Author's Note: I have one thing to say… I despise writer's block… _ Growl…
LotRseer3350: Ugh… slow update. Sorry!
Graymoon74: Oh dear… think I scared GM, lol. It's true though… people always seem to get wounded in that area. Never noticed till you said. Lol, you'd think you'd be used to my brutality by now, but I lulled you all into a false sense of security for a while *grin* Mwahahaha!
Mrs. Mina Harker: Thanks.
Sethoz: It's not huge… it's just noticeable… thanks for the review and lovely – for the most part – comments as always though. I thought you were here first… lol, never mind, it's still good quoteage, and that part in the film rocks *grins*
Capt. Cow: So many questions – so few answers to give you! Lol, you'll find out soon.
funyun: What is it with cats and hands? Mine try that sometimes. Thanks for the review.
drowchild: Indeed it is tense…
Hoshii-chan: Hope this wait wasn't too bad… my apologies.
Enough of that, and on with Chapter 8 of Ghosts of Old…
Dorian had sent word to some of his contacts at the docks that they were to rendezvous with a small pod out to sea as soon as possible. He had given them its frequency so they could track it, and had sent them on their way. Once they had picked up all the occupants, they were to abandon the Nautiloid, making it all the more difficult for the League to track them… not that he wanted them to lose the scent altogether; after all, he wanted them to know who had done it, and where he was, and who he had taken… not that the final part would be a problem. He knew that idiot child had probably interfered and gotten himself involved somehow. Dorian wouldn't have been entirely surprised if the boy had gotten himself in trouble because of it. Mitesh and some of the others were not weak, and they were not stupid… one of the main reasons why Dorian Gray had employed them as he had.
Glancing to an ornate clock on the wall, and twirling his polished cane in his hand, Dorian lifted a pristine brow, humming a gentle tune to himself, thinking over his plan as he watched the seconds tick away. They would walk right into the trap he had set for them… for one in particular. They would have no choice but to step into the noose and watch as he tightened it. He would take back what was his, and he had already set his plans into motion, giving them little choice but to play along with the story in his head. Smiling wickedly, he settled himself down with a novel and another brandy.
Her head swam with sound and swirling light, colliding and coalescing until her temples throbbed mercilessly and she had no choice but to open her eyes to try and escape it. It only intensified the problem, and she made a light whimper into the cloth covering her mouth, glancing around her as best she could, laying on the floor on her side, her hands bound in front of her. Her blue eyes tried to focus, having great difficultly in doing so, and then she caught sight of movement nearby. She flinched instinctively, and forced her mind to clarify the image.
It was the crewmen who had attacked her in her cabin, and her eyes narrowed, partially through confusion, and partially due to anger. She was also trying to figure out where they were… she did not recognise it, but then again… why should she? She had not been on the Nautilus long. But as she lay there, she could feel movement, and she could see the man at the controls. She had seen the bridge of the Nautilus, and this was not it. They were no longer on the Nautilus.
Tom… she thought, glancing around wildly for a moment, and rethinking the movement when it caused her head to spin madly. She winced, and realised she had attracted unwelcome attention when a strong hand latched on her arm. She tried to scream at him to let go, but the sound came out muffled, even as he hauled her off the floor.
Becky tried to fight him, but he was too large and strong for her to do so successfully, and could only scream.
"Captain!"
The crewman, Patel, burst into the room, unannounced, and near startling the League members – the conscious ones anyway – out of their skin. They all started or muttered their shock with varying degrees of openness, and turned to the man, Nemo taking a stride towards him. His First Mate looked concerned to say the least, even angered by something he intended to share.
"We have been immobilised, Captain! The crew who escaped have disabled our aft engines, leaving us with half the power and speed we should have… it will take at least a day, if not two, to repair."
Nemo cursed something in his native tongue, causing the alarmed Rodney Skinner – now shocked out of his intoxication, even as he helped them load Sawyer onto a stretcher – to widen his eyes even further. The Indian man seemed to growl, and turned to the others as if to inquire without words whether they would be capable of performing the transportation of the wounded without his aid. He obviously wanted to check on the Nautilus and the damage sustained.
I do not envy the culprits, Skinner thought, swallowing a rather large lump in his throat, only intensified when he happened to glance down at the bloodied face of his friend. I do not envy them at all…
Henry had been busy for the last few hours, assessing the wounded – in the form of all three American Agents – and was finally taking the chance to sit down at his small desk in the infirmary, and jot down in his log what had transpired. He had made a point of recording all injuries sustained… perhaps it would make him feel better in the dark distance of the future, looking back on the people he helped. Inside the deep recesses of his mind, Hyde chuckled scornfully.
This is not a good start… who could be behind all of this? Surely Nemo's men could not have mutinied on their own… they don't seem the type to do such a thing without reason and compensation. Henry's mind ran with a hundred different – and often contradicting – ideas on the topic, and finally, when it became apparent they were not making any sense, he disregarded the idea to solve it altogether, giving in to the dull headache that was rising up the sides of his temples, like fingers tracing up his skull painfully.
Joe Harper and Huckleberry Finn had woken up around the same time, the former with nothing but a bruised jaw and still bloody nose – which had, thankfully, stopped bleeding at last – and the latter with discomfort around his back area, but nothing serious. They were a little shaken and irritated, and of course – understandably – deeply concerned for young Miss Becky Thatcher, who was still missing.
Tom Sawyer was still unconscious. It was pushing eleven hours now, and Henry was starting to worry. He was concerned that a coma might slip into affect if the young American did not regain awareness of his own accord. No amount of drugs or stimulants would do him any good; he had sustained a concussion, and Henry did not wish to worsen his condition with narcotics and the sort. He frowned, furrowing his brow, and crossed the room after standing from his desk, intent on checking on Sawyer's condition. He had stitched up the head wound, and assessed that as the only damage Tom had suffered from in the scuffle, other than minor bruising from being thrown so harshly over and through the table.
On top of all the injury the Americans had sustained – much to Hyde's apparent amusement, annoyingly enough – the Nautilus had been much slower on the Nautiloid's trail for a while now, because of the damage the crew had intentionally applied to the aft engine. The crew were working constantly to try and repair it as fast as they could, and the League could only watch in dismay as the Nautiloid's signal drew farther and farther away from their own. Mina had been in and out of the infirmary a few times to see if she could help, but with nothing to do other than check Sawyer's vitals every hour… well, the phrase about too many hands came to Henry's mind, even as he stood over the young American's bed.
A slight stirring in the young man's form caused his eyes to snap in his direction, away from the papers he was perusing at Sawyer's bedside, and he stared intently, even as the right hand shifted again, slowly but definitely. Henry was stuck for what to do for a moment, halfway between simply standing there and rushing out of the room to yell for the others… when he decided on a medium. He strode back over to his desk, and pressed a button next to the table, which would send a signal to Captain Nemo either on the bridge or in his cabin. He was bound to be in one of the two places, and Henry hoped he hurried.
Henry Jekyll had a feeling that Tom Sawyer would be able to help with clarifying what was going on.
Huck practically skidded into the infirmary, only to find he was one of the last to arrive. Everyone else apart from Captain Nemo was present, and hovering close to or around Tom's bed. Joe turned to glance at Huck, a rather nasty bruise forming on his left cheek and jaw, and the other man's eyes were filled with worry about the situation. Mina Harker sat in the chair near to Tom's bedside, and Huck had a mental flashback of the other agent's Aunts seated beside him after he had been shot all that time ago… it was about thirteen years now that Huck thought about it.
As calmly as he could manage, Huck approached the bedside, seeing Jekyll and Skinner standing side by side opposite Mina and Joe. Tom lay on the bed, moving slightly but not conscious… yet.
"He has been moving for a few minutes now; a good sign that he will regain consciousness soon," Jekyll was saying as Huck drew to a halt next to Joe Harper, crossing his arms thoughtfully. His back was still sore from the collision with the wall, but other than that the only infliction he had suffered was the embarrassment at getting knocked out so easily.
"How bad is he?" Huck ventured to ask, when it seemed no one else dared.
Jekyll made solid eye contact with the shortest of the Americans present, and replied earnestly, "It could be worse… but he could have come out of it better. His concussion is nothing too serious, but it will give him trouble for a while, not to mention headaches."
"Oh," Huck mumbled. He thought about Becky, how he had been forced to watch her simply lay over that man's shoulder, unconscious, unaware and unable to help herself… and then he remembered how bad he should feel about not being able to aid her himself. His brow furrowed shamefully, and then Tom's low groan drew his eye, not to mention everyone else in the room. He shifted noticeably, and he eyes opened slowly, groggily.
All attention was on him, and Huck was suddenly glad he wasn't the one laying in the bed. He had always liked to stick back out of the way of people, preferring to keep to the metaphorical shadows, letting his thoughts run away with him until he was needed. And laying on that bed with everyone staring on him was not his idea of keeping a low profile, wounded or otherwise. He had appreciated the lack of fuss that had been made over him. The amount he had had to sustain over the years… he had grown accustomed to that, after his father's odd death in that floating house, where he and Jim had gone hunting for odd ends and pieces of 'valuable' equipment when travelling… but this was different entirely. Aunt Sally had treated him kindly, and given him clothes and hot food – or cold food respectively – and he had had quite a fun time of it all… but being a prisoner in an infirmary, in a bed was something he didn't think he would be able to handle.
Mina was staring intently and worriedly at Tom Sawyer, and Huck watched her for a moment, his brow furrowed in pensive consideration as he mused over what he had seen, behaviour-wise, with these people so far. He tried to recall Mina Harker's reaction to seeing Tom and Becky together, and found it difficult to do so.
Stupid alcohol…
Tom glanced around him in a hazy state, and winced heavily, causing Jekyll to say, "The concussion is the reason your eyes are sensitive. It will pass, Tom."
Tom groaned again, quietly, and moved to lift a hand to his temple, the one that had been – at least Huck guessed from the sight of it – slammed into the deck. He hissed through clenched teeth, and then his eyes opened widely, as though someone had delivered a slap to his face. "Becky!" he exclaimed desperately, even as Mina reached a hand forward to calm him. "Did you find Becky?"
"Calm down, Agent Sawyer," Mina urged, and Huck noted the pleading in her tone, registering it for later consideration. "You will only harm yourself further."
"I don't care," Tom shot back, "did you find her?"
Everyone was silent for a moment, exchanging regretful glances, and Tom obviously caught it – despite the concussion – and his face fell. "You… you didn't find her? They got away?"
"I'm afraid so, Agent Sawyer," Jekyll replied heavy-heartedly, and sighed. "They sabotaged the Nautilus in order to slow us down, but Nemo and his men are working on the repairs so we can pursue."
Tom looked desperate and dismayed, and in that moment, Huck's heart went out to him, as he frowned, muttering to himself.
Joe glanced to Huck, saying, "You gotta stop speakin' French."
Huck glanced to his companion, having not realised what it was he had been saying. "I… what?"
"Stop speakin' French," Joe mumbled, with half a heartfelt smile on his face. He had been doing that for years, ever since he had been properly teaching himself – with help of course, sometimes – to speak and write the language.
"Sorry… don't even realise sometimes," he responded flatly, returning the half smile. He turned his attention back on Tom.
Tom couldn't believe Becky had been kidnapped… those men had gotten away with the woman he thought he loved… wait, thought he loved? Where had that come from? No… he loved her, he knew he did. He was just in shock from what had happened, and his head hurt like he never would have believed. He had tried to help her, and now felt more than useless because of his failure. He hoped nothing terrible happened to her… or the person responsible would never live to regret their mistake.
How could I let that happen to her? She was only here for a little over a day… if that… and I let this happen to her. Tom's head hung for a moment, and then he felt Jekyll's hand on his shoulder, easing him back onto the pillows and against the headrest. He looked up when he heard Skinner's voice, realising he was only wearing his coat and trilby… no face paint. Skinner quite often avoided applying the makeup whenever he felt awkward or unsure of what to do… ironically hiding behind a face that was not there, an invisible mask of nothingness.
"So… do we know what all this is about?"
Tom just sat there, dejected and depressed because of what had happened, feeling his optimism drain away with every passing second, though he tried – somewhat half-heartedly – to keep a hold on it. His mind kept running over and over what had happened, and he tried to fathom the reasoning behind it… without much luck.
Around him, the League continued to talk, continuing with Mina, "From the looks of it, we have had a mutiny on our hands."
That was when Captain Nemo made his presence known by announcing, "I handpicked my crew from the finest soldiers; that cannot be the case."
"Well, Nemo, it appears to be the case, 'cause I don't see any other way around it," Skinner objected lazily, slouched in his posture, his trilby tilting in the Indian's direction.
"There must be another explanation," Nemo countered, his tone hard and insistent, and that was when Skinner seemed to realise that staying silent was his best option.
The room fell quiet again, and flashes of the incident swam back into Tom's mind, and suddenly, his eyes were wider, before they narrowed coldly, and he whispered harshly, "Wolf…"
"… Tom?" Mina glanced to him, and cocked her head in an odd mixture of confusion and curiousity.
"They said about keeping 'Wolf' waiting… don't you remember?" His green eyes turned to meet Mina's blue ones, and locked firmly. "Wolf… think about it."
After a few moments, her shock and dismay registered, and she shook her head. "No… I killed him myself. I watched him die; crumble to dust."
"I'm sorry," Huck interrupted, waving a hand lightly, "what exactly are we talkin' about?"
Tom glanced to his friend, and said, words heavy and laced with scornful meaning, "Dorian Gray…"