Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History Of A Dark Genius Part 19

She heard a gunshot and then a second, but even from her high vantage she could see nothing, could not tell what Fergusson was doing. Caroline imagined the English explorer fighting off ferocious beasts to rescue Nemo . . . though somehow she doubted that was true.

By the time she finished removing the outer balloon and climbed back into the Victoria Victoria's expansive basket, she heard a rustle in the branches and saw Fergusson returning. Tied to his belt were two ducks he had shot. "I've replenished our food supplies." He tossed them into the basket as he climbed aboard himself.

"But what about Andre?" she said.

He blinked at her as if in surprise, then shook his head. "Ah! No sign of him."

vii

Nemo managed to tread water long enough to catch his breath, and then he began to swim. The warm lake made him feel heavy and sluggish. He hoped to find an island in the huge shallow body, but low mists had risen from the surface of the water, and he could not see into the distance. He swam blindly, hoping he wasn't heading farther from the safety of sh.o.r.e. Creatures moved within Lake Tchad -- eels or snakes, even submerged crocodiles.

Twice he called out for help. His hoa.r.s.e shout echoed in the air, reflected mockingly back at him. Finally, he heard soft sounds, a synchronous chant, and a splash of paddles in the water. He swam toward the noises. Before long, as the lake mists thickened, he spotted a long canoe filled with dark-skinned native fishermen gliding toward him. Nemo called out, hoping for rescue.

With a flurry of dipped oars, the canoes drew up beside the strange white man who had fallen from the sky. The boatmen seemed very excited. Their skin was remarkably smooth and ebony-colored, their attractive faces like statues with wide mouths and flat noses; gold ornamentation pierced their ears. They spoke in a musical-sounding language unfamiliar to Nemo. His French and his English would do him no good here in the heart of Africa.

Exhausted, drenched, and completely lost, he grasped the side of the canoe. The men said something to him, then consulted amongst themselves. Then, with such powerful muscles they seemed to be lifting a leaf, the fishermen hauled him out of the water and into their boat.

Nemo lay panting among the nets and fish. The fishermen began to sing again, dipping their paddles in the water with even, effective strokes. The canoe shot across the lake.

The boatmen made no threatening gestures with their fishing spears, though they could easily have clubbed him and thrown him back into Lake Tchad for the crocodiles. Even so, Nemo saw a hardness in their onyx eyes, a predatory gleam that made him suspicious.

He knew there were many tribes, many nations in Africa, often at war with each other -- some brave and honorable, some treacherous . . . just like all the other men he had known. He did not yet know to which category these fishermen belonged. Nemo drew a deep breath and coughed out water. At least his sacrifice had allowed the Victoria Victoria to fly on. No matter what happened, Caroline was safe. to fly on. No matter what happened, Caroline was safe.

The fishermen took the canoe into channels through the swamps. The ground became drier, and real gra.s.ses and shrubs replaced the marshy reeds, until the channel became a stream flowing out of Lake Tchad. Ahead, Nemo saw a village of reed huts, thatched roofs, and stockades made of thorn branches.

Women chattered with great enthusiasm, welcoming the return of the fishermen. The man at the prow of the canoe loosed a musical cry. Then Nemo heard a startling gunshot, which seemed out of place in this wilderness. In the canoe, the boatmen took on harder expressions, and he felt even more uneasy. Nemo wished he could speak to the natives and ask their intentions, but for now, he waited stoically to see what fate had in store for him.

The canoe came to sh.o.r.e, and two boatmen leaped out to hold it steady while the others disembarked. Nemo climbed out after them, glad to stand on dry land again, though his knees quivered.

The men surrounded Nemo, then led him roughly along a worn footpath to the center of the village. Other villagers stared at the strange, pale-skinned captive. Two zebras pranced inside a th.o.r.n.y stockade; Nemo had no idea whether they had been captured as riding animals or beasts of burden . . . or just for food. Children sat in the dirt playing with twigs. Women wove fabric or pounded millet into flour.

Then with a chill he saw a group of narrow-faced men with pointed beards. They wore billowy garments with flowing burnouses, and swords thrust into sashes at their waists. By their lighter skin, Nemo recognized them as notorious slavers from northern Africa.

At the edge of the village, he saw dozens of people, obviously from a different tribe, chained together and tethered to the thick trees. Some of them huddled in the shade, others sat miserably in the hot, equatorial sun.

Before he could struggle, the fishermen grabbed Nemo's arms. He thrashed and kicked and yelled, to no avail. One of them cuffed him on the side of the head, making his vision spin. The slavers looked over at Nemo and raised their eyebrows in curiosity. They nodded with appreciation, then spoke in a guttural language which some of the natives seemed to understand.

One of the fishermen held out his hand for payment while the rest threw Nemo inside a small hut. He surged to his feet, fists clenched to attack, but the natives barricaded the door in his face.

Seeing red, Nemo growled through the thin walls, "I am not a slave." He didn't know if any of the others understood him, but he certainly comprehended their sharp, nasal laughter from outside.

viii

When the stripped-down balloon was ready to fly again, Caroline and Dr. Fergusson waited for a day, hoping Nemo would somehow make his way to them. The Victoria Victoria bobbed in the sky like a beacon; he should have been able to see them even from a great distance. bobbed in the sky like a beacon; he should have been able to see them even from a great distance.

But still, he didn't arrive.

Caroline scanned the trees, the lake, the horizon, yet saw no sign of him. So, when the breezes changed and tugged them back in the opposite direction, she made up her mind. "If we take advantage of these winds, we shall drift back to Lake Tchad. It's our only chance."

"We no longer have the means to control our direction, Madame," Fergusson pointed out. "We cannot easily find new air currents. Indeed, we must go wherever the breezes take us."

Caroline's eyes were set with determination. "And now the breezes will blow us toward where we need to be. Nemo should spot us, and I know he can find a way to draw attention to himself . . . somehow."

Seeing her forceful expression, Dr. Fergusson climbed down the ladder to disengage the grappling hook. The Victoria Victoria, as if anxious to be off, sprang into the sky as he climbed back up, mopping sweat from his brow.

Free again, the balloon wandered eastward across the sky like a drunkard, following the vagaries of breezes. Caroline refused to relinquish her grip on the spygla.s.s, scanning for any sign of her lost Nemo. She knew that if they didn't find him soon, before the prevailing winds began pushing them the opposite direction, she and the doctor would have no opportunity to return here.

At last, she made out the metal-blue haze of Lake Tchad on the horizon. Now they merely had hundreds of uncharted miles to search for one lone man.

ix

Nemo stared through the cracks in the dry thatch of his prison hut. The cruelty and injustice he saw made his blood simmer, and he focused his iron thoughts on escaping.

The other slaves, taken as spoils of battle in intertribal warfare, seemed crushed in spirit and unwilling to escape. Heartbroken, their villages destroyed, their relatives murdered in battle, they had nothing left to run to, no possibility for peace even if they escaped. The slavers had destroyed their very will to live.

But Nemo could still think, and he could still fight.

Ruthless slave merchants took captives to the coast, where they were sold in great markets such as the one at Zanzibar. The practice was so prevalent that the western edge of Africa bore the label "ebony coast," a euphemism for the slaves sold to Portuguese and Dutch ships.

Here, many of the hopeless women and children tied to the thorn trees were emaciated from a long trek across the wilderness. But Nemo was still healthy and strong. He would never be more fit. If he had to fight his way out, there could be no better time.

The hut enclosing him was not st.u.r.dy, with a floor of pounded earth -- as if the slavers expected no outright resistance. Though Nemo had no knife, he knew he could break out. The main question was where he would go afterward. Where could he run? By now, if his sacrifice had meant anything, the Victoria Victoria would be long gone, far away . . . and Caroline would be safe. would be long gone, far away . . . and Caroline would be safe.

The slavers gathered their horses and paid the villagers, making ready to depart at dawn the next day. Accompanying them, Nemo would be shackled and dragged along. Once the slavers put him in chains with the others and set off for the slave markets, he would never have a chance. It had to be tonight.

He sat motionless, studying everything around him, until he developed his plan. He didn't have the luxury of choosing among options.

At nightfall, the women built large cooking fires, and the visiting slavers feasted with their allies. Though the narrow-faced slavers restrained themselves, the fishermen drank millet beer from clay urns. Nemo ate the watery fish soup an old village woman gave him through the door of his prison hut.

During the loudest part of the revels, he found a sharp stone on the floor of his hut and sawed at the vine lashings holding the back wall together. Then Nemo waited until well past midnight, when silence hung thick around the village. Hoping he could move quietly enough to get away, he parted the back joinings of the hut. With a loud crackling noise, he pushed through and stood in the open again. Free. Free.

Though his heart felt heavy at his inability to cut all the other captives loose, he knew they would be hunted down and killed, and would raise enough noise and alarm that none of them would get away. The vile slavers had horses, and the wilderness would be filled with predators. Nemo had no choice but to leave them here, resigned to their fates.

If he ran on foot into the jungle, though, he would not get far. Instead, Nemo made his way to the crude stockade, where he inspected the two captive zebras. The animals twitched their tails and snorted, moving back and forth.

Knowing he could be caught at any second, Nemo removed the th.o.r.n.y bars from the corral's closure. The striped animals backed away from him, but he approached slowly, trying to be calm. Not daring to risk even a soothing whisper, Nemo crept closer to one of them. In the starlight, the animal's black and white markings rippled like an apparition. Its mane was short and bristly.

The first animal trotted away, discovered the opening in the corral, and bolted out into the open. The second zebra, seeing its companion flee, decided to do the same. Nemo sprang toward it, throwing his arms around its muscular neck. He had no halter or saddle, but he had desperation. He grasped the stiff hair of its mane and hauled himself onto its back.

The zebra squealed as if a lion had clawed it, then bounded forward with the speed of terror. Nemo held on, low over the zebra's neck, squeezing its ribs with his thighs. He had no way to exert control -- so the zebra just ran, galloping out of the village.

Behind him came the outcries of the wakened villagers. Gunshots barked into the night. Hunched low, Nemo kept riding, slapping the animal into greater speed, until the turmoil faded into the distance. The zebra plunged into the tree shadows and tall gra.s.ses, fleeing the marsh onto solid ground, toward the plains where it knew to roam. . . .

Several hours later, while Nemo still clung to the zebra, the sun rose over the horizon, spilling golden light upon the gra.s.slands. He cast a glance over his shoulder -- and saw to his dismay a line of mounted dark-garbed raiders galloping after him. Though Nemo was only one slave, he had infuriated and shamed these men by escaping; he was an affront to these cruel people who expected all to tremble in fear of them.

The slavers' mounts were larger and stronger than his zebra, and they would catch up soon. Nemo swatted the animal's rump. Though its nose and mouth were flecked with foam, the zebra put on a burst of speed, charging across the plain.

Raising an angry fist at his pursuers, Nemo saw no place to hide in the great open s.p.a.ce, no refuge. Then he looked up into the brightening sky and saw to the north a heavenly object, like a man-made moon drifting there.

The Victoria Victoria!

With a cry, he turned the zebra's head, changing its direction. The mount galloped blindly across the gra.s.ses. Behind him he could hear the thundering hooves of pursuing horses. One of the slavers fired a shot, though Nemo was still too far ahead to worry about any stray bullet.

When he heard a second shot from a different direction, he looked up and saw a tiny puff of smoke come from the balloon. Caroline had seen him. Fergusson had fired his rifle as a signal. Nemo raced forward on the zebra, but still the slavers came closer. Though frightened of the Victoria Victoria, still they would not let their escaped captive go free.

The zebra stumbled, nearly throwing its rider. The animal had very little strength left . . . but Nemo was so close now. He gasped a burning breath, raising one hand to wave at the balloon. The Victoria Victoria seemed to be descending. The anchor fell over the side and then the long ladder. seemed to be descending. The anchor fell over the side and then the long ladder.

Nemo fought with the zebra, trying to influence its course, but the enormous balloon spooked it. He grasped its mane and squeezed with his thighs, trying to urge just a little more cooperation and speed from his mount. Then he hurled a curse back at the slavers.

The dark-garbed men closed the gap, still howling. As they shot their long rifles, bullets grazed the gra.s.ses near him. A lucky shot could kill him or the zebra. The slavers' shouts came across the still air, but Nemo paid them no attention. He drew closer and closer to the balloon.

The rope ladder dangled almost within reach. He would have only one chance, and he stretched out his hand to take it.

In that same cruel instant, a gust of wind jerked the balloon higher, and the bottom rung of the ladder rose out of reach. Above in the basket, Caroline leaned over the edge, her face filled with anxiety. She stretched out her arms, as if to grasp him. With a pang, he remembered how stricken she had looked when he'd jumped out of the balloon into Lake Tchad -- and he vowed not to disappoint her again.

As the zebra charged under the balloon, Nemo used the last of his strength and balance to rise up on the animal's back. He barely managed to plant his feet on the black-and-white striped hide. Snorting, the zebra wheeled and Nemo knew he was about to fall -- but at the last instant, he grasped the lowest rung of the ladder. Relieved of its burden, the zebra galloped away into the veldt.

Caroline shouted and Nemo locked his other hand on the second rung, trying to haul himself up. His arms shook, yet somehow he had to find the strength.

The slavers rode beneath the dangling young man, furious, but he spat down at them. Dr. Fergusson and Caroline began heaving out bags of ballast, and the balloon began to climb and climb.

A heavy sack struck a slaver's horse and it reared, throwing its rider. Fergusson fired his rifle, killing one of the pursuers, while the others milled about. The slavers finally began to shoot their inferior rifles up at the rising balloon, and Nemo knew the Victoria Victoria and her pa.s.sengers were still in grave danger. If the evil men were to strike the hydrogen sack, the punctures would destroy their remaining balloon. and her pa.s.sengers were still in grave danger. If the evil men were to strike the hydrogen sack, the punctures would destroy their remaining balloon.

He scrambled up the swaying ladder, as Caroline threw out more ballast. The slavers circled and howled in outrage. A sack struck the tall, surly leader on the shoulders, driving him to the ground. The balloon climbed higher.

The slavers wheeled about and began shooting up at the Victoria Victoria, even though it had drifted high enough and far enough to be out of range.

Using every last ounce of energy, Nemo heaved himself upward one rung at a time, until Caroline and a grinning Dr. Fergusson could grasp his arms and shoulders. They grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him over the edge of the basket.

Nemo fell into Caroline's arms.

x

The balloon climbed until it reached a river of air that drove them northwest across a line of hills. While Caroline cleaned his minor injuries, Nemo devoured part of one of the ducks Fergusson had shot the day before.

Caroline used a few drops of their remaining water and a piece of cloth to wipe the sweat and grime from Nemo's forehead. The dampness felt cool; her touch was gentle, and lingered. Her bright blue eyes looked down at him with a depth of emotion that made him feel weak. Something had changed in her heart during his absence. Though unspoken, another pledge pa.s.sed between Nemo and Caroline: soon, their time would come.

Listening to Nemo's tale, Fergusson leaned back against the wicker basket, scratching his extravagant mustache. With his logbook open on his lap, he used one of Caroline's lead sketching pencils to record the young man's story. "When we publish the record of our journey, this will make a fine addition, eh? Great excitement accompanied by numerous scientific observations. Perhaps even a biting commentary on the vile practice of slavery. Such a combination will greatly increase our book's readership, my friends."

Until this point, Nemo hadn't thought of publishing an account of their travels, except perhaps in the Proceedings Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society. Caroline had already suffered a scandal in France because of her independent ways and unorthodox ideas. The very thought of a woman partic.i.p.ating in such an expedition across Africa -- most especially in the company of a young man to whom she was not married (never mind Dr. Fergusson's constant presence) -- would set the high-society tongues wagging again. of the Royal Geographical Society. Caroline had already suffered a scandal in France because of her independent ways and unorthodox ideas. The very thought of a woman partic.i.p.ating in such an expedition across Africa -- most especially in the company of a young man to whom she was not married (never mind Dr. Fergusson's constant presence) -- would set the high-society tongues wagging again.

But perhaps the scientific merit of their work, especially Caroline's sketches, would stand in their defense.

For days they drifted northwestward, and the landscape became more desolate. The jungle vegetation gave way to scrub brush and leafless bushes. "We're approaching the edge of the Sahara," Caroline said, pointing to their charts with anything but enthusiasm. "Look."

Their water supplies were low, and they no longer had the recondenser apparatus to raise and lower themselves, leaving the Victoria Victoria at the mercy of the winds. They had to make the best possible speed, hoping their diminishing gas would keep them aloft for the thousand miles remaining to the coast. at the mercy of the winds. They had to make the best possible speed, hoping their diminishing gas would keep them aloft for the thousand miles remaining to the coast.

Soon, the terrain changed from golden scrub to dark rocks and the taupe of unrelenting sand. Ahead, the dunes of the Sahara sprawled like an ocean whose sinuous hills and crests reflected the harsh sun.

Faint caravan paths led from Tangier or Fez across the Atlas Mountains, or from Tripoli across Sudan and the breadth of the desert. As they drifted over the dune sea, they saw no signs of life, no water, none of the wild herds they had observed on the Serengeti. Only the balloon itself gave them any shade in the cloudless sky. The shimmering sands created thermal updrafts that made the Victoria Victoria bounce and buck. bounce and buck.

In the distance they could see a few rare, dark smudges that indicated oases. Nemo kept his eye on these patches for hours before he came to the grim conclusion that the balloon was no longer moving. Fergusson tested the stagnant wind with his scientific apparatus. His black mustache drooped as he scowled. "Indeed, it appears the wind has failed us. We seem to be at a standstill in the middle of the desert. Rotten luck."

Caroline saw the implications. "We must conserve our water and our food."

"The outlook does not appear good, my friends," Fergusson said at the end of a long afternoon. Caroline frowned at him for stating the obvious.

"The heat will expand our balloon," Nemo pointed out. "The extra buoyancy should keep us aloft longer."

But in the dead calm of the Sahara, they still made no progress whatsoever.

Then, after interminable hours of sunburn and sweat and parched throats, Caroline sniffed the air and held up her hand. "There is a breeze. We're moving again."

Fergusson grasped one of the support ropes and looked around. Nemo stared at the dunes below and saw that they had indeed begun to crawl along. "Now we are moving due northward."