Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius (72 page)

“At its core, you will not be lying.
 
You will have done as you proposed, according to the terms of your wager.
 
You traveled around the world in eighty days.
 
No one can argue that fact.
 
The rest of the story is just . . . details.”

“But details are like schedules.
 
Too many people ignore them.”
 
Staring into the cold, moist air, Fogg remained stoic for a long moment until he broke into a broad grin, the first overt emotion Nemo had seen from the scarecrowish man.
 
“Well . . . it will, after all, be only one more falsehood.”
 
Fogg turned to the dark-haired captain.
 
“I’ve just realized that of all people in the world, you are the one person in whom I can confide.
 
I can tell you my secret, Captain Nemo, because you have no means and no motivation to reveal it to the authorities.”

“I have no respect for authorities,” Nemo agreed bitterly.

Fogg continued.
 
“As you might guess, sir, arranging such a trip around the globe involved more than careful scheduling.
 
It required substantial monetary resources as well.
 
While I had a comfortable enough life in London, I was by no means a rich man, not the sort of person who had the funds to engage in such a lengthy and expensive trip.
 
So I was forced to acquire the financing by . . . unorthodox means.”

Phileas Fogg fell silent for a moment, and Nemo looked at him as the
Nautilus
cruised onward.
 
“You stole it?”

Fogg met his dark gaze.
 
“I robbed a bank.”

Nemo stared at the tall Englishman in astonishment.

“Oh, not with a gun or any sort of violence, I assure you.”
 
Fogg waved a long-fingered hand.
 
“I simply found the means to walk off with a large stack of pound notes that were left unattended by a careless clerk.”
 

Fogg sniffed, twitching his large nostrils.
 
“And while the Bank of England and Scotland Yard were in a frenzy searching all over London to track down the thief, I was traveling around the world to great fanfare and popular reception.
 
No one has ever suspected that the stolen money is in my possession -- or
was
, that is.
 
It’s all been spent on my trip.
 

“However, if I do return home in time, the amount I shall win in my wager is several times greater than the sum I . . . withdrew.
 
Before I left England, I devised a plan for returning the money discreetly -- call it an impromptu loan.
 
Then the books will balance, the details will add up properly, and all will be right with the world.
 
Never fear, Captain Nemo, thanks to your assistance, everything will turn out as it should, according to schedule.”

Nemo thought about the man’s situation, but did not accept or condemn Fogg’s actions.
 
“We all have our secrets, Monsieur.
 
And since I trust you to keep mine, the
Nautilus
will bring you to London on time.”

iv

Late at night, in the dark of a new moon, the
Nautilus
churned the murky waters of the Thames and delivered Phileas Fogg to a deserted wharf in London.
 
The fastidious man packed a few meager possessions and his logbook, then prepared to disembark.
 
The emotionless man didn’t look at all triumphant, but accepted his arrival as a matter of course.

After climbing out of the hatch, Fogg stood beside the captain of the
Nautilus
.
 
He glanced at his pocketwatch, released a contented sigh.
 
“After you depart, Captain Nemo, have a care to avoid the French coast.
 
I doubt you would wish to become involved in that terrible war and its repercussions.”

Nemo studied the tall Englishman.
 
“What do you mean, Monsieur?”
 
He felt uneasy, even a bit ill.
 
“What war?”

Fogg returned the glance, surprised.
 
He raised his eyebrows and sniffed.
 
“Why, France is at war with Prussia, of course.
 
Didn’t I mention it?
 
A dreadful, bloody conflict -- and France is losing badly.
 
A terrible situation, I do believe even the trains are no longer running on time.

“Your Napoleon III was captured at Sedan and capitulated to von Bismarck . . . but Paris itself refused to surrender.
 
Some months ago Prussian troops laid siege to the city.
 
The situation is dire, sir.
 
Some of the trapped Parisians have sent out letters by hot-air balloon or carrier pigeon.
 
Rather ingenious, eh?
 
It seems one of your Ministers of State even escaped the city by balloon.”
 
Fogg smoothed down his dapper mustache.
 
“By all accounts, though, the people are starving.
 
They’ve even resorted to eating animals from the Paris Zoo, just for the meat.
 
Parts of the city have been burnt.”
 

The Englishman stepped onto the vacant dock.
 
To the curious press on the following day, Fogg would have miraculously appeared out of nowhere.
 
“A terrible situation, simply terrible.
 
I hear there are also Prussian warships patrolling the Atlantic coast of France.”
 
Then he raised his eyebrows.
 
“Ah, if I might inquire?
 
Should your
Nautilus
be sunk, might I then be allowed to revise my log to include passage aboard your vessel?
 
It seems only proper --”

In shock, Nemo thought immediately of Caroline, knowing she would have been trapped in Paris.
 
He imagined her starving to death, unable to get out of the city. . . .
 
“Mr. Harding, prepare to depart,” he called down to the control bridge.
 
With a brisk farewell wave to Phileas Fogg, he descended the ladder and slammed the metal hatch over his head.

Nemo knew exactly what he must do.
 
He directed his men to turn the sub-marine vessel about.
 
They headed back toward the English Channel.
 

He would return to Paris and save Caroline.

v

Cruising along the coast of Brittany, the
Nautilus
found the mouth of the Seine, then traveled at top speed against the river current.
 
Taking the helm again, Nemo guided the sub-marine boat through the maritime channel.
 
All commerce to the interior of France had stopped due to the devastating Franco-Prussian War, and the
Nautilus
proceeded unhindered.

With winter setting in, the fields had already been harvested, the grasses and trees turned brown in anticipation of snow.
 
At times, shallow water and sandbars forced the vessel to surface.
 
Nemo’s urgency allowed him no time for caution.
 
Peasants who picked through crop stubble on the fertile bluffs looked down to see a scaled monster pass by.
 
Nemo was oblivious to their superstitions; he thought only of reaching Caroline.

By this time, he had learned enough about the Franco-Prussian conflict to know that it was as foolish a set of circumstances and as poor an excuse for bloodshed as any other conflict.
 
Again, the folly of war.
 
Earlier that year, the Prussians had attempted to put their own candidate on the vacant throne of Spain.
 
The shrewd Prussian Chancellor, Otto von Bismarck, had maneuvered the now-bumbling Napoleon III into declaring war against Prussia to stand up for Spanish interests.
 
What pointless folly!

It was a war that everyone knew France couldn’t win.
 
The Prussians had superior numbers, superior artillery, superior leadership.
 
In an inept debacle, Napoleon III had countermanded the orders of his generals and personally led the French army into battle at Sedan, with disastrous consequences.
 
The Emperor and his troops were captured, and the Prussian army marched unopposed across the French countryside.
 
In seventeen days, they had placed Paris under a siege that had not been broken for months.
 
And now the people were starving, and the city was burning.

And Nemo was sure that Caroline would be there.

Riding low in the water like a giant crocodile, the
Nautilus
continued up the Seine, past Rouen, past St.-Germain.
 
When they finally drifted beneath the numerous stone bridges spanning the river in Paris, Nemo watched the encamped Prussian army continue to bombard the city with artillery.

Confident of victory, the massed enemy troops did not even risk their lives by marching on Paris.
 
They remained camped in position, untouchable and unbeatable.
 
Their cannons launched incendiaries into the city, starting conflagrations that the beaten people could barely fight.

Still half submerged, as the
Nautilus
passed under the thick bridge pilings, Nemo’s crewmen pressed close to the portholes to look out at the besieged city.
 
The ruined buildings and smoke were a grim reminder of the devastation at Rurapente.
 
Dusk had fallen, and night was on its way, but fires splashed the sky with unrelenting orange.

“The City of Light,” Nemo remarked grimly, thinking of Emperor Napoleon III’s grand rebuilding program.
 
He shook his head to see the waste, the destruction, the mayhem.

“Looks bad, Captain,” Harding said, jutting his dimpled jaw forward.

“No matter, Mr. Harding.
 
These Prussians cannot stop us from doing what we must.”

As the cannonades and artillery thundered into the deepening night, Nemo ordered the
Nautilus
to surface, blowing all ballast.
 
He opened the upper hatch and listened to the water as it trickled off the hull plates.
 
The air of Paris smelled acrid with smoke, piled refuse, and raw sewage.
 
And death.
 
In the distance he could hear crackling flames, pounding guns, and the moans of a defeated people too tired and hungry to continue the fight.

Long ago, he had worked here as an engineer for the Emperor.
 
He had helped build these bridges, designed some of the palatial buildings with the civil engineer Haussmann.
 
Now, in a matter of months, the Prussians were destroying all the restoration Napoleon III had accomplished.

But Nemo could not find it in his heart to mourn the loss of
things
-- not buildings or boulevards, not sculptures or fountains.
 
With his rediscovered conscience, after causing so much mayhem of his own, he cared more about the lives at stake.
 
He now knew he couldn’t single-handedly stop the wars.
 
How had he ever been foolish enough to believe that more killing was the answer?
 
There were some things men would have to learn for themselves. . . .

Right now, Caroline’s very life might be at stake.
 
Nothing mattered more than that.
 
He had failed her so many times before.

Perhaps as the Prussian armies approached, she had been wise enough to gather her possessions, close down the offices of ‘Aronnax, Merchant,’ and flee the city . . . but Nemo knew she wasn’t that sort of person.
 
Caroline Hatteras would never have given up.
 
She would have stayed at the offices even under artillery bombardment.

Cyrus Harding guided the sub-marine toward the crowded docks and rowhouses.
 
When the armored vessel had tied up to the high brick bank, Nemo took a pistol and a scimitar -- odd and archaic choices in the face of the modern Prussian army -- but the
Nautilus
carried few other weapons.