Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius Read Free Page B

too difficult to breathe, though.   Over the distance, the air line had begun to kink, and some of his seals had developed slow leaks.   Droplets of water spat into his helmet with each heavy breath.
    Before he could turn back toward shore, the stifling air in his helmet forced him to drop his belt stones.   Nemo rose to the surface, fumbling to undo the seal at his neck.   Steam fogged the window glass.
    As his head and shoulders bobbed above the water, Nemo tore off the bladder helmet, drew in a huge gulp of air, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight.   Since he hadn’t used his knife to cut it off, he could use the apparatus again.  
    Today he had accomplished an amazing thing.   He would return, of course.   But he would have to make modifications, widen the breathing hole, do something to improve air circulation.   The underwater world remained a grand mystery. . . .
    He searched the shore and spotted Verne waving at him.   Then he noticed the lovely Caroline Aronnax beside his redheaded friend.   Grinning and feeling just a bit cocky, Nemo waved back.
     
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    The shops and merchant stalls on Ile Feydeau carried every imaginable item from every imaginable place: pearls and tropical birds from the Sandwich Islands, bananas, breadfruits, and papayas from Tahiti, wooden drums from the Congo , scrimshaw-carved walrus tusks made by eskimaux in the Arctic .   Potbellied merchants strolled beside ladies carrying parasols.   The smells of outdoor cooking curled like fog through the air, pungent, sweet, or savory.
    While walking with the two young men who fawned over her, Caroline admired coral necklaces brought back from South Sea islands .   Both Verne and Nemo stumbled over themselves promising to obtain fabulous coral trinkets for her in the adventures they were sure to have sometime in the near future.
    She laughed at their enthusiasm.   “Monsieurs, I will believe that promise as soon as I can hold it in my hand.   My mother warned me not to heed the sweet words of ambitious young men.”  
    “But you never listen to your mother,” Nemo said, and Caroline returned his smile.   Confident and happy, she hurried off for her daily lesson on the pianoforte.
    Rue Kervegan, the main avenue in Ile Feydeau, stretched away from the bustling wharves, lined with elms and flanked by the offices of businessmen and tradesmen.   Cafes and restaurants served coffee from Sumatra, chocolat-chaud from Mexico , and black tea from India .
    At the shipyards, Verne and Nemo watched workers string a cats’-cradle of rigging on the new vessel.   The Cynthia was a “packet” ship, designed to make good speed across the Atlantic , carrying passengers, mail, and cargo.   Previously, cargo ships would depart whenever they had a full load, and not before.   A packet ship, however, set sail on a specified date to New York harbor or Chesapeake Bay , regardless of whether her cargo hold was full or her passenger cabins inhabited, and she also returned on a set schedule.   A trip to North America took five weeks fighting the westerly winds, while the return journey required only three to four.
    As Verne and Nemo walked down the quays, a figure on the deck of the Cynthia waved to them.   Jacques Nemo rapped a quick pattern with his hammer, a little rhythm he and his son had developed to recognize each other, because it was easier than shouting across the din.   André Nemo’s dark hair and Verne’s tousled red locks made them a distinctive enough pair even from a distance.   Nemo waved back at his father before the man went belowdecks.
    “He’s gilding the aft passenger cabins today.   Gilding!”   Nemo shook his head.   “Considering all the sailing stories we’ve heard, I never imagined passengers would be so pampered.”
    “Like a royal carriage,” Verne said, not that he’d ever ridden in one.   Someday , he promised himself.  
    Muscular sailors used a rattling block-and-tackle to lower cannons through