The League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Resurrected

Chapter Seven – Rites Of Ignorance

The figure lay huddled at the base of the door, fingers scrabbling at the portrait of her tormentor. Sobbing with a mind in a state close to hysteria, Rosaline wailed to him, "I cannot let you out into this house! I cannot do it!" She paused briefly; just enough time to take in a gasping but needed breath before continuing to whisper to him, "Do not ask it of me. Please do not. Do not ask it of me." The words faded into a chant; her own mantra to try and fight the power he'd taken on her mind by inserting himself in her dreams, learning all there was to know then finally turning it against her.

But through it all the woman still saw him as a good man. Not a bad one. The taste of the betrayal he had shown her, that time when he felt his heart shatter had shown her he was capable of care. Her compassion didn't throw him off though; it just incited him. He knew she was cracking under the careful care he had taken to destroy her fragile mind. They were all waiting for her famed ancestor to step in from the heavens, waiting for him to give Dorian the freedom that he so desperately craved. His pathway wasn't going in the right direction though; he could taste the regret boiling out of her. Regret at ever having gazed upon his face. And no one should feel sorrow for doing a thing like that. Not with a face like his.

Softly he laid a film over her eyes, using the sheer will power that had made his soul cling to his picture to charm her, "Oh there, there, my dearest. Don't cry so loud. It'll be alright. I'm still here for you. I always will we if you'll just help me get out. Heal my soul and body as one. Can't you bring yourself to do that for me? If you asked the same thing of me I wouldn't even blink before I complied. With every moment you hesitate your mistress could be in more danger!" He placed a false sense of exclamation on his final word. In truth he knew exactly what kind of danger her Mistress would be in.

"What do you mean?" questioned his prey, suddenly more aware and less wail-some.

"Listen," he offered with a tone of one who was chiding.

From beyond the door voices filtered through. Strange voices. Many voices. Men's voices. A fear gripped the heart of her stomach like a snake, causing her to writhe and squirm in horror. They couldn't have got in. They shouldn't have gotten in! She pushed his devilish portrait from her lap, trembling from head to foot. "You promised," she sniffed, "You promised me she'd not get hurt. You made me believe you. But you're a trick of Satan. A liar! Those men outside are here because of what you've done."

'Damn it,' was all he could think. Why was her mind so resilient to him? He was so sure she'd been under his spell before; completely ensnared by the beauty of his face. For the first time since he'd begun to play with her Dorian found himself floundering. This should not have been a problem. No woman should cause him to miss his footing. No mere woman. (With the exception of Mina, but she was in a class all of her own.) Pulling forwards his final memory; the man slammed it onto Rosaline's mind.

"You see?" he hissed, as she watched with a terrified expression the way his face contorted as his flesh began to dissolve even flake away. "Do you see the pain they put me through? I was innocent. I was forced, but they wouldn't listen. They have no mercy and they'll have no mercy for your Mistress now. She'll be killed by them unless you let me out. Those men you here outside, you hear them, don't you."

"I do. I do!" cried the woman as she flinched away from the pictures of his rotting face.

"Those men are here to destroy me once and for all and they would kill anyone who stood in their way. Let me out and pray that it isn't too late for the Lady you work for."

From the air around her his dark eyes watched, observed her bite her lip till it bleed as he replayed and replayed his final scream before his vocal chords were destroyed. Made her listen to it, made her see the last flickers of dying life in his eyes. In short Dorian led her fear of danger to her mistress to escalate into a fear for herself, but also a fear for him. He'd turned her logic against her. How was she to know that Hyde would be most likely not to harm her? That Skinner would be more likely to woo her than stab her? She didn't. That was why he was now a firm believer that knowledge was power.

"So will you free me, Rosaline, my darling? Will you let me out to save you? Will you let me out to save myself? I couldn't bear to go through that pain again or to see you hurt… Please do," had his face been a physical piece of flesh the mocking expression would have contradicted the soothing, placating tone that he used now. Due to her comparative innocence, however, she could do nothing but live by his words.

Rising up on shaking legs, the dark haired girl picked up the fallen portrait. The face was so perfect, but then again, so had the devil's face been before he had fallen. You could not judge on facial features – simultaneously, as though he had sensed her starting to reject him again, his spirit was there. Or just a draught of air the blew over her lips, bringing back sharply that memory of the dream in which she had first met him. That first intoxicating kiss. She surely could not let that one be her last.

Leaning the painting against the wall behind the sink, she stood black and let the purpose wash over her. He needed to be whole. He needed to be healed. That power that she felt was more a curse than a blessing, that had led for her to flee from her home town and hide, was finally going to be of some use. Perhaps this was a message from the God in which she believed and trusted? That at last he had made clear her purpose. It all helped focus her mind. Slowly, very slowly Rosaline let down the block she had built up to ignore that flicker of power that always whispered to her, wanting to be allowed to use her body to do its terrible magic. Famished by denial when the chance came it rushed through her, causing her to fall to her knees, mouth opened in a silent scream.

Power as she'd never known coursed through her, opening every sensor in her mind. Everything around became clearer, suddenly she was able to sense through her shoes the gentle groves of the cold tiles, the lights that had before seemed dim now flickered with star like vibrancy. The heightened awareness was projected into his cursed picture. Even whilst she was connected effectively to the heaves and hundreds of long deceased relations, Rosaline was able to see him smile. Before her began to form a figure, his soul plucked from the torturous limbo realm where it had remained for twenty years or more was beginning to be attached to a body. Not his old one though, for that was only dust in a castle in frozen lands. No, a new body, a better body. Every non-existent blemish gone but perhaps more importantly: he had a cleansed soul.

Rosaline began to feel after a few more minutes that if any more of this unearthly power was allowed to surge through her head she would explode or lose her sanity. So using sheer strength of will that laid dormant most other times, she closed back up the barrier she had made; ignored the heritage call within her once more. In effect went back to denying part of who she was.

Once the link was broken though, her support was gone and she fell backwards limply. Every time she experienced this she came away exhausted. Perhaps a limit on her, that if she used the gift too much she would eventually become consumed by it? The hands that caught her before she tumbled to the ground earned one horrified look before she collapsed into a dead faint.

When the Mistress of the house had heard a voice behind her she had known instantly that her life was at stake. The peculiar thing was, however, that it wasn't the gun was worrying her enough to make her shudder involuntarily. The man – whoever he was – appeared to think that his presence had achieved her movement, or his threat at any rate. He had no idea. "Turn around," he'd ordered with that same calmly infuriating tone.

"I cannot comply with what you ask."

The Mistress could taste the sneer on his reply, "And why is that, my Lady? Do you perhaps want me to shoot you?" A general consensus of snickers followed his lame remark; their stupid laughter had revealed to her that there was more than one present. Paling, she raised her hands so that they gleamed white in the moonlight broken up by the storm clouds.

"Gentlemen, I welcome you to the house or retrospective tower of the 'Lady of Shalott.'"

A mumbling took place behind her and finally one of them asked in a dull voice that led her to believe him stupid, "I thought a shallot was an onion?" Someone seemed to have cuffed him around the head as there was a short cry of surprise which was then followed by a series of mutterings. Clearly that man would be receiving some education in the ways of literature.

"You are aware of the poem about me, I trust? I've heard it's rather famous. Do you know that it cursed me? It means I cannot look upon the face of a man without being subjected to terrible sickness for months. So honestly, you might as well put your gun away for I am no threat to you."

Curiously the man directly behind her asked, "How do I know this is true? You could just be making it all up to by time to think of a way to escape from us…" The man I have introduced to you under the title Viscien trailed off, feeling that his master had rather thrown him in at the deep end with this one. Surely if Ussell had know of her peculiar…condition they would have been informed. Everything in this plan relied on the predictability of those they manipulated. That American spy had been a perfect example of that.

"I'm not sure I can prove it to you. But that poem was published in 1842 – since the whole world knew it I have no aged a day physically. I remain as perfect as I did the day I betrayed the heart of the poet. For what it's worth though I don't think he meant to cause me this pain. But proof? Let's see – you may check all my records and you will find no mention of a male servant, I never go out of this house. Indeed many people in the village believe me to have died and that the inhabitant of this house is a younger relation of mine."

A short silence followed, not due to hard thought, however, but due to the fact that inside the bathroom a wind had begun to pick up; a wind that had nothing to do with the over lying storm. "Look," the newly announced 'Lady of Shalott' offered, "I do not want to endanger Rosaline, and I assume that is why you have come. Something to do with that oddity of a portrait as well I expect. If it's your intent to leave her be for the moment allow me to blindfold myself and then I will follow you."

"How do you know," rasped out Viscien, "That harm will not come to you whilst under a blindfold? How can you trust a man who is currently pointing a gun at your head to keep you safe while your sight is impaired due to this…poem or whatever it is you say has condemned you?"

The blonde woman gave a dignified shrug, "I don't. I will just make sure that if you try to kill me I will scream for a very long time, very loudly and whatever magic it is my servant is currently performing for you in there I'm sure hearing my final moments would upset it. Do you not think?" Her question echoed away after another hysterical sob from within the concealed room and a flash of lightening. The mistress found herself counting under her breath, "One…two…three…four…five-" Then the rumble of thunder like the hooves of a charging stallion. Thirty Five miles away was the storm. It would be upon them in all its might in no time.

"Let her blindfold herself if she wants. We've been ordered to keep her alive. She's not actually supposed to be involved with this at all. The Master has a peculiar aficionado for keeping alive those he does not directly target as victims. This might just be your lucky day." Letting out a shaky breath that she'd not even been aware she'd been holding, the Lady pulled out a long handkerchief that she kept with her continuously. Sooner or later there was going to be a confrontation like this so preparation had to be the key to her survival. Knotting it neatly around her head, she turned and safe for the moment held out her hand so as to be led wherever they wished her to be placed.

A tentative pair of fingers hooked around her own, not the kind of grip she'd been expecting. Rough and tight was perhaps a more accurate picture to coincide with the profile she had built up of this man. Still, at least they had allowed her to put on the blindfold. It was a mercy. A gift from the heavens. As they began to walk she felt the pain of the poet heavy on her heart. Surely she had received enough punishment for what she had done? This was not her past sins coming back to haunt her…so who's it? What had Rosaline done? Had she become involved with something? Her sickness had been frightening. And that portrait. Questions whirled around the woman's normally calm mind. With it was a bumpy undercurrent of fear. Surrounded by men, many men and all that had to happen was the slip of fabric. She tensed involuntarily and the hand that held her own shuddered.

Moving down the stairs the silence became unbearable, not that it was truly quiet. Thunder rolled around in the heavens above, causing the earth to groan and the trees to scream their pain, but the silence between them as human beings. The comfort she gained from communication, "Do you have a name?" asked the Lady finally, counting the steps under her breath as they went in order to know what to expect the floor.

A pause, "My name is Viscien. I work for a man and his own work has led him here."

"To my servant?"

"Yes."

"Is she in danger?"

"Maybe." That was truly an unsatisfactory answer. The fact was Rosaline was far too timid a girl to have really gotten herself into trouble. She didn't associate with anyone very much, let alone groups of men, which made her, come to an all the more disturbing conclusion. This had all been premeditated. They'd been tracked down and watched, her mouth puckered with dislike. It reminded her of her days when she was high society; the plotting and talking behind each other's back that happened there were dreadful.

"You're going to have to sit in this chair," he pushed her down roughly. "We're expecting visitors and you're one of the reasons there's not going to be any exchange of bullets.

"Bullets?" she repeated worriedly. What on earth was going on? During an absence in the noise created by the weather the Lady picked up that the bathroom door upstairs had stopped rattling as violently as it had been. The stillness was unnerving, men stood together, breathing heavily and worriedly. They'd heard the stories of what the people who were coming were capable of. Many of them felt that tonight could well be their last. As if this had been broadcast loudly over a wireless, one of them suddenly felt their nerve break. The unfortunate dropped his gun and the mistress heard his heavy footsteps fade; he was racing for the door. A second passed and then the crystal roar of broken glass, someone was screaming, screaming so very loudly. Abruptly it stopped. Cut off. Heavy footsteps crunched over the fallen shards, coming closer and closer. Fingers fiddled with triggers, feet had moved off the glass. Silent shadows slithered forwards; forwards to the room were they could see the woman bathed in moonlight with a blindfold over her eyes.

The nerves and the anticipation built and built, compressed until the breath choked from the blonde woman's throat. An ear splitting cry that sounded like an animal filled their ears and a flood of tiny movements, tiny creatures. They batted her face but she wasn't the prime target. The screams of pain were all around now.

Viscien watched with a tight smile as the huge, grotesque man exploded through the door. The bats meant the woman had also joined them. All they were waiting for was the other man and the Captain. Speaking of which that very mad has just emerged through the door way, sporting a very large, very cruel looking blade. The second in command narrowed his eyes. The bats were no problem to him, the garlic he was wearing in place of after shave saw to that…and the creature and the captain found no interest in a man standing unmoving behind an armchair. They were only interested in the weak back up. He let the Hyde pick two men up by the scruff of their neck and watched with mild interest as the slammed into a wall, taking away some of the plaster with them. Viscien then decided that enough was enough.

Reaching down behind the chair, he grabbed a limp arm belonging to an unconscious body and dragged it to its feet. Signalling to a man to come and help him together they supported the body while Viscien raised his arm high and fired a single shot. Shouting about the noise he proclaimed, "I will ask for quiet and stillness only once! The next bullet," here he paused to check he had their attention, which he did, "Will go into his head," they all stopped, back up men included to look at the unconscious spy draped in their arms. Mina let out a hiss of anger, her ringlets fanning out to frame her face with a preternatural wind; Viscien threw up his hand, "Don't even think about rushing me, Lady. The bullet will be lodged in his brain before you kill me." The barrel of the gun pointed firmly at Tom's temple.

No one said anything about Skinner. He was their last hope. Maybe the lunatic with the gun didn't know about their invisible ally. The man ran his tongue nervously along his bottom lip, "I'm going to count to three, and if that man, the one you can't see doesn't appear I'm also going to shoot him." No one dared move, no one dared breath. All were waiting for Skinner to either pretend he wasn't there or actually show where he was. "One," came the first clear count from Viscien. Pushing the barrel harder into the American's head. It all seemed a little unfair, really, if you knew that the butt of this gun had been responsible for knocking Tom out in the first place. It felt like he was getting the raw end of the deal.

"Two," Nemo and Mina exchanged glances. Hyde's head had begun to bead with sweat, an early sign that he would begin to change soon. The ripped shirt upon his back rippled as he shifted, feeling Jekyll's tension deep inside, smelling the fear that each man exhaled. Viscien opened his mouth, but the words that came out didn't not come from his throat. "Alright, alright already. Put that gun down before youshot yourself and upset us all terribly." The man felt he hadn't been quite fully prepared for this job as a face hung in mid air before him, dusted with powder from the crushed wall plaster. Skinner smiled at the expression, gave him a wink and chided, "I'll leave the rest to you imagination. Although, I'd be grateful if this didn't take too long. The wind is rather strong."

"It would seem that I now hold your fate in my hands."

"No, you're not paying attention" came the Southern accented voice from below him, "You've got me in your hands."

Viscien frowned, shoving the recently awoken boy into the hands of the guard and instructing him in German to keep the gun pressed to his head, the man gestured in welcome, "I presume I have the dubious honour of addressing the remaining crew of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen?" Nemo sheathed his sword with a tremor of unease, answering for all of them with a nod. "My master would bid me greet you in his place, I warn you, anyone of you moves too quickly I will shoot the woman in front of me and my counter part will shoot your pet spy." He felt that the threat needed to be kept high in the stake of things. His master's informant had said this group were prone to rash behaviour. Now he understood why. They weren't human. Not really. Except for the spy, he was all too human.

"The fact is you are in my master's way. His interest is not with you and you were only involved in this due to the whim of my master's partner. You have played along with us very nicely, he congratulates you-"

Finally Mina had had just about enough of the condescending tone in the man's voice, "If you don't have something that will be of use to us, do not bother talking. We have come for Sawyer, if you give him to us, we will go." Skinner who'd moved over to her side gave her a little nudge and inclined his head towards the woman sitting, in a state of great innocence as she did not realise there was currently a gun pointing at her head. "And her, we want her too."

"I'm sure you do," answered Viscien comfortingly, "But that's not how it's going to work out." He paused, kept the gun trained on the victim in front of him and pulled out a grubby piece of paper, "If you want to keep both of these lovely people alive, you're going to do exactly what I say. First, we wait for Mr Jekyll to join us." Eyes swivelled to the conspicuous body of Mr Hyde. His face had gone pink and the muscles in his face were straining. It looked like time had just about run out anyway. Right on the fizzing began, Viscien barked out more orders to his men to stay watchful of their captives rather than get distracted by a monster. "I've been led to understand that this transformation will take a few minutes. You do not have a few minutes; you'll all listen now. The animal," he gestured to the grotesque half-man half-giant, "stays here. He does not try to follow us. As does Captain Nemo, oh," he paused once more, giving the exotic and frightening man a panicked glance, as though he did not want to reveal what was coming next, "My master thanks you for the loan of your magnificent machine. He says it will make skirting the outer edges of Europe most pleasant."

Captain Nemo's face contorted, his hand grasped for his awful sword but a limp hand staid his anger. Jekyll stood there, looking weak and ill. "It's not worth getting Tom killed. We'll kill them all in the end though." Nemo's dark eyes smouldered, but he nodded the barest of nods. Viscien continued, reminding himself that his master's sense for the dramatic was not very intelligent and should be avoided if possible in the future.

"The vampire comes, as does the agent and the Invisible Man. You are all too much of a risk for us to just leave behind. Well," he gave Sawyer an unforgiving kick, "I wouldn't call you a risk. Unless we count your ineptitude and stupidity. However, in a minute our associate will be bringing himself and the last person we need and them we'll be off. What you do next is up to you…" he trailed off, looking at them, but not entirely believing what he was seeing. They were frightening, no doubt about it. He was sure if they hadn't had Sawyer to barter with they'd all be dead by now. Then again, if the spy had never been involved then they wouldn't have been either. It was probably better that they were prepared for them.

"I'm sorry," grinned Skinner's ghostly face, "but do you honestly think we're going to let you just walk out of here with our companions? Do you think our dear Mrs Harker's going to just let you lead her out of here as a prisoner? Gentlemen, give the Lady some credit. She has honour to maintain, you know."

"If she wants to maintain her pretty boy's life then she'd better do it and with no funny stuff either. Tie them up," he instructed finally, "Tie up the ones who aren't coming with us." The men that were left, about fifteen in total, were anything but happy about this task. "I said tie them up. Who's vindictiveness do you fear more, Ussell's or an over dressed sailor and a wimp of a scientist. That's all they are when they're out of their elements, boys, now get to it." It was flexed fists all around as men approached with their thin cords. Wrists were bound behind backs, insults traded and the whole time barrels of guns were pressed into temples, safety's kept off and a thin film of sweat beaded on Viscien's brow. Talk about pressure.

Jekyll, taking the comment about being a wimp rather badly, felt that they should at least fling some sort of final trump card at the arrogant man who so easily threatened the life around him, "We know about the plans to raise Moriarty." Heads turned towards the shabby scientist, who by now had been reduced to holding what was left of his trousers up by clenching his knees together very tightly. The accented man knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, "Moriarty? I can't say that I recognise the name. Clearly you are not as big a threat as my master thought."

"And who is your precious master?" snapped Mina, trying to hold on to the rage that bled her vampiric side to her outer body. (It wasn't working; the curls had collapsed, her fangs retreated, her eyes gradually faded to their original colour.) "We've heard so much about him and received his greetings, now give us his full name."

"You will meet him soon enough, woman," the tone in that address spoke his contempt for her. It wasn't a contempt for women in general, indeed, he'd treated the lady of this house most kindly all things considered, but it was contempt reserved to this female out of place. She was floundering in a very masculine world. Better to be a victim than to fight against the prejudice, or so he thought.

"His name," she repeated heatedly.

"Schlasser Ussell."

No comprehension dawned in the eyes of any League member, only Sawyer had some sort of personal reaction. Somethingalong the lines of, 'Oh yes, I remember, that creepy eccentric I was in the car with before he beckoned me out in order for me to be smashed into oblivion for a second time. Yeah, I definitely remember him.'

All fell silent after that, processing what they now knew. No Moriarty. No villain from any of their sordid pasts. Sawyer was alive. But for how much longer? Only the woman on the chair had remained completely still, fear had gripped her, suffocated her as she heard the screams and the explosions of her home being destroyed and invaded. It pained her. So did her confusion over Rosaline and deep down her concerns for her personal safety. In order to escape, she'd taken to counting the seconds between the lightening flashes that illuminated the violent silhouettes and the thick thunder. It was now right over head.

Something moved at the top of the staircase. Mina sensed it first and the others followed her gaze. There striding down with similar nonchalance to one breezing down a pleasantly busy street stood the dark, suited figure of Dorian Gray. "It all seems rather dead down here," he smiled, "Did I miss the party?"

Author's Notes

How long has this been! I can't pinpoint a reason why I've restarted this. I can't promise that I will finish. All I can promise is my writing skills have improved since I first started and I will be working on improving previous chapters as well as writing new ones.

Please Read and Review. Constructive criticism is always welcomed.

Emerald3