Kevin Anderson - The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

"Enough stories," Nemo said. "We must be off on our journey."

Seeing nothing but the fog-shrouded pier and the murky Thames, Dorian Gray crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "Now what?"

At that moment, the jetty started to rumble. Bubbles began to boil in the black waters, accompanied by a bright submerged glow and a loud throbbing like massive muffled engines.

Nemo walked to the edge of the jetty, as if he meant to leap into the river itself. Instead, he stood at the brink, waiting. "Our transportation is forthcoming." As the splashing, churning noise increased, he turned to look at them with a secretive smile. "We will be in Paris soon."

"Is it a boat?" asked Sawyer. "I've been on a big paddle-wheel steamer on the Mississippi."

"Not that sort of boat, Mr. Sawyer, though it goes on water, if that's what you mean," Nemo said, facing the gathered companions. "And beneath it as well."

Behind him, a huge black conning tower broke the surface like a breaching whale. Nemo didn't flinch. The plated vessel rose up, gushing water as it climbed higher and higher, until its shape loomed over them.

"Whoa," said Sawyer.

But the conning tower was just the tip of the iceberg. High and long with elegant seafaring lines, the submarine boat surfaced majestically, splitting the surface of the Thames. Like the scales of an aquatic dragon, it was plated with white ceramic derived from the shells of mysterious crustaceans and encrusted with golden statues of Vishnu, Ganesh, and Shiva.

While the invisible man hung back from the mammoth boat in nervous uncertainty, Quatermain and Sawyer stepped forward together, amazed. Dorian Gray did not seem impressed, but Captain Nemo showed obvious pride. "Behold, Nautilus . The Sword of the Ocean."

The members of the League stood together at the end of the dock and watched the amazing colossus ease against the jetty. Massive rudders worked with exact precision, guiding it perfectly into place.

Once it had come to rest, exhaust vents opened with a sigh, and the Nautilus let out a breath of air.

So did each member of the League.

The creature bounded across tiled roof slopes, eaves, and chimney pots. His broad, bare feet slapped on the slats, and he made an impossible leap over a deep alley to an adjacent building. His clawed hands grasped for a hold on the gutter, and then he hauled himself onto the angled rooftop. A beasts brutish shadow momentarily showed in the moonlight, eclipsing the Eiffel Tower, then it sprang onward.

Its breath was heavy and wet, its grunting halfway between a howl of rage and a roar of victory. But first it had to escape the hunters. Its every muscular movement expressed exuberance for the chase, the hot pursuit — even though it was the quarry.

"This way!" Quatermain called, refusing to slow down. "Don't let him out of your sights."

"I've got 'im!" Tom Sawyer said. The two men hurried through the streets of Paris, close behind the monster, trying to track its movements as it charged overhead from rooftop to rooftop. "But I still don't see why our team needs a big monkey."

Out of breath but keeping pace with the young American agent, Quatermain said, "That big monkey's been terrorizing the Rue Morgue for months. Imagine the mayhem he'll give the enemy — if we can manage to get him on our side, that is."

The American swung his Winchester, searching for a target, then ran onward. "Well, I still think Inspector Dupin could have offered a bigger reward if he was so keen on stopping this beast."

"We all suffer from budgetary constraints, Sawyer. Welcome to the modern world."

Up ahead they saw movement in the moonlight. Quatermain signaled, but Sawyer had already seen. A large, malformed shape sprang with a heavy grunt from one building to the next. He landed heavily, sending loose roof tiles clattering down into the alleys.

Quatermain fired two shots to the left of the monster, shattering a narrow, crooked chimney. The gunshot sent the monster darting to the right as it reacted with animal instinct.

Gripping their rifles, the two men sped after the brute, trying to keep up as the monster bounded along the length of the shadowy conjoined roofs. They followed the sounds, tracked the monsters silhouette. Sawyer aimed vaguely in the direction of the inhumanly muscled figure and fired five shots in rapid succession. All to no effect.

Quatermain chided the young man for wasting ammunition. "If you can't do it with one bullet, lad, don't do it at all."

As if to prove his point, the old hunter fired at the monster. A section of roof decoration exploded in the beast-man's face, spraying tile shards and making the creature spin about and leap awkwardly to another rooftop across the street.

"He's doubled back!"

"Precisely. He doesn't know where we want him to go," Quatermain said. "Come on! We'll wrap this up soon."

Sawyer ran ahead of the older man around a left corner just as a stone angel came tumbling down from high above. "Look out!" Quatermain snatched the young man's arm and dragged him back as the statue smashed on the cobblestones, missing them by inches. "That was naughty of him."

"Thanks," Sawyer said. "Who does he think he is, Quasimodo?"

"Keep your eyes open, boy! This isn't a coon hunt, and I can't protect you all the time." Quatermain sniffed the air. "Ah, but he's afraid. It won't be long now, mark my words."

"I can't smell anything." Sawyer drew an exaggerated sniff. "Just the gutters."

"Shhh." Quatermain put his ear up against the moist brick wall and listened for vibrations. He waited for a moment, then stepped out of cover, aimed upward, and fired a series of perfect shots, driving the monster out of the shadows. The beast roared a challenge, lifting clawed hands, but Quatermain fired again, once more barely missing.

Each well-aimed shot was about a hair away from the beast, and each impact sent plaster and brick exploding around its misshapen head. The monster had no choice but to back away, trying to dodge the attack. Each bullet drove the creature closer and closer to a steeply tiled roof that sloped into a cul-de-sac. A carefully orchestrated trap.

Finally, predictably, the beast leaped and landed with broad bare feet on the dew-slick tiles of the steep roof. His thick, blunt toenails were like spatulas carved out of horn.

As the monster scrambled for purchase, Quatermain paused below and lifted his trusty elephant gun Matilda. He aimed and fired the perfect coup de grace — not at the cornered brute, but at a sagging gutter upon which all the tiles depended.

With a thunderous, shattering clatter, the tiles slid off en masse, like an avalanche. High above, the howling monster tried to scramble up. His clawed hands tried to get a hold on the sliding surface. Finally, he snatched at a chimney pot with long clawed fingers and strained with iron-cable sinews — but the pot itself broke free with a groan. Airborne, the monster tumbled into the cul-de-sac.

"Perfect," Quatermain said. He pulled out a flare gun and launched a blooming phosphorus flower high into the night sky of Paris. "Now we've got him."

The light of the flare illuminated the stunned monster as he sprawled grunting and twitching on the hard ground. With an inhuman groan, the beast lifted its head up, cradling its temples from the pain of the impact.

"We've got to get there before it moves!" Sawyer said.

"Not to worry for now. Captain Nemo rigged up a little surprise."

As it tried to regain its feet, the huge, man-shaped thing began to realize it had fallen on top of a thin mesh of wire and rope — a hidden net that suddenly activated. With a sound like an overstressed spring breaking loose, the net shot upward, engulfing and lifting its prey.