The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

TWENTY THREE Venice

Another explosion.

Exhausted and inebriated revelers fled screaming in all directions, stumbling into each other, falling to the paving stones, calling for help as they were buried under rubble. At Canzelli Tower, the center of the main detonation, smoke billowed up from cracked walkways. Water spouted from the old foundations like arterial blood.

The Fantoms' carefully positioned blast had dealt a death blow to the ancient landmark. Weaving like a dizzy ox, the tower collapsed and sank, taking down neighboring structures. People wailed and tried to escape as the streets convulsed, broke apart, and opened up to the hungry influx of water.

The shock wave spread through the surrounding piazza. Adjacent buildings slumped like failed souffle's, streets collapsed, and a tidal wave rose up to engulf the piazza, like the sinking of legendary Atlantis.

The world leaders in the secret conference room looked at each other in confusion and dismay. Guards drew their handguns and stood alert.

One guard raced to a window, flung open the shutters, and thrust his head and shoulders outside to look up. "It is terrible! The end of the world!" Before he could move, a heavy block of stone fell away from an upper floor, striking him a crushing blow; without so much as an outcry, he fell dead.

"Assassins!" bellowed the Russian. The tile floor split and rattled as the detonations continued. "Anarchists!"

The French ambassador ducked under the heavy table as the stuccoed ceiling overhead began to crack and flake. "We have been discovered. Betrayed! Someone is trying to kill us all."

"English treachery," snarled the German. "This meeting was no more than a ploy to bring us together so we could all be murdered in a single stroke!"

"Bloody German paranoia." The British representative was the only one who hadn't jumped out of his chair. "And I believe every man here will agree that it's a well-known Prussian technique to level a whole city just to kill a few gentlemen."

"I agree," the ambassador from France cried from under the heavy table. "After what the Prussians did to poor Paris and Emperor Napoleon III!"

A louder, resounding rumble made the tiled floor shudder. An ornate silver candelabra rattled, then fell over with a crash, scattering its lit candles in all directions. One of the guards, seeing a minor emergency within his means to handle, hurried forward to stamp out the small flames.

"My Venetia!" The Italian wailed and scrambled over to the guards who stood in the trembling doorways. Shouting a flow of incomprehensible words, he commanded them to hold up the walls and arches with their bare hands. The guards attempted to obey. A large terracotta planter fell from a shelf and shattered.

The lead ambassadors of both Spain and Portugal, usually rivals, joined the Frenchman under the table. Luckily, they had each rescued a bottle of wine that was intended as a celebratory toast after the successful conclusion of their deliberations. Agreeing on this, at least, the ambassadors decided to drink it now.

All around them, the destruction of Venice continued.