Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History Of A Dark Genius Part 30

"I must take you back now, Jules," he said, his expression dark and his voice grim. "It was a mistake to bring you here. This is no picaresque journey, no amusing adventure for a starry-eyed dreamer. I have no time for sightseers."

The Nautilus Nautilus dropped Verne off late at night on the coast of France, north of Paimboeuf. Afire with enthusiasm, his journal full of ideas from Nemo's stories, he watched the armored sub-marine sink beneath the water, cutting a wake out into the ocean. dropped Verne off late at night on the coast of France, north of Paimboeuf. Afire with enthusiasm, his journal full of ideas from Nemo's stories, he watched the armored sub-marine sink beneath the water, cutting a wake out into the ocean.

Verne waved farewell, and headed back toward home, thoroughly inspired to write further books.

iv

For most of his life, whenever Jules Verne had an opportunity to see Caroline Hatteras, he leaped at the chance . . . and dreaded it at the same time. She still made him tongue-tied and light-headed, and he still imagined a life with her, though that fantasy was even more unrealistic than his strangest extraordinary voyages.

Caroline and he always had much to discuss, old-time reminiscences and shared experiences. Though Verne had already been married for eleven years now (and Caroline, ostensibly, for twenty-one) the thought of being alone in a room with her, face to face, still gave him chills.

Before leaving his flat on a bl.u.s.tery day, Verne told Honorine that he had a "business luncheon," such as he often scheduled with his publisher Hetzel. In spite of the many years that had pa.s.sed, he'd never talked about Caroline with his wife, had never confessed how the fiery-blond woman still haunted his dreams with lost opportunities.

A similar reticence kept Verne from telling Caroline about Nemo and his sub-marine vessel. Nemo had strongly hinted that he preferred for her to continue believing him dead, now that he could never come back to her. He wanted Caroline to make her own life, without him -- but Verne knew she never would.

Now, the prospect of explaining that her long-lost love was still alive, against all odds (as usual), raised a mora.s.s of unresolved emotions in him. Five years had pa.s.sed since his voyage aboard the Nautilus Nautilus. Caroline divided her time between Paris and Nantes, yet Verne had not gone out of his way to see her. He had stewed over the secret long and hard, and had decided that she must know.

Though Verne had kept his distance from her over the years, not trusting himself, he had also kept track of Caroline's successes. Madame Hatteras's rivals resented the fact that a powerful, outspoken woman managed such an important business concern, but customers who admired her verve and ingenuity trusted her to take risks that more conservative merchants would not consider.

The sleek ships of 'Aronnax, Merchant' often brought commodities to port weeks sooner than those of her compet.i.tors. Caroline was willing to consider new designs for faster clippers, and she investigated alternate sea routes. Her childhood fascination with geography had served her well, though long ago her mother had scolded her for 'unseemly pursuits.' The captains of her fleet -- many of whom had worked for her father, or had been loyal to the famous Captain Hatteras -- were now devoted to Caroline.

To gain further business, she had also capitalized on her notoriety from the balloon journey across Africa. With delight she had read Verne's fictionalized and melodramatic account in Five Weeks Five Weeks, and had written him a congratulatory letter. He still kept the handwritten note in a locked drawer in his study, treasuring it. . . .

In the end, it had been Caroline who'd invited him him to her offices and, despite his better judgment, Verne didn't have the heart to refuse. to her offices and, despite his better judgment, Verne didn't have the heart to refuse.

Now, striding brightly down the river walkway, past left-bank bra.s.series and bookshops, Verne smelled the fresh air. A brief rainstorm had pa.s.sed during the previous evening, infusing the morning with a brisk dampness that made his nostrils tingle. Gulls flew above like kites. Whistling with the antic.i.p.ation of seeing Caroline again, Verne could think of no more admirable place to live than Paris. The City of Light had become so beautiful since Emperor Napoleon III had rebuilt it after so much civil unrest.

When he arrived on the tulip-surrounded doorstep of 'Aronnax, Merchant,' he gave his name to the clerk. "Monsieur Jules Verne?" The clerk squinted at him through gold-framed spectacles. "The author? Esteemed storyteller of the Extraordinary Voyages?"

Both pleased and embarra.s.sed, Verne nodded. His full beard, long nose, and penetrating eyes had become a trademark in Hetzel's magazine. People often recognized him on the streets, and he still didn't know how to respond.

In the years since Five Weeks in a Balloon Five Weeks in a Balloon, readers had come to antic.i.p.ate each new Jules Verne novel. He had followed his balloon adventure with a ma.s.sive epic called Captain Hatteras Captain Hatteras -- named for Caroline's husband -- about a man's quest to find the North Pole. -- named for Caroline's husband -- about a man's quest to find the North Pole.

Of course, Verne had no special knowledge of what had happened to the real Hatteras, who had disappeared two decades earlier. Using an author's license, he had made up a story about bleak and unexplored lands. In the novel, the obsessed but admirable hero had succeeded in his magnificent quest, though his incredible ordeals had driven him mad in the end.

Even believing Nemo dead, Caroline clung to her own reasons for not remarrying, preferring a life alone to a dreary marriage. By day, she ran an important business and made her decisions, while she kept evenings free for painting or sketching or composing music.

How would she react to the news he brought today? He cursed himself for having waited so long, but he had always made excuses, both intimidated by Caroline and longing to see her. Every month, he kept expecting Nemo to change his mind and come back to civilization, but now he knew that would never happen.

The enthusiastic clerk startled him by reaching out to shake his hand. "Monsieur, I have read A Journey to the Centre of the Earth A Journey to the Centre of the Earth. Simply amazing. My congratulations on your remarkable imagination."

Pierre-Jules Hetzel couldn't have been more pleased at the public reaction to these stories. Each holiday season, Verne's novels were bound in ill.u.s.trated gift editions, after being serialized in Hetzel's Magasin d'Education et de Recreation Magasin d'Education et de Recreation. The number of readers grew with every volume.

Verne and Honorine now lived in a larger flat with a separate vacation residence on the damp seacoast he loved so well, though his wife and her daughters found it dreary and cold. Feisty Michel just seemed fussy. Even at seven years old, the boy had to complain about everything. . . .

Verne's imagination went farther afield for his fourth novel, From the Earth to the Moon From the Earth to the Moon, in which he accepted Caliph Robur's idea of a gigantic cannon that could fire a projectile with sufficient force to escape Earth's gravity. Intrepid explorers -- super-confident Americans, in this case -- rode inside the capsule to reach the Moon. Because he'd been in a good mood, delighted to have secured a writing career at last, Verne added much humor to the Moon book, poking gentle fun at overly ambitious Americans.

In his most complex novel to date, The Children of Captain Grant The Children of Captain Grant, he took details from the Coralie Coralie and added Nemo's reminiscences of the great and honorable Captain Grant, the pirate attacks, and being marooned on an island. and added Nemo's reminiscences of the great and honorable Captain Grant, the pirate attacks, and being marooned on an island. Nemo Nemo again . . . always inspired by Nemo. again . . . always inspired by Nemo. What is it about the man? What is it about the man?

"I . . . I have come to see Madame Hatteras," Verne told the clerk. "I believe she is expecting me for lunch?" Bright and eager, the bespectacled man bustled off to fetch Caroline. . . .

With such a string of novelistic successes, Jules Verne could now stand next to the great Alexandre Dumas as a colleague, rather than a mere sycophant. However, as he continued writing furiously and researching adventure after adventure, Verne grew uneasy because he owed practically everything to the experiences of Nemo.

There are two types of men in this world, Jules: those who do things, and those who wish they did.

His friend's words kept haunting him. Verne had never been one to experience things first-hand. At least he had sailed with Nemo on his Nautilus Nautilus and shared a terrifying undersea adventure. Someday, he hoped to travel and see a far-off land or two, but with a wife and young son and a contract for three books every year, he had no time. He could make do, as he always had, with research alone. and shared a terrifying undersea adventure. Someday, he hoped to travel and see a far-off land or two, but with a wife and young son and a contract for three books every year, he had no time. He could make do, as he always had, with research alone.

He knew, though, that Nemo was out there, still having adventures . . . and Jules Verne would tell the world about them. Readers would remember his name as a visionary, because Nemo shied away from public attention.

After the battle with the giant squid and traveling so many leagues beneath the sea, Verne had not seen Nemo again. France had changed greatly in the fourteen years since his companion had gone off to the Crimean War. Verne wondered if, after living so long apart from civilization, his boyhood friend could ever again become a man of society. Not that Nemo wanted to. . .

Caroline came down from her upstairs offices, her face flushed with delight. Verne wrung his hat in his hands as she handed a stack of papers to the clerk. "Jules, it is lovely to see you." She embraced him, brushing her lips across his cheek.

He clasped her hand. She wore no gloves, no distinctive perfume. Her nails were trimmed short, and he noticed inkspots on her fingertips, like the stains on his own fingers when writing at a furious pace. Her hair, which he'd once described as "honey caught on fire," still retained its vibrant color, but now it was pulled back in a no-nonsense twist, tucked out of her way at the nape of her neck. She wore comfortable clothes unhindered by lace or frills, and had not cinched her corset. The outfit was formal yet serviceable, without drawing overt attention to her beauty. Caroline's natural prettiness shone through, though, in a way that no roses or Chantille lace could adequately emphasize. Her blue eyes remained bright, like a ray of dawn crossing his face when she looked at him.

"Jules, I do not understand why we fail to see each other, since we both live in Paris. It has been . . . five years?"

"Too many obligations, I believe," he said. "I have my writing, and you have your" -- He waved his hands around the offices -- "your business."

She laughed. "I can always find time for old friends. You are my only reminder that I was a child once. Come, I've had chocolat chaud sent in, for old time's sake, along with those gooseberry pastries you enjoyed so much." Verne's eyes brightened, and he followed her up the stairs and into the back room from which she ran her business.

A tray on her broad mahogany desk held one silver pot of chocolat chaud, and the other contained coffee. Both smelled delicious. Verne selected one of the tarts arranged on fine doilies. "You remembered my favorites!"

Despite his rehea.r.s.ed words, the conversation began to go wrong as soon as Caroline spoke up. "Tell me about your mysterious wife, Jules. You've never brought her to meet me. And what about your son, Michel? You must be so proud of him."

Verne covered his surprise by taking a bite of the pastry. "Honorine is well. She . . . she's rather quiet and withdrawn, not much for meeting people. I apologize that you haven't made her acquaintance yet. On the other hand, Michel is . . ." He heaved a sigh. "Well, they tell me he's just like any boy, but still I find much of his behavior . . . distressing."

Caroline chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "Or at the very least, distracting distracting, no doubt."

Verne countered before he could take his words back. "And what about your husband, Caroline? Is the good Captain Hatteras still lost?"

Her face turned stony. "I still have not heard from him."

Verne shook his head. "I don't understand why you so steadfastly refuse to remarry. You're a..." He swallowed. "A beautiful woman, still young. You have no children, no man to run your personal affairs." He knew the words were wrong even as he spoke them, but years of longing for a woman out of his reach had built up behind a dam of bitterness that now began to break. "It can't be that you loved Hatteras -- you barely knew him. What are you waiting for?"

He pretended that he didn't already know the answer. Caroline faced him as she poured a cup of chocolat chaud for herself. "No. It is not that, Jules." She lifted her cup to take a sip.

Verne leaned his elbows on the mahogany surface. "It's because you miss Nemo so much, isn't it?" When she didn't answer, he nodded in triumph. "I thought as much. Well, I have something to tell you, Caroline. I've kept it secret for years, because I wasn't entirely sure anyone would believe me."

Caroline gave him a wry smile, suspecting nothing. "What could be so preposterous that even I I would not believe you, Jules?" would not believe you, Jules?"

Verne took two bites of the pastry, finishing it. He had opened his mouth and let the truth spill out; now he had no choice but to tell her all of it. "Everyone thinks I simply concoct my novels -- but I've used experiences experiences. You, more than anyone, saw how much I took from your balloon trip across Africa, how much I extrapolated about your Captain Hatteras at the North Pole, and . . . Nemo's experiences underground for A Journey to the Centre of the Earth A Journey to the Centre of the Earth."

"I have read every one of your books, and of course I recognized the inspiration." She gestured to the wall, and he was surprised to see the bound ill.u.s.trated editions on her shelf. "I am very proud of your success and whatever small hand I may have had in encouraging you when we were younger."

"I have something to tell you," he repeated. And her cornflower-blue eyes widened, as if she already guessed. "Nemo isn't dead, after all, Caroline. His death was falsified in the Crimea."

Caroline clutched his hand, then sat back to listen. While consuming two more pastries and two more cups of chocolat chaud, Verne explained how Nemo had been taken captive by a Turkish caliph and forced to build a sub-marine vessel. Her eyes widened to hear of his journey for days beneath the sea. Stunned and thrilled, she was rapt with a sense of wonder. "You are right, Jules. But I know you, and I know Andre. If anyone could do such things, he he could." could."

Verne looked at her, his face grim as he told her the most important part. "Nemo also has a young son -- and a wife. He married her in Turkey, and he told me he loves her very much." He watched as Caroline struggled to compose her expression; his heart went out to her, but she needed to know this.

"In fact, when Nemo dropped me off on the French coast, he said he was going back to get them." He brushed crumbs from his beard, avoiding her gaze, not wanting to see if tears sparkled in her eyes. "I haven't heard from him again, not in five years. He knows you've thought him dead all this time, and he was sure that by now you would have made your own life, married someone else. He said he doesn't want to torment you by coming back to visit you, when he is already bound to another woman."

Caroline managed to cover the flicker of dismay that crossed her beautiful face with a stoic expression. "Thank you for telling me, Jules. I hope they are very happy together. After all he's been through, Andre deserves to be happy."

"We all deserve to be happy, Caroline." Verne regretted hurting her, snuffing her dreams. But his own dreams of a life with her had long ago been vanquished. "It just doesn't always work out that way."

v

The Nautilus Nautilus traveled secretly beneath the waters, circling the oceans of the Earth. All aboard remained isolated from the world . . . and at peace. Following their years-long ordeal, Nemo and his crew reveled in freedom. traveled secretly beneath the waters, circling the oceans of the Earth. All aboard remained isolated from the world . . . and at peace. Following their years-long ordeal, Nemo and his crew reveled in freedom.

Finally, after staying away for as long as Auda had asked, the sub-marine boat pa.s.sed again through the Straits of Gibraltar. With growing antic.i.p.ation, Nemo headed east toward the Turkish coast. He felt cold and uneasy about returning to Rurapente, which bore so many violent memories for him. Isolated on the Nautilus Nautilus, they had learned little about world news, but he'd had enough of war and bloodshed. He hoped the political turmoils had settled down in the Ottoman Empire, as Auda had promised.

He longed to see his wife and son again, and the rest of his crew missed their families as well. On the Nautilus Nautilus they would take their wives and children and be free to make their lives wherever they wished. They clung to that hope. they would take their wives and children and be free to make their lives wherever they wished. They clung to that hope.

In his gruff British accent, Cyrus Harding proposed that they search for Nemo's mysterious island, which presumably remained uninhabited. There, they could establish a wonderful new colony, a utopia based on principles of cooperation and support. With the extensive engineering and technical knowledge the sophisticated crew possessed, they could build anything they wished. The Swiss Family Robinson Swiss Family Robinson would be mere amateurs by comparison. would be mere amateurs by comparison.

Nemo set a course through the sparkling blue waters, threading a maze of scattered Greek islands until they reached the isolated cove where they had been imprisoned for so many years.

As they traversed the deep channel to the rocky sh.o.r.e of Rurapente, Nemo kept the Nautilus Nautilus submerged. Through the round windows they could see dock pilings and other wreckage covered with silt. When he blew ballast to raise the craft and the sea washed clear of the portholes, Nemo and his crew pushed forward, hoping to see cheering, victorious rebels. submerged. Through the round windows they could see dock pilings and other wreckage covered with silt. When he blew ballast to raise the craft and the sea washed clear of the portholes, Nemo and his crew pushed forward, hoping to see cheering, victorious rebels.

Instead, Rurapente had been devastated. The entire industrial compound, its factories and drydocks, its ore smelters and kilns, its village of dwellings -- all had been burned and destroyed. Reduced to charred rubble, nothing more.

The Nautilus Nautilus rested against the empty docks, and a moan of despair rose from the crew. Nemo said nothing, jaws locked in a grim expression only partially hidden by his dark beard. His intense eyes stared at the devastation. Somewhere in the dead emptiness of his shock, the fires of anger sparked and blazed. rested against the empty docks, and a moan of despair rose from the crew. Nemo said nothing, jaws locked in a grim expression only partially hidden by his dark beard. His intense eyes stared at the devastation. Somewhere in the dead emptiness of his shock, the fires of anger sparked and blazed.

He opened the upper hatch and emerged blinking into the sunlight. The air smelled of greasy smoke. "Come with me," he said to no one in particular. Every member of his crew felt as desperate and shocked as he did. He didn't try to provide false a.s.surances or unrealistic hopes. "We must learn what we can."

After tying up the sub-marine boat, the men stepped carefully across rotting dock planks. When they reached the compound itself, they hesitated, afraid to proceed.

The foundations of buildings stood like blackened stumps of teeth. The smelting refineries had caved in, windows smashed, bricks crumbled. The living quarters had been burned to ash and slag. Everything . . . destroyed.

The oppressive silence was broken only by a faint whistle of wind that trespa.s.sed in the cove. Nemo thought he could hear the shouts of raiders, the crackle of flames, the clang of scimitars against makeshift weapons . . . or against soft flesh, hard bone. Screams of pain and pleas for mercy from the desperate slaves, the women, the children -- everyone who had endured life at Rurapente.

Auda had allied herself with her father, Caliph Barbicane; she had known about the impending attack and arranged for her own rescue and the safety of the others. . . . But now it appeared that no one had listened to her. Nemo could only pray that she had escaped. Or had she and young Jules been victims of the terrible revolution? Where were they?

The Nautilus Nautilus crew picked their way among the rubble, not speaking, searching for some sign to give them hope. Instead, they found skeletons picked clean by carrion eaters and time. crew picked their way among the rubble, not speaking, searching for some sign to give them hope. Instead, they found skeletons picked clean by carrion eaters and time.

This ma.s.sacre had occurred many months ago, perhaps at the same time they'd killed Robur and escaped in the sub-marine vessel. While the captive engineers had fled, masters of their fate and oh-so-pleased with their victory over the bloodthirsty caliph, their families were being slaughtered at Rurapente.

The men could identify none of the remains, but the faces of wives and friends and children shone in every man's imagination. Nemo held back the tears in his eyes as he surveyed the charred wasteland. He turned to his second-in-command, and his voice struck fear in even the gruff Englishman's heart. "Mr. Harding, take teams and recover anything you can find -- keepsakes or memories, and then give a respectful burial to these poor people."

"Aye, Captain," Harding said. He had never argued with Nemo's orders before, but now he hesitated and said, "And what will you be doing, sir?"

With his chin, Nemo gestured toward the steep cliff paths that led up to the plateau. In her note, Auda said she'd used the shepherds as couriers. Many of them were involved in the plot. "I need to find someone," Nemo said.

He took a pack and food from the Nautilus Nautilus, then began his long uphill trek. He plodded throughout the hot day until finally, at sunset, reached the top of the plateau. Finding a small windbreak of low bushes, he built a smoky campfire, but remained awake most of the night, staring at the stars . . . and remembering.

For two days he wandered the Anatolian Plateau, searching for the nomadic shepherds who had acted as secret watchers for the Sultan and his advisors in Ankara. At last he came upon a small group sitting crosslegged in front of their patched tents, while women tended a cookfire, roasting cubes of mutton.

Seeing a lone man in inhospitable territory, the shepherds brandished their ancient rifles at him, making signs to ward off evil. Indeed, the stricken expression on his face made him look like a vengeful spirit -- but Nemo made appropriate placating gestures, then a religious sign of Allah he'd learned during his time in Rurapente. He called out in their own language, claiming to be a friend. He wished merely to share their cookfire and ask them some questions over cardamom-spiced coffee.

The shepherds were dirty and scarred, and looked far older than their actual years. They grudgingly accepted his presence, following the rule of hospitality to wayfarers on the Turkish highlands. Nemo told them that he had spent much time in Rurapente, but that he'd been gone for a year.

"Can you tell me what happened?" His voice cracked with need.

The shepherds discussed the matter among themselves, wondering if he might be a spy testing their allegiance, or a deserter from the Sultan's armies. Though Nemo had dark eyes and dark hair, he did not look at all Turkish. But Auda did . . . and so did his son Jules.

He took a chance, and the grief in his voice softened the men. "My wife lived in Rurapente -- and my son. She was Caliph Barbicane's daughter. I'm trying to find her. I have companions who also wish to find their families. Can you help us? Please?"

One of the shepherds stood up, stepped away from the smoky fire, and stared appraisingly at him for a long moment. "You were Auda's husband?"

Nemo cringed at hearing the past tense. "Yes. She warned me and my men of the uprising, and we managed to survive. Caliph Robur is dead." Not knowing the loyalty of these men, he did not admit that he himself had killed the warlord.

"Auda was an infiltrator," the shepherd said. "She was sold to Robur to become your wife, but she continued to watch Rurapente. Through us, she reported to Caliph Barbicane, for the Sultan in Ankara. We were part of the army that came to free them." He patted his chest, then shook his head. "But there was great bloodshed, much fighting. Another caliph sent forces that swore no allegiance either to Robur or Barbicane -- and a slaughter ensued."

"Senseless and terrible," one of the other shepherds said. "The men enjoyed the killing very much."

Nemo listened with a heavy heart. Smoke from the cookfire stung his eyes and nose.

"When it was discovered that Auda was a spy, she and several others loyal to Barbicane took a boat and tried to escape across to the Aegean Islands. But on the way they were attacked. Their boat sank. All aboard were killed."

After that, Nemo heard little else as anger and despair clamored in his head. He didn't care about the changing politics in the Ottoman Empire, or the Sultan's current advisors, or plans for the site of the industrial compound. In a daze, he finished his coffee with the shepherds and thanked them, but refused their offer of a full meal.

At dusk, he wandered across the plateau into the deepening night. He felt as destroyed inside as the entire city of Rurapente.

vi