arrival in Venice, Tom Sawyer finished off two bowls of chowder, a dozen oysters—"Just like the ones I used to eat back home in Missouri!" — and a grilled shark steak. He munched on salted fried sardines fresh from the sea, then licked his fingers. He was careful not to get grease on the fragile papers the turbaned captain was displaying for them.

In the bright light of his cabin, Nemo gently leafed through a large book of aged drawings until he came to the particular page he had wanted to show them. "The plans the Fantom stole from the Bank of England. These are copies… to my knowledge, possibly the only ones in existence."

"What are they?" Sawyer asked. "Looks like a maze— sewers, maybe? Looks as bad as Injun Joe's cave." He brightened. "Say, didn't the Fantom have some sort of hideout in the sewers of Paris, under the Opera House?"

"If it is the same man." Nemo glanced at the young American. "These, Agent Sawyer, are Leonardo da Vinci's blueprints of Venice, notably its foundations and waterways."

Quatermain studied the drawings. "It's a key, a complete and secret route for the Fantom to reach the secure place where the conference of world leaders is being held. He'll slip inside, and nobody can stop him. Except us."

"So you reckon he'll attack by sea?" Sawyer said.

Quatermain turned to Nemo. "What do you think, Captain?"

As usual, Nemo did not give a straightforward answer. "I think there is still much we do not know about this Fantom."

Since the others had not bothered to gather for dinner, Quatermain sought them out in their cabins. There was little time to decide upon a course of action, or to decipher the Fantoms' true scheme. No one suggested that the masked man had been defeated by the shoot-out at Dorian Gray's house. His plans would not have been so easily thwarted.

Quatermain went first to Grays cabin, where he found the elegant, youthful man's insouciance irritating.

"I have a question for you, Mr. Gray. An appeal to all the 'experience' you bring to our group."

Ever urbane, Gray raised his eyebrows. "Indeed? Ask away."

"According to M, the Fantoms' been abducting scientists from various nations. All of them are versed in creating weapons of war — all except one."

He held up a cardboard photographic print of Karl Draper taken from the files provided by M. The bald, bespectacled man looked mousy, somewhat startled by the flare of the photographer's flash powder.

"So? Why bring him to me?" Grays bored, disinterested attitude had returned.

"Surely time has taught you to see beyond the obvious," Quatermain said. "Consider the question. What is so special about this man? Why is he important to the Fantom? Do you even know who he is?"

Gray grudgingly took the picture and noted the man's name on the back of it. "Karl Draper."

"He's a structural engineer. An architect, not a weapons designer. Why would the Fantom want him?"

"To build a new summer home, perhaps? Someplace without mirrors, so that he can take off his mask and relax on the weekends?"

"That's about as funny as a toothache," Quatermain growled, walking out in disgust. Why had M insisted on including the self-centered sophisticate in their number? For the life of him, Quatermain couldn't imagine that Gray would ever be of any practical use to the League.

It was a busy, restless night, as they all bided their time, faced their fears, and prepared for what was likely to be an unpleasant encounter in Venice. Deep under the sea, it was difficult to tell the hour, day or night; Quatermain followed his own rhythms. He paced the narrow corridors of the Nautilus, deep in thought, a sheaf of files and books under his arm.

A wide-eyed and fidgety Henry Jekyll peered out from his cabin door. "Mr. Quatermain? I'd like to help, if I could. Is there… um, something you would like me to do?"

"Nothing for now, Jekyll," he said, passing by. Then, to reassure the nervous little man, he added, "Don't worry, though. Mr. Hyde will have ample opportunity to get his hands dirty."

The distaste on Jekyll's face showed that this wasn't necessarily what he'd wanted to hear. He looked as if he had swallowed something particularly unpleasant… such as one of the oysters Tom Sawyer had enjoyed so much.

"But try to make sure we don't see Hyde until we actually need him." Quatermain turned a corner and passed Nemo's cabin again. Sawyer had already gone to bed, stuffed from his large meal, but the captain's door was ajar. Nemo knelt before a large, many-armed statue of Kali, muttering in prayerful devotion. He bowed low and touched his turbaned head to the feet of the idol, unaware of the other mans curiosity.

"That's Kali, the Goddess of Death," said Mina's voice in a whisper. She had crept up on the hunter with absolute, unnerving stealth. "Nemo worships death. Can we trust him?"

Quatermain looked over his shoulder at the vampire-woman, embarrassed to be caught observing the man's private devotions. "He's not the one I'm worried about." He walked away, clutching his papers under his arm.

Mina looked back into Nemo's cabin, intent on learning what she could about him. But the dark and mysterious captain rose, went to the door — obviously aware she had been eavesdropping all along — and closed it coldly in her face.

Weary and troubled, very unsure about how well the members of this group would manage together, Quatermain returned to his cabin and sat down. By the light of a single lamp, he began once again to study his files and papers.

His research ranged far from the specific dossiers of the League members to the activities of the Fantom. He perused Scotland Yard criminal reports and several copies of The Strand Magazine. He compared information from an illustrated article in one issue of the periodical, and made a note in his crime files. He saw connections, albeit faint ones, everywhere.

Suddenly, Quatermain sensed something nearby: a breath, a presence. In an instant he turned off his light and, with a single fluid motion, lunged from his chair.

In the pitch black cabin, they were on equal footing. He heard movement, touched skin, and caught a handful of hair. Quatermain struck out, responding to a frantic struggle, and landed several blows, which resulted in a very rewarding series of whimpers.

He reached the cabin door and flung it open, flooding the room with a shaft of light from the hall. Quatermain stood there, glaring. "I want you dressed at all times, Mr. Skinner — or it's my boot up your arse. Now get out!"

Without an apology, the invisible man hurried out. His bare footsteps hurried down the corridor, and the door to his own cabin opened, seemingly by itself.

Satisfied that he was truly alone again, Quatermain slammed the door shut and went to bed.