Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History Of A Dark Genius Part 33

Fogg turned to blank pages. The date ended with the sinking of the American warship. "If I must keep the existence of your Nautilus Nautilus a secret, how am I to doc.u.ment my travel across the Atlantic? The sinking of the a secret, how am I to doc.u.ment my travel across the Atlantic? The sinking of the Invincible Invincible will be a matter of public record. How shall I explain my travels?" He scratched his head. "I doubt I can convince the members of the Club that I managed to swim the remainder of the distance. . . ." will be a matter of public record. How shall I explain my travels?" He scratched his head. "I doubt I can convince the members of the Club that I managed to swim the remainder of the distance. . . ."

Nemo pondered for a moment, continuing to look off into the mist. The shadows of chalk cliffs pressed closer. "You will have to concoct a story, Mr. Fogg. You must think of some way to explain your travels -- and I suggest you find an alternative other than swimming. I will hold you to your promise, Monsieur."

Phileas Fogg's long fingers clutched the logbook in a tight grip. "But everything in here is true and doc.u.mented, sir." His voice now took on a tone of indignation. "How can I falsify such an important part of my trip? That would be . . . most dishonest."

Nemo refused to back down. "Monsieur Fogg, one thing I have learned in my life is that what is written down and published is not necessarily the truth truth -- even if it is purported to be so." He brought to mind how his adventures had been recounted in the novels of Jules Verne, how the events had been altered for the sake of the story. -- even if it is purported to be so." He brought to mind how his adventures had been recounted in the novels of Jules Verne, how the events had been altered for the sake of the story.

"At its core, you will not be lying. You will have done as you proposed, according to the terms of your wager. You traveled around the world in eighty days. No one can argue that fact. The rest of the story is just . . . details."

"But details are like schedules. Too many people ignore them." Staring into the cold, moist air, Fogg remained stoic for a long moment until he broke into a broad grin, the first overt emotion Nemo had seen from the scarecrowish man. "Well . . . it will, after all, be only one more falsehood." Fogg turned to the dark-haired captain. "I've just realized that of all people in the world, you are the one person in whom I can confide. I can tell you my secret, Captain Nemo, because you have no means and no motivation to reveal it to the authorities."

"I have no respect for authorities," Nemo agreed bitterly.

Fogg continued. "As you might guess, sir, arranging such a trip around the globe involved more than careful scheduling. It required substantial monetary resources as well. While I had a comfortable enough life in London, I was by no means a rich man, not the sort of person who had the funds to engage in such a lengthy and expensive trip. So I was forced to acquire the financing by . . . unorthodox means."

Phileas Fogg fell silent for a moment, and Nemo looked at him as the Nautilus Nautilus cruised onward. "You stole it?" cruised onward. "You stole it?"

Fogg met his dark gaze. "I robbed a bank."

Nemo stared at the tall Englishman in astonishment.

"Oh, not with a gun or any sort of violence, I a.s.sure you." Fogg waved a long-fingered hand. "I simply found the means to walk off with a large stack of pound notes that were left unattended by a careless clerk."

Fogg sniffed, twitching his large nostrils. "And while the Bank of England and Scotland Yard were in a frenzy searching all over London to track down the thief, I was traveling around the world to great fanfare and popular reception. No one has ever suspected that the stolen money is in my possession -- or was was, that is. It's all been spent on my trip.

"However, if I do return home in time, the amount I shall win in my wager is several times greater than the sum I . . . withdrew. Before I left England, I devised a plan for returning the money discreetly -- call it an impromptu loan. Then the books will balance, the details will add up properly, and all will be right with the world. Never fear, Captain Nemo, thanks to your a.s.sistance, everything will turn out as it should, according to schedule."

Nemo thought about the man's situation, but did not accept or condemn Fogg's actions. "We all have our secrets, Monsieur. And since I trust you to keep mine, the Nautilus Nautilus will bring you to London on time." will bring you to London on time."

iv

Late at night, in the dark of a new moon, the Nautilus Nautilus churned the murky waters of the Thames and delivered Phileas Fogg to a deserted wharf in London. The fastidious man packed a few meager possessions and his logbook, then prepared to disembark. The emotionless man didn't look at all triumphant, but accepted his arrival as a matter of course. churned the murky waters of the Thames and delivered Phileas Fogg to a deserted wharf in London. The fastidious man packed a few meager possessions and his logbook, then prepared to disembark. The emotionless man didn't look at all triumphant, but accepted his arrival as a matter of course.

After climbing out of the hatch, Fogg stood beside the captain of the Nautilus Nautilus. He glanced at his pocket.w.a.tch, released a contented sigh. "After you depart, Captain Nemo, have a care to avoid the French coast. I doubt you would wish to become involved in that terrible war and its repercussions."

Nemo studied the tall Englishman. "What do you mean, Monsieur?" He felt uneasy, even a bit ill. "What war?"

Fogg returned the glance, surprised. He raised his eyebrows and sniffed. "Why, France is at war with Prussia, of course. Didn't I mention it? A dreadful, b.l.o.o.d.y conflict -- and France is losing badly. A terrible situation, I do believe even the trains are no longer running on time.

"Your Napoleon III was captured at Sedan and capitulated to von Bismarck . . . but Paris itself refused to surrender. Some months ago Prussian troops laid siege to the city. The situation is dire, sir. Some of the trapped Parisians have sent out letters by hot-air balloon or carrier pigeon. Rather ingenious, eh? It seems one of your Ministers of State even escaped the city by balloon." Fogg smoothed down his dapper mustache. "By all accounts, though, the people are starving. They've even resorted to eating animals from the Paris Zoo, just for the meat. Parts of the city have been burnt."

The Englishman stepped onto the vacant dock. To the curious press on the following day, Fogg would have miraculously appeared out of nowhere. "A terrible situation, simply terrible. I hear there are also Prussian warships patrolling the Atlantic coast of France." Then he raised his eyebrows. "Ah, if I might inquire? Should your Nautilus Nautilus be sunk, might I then be allowed to revise my log to include pa.s.sage aboard your vessel? It seems only proper --" be sunk, might I then be allowed to revise my log to include pa.s.sage aboard your vessel? It seems only proper --"

In shock, Nemo thought immediately of Caroline, knowing she would have been trapped in Paris. He imagined her starving to death, unable to get out of the city. . . . "Mr. Harding, prepare to depart," he called down to the control bridge. With a brisk farewell wave to Phileas Fogg, he descended the ladder and slammed the metal hatch over his head.

Nemo knew exactly what he must do. He directed his men to turn the sub-marine vessel about. They headed back toward the English Channel.

He would return to Paris and save Caroline.

v

Cruising along the coast of Brittany, the Nautilus Nautilus found the mouth of the Seine, then traveled at top speed against the river current. Taking the helm again, Nemo guided the sub-marine boat through the maritime channel. All commerce to the interior of France had stopped due to the devastating Franco-Prussian War, and the found the mouth of the Seine, then traveled at top speed against the river current. Taking the helm again, Nemo guided the sub-marine boat through the maritime channel. All commerce to the interior of France had stopped due to the devastating Franco-Prussian War, and the Nautilus Nautilus proceeded unhindered. proceeded unhindered.

With winter setting in, the fields had already been harvested, the gra.s.ses and trees turned brown in antic.i.p.ation of snow. At times, shallow water and sandbars forced the vessel to surface. Nemo's urgency allowed him no time for caution. Peasants who picked through crop stubble on the fertile bluffs looked down to see a scaled monster pa.s.s by. Nemo was oblivious to their superst.i.tions; he thought only of reaching Caroline.

By this time, he had learned enough about the Franco-Prussian conflict to know that it was as foolish a set of circ.u.mstances and as poor an excuse for bloodshed as any other conflict. Again, the folly of war. Again, the folly of war. Earlier that year, the Prussians had attempted to put their own candidate on the vacant throne of Spain. The shrewd Prussian Chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, had maneuvered the now-b.u.mbling Napoleon III into declaring war against Prussia to stand up for Spanish interests. What pointless folly!

It was a war that everyone knew France couldn't win. The Prussians had superior numbers, superior artillery, superior leadership. In an inept debacle, Napoleon III had countermanded the orders of his generals and personally led the French army into battle at Sedan, with disastrous consequences. The Emperor and his troops were captured, and the Prussian army marched unopposed across the French countryside. In seventeen days, they had placed Paris under a siege that had not been broken for months. And now the people were starving, and the city was burning.

And Nemo was sure that Caroline would be there.

Riding low in the water like a giant crocodile, the Nautilus Nautilus continued up the Seine, past Rouen, past St.-Germain. When they finally drifted beneath the numerous stone bridges spanning the river in Paris, Nemo watched the encamped Prussian army continue to bombard the city with artillery. continued up the Seine, past Rouen, past St.-Germain. When they finally drifted beneath the numerous stone bridges spanning the river in Paris, Nemo watched the encamped Prussian army continue to bombard the city with artillery.

Confident of victory, the ma.s.sed enemy troops did not even risk their lives by marching on Paris. They remained camped in position, untouchable and unbeatable. Their cannons launched incendiaries into the city, starting conflagrations that the beaten people could barely fight.

Still half submerged, as the Nautilus Nautilus pa.s.sed under the thick bridge pilings, Nemo's crewmen pressed close to the portholes to look out at the besieged city. The ruined buildings and smoke were a grim reminder of the devastation at Rurapente. Dusk had fallen, and night was on its way, but fires splashed the sky with unrelenting orange. pa.s.sed under the thick bridge pilings, Nemo's crewmen pressed close to the portholes to look out at the besieged city. The ruined buildings and smoke were a grim reminder of the devastation at Rurapente. Dusk had fallen, and night was on its way, but fires splashed the sky with unrelenting orange.

"The City of Light," Nemo remarked grimly, thinking of Emperor Napoleon III's grand rebuilding program. He shook his head to see the waste, the destruction, the mayhem.

"Looks bad, Captain," Harding said, jutting his dimpled jaw forward.

"No matter, Mr. Harding. These Prussians cannot stop us from doing what we must."

As the cannonades and artillery thundered into the deepening night, Nemo ordered the Nautilus Nautilus to surface, blowing all ballast. He opened the upper hatch and listened to the water as it trickled off the hull plates. The air of Paris smelled acrid with smoke, piled refuse, and raw sewage. to surface, blowing all ballast. He opened the upper hatch and listened to the water as it trickled off the hull plates. The air of Paris smelled acrid with smoke, piled refuse, and raw sewage. And death. And death. In the distance he could hear crackling flames, pounding guns, and the moans of a defeated people too tired and hungry to continue the fight.

Long ago, he had worked here as an engineer for the Emperor. He had helped build these bridges, designed some of the palatial buildings with the civil engineer Haussmann. Now, in a matter of months, the Prussians were destroying all the restoration Napoleon III had accomplished.

But Nemo could not find it in his heart to mourn the loss of things things -- not buildings or boulevards, not sculptures or fountains. With his rediscovered conscience, after causing so much mayhem of his own, he cared more about the lives at stake. He now knew he couldn't single-handedly stop the wars. How had he ever been foolish enough to believe that more killing was the answer? There were some things men would have to learn for themselves. . . . -- not buildings or boulevards, not sculptures or fountains. With his rediscovered conscience, after causing so much mayhem of his own, he cared more about the lives at stake. He now knew he couldn't single-handedly stop the wars. How had he ever been foolish enough to believe that more killing was the answer? There were some things men would have to learn for themselves. . . .

Right now, Caroline's very life might be at stake. Nothing mattered more than that. He had failed her so many times before.

Perhaps as the Prussian armies approached, she had been wise enough to gather her possessions, close down the offices of 'Aronnax, Merchant,' and flee the city . . . but Nemo knew she wasn't that sort of person. Caroline Hatteras would never have given up. She would have stayed at the offices even under artillery bombardment.

Cyrus Harding guided the sub-marine toward the crowded docks and rowhouses. When the armored vessel had tied up to the high brick bank, Nemo took a pistol and a scimitar -- odd and archaic choices in the face of the modern Prussian army -- but the Nautilus Nautilus carried few other weapons. carried few other weapons.

"I will go alone," he called to the anxious crew. "Mr. Harding, you are in command of this vessel. There is . . . someone I must see." The second-in-command nodded knowingly and took over the bridge controls.

Nemo leaped across the intervening gap to the cobblestoned walkway alongside the river. Dirtying his old uniform from Rurapente, he hauled himself up to the street level. The handful of scurrying citizens looked as if they had been stunned, like kittens being chased with a broom. Rail-thin refugees ran back and forth, searching for something . . . safety, perhaps. Few of the downtrodden people even noticed the sub-marine boat lying like a dark fish in the oily Seine.

The sh.e.l.ling continued. Explosions rocked the night. Ducking low, Nemo ran along the Quai Anatole France, beside the smoking buildings. Spreading flames spilled out of broken windows. New fires encircled this section of the Left Bank, and these venerable structures were doomed.

As he approached Caroline's place of business, Nemo was dismayed to see the rowhouse already threatened by fresh flames. Earlier, before he had set out for the Crimean War, he had stood in front of this place in the dark of early morning. Now, fire flowed up the brick sides, gnawing at the half-timbered reinforcements. The plank floors and wooden furniture inside only served to fuel the blaze. Nemo hoped Caroline hadn't remained here -- but he had to check. He would not let her down again.

With his shoulder, he broke through the tall door; it had been closed tightly against the jamb, but not locked. Several of the windows had already smashed in the rising heat. Over the growl of spreading fire, he could hear someone moving about in the back upstairs room.

"Caroline!" He ran up the stairs. The thickening smoke made his voice hoa.r.s.e. The flames grew louder as they ate their way through the walls and timbers. His time was running out.

In the back room he found her, and his knees went weak. All of the clerks and workers had gone, probably weeks ago at the beginning of the siege, judging from the cluttered condition of the desks. But Caroline had remained, long after the others had fled.

He barged into the well-appointed office and saw her -- face streaked with grime, hair loose and in disarray. She scurried about, gathering doc.u.ments from drawers in her heavy desk. He couldn't imagine what business records could be so important that she would take such a risk to protect them.

When Caroline saw him standing in her doorway, framed by firelight, she froze. "Andre?" Her voice was the barest whisper.

Words caught in his throat. Caroline looked so familiar and yet so changed. After many painful years, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. His heart ached as he drank in the sight of her.

"I knew you'd come," she said, her voice thick with relief. "Somehow, I knew that if I waited long enough . . ."

Nemo stepped into the room, shoulders squared, refusing to face the fire. "I've come to take you away from here, Caroline. You must leave Paris."

She shook her head, haunted. "No one can break the siege, not even you, Andre. The Prussians control all exits. We have had no food, no peace." Then she blinked. "But -- how did you get into the city?"

Nemo extended his hand. "I have a way. Let me take you to safety. Leave your papers behind. They won't mean anything where we're going." Then he noticed the circles, dots, and slashes of musical notes, long compositions in her own hand. Her music. Her music. Of course she would have come back for it.

"No, I have to take this. I kept the papers hidden here, locked away, so no one would find them in my house. A full symphony, some concertos, sonatas --" As the fire grew brighter, she grabbed more sheets of music that had been stored in her desk drawer.

Nemo s.n.a.t.c.hed up the compositions she had already piled on her desk. "If you come with me, you won't need to hide your music anymore." Their eyes met in a long, deep silence. "I have something to show you, and then everything will change. We have both lost so much." His voice became quiet, aching. "It is time we both gain something at last."

Windows shattered as the heat increased, and Nemo grasped her arm. "That's all we can take. Hurry!" They ran down the stairs and out of the rowhouse, leaving the inferno behind. . . .

Prussian cannons thundered without respite, and gunfire rattled from outside the city -- either an enemy attack, or just bored soldiers letting off volleys to intimidate the Parisians. Together, the two ran down the streets, pushing past scattered people who ran in circles, terrified but with no place to go.

Nemo took Caroline along the river's edge, dodging broken stones and bricks from the buildings pounded by Prussian artillery. Finally, they reached the shadows beside a bridge embankment.

Caroline looked down at the river and saw the armored hull of the floating vessel. "That . . . that is the Nautilus Nautilus? The real Nautilus Nautilus? Jules's descriptions did not do it justice."

Nemo helped her step across to the hull. "This is how I will get you out of Paris. We'll dive beneath the river and slip out with the current. The Prussians won't see us. I'll keep you safe."

She touched his arm. "Since we were little more than children, when you and I stayed out all night under the magnolia trees at the Church of St. Martin, I have always felt safe at your side."

vi

In normal days, Jules Verne loved to be aboard his private yacht, out on the sea just like a bold sailor. But during the dangers of wartime, he would have preferred to be safe at his vacation home in Amiens. Unfortunately, too many people in the French government expected him to be like one of the heroes of his novels.

The conflict with the Prussians grew desperate enough that Verne found himself conscripted into the military, even at the age of forty-two. Because of his fame, he was not asked to fight on the battle lines; instead, he was a.s.signed to the coast guard, due to his love for and proficiency in sailing.

Jules Verne, defender of France!

Several years earlier, the bearded author had purchased his own yacht, which he'd christened the Saint Michel Saint Michel in a moment of parental guilt. Before the war, Verne frequently sailed the in a moment of parental guilt. Before the war, Verne frequently sailed the Saint Michel Saint Michel up and down the Loire; he also cruised the Atlantic coast from Paimboeuf all the way up to Brittany. Every trip had been a fine outing. up and down the Loire; he also cruised the Atlantic coast from Paimboeuf all the way up to Brittany. Every trip had been a fine outing.

Now the French military, in its bureaucratic wisdom, had decided that Verne should command his own boat -- like his fictional captains Grant and Hatteras -- crewed by a group of old veterans from the Crimean War. The legendary author would patrol the coast around Le Crotoy and protect France from invaders. Surely von Bismarck would tremble to learn of such a foe. . . .

Just before hostilities had begun, Hetzel called in numerous favors to get recognition for his extraordinarily successful author. In one of his last actions before the outbreak of war, Emperor Napoleon III had summoned Jules Verne to the palace to present him with the Legion of Honor -- and Verne had been as pleased as he could be.

To celebrate, Verne took Honorine and Michel away from Paris to visit his parents in Nantes. Gray-haired Pierre Verne's health was declining, and the elderly attorney had grown even more sour-tempered over the years. Yet given Verne's celebrity as a writer, he grudgingly admitted that his idealistic son had made a good career choice after all. Sophie Verne took pleasure in her rambunctious grandson, tolerating even Michel's worst behavior.

Then the war had erupted, the Emperor suffered a shameful defeat at Sedan, and Prussian troops converged on the capitol city. Verne's younger brother Paul was off in the navy, fighting against the enemy warships said to be prowling the Atlantic sh.o.r.es. While in Nantes on holiday, Verne had received his call to service. With the escalating hostilities, all citizens were obliged to contribute to the defense of their nation. . . .

Thus, he spent the winter months off the northwestern corner of France, patrolling the sh.o.r.es and remaining as far from the actual fighting as possible. Since Verne was completely unschooled in how to command the twelve grizzled veterans, they ran a rather chaotic ship. These aging, battle-scarred men were not healthy enough to fight on the front, so they rode with the author in the choppy waters near the coast. They were driving Verne insane with their incessant chatter, bragging, and scatter-brained ideas.

Though his crew had been designated a military unit, they possessed only three flintlock rifles among them, and Verne was forced to supply all of their food out of his own pocket. A single tiny cannon had been mounted on the bow of the yacht; whenever it was fired, the gun barked like a poodle.

For week upon dreary week, the Saint Michel Saint Michel sailed in a tight pattern, ready to meet the Prussians and terrified lest that day should ever arrive. The invaders had full-fledged warships filled with cannons and professional soldiers. Verne had no idea what his little yacht and its single gun could be expected to do against such an attack. Flee, probably. sailed in a tight pattern, ready to meet the Prussians and terrified lest that day should ever arrive. The invaders had full-fledged warships filled with cannons and professional soldiers. Verne had no idea what his little yacht and its single gun could be expected to do against such an attack. Flee, probably.

In an odd way, though, the change of routine was a welcome balm for his writing life. Leaving the scrawny veterans in charge of the patrol, Verne could retreat to the captain's cabin with his notebooks and journals -- and he was able to write. During those tedious months he completed several new novels in longhand, though they would have to wait for publication until the end of the war and a return to peace and prosperity.

Pierre-Jules Hetzel had been trapped in Paris during the worsening siege. The publisher was forced to continue a correspondence with his author through "Vernian" means -- sending letters via balloon or carrier pigeon.

Verne did not think much about the political turmoil, which seemed so far away in Paris. He was here on his boat, which he loved . . . on the ocean, which he also loved . . . listening to the sound of waves and feeling the gentle sway of the currents. He was able to concentrate on his stories without the incessant interruptions of family life, without social responsibilities, without the noises of unruly Michel (who had already been dubbed "the terror of Le Crotoy" in the short time Verne had lived in the small port city).

As he sat back now, deep in thought at his small writing desk, Verne pondered a new novel about an enormous ocean liner so large that he t.i.tled the book A Floating City A Floating City. He relished the quiet and solitude.

Until the loud clang of the Saint Michel Saint Michel's warning bell shattered the late afternoon silence.

One of the white-haired soldiers hollered from the bow, and Verne heard the thump of running feet on deck. Someone retrieved the three flintlock weapons from the locker. Ragged voices issued orders, while others countermanded them.

Verne groaned. With a heavy sigh, he imagined it must be another false sighting. He closed his notebook and left his cabin, striding up to the main deck just in time to see two old veterans fiddling with the tiny cannon. They lit the fuse. Verne raised his hand, demanding to know what they were doing, but it was too late.

The small gun fired its two-pound ball with a sound like a child's oversized popgun. The men cheered and raised their fists into the air, hurling obscenities and insults across the water. They pointed and danced and waved their hands.

Then Verne looked into the gathering dusk to see a three-masted enemy warship approaching, its gunports open and full-sized cannons emerging. Prussian navy men swarmed about like ants on the deck, preparing to capture or destroy the Saint Michel Saint Michel.

And his men had fired the tiny cannon in defiance.

"What have you done?" Verne gasped in horror. "You fools!"