The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

perhaps he simply saw deeper to an inner rot in Dorian Grays
ancestors.
    Farther along the wall, though, a single portrait was prominently missing.
The vacant spot was like a shout.
    "You seem to have lost a picture, Mr. Gray," Quatermain said.
    "And you don't miss a thing, do you, Mr. Quatermain?" Gray walked along,
running fingers through his thick hair as if admiring it; he didn't seem to feel
that any additional answer was necessary.
    "Maybe someone stole it," Skinner muttered under his breath.
    They entered an impressive library, lined floor-to-ceiling with shelves and
shelves of leatherbound books. Sliding ladders on rails ran up the walls,
extending to even higher alcoves, and a spiral staircase led to a loft in the
immense room. The chairs, vases, and furniture were all of the most stylish and
expensive variety. Dorian Gray certainly enjoyed his material pleasures.
    Removing his rain-wet hat and leaving a gaping emptiness where the top and
back of his head should have been, Skinner zeroed in on the drinks trolley.
"Scotch, anyone? Ah, an excellent double-malt. Pricey!"
    "Yes. Please. Help yourself," said Gray.
    Gaslight radiated through the invisible man's greasepaint mask. With gloved
hands he poured a large tumbler of scotch and drank it in gulps. The fluid was
visible as it poured down his throat and pooled in his stomach. "Ah, nice and
smokey! Burns as it goes down. Care for a snort, Quatermain?"
    "At least it isn't sherry."
    Nemo watched the transparent thief's performance, but seemed more curious
about Dorian Gray's complete lack of surprise. "You take Skinner's uniqueness in
your stride."
    Sounding bored, Gray led them to a sitting area where a roaring fire blazed.
"Yes, well, I spent many years seeking new pleasures and unique experiences. And
I did them all. By now, I've seen too much in my life to shock easily." He
picked up a poker and stabbed at the burning logs like a hunter slaughtering his
kill. Sparks flew from the grate as he turned to Mina, who stood behind a
high-backed leather chair. "Although, I must say, I was surprised to see you
again."
    Mina answered with equal parts venom and sarcasm, "When our last parting was
such sweet sorrow, Dorian?"
    "Meow," Skinner said, dutifully handing a drink to Quatermain after pouring a
second Scotch for himself. Both glasses were very full of the amber liquid.
    Their host looked as if nothing in the world could penetrate his cool
composure, or bother him in the least. "Ah, so you're merely meant as an
enticement to me, Mina. M must be losing his touch."
    Skinner said, "I read the papers, Mr. Gray. Wasn't there some sort of
business with you and Oscar Wilde? Before his numerous… er, troubles with the
press, eh?"
    "Mr. Wilde and I are no longer on speaking terms, and I'm afraid it ended
badly." Gray turned with a flicker of anger that made him look incalculably old,
but the invisible man did not know when to stop.
    "Was it his fondness for the highlife?"
    Gray snapped at him. "I have no fear of hedonism. I simply lost my tolerance
for Mr. Wilde's immeasurable ego. Nothing about him warrants my further
interest."
    He seated himself in the comfortable chair in front of the fire and crossed a
leg over his other knee, dangling his exotic slipper close to the flames. He
looked up at the older adventurer, raising his eyebrows. "Nevertheless,
your
presence intrigues me, Mina. And Quatermain. They say you're
indestructible. They say you ve survived enough exploits to kill a hundred
men."
    "A bit of hyperbole." Embarrassed, Quatermain took another sip of his Scotch,
noting that it was indeed quite good, far superior to anything Bruce at the
lamented Britannia Club had ever served. "Well, a witch doctor did bless me
once… I saved his village. He said that Africa would never allow me to die."
    "Ah, but you're not in Africa now," said Gray.
    "No. Therefore, I'd best be careful."
    Mina leaned over Gray's chair and looked down at his