Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (59 page)

He sniffed the flowers -- and discovered something strange around a thick stem at the center.
 
She had folded and wrapped a thin scrap of brown paper which matched the color of the twigs.
 
Curious, Nemo unraveled the scrap and found that she had written him a note in tiny letters, painstakingly translated into French.
 
He held his breath as he read, feeling cold horror grow within him.

“Nemo, my love, Robur intends to kill you and your men on this voyage.
 
He no longer has any use for you.
 
He does not realize, though, that it is already too late for him.
 
While he is gone during these seven days, my father’s troops will sweep down from the mountains and overthrow Rurapente.
 
The Sultan has issued an order for Robur’s execution.
 

“Protect yourself.
 
Stay on your guard and be prepared to fight when the caliph makes his move.
 
My father has promised me safety -- yes, all along I have been his spy at Rurapente, and I have sent regular reports via the shepherds on the plateau, who are my allies.
 

“I will take Jules into isolation and protect the families of your men -- but you
must not return
for at least a year.
 
There is sure to be terrible bloodshed and political confusion.
 
Because you have built this war vessel for an enemy of the Sultan, your life may also be forfeit.
 

“Do not worry about me, my husband.
 
Just find me when the time is up.
 
I shall wait for you, counting the days.
 
I will make sure your son never forgets you, and when you return, you will receive the honor and glory you deserve.”

Nemo reread the letter through a hot haze of betrayal.
 
He had expected treachery from Caliph Robur, and he vowed again that the evil warlord would not succeed in his mad goals.
 
Robur represented the worst of mankind.
 

Grim and determined, Nemo knew he would have to rally his crew.
 
They must find a way to outwit the caliph’s murderous guards.

When he felt ready to return to the bridge, he looked down and discovered that in his cold fury, he had crushed the delicate flowers in his hands.

viii

Like a metal shark, the
Nautilus
glided through the Mediterranean.
 
The vessel cruised over ribbony masses of coral and underwater forests of seaweed.
 
Schools of silvery fish flitted through the glare of the dazzling front lights.
 
The captive crew watched for legendary mer-people, marvelous sunken cities, or frightening sea monsters.
 

Knowing the death sentence Robur had secretly pronounced for them, however, Nemo could see no beauty there.

Seeing that the burly guards were occupied and complacent, Nemo took aside Cyrus Harding, whom he had named as his second-in-command, and quietly told the English boatbuilder of Auda’s warning.
 
Then, speaking a polyglot of French, English, and Italian, word passed among the captive crew.
 
Now vigilant, they began making plans for their defense against Robur’s betrayal.
 
Since the senseless execution of poor Conseil, the men had been eager to strike back against the bloodthirsty warlord. . . .

As they journeyed for days, Nemo stood at the helm, silently aware of Caliph Robur and his murderous guards.
 
He watched the caliph’s narrow face for any sign of impending treachery.
 
Robur seemed to grow more eager, his motions impatient, as he demanded that Nemo show him every control of the undersea boat.
 
He overheard two guards whispering in Turkish, confident their language could not be understood, as they caressed their scimitar hilts and chuckled about “the true uses of steel.”

By the caliph’s command, Nemo guided the
Nautilus
south, following the coast of Lebanon toward Egypt.
 
Robur grew agitated and then smugly satisfied, when they reached the northern Egyptian coast.
 
Though de Lesseps’s massive excavation of the Suez Canal had already been under way for two years, the French engineer had fallen behind schedule.
 

Now, the
Nautilus
cruised up and down the coast, watching the trawlers and dredging ships.
 
Silt from the gargantuan project had turned the water murky.
 
Everyone aboard could see that this supposed threat to the Ottoman Empire would not be completed for many years.
 
Caliph Robur had imagined the speed at which this entire “emergency” would develop.

One by one Nemo’s crew stared out the window at the embarrassingly incomplete trench.
 
Then, with barely concealed bitterness, they returned to their duties tending the sub-marine.
 
Conseil had been slain for no purpose.

Nemo knew what he had to do.
 
He made signals to his men and held brief whispered conversations with a few, who then spread word to the others.
 
He had stalled long enough.
 
It was time for revenge.

Nemo prepared to fight Caliph Robur and his men to the death.

#

Turning northward, they headed across deep water toward the Aegean Sea.
 
Beneath the surface, gigantic underwater mountains rose from the sea floor to form numerous sunwashed islands.
 
Crevasses split their steep sides, filled with colorful fishes that flitted away from the sub-marine’s brilliant light.
 
High above, fishing boats and oyster divers went about their daily routines.
 

After four days, the tension of wondering when Robur would make his move had reached a peak for Nemo and his men.
 
When the crew finished morning operations, the caliph, resplendent in green turban and brilliant cape, turned to Nemo.
 
“Engineer, I have seen everything this sub-marine boat can do, and it has performed flawlessly.
 
Your work is at last complete.”
 
He glanced meaningfully at his nearest guards; their fingers shifted toward the hilts of their scimitars.
 
“Now it is time --”

Nemo was ready for him, though.
 
“Oh, not entirely, Caliph.”
 
He held up his hand and feigned a smile.
 
“I have kept one important and marvelous thing until the end.
 
A special surprise for you.”
 
Robur scowled, but Nemo offered his most disarming smile, hiding an automatic expression of hatred for the man.
 
“Come, you must see for yourself.”
 

Forcing himself to appear calm, he led the warlord to a closet, which he opened to reveal five diving suits.
 
The bronze helmets were reinforced to hold air pressure and fitted with a thick glass viewplate.
 
The garment itself was leather and canvas, coated with gutta percha to make it watertight; all the seams were shellacked.
 

“You have not yet walked on the bottom of the ocean, Caliph.
 
This is the final honor reserved for you: to set foot where no other man, not even your Sultan, has gone.”
 
By appealing to Robur’s pride, Nemo knew the decision was foreordained.
 
“Surely you cannot pass up this miracle?
 
We have enough time.”

Robur studied the brass helmets, air tubes, and metal tanks.
 
After a moment’s hesitation he stroked his black beard.
 
“Yes, we shall do that.”
 
Then he glared at Nemo.
 
“And
you
will accompany me, Engineer, to ensure that there is no danger.”

“Why should I wish to harm you, Caliph?
 
Will you not soon reward us for the excellent job we have done?”
 
He studiously looked away from the burly guards.
 
“However, it would be best if I bring one of my men along -- to assist in case of any technical emergency.”

Robur’s brows knitted in concern beneath his turban.
 
“Then I will take one of my guards, as well.”
 
Nemo shrugged, suppressing a smile.
 
These bald, muscular guards had never fought with anything but a scimitar: they would be completely helpless under the sea.

He trusted Cyrus Harding most among his men, but he would need his second-in-command on board to handle the other part of the plan.
 
Instead, he chose as his companion the German/Sardinian Liedenbrock.
 
“Ach!
 
This should be a fine expedition.
 
And eventful, I hope.”
 
He and Liedenbrock looked at each other, and understanding flashed between them.
 
Both knew how much was at stake here.
 
They could not hesitate.

“When we return, Engineer, I will finally set you and all your men free,” the caliph said, removing his green turban so that he could wear the reinforced bronze helmet.
 
“Now help me into this suit.”

Not believing him for an instant, Nemo lowered the sturdy metal covering on Robur’s head, sealing the brass collar into its padded gasket.
 
Robur’s anxious guards watched.
 
Nemo made no threatening moves as he secured the chest and leg fastenings on the warlord’s diving suit, then attached an air hose to the tank of compressed air developed by Conseil before his execution.

Nemo and Liedenbrock donned their own suits, while others assisted the cumbersome guard, forcing him to leave his curved sword behind.
 
The muscular man did not understand why he couldn’t carry the blade inside his heavy, waterproof suit.
 
The impatient caliph commanded him to cooperate so they could go outside and walk on the ocean floor.
 

Leaving the rest of the
Nautilus
crew with the remainder of the white-clad guards, the four suited men stood inside the small, double-walled exit chamber.
 
Nemo grasped a long, barbed spear from a rack on the wall.
 
In his heavy suit the caliph’s guard moved clumsily to grab the weapon away from him.
 
Robur’s helmet plate opened.
 
“What is the meaning of taking this weapon, Engineer?”

“We must defend ourselves, Caliph,” Nemo said in an innocent voice.
 
“We are entering unexplored territory.
 
We do not know what dangers may wait for us beneath the sea.
 
Is it not better to be prepared, than to be slaughtered by a man-eating fish?”
 
He looked intent, making certain he increased the uneasy guard’s fear.
 
“Or perhaps a sea monster?”

The caliph grumbled, “Very well, but my guard will carry the weapon himself.
 
Now, let us be off so I can experience the last of the
Nautilus
’s wonders.”

Nemo forced a tight smile again and looked at Cyrus Harding waiting just outside the airlock hatch.
 
His anger had turned to ice, and he was completely prepared for what he must do.
 
“Yes, Caliph, we will have much to celebrate.”
 
The second-in-command gave a curt nod to show that he understood.

The four suited men sealed the airlock chamber.
 
Nemo turned a rotating wheel to open a valve that allowed sea water to pour in.
 
Both the guard and the caliph became frantic at the gushing flow, but Nemo raised his gloved hand, gesturing for them not to fear.
 
When the water filled the chamber, they stood together for a moment, testing their breathing apparatus and looking through their helmets.
 

Nemo tasted metallic air in his lungs and again saw a bright vision of the meteorologist lying beheaded on the docks.
 
Conseil had developed these systems, much improved over the crude bladder helmet young Nemo had used to walk under the Loire, when he’d been unable to save his drowning father. . . .
 
With renewed determination, he opened the outer door, and the party stepped out of the sub-marine boat and onto the bottom of the sea.