Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (40 page)

Fergusson studied his map, comparing it with what he saw while Nemo took another set of positional measurements.
 
The explorer’s heavy eyebrows shot upward, and he grinned so broadly that his bushy mustache looked as if it might fall off.
 
“That is Lake Tchad!
 
We’ve gone farther than I anticipated.”

“We’ve also gone farther north than we should have,” Caroline said.

But Fergusson would not be disappointed.
 
He had already filled two journal volumes describing the landscape and recording the zoological specimens he shot.
 
He’d also kept a careful log of how the wildlife varied with the terrain.
 
Watching his diligence, Nemo recalled how Captain Grant had studied the various fishes and sea creatures they encountered on their ill-fated journey, also keeping detailed scientific records . . . now lost to the world.

Fergusson fiddled with the recondenser controls to drop the balloon far enough to study the marshes and shoreline of enormous Lake Tchad.
 
Nemo quickly intervened and operated the device himself.
 
He knew they had to conserve their hydrogen gas to keep the balloon aloft for the remainder of the journey across the widest part of the continent.

They drifted low over swamps with reeds growing out of the water like porcupine quills.
 
Natives in long canoes paddled about the shallows, casting fish nets.
 
Crocodile silhouettes slithered along, while storks and flamingoes waded in the mud, probing for shellfish with their beaks.

Caroline pointed out a group of large dark forms perched on gnarled mangroves bent over the lake marshes.
 
“Are those birds?
 
They are larger than any vultures I have heard of.”

Fergusson snatched the spyglass out of Nemo’s hand.
 
“Not just vultures, Madame -- condors.
 
Rare and magnificent birds, perhaps the largest in the world.
 
We simply must have a specimen, eh?”
 

He retrieved his sporting rifle and fired a shot at the clustered birds.
 
One of the enormous condors dropped into the marsh with a splash of water and black feathers.
 
The thunderous rifle blast startled the remaining birds, and they took wing with raucous, horrible cries.
 
Each monstrous bird had a wingspan of fifteen feet, as big as the glider-kite Nemo had built on his island.
 

Three crocodiles moved in to feast on the feathered carcass floating in the swamp.
 
The other giant birds moved together like sharks of the air.
 
Their naked heads were covered with skin that looked like sunburned flesh around black eyes, and a horny plate rose rudderlike from each horned beak.
 
The condors headed toward the
Victoria
, as if they saw it as prey.

“Now they are coming for us, Doctor,” Caroline said, frowning at the explorer.
 
“Why must you
shoot
everything?”

Fergusson blinked his hazel eyes at her, as if he’d never considered there might be another way to document scientific discoveries.
 
“Don’t worry, Madame.
 
Condors are carrion birds.
 
They’ll have no interest in us.”

Then the gigantic creatures fell upon them.

“Give me the other rifle, Doctor!” Nemo said.
 
“We’ll both have to shoot now.”
 

His first shot nicked the closest bird, severing a clump of feathers from its outstretched wing.
 
Fergusson, with better aim and greater practice, felled another creature.
 

Caroline searched in the basket and came up with a boat hook they used to snag branches.
 
She jabbed at one of the condors and struck its outstretched claws.
 
The carrion bird flew away, only to circle around and come back.

The other condors rose higher to attack the
Victoria
from above.
 
With razor talons they slashed at the balloon, ripping huge wounds in the colorful silk outer skin.
 
The balloon began to leak gas, and dropped toward the swamp.

Nemo’s second gunshot hit one of the condors.
 
Then he turned desperately to the controls of the recondenser cylinder.
 
He had to withdraw the hydrogen into the intact inner balloon before it all leaked out.
 
“Caroline, help me!
 
Get rid of all the ballast you can.”
 
He threw out the remaining sandbags, which briefly counteracted their descent.
 

Fergusson reloaded his rifle.
 
“We’ll be lost if they tear the inner balloon as well, eh?”
 
He shot again, and another giant bird fell from the sky.

Caroline began tossing out everything she could find: spare clothing, cooking utensils, pots, empty containers . . . then full ones.
 
With a satisfied expression, she jettisoned the heavy elephant tusks into the sky.
 
Nemo decided they could do with only one of the two grappling-hooks, so he sawed at the cable and threw the heavy anchor overboard.

The
Victoria
remained aloft, but now the colorful outer skin flapped like flesh sloughing from a leper’s back.
 
Fergusson shot again and again, with Caroline frantically helping to reload, until only two of the condors remained.
 
Still, the sinking balloon careened toward Lake Tchad.
 
If the balloon crashed, they would all be trapped in the middle of unexplored Africa.
 

In desperation, Caroline picked up their largest water tank.
 
She hesitated, knowing how much they needed the supplies, but judging by the rate at which they dropped, they would never make it across the vast lake . . . unless they could increase their buoyancy.
 
Nemo looked at her, struck by how beautiful Caroline appeared even in extreme distress.
 
He nodded sharply to her, and she threw out the water tank.

Nemo studied what remained of the wounded
Victoria
.
 
He felt guilty that his ambitious dreams had tempted Caroline into this disastrous trip -- though he would not have traded the past weeks with her for any treasure in the world.

Finally, with a grim sense of determination, Nemo knew what he must do: the only chance for the balloon to continue, the only way to keep Caroline safe.
 
Down there, he could survive on his own resources, for as long as it took -- he had done it before on the mysterious island.
 
But he didn’t dare tell her what he meant to do.

“Goodbye, Caroline.”
 
Unable to resist, he kissed her soft lips, startling her.
 
The look in her eyes made his heart ache so that he almost lost his resolve . . . but if he did, he knew they would all die.
 

She moved forward to kiss him again, but Nemo slipped away to grasp the edge of the basket.
 
Moving before his anguish and regret caught up with him, he stared at the approaching waters of Lake Tchad and the swamps that extended to the horizon.

Now Caroline saw what he meant to do.
 
“André!”
 

She reached for him, but he did not allow himself to be swayed.
 
He took one last glimpse of her beautiful, heart-shaped face . . . and then decreased the weight of the balloon by one hundred and forty pounds -- his own weight.
 

Nemo dropped through the air and into the water with a huge splash.
 
Coughing but treading water in the murky shallows, he looked up in time to see Fergusson fire a final shot.
 
The remaining two condors flew away, back toward their nesting trees.
 

He spat water and shook his head to clear his eyes.
 
He could see Caroline’s pale face leaning over the edge of the balloon’s basket.
 
She stretched out an arm as if to beseech him, but with its sudden increase in buoyancy, the
Victoria
rose again into a stiff breeze.
 

All alone and lost in the water, Nemo watched the balloon, out of control now, rise up and glide away into the distance.

vi

More than an hour later, the remaining anchor snagged on a twisted acacia tree.
 
The damaged
Victoria
clung desperately, as if it needed a rest as much as its two remaining passengers did.

Drained and in shock, Caroline moved about like one of Mesmer’s entranced subjects.
 
Ever since they had departed from France months before, she had secretly begun counting the days until she could declare Captain Hatteras lost at sea.
 
Caroline knew that Nemo would wait as long as necessary.
 
But he had thrown himself overboard to save her.

Fergusson remained intent on the problem of the
Victoria
itself.
 
His eyes were bright, and he tugged at his mustache as he pursed his lips and studied the gas-heating apparatus and the remaining inner balloon.
 
“Our friend Nemo’s design was brilliant, eh?
 
Even after such a horrendous attack, we have survived.
 
Remarkable.”

“But
he
did not survive,” Caroline whispered, her face pale and drawn.
 
“André is gone.”

Fergusson gave her shoulder a paternal pat.
 
“There, there, Madame -- that remains to be seen.
 
We mustn’t underestimate our intrepid friend’s resourcefulness, must we?”
 

She forced a smile at that, realizing that Fergusson had a point.
 
Nemo had been lost before, and still he had made his way back to her.
 
She hoped he would do the same now.

As they bobbed on the end of the snagged anchor rope, Fergusson pored over his notes and charts, searching for an answer.
 
A scrubby forest covered the ground around them, broken by grassy areas and standing ponds.
 
Caroline could see no paths, no signs of even primitive civilization.
 
She didn’t know where they were now, or how far they’d drifted from where Nemo had fallen into Lake Tchad.

Caroline drew a deep breath.
 
His quick, impulsive kiss still burned on her lips.
 
She knew why he had sacrificed himself, but she would rather they had all crashed in the African wilderness; that way they could have worked together to make it to the coast.
 

But if Nemo had done such a brave thing for
her
, then she vowed not to waste his sacrifice.
 
By all that she loved in the world, Caroline would find a way to get them out of this -- and she
would
find him.
 
Somehow.

Caroline looked up at the netting that enclosed the sagging silk envelope of the external balloon.
 
“That outer fabric is doing us no good.
 
If we strip away the cloth, we’ll get rid of a lot of dead weight.”

“Indeed!” Fergusson said with sudden eagerness.
 
“The outer bag is over six hundred pounds of gutta percha-covered silk.
 
Removing it might give us enough buoyancy to continue our journey, eh?”

Grim and numb, Caroline took one of their long hunting knives.
 
“I’ll do it, Doctor.
 
You
go and find Nemo.”
 
Her voice left no room for argument.
 
Placing the knife between her teeth, she stood on the edge of the basket, then climbed the ropes to the outer webbing that held the balloon in place.

Fergusson took his rifle and a pack, then descended the ladder to the thorny acacia.
 
Soon, whistling a tune to himself, he had disappeared into the tangled forest below. . . .

Caroline planted her feet in the squares of netting.
 
The monstrous condors had torn a four-foot gash in the scarlet fabric and another in the green section.
 
The outer balloon was irreparable, even if they’d had more hydrogen gas to refill it.