Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (45 page)

Their journey together was nearly at an end.
 
Soon Nemo and Caroline would return to France and their former lives.
 
Nemo had no doubt that she would continue to run her father’s shipping business, while he would take up another of Napoleon III’s engineering projects.
 
He hoped that by now the Emperor had found someone else to redesign the Paris sewer systems. . . .

And they would try to pretend.
 
But during these five weeks he and Caroline had experienced too much together, had come to know each other too well, had grown too close for their situation ever to be the same. . . .

The next morning they awoke hungry, with no food left.
 
Caroline brushed dry grass from her coppery hair.
 
As she turned to watch the sun rise over the low mountains, her eyes flew wide open.
 
While stealing a glance at her beautiful face, Nemo watched her expression change -- then he too saw the dark horsemen bearing down upon them out of the foothills, still several miles away.

The slave raiders must have ridden over the mountains through the night, intent on striking back at the balloon travelers.

The Senegal was a mile wide, and the current too fast to swim.
 
The treeless lowlands offered no place to hide.
 
Fergusson had only one small box of ammunition remaining and the two rifles.
 
At least a dozen armed and murderous slavers pursued them.

Fergusson looked with alarm at the distant horsemen, then sadly down at the
Victoria
.
 
“Alas, my friends, our balloon can serve us no more.
 
We’re out of hydrogen gas.”

Holding his knife and ready to fight, Nemo tried to think of some way they could use the empty balloon to float on the river, but he knew the fabric would grow waterlogged and drag them under.
 
He looked down at their small campfire, the few supplies they had.
 
“Wait!
 
We don’t need hydrogen.”

“But how, my friend?
 
We have no way to inflate the balloon.”

“Yes, we do.
 
Caroline, grab as much wood and dry grass as you can.
 
Pile it on the campfire.”
 
He fixed his dark-eyed gaze on Fergusson.
 
“We’ll make another kind of balloon out of the
Victoria
, Doctor.
 
Remember the Montgolfier brothers.”

“Ah yes, they were French.”
 
Fergusson barked out a loud laugh.
 
“A hot air balloon, eh?
 
The sack should still achieve enough buoyancy to carry us aloft.”

Nemo grabbed one corner of the huge silk sack while Fergusson went to the other end.
 
“We only need to cross the river.
 
From there we’ll go on foot to the fort.
 
It’s Portuguese, I think, or maybe Dutch.”

“At least it won’t be run by those fellows.”
 
Fergusson jerked a thumb at the oncoming horsemen.

Caroline came running back with an armload of twigs and dried grasses.
 
Fergusson and Nemo arranged the balloon, tying more of its cords to the bushes.
 
They built the campfire into a towering blaze that belched smoke, hot flames, and heated air into the sky.
 
By the time the bonfire burned at its peak, the horsemen bore down upon them so close that the adventurers could hear the hoofbeats and the shouts.

“It’s time,” Nemo said.
 
“We dare not wait any longer.”

The three of them each took hold of a separate part of the balloon and stretched the opening over the flames.
 
The hot air was like a heavy breath that blew into the sagging sack.

“It’s not filling fast enough,” Caroline said.

“Just be grateful the leftover hydrogen didn’t burst into flames, eh?” Fergusson said, looking up into the wide mouth of the battered silk sack.

Nemo strained against the ropes to hold the opening over the rippling hot air.
 
“The gas is much too diluted for that.”
 
He watched the torn holes in the balloon sack, wishing he had taken the time to seal them the night before, but now the hot air filled the dying
Victoria
faster than it could leak out again.

The black-robed raiders snarled, and the three companions could see teeth flashing in their cruel mouths.
 
Several of the men had drawn long swords, ready to ride down and lop off the heads of those who had ruined their slave raid.
 

But now the
Victoria
bobbed upward, standing straight.
 
Though its sides remained crinkled, it had become buoyant, straining at the ropes.
 

“Caroline, climb up,” Nemo said, helping her.
 
“Careful not to burn your hands.”
 
Without arguing, she scrambled onto the tattered netting that held the sack together.
 
The fire continued to roar, and the revived
Victoria
strained upward like a restless spirit.

“Doctor, you’re next,” Nemo said as he took the dagger and slashed one of the ropes opposite Fergusson.
 
The long-legged explorer did his best to climb onto the sack.

Released from one of its tethers, the hot air balloon bent sideways, and Nemo slashed the second cord.
 
As he leaped onto the netting himself, he cut the remaining rope so that the
Victoria
’s carcass rose into the air, no more than fifty feet above the ground -- but buoyant enough.
 

The horsemen arrived, livid with rage at seeing the balloon escape again.
 
They fired their guns, puncturing the
Victoria
twice more, but air currents carried the revived balloon over the broad river that flowed gently to the sea.

“Hang on,” Nemo said, and they all clutched the ropes as their hot air balloon drifted low across the Senegal.
 
It spun around like a top, letting Nemo see in all directions.
 
He watched the black-clad raiders come to an abrupt halt at the muddy bank.
 
Snarling and cursing, they shot impotently into the sky.

Although the cooling air leaked out of the sack, the desperate explorers approached the opposite shore swiftly enough.
 
As Nemo looked toward the western bank, he saw that a cavalry troop of uniformed men -- British, from the looks of them -- had ridden out to intercept the balloon.
 

The
Victoria
kissed the water twice, dragging their feet in the turgid current, forcing the three to crawl higher onto the sagging sack.
 
The balloon continued to bob across the water, buoyed by a slight breeze, then struck the mud on the far side and dragged them across the flatlands as the British troops advanced to meet them.

When the exhausted
Victoria
finally came to rest, the travelers sank into the folds of silk and panted with sheer relief.
 
Within moments, the British troops galloped up in formation, smartly dressed, cleaner and healthier than anyone the travelers had seen in five weeks.
 

Nemo didn’t stand to greet them:
 
His knees were too shaky and his muscles too weak from the exertions they had endured.

The British captain peered down at the mustachioed explorer in the mud, and tipped his hat.
 
“Doctor Fergusson, I presume?”

Fergusson smiled so that his mustache curved upward like a black cat’s tail.
 
He glanced over at Nemo and Caroline.
 
“Yes, sir -- Fergusson, and friends.”

Part VII

Robur the Conqueror

i

Paris, 1854

Though he had been home for half a year now, still Nemo could not relax.

At dawn, with a cool mist slinking around the riverfront districts, Nemo gazed up at the painted building that overlooked the Seine.
 
Three stories tall, the structure had gray siding and white shutters, and stone steps leading up to a tall, narrow door.
 
Over the lintel hung a bright sign: “ARONNAX, MERCHANT, Paris Offices.”

Only a month after she had returned from Africa, Caroline had purchased the expensive left-bank property across from Notre Dame, where gulls flew around the spires, arches, and gargoyles.
 
Boats passed along the river, ducking under bridge after bridge.
 
Caroline’s main office stood directly on the water, across from the Tuileries Gardens, not far from the impressive Bourbon Palais.

Nemo could not argue with her decision to move her shipping offices to Paris.
 
Both in business acumen and in her creative arts, Caroline had made herself into a person to be reckoned with.
 
But the thought of having her so close to him, and still so unavailable, tore his heart with conflicting emotions.
 

Six years had passed since the
Forward
’s departure, and she still had received no word from Captain Hatteras.
 
The Arctic explorer had not sent her so much as a single letter.
 

But the law was the law.
 
Nemo had to wait one more year for her.
 
That was how it must be, though in his heart he felt that he and Caroline had made vows and commitments to each other that outweighed any mere certificate. . . .

#

Perhaps it was a consequence of having encountered danger so many times, having faced death at each other’s sides.
 
Perhaps the exquisite agony of being so close for five long weeks had worked their secret emotions to a fever pitch.
 
When he and Caroline boarded a northbound British naval ship at the mouth of the Congo and sailed for England, Nemo could pretend no longer.

Caroline’s eyes flashed at him like star sapphires, and she flushed when their glances met.
 
He could read her thoughts and desires as if she’d written them down and handed him a secret note.
 
The British sailors treated Dr. Fergusson as a hero, and the captain welcomed the explorer to his table, but Nemo and Caroline were often left to themselves.

On a still, moonless night filled with stars over a sea of glass, Nemo slipped into Caroline’s cabin.
 
She welcomed him without words, only kisses . . . and did not ask him why he had waited so long.

They had a full month together as the ship cruised toward the English Channel along the African coast, past the Straits of Gibraltar and along the edge of Portugal.
 
The two of them remained discreet, though they fooled neither the sailors, nor the captain, who viewed Caroline as precious cargo.
 
Only Dr. Samuel Fergusson, who spent every waking moment editing and rewriting his journals for publication, was completely oblivious.

Nemo and Caroline cherished every moment.

But as they approached France again, they looked at each other with dread and indecision.
 
While Nemo had nothing to lose -- no reputation, no standing in society -- Madame Caroline Hatteras owned a successful shipping company and was married to a man who had a proud and respected name.

“We will have to wait, Caroline,” Nemo said as they stood together at the bow of the ship, looking at the approaching English coastline.
 
“We’ll have to pretend.
 
Again.”

Caroline’s eyes shone with tears like crystal.
 
“It doesn’t matter to me anymore, André.
 
We both know the captain won’t be coming back from his voyage to find the Northwest Passage.
 
Why should we delay, when we love each other?
 
We have already wasted the best years of our lives apart.”