Alys: -cries- Noo! I want my cookies! -gives you Puss in Boots eyes- Pwease? See, I updated!
angel-flame: Nah, the only climax you're gonna get here is a revolution. -pauses- Which, I think, is as good as any.
Revolution
Chapter 13
"It is impossible to predict the time and progress of revolution. It is governed by its own more or less mysterious laws. But when it comes it moves irresistibly."
- Nikolai Lenin
Again the search parties were out. Now, patrols had been upped from just in the nighttime to almost around the clock.
For the residents of Old Quarter, it was all the more reason to be careful. Damon, walking along the street under the disguise of an old man, had seen children playing with stones in the place of marbles.
He knew a game that they liked was called Fight. A player would use his stones and 'fight' with his opponent's, like in chess, just not so organized. Recently, the stones were being named 'The Black Duke' and 'the Kwaden baddie'.
The small crowd of children had gathered around two players, and Damon had stolen over to watch. No-one paid him a mind, and he was thankful for that. When the boy playing Dante's side had won, the crowd booed.
It had been of some comfort to know that even children didn't like the Second Reich.
Rainwater ran through the sewers — it was raining out again — but it didn't really bother Damon, who expertly navigated through the maze of tunnels and shafts. He dodged the puddles and the small stream that was running through the gutter, mentally making a note to be careful when climbing up or down a ladder.
The sun had just set, and the meeting of the Underground's top ten was about to begin.
The fate of the world would be decided.
Skinner swore to himself, that, from this day onwards, he was never setting foot on anything higher than ten feet in the air.
They had touched down about a mile from the venue of the meeting, splitting up from there. Robur was going alone; he knew Limehouse well enough to get to Quong Lee's. According to Tom, besides the sewers and the secret entrance at the teashop, there was another way into the underground base.
It took them about half an hour to find it, but that was mainly due to the fact that it was located on the other side of the city.
No one really looked at the man who was dressed like someone out of an All Hallows Eve party; they assumed that he was one of the nobility, back from a dress party. Skinner matched Tom pace by pace, unseen and unheard beside him.
The streets of High End were filled with carriages, although a few of London's nobles deigned to lower themselves to walking along the pavement. More than once, Skinner had to dodge passerby and walk onto the street, which then necessitated leaping away from oncoming carriages.
By the time they got to the house, he was very tired of it.
"It's inside," Tom whispered to him. "Hold on." He rung the doorbell, and a remarkably pretty young man opened the door.
"Hello, Orlando (#1)," Tom greeted, and Skinner was impressed over how high-strung he sounded.
The glint of recognition in Orlando's eyes was brief, but cleverly covered. "Oh, James!" Orlando cried, hands open as if about to hug Tom, "It's been so long! Come in! Come in!" He stepped aside, letting Tom and Skinner inside. Skinner had to push past the man, who looked visibly startled.
Behind them, the door was locked with an audible click. Skinner welcomed the warmth of the house; outside, it was getting chillier, and he was without coat.
Orlando led them through the house, which was bigger than anything Skinner had seen in the past few years. There was a noticeable lack of servants around; obviously, he did not want his activities as an Underground sympathizer to be reported.
They went up a flight of stairs and into a study. Here, Orlando locked the door again and motioned for silence. Tom handed over the dark coat he wore back to its owner, and Skinner gladly accepted it.
"The walls have ears," Orlando whispered, barely sparing Skinner a glance. "Be quiet."
What is it with immortals? Skinner asked himself. Do they always have invisible men in their homes?
Tom nodded his understanding and looked inside the empty fireplace. "Is the other end open?""They await your arrival, Duke."
"Good," Tom bobbed his head. "Skinner, come on."
The invisible man stared in disbelief at the fireplace. "You mean...the entrance is through there?"
"Why not?" Tom asked.
Because I'm terrified of fire and anything to do with it...Skinner banished those thoughts. "It's a fireplace, in case you haven't noticed."
Orlando arched one elegant brow. Tom merely sighed. "Yes, Skinner, it's a fireplace. It's also a way into our headquarters."
He remained skeptical. "How're you supposed to get in, then?"
Tom gave a light sigh, and bent down. The fireplace was large enough for Skinner to stand inside, if he crouched down.
Tom pushed aside some of the burnt logs, ash covering his arms, and reveal a trapdoor. Skinner drew nearer as Tom pulled it open, peering into the deep bottomless pit that was reveal.
"Down here," the other man said, pointing. "There're people waiting below for us. We just have to jump down."
"Jump down?!"
"Skinner, just follow, okay? Trust me." With that, Tom lowered himself into the opening and let go of the sides. Although Skinner listened for the sound of — god forbid — breaking bones, it never came. In fact, no sound came at all.
Skinner looked at Orlando, who stared passively back. With a sound that could have either signaled discontent, resignation, or both, Skinner followed suit and lowered himself into the shaft. He hesitated, not sure if he should take that drop of faith into a potentially painful and dangerous situation.Taking a deep breath, Skinner closed his eyes and let go of the edges, dropping into the darkness.
Tom waited below, wondering what was taking Skinner so long. His question was answered soon, though, when he heard thumps and choice words echoing inside the long shaft that led underground. An old mattress was the only break from the fall one would suffer, if one didn't know how to slide down properly.
Here he comes, he thought wryly. Sure enough, a black coat came tumbling out from the open end, and Skinner hit the old mattress there with a curse and a loud 'omph'. A big cloud of dust rose from the mattress.
Skinner lay curled up on the mattress, his eyes tightly closed.
"Am I dead yet?" he asked quietly. Tom laughed.
"No, Skinner, you're not dead," he grinned. "You never were."
Skinner opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light. "Where are we?" he asked as Tom took his arm and pulled him to his feet.
"Underneath Orlando's house," Tom answered, dusting him off. "Close to base."
Skinner coughed, using a hand a clear the air of the dust. "How far?""Not very," Tom added, looking about for the door. "Probably take us about a quarter of an hour to get there."
There was a low murmur of conversation going on inside the meeting tent. Damon sat next where Tom would be seated, in front of the Underground's sole flag. He looked about, awed by the number of people the tent held.
Sue's brilliant green eyes fixed upon Percy's keen blue ones; the two were involved in a verbal joust across the table that Percy used to have with his beloved Marguerite. Sue's long manicured fingers were stroking Mistoffelees. The cat purred and arched its back, settling comfortably in Sue's arms.
His owner sat next to the massive Percy, discussing the virtues of various chemicals with Mina. The two chemists exchanged views and recipes; after all, who was more qualified to tell each other how to kill someone using the most subtle of poisons?
Dr. Henry Jekyll and AJ were buried deep in French wines, and the good doctor was not averse to voicing his opinions, despite his shyness.
"I am a Chardonnay person, myself," AJ was saying, "Although Merlots are not entirely out of the question."
Tall, dark and handsome, Robur had just arrived, and, true to form, was sitting in his place, almost anti-social in his listening to AJ and Jekyll. Occasionally he would offer some input, but that was rare and little.
The silent Nemo quickly engaged him in conversation. It didn't take them long to hit it off together, what with being each other's counterparts in marine and aerial warfare.
Joe Harper, with his boyish good looks, was involved with a debate with the Captains Ahab and Black about ships. Joe was fascinated by how Black had adapted some of steamboat technology to use on his ships.
Damon watched all of these with a touch of humor. Good to know our people get along well with the League, he thought, watching as Ahab emphasized his point by stamping his wooden leg on the ground. There was a loud packpackpack as he did so.
Tom and Skinner were due any minute now. They were just waiting for those two, and then the meeting could start.
It went without saying that Damon was excited. Ten years of planning, secret work and dreams had preceded this meeting. Today, the Underground would see if the call for arms would be sent out. Today, history would be decided.
The League had already pledged their allegiance; Tom or Damon need not ask again. The Underground viceroys would do all they could to make the Underground the victor in the fight ahead.
Vast resources and manpower were at their fingertips; already the last of Ahab and Black's ships were being outfitted with landmark technology of the Underground's. Robur's aerial fleet were conducting drills; Joe's ports were receiving an increased amount of supplies; Percy's League were teaching the improvised farmer how to wield swords and guns; Nikola's natives were conducting rituals to seek protection from the gods; AJ was expecting a shipment of gunpowder by the end of the week — millions of people were preparing for a war. A war that would give them a better life if they won. A war that would break Dante and Reed's tyranny and usher in a new government, one that would take care of them.
The Underground was not going to let them down.
(#1) Orlando is the immortal from Virginia Woolf's Orlando: A Biography (1928). Orlando, in the novel, changes gender overnight and tells the story of the ages, starting from the time of Queen Elizabeth and ending in 1928.