The League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen
Author's Note: Ah. Hello everyone.
Laiqualaurelote has returned. A&A&A was all very well (it certainly kept my sister occupied during some boring meals) but sooner or later I would have returned to the world of Action/Adventure. And although in this case I am probably plunging somewhere with less reviews than either of my earlier fanfics, I think I shall have some fun anyway.
Disclaimers are such tiresome things, aren't they? Even so, I own neither the concept of the League, nor anyone in it, past or present. That satisfy you? Then on with my tale.
The Council in the Basement
Balance. The odd feeling of blood draining from her legs to her head, heavy and slightly nauseous. The world upside down, the colours blurred. Her hair hung downwards in its long ponytail, draping over the balance bar. Her eyes closed; everything in her focused on her quivering arms, lithe and strong, her white knuckles, her fingers tight on the metal bar, the perfect streamline of her body.
In times like this, she thought lazily even as her biceps strained, it was worth all the trouble taken to build these things. The perfection of it, of that single moment of pure equilibrium, upon the narrow balance bar in a flawlessly straight handstand. An impossible feat for most women, or people even – but a feat within her grasp.
She opened her eyes.
With the graceful ease of long practice she swung a full 360 degrees around the balance beam, body rod-stiff, and released her hold, spinning off into the air. She writhed once, twice, to make the most of the swing, and caught the next balance bar further down. Four more to go.
In a series of swift swings she went from bar to bar. Now the opening yawned before her, a tight metal maw with a bottomless drop that lay behind it. She whirled off the last bar like a Catherine wheel through the air, curled into a ball and rolled neatly through the small opening.
She fell.
The ground, when it came, sent painful jolts through her legs and up her spine. She landed in a crouch, like a stealthy cat, knees bent to absorb the shock. Recovering swiftly, she broke into a run as light from an unseen source on the lofty ceiling flooded the place suddenly, white and harsh.
There was a metallic screech and a hiss. A ball of movement shot out of the corner of her eye and came down at her, steel limbs scrabbling for her face, tipped with razor points, hissing in programmed ferocity. Calmly she reached for the twin revolvers that she knew would be on her belt, cocked and aimed in one swift moment and fired at the creature. Three sharp bursts, and the robot spider crumpled at her feet, its wires sparking where the bullets had sliced through them.
She did not stay to look, but picked up speed. There were more of the things already, scuttling along the walls of the corridor, metal legs clacking, some of them throwing themselves at her. Without stopping she aimed each revolver in opposite directions and hit two spiders simultaneously. Still running, she swung around and her bullets knocked four more off the ceiling.
As she turned back there was a thud on her chest, and next she was staring down at a spider clawing at the material of her suit. With a powerful hand she slapped it off, and the thing flew off and smashed into pieces on the corridor wall. Looking up, she beheld the opening at the end of the corridor closing. Thundering down the last few metres of corridor, she sprang through as it shut behind her.
She plunged into deep water. Black engulfed her and snatched away her sense of direction. All she remembered was that the door to the next level was somewhere down, somewhere down there, and she needed to keep swimming down through the darkness...
Somewhere above, something began to ring loudly.
She swam up to the surface and spat water out of her mouth. It ran in rivulets down her neck. Beside her, the ponytail floated, wholly saturated.
"Damn," she said aloud.
With fast, strong strokes she swam to where a ladder descended into the water and began to climb it, careful not to slip on the wet rungs. At the top there was a trapdoor. She pushed it open, and emerged into the manor.
Water dripped down and formed puddles that were out of place on the rich carpet. She strode up the marble steps, leaving wet footprints, and made an irritable gesture to her butler. "No. I'll deal with whoever it is myself." Since they interrupted me in the obstacle course, she thought petulantly as she flung open the tall double doors, allowing sunlight to stream through and pool on the carpet.
The intruder, as she thought of him, was a slight, nervous-looking man who kept fiddling with his jacket. "Lara Croft?"
"Lara Croft," she affirmed, keeping the warmth from her voice.
"I have a message for you," began the man, but Lara cut him off in an angry tone. "You interrupted my game for a message?"
"An important message," argued the man. "It involves saving the world."
Lara rolled her eyes. "That is so cliché. If you want my attention you will have to do better than that." She turned to head back into the manor.
"I'm being serious!" he exclaimed, scuttling after her. "It's a summons from London. You've been requested to lead a team of elite agents on a top secret mission. You can't refuse!"
"Oh, why not?"
"Well, the British Government has requested you do it, for one. So has the Queen."
She halted. "Go on," she said, her back still to him.
"I can't," he replied. "To find out the rest, you have to go to London yourself. Do you want to see the seal?"
Lara reached out and took the letter. The seal confirmed it. She looked up at the messenger, who was wringing his hands in apprehension.
"Going to London is no big deal for me; it's not too far. So I might as well check this out."
One could tell how relieved the messenger was. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck. "Oh, very good. Try to make it fast."
"Fast," drawled Lara, "is no problem. Wait till you see the new jet I bought last week."
Fat raindrops fell and splatted sluggishly on the cobblestones through the heavy London night. Rolling plumply across the gently sloping ground, they collected in murky puddles on the pavement.
A black leather boot, with a high pointed heel, sliced through the puddle, making the water part like Moses at the Red Sea. Another boot clacked sharply onto the pavement. Both passed through a pair of imposing stone columns and entered a fairly large museum room. The heels echoed distinctly on the polished tiled floor between the antique exhibits.
The figure in the all-encompassing fur cloak glanced up and surveyed the empty museum with something like disappointment. "This is it? I came here for something like this?"
"It's not what you think."
"Oh, really?"
"No, no, it's more than it looks, honestly. Why don't you go on?"
The figure threw the furry hood back. In the sputtering light of the gas lamps, Lara Croft glared at the messenger. "Very well. But any funny business – " her fingers tightened around the .45s under the cloak, "– and you'll regret it, believe me. Lead the way."
"Yes'm," said the messenger meekly.
They crossed the room and came to a wooden door, which the messenger opened with a key. The door swung open, the message on it barely legible in the dim light.
"NO ADMITTANCE TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC"
"Top secret, eh?" muttered Lara as she passed through.
"This way," said the messenger, clattering down the dusty staircase. Lara followed him cautiously.
The staircases seemed to go on for eternity. Lara had lost count of the number of flights already, and she could hear the messenger panting before her. She herself found the descent not at all tiring, but her patience was fraying. "I don't suppose you people have heard of the elevator, have you? Or even the escalator?"
The messenger said nothing, wisely saving his breath.
Eventually the staircases wound to a halt before yet another wooden door. The messenger opened it, motioning Lara to enter. "Your briefing will take place inside, Lady Croft."
Lara peered at the darkness beyond the door suspiciously. "You're not going in?"
The messenger shook his head and waited, fidgeting. Lara made up her mind. Fingers closing around her revolvers, she stepped in. The door closed behind her.
Immediately the darkness pounced on her like a roaring flood, swallowing her entirely, creeping over her face, smothering like velvet. Her senses were immediately alert; she tensed, trying to catch a movement in the dark.
Then a light flicked on.
In the bright glare of the lamp, an old man with wrinkled brown skin like a walnut scrutinised her. There was suddenly a spotlight on her, boring into her, catching her tense and frozen. It felt uncomfortably as if she was on stage.
The wizened old man seated in a large armchair at the end of a long polished table raised his chin slightly, his dark eyes never leaving her face. He was dressed in a strange woollen suit, which was violently and distastefully purple-orange-striped. He had large sunglasses propped on his forehead over his bright green eyes, and white hair in an outlandish Indian ponytail. All in all, he was the last thing she would have expected to see in a situation like this.
"Lara Croft." It was not a question of any sort. Just two words, which hung in the air between them.
"Who are you?" she snapped at him.
Those aged eyes did not blink at her gaze. "Chiron Brown. They done called me 'Ringfinger', back when I pitched for the Homestead Grays. Ringfinger Brown."
That did not answer the question, but Lara was tempted to digress. "And why's that? Something special about your ring finger?"
"Nah." The old man raised his leathery brown right hand. "I ain't got one, that's why."
Lara raised her eyebrows.
"Anyway," he went on, "me, I'm a scout. A talent scout. That's why the League hired me, to scout talent."
"League?"
Ringfinger Brown lifted a large black file and spun it down the length of the table towards her. She caught it, noting that on the cover, embossed in gold, was: "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen".
"The League," explained Ringfinger Brown, "was started in the 1800s, by a group of six men and one woman with, let's just say, extraordinary abilities. Though they done got exploited by the very man who brought 'em into the League, they still stuck together. And ever since, it's been tradition whenever the world needs saving, to call on the League."
Lara fingered the photographs in the books. The League in the 1800s. Led by Allan Quatermain. "But that's a long time ago. The League are probably dead and gone. Who're they calling on now?"
Ringfinger Brown sighed. "That's why I'm here. Me job's to bring together a new League, from the new era. Ever since the first League, I been collecting League members from Fiction, whenever the fictional world needs them. And ever since they invented Movies...well, there been a lot of heroes to choose from."
The light was beginning to dawn on Lara. She sat down at the end of the table, the file before her. "You chose me."
The old scout nodded. "I did. To lead the new League."
"But...this is the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. And I'm a...a..."
"A woman?" Ringfinger Brown laughed. It was a dry, wheezing cackle. "To begin with, there been nothing wrong wi' having women in the League. Look in your that there folder. One of the founding members were Mina Harker herself. And ever since there's been a sprinklin' of women in the League across the eras. Éowyn of Rohan, for one, at the turn of the century. Princess Leia not a many years back. But now it's different."
"Back then, I never focused on women partick'ly. But now," here he sighed and shook his head, "somehow, I can't seem to find the men. All not 'vailable. Neo Anderson occupied with dealing wi' some machines or whatnot. Jack Aubrey busy sailing 'round the world or summat. Anyway, now you women are gettin' better an' better. Look at yerself."
"Okay," said Lara. "Enough about the League. What about the mission?"
"Further on in that folder, you'll see. It's quite simple, really." He paused to adjust the sunglasses. "Robot attacks."
Lara flipped further on. Framed in the pages were several newspaper clippings. "ROBOT SQUADS SPOTTED IN CALIFORNIA" "ARMED MACHINES ATTACK BRISBANE WAREHOUSES" "TWO KILLED IN MYSTERY ROBOT ASSAULT" Lara flipped through the information, frowning.
"You see," continued Ringfinger Brown, "it's getting serious. Suddenly robots pop up everywhere – we're a-suspecting something."
"So?"
"So, we want you to get to the root o' the matter. Find out what's going on wi' all the robots. Put a stop to anythin' fishy."
Lara nodded. "You said I'd be leading a team? Who's in it?"
Ringfinger Brown glanced at a large gold watch, which was shaped like a large blob. "Actually, you can find that out for yerself. They should be here somewhere around now. Ah."
The last was voiced at the sound of the door clanging. Lara spun round to see a tall, elderly-looking woman in billowing green robes stride through the door and towards them. With her long nose and her thin, primly shut mouth, she did not look like she smiled often. Her hair was in a severe bun at the back of her head. The overall effect was rather austere.
"Professor McGonagall," greeted Ringfinger Brown cordially. "I just done briefing Lara here. Lara Croft, this is Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School and a powerful witch in her own right."
"Pleased to meet you," said Lara politely.
Professor McGonagall merely nodded stiffly. Not a forthcoming lady, she.
"Why, are we all here already? And I thought I was early!"
Their heads turned towards the source of the silvery voice that floated in. A woman appeared in the shadows, walking towards them with a graceful sway. She was strikingly lovely; her dark eyes, rimmed heavily with black kohl and flecked with gold, gleamed embossed in her coffee-coloured tanned skin. She wore – Lara saw McGonagall's eyes narrow in displeasure – very little, more jewellery than clothes. Speaking of jewellery, she wore a gold circlet tipped with the Egyptian uraeus – she was probably royalty – atop her black head, from which her black locks fell smooth and straight and shining, draping over her bare shoulders.
The newcomer paused by a chair, but did not sit; instead she stood by it, eyes demurely lowered, nimble fingers drumming the upholstery coyly. She looked even younger than Lara, but there was an air was something deeply old, ancient even, about her.
"Lara Croft and Minerva McGonagall, so I hear." Her voice was huskily sultry, and despite the demure tone, everything else about her radiated brazen force. "A pleasure, utterly so." The dusky eyes flicked here and there behind the veil of hair, coolly taking in all three of them. "Why so silent? I thought you Englishwomen were brought up with manners?"
"Indeed," replied McGonagall icily. "Not a wonder then, that you aren't English."
The other laughed her silvery laugh. "Oh, thank Re, nai. I am of the Land of Khem, that which you call Egypt. Anck-su-namun, once concubine of Seti, greets you." She inclined her gracious head, in what seemed only too much a mocking gesture. Lara felt that McGonagall was barely resisting the temptation to roll her eyes at the girl's impudence. Well, there was certainly a lot in the field of teamwork that could do with improvement.
All three women pricked up their ears at a new sound – high heels clicking across the floor. A figure appeared, framed in the doorway, and stepped forward, heels striking the ground in their sharp rhythm. The woman was dressed in a skin-tight black suit, made of some polished material that caught the light as she walked forward. She was astonishingly pale, this fact made even clearer by the way her black hair was pulled starkly away from her moon-sallow face and tied behind her head. Her eyes belied her Asian origins – large, but with the slanted Oriental look.
"Ah," said Ringfinger Brown. "And here be the last member of our League due today. Yuriko Oyama."
Lara extended her hand. "Lara Croft. Welcome."
Yuriko Oyama took it wordlessly. Her black, eerily empty eyes bored into Lara's. Her grip was amazingly strong, like an iron vise, as if...as if her fingers were made of metal, thought Lara. Lara could feel her strangely long nails pricking her skin. She stifled a wince, forced a smile, and tried to withdraw her hand.
Which was nigh impossible.
Yuriko Oyama tightened her grip further. It took all of Lara's self control not to gasp in pain. The woman gazed coolly at her. "Lady Deathstrike." She released Lara's hand at last. Lara drew it back hurriedly, flexing it to check if the muscles were still working.
Yuriko Oyama – no, Deathstrike, thought Lara – turned to Ringfinger Brown, who was, after all, the only one seated. "What is this mission, may I ask? And when do we start?"
Ringfinger Brown grinned, showing several gold teeth. "Right now, milady. As to yer mission, you can ask yer that there team captain." Deathstrike glanced at Lara. "Now, you lot better get to crackin'. You still have three more team members to recruit – look in yer file, Lady Croft – and they ain't gonna be easy to ask. So it be off to Stonehenge you go."
Lara stared at the old man. "Stonehenge? Why are we going to Stonehenge?"
"You'll see. Read yer file, I said. And take these here equipment...yer all dealing wi' some holographic things. And if any of them yer dealing wi' wanna ask questions – " he tossed Lara a mobile phone "– put them on the line. Off ye go."
Anck-su-namun fingered the strange futuristic glasses on the table curiously. "Off we go, isn't it?" Her silvery tone was amused, with a tinge of mocking distaste. "And I thought we were all just getting along so nicely here."
End of ChapterNext chapter coming...An Invasion of Mud People
In which the League tours Stonehenge, surprises some strange creatures and finds that their new member is rather under the expected height.