Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History Of A Dark Genius Part 11

Using the stealth and meticulous care he had developed as a hunter on the island, Nemo climbed the side of the s.h.i.+p, finding footholds on the rough hull planks, pulling himself up by portholes and the hinged starboard gunports.

He hauled himself over the deck railing and crouched behind a tall coil of rope. Tense and completely alert, he knelt on a bloodied grating, over which the pirate captain must have flogged his poorly disciplined crew. A gunshot rang out, and Nemo ducked, sure that he'd been caught, ready to fight and make a full accounting of himself. But then he heard the hooting laughter of the pirates celebrating their victory.

Most of them must be up on deck, celebrating, now that the cannons had ceased firing. Without being seen, he scampered to a hatch and climbed down into the rank-smelling shadows. A satisfied and confident smile stole across Nemo's face as he calculated what he could do, how much damage he could cause. The pirates would rue this day.

Experiencing an eerie deja vu, he hurried down the ladder into the main hold. He knew knew this s.h.i.+p, had lived aboard her for two years. The this s.h.i.+p, had lived aboard her for two years. The Coralie Coralie had been his home as much as Ile Feydeau or his Granite House cave. He remembered where his bunk had been, as well as those of the first mate, the carpenters, and sailmakers. Most importantly, Nemo remembered where the gunpowder was stored, where kegs of explosive black powder were stacked in the heart of the s.h.i.+p, s.h.i.+elded from outside attack. had been his home as much as Ile Feydeau or his Granite House cave. He remembered where his bunk had been, as well as those of the first mate, the carpenters, and sailmakers. Most importantly, Nemo remembered where the gunpowder was stored, where kegs of explosive black powder were stacked in the heart of the s.h.i.+p, s.h.i.+elded from outside attack.

But the protected stores were not proof against an infiltrator like himself.

Saddened by what he found himself forced to do with Captain Grant's fine s.h.i.+p, he cracked open one of the casks and spilled the sharp-smelling black grains over the decking and then ran a trail around the other barrels, so that all the kegs would ignite simultaneously.

Noseless kept a full storeroom of explosives. With a bitter grimace, Nemo realized that a pirate s.h.i.+p needed to use its cannons far more often than a research vessel like Captain Grant's. The scarred captain's additional stockpile would bring about the pirates' doom.

He took a smaller cask of gunpowder and walked backward, leaving a long dark line all the way to the ladder. He could still hear the pirates reveling up on deck; apparently none of them felt any grief for the loss of their devoured comrades, nor did they leave the s.h.i.+p to investigate the dinosaur's carca.s.s.

Kneeling, Nemo removed his flint and steel. When he struck them against each other, the clinking sound rang out -- but the squeezeboxes and singing and laughter from three decks above were far too loud for any of the pirates to hear him. Finally, a spark flew from the dagger blade and landed in the black powder. Igniting with a fountain of gold flecks, the flame ate along the fuse line faster than a rapid walk.

Foregoing all pretense of caution or silence, Nemo scrambled up the ladder, past the second deck, then through the hatch into the open air. He burst out between two drunken pirates, who reeled backward with a cry of astonishment. Nemo took advantage of their disorientation and ducked past them, shoving with the flat of his hand. One of the pirates grabbed his arm, but he whirled like a cobra and sank his teeth into the man's knuckles like a vicious animal. The pirate yelped and released him.

Standing at the quarterdeck, Noseless saw the young man. "Get him!" Only then did the brigand captain look over at the deck hatch, as if wondering what Nemo had been doing below, where a wisp of smoke curled up. His cadaverous face changed, and his scarred visage held a look of horror. "Down below! Get to the powder storeroom." But the pirates didn't understand his urgency.

As the raiders closed in, Nemo threw himself overboard. It was a long drop to the sea, but he didn't care. He tumbled, landing feet first with a splash and sinking deep. Then he swam underwater as far as he could; when he finally surfaced, several pirates stood on the deck, blasting with their pistols. But their aim was off in the dark, and lead b.a.l.l.s splashed all around him in the lagoon.

Nemo swam desperately to get away, mentally counting down. He looked over his shoulder, wondering how much time remained. Noseless stood on the Coralie Coralie's deck in the same spot where Nemo had last seen Captain Grant.

Then all the powder kegs exploded.

The shockwave punched him like a gigantic fist, hurling Nemo through the water toward the sh.o.r.e. The concussion knocked the wind out of him and made his ears ring, but still he thrashed closer to the shelter of the mangrove swamp.

Splintered wood showered the water like Roman candles. He heard the wails and screams of dying men. The Coralie Coralie burned, flames racing up the rigging and the sails -- a complete inferno. The end of Captain Grant's abused s.h.i.+p, the end of the pirates. burned, flames racing up the rigging and the sails -- a complete inferno. The end of Captain Grant's abused s.h.i.+p, the end of the pirates.

Shaky, battered, and nearly deaf, Nemo made his way into the thick mangrove swamps. Panting as he held a k.n.o.bby root, he watched the s.h.i.+p burn and sink. In the flickering orange firelight, he saw no survivors, no men swimming for sh.o.r.e or clinging to flotsam and groaning for help. The pirates had been taken by surprise, and they had paid the ultimate price.

The lack of mercy bothered Nemo not a bit.

He gradually got his breath back. He had protected his home and his island, but most of all he was proud to have avenged the murder of Captain Grant. For that, he was thankful.

xi

Over the following afternoon, Nemo a.s.sessed the damage the pirates had done to his home in only two days.

His storage sheds had been burned to the ground, the corral torn apart, his vegetable garden uprooted and trampled. Using green vines as crude ropes, he lowered himself down the cliff face into the ruins of Granite House. His caves had been gutted, everything breakable smashed to pieces. Malicious vandalism, not because the pirates wanted anything of his.

Where he had hidden it in an alcove, he found the journal he had so diligently kept during his isolation. With tears in his dark eyes, he flipped through the intact pages that described his daily tribulations. It had taken him years to put everything together here. . . .

How he hated the pirates!

Later, Nemo sat by himself on the beach, knees drawn up to his chin. With the first dinosaur attack, Noseless had retrieved the longboats from beach, stranding his own men on the island, and those boats had burned with the Coralie Coralie.

Nemo listened to the sighing water out by the sheltering reefs, and realized he simply did not have the heart to begin all over again. He clutched the logbook to his chest, remembering how it had saved him from a sword thrust long ago. The written words were all that remained of those years of his life, now that his home had been ruined.

Nemo retrieved enough food from his hidden supplies to make a meal for himself. Then he spent hours just smelling the bitter odor of smoke and listening to the lonely wind as he contemplated what to do.

The Coralie Coralie had been destroyed. He supposed a few surviving pirates might still be lost in the jungles, raiders who had survived the depredations of the dinosaur. If they came after him, Nemo would fight. But he would rather avoid the brigands altogether. had been destroyed. He supposed a few surviving pirates might still be lost in the jungles, raiders who had survived the depredations of the dinosaur. If they came after him, Nemo would fight. But he would rather avoid the brigands altogether.

Once again, Andre Nemo was about to start clean with his life, just as when he had signed on aboard Captain Grant's s.h.i.+p after the death of his father. Now, though, without the driving juggernaut of vengeance in his heart, he felt empty, aimless. He could do anything he desired now, without being tied down. . . .

The strange cavern that had opened up on the side of the volcano intrigued him. Numerous caves and pa.s.sages riddled the island, extending deep into the Earth -- but the huge dinosaur had emerged from that place. What sort of subterranean world lurked beneath this island?

With the new morning, Nemo hiked up to the cave and stared at the wide opening. From inside wafted strange and lush smells, humid air with a taint of sulfur, mixed with the freshness of thick vegetation. Fog crept out of the cave mouth, and faint light came from a glow down the steep pa.s.sage.

Nemo knew that he must investigate this place. It was what Captain Grant would have done, to see, to explore, to learn.

From the tales he and Jules Verne had told each other during their imaginative musings, the theories they had read, as well as discussions he'd had aboard the Coralie Coralie, Nemo was no stranger to the idea that the Earth might be hollow, that a new world lay waiting to be explored beneath the crust. To explain the magnetic phenomena of the Earth's poles, the renowned astronomer Edmund Halley had hypothesized a hollow world composed of concentric spheres rotating like a dynamo around a small central sun, and the American soldier John Cleves Symmes had recently repopularized the idea.

Now Nemo had a chance to test it for himself. He didn't know where these tunnels might take him, whether they led to pa.s.sages extending beneath the ocean floor . . . or even to the center of the Earth.

He did not undertake such a journey lightly. He secured every useful item he could bring, found a sc.r.a.p of rope from the s.h.i.+p wreckage and even retrieved two cutla.s.ses and a brace of pistols that the pirates had dropped during their flight from the dinosaur.

He st.i.tched together a satchel made of burnt sc.r.a.ps of sailcloth that had washed ash.o.r.e from the wreck of the Coralie Coralie. He would carry torches coated with sulfur and dried resin, though he could not bring enough to guide his way for long. He hoped that the greenish underground illumination would remain steady enough for him to find his way.

Nemo sliced flesh from the fallen dinosaur's carca.s.s, cooked and tasted the meat. Although it was bitter, the flesh seemed nouris.h.i.+ng enough and in plentiful supply. Anxious to go, he didn't want to take the time to hunt other game, so he built a green, smoky fire and cured strips of the reptile meat, which he wrapped in fresh leaves and packed in his satchel.

His final and most important task was to tear out the writing-covered pages from his journal. He rolled them into a tight tube, which he then inserted into the empty brandy bottle he had kept for so long. He added a note instructing whoever found this message to deliver it to his friend Jules Verne in Nantes, France. He sealed the bottle and went to the end of the lagoon.

When the strongest current of the tide went out, he gripped the bottle, knowing there was virtually no chance in all the vast oceans that this message would ever see its intended reader. But he had beaten the odds before.

He hurled the bottle into the waves, watched it bob on the surface for some minutes and float away. He hoped it would drift into the s.h.i.+pping lanes. For a long time he'd clung to nothing more than hope. . . but hope had served him well enough over the years.

Taking his satchel, Nemo climbed the volcanic slopes to the intriguing cave opening. He took one last look around him at the sh.o.r.es that had encompa.s.sed his world for so long, and then he turned toward the mystery ahead.

Nemo ventured into the cave, not knowing if he would ever come back.

Part IV

A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE.

i

Nantes, 1848.

Caroline Aronnax stood at the head of the crowd on the docks, wearing her best silk gown, her finest lace cuffs, and her proudest expression. Her whalebone corset was laced up so that she stood as straight as the masts on the exploration s.h.i.+p about to depart. On the street beside the quays, a band played lively patriotic tunes. Spectators cheered and howled for Captain Hatteras.

"I am so happy for you, my dear," Madame Aronnax said, touching her daughter's shoulder. "You must be very proud of your captain."

Marie stood apart from Caroline in the crowd, craning her neck to get a better view; Madame Aronnax insisted it would be unseemly for a mere maid to wait too closely beside her mistress on this momentous occasion. Caroline had to wish her new husband farewell with all due decorum.

Tied up to the dock, the freshly painted Forward Forward creaked in the afternoon breeze. Her copper-plated hull would provide greater durability for cras.h.i.+ng through layers of polar ice. A gangplank extended to the dock, but the crew had already boarded. The previous days had been busy as deck workers loaded crates of supplies. creaked in the afternoon breeze. Her copper-plated hull would provide greater durability for cras.h.i.+ng through layers of polar ice. A gangplank extended to the dock, but the crew had already boarded. The previous days had been busy as deck workers loaded crates of supplies.

As was his custom, the Mayor of Nantes arrived in a spectacular carriage drawn by four white horses. White-clad coachmen drove the omnibus, and a postilion (also dressed in white) sat astride the front left horse. While rattling across the paving stones, the turning wheels actuated an internal music box that sent out tinkling chimes. These extravagant contraptions, called 'White Ladies,' reminded her of something Jules Verne might have imagined for his amusing stories.

Investors and newspapermen stood beneath crepe streamers, lecturing on the potential of this voyage of discovery. Some voiced proud optimism that Captain Hatteras, of all men, would find the fabled Northwest Pa.s.sage.

The uninspired but enthusiastic band played the French national anthem. Standing in the crowd, Caroline wished she were at her pianoforte instead, composing an original piece for the Forward Forward's departure, a grand explorers' march. At the moment, though, her job was simply to remain visible and look beautiful -- nothing more. Once Hatteras departed, she could reshape her life and accomplish more than she'd been able to do under her mother's thumb.

She was the fresh young bride of the great captain. Her parents stood with her, the successful merchant and his wife, beaming with pride as they stared at the well-provisioned s.h.i.+p. Caroline had married her sea captain only the day before and had seen him for no more than ten minutes this entire morning. They had spent their wedding night together, and once again Caroline had performed to the expectations that others forced upon her, but she still did not know this man who was now her husband. She wouldn't miss Hatteras a hundredth as much as she missed her long-lost Andre Nemo.

Hatteras had graying hair, mutton-chop sideburns, and a face weathered from years facing the salty wind -- but worst of all, she did not know know him. Other than her father's records of his business dealings, Caroline had discovered little about her new husband's past. According to M. Aronnax, the good captain's accomplishments and glories should have made any young woman proud. But Hatteras was twenty-five years her senior. He'd been married twice before, and both wives had died from fever while he was away at sea. She didn't know his sense of humor or his personality, had never even asked if the man liked him. Other than her father's records of his business dealings, Caroline had discovered little about her new husband's past. According to M. Aronnax, the good captain's accomplishments and glories should have made any young woman proud. But Hatteras was twenty-five years her senior. He'd been married twice before, and both wives had died from fever while he was away at sea. She didn't know his sense of humor or his personality, had never even asked if the man liked music music.

Caroline wouldn't get an opportunity to know him either, not for a long time. Hatteras would take his s.h.i.+p out with the afternoon's outgoing tide. Even given the most favorable winds and the best weather possible, she would not see her husband again for at least two years, probably more than that.

No doubt Captain Hatteras had women in other ports, as was traditional for seafarers who sailed around the world, but he seemed little interested in romance. His entire life focused upon finding a trade route around the north pole. Perhaps his heart was as cold as the arctic seas he intended to explore.

Yet Caroline had married him. She had spoken the vows before G.o.d, and before witnesses. Years ago, she had made promises to Nemo, and she had meant them at the time -- but Nemo was gone, and her life would never be the same. She had to accept his loss. Hatteras was her husband now.

She had slept with him in a strange bed, in a strange house. An unfamiliar man in the darkness, he had been businesslike and oddly pa.s.sionless for a man with a new young bride. Caroline had closed her eyes, tried to imagine being with Nemo instead of Captain Hatteras, but that did not help. The feelings were disappointing, and she did not want to diminish the fantasy lover in her mind. And so she found their marriage consummated, herself no longer a virgin, the wife of a sea captain who would be gone for months or years at a time.

Caroline's path had been set, regardless of her private dreams and ambitions -- impossible fantasies for a woman of her social standing in this place, in this time. She would be expected to remain home and while away the hours, as a good wife should. But she had other plans.

It would have made her miserable, had she meekly accepted society's expectations. But Caroline Aronnax had always made her own expectations, and she had learned from Nemo never to listen to the impossible. Nemo had insisted that she could do whatever she set her mind to.

Married, but with her husband far away, Caroline thought her new situation might offer her a freedom that she'd never experienced before. As wife and head of the household, she controlled the captain's finances -- enough money to make her wealthy. She would live in Hatteras's home on rue Kervegan, where she could spend every day in her own pursuits. She'd hire private tutors, not only for music and art (neither of which would raise eyebrows), but also to study business. In particular, she wanted to learn about s.h.i.+pping manifests and accounting practices so she could help her overworked father at his merchant offices.

Yes, as far as she was concerned, Captain Hatteras could stay away from Nantes for as long as he wished. What could have become a trap for other women, Caroline considered to be an opportunity opportunity.

Cannons blasted as Captain Hatteras and his first mate strode in full naval attire down the docks and up the gangplank. The gruff captain waved to the a.s.sembled spectators before tipping his broad black hat toward where Caroline stood waiting for him. She even managed to show some tears, though they were not for Hatteras, but for a young man gone long ago . . . gone along with so many shared dreams. With an eerie sense of disorientation, she wondered if her husband even recognized who she was. . . .

Caroline thought of her younger years, of the wild childhood dreams she had shared with Andre Nemo and Jules Verne . . . and especially of that special night that had changed her forever, the enthusiastic promises she and Nemo had exchanged. Together, the three of them had bolstered each other's optimism, made it seem that she truly could write her own music or run her father's s.h.i.+pping business, that Verne could become a famous writer, that Nemo could sail the uncharted seas.

But they had drifted apart, and they had each failed their own fantasies.

Though Caroline wished Jules Verne could have been here, the young redhead had already gone off to Paris to begin training for his law degree. She understood why the lovestruck young man had wanted to make himself scarce during her wedding. She felt sorry for Verne, and promised herself that she would do everything in her power to help him achieve his dreams. With Nemo lost at sea, Jules Verne was the only kindred spirit she had left. . . .

The mayor of Nantes stepped up to a hastily erected podium and extended his ponderous congratulations and well wishes (as he had no doubt been paid to do by the Forward Forward's investors). Accompanied by more cheering, dock workers cast off the ropes, and the copper-plated Forward Forward drifted into the current. Crew members pressed against the deck rails and waved back at the citizens of Nantes as the s.h.i.+p began to descend the Loire. drifted into the current. Crew members pressed against the deck rails and waved back at the citizens of Nantes as the s.h.i.+p began to descend the Loire.

Caroline watched them, feeling strangely invisible. Streamers and confetti fell around her, cl.u.s.tering in damp wads on the dock planks or floating waterlogged in the river. The crowd jostled her, talking loudly, laughing. She dried her eyes.

Such a large s.h.i.+p. So many sailors. Caroline thought of all the warm clothes and supplies the men had squirreled away in the cargo holds. Before long, they would be facing a frozen white wasteland, searching for a pa.s.sage that had already killed many other explorers in the past. Did the Forward Forward have any better chance of succeeding? have any better chance of succeeding?

As the s.h.i.+p entered the current, she watched the silhouette of proud Captain Hatteras at the wheel, facing westward. Finally, as an afterthought, he turned toward her and gave a brief salute before returning to his duty.

Caroline waved farewell, but she never knew whether he had seen her.

ii

Following his instincts and knowing he might never see daylight again, Nemo trudged downhill into the newly opened cave. The tunnels wound deep into the Earth, knotted and twisted like malformed worm burrows.

And still he kept going.

The Earth itself seemed to breathe, drawing air from above to fill the caverns below. Noting the direction of the torch flame, he followed the air currents. That was what Captain Grant would have done.

Many of the catacombs dead-ended. At times, the eerie light from glittering crystals and phosph.o.r.escent algaes faded inside the still pa.s.sageways. He lit one of his precious torches and continued to explore, making marks on the walls at turning points with soft, chalky stones he picked up from the floor.

The existence of the predatory dinosaur that had emerged from the cave proved that some new world must lay hidden: a living, lush environment, separate from the mysterious island above. And if these tunnels did lead into the bowels of the Earth, they might also let Nemo travel beneath the ocean's crust. He might emerge in a different place . . . perhaps one closer to civilization.

Nemo kept trudging downward, always downward.

When his first torch finally gave out, instead of lighting another, he realized that the phosph.o.r.escence now provided enough delicate illumination. Over the hours, his pupils widened to gather every sc.r.a.p of light. He also became more adept at finding his way through the blurred shadows by listening to the echoes that came back to him as he walked.

When he was too tired to continue, Nemo sat down and drank a sip from his waterskin, ate dried dinosaur meat, and then slept, his sleep haunted by questions and impossibilities, and memories of lost friends. When he awoke refreshed, he continued his plodding journey downward, ever deeper.

On the next "day," he found a trickling stream that emerged from a crack in the granite wall, a warm spring far beneath the Earth. When Nemo tasted it, the flavor was rich with minerals, and so he refilled his water skin. If he ate sparingly, the dried meat and other supplies in his pack would last him for many days. Though he had only two more torches, he continued long past the point where he could be confident of returning. Nemo had decided to risk everything and did not regret the direction he had taken.

He followed the stream as it chose the path of least resistance through the sloping stone floor until the warm water, joined by other springs and trickles, became a roiling creek that ran along one side of the tunnel.

Nemo jogged down the steepening slope, picking up speed until the stream hooked to the left and disappeared under a shoulder-high arch eroded through the stone wall. The water was like a heated bath on his feet. He splashed along, ducking under the low arch. After wading through, Nemo emerged into a chamber so vast that he windmilled his arms to maintain his balance.

The warm aquifer gushed through the wall opening and plunged over a precipice into a thundering waterfall. Spray washed up, echoing within the vaulted grotto like music in the nave of a cathedral. The cavern reflected soundwaves back at him with such intensity that he could not guess its boundaries. The bottomless pit in front of him was an open mouth greedily drinking of the water.

Nemo made his precarious way along a narrow rock ledge to a forest of dripping stalact.i.tes, which he grasped in order to steady himself. Removing one of the unlit torches from his pack, he worked with flint and steel to light it. He held his breath as the blaze took hold around the firebrand, then he raised it up.

Dancing light spread through a grotto filled with more wonders than he had ever imagined. Immense faceted crystals jutted from the stone walls, dripped like tears from the ceiling, and flashed in the firelight: a treasure more breathtaking than the combined wealth of Pirate Roberts, Captain Kidd, and Blackbeard. On the side nearest him, a waterfall of stone kept timeless pace with the pouring cascade of mineralized water that had led Nemo through the arch.