Alan pushed the door of the house open, wiping sweat from his face with a soaked sleeve. His entire shirt was saturated, and he was panting harshly. The house seemed to be bursting with activity, the members of the League each bringing their packs of clothing to be deposited near the door for departure.
"Oh, Alan, you're back!" said Tom.
"Good, good," interrupted Jekyll. "Nemo's been wanting for us to leave within the hour. Say, are you all right?" he asked, taking in Alan's sweat-drenched state.
"Fine. Went for a run," said Alan dismissively. "Within the hour, you said? I'll be ready." With that he strode to the stairs and was on the next level in a trice.
"That was weird," said Tom.
Jekyll shook his head. "Something happened. When he's ready, he'll tell us what it was."
Meanwhile, Alan quickly stripped and washed in a basin kept handy for such purposes. Within five minutes he was clean and dressed in fresh clothes, and had begun pulling out suitable clothing for the journey. Unknowing of the length of the trip, he rolled ten full changes of clothes, in addition to extra undergarments and two pairs of boots, and packed all snugly into his rucksack. He added several hygiene items to his pack, including soap and a straight razor, and then tested the weight. It would be tolerable for the four-hour trek to the inlet of the nearest river deep enough to harbor Nautilus.
Grasping the sack once more, he slung it over his shoulder and made his way to the door. His hand froze seconds before it connected with the knob, and the rucksack fell to the ground with a crash. Alan was not far behind.
The pain was overwhelming, a fiery, burning agony that consumed him. In the back of his mind, he heard the land wail with the torture. One of her kidnapped children had died, on alien soil. Hunted like a beast, and brought down by a burning lead ball propelled at high velocity.
Alan lay panting on the floor. The General has always been fond of his games, he thought grimly, a hand clutching his head. There was no way to stop this pain, he realized, except to stop the monster that defiled the soil of Africa by pursuing her children like animals.
He opened his eyes and got to his feet, the agony fading into a throbbing ache throughout his bones. Grateful that no one had noticed the noise in the confusion of preparation, he took a deep breath to steady himself and opened the door. His knees were a little shaky, and he used that as an excuse for his controlled stumble down the stairs. Reaching the landing, he dumped his rucksack with the others' packs, and then made his way to the armory. Not much was needed for the others, for Nemo had an impressive amount of arms stockpiled on Nautilus, but Alan wanted to recheck his stores and re-supply.
As he passed the kitchen, he stuck his head in and found Skinner and Tom debating with Mina as for what to bring with them for lunch, as it was probable that they would stop, at least for a quarter of an hour, to eat. "Water," Quatermain interjected dryly, cutting off Skinner's monologue on fine wines. "And nothing that will spoil in this heat. No meats, or suchlike," he continued, ignoring Tom's forlorn look. He closed the door, the heat of their argument only slightly muffled by the wood, and continued on with a grin.
Once in the armory, he secreted several knives about his person, strapped more poison darts to his belt and grabbed several canisters of bullets, before closing and latching the open cabinets. He was passing the windows, drawing the curtains again, when his foot impacted with something. Glancing down, he pulled the trailing edge of the draperies with their fancy needle point embroidery (work of his first wife, Julia) out of the way. Disturbed by the motion, an ancient rifle toppled over from where it had been leaning against the wall.
Alan knelt and picked up the old gun. It was rusted beyond use, covered in layers of grime and filth. Frowning, for recognition danced just out of reach, he swiped a hand over the smooth wood of the stock, once oiled to dark perfection. Now the wood was split and cracked from the weather and disuse. But the two tiny initials burned into the underside of the stock were revealed in stark relief.
S.R.
Alan grasped the weapon tighter in surprise.
"You do know, don't you, that I won a good deal of money on John's birth," Sanger said jokingly. "There was a pretty steep pool going on when the baby would be born, and what it would be." He laughed a little. "I won even more on your marriage to Julia. Peters and I were the only ones convinced you'd tie the knot."
Alan placed his shot of brandy on the table, walking over to the couch where his gun was sitting. "She didn't give me much choice," he said, but the statement was softened with a gentle, genuine smile.
Sanger snorted. "Nonsense. You fell but good, my friend."
Alan turned to him, grinning. "And I can't wait until it happens to you."
His friend laughed out loud, dark eyes disappearing as his lids shut in mirth. He grinned, and raked his hand through his mahogany hair. "Nay, I have not yet hunted my last," he said simply, leaning his cleaned gun against the wall.
Alan simply raised a brow.
"Don't you smirk at me, Quatermain," Sanger retorted. "I'll have you know - "
"Master Quatermain! Master Quatermain!"
Alan turned, the smile slipping from his face at the sound of pure horror in the man's voice.
"It's the mistress - come quickly!"
Alan opened his eyes, pulling himself from the memory. Julia, five months pregnant, had experienced a bout of dizziness while descending a flight of stairs. His son John had been two at the time, and neither Julia nor their second child had survived the fall.
Pushing the painful memory away, Alan picked up the gun. Sanger, as panicked as he, had forgotten it in the haste and grief that clouded that week. He'd left for home, England, a month after Julia's burial, and the gun had escaped the notice of both men. Alan had searched for it frantically after Sanger's death, but had been unable to find it. He had never thought to search the one room it was most likely to be in. It had, after all, been locked for twenty years.
Sighing, he carried the weapon to his chest, and his fingers reached unerringly for the hidden catch. Once the lid clicked open, he gently placed the rifle in the depths of the wooden box. Then, pressing the lid closed once more, he traced his fingers gently over the rough wood.
Pulling himself away quickly, he turned and left the room, closing the door respectfully and locking it securely. He glanced at the key in his hand and quickly jogged back upstairs, carefully returning it to a small jewelry box that was one of the few mementos of his third wife, Elizabeth. He grimaced thinking about her death, and that of Laura, his second wife, whom he had loved passionately and who had been ripped from him barely a month after their wedding. He lowered his head a moment, sighing. It seemed that dark thoughts were never far from his mind now. It was his age, perhaps - an idea that made him snort as he caught sight of his reflection. In a moment's sudden inspiration, he had an inkling of what Mina Harker must feel about her own existence.
Shaking his head, he left the room and descended the stairs, not giving the room a glance as he passed it.
Skinner frowned at him from where he stood by the door. It was a sign of the hunter's distraction that he hadn't noticed the presence of the invisible man during the discovery of the old gun. Skinner wondered about it - he had been the only one there to see the suspicious shining in Alan's eyes, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what would bring such a strong man to tears.
Shrugging, the invisible man walked into the living room and pulled on his coat, swiftly spreading his white cream over his face. Vaguely visible once more, he made his way to the main foyer, where all were preparing to leave.
Tom adjusted the straps to his pack, while Jekyll, already carrying his own belongings, stood behind him. The doctor lifted the bag slightly, and Tom rotated his shoulders a bit, shifting the straps. "That's fine. Thanks."
Jekyll lowered the bag, and Skinner snorted - he woulda just dropped it onto the boy's shoulders.
Nemo was not burdened - one of the sailors from Nautilus accompanied him, and Nemo was lifting the pack to allow the man to slip his arms through the straps. The pack was small, but the two adjusted it nevertheless and the man thanked his captain.
Mina was outfitted and waiting impatiently, and Skinner wiggled into his own pack. Alan, with the ease of long practice, maneuvered his way swiftly into the straps of his rucksack.
Tom, Jekyll, Nemo and his man, and Mina trooped out to the porch. Skinner followed, and Alan came last, closing the door behind him. "Aren't you going to lock it?" asked Skinner.
Alan shook his head. "It's there if anyone needs shelter. The important rooms inside are locked, as are some of the more valuable items." He shrugged. "I'm not here to use it, why shouldn't someone who needs to?"
"Aren't you worried about thieves?" asked Skinner, still trying to understand this unusual behavior from a man born and who had lived a good space in London.
Giving him a wary look that said, Should I be? Alan replied, "No."
Taking a look around, and remembering just where they were, Skinner muttered, "No, I guess ya wouldn't be, at that."
Alan moved to the head of the line and said, "Tom and Nemo, take rear." Not that any of the League needed protection, for each was deadly in his - or her - own way. It was simply instinct that he put Jekyll and Mina in the center of the line - for they were the ones with the most appearance of vulnerability.
Alan began walking, leading the group towards the river Nautilus was moored in. It was two hours, and midday, before anyone thought to question how he knew where he was going.
When asked by Mina over the midday meal of fruit and bread, he snorted. "Nautilus is a massive ship. The only river deep enough, and close enough, for her docking is ten miles west of the house."
"It was roughly a four-hour trek," Tom commented.
"We'll be there under an hour after we finish eating," stated Alan confidently.
Jekyll raised a brow, and Skinner snorted.
"Distance is distance, Alan," said Mina with a trace of irritation in her tone. "It doesn't change and takes the same amount of time to travel."
"Ah," Alan replied with a smile. "This is true."
"But?" asked Tom, a grin on his face.
Alan matched the grin with a mischievous one of his own. "But I know a shortcut."