Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (42 page)

At nightfall, the women built large cooking fires, and the visiting slavers feasted with their allies.
 
Though the narrow-faced slavers restrained themselves, the fishermen drank millet beer from clay urns.
 
Nemo ate the watery fish soup an old village woman gave him through the door of his prison hut.

During the loudest part of the revels, he found a sharp stone on the floor of his hut and sawed at the vine lashings holding the back wall together.
 
Then Nemo waited until well past midnight, when silence hung thick around the village.
 
Hoping he could move quietly enough to get away, he parted the back joinings of the hut.
 
With a loud crackling noise, he pushed through and stood in the open again.
 
Free.

Though his heart felt heavy at his inability to cut all the other captives loose, he knew they would be hunted down and killed, and would raise enough noise and alarm that none of them would get away.
 
The vile slavers had horses, and the wilderness would be filled with predators.
 
Nemo had no choice but to leave them here, resigned to their fates.

If he ran on foot into the jungle, though, he would not get far.
 
Instead, Nemo made his way to the crude stockade, where he inspected the two captive zebras.
 
The animals twitched their tails and snorted, moving back and forth.
 

Knowing he could be caught at any second, Nemo removed the thorny bars from the corral’s closure.
 
The striped animals backed away from him, but he approached slowly, trying to be calm.
 
Not daring to risk even a soothing whisper, Nemo crept closer to one of them.
 
In the starlight, the animal’s black and white markings rippled like an apparition.
 
Its mane was short and bristly.

The first animal trotted away, discovered the opening in the corral, and bolted out into the open.
 
The second zebra, seeing its companion flee, decided to do the same.
 
Nemo sprang toward it, throwing his arms around its muscular neck.
 
He had no halter or saddle, but he had desperation.
 
He grasped the stiff hair of its mane and hauled himself onto its back.

The zebra squealed as if a lion had clawed it, then bounded forward with the speed of terror.
 
Nemo held on, low over the zebra’s neck, squeezing its ribs with his thighs.
 
He had no way to exert control -- so the zebra just ran, galloping out of the village.
 

Behind him came the outcries of the wakened villagers.
 
Gunshots barked into the night.
 
Hunched low, Nemo kept riding, slapping the animal into greater speed, until the turmoil faded into the distance.
 
The zebra plunged into the tree shadows and tall grasses, fleeing the marsh onto solid ground, toward the plains where it knew to roam. . . .

Several hours later, while Nemo still clung to the zebra, the sun rose over the horizon, spilling golden light upon the grasslands.
 
He cast a glance over his shoulder -- and saw to his dismay a line of mounted dark-garbed raiders galloping after him.
 
Though Nemo was only one slave, he had infuriated and shamed these men by escaping; he was an affront to these cruel people who expected all to tremble in fear of them.
 

The slavers’ mounts were larger and stronger than his zebra, and they would catch up soon.
 
Nemo swatted the animal’s rump.
 
Though its nose and mouth were flecked with foam, the zebra put on a burst of speed, charging across the plain.

Raising an angry fist at his pursuers, Nemo saw no place to hide in the great open space, no refuge.
 
Then he looked up into the brightening sky and saw to the north a heavenly object, like a man-made moon drifting there.
 

The
Victoria
!
 

With a cry, he turned the zebra’s head, changing its direction.
 
The mount galloped blindly across the grasses.
 
Behind him he could hear the thundering hooves of pursuing horses.
 
One of the slavers fired a shot, though Nemo was still too far ahead to worry about any stray bullet.

When he heard a second shot from a different direction, he looked up and saw a tiny puff of smoke come from the balloon.
 
Caroline had seen him.
 
Fergusson had fired his rifle as a signal.
 
Nemo raced forward on the zebra, but still the slavers came closer.
 
Though frightened of the
Victoria
, still they would not let their escaped captive go free.

The zebra stumbled, nearly throwing its rider.
 
The animal had very little strength left . . . but Nemo was so close now.
 
He gasped a burning breath, raising one hand to wave at the balloon.
 
The
Victoria
seemed to be descending.
 
The anchor fell over the side and then the long ladder.
 

Nemo fought with the zebra, trying to influence its course, but the enormous balloon spooked it.
 
He grasped its mane and squeezed with his thighs, trying to urge just a little more cooperation and speed from his mount.
 
Then he hurled a curse back at the slavers.

The dark-garbed men closed the gap, still howling.
 
As they shot their long rifles, bullets grazed the grasses near him.
 
A lucky shot could kill him or the zebra.
 
The slavers’ shouts came across the still air, but Nemo paid them no attention.
 
He drew closer and closer to the balloon.
 

The rope ladder dangled almost within reach.
 
He would have only one chance, and he stretched out his hand to take it.

In that same cruel instant, a gust of wind jerked the balloon higher, and the bottom rung of the ladder rose out of reach.
 
Above in the basket, Caroline leaned over the edge, her face filled with anxiety.
 
She stretched out her arms, as if to grasp him.
 
With a pang, he remembered how stricken she had looked when he’d jumped out of the balloon into Lake Tchad -- and he vowed not to disappoint her again.

As the zebra charged under the balloon, Nemo used the last of his strength and balance to rise up on the animal’s back.
 
He barely managed to plant his feet on the black-and-white striped hide.
 
Snorting, the zebra wheeled and Nemo knew he was about to fall -- but at the last instant, he grasped the lowest rung of the ladder.
 
Relieved of its burden, the zebra galloped away into the veldt.

Caroline shouted and Nemo locked his other hand on the second rung, trying to haul himself up.
 
His arms shook, yet somehow he had to find the strength.
 

The slavers rode beneath the dangling young man, furious, but he spat down at them.
 
Dr. Fergusson and Caroline began heaving out bags of ballast, and the balloon began to climb and climb.
 

A heavy sack struck a slaver’s horse and it reared, throwing its rider.
 
Fergusson fired his rifle, killing one of the pursuers, while the others milled about.
 
The slavers finally began to shoot their inferior rifles up at the rising balloon, and Nemo knew the
Victoria
and her passengers were still in grave danger.
 
If the evil men were to strike the hydrogen sack, the punctures would destroy their remaining balloon.

He scrambled up the swaying ladder, as Caroline threw out more ballast.
 
The slavers circled and howled in outrage.
 
A sack struck the tall, surly leader on the shoulders, driving him to the ground.
 
The balloon climbed higher.

The slavers wheeled about and began shooting up at the
Victoria
, even though it had drifted high enough and far enough to be out of range.
 

Using every last ounce of energy, Nemo heaved himself upward one rung at a time, until Caroline and a grinning Dr. Fergusson could grasp his arms and shoulders.
 
They grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him over the edge of the basket.

Nemo fell into Caroline’s arms.

x

The balloon climbed until it reached a river of air that drove them northwest across a line of hills.
 
While Caroline cleaned his minor injuries, Nemo devoured part of one of the ducks Fergusson had shot the day before.
 

Caroline used a few drops of their remaining water and a piece of cloth to wipe the sweat and grime from Nemo’s forehead.
 
The dampness felt cool; her touch was gentle, and lingered.
 
Her bright blue eyes looked down at him with a depth of emotion that made him feel weak.
 
Something had changed in her heart during his absence.
 
Though unspoken, another pledge passed between Nemo and Caroline: soon, their time would come.

Listening to Nemo’s tale, Fergusson leaned back against the wicker basket, scratching his extravagant mustache.
 
With his logbook open on his lap, he used one of Caroline’s lead sketching pencils to record the young man’s story.
 
“When we publish the record of our journey, this will make a fine addition, eh?
 
Great excitement accompanied by numerous scientific observations.
 
Perhaps even a biting commentary on the vile practice of slavery.
 
Such a combination will greatly increase our book’s readership, my friends.”

Until this point, Nemo hadn’t thought of publishing an account of their travels, except perhaps in the
Proceedings
of the Royal Geographical Society.
 
Caroline had already suffered a scandal in France because of her independent ways and unorthodox ideas.
 
The very thought of a woman participating in such an expedition across Africa -- most especially in the company of a young man to whom she was not married (never mind Dr. Fergusson’s constant presence) -- would set the high-society tongues wagging again.

But perhaps the scientific merit of their work, especially Caroline’s sketches, would stand in their defense.

#

For days they drifted northwestward, and the landscape became more desolate.
 
The jungle vegetation gave way to scrub brush and leafless bushes.
 
“We’re approaching the edge of the Sahara,” Caroline said, pointing to their charts with anything but enthusiasm.
 
“Look.”

Their water supplies were low, and they no longer had the recondenser apparatus to raise and lower themselves, leaving the
Victoria
at the mercy of the winds.
 
They had to make the best possible speed, hoping their diminishing gas would keep them aloft for the thousand miles remaining to the coast.

Soon, the terrain changed from golden scrub to dark rocks and the taupe of unrelenting sand.
 
Ahead, the dunes of the Sahara sprawled like an ocean whose sinuous hills and crests reflected the harsh sun.

Faint caravan paths led from Tangier or Fez across the Atlas Mountains, or from Tripoli across Sudan and the breadth of the desert.
 
As they drifted over the dune sea, they saw no signs of life, no water, none of the wild herds they had observed on the Serengeti.
 
Only the balloon itself gave them any shade in the cloudless sky.
 
The shimmering sands created thermal updrafts that made the
Victoria
bounce and buck.

In the distance they could see a few rare, dark smudges that indicated oases.
 
Nemo kept his eye on these patches for hours before he came to the grim conclusion that the balloon was no longer moving.
 
Fergusson tested the stagnant wind with his scientific apparatus.
 
His black mustache drooped as he scowled.
 
“Indeed, it appears the wind has failed us.
 
We seem to be at a standstill in the middle of the desert.
 
Rotten luck.”