Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (44 page)

Tall villagers with glossy skin brandished spears defensively at men in billowing black robes riding muscular chestnut horses.
 
The raiders carried swords and a few guns.

With a stricken expression, Caroline raised the spyglass and handed it to Nemo.
 
Now he could make out the slaughtered forms of village defenders lying on the bloodied ground while the mounted raiders charged about rounding up women and children.
 
Nemo’s shoulders sagged, and he felt sick with disgust and rekindled anger at seeing the atrocity of the slavers.

One lean woman, her face a mask of despair, thrashed loose from her captors and dashed toward a burning hut.
 
Her bare breasts were swollen, and Nemo suspected she was a new mother.
 
Before she could reach the hut, which no doubt contained her child, one of the slavers galloped by and struck her down with his long sword.
 
Wheeling his horse about, the black-robed raider charged through the cluster of captives, as if he wanted to kill even more of them.
 
Intimidated and outnumbered, the villagers let themselves be rounded up.

Silent and slow, the balloon drifted over the massacre, low enough that they could hear screams of anguish from the captured and dying.
 
Sour smoke snaked around them as the flames devoured the remains of the village.

“I will not just sit idly by and allow this to happen,” Nemo said.
 
“We must disrupt the slavers however we can.”

Wearing a grim expression, Caroline grabbed one of Fergusson’s rifles herself while the doctor picked up the other.
 
She looked at the Englishman, studied his huge black mustache and bushy dark hair.
 
“This time we are not taking specimens, Doctor, and I am not just drawing sketches.”

She fired the rifle at a raider and missed, but killed the horse beneath him.
 
Fergusson aimed carefully and shot, knocking down a broad-shouldered man with a pointed beard.
 
The other black-robed horsemen reined up and shook their fists at the balloon.

Several native women broke free of the circle and ran toward the tree-covered foothills.
 
After Nemo reloaded Caroline’s rifle, he killed another of the dark-clad slavers, but the surge of satisfaction did little to dampen his anger.
 
Soon, however, the balloon had passed over the scene of the massacre and continued to drift west toward the mountains.

Enraged, the mounted raiders left the burning village with only two men to guard the captives.
 
They rode over the terrain in pursuit of the sinking balloon.
 
The slavers had old-fashioned guns as well, and lead balls flew past the tattered
Victoria
; two struck the already-leaking silk bag.
 
The balloon kept ahead of the raiders, though with the fresh bullet holes they lost altitude even faster now.

“We must hope the wind keeps up,” Nemo said, “and that the slavers follow until that village can rally its defenses.”

Below, the horsemen howled in a language Nemo could not understand -- but their intent was clear enough.
 
In the lead, the tallest slave raider whipped his chestnut horse and thundered into the hills.
 
Gradually, the travelers increased their lead, but as the wind carried the sinking balloon toward the mountains, Nemo realized the
Victoria
would never maintain sufficient altitude to cross the range.
 
He hoped the raiders gave up before the balloon slammed into the mountainside.
 
Yet the furious black-robed men showed no intention of slackening their chase.

“It appears we have gotten into trouble again,” Caroline said, drawing a deep breath.
 
“At least this time I have no regrets.
 
We saved many people in that village.”

“Indeed.
 
Now we merely need to save
ourselves
, eh?”
 
Fergusson reloaded both of his rifles.
 
“I believe we’re up to the task.”

They sank lower and lower until the treetops were barely twenty feet beneath the basket.
 
Nemo searched for any way to lighten their load.
 
He threw out the last of their food and the remaining water container, as well as the heavy grappling hook.
 
The bullet holes opened into wider gashes, and the
Victoria
began a more rapid descent as the mountains climbed beneath them.

His thick brows drawn together, Fergusson looked long and hard at his scientific logbooks, which he dared not sacrifice; neither would he give up his rifles.
 
Finally, he opted to throw four pounds of bullets over the side: a symbolic gesture, gaining them only a few minutes of flight, at most.

The winds gusted against the foothills, slowing the balloon’s progress.
 
The
Victoria
drifted in a circular motion that would snag them in a tangle of trees.
 

As the slave raiders galloped after them, thrashing their mounts, the balloon’s slackening pace allowed the horsemen to close the distance.
 
From behind, two more gunshots rang out, and within moments the black-robed men would be upon the
Victoria
.

“We have no choice,” Nemo said, looking up at the balloon, which sagged in its net.
 
“We’ve got to get over these mountains.”
 
He picked up a rifle, loaded it and handed it to Caroline, then took the other for himself.
 
“Doctor, please tie your journals securely inside your shirt.
 
We’ll be required to hang on tight.”

“What are we doing?
 
You’ve got an idea, eh?
 
I can tell.”

“I hope we’re close to the river and the colony in Sierra Leone, Doctor,” Nemo said.
 
“We are going to cut away the car and hang onto the ring and netting for the rest of this journey.”

While Fergusson gaped at him, Caroline climbed onto the edge of the basket and up into the webbing.
 
One of the locust-chewed strands snapped under her weight, but she grabbed with the other hand and climbed higher.
 
Nemo hoped the tattered ropes would hold long enough for them to get over the mountains and away from the vicious riders.

Fergusson secured his logbooks and followed Caroline up into the netting.
 
Nemo placed a long knife between his teeth, remembering how he had climbed ratlines on the
Coralie
, and crawled up from the basket.

Holding firmly, he sawed at one of the sturdy ropes until it came apart.
 
The basket lurched and dropped.
 
The
Victoria
continued to descend.
 
Nemo worked his way around the balloon ring and cut the second of the four ropes, imagining that he was cutting the throat of one of those evil slavers.

Behind them, the raiders drew closer.
 
The horses seemed to realize the closeness of their prey and put on an extra burst of speed.
 
One of the black-robed men shot at the balloon, and Nemo saw another bullet hole open in the silken sack.
 
As if to spite the travelers, the winds slowed again, bringing them to a near-standstill in the air as their pursuers closed the distance.

Nemo viciously sliced the third rope.
 
Stretched out beneath Caroline, the only remaining cable began to fray by itself where the locusts had chewed it.
 
Caroline took the knife from him, bent down, and slashed the last rope.
 
With a loud snap, the basket broke free and tumbled end over end.

Liberated from this dead weight, the balloon bounded up into the sky until it reached another current, which pushed them toward the mountain crests.
 
Nemo lost his grip, clung to another rope, riding the balloon as if it were a wild animal.

Below, a chestnut horse reared as its rider tried to wrestle his mount to one side, but the basket crashed on top of them.
 
Rather than accepting defeat, the black-robed horsemen rode even more furiously, as if hoping the balloon might snag on a rocky pinnacle.

Breezes carried the
Victoria
toward the boulder-strewn ridge summit, but Nemo still wasn’t sure they would make it.
 
He hooked his arms and legs through the ragged netting and held on, his feet dangling.

They scraped over the broad crest of the mountain.
 
Still clutching the webbing, Nemo dropped and began to run, pulling the balloon forward.
 
When they crossed the apex, he jumped back into the air.
 
Like a gasping Greek marathon runner, the
Victoria
coasted over and down the western slope.
 
Ahead, at the bottom of the foothills, they saw a broad fast-moving river that flowed toward a delta on the coast.

“That must be the Senegal, eh?” Fergusson said, reaching inside his shirt as if to consult his maps.
 
“A British protectorate, if I remember correctly.”

Nemo stayed the explorer’s hand.
 
“We’ll have plenty of time to study the charts after we land, Doctor,” he said.
 
“For now, we’re at the mercy of wherever the winds take us.”
 

“Will we stay afloat to cross the river, André?” Caroline asked.

He looked up at the deflating balloon, but doubted they would reach even the grasslands at the base of the foothills.
 
“We can hope, Caroline.”

On the far side of the Senegal River, they would find European settlements and a fort -- and beyond that, the ocean.
 
The Atlantic Ocean.
 
The opposite side of the African continent, which they had traversed entirely, the first Europeans ever to do so.

But their triumph would be complete only if they
lived
to the end of the journey.
 
Nemo looked at Caroline and promised himself that she would survive and return to France.
 

All too soon, however, like a horse that had been ridden until its heart burst, the
Victoria
simply gave up.
 
The balloon sagged, and the explorers descended, clinging to the rope net, all the way down to the treetops.
 

Nemo had to hold his feet away from the tearing branches, but soon they scraped over the scrubby hills to the grasslands.
 
The flatter terrain allowed them to keep moving with every gust of wind, though occasionally the dying
Victoria
struck the ground, before lurching into the air again like a bouncing ball.
 
Each oscillation became smaller, the balloon no more than a wadded silk blanket around them.
 
Dragged by ever-weakening gusts of wind, they struck the ground for the last time, half a mile from the wide Senegal River.

Nemo lashed the severed ends of the balloon ropes to low bushes, anchoring the empty sack.
 
He suspected that inhabitants of the Sierra Leone Fort might have seen their dramatic approach and would come to investigate.

Dr. Fergusson steadied himself on his feet, then bowed his head, placing a hand over his heart.
 
“Farewell,
Victoria
.
 
You have served us admirably indeed.
 
The remainder of our journey can be a mere epilogue.”
 
He patted the heavy scientific notebooks he had kept.
 
“Despite our perils and misadventures, I must admit this has been quite a successful expedition.
 
The Royal Geographical Society will be most chagrined that they refused to fund us, eh?
 
Never again will they scoff at my innovative designs.”

Caroline smiled at him.

“We should make camp here,” Nemo suggested, looking around for food.
 
The river would provide all the water they could want.

They built a large fire.
 
As Nemo tried to doze, he gazed through the sparks and orange light to see Caroline lying on her back, staring up at the stars, also awake.
 
Even disheveled from their long adventures, she still looked beautiful to him, just as when she had spent the night beside him under magnolia trees in the churchyard on Ile Feydeau.