Chapter 17 - The Mysterious Men
Ostend, Belgium
(Continued)

The Swallow was gone. Now all that could be done was to understand the clues she had left. Setting the box down upon some crates, Sawyer found he couldn't get into the box. It was too big for a gun to break without damaging the weapon.
"Can anyone pick a lock?" he asked.
"Course I can," Skinner said. "I'll just need a pick. I've got one in my room." It took a while for him to return. During that time, Sherlock had given up on his box, deciding there was nothing more to it in this light- nothing useful at least. He lit his pipe and began to smoke.

Back and armed with his lock pick, Skinner was able to make easy work on the secured box. When the lock gave away, the thief opened the lid.
"Nothing to it," he grinned, looking inside.
"More paperwork," Sawyer couldn't help but grumble to himself, a smile tugging at the side of his lip. It was full of paper and rocks- no doubt to make sure the documents sank.

He and Quatermain, with a newly purchased pair of spectacles, could begin to look through them for any information. Through the corner of his eye, Quatermain saw Sawyer struggling not to stare up at the hunter. A shy smile made its way onto his face. Quatermain pretended not to notice.

The results were quite disappointing. It was all just maps, plans, specifications and a couple of pencils. They were the documents from where the Frenchmen had planned their first attack on the Nautilus. These were of little use to them now, as the plans had already been carried out.
"They've had blueprints for the Nautilus!" Sawyer exclaimed. "How did they get hold of these?"
"Maybe from Moriarty?" Skinner guessed.

Quatermain spotted something. "Something hasn't gone to plan. According to these, they should have left Europe weeks ago," he mused, passing one of the documents to Sherlock to look through.
"It must have been something significant. All three of them like to keep to their plans," Sherlock added.

Sawyer thought out loud "So why didn't they?"

Skinner walked over and looked over Quatermain's shoulder and to the document in his hand. He held the lock from the box and was playing with it in his hands. He thought back to the attack on the Nautilus and what was said.
Fantômas, you were not supposed to wound him.
I had no choice.
"Because they didn't want Nemo injured..." he muttered. "They'll have had to wait until they could move Nemo. Of course! That's how we've been able to catch up to them."

"You two were there from the beginning. Nemo came separately from the others, didn't he? Did the others say anything about a change of plan?" Sawyer asked. The two enforcers of the law nodded. His chest fizzled with excitement. The trail was no longer warm but smoking hot. This was the progress he had been needing for weeks.

"Yes, mon amis, and they seemed agitated by it. Fantômas and Lupin were particularly frustrated to the point of arguing," Poirot answered.
"So we've caught up with them and know who we're up against, but how do we know where they're going next?" Skinner asked.
"We don't," Quatermain said. "There's nothing amongst these plans which can help us either."

Sherlock decided not to look at the paperwork Sawyer had collected for the time being. He went over to Quatermain and the blank paper he had retrieved. "These papers were in a pile on the table. The table wasn't very smooth and so writing would be difficult without something to rest on. There were pencils in that crate so they most likely would have written with those. That means, due to the movement of the water no doubt, the writer of this note was heavy-handed to make his words distinct," he muttered to himself. "Mr Quatermain, may I look at these?"

Quatermain looked at Sherlock. The hunter could see Sherlock was onto something and eager to see if any answers would materialise. As soon as the hunter passed them to him, he scanned every page, front and back until he found what he was looking for. There were grooves in the paper where something had been written on a different page. "It is too indistinct to read, but I may still be able to salvage something."

"And how are you going to do that, Sherlock? Get your magnifying glass?" teased Skinner.
"No, Mr Skinner. I have a better idea," the detective smirked. Sherlock lay the paper on the floor and covered it with the driest, dustiest dirt he could find. No one present spoke, but all were baffled by what he was doing. When the detective pulled the piece of paper out of the mud, several words were clearer.

"Now, I can use my magnifying glass."
"Very funny, now come on, what does it say?"
"Plans have been finalised… shell ready to... bird… Hommes Mystérieux…. fall... sister… at nest. Unfortunately, that is all I can make of it."

"Well, that makes no sense whatsoever," Skinner remarked.

"On the contrary, this does have some significance if you break it apart. I overheard that relative of mine talking about a group called Les Hommes Mystérieux. I was unaware however of who was actually part of the group or their purpose," Sherlock explained.
"Means Mysterious Men, doesn't it?... I can see Lupin and Zenith joining something like that. Sounds like their style, Fantômas would take a little more persuasion. Looks like we've got ourselves a bit of a problem," said Skinner.

"So they are the French answer to our League?" Sawyer wondered, not looking up from a map he was scanning, trying to see if there were any more hints. "Holmes, can read out those words again please." The detective did so, slower this time.

"Nemo could be the shell, it makes sense with the Nautilus and all," Sawyer muttered.
"Robur's ship is called the Albatross, which is a bird - and sister could mean the League?" Skinner suggested.
"And then there's 'nest' which is evidently where they are hiding," Sherlock deducted.

"But what about 'fall'? Do they mean as in the season or actually falling?" Sawyer asked.

"They are European. I'd expect it would mean physically falling and not its alternative meaning. Most here would say autumn," Sherlock answered.

Sawyer groaned out loud and covered his face, knowing where all this was leading. "Let's hope it's not us they want to be falling," he said to himself. He looked up to see one of the older crew members, Pavan. He was third in command of the Nautilus but was now the acting first mate whilst Ishmael took up the role of Captain.

Sawyer got up and approached him. "Pavan, have you been with Nemo since… well, the beginning?"
Pavan cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr Sawyer," he answered quietly.
"I'm sorry to ask, but I need to know where Robur's old stronghold was. I have a map with me. Would you point it out to me, please?" Sawyer asked.
"Yes, sir," he said hesitantly.

Sawyer went over to the map on the crate and Pavan followed. Sawyer had known Pavan ever since he had first stepped on the ship. He was a considerate, warm man, who always seemed to want to help whenever he could.

As he rubbed his beard, he scanned the map. He ran his finger along it - past all Africa and into the Indian ocean before stopping. "Here, Kerguelen Island. Though Robur called it 'Island X'."
"Well, I would have never seen that. It's tiny!" Skinner remarked.

"Won't be tiny when you're stood on it," Quatermain muttered.

It was then that the party of crew members who had left to retrieve their damaged Automobile returned. The extent of the damage did not escape the League's notice. Sawyer decided to try to act as though it wasn't there. He said "Thank you, Pavan. I need to find Ishmael and tell him where we need to go. Has anyone seen him?"
"He went over to the other automobile, sir. I expect him still to be there," Pavan answered.

With a nod of gratitude, Sawyer headed towards the black automobile left by the Frenchmen.

"Ishmael?" he called. There was no reply. Not even a movement. "Ishmael?" he repeated, louder this time, hoping the first mate was nearby. Sawyer could not help but feel ill at ease. By this point, the others were also becoming curious over his manner and began to approach.

Sawyer walked around to the other side of the automobile, but he was not there. There were signs of a struggle. One of the windows, broken by a stray bullet, had been smashed further. There were also drag marks in the dirt. "Ishmael!" he bellowed once more.
"Sawyer, what is it? What's going on?" Skinner pressed.
"He's not here. Something's not right; I don't like it. Quatermain, can you take a look?"

"Did he not go to fetch the other automobile?" Quatermain asked, looking over to Sawyer and Jekyll's broken automobile as the crew loaded it onto the Nautilus. He was not amongst the group of men.
"You think someone grabbed him while we were on the Swallow?" Skinner asked.
Sawyer grimaced, "Surely someone would have seen that or even heard that but..."

Quatermain crouched over the marks in the dirt, trying to read their story. He let his fingertips brush off the floor. He was quiet for a moment. "Grabbed from behind judging by the shuffling. You can see where he tried to find his feet. Ishmael wouldn't have had much chance of getting someone's attention. Fantômas never got in the other automobile with the others. He could be about," Quatermain scowled, standing and loading his gun.

Sherlock looked at what was becoming a crime scene in front of them. He studied it wordlessly.
"Pavan, you're sure you saw him here?" Sawyer asked.
"I'm certain, sir."

"I'll have a look around, see if I can find him," Sawyer said, his guns at the ready.
"I doubt you will find anything," Sherlock said with his eyes closed. He appeared to be in deep concentration. "Look, on the back seat."

Sawyer opened the back door and retrieved its contents. It was Ishmael's waistcoat and he rarely, if ever, took it off. As Sawyer pulled it off the seat, a bit of material fell from it - it was another one of Robur's flags, not much larger than the one in the library.

"Damn it!" Sawyer barked, slamming the door shut, knocking more glass out of the window.
Quatermain could see the agent clutching onto the waistcoat so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Skinner, go have a quick look for him. Take your coat off. They can't have gotten far. If you can't find him after a few minutes you'll have to come back. They'll take him to the Albatross with Nemo no doubt," Quatermain said.

"We need to know if Robur is alive," Sawyer said, directing his anger to the flag. "We need to know what we're up against!"
Sherlock turned to Pavan "Would Jean Robur still be the Captain of the Albatross if he were alive?"
"Yes, sir," Pavan replied.
"No relatives?"
"None that I'm aware of, but I knew little of him. I was an engineer."

"What did he look like?" Sherlock continued.
Pavan made a sour face. "It has been a long time since I laid eyes on that man. He had a large frame to him, broad powerful shoulders. At the time he had a smaller beard-"
"A goatee?" Sherlock suggested. Pavan nodded and swallowed hard.

"Grey uniform?"
Another nod.
"What kind of mannerisms did he have? His posture and so on?"
"He almost always had his hands behind his back when he stood or walked. He had a very noble look to him… until you truly met him," Pavan added.

Sherlock looked at the others in grim confirmation. "It is not the strongest description, but I saw a man fitting that description exactly. I heard the name Robur said in conversation and with no apparent relatives it is a likely conclusion."

"Looks like he's not as dead as we thought," Skinner muttered, wiping his grease paint away with a handkerchief from his pocket. "No point going after the Albatross now in an automobile, is there?"
"No. She would flee as soon as she saw us in the distance," Pavan answered, his face twisted with painful worry. "I must admit she is far faster than the Nautilus." He steadied himself. As the now acting captain of this ship, he didn't have the luxury of acting worried.
"Pavan, I think we're going to have to go to this island you're talking about," Quatermain said.
"Yes. I. I will get the Nautilus ready to leave at once," he replied, hurrying off.

Sawyer said nothing. He leaned against the side of the automobile, trapped with his thoughts. He didn't unclench his fists.
"Sawyer, why don't you go inside and let Mina and Jekyll know what's happening?" Quatermain suggested, implying he went and cooled off. He put a hand on his shoulder as a subtle reassurance.

Sawyer nodded, though he seemed disappointed at being asked to do so. He threw the black rag down with as much force as he could muster onto the front of the automobile and left. He did not let go of Ishmael's waistcoat. It seemed everyone knew they would not find Ishmael in the port. Fantômas was much too clever, too cunning and experienced to get caught. Quatermain wished there was something he could say, but he felt it best to stay quiet.

All Sawyer could picture in his head was the fear on Ishmael's face at just learning there was a chance Robur was alive. But to be taken to that same man, to risk seeing him in the flesh? To be at his mercy?! Sawyer shuddered. It seemed like Robur wanted Nemo alive and well, but did this also apply to Ishmael? Sawyer could only hope.

No matter how he looked at it, Sawyer still felt as though he had failed. The list of his regrets was growing bigger every day and he could not stop the feeling of anger rising in his chest. He forced himself to push it aside and went into the Nautilus to tell the others the cruel concoction of good and terrible news.

Quatermain forced himself to ignore the rag of material. "Looks like we'll be leaving in a few minutes," Quatermain said to Sherlock and Poirot. "I'd like to thank both of you for your help. We would have still been in the dark without you."
"You are most welcome, mon ami, et bonne chance," Poirot smiled.
"Good luck to you too, I'm sure Mr Holmes will be so kind as to put a good word in for you at the station," Quatermain said. Sherlock nodded, and Poirot could not help but thank him and bow his head in gratitude.

"I am only sorry we could not be of more assistance. Write to me and let me know the results of this mission. I'm quite sure you know the address," Sherlock replied with a half-smile.

"I will. There is one other thing actually if you wish to take it up?" Quatermain said.
"And what is that?" Sherlock asked.
"When our friend was taken, as was a large collection of his paintings. If you can track them down and find them, it would be an excellent help. Fantômas had them hidden judging from what I've gathered."
"I'll see what I can do with what little evidence there is. The papers you found may still hold some answers. For you however, there is little to solve now, you just have to take action." Quatermain said some hasty farewells to the two men who had entangled themselves into this mess.

As they turned to leave, Quatermain saw Sherlock's magnifying glass floating in mid-air. "Skinner, give that back," Quatermain grumbled.
"Sorry, old habits," Skinner remarked as he returned it. Sherlock scowled and stuffed it back into his pocket.

"So there's no sign?" Quatermain asked Skinner
"Not a thing. They're long gone- I'm no tracker but it looks like Fantômas found a carriage- maybe it was there for the rest of his men from the boat." Skinner put his coat back on. With a sigh, Skinner continued "I want to stay and look, but I guess there's nothing to find. It just doesn't feel right getting back on the ship when they're out there."

"I know, but we have to hope the plans lead us to the right place. Ishmael and Nemo can take care of themselves. We'll get them both back soon enough, I'm sure of it. Come on, let's help get the Nautilus ready to go."

The hunter began to walk away but Skinner cleared his throat and said "Allan." Quatermain turned to face the floating black coat. "It's good to have you back."
"Believe me when I say that it is good to be back," Quatermain answered, sending him a tired smile.
Skinner scratched his head. "I think you'd best talk to Sawyer soon... He didn't take the aftermath of Mongolia very well."
Quatermain nodded "When he calms down, I will."

With that, Skinner went to help the crew move the automobiles.

As Quatermain boarded the Nautilus for the first time in months, he ran his hand along one of the railings. At least when they got inside the Nautilus away from the port he could explain everything he knew. After weeks of waiting, he was finally back amongst his team- no, team was the wrong word. The League was becoming something more… They were friends, perhaps even family.

Outskirts of Ghent, Belgium
(Continued)

Nemo sat in frigid silence with his hands still bound to the seat in front of him. Lupin watched the road ahead. He had composed himself after the second fight with the League. There was a calm gleam back in his eye, but he looked distracted. Nemo was able to see whenever the thief cast a glance down to Nyctalope. Nyctalope was wearing down. He lay there as Champeau tried to get the bleeding under control. His head was resting on the nurse's lap and the young man murmured in his sleep. He still groaned in pain and moved his head a little, but that was all.

"You're going to have to stop the car, Monsieur Zenith," Champeau said quietly.
"What's wrong? We're almost back," Zenith replied.
"Just a few minutes, please. I can't work with the movement. It's too close to his heart for me to risk getting this wrong. It can't wait but I don't need long."
Zenith looked to Lupin who gave a brief nod. Nyctalope was their priority now that Nemo was secure again.

Once Zenith brought the car to a stop, Lupin inhaled and exhaled as though to settle himself. He then got out of the car and opened the back door. Zenith remained where he was, eager to get away again. "Come on, Nemo, you've been cooped up there for hours. You can stretch your legs. I will tell you now, it's no good trying to run off. I can guarantee that the car is faster," Lupin said. He untied Nemo's hands from the seat, though they remained bound together.

Furious or not, Nemo couldn't deny he needed to stand up. He ached from sitting for so long, sleeping under the influence of medicine on the journey to the port hadn't helped. Nemo climbed out of the car, which was harder with his hands tied in front of him. Once he was out, he paced back and forth a little to get the blood flowing in his legs again. He avoided looking at anyone.

Lupin took out a small flask from his pocket, unscrewed it and took a small sip. He then held it out to Nemo.
"Here," he offered. Nemo looked at it but didn't accept. He turned away.
"Why so quiet? Are you angry with me?" Lupin inquired, keeping the flask at hand.

"What else would you expect of me?" Nemo growled, facing him again. He was not in the mood for Lupin's attitude, if the thief wanted a reaction then he was going to get one. If anything had happened to Sawyer or Hyde, Nemo wouldn't hesitate to retaliate. He did not want their deaths to be because they were trying to rescue him.

"We're not going to have you pouting for the duration of this adventure, are we? If it helps to ease your mind, I shot the wheel- not your friends. Hyde used himself to protect the boy and I saw them both get up. I'm sure they're fine." What Lupin had said was true, except for the fact that he did not see Sawyer get up. He hoped the boy was alright as much as Nemo did.

"Until I see them, I refuse to believe they are 'fine'. With those speeds, they may have very easily perished!" Nemo answered. His anger irritated his ribs and made him cough. He held his side as the pain flared. He growled in frustration.
"Just when I thought you and I were starting to get along," Lupin held out the flask again. "Drink. You can have what's left- it's tonic," Lupin said.

Nemo snatched the flask and took a fair mouthful. He took a few more sips after a moment. He couldn't stop himself from still glaring at the thief.

Lupin read into his glare. "I did what I had to, just as your friends shot Nyctalope. Try not to take it personally, mon ami." He ducked his head down to look through the open back door. "Speaking of Nyctalope, Champeau, are we ready to move yet?"

"Almost. I was right; the metal in his chest protected his heart."
"Will he need anything replaced?" Lupin asked, concerned.
Champeau wiped his forehead high on his forearm. "It's hard to tell at the moment, but so far it all seems intact."
"Good, we'll leave as soon as you are ready. Take your time."

Lupin looked back towards Nemo, who was still taking cautious sips to soothe his cough. He gestured for Nemo to get back in the car. The captain approached slowly and stood facing his stolen creation. He did not get in, he wanted to stay there and take in the fresh air and be back on his ship. He pondered the thought of trying to run off, even if it would be a hopeless dare. But was it the only chance he'd get? He looked at the road longingly, weighing the odds.

"Nemo, I'm deeply sorry, but we have to go now. Get into the car, please," Lupin pressed.

Nemo whipped his head around to look at him. Lupin was stood with his frame strong and steady. He seemed ready for anything, though there was a genuine look of regret smuggling it's way into his face. It did not matter to Nemo.
"Apologising does not heal wounds nor return people from the dead. It never has and it most certainly never will."

Lupin inclined his head, not understanding what it was Nemo was implying. Whatever he meant would have to wait. Nemo wobbled. He glared down at the flask. "Drugged," he scoffed and tossed the flask on the floor. "I might have known. Everything associated with you is a trick!" His anger had lowered his sense of security. He wanted to curse himself for it.

"Apologies, Captain. You can finally have your answers when you wake up, that I promise you."
Nemo wobbled again, this time needing Lupin to steady him. His body began to relax and he couldn't stop it. He tried to shake Lupin off, but he didn't let go. With his body turning to lead and his need for sleep growing, the fight was shortlived. Lupin was able to hold him as he surrendered to sleep in his grip.

"Was there any particular reason why you did that?" Zenith asked from the front as he watched Lupin struggle to get the captain in his seat.
"Robur wanted him unconscious when he first came aboard. Adding a little salt to his supper seemed to help in making him thirsty but I wasn't sure he'd drink it. I had to let him out in case I needed to strike him," Lupin grunted as he got Nemo inside.
"You've made him angry one way or another. You've a talent for feeding fires it seems," Zenith observed.

"Oh, scarcely that. He was mad enough without my help. I just needed an opportunity. You'll do well to remember, Zenith. I do everything for a reason," Lupin said, getting back in his own seat.

"And what reason did you have for hesitating earlier?" Zenith asked, bringing the seriousness back into the air.
Lupin paused in his seat. "I was busy."
"As I said before, monsieur, you have two hands. That was not the reason."

Lupin struggled to suppress a scowl. "Whatever the reason, it is my own and I do not wish to elaborate. Besides, it is not important." He didn't give Zenith the chance to apologise nor push on. "Can we set off now, Champeau?"
"Yes, but try to slow down on the rougher parts of the road if you can," the young nurse replied. Zenith gave Lupin an apologetic look, but it was clear he was dissatisfied at being able to not draw any answers. He started the car along the road with the silence as thick as blood.