Chapter One: The Harper's New Quest
Alan Quartermain lifted his head from the book he was reading and listened. Was that what he thought it was? He smiled at the sound that floated on the wind. She was playing again, his little Harper. He marked his place and set the book down, standing and walking towards the sound. The melody was hesitant, new. She had just written it, then. Alan sighed softly at the melancholy in the tune. She was so sad after her loss, but only expressed it in her music. Even then, it was very rare to hear a sad note, but when you did, it nearly broke a man's heart. The gothic box harp, as tall as two revolvers placed end to end, and just as wide, with it's intricate carved designs and bronze strings, was one of the pride and joys of Jessie Quartermain's life. Her mother had carved the fore pillar with an intricate design of Celtic knots, three different designs all interwoven into one. The top beam was carved with interlaced crescent moons, flaming suns, rayed stars. The other pillar had a name and title engraved in it in gothic letters: Harper Jesshiquekah. The harp was white as the snow, silver birch wood, but every carving was stained with its own color, the suns a burnished gold, the moons and stars silver, the knot works violet, blue, and indigo. That harp had been a gift from her mother before she'd left, a special gift. Jessie loved it. Alan heard the tune change, quicken, brighten, and Jessie's voice- so like her beloved Mother's- rose in a sweet lilt,
"'Er 'air 'as bright a' fresh spun gold,
'er eye a shinin' gem,
'er lips an' cheeks 'ere roses red,
much prettier tha' th'lot o' 'em!
'Er kiss 'as soft a' butterflies,
'er laugh a silver bell,
'er voice a' swee' a' honeycomb,
fair ringin' i' th' dell."
Coming round the corner, Alan saw a small girl, hair tied in a braid with fourteen feathers- he knew it was exactly fourteen- hanging down her back, dressed in page clothes. Her shirt was white, but over it she wore a blue tunic trimmed in silver, and her breeches were black, tucked in her leather boots. She was sitting at a window, gazing out into the hot African night, happily plucking the sweet bronze strings.
"'Er song 'as lightah' tha' th' rain,
sweetah' tha' mornin' dew..."
She trailed off, then began to strum another song. "The moon was bright as sweet starlight, the night was clear as sweet diamonds. The road shone clear on a path through the Mere-" "Harper duckling dear of mine, play 'the Lady of Shallot.'" She began the song, and sang the words, her father and their servants listening.
* * *
Jessie smiled up at the young man with red hair who sat in front of Nigel. He didn't smile back, which hurt the girl's feelings. What was his problem? The young harper turned her attention back to Nigel, an old friend of her father's, who was smiling and nodding at the British official.
"The Empire needs you, Mr. Quartermain." Jessie stifled a giggle. She loved this ploy of her father's, because it gave him more time to spend with her instead of always telling his stories. Jessie'd heard them billions of times as bed time tales, and that was how she loved them best, fairy tales and adventure stories told in small doses every night by her father. She adored the sound of his deep voice as he would whisper softly of the dangers he'd faced, or recount the many battles he'd been in. He'd done the same when she'd been a baby. She'd always loved his stories.
"But the question is, do I need the Empire?" Her father put his book down and looked over at Sanderson Reed. "I'm Alan Quartermain. This is Nigel, he keeps the story seekers at bay."
"Best I toddle of now, Alan?"
"Yes, Nigel, you toddle off."
"Toddling." The older man rose and toddled drunkenly away.
"Mr. Quartermain, the Empire is in peril." And the two Quartermains, Jessie sitting beside her African nurse, Eulalie, and her Ayah, Lakshmi, Alan gazing on intently, listened to the young Brit. as he told of the trouble.
"And this puts you in a sweat?"
"Good heavens, man. Doesn't it you?" Alan chuckled and glanced at the blond child seemingly reading by the fireplace.
"This is Africa, dear boy, sweating is what we do." Jessie gasped softly, attracting no notice, as she felt the tingling warmth of her power come upon her. Heat seared behind her eyes and she shut them tight. A vision passed before her eyes as phantom sounds assailed her ears.
The sound of shattering glass. The sound of an automatic rifle. The image of her father holding a broken bottle. A man impaled on a rhino's horn. Her father saying, "No, just armor plated." The word Belgium. Nigel's voice crying, "Oh!"
Jessie glanced at Eulalie and Lakshmi. Both women exchanged glances, then sighed in unison.
"Don' you worry bow a ting, chile." Eulalie said. "Dare are jus sum tings you canna change." The harper stared at the African witch, then at Lakshmi.
"It is so, Missie Sahib, it is so, as your mama would tell you, if she were here." Just at that moment, the three females heard a shot, and looked to see Nigel collapse against his chair. "So you see, Missie Sahib. Now, come!" Jessie followed her two caretakers behind the bar as they rushed away from the shooting. The young girl peeked over the counter to see her father when she noticed Nigel moving on the floor, groaning. He was still alive! Jessie rushed out from under cover and ran to him.
"No, chile, you cumma back hea now, you hea me! No, chile!"
"Missie Sahib!"
"Jessie!" Bruce, the bartender, looked terrified for a moment before he grabbed his pistol. He'd cover the girl if someone tried for her. Jessie pulled off her tunic and cut a strip from the bottom with her dagger. Folding it up as her father had shown her, she pressed it to Nigel's wound, staunching the flow of blood. At the same time, warmth flowed up her spine as her involuntary healing power kicked in. Nigel would be okay in a minute, just a minute...
The seven-year-old fell over as a bullet whipped by over her head. She screamed, trying to figure out how to move, which way to go. "Daddy! Daddy!!" Someone scooped her up and tossed her a few feet into Jim, the black man who ran the tavern. He caught her as he fell to the ground.
"Miss Jessie, don' you eva do dat agayne. You undastan?"
"S-sorry, Jim..." He shoved her behind the bar and into Lakshmi and Eulalie's arms. "Daddy! What about Daddy?" She shook her head at a strange ticking sound in her ear, trying to make it go away. When a bullet hit the wall to her right, she gasped and scooted to the left, under a chair.
"Wasn't there another one of these buggers?" Alan asked, then looked around for the women. "Lakshmi! Eulalie! Jessie!" The two dark women stood, looking for the youngest Quartermain. Jessie peeked out from the chair she was under. Her father looking around, seeing no danger. She looked around herself, saw two men lying dead. She slipped out from the under the chair, and screamed when someone grabbed her collar and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Don't move another step!" A large man in a black sweater and trousers hoisted Jessie up and pressed a blade to her throat. "You don't care about an awful much, Alan Quartermain, but you do care about this! You care about her!" Alan's heart began thundering in his chest. This was so like what had happened to Jessie's mother, his beloved Empress of India. He remembered it so very clearly, even after all this time, he remembered. Jessie did, too, though she hadn't even been born then, but the old hunter could see it in his daughter's eyes, hear it in her voice as she cried, "Let me-"
"SHUT UP!" Jessie bit her lip and stared at her father with pleading eyes. She was silently begging, Don't let it happen, Daddy. "One step, Quartermain, just one tiny step, one sudden movement, and I'll slit her throat. I'll kill her right in front of you, see if I won't." Jessie squirmed, and the steel nicked her skin. A line of blood tricked down her neck and stained her shirt collar. She gasped in fear. Alan's breath came whistling through his teethe. That bastard had cut his daughter. "Oh, look. I've cut her." Alan took a step forward, but dread suddenly filled the young psychic and she shook her head. The steel cut deeper, and the blood came heavier. She whimpered, terrified. "Don't move, you little brat. Be a good girl now and don't move. Don't even think of heroics, Quartermain, I swear I will kill your own child right before your eyes. I will." "Onee a cowud would hught a chile!" Jim shouted. "Silence, you disgusting nig- what are you doing?" Jessie began to fade, literally fade, and the man could soon see straight through her. "You little... oh shit." His arms closed on empty air, and Jessie materialized beside Eulalie, who pushed Jessie behind her. The man stared at Jessie, then at Quartermain's livid face. He ran out the door. Jessie ran to her father's side, and both began walking to the door.
"Mr. Quartermain, please!" Jessie nearly stamped her foot in impatience at the disgusting, British official. "The Queen is asking-"
"He said he wanted nothing to do with this!" Jessie stilled the strings of her harp, which vibrated as she walked, but did not look up. "Leave us be, leave our home, and leave Africa." The young royal agent glared at the young Harper and clenched his fists.
"I will not be ordered about by a homeless, orphaned chit of a bard-"
"Do not speak of that girl in such a way." Alan raised his rifle.
"Isn't he a bit far off?" Alan sighed and lowered the gun. "Yes, I thought he was." Alan put his glasses to his nose and raised his Winchester. "I hate getting old." The shot made Jessie's ears ring, but she was used to it by now and paid it no mind. The man fell, and some of the African men dragged him back. Jessie and Eulalie had to run to keep up with Jessie's father's great stride as he walked to the man. "Stop him! I need information! Don't let him-" The man fell. Jessie didn't know what had happened. Was he dead? Her father had hit his shoulder, he shouldn't be dead. "Damn. Bloody poison." Alan snapped. The man twitched once, and Jessie's ears caught a dull booming sound. Terror suddenly clenched her heart like a cold fist. Her mind froze.
"Daddy!" She cried. "Daddy, the tavern!" The windows exploded in a shower of glass, the walls and roof collapsed, and the door flew out and over the ground by twenty feet as fire engulfed the tavern. Jessie was pushed back by the shockwave into Alan's legs. "Daddy," she whispered, "Daddy..." Her father could've been in there, could've died...
"Shhh, hush. Hush, little Harper, shhhh, it's alright." The girl bit her lip, and the man who worked for the Queen looked down at her in amazement. His gaze shifted to Quartermain.
"You may have no love for the Empire, but you do love Africa. The war has shifted here, the place you do care about. If you had ordered the girl to stay put in that tavern..." Alan nodded. "Will you do this for the Queen?" Alan shook his head and lifted Jessie into his arms.
"Harper girl, my Harper girl, love of my lonely heart, Africa is in danger. What shall we do?" The other man stared at Quartermain. Asking a child for advice? Bloody crazy bastard, he was. But what surprised him most was when the girl replied in a clear voice, free of any child's lisp, "For Africa, I give you my services." She always said that before an adventure, and her harp was what got him through, for that was the only thing that gave him strength, Jessie and her music. Alan Quartermain was a sad, depressed little man. His daughter was a music sprite of laughter, light, and love. And now, he was going to drag her into this again because only she would make him see the adventure through to the end.
"For Africa and myself, I accept. We will go to London."
"Shall we?" Her eyes lit up, violet with melted stars.
"Oh, yes, London, with it's ghostly fog, chilly rains, long nights, muddy streets-"
"Daddy, I get the idea." Alan smiled, kissed her cheek, and murmured, "Let us go, then, my Harper girl." Turning to Reed, he said, "We're in."
* * *
"Damn the rain!"
"I like it." Jessie said, taking off her cloak. The cloak was bright crimson, made at Jessie's request, and very beautiful, if Alan had anything to say about it. Jessie slipped off her large overshoes and set them by the door, handed the door man her cloak, hat, and gloves. "The rain's lovely." Alan lifted her up and carried her on his back, her hands clasped gently around his neck, her legs in the crooks of his arms. "Don't you think so, Daddy?"
"No, and you won't either when you catch your death of pneumonia." Jessie sighed, as if to say, "Oh, Daddy." Alan knew what Jessie saw in the strange London weather: soft, clear waters falling from beautiful blue-gray skies, which never happened in Africa. The fog was not fog, but a mist that perhaps led to a Faery world, glittering in the lamp light like so many diamonds. That was Jessie for you, always finding beauty in things.
"Ah, Mr. Quartermain. This way." Alan followed the man down a hallway, down a steep set of stairs.
"It's like we're going to the center of the Earth." Jessie breathed in his ear. Then, "Do you think we'll meet any natives?"
"Natives?"
"People native to the center of the Earth. I hear their women are very lovely." Alan stared into her deep blue eyes, wondering if she were serious. She looked very solemn.
"I don't think so, my harper girl. Where are we going, anyway, Reed? Australia?"
"Think we'll meet any Aborigines?" Alan laughed at his daughter's eagerness and shook his head. "Rats." Reed glanced at the two and shook his head in bewildered consternation. Coming upon a large, iron door, the younger Englishman said, "Here we are." The door opened, and Alan went in, Jessie clutching him just a bit tighter about the shoulders in excitement.
"Daddy," she whispered, "look at all those books...."
"We're not here for reading, pet." He whispered to her, then said loudly, "I don't like theatrics."
"After Africa's heat," said a voice in the thick shadows of the room, "England's weather hasn't improved your temperament much."
"Identify yourself," Alan commanded firmly as Jessie began to shiver. She was probably just cold, but her father could smell a slight musk of fear about her as well.
"I have many names," the Man said as Jessie whispered with him, "My underlings call me sir. My superiors simply call me M."
"M?"
"Just M." A man in a suit stood up and moved to shake his hand, but seeing as both of Alan's appendages were busy, held out his hand for Jessie's. "Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Jesshiquekah Shaellanderial Kalika Quartermain? The harper prodigy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell me, Mr. Quartermain, what is this girl on your shoulders? She can't possibly be human, if the files on her are in any way accurate." Alan looked sharply at M, but Jessie merely blinked her huge, blue eyes at the man.
"My daughter is an extraordinary young lady, with all the wonderful gifts of her mother. If you did research on my extraordinary lady, you would know the gifts of my daughter as well."
"And, uh, what gifts might those be?"
"She's useful."
"Indeed?" Alan let Jessie down and turned to a man wearing a large blue turban, with tanned skin and a bushy, black beard. His outfit was royal blue trimmed with silver. The young harper walked up to him slowly, head cocked to one side. "Indeed. And you are?"
"Jesshiquekah Shaellanderial Kalika Quartermain."
"Kalika."
"Yes."
"Daughter of Kali."
"Yes."
"You have blue eyes."
"Yes."
"Your mother was Indian." It wasn't a question. "Your father has brown eyes. So your mother's eyes were blue."
"Yes."
"I see... Missie Sahib. I am Captain Nemo, putting myself humbly at your service. I have heard of Mr. Quartermain."
"And I've heard of you, Captain. Rumor has it you're a pirate." Nemo, with a glance at Jessie, who's surprising blue eyes were fixed on Quartermain, replied, "I would prefer a less provocative title."
"I'm sure you would."
"Gentlemen, please, for the child's sake." M smiled condescendingly down at Jessie's gorgeous blond hair. "I have a question. If your mother was Indian, her hair would have been black. But you are a blond. How is that possible?"
"It's dyed."
"Oh?"
"It's naturally brown. I used glamour to make it blond." Jessie shook out her hair, which shimmered from golden curls to a beautiful mahogany. "But I prefer blond." Her hands went up to stroke her hair and went over it, turning it back to its lustrous gold. "It reminds me of my aunt."
"Jessie Quartermain." M said the name slowly, as if savoring a rare wine. "Extraordinary girl, aren't you? The daughter of the famous hunter." The girl slipped behind Alan's legs, clutching his trouser legs tightly. "Two of the newest members of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen."
"The what?"
"A group of extraordinary individuals, who at times of great world peril, band together to save the world. And one of our members is late. Harker, a chemist." At the name Harker, Jessie gave a start but didn't speak.
"Oh, a chemist, eh? Do we get to blow somethin' up then?" Alan looked around.
"My eye sight must be worse than I thought."
"No, your eye sight's fine."
"No games, M." Alan said. The younger British man smiled, murmuring, "Skinner, you have an avid audience." Jessie's big blue eyes were shining with delight, awe, amazement, reverence, you name it, it was probably there.
"Oh, indeed? What a lovely girl. Hello."
"Hi. Are you invisible?"
"Yes."
"Oh. You're naked. Aren't you cold?" The invisible man laughed.
"Actually, I'm feeling a slight breeze 'round my nether regions, and I must admit, it's quite refreshing." Jessie giggled. "Rodney Skinner's the name, Miss Bright Eyes, gentleman thief and invisible man! And you are?"
"Alan Quartermain, sharp shooter, ex-rifleman in Her Majesty's army. This is my daughter." Alan said waspishly.
"Jesshiquekah Quartermain, harper, sometimes invisible girl, siren, and banshee at your service." She slid down, smiled in Rodney's direction. "I can see you, you know."
"You can see me?"
"I can smell you, hear you, feel you, and sense you looking at me."
"And what might I smell like?"
"Cigar smoke, scotch, paint, leather, and just... human. And you sort of smell a bit... like a chemical I can't quite figure out... anyway... oh, wow, Romeo and Juliet..." Jessie, losing interest, set her harp on the table, grabbed a book, and opened it. She didn't see the leather overcoat, white paint, black hat, and dark glasses cover the man Alan surmised was Rodney Skinner.
"They're going to find a cure. That is, if I'm a good boy."
"And are you a good boy?"
"You'll just have to find out, won't ya? What's that?"
"Jessie's harp. Don't touch it, she'll skin you."
"She has the attention span of a hair comb."
"Depends on how interesting you are." Jessie, without looking up, said clearly, "The Indian Gentleman is interesting, the Captain." Nemo nodded at Jessie. Jessie set her book down for a sec and salaamed to the Indian man. Then, she buried her nose in it once more. However, she asked, "Who's the lady in the doorway? She's very pretty. Are you a widow?"
"Yes, I am. Am I that obvious?"
"Elementary, Miss Harker." Jessie murmured. The woman gave a start. "Yes, you're Wilhemina Harker. I just realized it's you, though. Black mourning clothes, a wedding ring, red hair, green eyes, and a certain scent about you... good evening. Lovely weather."
"You think so?"
"Oh, yes. If one went out alone, one might cross the gates between the realm of men into the realm of Faye. I wish I could, but, then, I wish many, many things that never happen. Such is the way of a seven-year-old." Mina, Skinner, and Nemo stared at her for a moment, then looked to Alan for explanation. The aging Brit shrugged. That was Jessie. Nothing more need be understood.
"Tell me this is Harker's wife, with a sick note." Alan said.
"Sick would be a mild understatement," Jessie whispered, "her husband's been dead for years."
"Sick would be a mild understatement," Mina said at the same time, " my husband's been dead for years." When they realized Jessie was speaking along with the widow, everyone looked at her. "How did you know what I was going to say?"
"I'm a psychic, Miss Harker. Oh, I forgot. Mr. Skinner, Mr. M, Miss Harker, and Captain, I'm very glad to meet you all. I hope I can be of service on this mission." Everyone but Alan stared at M. The girl was going with them?!
Alan Quartermain lifted his head from the book he was reading and listened. Was that what he thought it was? He smiled at the sound that floated on the wind. She was playing again, his little Harper. He marked his place and set the book down, standing and walking towards the sound. The melody was hesitant, new. She had just written it, then. Alan sighed softly at the melancholy in the tune. She was so sad after her loss, but only expressed it in her music. Even then, it was very rare to hear a sad note, but when you did, it nearly broke a man's heart. The gothic box harp, as tall as two revolvers placed end to end, and just as wide, with it's intricate carved designs and bronze strings, was one of the pride and joys of Jessie Quartermain's life. Her mother had carved the fore pillar with an intricate design of Celtic knots, three different designs all interwoven into one. The top beam was carved with interlaced crescent moons, flaming suns, rayed stars. The other pillar had a name and title engraved in it in gothic letters: Harper Jesshiquekah. The harp was white as the snow, silver birch wood, but every carving was stained with its own color, the suns a burnished gold, the moons and stars silver, the knot works violet, blue, and indigo. That harp had been a gift from her mother before she'd left, a special gift. Jessie loved it. Alan heard the tune change, quicken, brighten, and Jessie's voice- so like her beloved Mother's- rose in a sweet lilt,
"'Er 'air 'as bright a' fresh spun gold,
'er eye a shinin' gem,
'er lips an' cheeks 'ere roses red,
much prettier tha' th'lot o' 'em!
'Er kiss 'as soft a' butterflies,
'er laugh a silver bell,
'er voice a' swee' a' honeycomb,
fair ringin' i' th' dell."
Coming round the corner, Alan saw a small girl, hair tied in a braid with fourteen feathers- he knew it was exactly fourteen- hanging down her back, dressed in page clothes. Her shirt was white, but over it she wore a blue tunic trimmed in silver, and her breeches were black, tucked in her leather boots. She was sitting at a window, gazing out into the hot African night, happily plucking the sweet bronze strings.
"'Er song 'as lightah' tha' th' rain,
sweetah' tha' mornin' dew..."
She trailed off, then began to strum another song. "The moon was bright as sweet starlight, the night was clear as sweet diamonds. The road shone clear on a path through the Mere-" "Harper duckling dear of mine, play 'the Lady of Shallot.'" She began the song, and sang the words, her father and their servants listening.
* * *
Jessie smiled up at the young man with red hair who sat in front of Nigel. He didn't smile back, which hurt the girl's feelings. What was his problem? The young harper turned her attention back to Nigel, an old friend of her father's, who was smiling and nodding at the British official.
"The Empire needs you, Mr. Quartermain." Jessie stifled a giggle. She loved this ploy of her father's, because it gave him more time to spend with her instead of always telling his stories. Jessie'd heard them billions of times as bed time tales, and that was how she loved them best, fairy tales and adventure stories told in small doses every night by her father. She adored the sound of his deep voice as he would whisper softly of the dangers he'd faced, or recount the many battles he'd been in. He'd done the same when she'd been a baby. She'd always loved his stories.
"But the question is, do I need the Empire?" Her father put his book down and looked over at Sanderson Reed. "I'm Alan Quartermain. This is Nigel, he keeps the story seekers at bay."
"Best I toddle of now, Alan?"
"Yes, Nigel, you toddle off."
"Toddling." The older man rose and toddled drunkenly away.
"Mr. Quartermain, the Empire is in peril." And the two Quartermains, Jessie sitting beside her African nurse, Eulalie, and her Ayah, Lakshmi, Alan gazing on intently, listened to the young Brit. as he told of the trouble.
"And this puts you in a sweat?"
"Good heavens, man. Doesn't it you?" Alan chuckled and glanced at the blond child seemingly reading by the fireplace.
"This is Africa, dear boy, sweating is what we do." Jessie gasped softly, attracting no notice, as she felt the tingling warmth of her power come upon her. Heat seared behind her eyes and she shut them tight. A vision passed before her eyes as phantom sounds assailed her ears.
The sound of shattering glass. The sound of an automatic rifle. The image of her father holding a broken bottle. A man impaled on a rhino's horn. Her father saying, "No, just armor plated." The word Belgium. Nigel's voice crying, "Oh!"
Jessie glanced at Eulalie and Lakshmi. Both women exchanged glances, then sighed in unison.
"Don' you worry bow a ting, chile." Eulalie said. "Dare are jus sum tings you canna change." The harper stared at the African witch, then at Lakshmi.
"It is so, Missie Sahib, it is so, as your mama would tell you, if she were here." Just at that moment, the three females heard a shot, and looked to see Nigel collapse against his chair. "So you see, Missie Sahib. Now, come!" Jessie followed her two caretakers behind the bar as they rushed away from the shooting. The young girl peeked over the counter to see her father when she noticed Nigel moving on the floor, groaning. He was still alive! Jessie rushed out from under cover and ran to him.
"No, chile, you cumma back hea now, you hea me! No, chile!"
"Missie Sahib!"
"Jessie!" Bruce, the bartender, looked terrified for a moment before he grabbed his pistol. He'd cover the girl if someone tried for her. Jessie pulled off her tunic and cut a strip from the bottom with her dagger. Folding it up as her father had shown her, she pressed it to Nigel's wound, staunching the flow of blood. At the same time, warmth flowed up her spine as her involuntary healing power kicked in. Nigel would be okay in a minute, just a minute...
The seven-year-old fell over as a bullet whipped by over her head. She screamed, trying to figure out how to move, which way to go. "Daddy! Daddy!!" Someone scooped her up and tossed her a few feet into Jim, the black man who ran the tavern. He caught her as he fell to the ground.
"Miss Jessie, don' you eva do dat agayne. You undastan?"
"S-sorry, Jim..." He shoved her behind the bar and into Lakshmi and Eulalie's arms. "Daddy! What about Daddy?" She shook her head at a strange ticking sound in her ear, trying to make it go away. When a bullet hit the wall to her right, she gasped and scooted to the left, under a chair.
"Wasn't there another one of these buggers?" Alan asked, then looked around for the women. "Lakshmi! Eulalie! Jessie!" The two dark women stood, looking for the youngest Quartermain. Jessie peeked out from the chair she was under. Her father looking around, seeing no danger. She looked around herself, saw two men lying dead. She slipped out from the under the chair, and screamed when someone grabbed her collar and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Don't move another step!" A large man in a black sweater and trousers hoisted Jessie up and pressed a blade to her throat. "You don't care about an awful much, Alan Quartermain, but you do care about this! You care about her!" Alan's heart began thundering in his chest. This was so like what had happened to Jessie's mother, his beloved Empress of India. He remembered it so very clearly, even after all this time, he remembered. Jessie did, too, though she hadn't even been born then, but the old hunter could see it in his daughter's eyes, hear it in her voice as she cried, "Let me-"
"SHUT UP!" Jessie bit her lip and stared at her father with pleading eyes. She was silently begging, Don't let it happen, Daddy. "One step, Quartermain, just one tiny step, one sudden movement, and I'll slit her throat. I'll kill her right in front of you, see if I won't." Jessie squirmed, and the steel nicked her skin. A line of blood tricked down her neck and stained her shirt collar. She gasped in fear. Alan's breath came whistling through his teethe. That bastard had cut his daughter. "Oh, look. I've cut her." Alan took a step forward, but dread suddenly filled the young psychic and she shook her head. The steel cut deeper, and the blood came heavier. She whimpered, terrified. "Don't move, you little brat. Be a good girl now and don't move. Don't even think of heroics, Quartermain, I swear I will kill your own child right before your eyes. I will." "Onee a cowud would hught a chile!" Jim shouted. "Silence, you disgusting nig- what are you doing?" Jessie began to fade, literally fade, and the man could soon see straight through her. "You little... oh shit." His arms closed on empty air, and Jessie materialized beside Eulalie, who pushed Jessie behind her. The man stared at Jessie, then at Quartermain's livid face. He ran out the door. Jessie ran to her father's side, and both began walking to the door.
"Mr. Quartermain, please!" Jessie nearly stamped her foot in impatience at the disgusting, British official. "The Queen is asking-"
"He said he wanted nothing to do with this!" Jessie stilled the strings of her harp, which vibrated as she walked, but did not look up. "Leave us be, leave our home, and leave Africa." The young royal agent glared at the young Harper and clenched his fists.
"I will not be ordered about by a homeless, orphaned chit of a bard-"
"Do not speak of that girl in such a way." Alan raised his rifle.
"Isn't he a bit far off?" Alan sighed and lowered the gun. "Yes, I thought he was." Alan put his glasses to his nose and raised his Winchester. "I hate getting old." The shot made Jessie's ears ring, but she was used to it by now and paid it no mind. The man fell, and some of the African men dragged him back. Jessie and Eulalie had to run to keep up with Jessie's father's great stride as he walked to the man. "Stop him! I need information! Don't let him-" The man fell. Jessie didn't know what had happened. Was he dead? Her father had hit his shoulder, he shouldn't be dead. "Damn. Bloody poison." Alan snapped. The man twitched once, and Jessie's ears caught a dull booming sound. Terror suddenly clenched her heart like a cold fist. Her mind froze.
"Daddy!" She cried. "Daddy, the tavern!" The windows exploded in a shower of glass, the walls and roof collapsed, and the door flew out and over the ground by twenty feet as fire engulfed the tavern. Jessie was pushed back by the shockwave into Alan's legs. "Daddy," she whispered, "Daddy..." Her father could've been in there, could've died...
"Shhh, hush. Hush, little Harper, shhhh, it's alright." The girl bit her lip, and the man who worked for the Queen looked down at her in amazement. His gaze shifted to Quartermain.
"You may have no love for the Empire, but you do love Africa. The war has shifted here, the place you do care about. If you had ordered the girl to stay put in that tavern..." Alan nodded. "Will you do this for the Queen?" Alan shook his head and lifted Jessie into his arms.
"Harper girl, my Harper girl, love of my lonely heart, Africa is in danger. What shall we do?" The other man stared at Quartermain. Asking a child for advice? Bloody crazy bastard, he was. But what surprised him most was when the girl replied in a clear voice, free of any child's lisp, "For Africa, I give you my services." She always said that before an adventure, and her harp was what got him through, for that was the only thing that gave him strength, Jessie and her music. Alan Quartermain was a sad, depressed little man. His daughter was a music sprite of laughter, light, and love. And now, he was going to drag her into this again because only she would make him see the adventure through to the end.
"For Africa and myself, I accept. We will go to London."
"Shall we?" Her eyes lit up, violet with melted stars.
"Oh, yes, London, with it's ghostly fog, chilly rains, long nights, muddy streets-"
"Daddy, I get the idea." Alan smiled, kissed her cheek, and murmured, "Let us go, then, my Harper girl." Turning to Reed, he said, "We're in."
* * *
"Damn the rain!"
"I like it." Jessie said, taking off her cloak. The cloak was bright crimson, made at Jessie's request, and very beautiful, if Alan had anything to say about it. Jessie slipped off her large overshoes and set them by the door, handed the door man her cloak, hat, and gloves. "The rain's lovely." Alan lifted her up and carried her on his back, her hands clasped gently around his neck, her legs in the crooks of his arms. "Don't you think so, Daddy?"
"No, and you won't either when you catch your death of pneumonia." Jessie sighed, as if to say, "Oh, Daddy." Alan knew what Jessie saw in the strange London weather: soft, clear waters falling from beautiful blue-gray skies, which never happened in Africa. The fog was not fog, but a mist that perhaps led to a Faery world, glittering in the lamp light like so many diamonds. That was Jessie for you, always finding beauty in things.
"Ah, Mr. Quartermain. This way." Alan followed the man down a hallway, down a steep set of stairs.
"It's like we're going to the center of the Earth." Jessie breathed in his ear. Then, "Do you think we'll meet any natives?"
"Natives?"
"People native to the center of the Earth. I hear their women are very lovely." Alan stared into her deep blue eyes, wondering if she were serious. She looked very solemn.
"I don't think so, my harper girl. Where are we going, anyway, Reed? Australia?"
"Think we'll meet any Aborigines?" Alan laughed at his daughter's eagerness and shook his head. "Rats." Reed glanced at the two and shook his head in bewildered consternation. Coming upon a large, iron door, the younger Englishman said, "Here we are." The door opened, and Alan went in, Jessie clutching him just a bit tighter about the shoulders in excitement.
"Daddy," she whispered, "look at all those books...."
"We're not here for reading, pet." He whispered to her, then said loudly, "I don't like theatrics."
"After Africa's heat," said a voice in the thick shadows of the room, "England's weather hasn't improved your temperament much."
"Identify yourself," Alan commanded firmly as Jessie began to shiver. She was probably just cold, but her father could smell a slight musk of fear about her as well.
"I have many names," the Man said as Jessie whispered with him, "My underlings call me sir. My superiors simply call me M."
"M?"
"Just M." A man in a suit stood up and moved to shake his hand, but seeing as both of Alan's appendages were busy, held out his hand for Jessie's. "Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Jesshiquekah Shaellanderial Kalika Quartermain? The harper prodigy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell me, Mr. Quartermain, what is this girl on your shoulders? She can't possibly be human, if the files on her are in any way accurate." Alan looked sharply at M, but Jessie merely blinked her huge, blue eyes at the man.
"My daughter is an extraordinary young lady, with all the wonderful gifts of her mother. If you did research on my extraordinary lady, you would know the gifts of my daughter as well."
"And, uh, what gifts might those be?"
"She's useful."
"Indeed?" Alan let Jessie down and turned to a man wearing a large blue turban, with tanned skin and a bushy, black beard. His outfit was royal blue trimmed with silver. The young harper walked up to him slowly, head cocked to one side. "Indeed. And you are?"
"Jesshiquekah Shaellanderial Kalika Quartermain."
"Kalika."
"Yes."
"Daughter of Kali."
"Yes."
"You have blue eyes."
"Yes."
"Your mother was Indian." It wasn't a question. "Your father has brown eyes. So your mother's eyes were blue."
"Yes."
"I see... Missie Sahib. I am Captain Nemo, putting myself humbly at your service. I have heard of Mr. Quartermain."
"And I've heard of you, Captain. Rumor has it you're a pirate." Nemo, with a glance at Jessie, who's surprising blue eyes were fixed on Quartermain, replied, "I would prefer a less provocative title."
"I'm sure you would."
"Gentlemen, please, for the child's sake." M smiled condescendingly down at Jessie's gorgeous blond hair. "I have a question. If your mother was Indian, her hair would have been black. But you are a blond. How is that possible?"
"It's dyed."
"Oh?"
"It's naturally brown. I used glamour to make it blond." Jessie shook out her hair, which shimmered from golden curls to a beautiful mahogany. "But I prefer blond." Her hands went up to stroke her hair and went over it, turning it back to its lustrous gold. "It reminds me of my aunt."
"Jessie Quartermain." M said the name slowly, as if savoring a rare wine. "Extraordinary girl, aren't you? The daughter of the famous hunter." The girl slipped behind Alan's legs, clutching his trouser legs tightly. "Two of the newest members of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen."
"The what?"
"A group of extraordinary individuals, who at times of great world peril, band together to save the world. And one of our members is late. Harker, a chemist." At the name Harker, Jessie gave a start but didn't speak.
"Oh, a chemist, eh? Do we get to blow somethin' up then?" Alan looked around.
"My eye sight must be worse than I thought."
"No, your eye sight's fine."
"No games, M." Alan said. The younger British man smiled, murmuring, "Skinner, you have an avid audience." Jessie's big blue eyes were shining with delight, awe, amazement, reverence, you name it, it was probably there.
"Oh, indeed? What a lovely girl. Hello."
"Hi. Are you invisible?"
"Yes."
"Oh. You're naked. Aren't you cold?" The invisible man laughed.
"Actually, I'm feeling a slight breeze 'round my nether regions, and I must admit, it's quite refreshing." Jessie giggled. "Rodney Skinner's the name, Miss Bright Eyes, gentleman thief and invisible man! And you are?"
"Alan Quartermain, sharp shooter, ex-rifleman in Her Majesty's army. This is my daughter." Alan said waspishly.
"Jesshiquekah Quartermain, harper, sometimes invisible girl, siren, and banshee at your service." She slid down, smiled in Rodney's direction. "I can see you, you know."
"You can see me?"
"I can smell you, hear you, feel you, and sense you looking at me."
"And what might I smell like?"
"Cigar smoke, scotch, paint, leather, and just... human. And you sort of smell a bit... like a chemical I can't quite figure out... anyway... oh, wow, Romeo and Juliet..." Jessie, losing interest, set her harp on the table, grabbed a book, and opened it. She didn't see the leather overcoat, white paint, black hat, and dark glasses cover the man Alan surmised was Rodney Skinner.
"They're going to find a cure. That is, if I'm a good boy."
"And are you a good boy?"
"You'll just have to find out, won't ya? What's that?"
"Jessie's harp. Don't touch it, she'll skin you."
"She has the attention span of a hair comb."
"Depends on how interesting you are." Jessie, without looking up, said clearly, "The Indian Gentleman is interesting, the Captain." Nemo nodded at Jessie. Jessie set her book down for a sec and salaamed to the Indian man. Then, she buried her nose in it once more. However, she asked, "Who's the lady in the doorway? She's very pretty. Are you a widow?"
"Yes, I am. Am I that obvious?"
"Elementary, Miss Harker." Jessie murmured. The woman gave a start. "Yes, you're Wilhemina Harker. I just realized it's you, though. Black mourning clothes, a wedding ring, red hair, green eyes, and a certain scent about you... good evening. Lovely weather."
"You think so?"
"Oh, yes. If one went out alone, one might cross the gates between the realm of men into the realm of Faye. I wish I could, but, then, I wish many, many things that never happen. Such is the way of a seven-year-old." Mina, Skinner, and Nemo stared at her for a moment, then looked to Alan for explanation. The aging Brit shrugged. That was Jessie. Nothing more need be understood.
"Tell me this is Harker's wife, with a sick note." Alan said.
"Sick would be a mild understatement," Jessie whispered, "her husband's been dead for years."
"Sick would be a mild understatement," Mina said at the same time, " my husband's been dead for years." When they realized Jessie was speaking along with the widow, everyone looked at her. "How did you know what I was going to say?"
"I'm a psychic, Miss Harker. Oh, I forgot. Mr. Skinner, Mr. M, Miss Harker, and Captain, I'm very glad to meet you all. I hope I can be of service on this mission." Everyone but Alan stared at M. The girl was going with them?!