Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (64 page)

Standing on the bridge of the
Nautilus
, Nemo gazed ahead as their journey continued.
 
“There are two types of men in this world, Jules: those who
do
things, and those who wish they did.”
 
Hearing the words, Verne felt stung.
 
He sensed some implied criticism, but did not challenge his friend.
 

One evening as they sat together at a dinner of poached fish and steamed mollusks, Nemo asked in a quiet voice, “Have you heard from Caroline, Jules?
 
How is she?
 
What is she doing these days?
 
Even after I escaped I . . . I thought it might be better if I let her continue to believe I am dead.”

Reluctant to talk about the woman they had both loved since childhood, Verne professed to have little knowledge about what had happened to her.
 
“She’s quite successful, I believe, since she moved her merchant offices to Paris.
 
She invested well and keeps busy, probably still writes her own music that she lets few people hear.”

“And . . . her husband?” Nemo said.
 
“Captain Hatteras.
 
Has he ever returned?
 
Is there any word?”

Verne snorted.
 
“No, and I doubt there ever will be.
 
It’s been sixteen years.
 
She’ll never remarry now, though she could have done so legally long ago.
 
I think she rather likes being on her own.
 
She’s so independent.”

“I . . . I am married,” Nemo said, taking Verne by surprise.
 
“Her name is Auda, a Turkish woman.
 
Caliph Robur presented her to me and I had no choice . . . but we’ve come to love each other.
 
The two of us have a son.”
 
He smiled.
 
“I named him after you, Jules.”

Verne flushed, and admitted his own situation.
 
“I have a wife, myself,” he said, unable to believe that in all the time they’d talked, all the stories they had told, the two men had neglected to mention their families.
 
“We’ve had a son, too.
 
I named him . . . uh, Michel.”

Nemo wistfully scratched his dark beard.
 
“My men and I will return to pick up Auda and my son, and their families as well.
 
I’m afraid I have let Caroline down again.”
 
He hesitated a moment, then looked back toward the bridge and his crew.
 
“We intend to live together aboard the
Nautilus
and never come back to France.
 
I’ve had enough of so-called civilized lands, and leaders with their constant struggles and murderous intents.”
 
A storm crossed Nemo’s face.
 
He picked at his food, then pushed the plate away.

“Excuse me, Jules.
 
I must go to the helm.
 
I plan to take us deeper into the Atlantic -- where even I have not yet explored.
 
Three-quarters of the Earth is covered with the oceans, you know.
 
I could travel” -- he waved a hand, making up a number --
 
“. . . twenty-thousand leagues without ever touching land.
 
And I think I just may do that.”

He left Verne to finish his meal alone.

iii

The
Nautilus
descended to incredible depths.
 
No daylight penetrated the vast underwater canyons.
 
No ray of sunshine passed through the inky black water.

The sub-marine’s layered hull groaned from the pressure.
 
Verne paced the bridge deck, glancing sidelong at the thick porthole glass, as if expecting to see cracks appear at any moment.
 
Nemo seemed calm and confident, with complete faith in his vessel.
 
From time to time the crewmen looked at their captain, then returned to their duties.
 
Liedenbrock, the metallurgist, examined the hull plates, then placed his ear against them.
 
He nodded to Nemo, who gave the order to go deeper still.

Strange, phosphorescent sea creatures swam about in the blackness like glowing candle processions.
 
Tiny cold lamps sparkled from bizarre beasts that no fisherman had ever caught.

“We will compile charts of this landscape, for the sake of science,” Nemo said.
 
“But I will not provide this knowledge to the world’s governments.
 
Their leaders would find some means to turn it to a violent end.”
 

Verne opened his mouth to disagree, then clamped his lips tight.
 
After everything his friend had endured, a mere author had no right to argue with him.
 
After the oppression of Rurapente, Nemo seemed to have lost some part of his heart; his old spark of enthusiasm had turned into a gray ember.

Nemo said in a distant voice, his face expressionless, “Here, embraced in the womb of the oceans, my men and I can be at . . . peace with the world.”

Moments after that pronouncement, the sea monster attacked.

Emerging from the depths, a giant squid darted in front of the
Nautilus
.
 
The hostile environment had transformed it into a leviathan of incredible proportions.
 
The beast swam backward, pumping its tentacles, attracted by the dazzling lights of the sub-marine boat.

Liedenbrock gasped in alarm.
 
“Ach!
 
Such a brute.”
 

Verne’s eyes widened as he saw the enormous suckered tentacles thrashing toward them.

Nemo barked an order.
 
“Reverse the propeller screws, Mr. Harding.
 
We must avoid this creature.”

But the
Nautilus
could not move as fast as the enormous cuttlefish.
 
Its numerous appendages surrounded the vessel like a net.
 
The
Nautilus
rocked as the tentacles encircled the plated hull in an unbreakable embrace.

“Forward -- now!”
 
With a groan, the sub-marine’s powerful engines pushed them in the opposite direction.
 
But with an abrasive straining sound, the propellers ground to a halt.
 

Cyrus Harding said, “Tentacles are caught in the screws, Captain.
 
We cannot move.”

The sea beast rocked them like a crocodile trying to shake its prey to pieces.
 
The giant squid’s conical head pressed against the thick portholes, displaying only a cold predatory intent.
 
Its hideous round eyes, larger than serving plates, stared without recognition or intelligence.
 
Verne scrambled away from the thick window with a cry of terror.
 

Nemo’s brows furrowed with desperate concentration, and he scratched his close-cropped beard.
 
“We must surface, Mr. Harding.
 
We will bring this thing to the light of day.
 
Out in the open air, perhaps it will release us.”

With a clang, the squid raked its sharp, parrotlike beak against the iron-scaled bow, chewing on the metal hull.

“Brace yourselves!” Harding called.
 
Verne grasped the bridge rail with all his strength and squeezed his eyes shut.
 
The ballast tanks were blown, and the vessel began to rise.
 
Nemo watched the external pressure gauges and the depth indicator.
 
“We are rising rapidly.”
 
The creaks and groans of the hull emphasized his words.

Verne hoped that a monster from such depths could not survive at the surface, but he had read old sailors’ tales, accounts of titanic battles between giant squids and sperm whales.
 
He had never desired to see one with his own eyes.

The sub-marine continued to rise for many minutes, and the uncertain light grew brighter as they climbed toward sunlit levels.
 
But the squid refused to relinquish its suckered hold.

As if with a sigh of relief, the
Nautilus
breached the surface -- yet still the giant squid did not relinquish its hold.
 
The writhing tentacles flexed and tightened, like a python’s grip.
 
One untangled itself and slammed the top of the hull.
 
The battering sounds echoed like explosions within the vessel’s metal walls.

“We must put a stop to this.”
 
Nemo’s jaw clenched until Verne could see his muscles move beneath his dark beard.
 
He looked at his crew.
 
“Take your weapons, men.
 
We will go out and face this monster here and now.”

While Verne hung back, sure he could be no help whatsoever, the
Nautilus
crewmembers grimly followed their captain’s orders.
 
They secured spears, axes, and long throwing knives; four even carried curved scimitars taken from Robur’s overthrown guards.

Telling Verne to stay clear, Nemo led the way up the metal ladder to the hatch.
 
“Beware of the tentacles.
 
Each one of those suckers has a central hook that can rip your guts out.”

Nemo drew a deep breath -- and threw open the hatch.
 
The men scrambled out, carrying their weapons.
 
Outside, the Atlantic was choppy, and a low, cold mist covered the sky.
 
The giant squid quested with its tentacles like deadly bullwhips.

Nemo jumped onto the outer deck, carrying the jagged spear with which he had killed the hammerhead shark.
 
Cyrus Harding, his dimpled chin thrust forward in determination, set to work with a heavy ax, chopping one of the tentacles.
 
The other crewmen yelled as they attacked -- but the deep-sea creature did not seem to hear.

Two of the squid’s tentacles probed toward Harding, but a crewman sliced off the ends with a scimitar.
 
The oozing stumps continued to flop about.
 
Harding used his ax to sever another tentacle.

One man, a long-haired Sardinian, plunged a long throwing knife into the round expressionless eye, ducking away from a spurt of jelly.
 
The creature stank of sour slime and half-digested fish.
 
Slippery, oozing gel from the smooth skin covered the riveted hull plates.

The squid lifted more tentacles, releasing the
Nautilus
’s propeller to turn its efforts against new opponents.
 
One of the serpentlike arms wrapped around the Sardinian who had stabbed its eye.
 
The long-haired man screamed in pain, poking his dagger into the rubbery flesh, with no effect.
 
The squid raised him high.
 
The others rallied to save their comrade, but a storm of tentacles rose -- and the crewmen had to defend themselves.
 

The squid dragged the poor crewman toward the clacking jaws of its parrotlike beak.
 
Inside, a horny, tooth-filled tongue slashed from side to side.

His face a mask of fury, Captain Nemo strode into the midst of the tentacles and thrust his spear into the squid’s mouth, jamming the jagged tip past the open beak and thrusting it deep into the soft tissues.
 
With another scimitar, a crewman lopped off a fourth tentacle.
 

Terrified at the mayhem above, Verne tentatively climbed the ladder, trying to see.

One man stabbed his splintered spear into the soft conical head, but struck no nerves or brain.
 
Verne had read somewhere that a squid had three separate hearts, and he doubted a single weapon thrust could kill the beast.

Snarling like an animal himself, Nemo pushed his spear deeper into the monster’s mouth, until the squid finally let go of its captive.
 
The long-haired Sardinian dropped to the deck, bloody and mangled.
 
The hooks within the squid’s suckers had left long lacerations in the victim’s flesh.
 
One of the other men grabbed the hapless Sardinian by the shoulders and dragged him toward the hatch.
 
Verne tried to get out of the way, but the crewman snapped, “Take him, man!
 
Can’t you see he needs help?”