Chapter 15

Matthew's cell door on the waterfront wharf house opened several hours after sunrise. He was given hard bread and a pitcher of water. To allow him to eat, his bindings were cut and left off after the guard returned to his other duties. It was an improvement, but a suspicious one since his captures had always kept him bound before now. Matthew ate his roll and gulped the water. He used the empty pitcher for other necessities.

If Mr. Fogg wasn't around, I might have used the pitcher to break the window and get out. I've jumped from ship's rigging once or twice. I know how to land right.

Instead, Matt paced the room, straining to hear when the law arrived.

Half an hour later, his guard came back to escort him to the office again. The man Matt had spoken to the day before was there with three other men. The guard roughly forced him into a chair in front of the desk.

"Mister Matthew Ridgemont," the man said, frowning daggers at him. "Your brother missed his ship. We don't know if he sent any messages to your uncle. All contracts ensuring your continued health are canceled. We will find out where he is and deal with this disappointment accordingly."

He then pulled a pistol out of a drawer and laid it on the desk. "Don't worry, I'm not going to shoot you. It has been decided you might be useful. I have been told to invite you to join the League. Your uncle might decide to be more cooperative if you remain with us and we need his cooperation for another six months at least. You will go with us on the next shipment and will attend when we pay a visit to your uncle."

"And if I choose not to accept your invitation?" Matt said.

"You do not have that option," the man informed him as he nailed Matt to the chair with a stern glare. "If you choose not to join us willingly, you will be given an inducement to convince you to obey. It is not a pleasant thing to be fitted with a mind screw. Since the master disappeared, it does not have quite the same meaning, but we have found it makes its wearer docile and remarkably obedient."

The leader finished that statement and waved a hand at a man standing out of Matt's view. An old, gaunt looking man stepped forward to stand beside Matt, turning his head to look down at him. The man's eyes were blank and so was his face. He looked like a sleepwalker. One temple looked imbedded with a large metal screw.

"He is a worker, a drone," the officer said, as though talking of something under his notice; something he preferred not to notice. "He and those like him were once conductors of the master's wishes. They were linked directly to his mind. Those that survived the master's disappearance are now like the walking dead. Gunther here will do whatever is asked of him," the officer explained. "Work, spy, murder… anything. Unfortunately, the inducement does damage over time, as you can see. Those fitted with mind screws since the master's disappearance seem to hold their mental faculties longer, as long as they are not punished too often."

"Gunther, at attention!" The officer ordered.

Gunther popped to attention, straight and tall.

The officer then gestured for another man.

That one gave the screw in the man's head less than a quarter turn. The effect was instantaneous. A small trickle of blood flowed from under the metal. The man went into a fit of shakes, collapsing to his knees, his eyes tightly shut against agonizing pain. Yet, he never uttered a sound. When Gunther's tormentor turned the screw back to its original position, the man slowly recovered. He stood when ordered and moved back to his place against the wall.

The officer's eyes turned back to Matt. "Now that you know the alternative of defiance. Perhaps you will reconsider your earlier tone?"

Matt swallowed the bile in his throat and did exactly that. "Where do I sign?"

The men standing with him in the room laughed. "We don't have an enlistment period, young man," the officer said. "It's a lifetime arrangement. I will take you and your new friend, Jules Verne, to our training field before we head to America. If you show promise, the League can be a very rewarding way of life. If you do not…" he nodded toward Gunther.

"Take our newest member back to his room. You leave for France, tonight."

Matt's guard squeezed his shoulder.

Matt took it as permission to rise. He was out the door and halfway to his room when shots rang out somewhere below him. His guard pushed him to his cell. As they reached the door, Matt heard a thud behind him. He turned. His guard was on the floor and Mr. Fogg was standing over him.

"You cannot know how glad I am to see you," Matt said.

"Having heard most of that meeting, I think I can," Phileas said with a ghost of a smile. He pushed the boy around a corner when he heard shouts and shots behind them. A familiar feminine voice called out Phileas's name as the shots died away. Phileas drew Matt back out after he checked around the corner.

Rebecca Fogg was coming up the stairs with several agents.

"Williams, good to see you again," Phileas said to the younger agent. The other was covering the League officer, and those who were with him in the office. Williams gave the former agent a smile of recognition, but tended to his work, paying special attention to Gunther.

Rebecca headed into the office with Phileas and Matt on her heels. The room seemed much less oppressive than a few moments ago. Matt watched the two agents as they rummaged through the papers again. On the top of it all, Rebecca found a message from France with the order to incorporate Matthew Ridgemont into the League to insure his uncle's cooperation. It had also ordered the death of Mark Ridgemont, which was to take place early that morning. She handed it to Phileas.

"Jones!" Phileas called.

The agent appeared as if by magic.

"Take this young man into custody for protection and get his statement. See he is well guarded. The League wants him enlisted." With that set of orders made, Phileas and Rebecca ran out the door. Their quick steps on the stairs told their direction.

Matt tried to follow them, but his new guard held him fast.

"Hold there," Jones said, pulling Mark back into the office. "They can take care of protecting your brother." Matt looked ashen and unconvinced. "Believe me," he said. "Your brother in the best of hands. The man that just left here was once the finest agent Her Majesty's Secret Service ever had."