Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (14 page)

Unexpectedly, two of the women in bright dresses went to the mast and tugged ropes to draw down the Union Jack.
 
Nemo squinted through the spyglass, trying to see what they meant to do.
 
As the flag was lowered, two of the sailors on the
Coralie
’s deck yelled a warning.

Another flag ran up the sloop’s main mast -- a black banner sporting a crudely stitched skeleton and a bloody sword.

The sloop’s six gunports opened up, and the ominous snouts of cannons protruded.
 
Nemo saw flashes of light and puffs of smoke as three cannons fired in successive, overloud drumbeats.

The pirates’ first cannonball ripped through the
Coralie
’s mainsail, leaving a smoldering hole.
 
The second ball crashed into the hull above the waterline, blasting one side of the upper cargo hold.
 
“They’ve heated the balls red-hot!” a sailor shouted.
 
The technique was devastating against wooden ships, easily starting the victim vessel on fire.
 
Crews quickly filled buckets to extinguish any sparks.

The third cannonblast was the worst.
 
Its load contained chains and mauls, rods of metal that spun like sawblades, tearing into the rigging, severing ropes.
 
The sails flapped free.
 
One of the ratlines dangled like an amputated arm.
 
Fires began to burn on the
Coralie
’s deck.

The men belowdecks started to scream and shout.
 
When another cannon blast splintered the side of the mizzen mast, Nemo knew he had to get down from his vulnerable position.
 
His heart pounded, and he thought quickly.
 
Until now, the voyage had been marvelous and breathtaking.
 
Now, though, he wondered about the difference between adventure and danger.
 

The sloop full of pirates came closer, narrowing the distance as the
Coralie
wallowed, unable to flee.
 
The crew aboard shouted, preparing to fight for their lives.
 
Nemo swallowed hard and went to join them.

Down below, Captain Grant’s weapons master managed to fire two of the starboard cannons, but the rapid approach of the pirate sloop made the range difficult to determine.
 
The cannonballs sailed past their target, only one of them tearing a hole through the pirates’ triangular foresail.

Nemo used his spyglass again and saw the men aboard the sloop shedding their disguises of fine clothing, women’s dresses worn by younger pirates to lull the unsuspecting
Coralie.
 

One of the raiders stood up, displaying gaudy clothes, a scarlet sash, and a striking black tricorne hat -- obviously the captain.
 
The pirate leader’s nose and ears had been sliced off, giving him a cadaverous appearance that made Nemo’s heart freeze.
 
He had heard of pirate justice, how a man caught stealing or grabbing more than his share of booty would be thus disfigured with the grotesque markings of his crime.
 
But this noseless captain had acquired a vessel and a crew of vicious cutthroats.
 
He raised a long cutlass high in challenge.

Flushed and breathless, Nemo scrambled down from the crow’s nest, grabbing severed and swinging ropes, making his way from yardarm to ratline.
 
His mind raced, trying to think of defenses the
Coralie
could mount against the pirates, but surely Captain Grant already had a plan.
 

He needed to descend to the deck, where he could join in the imminent fighting and do his part.
 
He had an odd memory of play-acting late at night with Jules Verne and Caroline Aronnax, when he had pretended to be the brave hero fighting against a bloodthirsty pirate king.
 
But somehow he doubted these real raiders would flee in panic as easily as Jules Verne had done.
 
Nemo, however, would not fight with any less vigor, even though the danger was real.

Standing on the
Coralie
’s deck, quartermaster Ned Land removed his long rifle and loaded it.
 
His disheveled blond hair was damp with sweat.
 
The blustery Canadian had bragged about his shooting accuracy, able to pick off seagulls when they were mere flyspecks in the sky.
 
Now, his face red with anger but his expression cool and focused, Ned lay the weapon across the railing, took aim, and fired at the approaching ship.
 

Nemo saw one of the pirates stumble backward and fall dead to the deck.

With a howl of rage, the marauders tossed the body overboard.
 
They began to fire their pistols at random, striking the
Coralie
with a barrage of unaimed bullets.
 
But the pirates had their own sharpshooters and a more vicious agenda.
 
Captain Noseless barked an order, and several rifles fired from the deck of the sloop.
 
They picked off the
Coralie
’s helmsman and then two deckhands who were wrestling to bring the flapping sails under control.

Now the
Coralie
lay helpless and burning, unable to use her sails or her helm.
 
Captain Grant shouted to rally his crew.
 
Without waiting for the key, one of the older seamen scrambled down the deck ladders to break open the armory.
 
The English sailors distributed swords and pistols and powder as they prepared to defend their ship.
 
Below, the weaponsmaster recalculated his aim and fired another cannon blast.
 
The shrieking ball struck the bow of the sloop and splintered the masthead.

Just as Nemo managed to land barefoot on the deck, the enemy sloop came alongside the
Coralie
.
 
The marauders threw grappling hooks and boarding ladders across the gap between the ships.
 
Nemo felt cold, numb but not fearless, and stood with his shipmates to face them, no matter what.

The pirates had painted their bodies with brilliant colors and coated their skin with thick grease to help deflect edged weapons during hand-to-hand combat.
 
They scrambled aboard with knives in their teeth, boarding axes in their hands, and murder in their eyes.
 
The shouts and smells were horrific: sweat, blood, gunpowder, and rancid grease.

His tattered striped shirt stained with soot, Ned Land continued to shoot his rifle.
 
With every blast, another pirate fell, but the quartermaster had neither enough shot nor enough powder to save them all.
 
Nemo both dreaded and anticipated when he could take part in the fighting.

Running to help the other grim sailors who were rattling their swords and tapping their pistols, Nemo took a firearm of his own, loaded it, then thrust a second one into his belt.
 
He looked around for a sword and settled on a long knife, though he had no training with either.
 
He would have to learn as soon as the fighting began.
 
And Nemo had always been a good learner.

The pirates swarmed aboard like a plague of rats.
 
Many had bandannas around their heads; some had lost fingers, hands, or feet -- but none of those deficiencies slowed them down.
 
Captain Grant’s men engaged them with a clang of steel and a blast of shot.
 
Struck down, bodies squirmed and twisted, screaming in pain and in defiance.

Wounded men fell overboard.
 
Crates and barrels began to spill into the water from a hole blasted in the
Coralie
’s cargo deck.
 
Adding to the chaos, a few chickens, pigs, and even a cow had gotten loose from their pens and now milled about belowdecks.

Feeling small, like a dust mote in a whirlwind, Nemo stood his ground as Captain Noseless strode aboard, sweeping his long cutlass from side to side like a harvester cutting grain.
 
Coralie
sailors fell with their heads lopped off or a swordpoint thrust into their bowels.

Ned Land shot five more times, but at close quarters his rifle proved useless.
 
He swore in French and English; the pirates were not bothered by either language.

Toward the rear of the ship, against the raised quarterdeck, Captain Grant held his own, using a sword with his right hand and firing a pistol with his left.
 
Three dead pirates lay in front of him, their blood and entrails smearing the boards.
 
The captain glanced over at Nemo, and the young man’s heart swelled.
 
Their eyes met for an instant, then both went back to fighting.
 
Nemo’s knees were watery with terror, his stomach knotted . . . but a crimson fringe of anger flared around the edges of his vision.
 
He had no qualms against killing these bestial men.
 
He let out a loud yell, and it felt good.

Nemo fired his first pistol and wounded one of the pirates, a shaven-headed man with crooked yellow teeth.
 
The bald pirate snarled at him, clutching his shoulder from which dark blood streamed.
 
He strode forward, sword in hand, until another sailor chopped the wounded pirate in the back and sliced his legs out from under him.
 
This was no duel with rules or honor.
 
This was a fight for survival against ruthless pirates.
 
His head buzzing, Nemo shouted in confused triumph and chose another pirate to attack.

Fires continued to lick along the deck, the rigging, and the sails.
 
A few
Coralie
men threw buckets of seawater, trying to douse the flames around the sword play.
 
The pirates shot those men dead, and their dropped buckets of water mixed with the blood on the deck.

The disfigured pirate leader strolled through the melee and headed relentlessly toward Captain Grant.

Seeing the threat to his mentor, Nemo dodged sword thrusts, jabbed with his long knife, and tried to make his way to the quarterdeck.
 
He had to defend Captain Grant.
 
Reckless but outraged to see what the pirates were doing to his ship, his mates, Nemo charged forward, yelling -- and suddenly found himself face-to-face with Captain Noseless.
 
His bare feet skidded to a halt on the deck, but he meant to hurt this man.
 

Nemo had little chance, a young man on his first voyage against a brutal cutthroat who had no doubt slain hundreds of men.
 
But he could not let the villain coolly march forward and murder Captain Grant.
 
His lips curled back from his teeth in defiance.

Nemo yanked the other pistol out of his belt and pointed it at the hideously scarred pirate.
 
Captain Noseless grinned at him, and his face looked even more like a skull.
 
Nemo pointed the pistol at the pirate’s chest and pulled the trigger, feeling no remorse.
 
“Die!”

The hammer clicked against the flint.
 
Nemo’s stomach turned to ice as he recognized his mistake:
 
When he had grabbed the two pistols, he had not loaded the second one.
 
The pirate knew it.

With a brutal thrust, a sneering laugh on his face, Captain Noseless jabbed his cutlass hard into the young man’s chest.
 
Nemo felt the point of the sword slam just below his sternum.
 
The noseless pirate thrust, hard.

The force of the blow drove Nemo backward -- and the next thing he knew, he lay senseless on his back, reeling, unable to breathe, trying to scream, unable to believe what had just happened to him . . . expecting to die.

But he wasn’t dead.
 
Despite the pirate’s murderous intent, the cutlass had bit into the leather-bound journal that Jules Verne had given him.
 
Nemo had stuffed it into his shirt before climbing down from the crow’s nest.
 
The steel point had poked through half of the pages and hammered him backward, but the book had saved his life.

Another pirate, one whose face was horribly burned, strode toward Nemo.
 
A massive flame-red beard protruded like a shovel from his chin.
 
Astonished to see the young man still alive after the sword thrust, Redbeard intended to finish the job.