Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History Of A Dark Genius Part 21

"At least it won't be run by those fellows." Fergusson jerked a thumb at the oncoming hors.e.m.e.n.

Caroline came running back with an armload of twigs and dried gra.s.ses. Fergusson and Nemo arranged the balloon, tying more of its cords to the bushes. They built the campfire into a towering blaze that belched smoke, hot flames, and heated air into the sky. By the time the bonfire burned at its peak, the hors.e.m.e.n bore down upon them so close that the adventurers could hear the hoofbeats and the shouts.

"It's time," Nemo said. "We dare not wait any longer."

The three of them each took hold of a separate part of the balloon and stretched the opening over the flames. The hot air was like a heavy breath that blew into the sagging sack.

"It's not filling fast enough," Caroline said.

"Just be grateful the leftover hydrogen didn't burst into flames, eh?" Fergusson said, looking up into the wide mouth of the battered silk sack.

Nemo strained against the ropes to hold the opening over the rippling hot air. "The gas is much too diluted for that." He watched the torn holes in the balloon sack, wishing he had taken the time to seal them the night before, but now the hot air filled the dying Victoria Victoria faster than it could leak out again. faster than it could leak out again.

The black-robed raiders snarled, and the three companions could see teeth flashing in their cruel mouths. Several of the men had drawn long swords, ready to ride down and lop off the heads of those who had ruined their slave raid.

But now the Victoria Victoria bobbed upward, standing straight. Though its sides remained crinkled, it had become buoyant, straining at the ropes. bobbed upward, standing straight. Though its sides remained crinkled, it had become buoyant, straining at the ropes.

"Caroline, climb up," Nemo said, helping her. "Careful not to burn your hands." Without arguing, she scrambled onto the tattered netting that held the sack together. The fire continued to roar, and the revived Victoria Victoria strained upward like a restless spirit. strained upward like a restless spirit.

"Doctor, you're next," Nemo said as he took the dagger and slashed one of the ropes opposite Fergusson. The long-legged explorer did his best to climb onto the sack.

Released from one of its tethers, the hot air balloon bent sideways, and Nemo slashed the second cord. As he leaped onto the netting himself, he cut the remaining rope so that the Victoria Victoria's carca.s.s rose into the air, no more than fifty feet above the ground -- but buoyant enough.

The hors.e.m.e.n arrived, livid with rage at seeing the balloon escape again. They fired their guns, puncturing the Victoria Victoria twice more, but air currents carried the revived balloon over the broad river that flowed gently to the sea. twice more, but air currents carried the revived balloon over the broad river that flowed gently to the sea.

"Hang on," Nemo said, and they all clutched the ropes as their hot air balloon drifted low across the Senegal. It spun around like a top, letting Nemo see in all directions. He watched the black-clad raiders come to an abrupt halt at the muddy bank. Snarling and cursing, they shot impotently into the sky.

Although the cooling air leaked out of the sack, the desperate explorers approached the opposite sh.o.r.e swiftly enough. As Nemo looked toward the western bank, he saw that a cavalry troop of uniformed men -- British, from the looks of them -- had ridden out to intercept the balloon.

The Victoria Victoria kissed the water twice, dragging their feet in the turgid current, forcing the three to crawl higher onto the sagging sack. The balloon continued to bob across the water, buoyed by a slight breeze, then struck the mud on the far side and dragged them across the flatlands as the British troops advanced to meet them. kissed the water twice, dragging their feet in the turgid current, forcing the three to crawl higher onto the sagging sack. The balloon continued to bob across the water, buoyed by a slight breeze, then struck the mud on the far side and dragged them across the flatlands as the British troops advanced to meet them.

When the exhausted Victoria Victoria finally came to rest, the travelers sank into the folds of silk and panted with sheer relief. Within moments, the British troops galloped up in formation, smartly dressed, cleaner and healthier than anyone the travelers had seen in five weeks. finally came to rest, the travelers sank into the folds of silk and panted with sheer relief. Within moments, the British troops galloped up in formation, smartly dressed, cleaner and healthier than anyone the travelers had seen in five weeks.

Nemo didn't stand to greet them: His knees were too shaky and his muscles too weak from the exertions they had endured.

The British captain peered down at the mustachioed explorer in the mud, and tipped his hat. "Doctor Fergusson, I presume?"

Fergusson smiled so that his mustache curved upward like a black cat's tail. He glanced over at Nemo and Caroline. "Yes, sir -- Fergusson, and friends."

Part VII

Robur the Conqueror

i

Paris, 1854.

Though he had been home for half a year now, still Nemo could not relax.

At dawn, with a cool mist slinking around the riverfront districts, Nemo gazed up at the painted building that overlooked the Seine. Three stories tall, the structure had gray siding and white shutters, and stone steps leading up to a tall, narrow door. Over the lintel hung a bright sign: "ARONNAX, MERCHANT, Paris Offices."

Only a month after she had returned from Africa, Caroline had purchased the expensive left-bank property across from Notre Dame, where gulls flew around the spires, arches, and gargoyles. Boats pa.s.sed along the river, ducking under bridge after bridge. Caroline's main office stood directly on the water, across from the Tuileries Gardens, not far from the impressive Bourbon Palais.

Nemo could not argue with her decision to move her shipping offices to Paris. Both in business ac.u.men and in her creative arts, Caroline had made herself into a person to be reckoned with. But the thought of having her so close to him, and still so unavailable, tore his heart with conflicting emotions.

Six years had pa.s.sed since the Forward Forward's departure, and she still had received no word from Captain Hatteras. The Arctic explorer had not sent her so much as a single letter.

But the law was the law. Nemo had to wait one more year for her. That was how it must be, though in his heart he felt that he and Caroline had made vows and commitments to each other that outweighed any mere certificate. . . .

Perhaps it was a consequence of having encountered danger so many times, having faced death at each other's sides. Perhaps the exquisite agony of being so close for five long weeks had worked their secret emotions to a fever pitch. When he and Caroline boarded a northbound British naval ship at the mouth of the Congo and sailed for England, Nemo could pretend no longer.

Caroline's eyes flashed at him like star sapphires, and she flushed when their glances met. He could read her thoughts and desires as if she'd written them down and handed him a secret note. The British sailors treated Dr. Fergusson as a hero, and the captain welcomed the explorer to his table, but Nemo and Caroline were often left to themselves.

On a still, moonless night filled with stars over a sea of gla.s.s, Nemo slipped into Caroline's cabin. She welcomed him without words, only kisses . . . and did not ask him why he had waited so long.

They had a full month together as the ship cruised toward the English Channel along the African coast, past the Straits of Gibraltar and along the edge of Portugal. The two of them remained discreet, though they fooled neither the sailors, nor the captain, who viewed Caroline as precious cargo. Only Dr. Samuel Fergusson, who spent every waking moment editing and rewriting his journals for publication, was completely oblivious.

Nemo and Caroline cherished every moment.

But as they approached France again, they looked at each other with dread and indecision. While Nemo had nothing to lose -- no reputation, no standing in society -- Madame Caroline Hatteras owned a successful shipping company and was married to a man who had a proud and respected name.

"We will have to wait, Caroline," Nemo said as they stood together at the bow of the ship, looking at the approaching English coastline. "We'll have to pretend. Again."

Caroline's eyes shone with tears like crystal. "It doesn't matter to me anymore, Andre. We both know the captain won't be coming back from his voyage to find the Northwest Pa.s.sage. Why should we delay, when we love each other? We have already wasted the best years of our lives apart."

"Because it would make all the difference in the world -- and you know it. In a year, we can be together, and people will cheer. No one will blame you. I am an adventurer with my own mantle of fame, as well as Emperor Napoleon's blessing, and you are a successful businesswoman." He narrowed his eyes and clasped her hand earnestly. "But if we flaunt our love now, Caroline, I will be seen as a scoundrel, and you as an adulteress." She turned away, but Nemo gripped her hand more tightly. "You know it as well as I do."

She nodded, but refused to let her tears fall. "That is why we must make the most of every moment together now."

When they returned to Paris, with the public watching, time had dragged on. Nemo steeled himself to avoid the woman he loved as much as possible. He would not tempt her further . . . or himself. That would only make the wait more unbearable for both of them.

To Nemo, being near Caroline was like playing with fire, and he found it impossible to drive her from his thoughts. The sea pa.s.sage to Zanzibar and the balloon journey across Africa held memories even more joyful than his carefree childhood on the Loire. And the voyage home had been heaven.

But now Caroline would be right here. In Paris. Close. Too close Too close. It was going to be a very long year. . . .

Once back in France, Nemo had grown restless. He often walked the streets before dawn, wide awake with memories and dreams, trying not to think of Caroline. At twenty-six, he should have been at the height of his ambitions. Yet he found his civilized life dreary, without adventure or goals.

In the early morning he enjoyed watching shopkeepers crank out their awnings, fish sellers set up their stalls with baskets of herring, mussels, and trout. He stopped in front of Caroline's new offices, just staring, thinking about her. So early in the day, he knew she couldn't see him. . . .

The previous night, as on so many long nights, Nemo had joined Jules Verne for a light dinner, sitting at a cafe table not far from where literary students argued about symbolism and meter in the poetry of Racine.

Nemo found the intelligentsia dull and unimaginative. When they discussed current events, their focus remained on naive politics, with no mention whatsoever of scientific breakthroughs or new exploration. But, while Nemo talked to Verne about the loss of his boyhood contentment and sense of wonder, his friend's attention was obviously drawn toward the artistic debate.

Dr. Samuel Fergusson had received a hero's welcome upon returning to England. Despite his protests, the Royal Geographical Society had granted the Englishman all the credit for the expedition, citing Nemo and Caroline only as "a.s.sistants" or "traveling companions."

When Nemo had told his story to Verne, drinking a pot of dark coffee while his redheaded friend toyed with a gla.s.s of cheap Bordeaux, Verne grew uncomfortable each time Caroline was mentioned. The writer had never gotten over his attachment to the merchant's daughter either. . . .

Now, as Paris awoke in the early hours, Nemo turned away from Caroline's still-empty offices and strolled along the riverfront, across a stone bridge, and then down winding streets to his own apartment. He had a long workday ahead of him, and tomorrow, and the day after.

During his absence, another engineer had been a.s.signed to rebuild the Nantes shipyards, and the refurbishing there was already under way. And then, hearing of Nemo's balloon exploits, Napoleon III had decided the adventurous young man's imagination and prowess were too substantial to be wasted on Parisian sewer systems. For that, at least, Nemo was thankful.

So, while he toiled at restoring bridges and fountains to increase the Emperor's glory and keep the public happy, Nemo hoped for something more interesting interesting to do. His long, long wait for Caroline seemed to drag on forever. to do. His long, long wait for Caroline seemed to drag on forever.

ii

When war broke out in early 1854, it seemed like a G.o.dsend to him.

The Crimean War brought together the unlikely allies of France, Britain, Sardinia, and Turkey against Russian expansion. The weak and crumbling Ottoman Empire could not hope to stand against the "Iron Tsar" Nicholas I, whose armies were pushing to the Black Sea. Turkey had no choice but to ally herself with Britain, and France's Emperor Napoleon III entered the fray by citing a divine obligation to protect Catholic holy places in Turkish-controlled Palestine. If the Ottoman Empire fell to Russia, then all Christian shrines would be controlled by the Eastern Orthodox church, which simply could not be allowed.

France called for patriotic fighters to join the forces laying siege to Sevastopol on the Black Sea. All the armies fighting together under the "concert of Europe" needed brilliant and imaginative battlefield engineers.

Men like Nemo.

Knowing he would never be used as a mere footsoldier, cavalryman, or cannon-loader, Nemo accepted a commission for military service in the Crimea. He had lived most of his life without fine things, and so he packed a small valise with only a few possessions. He was going off to war and did not want to be enc.u.mbered. He carried a recommendation from Emperor Napoleon himself, but volunteering was primarily an excuse to see exotic landscapes again -- as well as to be distracted from Caroline for a year.

When he came back from service, they could finally be together. . . .

Escorted by her carriage driver, Caroline Hatteras came to the bustling, smoky train station to see him off. She stood in full dark skirts, her waist cinched tight with whalebone stays, her high collar b.u.t.toned properly, just as a married woman's should be. To a casual observer, she seemed cool and aloof, unaffected by the crowds and excitement all around her. But when she saw Nemo standing there, her eyes lit with an inner fire.

He had gone to her again the night before, surprising her in the dark stillness so absolute it reminded him of when he and Jules Verne had slipped out to L'Homme aux Trois Malices L'Homme aux Trois Malices for a celebratory drink before shipping out with Captain Grant. Nemo and Verne had stood below young Caroline's window and said their goodbyes. for a celebratory drink before shipping out with Captain Grant. Nemo and Verne had stood below young Caroline's window and said their goodbyes.

This time, Nemo had given her another farewell but, oh, so much sweeter, so much more painful than that other one. He had tapped on her door, standing in the shadows in the silent streets. He'd seen her astonished expression and sudden welcome as she whisked him into her home, long after midnight.

Caroline begged him not to go off to war, promising him all her love if he stayed here in Paris. But Nemo knew he could never resist the temptation of her. Every secret meeting, every stolen kiss would grow easier, and they would grow careless. Someone would see, and disaster would follow.

And so they had made love one more time, bathed in the yellow-orange glow from a single oil lamp. They had room, and clean sheets rather than a crowded bunk on a British ship. Nemo wanted to stay in her arms forever.

But instead, he had departed before dawn, to prepare for the train.

Now, in this crowd where emotion hung as thick as a spring fog, Nemo just wanted to hold her, to smell her hair and feel her lips against his. But he could not. Not here . . . not for another year. Not until he returned from the Crimea.

Beside them, the locomotive hissed and snorted while its boilers built up steam for departure from the Paris railyards. The sulfur smell of coal smoke and thick grease lingered close to the tracks.

French volunteer soldiers kissed their sweethearts, accepted bouquets, took hair ribbons as mementos. Nemo felt pain at remembering how Caroline had given the same sort of gift to two young men anxious to set off to sea. Now, without any conception of the horrors of war, these eager soldiers crowded onto a train that would take them to eastern Europe, where they would board a ship to take them to the Black Sea. They cheered and teased each other about going off to fight for their country.

But Nemo had seen men slain by the violence of other men, and he was not so anxious to reach the battlefields.

Amidst cheering and clasped hands and tearful goodbyes, Caroline stood stiffly, keeping her promise to Nemo and not showing her feelings here, especially not in such a crowd. Instead, the two had to embrace with their eyes alone. But they communicated greater love with their soulful expressions than did any of the moonstruck couples in the train station, even without kisses or pa.s.sionate words. Caroline's simple smile spoke more eloquently to Nemo than any love letter, any vows.

"Don't worry about me, Caroline," he said. "I am an engineer. I will make life more tolerable for our soldiers, and I will stay far from the fighting."

She gave him a wan smile. "Somehow, Andre, I cannot imagine you staying far from anything -- but you must promise me that you will return."

"There is nothing I want more. Nothing . . . other than for time to pa.s.s more quickly. After a year, we can both be happy. I have waited all my life for you, but these last months will seem the longest."

"Andre, I will count the days." Her sigh turned into a smile. "Alas, I wore no colorful hair ribbons to give you this time."

"No need. I have more thoughts of you than I can possibly revisit in twelve months."

Nemo was the last man to board the car. Though her carriage driver waited impatiently, Caroline refused to move until the train was long gone. . . .

Nemo rode with a motley crew of soldiers on the troop train across Europe, then aboard a fast ship through the Mediterranean and the Bosporus Straits into the Black Sea, where battles raged on the Crimean peninsula.

The strategic deep channel in front of the Sevastopol naval base had been used for centuries, first by the Tatars and then the Ottoman Empire. The Russian military had sought refuge in the walled city after sweeping through the Ukraine, taking over Moldavia and Besserabia, before attempting to conquer the Crimean peninsula. Now, allied troops laid siege to the huge fortress city of tan and gray stones, and the Russians had been unable to break out for months.

After he disembarked on the dock, Nemo looked up at the prisonlike edifice, knowing the Tsar's soldiers must be starving inside. However, when he saw the deplorable condition of the European troops besieging the walled city, he doubted they were faring much better.

Cholera had raged through the allied camps as the French, British, and Sardinian soldiers outside Sevastopol coped with the changing weather. They'd already been through a damp spring and a hot summer and had no extra uniforms or supplies. As autumn chilled the air, the men could only dread the worse weather ahead. Napoleon Bonaparte's troops had been defeated by a Russian winter in 1812. Nemo hoped Crimea would not prove to be a similar debacle for France.

Nemo strode toward the tent headquarters, surveying the dry, hilly land. Using his written orders and a letter of introduction from Emperor Napoleon III, he met with the French troop commanders. Veterans of the Napoleonic Wars, they were doddering old men who spent more time bragging about the events of their youth than they did running the occupation forces on the Black Sea.

On his own initiative, Nemo studied the army encampments, sitting up late at night in his small white tent. He looked over terrain maps by the light of an oil lamp, determining how best to exploit the resources at hand, using only the few tools the army had given him.

Disregarding the war, the Crimean locals continued to take fishing boats out onto the Black Sea each morning and returned to port with full nets. The army purchased most of the fish (or commandeered it -- Nemo didn't know which). Old women and their daughters worked on the rocky beaches, filling bottles and tubs with Black Sea water, which they left out in the sun to evaporate; later, they would use the sea salt for preserving fish.

Rolling hills covered with brown gra.s.ses and low trees encircled Sevastopol. The scenery reminded Nemo of parts of Africa he had seen from the balloon. Farther along the southeastern coast, the rugged Crimean Mountains rose high, a bastion against any forces of the Tsar that might come to rescue the Russians.

In peaceful times, the land was used for growing wine grapes, herbs, and a variety of plants harvested for their essential oils. The countryside looked like a gentle place to live. Unfortunately, the Crimea's strategic importance had made it a battleground, again and again, for centuries.

Nemo's job was to embroider the hills with lines of trenches for the allied forces, so that the soldiers could take shelter while keeping the Russians bottled within the city. He oversaw the digging of ditches and the building of barricades using rocks scavenged from destroyed villages outside the fortress.

British cannons were hauled up and installed in place, surrounded by cushioning dirt berms, woven gra.s.s mats, and wicker supports. Wooden stools sat beside each gunnery emplacement so the cannoneers could tend their weapons for the daily bombardment of Sevastopol.

Month after month the siege had continued, and still the Russians did not yield. Though the Tsar's invaders retained an enormous fighting force and many weapons, they were still trapped. Turkish and British armies blocked access from the north so that no Russian reinforcements could arrive. The siege went on.