Quatermain paced and drank a brandy, meditating on the problem at hand. "I rarely have the opportunity to ponder a problem. In my day, I was usually too busy either running or shooting or grabbing up treasure."
The young man had not touched again on the sensitive subject of Quatermain's dead son, but he worked quiedy and diligently. He was also a member of the American Secret Service, and he had an important mission. The old adventurer appreciated his assistance, but did not open the doors of friendship more than a crack.
"You know, Mr. Quatermain, when I was younger I served time as a detective, solving crimes, unraveling mysteries." He flipped pages, but saw no revelations there.
"Impressive," Quatermain raised his eyebrows. "Especially if you were just a boy then."
Quatermain sipped from his brandy, then returned to the files M had provided, as well as Nemo's extra material. "I'm sure solving our little mystery here is well within your means." He bent over copies of the da Vinci plans, pondering what possible advantage the Fantom could gain from knowing the details of the submerged foundations. And what part did the kidnapped structural engineer Karl Draper play?
Sawyer did not seem overly flattered by the adventurers confidence. "I prefer to think of myself as a man of action, Mr. Quatermain. Book learnin' was never my especial skill."
Quatermain sighed and set down his empty brandy glass. "Ah, yes, a man of action. Adventure. I remember the lure, when all the mysteries of Africa were impossible to resist. King Solomon's mines, the Lost City of Gold, the holy flower, the treasure of the lake, and most especially Ayesha…" His voice trailed off. "She was beautiful, immortal, insidious. Her followers called her She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. Reminds me a bit of Mrs. Harker, in a way."
He paused, and Tom Sawyer looked at him with wide eyes. "I don't reckon Mina would be too happy with the comparison."
"No, I suppose not. And then there was my Zulu friend and companion Umslopogaas. Never met a braver, more loyal man in the face of outright danger, whether it be lions or sorcery…"
He blinked shining eyes and suddenly brought himself back to the present. "Sorry, lad — long ago I made up my mind to let Nigel tell all the stories. I don't want to think about them anymore… and now Nigel is dead at the start of this whole nasty business. I just want to bring it to an end."
Captain Nemo entered the library, bringing the conversation to a halt. Beneath his blue turban, his eyebrows had drawn together in grim realization. "We have been thinking along the wrong lines, gentlemen." He went to the book of da Vinci drawings, pointing out key junctures. "The world leaders themselves are mere pawns, not at all the target of this terrible scheme."
He quickly explained what he had realized, while Quatermain and Sawyer bent over the plans, following the captain's rationale. Quatermain looked up gravely. "So the Fantom doesn't intend to attack the secret talks at all."
"Not precisely." Nemo closed the book of plans with finality. "With da Vinci's blueprints and Karl Draper's knowledge, he can set a bomb to blow Venice's foundations to rubble."
"The Fantom's going to sink the whole city!" Sawyer cried. "He'll knock it under the water."
"Yes, and thereby spark his world war," said Quatermain. "That's what he really wants." His sinewy fist clenched. "With the most vital leaders gathered there trying to reach an accord, there can be no other outcome."
The young American blurted the obvious. "Well, that's a lot worse than simply shaking up a dull old meeting any day!"
The news didn't get any better as Jekyll appeared in the doorway. His voice was shaky, his face flushed, his brow dotted with perspiration. "That isn't the sum of our problems." He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his limp hair. "Skinner has taken a vial of my formula!"
Tom Sawyer set his jaw. "I never trusted that invisible man."
"Are you sure it was him?" Quatermain said.
Jekyll's eyes darted from side to side. "Who else? You've seen how the sneaky blackguard operates." His reedy voice rose, as if he'd caught just a flicker of Hyde's personality.
A wall unit on the side of the Nautilus library chattered, and a ticker-tape message reeled out of a thin slot. Nemo tore it off and scanned the text. "Mr. Skinner's crimes will have to wait for the time being. Duty calls— we have arrived at our destination."
TWENTY TWO
The Canals of Venice
Night
Venetia, a picturesque city built on 118 islands in a lagoon on Italy's Adriatic coast, boasted more than a hundred and fifty canals and four hundred bridges. The proud history of the area stretched back more than fourteen centuries, spawning world-renowned artisans, including the glassmakers of Murano and the lace makers of Burano.
Tonight, the looming facades seemed to haunt the sluggish canals of green-black water. Even the festive lamps and flower boxes overhead could not dispel the ghostly, brooding impression. In the narrow, time-worn architecture, specters seemed to hide in every shadow.
The distant music of Carnival throbbed from stages and plazas deeper in the city, but the revelry didn't reach this eerie quarter of calm waters and fetid smells. The Nautilus slid silently into the labyrinth of Venetian canals, following a shadow of menace and urgency.
A potbellied gondolier, dozing beneath the meager shelter of his boat's caponera, hardly stirred as the huge vessel passed him like a deep prehistoric sea monster. The submarine boat left no sign of its passage other than a ripple and a languid splash. The gondolier snorted, sat forward and blinked his eyes wearily, then spat into the canal before settling back into his slumber.
The Nautilus dropped deeper underwater, to the sodden base of the canals built many centuries before. The propellers turned, driving the armored vessel past Venice's cavernous foundations, the same monolithic structures that had been shown neatly in da Vinci's blueprints. Over the years, the caverns and thick supports had become crusted with algae, silt, barnacles.
Looking strikingly fresh and shiny in the murk, a huge bomb had been bolted to one of the largest stone blocks, its location precisely chosen according to the da Vinci drawings and the calculations of Karl Draper. Here, it would cause the most damage.
The device was wrapped in sheets of thick rubber that kept the deadly explosives dry. Wires extended upward to the surface. A faint trail of tiny silver bubbles rose through the murky water…
At the street level, deeper in the city, noisy Carnival celebrations ranged from villa to villa. The crowds roared and laughed; many of the people didn't know the reason for the particular festival, celebrating which saint or holy day or medieval tradition. They simply drank and sang and enjoyed themselves.
Revelers crossed vine-strewn bridges, strumming musical instruments, drinking from bottles of wine, singing slurred songs. Torches and banners were carried aloft. Tumblers and minstrels evoked laughter from gathered spectators. Streetlights shone around them, casting a bright glow over the all-night celebrations.
Inside one of the impressive stone structures, though, the lights were dimmer, the mood serious and somber. Wearing Carnival costumes to hide their identities, a group of important ambassadors and world leaders entered according to the secret agenda. Alert guards showed them to a secure conference room, which was lit by large candelabras.
Suspicious of each other despite the reassurances of diplomacy, the men removed their feathered hats and sequined domino masks. Outside, they had not been noticed; the meeting would be completely discreet.
Three street-level windows had been shuttered for privacy. The room had been a third-floor chamber when the villa was built, but now because of the waterlogged city's sinking, it was at the level of the canals and the raised cobblestone street. The lower rooms had already drowned, and the air smelled of rot and mildew.
The important delegates representing France, England, Germany, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Russia, exchanged subdued greetings. Many of the men spoke several languages; they had kept the number of interpreters to a minimum, to help assure secrecy.
"Now, gentlemen," said the British representative when they were all seated, "each one of us knows that the fate of the world may very well hang in the balance this night."
The expressions around the room remained grave. The German ambassador said, "All of our countries are counting on us to resolve our differences, to address accusations, and to make mutual resolutions regarding this arms race."
"We have evidence that the hostilities attributed to France in recent months have in fact been the work of a… savage provocateur," said the French leader. "Our people have had enough war and bloodshed for one century, due to our own social strife, as well as foreign aggression." He glanced pointedly at the German representative, who snorted.
"Your complaint is with Chancellor Bismarck. He left power a decade ago. The German Empire seeks to strengthen itself internally, not annex worthless French territory;"
"Worthless. — !"
"Gentlemen!" The Russian pounded a beefy hand on the table. "This is going nowhere. We must establish peace terms and resolutions. All of our countries are tinderboxes."
"Well said, well said," the British diplomat interjected. "Let us not offer any excuse to light a political match. Now then, since we all have the same fundamental objective, shall we begin? The rest of the world does not know we are here. Therefore, it should be a simple matter to address our issues and formulate simple, binding resolutions."
"Provided we are not interrupted," the Frenchman said.
"This meeting has been established with the utmost security," the German pointed out. "What could possibly interrupt us?"
On the bridge of the Nautilus, Ishmael said in drawling Hindi, "Helm three feet to port. Steady. Two feet. Decrease prop a half knot." The members of the League crowded in the control room, ready to begin their work.
As his crew guided the armored vessel, Captain Nemo peered into his periscope. Through the eyepiece, he could see the far-off revelers, the celebratory torches, the feasts and flowers in the streets of Venice. "The Carnival is quite the affair."
"I love a party," said Gray. "Perhaps we should all join them. After all, Nemos already wearing his own costume."
"I tend to avoid large gatherings and all that noise," the captain said.
As the canal narrowed, the stone walls closed together like a slow and deadly trap. The Nautilus eased cautiously forward like a big mechanical shark in the shadows of this dingy section of the drowning city. Ishmael's expert guidance kept the alloy armor plates from being scratched against the slimy walls, only inches away.
"We can go no farther, Captain," Ishmael said, before the undersea vessel could get stuck.
"All ahead stop!" Nemo said.
"Reverse engines!" Ishmael shouted.
The big brass propellers reversed, sloshing a backwash as they dampened the vessels headlong inertia. The high prow snagged a clothesline, stretching it almost to snapping before the majestic boat came to a final stop beneath a high, vine-covered bridge that arched overhead.
On the metal deck in front of the conning tower, Nemos crewmen jumped onto the canal towpath, tossing ropes. On either side of the narrow, mossy walkway, the men affixed the cable moorings, lashing them tight. One man glanced up at the curved bridge as four boisterous Carnival participants raced from one building to another, laughing with the drunken chase, and disappeared into the opposite villa. None of them glanced down at the water or the huge ship floating below.
Like metal tongues, three gangplanks extended from the ship's side hull and settled on the towpath. Captain Nemo and Allan Quatermain led the way as a large group of Nautilus crewmen marched out of the ship, including men suited up as divers. Their footsteps made muffled bangs on the gangplank, then crunched on the brick and gravel walkway. The rest of the League followed them out into the streets of Venice.
They exchanged orders like rapid-fire gunshots. "Break into squads and begin to sweep the city," Nemo said.
"One flare per five-man team," Ishmael said.
"Look for any hint of the Fantom," Quatermain said. "Signal at the first sign of suspicious activity."
"But this is a vast city of masks and mystery—" Mina said.
"Then you will be very much in your element," Quatermain said, and signaled her to hurry along.
"What about Skinner?" Tom Sawyer asked in a whisper, looking behind him. No one had been able to find the invisible man since Quatermain had chased him out of his cabin. Now that the Nautilus had arrived in Venice and their mission was to begin, Skinner had abandoned them. He could be anywhere.
The American, and most of the others, were convinced he had intended to cause trouble all along. "I bet he's working for the Fantom."
"Just be alert for his treachery, young man," said Dorian Gray with a distasteful curl of his lip. "We all will. He's still hereabouts, somewhere, probably spying on us all. No telling what sort of mischief he still has in mind."
Suddenly, blazing light and thunderous explosions filled the sky. The sounds were like cannons, echoing off the water and ricocheting between the rows of buildings that lined the canals. Flowerpots and windows rattled. A another flash of light and accompanying bangs shot across the night sky.
Nemo's crewmen looked around and grabbed for their weapons. Most of the League members were horrified, but Tom Sawyer chuckled. "Shucks, it's just fireworks, the finale of the Carnival." Under the bright flashes and colored smoke, they could hear the revelers cheering.
"I feared the worst!" Mina said. "I thought we were too late, that the Fantom had already—"
"Don't worry, Ma'am. We still have a chance," Sawyer said.
The next explosion, however, was definitely not part of the Carnival.
With a ripping crash, an incredible eruption rocked the ground. Quatermam reeled, and Sawyer reached out to steady him. Mina Harker maintained her balance with feral grace, but Jekyll fell to his knees, clutching the solid ground. All around them, the ancient buildings shook. Windows shattered.
Two of Nemo's crewmen stumbled off the towpath and fell into the water.
Belches of escaping air and silt churned up from the canals. Jagged cracks ran up the building walls and along the length of the narrow towpath, widening as they watched. Flowerpots tumbled from high sills and bridges, splashing into the water.
Jekyll covered his head. Inside him, even the vestige of Edward Hyde was intimidated.
TWENTY THREE
Venice
Another explosion.
Exhausted and inebriated revelers fled screaming in all directions, stumbling into each other, falling to the paving stones, calling for help as they were buried under rubble. At Canzelli Tower, the center of the main detonation, smoke billowed up from cracked walkways. Water spouted from the old foundations like arterial blood.
The Fantoms' carefully positioned blast had dealt a death blow to the ancient landmark. Weaving like a dizzy ox, the tower collapsed and sank, taking down neighboring structures. People wailed and tried to escape as the streets convulsed, broke apart, and opened up to the hungry influx of water.
The shock wave spread through the surrounding piazza. Adjacent buildings slumped like failed souffle's, streets collapsed, and a tidal wave rose up to engulf the piazza, like the sinking of legendary Atlantis.
The world leaders in the secret conference room looked at each other in confusion and dismay. Guards drew their handguns and stood alert.
One guard raced to a window, flung open the shutters, and thrust his head and shoulders outside to look up. "It is terrible! The end of the world!" Before he could move, a heavy block of stone fell away from an upper floor, striking him a crushing blow; without so much as an outcry, he fell dead.
"Assassins!" bellowed the Russian. The tile floor split and rattled as the detonations continued. "Anarchists!"
The French ambassador ducked under the heavy table as the stuccoed ceiling overhead began to crack and flake. "We have been discovered. Betrayed! Someone is trying to kill us all."
"English treachery,"
snarled the German. "This meeting was no more than a ploy to bring us together so we could all be murdered in a single stroke!"
"Bloody German paranoia." The British representative was the only one who hadn't jumped out of his chair. "And I believe every man here will agree that it's a well-known Prussian technique to level a whole city just to kill a few gentlemen."
"I agree," the ambassador from France cried from under the heavy table. "After what the Prussians did to poor Paris and Emperor Napoleon III!"
A louder, resounding rumble made the tiled floor shudder. An ornate silver candelabra rattled, then fell over with a crash, scattering its lit candles in all directions. One of the guards, seeing a minor emergency within his means to handle, hurried forward to stamp out the small flames.
"My Venetia!" The Italian wailed and scrambled over to the guards who stood in the trembling doorways. Shouting a flow of incomprehensible words, he commanded them to hold up the walls and arches with their bare hands. The guards attempted to obey. A large terracotta planter fell from a shelf and shattered.
The lead ambassadors of both Spain and Portugal, usually rivals, joined the Frenchman under the table. Luckily, they had each rescued a bottle of wine that was intended as a celebratory toast after the successful conclusion of their deliberations. Agreeing on this, at least, the ambassadors decided to drink it now.
All around them, the destruction of Venice continued.
TWENTY FOUR
Venice
"The Fantom didn't wait for us," Tom Sawyer said. "Darn his itchy trigger finger."
Before the League members had even lost sight of the Nautilus in the tight confines of the canal, the buildings around them rumbled and shook. Crashing sounds and further explosions built upon each other, one at a time, like an urban avalanche.
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Page 11