Revolution
Chapter 22

So Moses said to the people, "Arm some of your men to go to war against the Midianites and to carry out the Lord's vengeance on them. Send into battle a thousand men from each of the tribes of Israel."
- Holy Bible, Numbers 31:3-4

Idly Reed scratched the plastic "skin" that marked the location of his face. Really, he was not fond of it, but his "skin" was necessary. While the fact that his invisibility made him feared by the people, the pasty white covering that substituted greasepaint made him look all the more menacing. And menacing was what he needed to keep the people in check.

Dante was standing in front of a huge mirror that dominated most of the wall. He fiddled with the buttons on his tuxedo, inspecting himself from different angles.

"Reed," he said, "How do I look?" He turned to look at his prime minister. His medals — most of them created after the Great War — reflected the light, almost blindingly.

"Like a king," Reed replied, stretching his legs out. The plush chair he had stationed himself in was very comfortable and big. He slouched in his seat, not caring what it might do for his back.

"I still think a commander-in-chief's uniform would be better," Dante said. He studied his profile in the mirror. "It would be even better if it was a German one."

Reed shook his head. "You must show the people how rich the Second Reich is, how grand their king can be. You need to show them who's in control. After ten years some of them may think your prowess are waning."

Dante nodded. "I know." He fiddled with his medals again, and a knock came at the door. "Come in."

Chauvelin entered, cap in hand. It was part of his captain-of-the-guard uniform that he had only donned once before. He bowed his head in respect and closed the door behind him.

"Is everything in place, Chauvelin?" Reed asked, sitting up properly. Despite the trust he had in his young protégée, he couldn't let the Frenchman see him slouching. It was not good for the Prime Minister's image.

"Yes, sir," Chauvelin said. "Everything is in order. My men are ready to step in once the funerary procession is over."

"Good job, Chauvelin," Reed nodded. "And the Kwaden?"

"The Kwaden will be posted near and around the platform that His Majesty will be on," he replied. "There will always be men on patrol. They are armed and standing-by."

"What do they have on them?" Dante asked, turning fully to face Chauvelin.

"We agreed upon automatic rifles and hand-guns, Your Majesty. The men are being outfitted with the rifles now." Dante nodded. Chauvelin had done a good job.

"Alright, Reed," Dante announced, moving towards the door. "Let's go. The people need to know that their king actually cares about them."

Chauvelin pushed open the door and stood aside to let Dante step through. Reed followed next. Chauvelin took a glance around the room. He pulled on his cap and, with a last nod to himself, exited.

The pit of Skinner's belly was filled with dread. The Underground ranks were forming as he and Tom prepared themselves for the fight.

There was not enough gunpowder and even less guns. If the Underground members were put under siege, they wouldn't last a week. They were outgunned and to say that they were a ragtag army would be almost too kind. Very few men had formal military training and some of them only knew how to shoot a gun.

Tom was loading one of his Colts, as if they were back on the League's first mission again and not going to war with the rest of the world.

"Hey, Skinner," Tom suddenly asked, looking up from his guns. "Are you a church man?"

"Me?" Skinner snorted. " 'course not. I was too busy trying to keep myself alive to go to church."

Tom gave a small smile. He reached under his camp bed and pulled out a small satchel. It had been recovered from his wrecked apartment by one of Owen's gutter rats. He pulled out a worn Bible from it. "There's this part in Numbers...here. I'll read it to you." And he read out the two verses; when he finished he looked solemn.

"I'm not much of a holy man either, Skinner," he said, putting the Bible back into the satchel, "But I've lived by those verses for the past ten years. The people are here to take back what should be theirs." He replaced the satchel beneath his bed.

Skinner considered this. "You honestly think it'll work."

"Yeah, I do," Tom answered. "It's happened before; the Peasants' Revolt, the Jacobite Rebellion, the American fight for independence, the French Revolution. Sooner or later the people want change."

Besides, Tom thought a little bitterly, Dante crossed the line when he destroyed St. Petersburg. Now it's personal.

The young American continued loading his Colts. There was a comfortable silence between them as Skinner mulled over what Tom had just said.

Change. Wasn't that what revolts and revolutions were about? Change always needs someone to push it along, Skinner thought, taking a long, hard look at Tom. He's that someone.

"Wonder what Allan'd say about that," Skinner mused out loud. Tom looked at him, a sad look in his eyes. He'd lost too many mentors already. The invisible man answered his own question. "I'd reckon he'd pat you on the back and say 'Good job, boy'."

Tom smiled. "Thanks."

Mina moved swiftly through the crowd that had gathered on both sides of the street. She moved quickly, no more than a passing shadow in the hordes of people. She took great pains not to be noticed.

The vampire wasn't the only one dressed in black. Many of the other people present had met Zalma or talked to her before — such the expanse of her interaction with the people — and knew that she, along with 'Noah Caine', had fought for rights for the general populace.

Mina wondered what the people really thought their prayers could do for Zalma's departed soul. She had not met nor talked to the influential young woman before, but her exploits had been widely published in the papers. More than once Mina had received an offer to take her out. She had not taken the jobs, because the price she had been offered was too low. Milady had to keep up appearances.

Prayers wouldn't do much to help Zalma, she thought. Dante would have no doubt damned her through shamans, witches, warlocks and other supernatural practitioners of black magic he could find.

She knew more about death than any other sane person possibly could. Dracula's blood ran in her veins; death ran in her veins. She peddled death as Milady and she herself was half-dead. If there was any way to keep someone out of heaven, it was definitely through any practitioner of dark magic.

Mina skirted a puddle of water, noticing absently that even the streets in Limehouse were filling up. Usually the Chinese population of London let any important event pass through without noticing it, but this time it was an exception.

Turning a corner, Mina spotted the sign of Quong Lee's teahouse swaying in the slight breeze. She soon found herself hugged by the warmth of the interior.

"You here to buy fine tea?" Quong Lee asked, barely glancing at her as he arranged tea tins on the shelf behind the counter.

"I need some Darjeeling tea for my mother," Mina replied icily, as if she really were looking for some. Quong Lee nodded slowly and gestured to the curtain that led to the back of the shop.

"My best stock is inside. I will join you shortly."

Mina nodded and slipped behind the curtain. The back room was small and stuffy, lined with shelves filled with tea from all over the world. Looking at the ground, Mina searched for that small square, the only evidence that there was a secret underground passage leading from the shop to the sewers.

Locating it, she pulled open the trapdoor and descended within, pulling the heavy oak panel down as soon as she was far enough inside.

Moving briskly through the wet passage, careful not to fall on any patch of water that lined the steps, she walked further and further underground until she smelt the fetid stench of the sewers. She wrinkled her nose; the stench was powerful, especially so because of her heightened senses.

Her footsteps echoed loudly in the empty sewers, drowning out the gurgling of London's waste through the stone. It didn't take long until she saw lights and heard voices.

"Cor, 'strewth, it's the law!" someone tried to whisper — unsuccessfully — as her footsteps rang out against the cold mortar. There were the sounds of guns loading. Mina braced herself, rounded the corner...

...To two muzzles; one pointed at her face, another at her chest. She stopped, looked at the two men holding the guns. They relaxed instantly.

"Lawd above! Christ, ye scared us," one of them said, lowering his gun. The sentries knew her well; the widow dressed in black with the red scarf was not to be messed with. She noted that Tom had finally armed them with guns.

She offered them only an icy glare as she walked past them. She understood that they were just doing their job, but she did not appreciate having two guns pointed at her.

They were barely hours away from the declaration of war but the cavern that served as the Underground's battle command centre was relatively empty. Mina caught a glimpse of dark hair as Damon disappeared inside a tent, but none of a floating coat or tousled blond locks.

As she looked about for Skinner or Tom, Damon left the tent he had entered and came towards her.

"Looking for the Duke, Mrs. Harker?" he asked, stopping to stand next to her.

"Yes," she answered. "Have you seen them?"

"They're in their tent" — he pointed upwards — "right there. They should be coming out soon."

Nemo wrapped his blue turban around his head, carefully winding the long piece of dyed cloth around and around. He had changed from his white prayer outfit to his usual semi-militaristic one and was in the process of adding the final touches.

His prayers concluded, he looked about at the figurines of the gods and goddesses that he knew and worshipped.

Lord Shiva, he thought as his eyes rested on a particular statue, Are you about to bring the world to its end again so that Lord Brahma will recreate it as a better place?

He certainly hoped so. Although he could not see or hear it, he knew his men were preparing themselves for war. Weapons would be dispensed and orders given by his capable crew.

What about in India, his beloved homeland? He wondered who Fah Lo Suee had appointed to guide operations there. During his tenure as one of the most successful Indian resistance fighters over the course of the past ten years, he had not once come into contact with the Underground.

Surely this man (or woman) would be more than capable of leading the Indians into battle. Despite knowing Sue for barely three days, he had no doubt that she had inherited her father's precision and exacting standards.

Nemo brought himself to the present. He would have to leave India in the Underground's hands; the battle he would be involved in was here in London and London alone.

Finishing the last of the trying up of the turban, Nemo left his room and strode through the hallways of the Nautilus to the bridge. There, he was greeted by the man who had the conn — Pavel, he said, was off making sure the engine men understood what they were supposed to do.

He peered through the periscope, watching as the crowd gathered along the dockside to catch a passing glimpse of Zalma's earthly remains. He'd said a prayer for her earlier that day; hopefully she would rest in peace, now that the people would finally fight for their rights.

"Report," Nemo ordered. Time to check if the Nautilus was ready for war herself.

Owen squeezed his way through the crowd, elbowing and shoving his way to the front. Around him, his other street kids were also doing the same. They knew what was going to happen and they were prepared.

Owen and Jimmy had given instructions; when the fight broke out, the street kids were to help in anyway they could without endangering their own lives. His heart would break if any of his babies were killed.

Finally, Owen pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He was right at the street edge; if he got any further, he would be on the street itself. He slipped his fingers into his pocket, feeling the heavy stones and rocks that he had put. Both of his slings were there too, and his small fingers closed on one.

The children would be pelting any of the Second Reich with the stones and anything they could get their hands on, if only to give the Underground time to escape. He had no doubt it was going to be loud and messy and maybe even bloody, but he and most of the others had seen enough in their short lives not to be disturbed by it.

Still, the younger ones were back at the cavern. Anyone under five was staying back there with the women. Owen didn't want any of his younger babies to end up a corpse on the street.

Owen's keen blue eyes surveyed the street. His babies were in place, definitely. Jimmy was with Anne, directly opposite; the Twins were further down on the left. He spotted Darcy to Jimmy's right. Craning his next to look on his own side of the street, he saw Elliot, Tuesday, Wednesday, Monday and a few more of both Jimmy and his people.

As undisputed leader of the combined bands of street children, Owen had taken on the responsibility of father, mother, confidante, protector and best friend. It was a heavy burden, but he was used to it. Years of being the unofficial leader of a rabble of thirty kids had thought him more than he would have cared to know.

A figure slipped into an empty spot next to him. Looking up, Owen saw the youthful face of Tom Sawyer.

"Sssh," the cloaked American said, putting a finger to his lips. There were bobbies patrolling the street's edge, keeping the people in check. Owen nodded, and looked back down to the street. He was startled by the brush of his hand across naked skin.

'tis only Skinner, he realised. The invisible man was standing right in front of Tom, and Owen's hand had brushed Skinner's knee area.

Where was Mr. Archer? Owen looked about, trying to find the Underground second-in-command. There, right ahead — yes, behind Jimmy. A trilby covered most of his face and the rest of him was muffled up in a coat, but Owen would bet his hat that it was him.

Big Ben struck. One, two, three times...twelve in total. Owen looked up at the massive clock tower and saw that it was noon. The procession would begin shortly.

Well, he thought, pulling his hat a little harder down on his head, time for the fight to start.