Revolution
Chapter 20

The time is near
So near, it's stirring the blood in their veins!
And yet beware
Don't let the wine go to your brains!
For the army we fight is a dangerous foe
With the men and the arms that we never can match
It is easy to sit here and swat 'em like flies
But the national guard will be harder to catch.
We need a sign
To rally the people
To call them to arms
To bring them in line...!

It is time for us all
To decide who we are
Do we fight for the right
To a night at the opera now?
Have you asked of yourselves
What's the price you might pay?
Is it simply a game
For rich young boys to play?
The color of the world
Is changing day by day...

Red - the blood of angry men!
Black - the dark of ages past!
Red - a world about to dawn!
Black - the night that ends at last!

- "Red and Black", Les Miserables

Dante had his face buried in his hands. A splitting headache plagued him, no doubt from the beast that resided somewhere in his consciousness.

They came suddenly and often; there were times, in the first few months after taking that formula in Mongolia, when he couldn't get out of bed at all. Now he had them under control, although they could get very painful sometimes.

His cure for them was a good dose of laudanum. His trusty bottle of the painkiller sat on his table. He was alone in his study; the rest of his ministers had run off to the tailors to get grand new suits for the upcoming anniversary of the Second Reich. Reed was with Chauvelin, and they were briefing the Kwaden and guards as to the security measures that would be in place on the historic day.

Ten years, Dante thought to himself. Ten years ago I set out on this quest for revenge. I nearly got one of the damnable League – but they rallied together, saved the American.

He cursed them in German and English. Damn them, he thought. Looking up, the pain from his migraine finally fading away, he saw the flag of the vast empire he had created hanging above the door.

The menacing dragon, set on black, stared back at him. Its talons were showing, sharp and deadly. The dragon Reed had suggested be used was of Oriental design; long and snake-like, it represented power and authority in China. In its many dynasties, the dragon had been used as the Emperor's symbol of power.

He liked it that way. The people of the world needed to know who was in charge. He, Dante, was king of the world. Power and strength were what he wielded, not to mention the Kwaden, Reed, and some fiercely loyal subjects — namely, the lords and ladies of Court. They would do anything to preserve their lifestyle of extravagance.

There was a knock at the door, and a familiar "Sir?". Replacing the bottle of laudanum back in the desk drawer, he called the affirmative for Chauvelin to open the door.

Bowing, the young Frenchman entered, followed closely by Reed, who said, "Security's all arranged for Sunday, Dante. Your parade shall be guarded with Kwaden and Scotland Yard men." Dante nodded.

As Reed proceeded to brief Dante on the security measures that would be in place during Sunday's celebrations, Chauvelin stood by the door like a guard, unseen and unheard. Presently there was a knock, and he opened the door a fraction and stuck his head outside.

Drawing his head back into the room, he cleared his throat. When Reed and Dante finally looked at him, he said, "Sirs, the tailor is here to see to the fitting of His Majesty's suit for the anniversary celebrations."

Dante gave a barely-audible groan. He despised the tailor, but it was a necessity. "Bring him in."

As the tailor and his assistants shuffled it and brought into the room dozens of bric-a-brac that had to do with the grand suit that Dante would wear for the tenth year of his empire, the king couldn't suppress a small smile.

It had taken much, but this grand parade would be significant in more ways that one. It proved that he had managed to keep the Underground under control for almost a decade, and that felt good.

Meanwhile, under London's streets, the Underground headquarters was almost chaotic.

Everything was being packed into boxes and cartons, and under the cover of night brought to what Tom called the Underground's 'battle command center'.

Instead of Damon, Skinner stood by Tom as the American directed the men, pointing to places on the large map of London that was spread over the meeting table.

"Mrs. Harker," Tom said, sounding like a true leader, "You and your group will move the gunpowder here." He used a finger to trace a road that lead to Newington. "Bring it across the river. The owner of the house we'll be storing it in will meet you along this road and bring you there." At the vampire's nod, he continued. "Arsène, the guns go to the command center." He turned to Jekyll. "Dr. Jekyll, we've arranged to get Dr. John Steward (#1) to hoard some of our medicine supplies for us."

"Dr. Steward? Of the asylum?" Jekyll asked.

Tom nodded. "Same one. He'll meet you there, and you'll have to pass to him one of the crates. The men know which one. Captain, we'll need your men to join Damon in the new cavern to help set it up."

Nemo nodded. "My first mate is under orders to assist in anyway possible."

"Thank you," Tom said briskly. "Orlando" — the rich immortal inclined his head slightly; his finery was at odds with the plain clothes of the others — "You're going to have to guide the food crates through High End's backstreets." Before Orlando could acknowledge his orders, Tom turned to the wizened Sam Pak. "Sam, the ammunition will have to pass through Limehouse."

The old man, his hands hidden in his enormous sleeves, gave a low bow. "The men stand at ready."

Tom gave the old Mandarin a grateful nod. "You have my sincerest thanks, Sam. Owen!"

"At yer s'rvice," the boy in question said as he came racing through the flap of the tent.

"You and the rest of the kids are going to join up with Blake and his men," he said, nodding at the middle-aged Scotland Yard detective. "How many kids do you have with you now?"

Owen paused. "Thirty, maybe more. I can get the Jimmy Grey and his Cannon Street boys, our number'll be forty or so."

"Go get them," Tom ordered. Owen ran out again. "As soon as they get here, Blake, I want two kids to each of your men. Walk the streets. Be our patrol. The minute you see any Second Reich, send one of the children here, another to the closest group that's moving to warn them. Stay hidden, or act as if everything's normal. Do not move again until they're out of the way." Blake acknowledged this with a gruff nod.

"Alright," Tom looked at all present and nodded. "Off to your posts. We have to move as fast as we can. Blake, wait for the kids. They'll be here as fast as Owen can get them." All of the present nodded and left the tent. It didn't take long for Blake's voice to ring out among the men and women, calling for all the security men. Tom began to roll up the map on the table, and Skinner helped him get the other various documents that Damon hadn't brought with him to the other side of the river. Once they were packed, they would join the others in the new command center.

"So, Sawyer," Skinner said as he picked up another file, "What's the plan?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

Skinner shook his head. Tom took a few files from him. "Sorry. Guess I got caught up in all that's going on," he said, smiling apologetically. They headed to the flap of the tent. "See, right now we're located underneath Whitechapel." They passed Blake, who nodded a greeting, just as Owen and Jimmy Grey squeezed their way through a group of women carrying blankets. "We're moving to the middle of Vauxhall."

"Vauxhall?" Skinner asked, bringing himself up short as a rabble of young kids ran across his path. "Why Vauxhall?"

"It's across the river," Tom explained. "We'll be able to defend ourselves if Dante tries to attack us from there."

"What happens to this place, then?" Skinner asked.

"We'll be keeping things here, but only what we need. Two tents, maybe three, a radio, a map, that kind of thing."

Skinner dodged a puddle of murky water as they walked through the underground network of sewers. "What're you goin' to use this one for? After all, everything's bein' moved."

"You'll see" was all Tom said.

Nemo directed a group of his men over to where Damon was helping some of the men set up a tent. The efficient Indian men immediately took over the spreading of the heavy canvas from some of those who had been struggling with it.

The stoic Indian captain found it almost amusing that he was actually helping the English stage a revolution. Had anyone told him ten years ago that he would be helping his sworn enemies in a battle to the death, he would have scoffed at the idea. Im helping the English was a laughable concept, at best. Then again, ten years ago he hadn't counted on joining the League on a mission to save the world.

Lots of things had changed since then, himself included. India had tried her best to resist Dante's forces, but like the rest of the world she had fallen. Unpleasant memories had been brought back by that fight; his wife and children killed, and his subsequent abandoning of the name Dakkar and the identity that came with it. Nemo was no-one, literally.

Now there was another revolution to begin; another fight to take part in. He was confident his men would follow him unto the death; after all, hadn't the late Ishmael said a long that ago, that once a person had served on Nemo's vessel for any length of time, death took on a whole new meaning?

Nemo sighed. He had lost much in his sixty-plus years. Had seen much too, but lost so much more; his family, his friends, his first mate. Only India's freedom had kept him going all these years. He loved his mother country dearly.

He had no qualms about charging into this fight head-on. None at all. As long as India's own flag could fly high, he would risk anything.

Mina led her group across the bridge, eyes peeled for any sign of movement. There was another man who was at the front with her, and he held a lantern. Mina relied more on her supernatural senses than the feeble light cast on the street. She was jumpy, almost insanely so.

There was a long line of people stretched out behind her, two to each box of gunpowder. They were careful not to let the box touch the damp ground of the streets. A thunderstorm had just passed — Mina had heard it from underground — and she tread carefully, afraid of falling.

There was sudden movement in the alley that they had been passing. Mina tensed. Red bled into her eyes and her canines elongated. Quietly she snuck away from the convoy lest the other man realized she was gone. Quickly, she leapt into the alley, seizing whoever it was by the throat.

There was a squeal of terror, and then Mina found two large, frightened eyes looking up into her face.

"P-please don't hurt me," the kid said, shaking all over. "P-please, I'm j-just out s-selling matches..."

Mina let go of the girl as her eyes returned to their normal green. The little girl scuttled away until her back rested against the brick wall of the alley. No doubt she had been out selling her matches when she had heard the procession coming along.

"Why did you hide?" Mina demanded. She cowered.

"I...I thought you were a b-bobbie." Her voice shook; she was very scared of this strong woman with red eyes. Also, she was afraid that she would be reported to Scotland Yard; selling anything not approved by the Second Reich was illegal and punishable by jail time or death, depending on what goods were peddled. Her matchboxes didn't bear the approval seal. "P-please, I have a li'l brother..."

Mina sighed. She was sorry she had scared the girl. Kneeling down and trying to be as motherly as possible, she extracted twenty pounds from a pocket. "Here," she said, placing it in the hand of the shaking child. After staring at the money, the girl offered Mina the whole tray of matchboxes she held. There were about fifty of them in total, a penny apiece.

The vampire shook her head. "Save them for some other night. Now go home. You didn't see any of this."

"See anything? What did I see?" the girl asked, looking at her in a puzzled way. From the glint in her eye, though, Mina could tell the girl understood. Mina nodded, and she ran off.

Watching her retreating form until she disappeared from view, Mina went back to join the moving convoy. They had passed during her exchange with the girl. It didn't take her long to join the lantern-bearer in front again.

Yes, Mina was being too jumpy this night.

(#1) Dr. John Steward was of Bram Stoker's Dracula, published 1898. He owns the Carfax asylum.