Author's Note**
Thanks to all the folks who take a moment to review. You guys rock. As for updates, I can usually get a new chapter up a day. Today, however, I had a job interview so my writing got interrupted. But never fear. . . .
Approximately an hour and a half later, Remy LeBeau had traded in his swash buckling grin for an expression of great distaste. He might have lived the first few years of his life in and around the gutter but he had certainly never crawled around in a sewer before. Some of the other members of the thieves' guild back home had sworn that the best way to gain entry to somewhere was via the underground sewage tunnels but young Gambit found that he did not like his work to actually involve dirt. Or whatever else it was that was floating around in the sludge he and Storm were currently wading through.
Gambit wasn't sure what to make of the white haired woman. The fact that she had knowledge of the hand code of thieves and knew his adoptive father Jean-Luc had been surprising. His only explanation for it was that she must have, at some point in her life, belonged to his guild. But that left two more questions. One, how had she gotten herself out? Guild membership was for life. And two, why hadn't he heard about her? As far as Remy knew, he was the only mutant thief in the history of the guild.
Even more shocking though, was her statement that she would vouch for him should he ever decide he wanted to join up. What motivation could she possibly have behind that? There had to be something because Remy had learned a long time ago that no one did anything nice for you free of charge. Not that he had any intention of joining the X-men. He enjoyed his life on the opposite side of the line just fine.
"What are you thinking about child?" Storm's voice drifted back to him and he bristled again at the term. Her voice sounded tense with a hint of panic in it; she had admitted to him when they had first entered the sewer that she was somewhat claustrophobic. The fact that she would have admitted a weakness to him, an enemy really, had thrown him a bit. He would never have confessed that even after all his years of hiding in shadows he still couldn't shake a childhood fear of the dark. Miss Rogue would shore git a chuckle offa dat, he thought, mentally picturing the green eyed belle who had growled at him that morning. She certaintly didn't seem like the type who would sigh and offer to comfort him.
"How much further you think it gonna be?" he asked in response, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes. There were shadows all around them and he got the strong feeling someone was watching them. He was fairly sure they had been watching ever since he and Storm had entered, but he had to tip his hat to them. There'd been no sign and no sound of them.
"Not much further, for if the ones we search for do not show themselves now I will flood their homes with the tears of Mother Earth."
Above his head Gambit hear the rumbled of thunder and felt the sludge around his knees slowly begin to rise. Me'be now be a good time to tell Madame dat Remy don't swim so good, he thought, looking down at the rising water with apprehension. But he was saved from an unsavory fate by their unseen watchers.
"Harsh words for one who's kin dwells in the very home she seeks to destroy." The voice was raspy, but unmistakably female.
"Show yourself," Storm repeated, sending a blast of wind spiraling down the tunnel as if that might push away the shadows. There came the sound of coughing, followed by the shuffling of feet. Gambit slipped his cards out from the sleeve of his trench coat as the owner of the voice came into the light.
It was an old, sickly woman with stringing white hair and sunken eyes. Her clothes, rags mostly, hung off her frail frame and she walked forward with a slow, dragging gait. She stopped ten feet from the two of them and Gambit thought he was looking at a member of the Living Dead. Unconsciously he shied away from her and her eyes, pale blue in color, pinned him. The smile she gave was very nearly gruesome with its lack of teeth and rotten gums.
"Yes, daemon." The term made him flinch. "Yes, keep your distance or the Plague will bring you to your knees." She punctuated her cryptic speech with a dry, heaving cough.
Not to be deterred, Storm stepped forward. She had every intention of successfully carrying out the mission and seeing her nephew Evan and this crippled woman would not stand in her way.
"Take us to the others, or you will find a plague upon your house," she threatened quietly. Thunder crashed again and the old woman turned her gaze upon Storm. There was a long moment of silence and then, abruptly, she turned and began walking away.
"Follow me and stay close." More coughing. "But not too close."
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The old woman led them through what seemed like miles of endlessly twisting tunnels until finally they came upon a large open room. Several Morlocks milled about, turning their eyes on the intruders as they entered. The one whom Storm recalled as the leader, Callisto, sat near the opening of a passageway and there was something stretched across the cement next to her. As they drew closer, Storm recognized the familiar blonde hair of her nephew. Giving a little cry, she rushed forward.
"What have you done to him?" she demanded and at the sound of her voice, Callisto rose, giving her a full view of young Evan. His entire body, save for the top of his head, was encased in bone plating, a kind of shell. He was unable to move the slightest bit, though it did not appear as if he had any desire to.
"We have done nothing to him. He seems to have cocooned himself. It happened over night. Calm yourself. He does not appear to be harmed," Callisto answered in a somewhat reassuring manner.
"We must take him back to the Institute. He needs medical attention," Storm insisted, reaching down towards him. Callisto shook her head and, by way of explanation, gave the shell a firm push. Even as Storm began to protest in anger, the cocoon did not so much as move. Kneeling down, the leader of the Morlocks pointed to where the shell met the concrete.
"The bones has burrowed into the concrete. You cannot move him. He is in no danger. Now," folding her arms across
her chest, she narrowed her uncovered eye at the white weather witch. "What brings you to the lair of the unwanted?"
Storm did not respond. Her gaze remained fixed on Evan, or the shell of Evan anyway. Gambit cast a wary glance her way and, since she didn't look like she was going to answer, he did.
"'De world be in a whole lot of trouble, mademoiselle," he began, slipping into his charming with practiced ease. "We need chore help ta save it, oui."
From the look on Callisto's face, it did not seem as if the woman had been charmed. Still, she asked, "What is it that you need charmer?"
The very definition of casual, Gambit took out his cards once more and began to riffling them. "'Dere be a mutant here named Caliban?"
"Yesss." Before Callisto could answer, a tall, lanky figure stepped towards them, his pace unhurried. His skin had a dull, grey cast to it and his face held a forlornness in it that Gambit had never seen on another creature before. There was a strong feeling of disheartenment and resignation about the mutant. Gambit felt it keenly and it made him sad. This one had known great suffering.
"Whooo aare you sssearching for?" Caliban asked in his whispering voice. Putting his cards away, Gambit leaned on his Bo, anxious to get this mission done with. He was now officially creeped out.
"A mutant named Mesmero. You know him, monsieur?"
Caliban shook his head slowly. "Nooo. But I will ffind himm." And with that, he closed his eyes and placed one long fingered hand to his smooth temple. Curious, Gambit watched closely but could see no hint as to the mutant's ability. After a moment, the Morlock spoke again,
"Hhhot. Sssand. Sssun isss bright. Deathhh isss ssstrong in thhe airr." Caliban's eyes opened suddenly and he stared straight into the Cajun's red eyes.
"Eeeygpt. Deathhh waitsss for you in Eeeygpt."