Revolution
Chapter 15

"Live free or die!"
- New Hampshire state slogan

The revolutionaries filed out of the cavern, heading their separate ways through the network of sewers. Skinner watched from inside the tent as Percy offered Sue his arm, and they strode off arm-in-arm.

"They make a good couple, don't you think?" Tom asked from beside the thief. He leaned against the sturdy canvas as the two disappeared into one of the exits.

"Yeah," he agreed. There was a pause between them, while the last of Tom's viceroys left. Damon had retired earlier, saying that he wanted to go check on Owen and the other children. "Are you sure we're ready for this, Sawyer?"

"Frankly? No. But," he added, "I think the people are. They've had time to prepare. Ten years, in fact."

"But what about weapons? Supplies? I don't think you're going to fight with forks and knives, are ye?" Skinner quirked a brow.

Tom gave a short laugh. "No, we aren't. First thing in the morning the call for arms suppliers goes out. We have our own supply of guns and bullets anyway. Sure, they're not enough for everyone, but they'll do."

"Aye," Skinner nodded. "But you know how powerful Dante is, with all o' M's weapons."

"Trust me, I know," Tom said, quietly. "And I'm not gonna lie and say it's going to be an easy fight." A kind of strong resolution gleamed in his youthful eyes at this. "But I'll be damned to hell if I don't try."

"Or to Dante's gallows again," Skinner muttered. He wagged a finger at his friend. "I'm not going to hang from that airship all o'er again, mind."

Tom laughed again. "Don't worry. I'll die before I go to those gallows all over again."

Let's hope that doesn't happen, Skinner thought.

Morning came, as they always do. The minute the sun rose and the air warmed, the call for arms went out in London — quietly, of course.

Any man would could make bullets, donate gunpowder, and fix guns — anything. Collection points were set up around Old Quarter. Quong Lee's teashop saw many costumers that day, and the one after it.

Tom and Damon were busy coordinating the operation. Arsène and his men were faces oft seen, and once in a while Mistoffelees would show up.

Skinner helped out, rolling barrels of gunpowder across the cavern and doing other odd jobs. The street children had managed to find bullet shells — Owen refused to say where — and various odds and ends that would help.

Tom was involved in fixing the guns, especially Winchesters. Replacements parts were dug up from junk piles, while Orlando and others like him provided other spare parts.

The turnout was enormous. Everyone from different walks of life came to help. There were blacksmiths here, iron workers over there. Street kids from outside London came, offering scraps of metal to be melted down.

All six feet of Percy came down to help, and much laughter could be heard whenever he was. Nikola and Mistoffelees came later on, bringing along with them a vial of black powder that Nikola had developed. "Better than gunpowder, and safer", he told Tom.

Nemo's men with their blues and whites were all over the place, peppered throughout the grays and blacks of the common people.

A woman carrying a fairly large bag came and Damon showed her to one of the tent; Skinner later learned that her name was Lois Cayley (#1).

She only emerged much later, and spoke to Damon and Tom. Then the three disappeared inside the tent again, and two minutes later Tom sent out Owen to summon the rest of the viceroys.

All of them came, and Sue raised a brow as she saw Percy. His sleeves were rolled up, his coat left somewhere in the cavern. He was cheery and sweaty.

Everyone was locked out of the meeting that took place in the tent. Even Skinner wasn't allowed in, and while he tried to sneak inside, Nikola's cat smelled him out.

When they came out, almost all of them were carrying a small package wrapped in brown paper. No-one knew what it was; Tom and Damon wouldn't say.

Just after they left, Owen came running into the cavern and nearly crashed into Tom. He was sweaty and panting, and he looked urgent.

"She's dead!" he blurted. "She's dead! They just found her!"

"Who's dead?" Tom asked, crouching down so that he was able to hold Owen by the shoulders. "Who?"

"Zalma! Zalma's dead! Gone! Kaput!" The young boy gestured wildly. "Dead! They just found her in her house!" Tom's eyes went wide as he looked at Damon, who looked as if his brother had died.

"Zalma? Who's Zalma?" Skinner asked Damon while Tom interrogated Owen.

"Tom's counterpart in Congress," he replied grimly. "One of us, if not of our members."

"They said she was in her study an' she had this in her hand," Owen was saying, as he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Took it while they was taking away her body."

Tom raised a brow and took the paper from him. He read it once, twice, and then gave it to Damon. "It says 'Napoleon's death'. Any idea what it's supposed to mean?" Skinner shrugged. All he knew of Napoleon was that he was dead, and he had been powerful. Damon looked thoughtful, rubbing his chin.

"Napoleon died by poisoning," he said and Tom stood up. "Do you think she went the same way? Dante could've put spies in her home, in the kitchen, and got them to slip in some kind of poison."

"I don't know," Tom admitted. "But we need to go see for ourselves." He turned to Owen. "Owen, I need you to do something for me. Don't spread the word around, not yet. Go and get Dr. Nikola, the one with the cat; tell him to meet us here in an hour."

Owen nodded and ran off. Tom ran a hand through his blond locks and sighed. "This isn't good. At all."

"Where're we going in an hour?" Damon asked, one brow up.

"To see her body, of course."

Nikola was without his cat, which was more unusual than if a green cow came gallivanting through the middle of Trafalgar Square in a London heatwave, Skinner thought. He followed behind the deadly doctor, Tom and Damon as they entered Zalma's house on Fleet Street.

The small house was right next to Sweeney Todd's closed barber shop. The demon barber of Fleet Street had once operated here, and Zalma's humble little home was right in the place were his lover, Mrs. Lovatt, would make them into lovely meat pies. Skinner was actually glad he was a poor man. Years ago he had nearly bought one of those pies. (#2)

Zalma's home was swarming with people. A crowd had gathered outside, while the bobbies went about inside. Damon had arranged for the real forensic team to be waylaid on their way, and he, Tom and Nikola made up the phony team. Tom had chosen Nikola because of his expertise in poisons. The doctor was cryptic about where Mistoffelees had gone to.

"Make way, I say, make way!" Damon ordered under the guise of the medical team's head. His hair had gone from black to blond, courtesy of a wig, and no-one would have been able to guess he was Damon Archer. Tom and Nikola were the same; they were unrecognizable as three important Underground figures. Skinner followed close behind them, making sure to keep out of the way.

"Her body's over there, sir," a detective said, meeting them at the landing of the second-floor stairs. "In the study."

"Good. What's your name, man?" Damon asked, sounding both pompous and dismissive at the same time.

"Detective Sexton Blake (#3), sir," Blake answered. "I'm in charge of this case." Tom knew Blake; they hadn't met before, but Blake was in charge of the Underground headquarters' security. He was a good man, smart and comparable to Sherlock Holmes.

"Your job now," Damon told him as the rest of them entered Zalma's neat study, "Is to make sure none of your men enter the room while we're inside. Understand?"

"Perfectly, sir," Blake answered. No one would dare enter; the coroners were of high authority, after all. Damon nodded and went inside and closed the door behind him. Nikola was already examining Zalma's body. Skinner stood near the table.

Zalma was one of the people's heroes, due in part to the fact that she was aggressive in lobbying for changes that would benefit the general populace. Of Russian and Spanish heritage, she was beautiful and passionate about the cause.

She was slumped over the table, her dark locks gleaming in the light of the room. The pen she had been holding was still gripped in her hand. Her body was still warm, as Nikola told Tom, and they pushed her back so that her front was exposed. Zalma had been pale when Tom had last seen her during his stint on the gallows; now, she was as white as a fresh-pressed sheet. It was ghastly; Skinner repressed a gasp. All the blood had drained from her face, and her ebony eyes were still open in a disturbing death-mask. Tom, wearing gloves, closed her eyes.

"Rest in peace, Zalma," he whispered. Nikola was doing what he was supposed to do, tinkering with a few of his instruments and drawing blood for tests.

Damon poked around the room. They were not going to be disturbed, so it was safe. There was a plate of fruit, cheese and bread to the side, and he took a sniff at it. It smelled normal; he could sense no evidence of any tampering. A glass of water stood next to the plate, and Damon crouched down to examine its contents.

"There're some kind of white powder in here," he said, glancing over his shoulder at the others. Skinner went over to where he squatted, glad to be away from the corpse. "Looks like salt."

"Take a sample of it," Nikola ordered. "I shall want to run some tests on it." Damon complied, removing a container from the bag he had been carrying and pouring the water in, making sure the powder went in.

"So? What do you think?" Skinner asked Nikola quietly, so as not to be heard. "Was she murdered?"

"It's too early to say," Nikola admitted. "But the circumstances surrounding Miss Pahlen's death does seem to lean in that direction. The note, and her own beliefs. I will not know until I examine her blood and the substance found in the water."

"When can you get back to us?" Damon asked, glancing at Zalma. He did not know her personally, but admired her strength and courage. Her killer had to be brought to justice.

"Tomorrow morning before I set sail for Morocco."

Dante massaged his temples. The voice was coming back at him again, egging him on.

Let me out, Dante, it said over and over again. You know you want to.

He couldn't let it out. Letting the Dante-beast out would mean severe exhaustion for the man later on. Over the past two days, when he had been locked up in his personal study, Dante had been so angry that he kept changing form.

It happened; that overdose of Jekyll's formula years ago had its lasting effects. Whenever Dante was in a rage, he would turn into the Dante-beast. The only one who could control the Dante-beast was Reed, and even then he had trouble.

The Dante-beast was all base instincts and primal emotions: rage, panic and hunger. Dante did not want to lower himself to that level unnecessarily, but he had to concede that having the Dante-beast around had served his purpose before.

Let me out, the beast chanted. Let me out...

No! Dante yelled in his mind. No!

Yes! Yes! It chanted back, taunting him, egging him on.

No! Not until the time is right!

The voice kept quiet.

(#1) Lois Cayley was created by Grant Allen, appearing in Miss Cayley's Adventures (1898). While it's not stated in the stories that Lois is an artist, it's not too far out of the question.

(#2) Sweeney Todd was known as the "demon barber of Fleet Street". I can find very little information on his creator(s). I do know he appeared in a penny dreadful (maybe several) before the time of Jack the Ripper. From what I know of Sweeney Todd, he would offer his services as a barber. Those who went in for a shave never came back out again; their necks were broken and they were made into meat pies by a Mrs. Lovatt, Todd's lover, who ran a meat-pie business.

(#3) Sexton Blake appeared in the "The Missing Millionaire" of The Halfpenny Marvel sometime in December 1893. His creator was a "Hal Meredith".