Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. Why do I keep saying that lately? Maybe because my updates are taking ridiculously long… that must be it. Ugh.
queerquail: Hehe, and reviewer #99 you were. Trouble? Where? Timmy fell down the well?! Oh wait… wrong movie, sorry. ::blinks::
Leigh S. Durron: Hehe, 'whup', good word. Good? Ah yes… foreshadowing from the trailer, here. We. Come.
Capt. Cow: I always try to scramble through writer's block to avoid disappointing readers with ridiculous updates… longer than this… don't look at me like that. All right, all right! Here's an update, lol.
Mrs. Mina Harker: Stop reading my ideas! Lol. Nah, it was obvious, wasn't it?
Hoshii-chan: Everybody wants to beat up Dorian! ::pokes plushie – it squeaks:: Aheh. Close combat Dorian and Tom you say… hmmm…
funyun: Hehe, what gives you the impression that Tom won't expect what he's going to get? That made no sense… whatever. Hehe, you have wacky mental images. Thank you, about how I write Dorian. He's annoyingly fun to write! Aheh, funny the stabbing reminded you of PoTC, because I base Becky on Keira, lol.
LotRseer3350: Interesting? Mwahahaha. Thank you. Hahahaha! You called Becky a what?! LMAO!
TARilus: Chilling? Excellent… what I was hoping for ::evil cackle:: Ah, another supporter for my portrayal of Dorian. Yay! Thanks. And about the picture, thanks!
Sethoz: ::is shaken – rattles:: Becky is crazy? ::looks at dragged Tom – he blinks, confused:: You're scaring my main character, Sethoz, buddy… might not be a good idea, lol! Loved the quote – smooth usage. I approve ::winks::
Graymoon74: Yummy? Yay. Becky… she seems to let people down, lol, but don't lose all hope for her yet. And yes, Dorian can be an ass, absolutely. Wow… I'm glad I've got all this support about Dorian and how I write for him. It's comforting. It really is. Tom/Dorian fight! Of course, you'll have to wait quite a while, but everybody knows it's coming! Thank you.
And now, without further delay, here is Chapter 11 of Ghosts of Old…
With a sharp intake of shocked breath at what she was doing, Becky rammed her knee forward and upward… into the groin of Dorian Gray. He reeled backwards and away from her, gasping and giving a hiss of discomfort, glaring at her with what had been soothing brown eyes. She returned the expression, her face hard and set with determination and just a hint of disgust. She could taste him in her mouth, and wanted to gag, resisting the urge to retch in order to deliver the scornful line, "You bastard."
Dorian surged forward, and backhanded her across the face sharply, before taking one of her arms in a vice grip, and growling, "I may be a bastard, Miss Thatcher… but you are still in my house, and therefore will abide by my rules." With a cocking of one prim eyebrow, he added, "Whether you like it or not." Putting on a feigned expression of sympathy, he said, "It would be such a shame to have to restrain you again."
Bringing her head back up, she tossed her blonde hair from her face, and spat at him, succeeding in hitting him in the eye. He simply stood there, still gripping her wrist, and removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He flicked it open, and dabbed his face with it, before slinging her aside, roughly, into a padded armchair.
She gasped with the force of his discard, and wanted to attack him further, even as he moved over to the piano again, and sat at the stool. Regarding her for a moment, he began to play, his eyes never looking down to the keys as his fingers moved deftly and gracefully over them.
"What you fail to understand, Miss Thatcher," he said to her, keeping his eyes firmly pinned on her, almost unnervingly, as she sat rather slumped in the chair, staring back at him, "is that I am in control of this situation. I like winning. Losing does not suit me at all. It's very drab, and I despise it… most unbecoming a gentleman such as myself." He smirked wryly. "And I plan to make this no different. I will win, because I am so adept at it. It is what I do, and in my life… which has been a long, fruitful one, Miss Thatcher, let me assure you… I have learned just how to always get my way."
Becky scowled at Dorian Gray, disbelieving as to the ego of the man. Was he really so filled with delusions of grandeur? He was no better than any other despicable scoundrel who had tried such dirty schemes back in America. And they had all been thwarted… by the Secret Service, no less. And the Nautilus – which she hoped was on the way right now – had three such agents aboard.
"They'll-"
"Come for you? As I believe I said before… I intend for that to happen. I hope for it… and am looking forward to it. In fact," he added, building to a crescendo on the piano, "they should be close to discovering my gift to them. Right. About. Now."
"Again."
Tom panted heavily, perspiring and near exhausted, but filled with a burning determination, holding the grip of the sword in both hands, staring at his trainer and opponent questioningly.
"Agent Sawyer," Nemo began stoically, "if you are insistent on being taught… and for me to be your teacher, you must become accustomed to my teachings."
Tom nodded, reluctant to use the energy to speak, and readied himself again, adopting the stance Nemo had taught him. He had been told that it was an optimum position for defence and offence alike, and Tom was willing to listen to anything the Indian had to tell him about swordplay. Tom knew nothing about bladed weapons… other than the pointy end went in the other person preferably. And if he had to do what he thought he might have to in the foreseeable future, then any new combat skills were a boon.
"Are you ready?"
Tom nodded again, once, before Nemo advanced on him, raising his sword in a predetermined arc for a strike. Tearing his own sword upward, Tom met the blade of Nemo's weapon with a clang, blocking the blow. Nemo spun quickly, striking out with the sword again, and with little else to do with the time allotted to him, Tom ducked, bringing the blade up and around behind him, over his head, hearing its eerie song as it ran along Nemo's weapon.
"Very good," Nemo encouraged, but did not stop, bringing the sword at the American again.
Tom widened his eyes slightly at the all-too-swift retaliation, and ducked his head backwards, feeling the rush of air that accompanied the sweeping of the blade past his ear.
Too close, he told himself, and decided that offence was as good a choice as any right now. Simple defence would serve him well, yes, but he needed to be able to attack in return. So it was that he arced the sword towards Nemo, who blocked and parried his blows with annoying ease. Tom kept trying to land a blow – with the flat side of the sword, as they had been for nearly two hours now – and swung the sword roughly towards the turban.
Nemo calculated the trajectory of the blade in the blink of an eye, and with his own weapon, slammed Tom's to the ground, lost from his grasp, before spinning, and bringing his sword within a hair's breadth of the American's throat. Tom froze instinctively, and looked Nemo in the eye, his breath held in anticipation of what might happen.
Nemo kept his eyes locked with Tom's for what felt like hours, as though studying him, something that made the American feel a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. He swallowed carefully, reluctant to get himself hurt any further, panting slightly through no fault of his own, and returned the gaze, wondering why the man was hesitating in drawing away. Tom inched backward, nearly losing his balance, and the blade followed him exactly, staying at his jugular.
That was when the footsteps resonated hollowly from down the corridor, heading towards them, moments before the door opened, and a crewman became apparent, hesitating at the sight before him. Neither Tom nor Nemo acknowledged him with their eyes, keeping them locked on one another.
"Captain?"
"What is it?" Nemo's voice was blunt, edged with a pressing tone that implied the crewman be quick with whatever it was.
"We have reached the Nautiloid, sir. You asked to be informed."
"Very well. Thank you."
The crewman left the room, and Nemo returned his full attention to the American at his mercy… though Tom wasn't keen to admit that. But, he supposed, there were worse people to be bettered by in a swordfight.
And suddenly, the sword was pulled away from Tom, who nearly toppled with the shock, sucking in the breath he had been reluctant to take, and looking to Nemo as though he had just been slapped in the face.
"You are a quick study, Agent Sawyer. If it is still your wish, we will continue this at a later time." Nemo replaced his sword gracefully into its scabbard, and regarded Tom quizzically.
"Er… yeah… yes." Tom shook his head to try and stop the fumbling, closing his eyes for a moment, as he picked up the sword he had been using. He was growing accustomed to the feel and weight of it, as he looked to Nemo again. "That would be great. Thank you."
"You are most welcome. But remember one thing, Agent Sawyer," Nemo began. "Always plan ahead in a combat. Think two stages ahead, and consider what it is that your opponent may attempt to do. That way… such things will not happen." He threw Tom a knowing look, referring to what had just occurred. Without saying anything further, and only offering a nod, he swept from the room, leaving the doors open behind him.
Tom stared after him, one brow raised, before he looked back to the polished weapon he was using. Spinning it deftly around his wrist, he returned it carefully to the rack where it had come from, and followed Nemo from the room.
Captain Nemo strode onto the conning tower, having met with Patel on the way to the bridge, who assured him that the Nautiloid was abandoned. They had sent people over to check the small vessel, finding it empty. Tom Sawyer was not far behind him, and Nemo suppressed the smile that wished to surface, given how quickly the American was progressing in his lessons. Nemo had a fair idea as to why Sawyer wished to learn the art of the blade… after all; did Dorian Gray not use a cane-sword in combat?
Trying not to think about such things, he walked to the railing, seeing some of his crew along the bulk of the Nautilus, calling to the people at the Nautiloid. One of them had powered it up, and was angling it towards the bay where it could be docked. Another crewman – inside the ship – was extending the arm. Nemo nodded to Patel, trusting him to take over the operation, turning to Sawyer and Mrs. Harker, who had been alerted by the rushing of activity it seemed.
"Have they found anything, Captain?" she asked, Sawyer by her side with his hands in his pockets. The American regarded the vampire for a moment, a prolonged gaze, and then glanced back to Nemo.
"Nothing as of yet, Mrs. Harker. If it is all right with the both of you, I have decided to call everyone together for a meeting in the dining chamber."
"Sounds like a good idea," Sawyer agreed, nodding.
"Very well, Captain. I will make my way there immediately."
"I'll join you," Sawyer offered politely, nodding to Nemo, and allowing the woman to leave the tower first. Nemo looked on after them for a moment, before taking the ladder down himself.
Mina headed in the direction of the large room where they took their meals, with Tom Sawyer by her side. She glanced at him every now and then, and cleared her throat delicately, finally gathering the nerve to say, "I must apologise for my behaviour, and keeping secrets from you and the rest of the League. That was wrong of me."
Tom looked to her at once, and then diverted his gaze for a moment, drawing in a deep, contemplative breath, before saying, "I should apologise as well. I was angry… upset about Becky. You didn't deserve that. I should learn to control my emotions."
"Emotions are what make you human." Mina tilted her head and looked to him for a moment, seeing his confusion over this statement. "Never regret your emotions, Tom… cherish them. They are precious, regardless of just what they are… anger, love, sorrow… they remind you that you are alive." She hung her head for a moment. "And remember that some are not so lucky to have them as passionately as you."
Their conversation dwindled there, with forgiveness flowing like a charge between them lightly, before they reached the room they had been heading for. Joe Harper and Huckleberry Finn were already inside.
"Did they find anything?" Joe blurted, turning to them at once. Huck was beside the other man, arms crossed over his chest in a determined, pensive fashion. He glanced to the black-haired man for a moment, and then turned his attention briskly to the new arrivals.
"Becky and the crew were gone when they found it," Tom revealed, dejectedly. Mina glanced to him for a moment, trying to detect just how he was feeling about all of this. It was hard to tell, but she knew he must be hurting. She had seen the signs of the affection between Tom and Becky Thatcher… and for a moment, had found herself almost scornful of this fact. Pushing her mind along, she looked to the two other agents.
"Captain Nemo will meet us here shortly, along with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Skinner."
"Someone call my name?" A cheery voice had echoed to them from just outside the doorway, and Rodney Skinner strode in promptly afterwards, slapping Mina's behind in a casual gesture as he passed her by. She growled openly, and his vacant – quite literally – face turned to her at an angle.
"Now, now, Mina… I'm only playing, you know that. No need to get all… beastly on me."
Mina glared for a moment, and then realised that they were not going to change the thief's habits – no matter how bad – anytime soon, and least of all by threatening him. It would take a lot of time and patience. And that wasn't going to happen soon, she knew that. There were other matters to be dealing with.
It wasn't long before Skinner shuffled off to seat himself at one side of the long table, slouching back in a casual, but pensive manner. One hand came up, as if to run over his chin, but given that both were invisible, it was left to the imagination of the observer. The trilby cast a shadow over where his head should have been, landing very slightly on the table's edge, giving him a unique appearance. Mina regarded him for only a moment longer, before registering that Tom had gone to stand with his American friends. Dr. Jekyll strode in not too long after that, whilst Mina still stood by the door, as though unintentionally guarding it, though from what… she did not know, and could not comprehend.
Nemo followed not long after that, closing the doors behind him. He wore a grave expression, and lay down two items on the tabletop, stepping back only slightly to declare, "Mr. Gray deemed it necessary to leave us… gifts."
Mina's eyes fell upon the so called 'gifts', and she stepped forward for a better view of them, stopping beside the wary Jekyll, whose left hand resided in his trouser pocket, as though he were clutching a vial of elixir. The first of these two items was a sleeve, containing… a recording disk. Mina's alert automatically went up, remembering the last incident involving such a thing. They had nearly been killed; the Nautilus almost destroyed. The second item was an envelope, no doubt containing a letter. Mina's clear azure gaze drifted to her companions, League or otherwise, inquiringly, as to how they should proceed.
"Mrs. Harker," Nemo began seriously, "I believe it falls to you to open the envelope."
Mina eyed the Indian for a long, reluctant moment, before she inched closer, reaching out with a hand as though she expected the item to burn her. She took it in her grasp, and brought it before her, hesitant to open it, for fear of what she might find inside. Seeing the burning intensity of query in Tom Sawyer's eyes, she could be reluctant no longer. She pulled open the seal, and removed the letter.
At first, she skimmed it through to herself, filled with a fiery anger, and then spoke it aloud for the others to hear;
To my dearest Mina, and the League…
I have no doubt that this letter will reach you, and Mina will be the one to read it. I do not know of any others among who would dare or wish to. Such is your nature. You are predictable, my friends, and I can calculate your moves. The game of chess springs to mind.
This brings me to my next point… and offer. No, a demand. An exchange. There, that does not sound so brutal. I propose an exchange. I have something of yours – of Tom Sawyer's in particular I believe – in my possession; a guest in my house. I know you wish to have Miss Becky Thatcher – passionate as she is – back amongst you, but it comes at a price, my friends, one that I deem you capable of considering seriously.
In exchange for Becky Thatcher, or Miss Thatcher as I have no doubt she will have me call her, I would like the intact return of my property. I know it resides aboard the Nautilus still. How could it not? It – they – were not at the scene of my resurrection, and such, could be nowhere else.
Of course, my property consists of the portrait, the one I hold very dear to my heart. But not only this. No. It also applies to something not generally classed as a possession, but as an individual.
One Wilhelmina Harker. I can only picture your faces as this line is read, and I must confess that the image amuses me. But my exchange stands firm. The terms shall not and cannot be altered, or it will mean the immediate… forfeit, of Miss Thatcher.
Yours Sincerely
Dorian Gray
P.S. I have included, for my dear Mina, a private recording, absent of a detonation device, I assure you. Enjoy.
Tom Sawyer was seething; Mina Harker in dismay. Of course, she felt the rage, oh yes… it coursed through her veins like poison, stabbing at her heart until she could stand it no longer. She gripped the letter tightly in her hands, and felt her nails tear through the fragile paper.
Glancing to her associates, all of whom seemed to pointedly avoid her gaze, she turned, her skirts billowing, and swept gracefully from the room.