Lime said to Efrem quietly, “I have to, must, get some pictures, but don’t you be looking, boy-o. Don’t turn around, go to your grandmother’s. Run there.”
* * *
The bombs fell from the sky. Dying sea birds landing on the decks of a dozen ships, under a dozen flags. Bouncing off railings, falling to the water, getting tangled in lines or rolling off the sails.
A few were targets for sharpshooters, ricocheted into the ocean or hurled from the decks in nets. The crews ready for an explosion that didn’t happen. But other bombs were lodged into the deck planking, their crowns splitting open, revealing the paper inside.
Gladstone looked up from the bow of Her Majesty’s Turret Ship Captain, to see the dirigible, with its flag, sailing through the highest clouds, the last of the letter bombs falling from an open hatch.
Gladstone read the message, then looked to the sky again. Trying to decipher what was written there, and more importantly, why it was written: a puzzle that couldn’t be solved.
Around him, on the decks of other ships, some still a mile or more out, shots were fired in rotation, each gun with its own distinctive report and echo, identifying its country.
* * *
“That’s the reaction to your message, Sam. Every country having a voice.”
Grant, at his desk, still cuffed, said, “That assurance from me, now, would mean very little…”
Duncan moved to Grant, sitting across from him as he had many times in The Shop, and said, “It wasn’t an assurance of noninvolvement, Sam. It’s a declaration of war.”
“My God, what you’ve done.”
The words were as heavy as the corpses stacked in the battlefields where Grant had commanded. Where he had walked among the dead, feeling the blood seeping into his boots while giving orders to fight on, and assurances to the wounded. Not just a memory. Immediate, because the echo of the gunfire from the ocean was real. As was the pain; all the battle wounds opening inside of him, as if their healing had been a lie.
“You carry too much with you, Sam.”
Grant said, “What do you think I’d be doing if I wasn’t chained down like this?”
Duncan said, “Engagement makes a difference, doesn’t it? The heat of the conflict turns you into something else. I saw it, saw you kill.”
“Killed in war, never murdered.”
“Nemo would argue that distinction.”
Grant’s voice was a growl. “Did he put you up to this?”
“I’m my own master. But you, sitting here, at my command, you’re a ghost of who you’re supposed to be. A broken soldier.”
“You think so?”
Silence. That total lack of sound that happens after a life’s been taken was the answer to Grant’s question. He looked to the blood left by the guards, the glass Maston fell through. And then, he knew.
“Sigel, that was you.”
Duncan said, “No.”
Grant said, “Because you weren’t there. And Norfolk? I watched you cower in the street, all those men and ships. And it was you, you son of a bitch.”
Duncan said, “Your emotions, Sam, always your undoing.”
He took hold of the back of Grant’s chair, and pushed him toward the bullet-shattered glass of the dirigible’s sky windows.
“I know you’re a man of faith, men of war usually are. We’re sailing close to the heavens,” Duncan said. “But that’s your sweet myth, not mine. Look up, Mr. President.”
Grant’s head was down, until forced up by the barrel of his own gun, pressed under his chin.
“Look up, and see what a true creator can do.”
Grant moved his eyes, and they widened at what he saw, the reaction slipping out. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…”
* * *
The slope of the underwater dunes had been taken down by a hurricane that cleared the water as well. It was an enormous glass bowl, crystal blue with green, and absolutely calm, the Nautilus cutting through its center. A beam of red light spit from the bridge: the fire from a dragon.
Fulmer was leaning against the tripod, keeping the sea spider in view. He let the rifle tilt, while pouring no-label tar whiskey on his tired arm and rubbing it in as laudanum.
He stretched, then took hold of the weapon again as Sara stepped onto the bridge, saying, “Next time, invite me.”
Fulmer fired, “You’d accept? I wouldn’t. What about your calculations?”
“When we arrive.”
“It’s going to be damn soon,” Fulmer said. “Take a look at what the Kraken put out. It’s with your charts.”
Sara unrolled the thin, paper tongue. “I’ve already done this, and Nemo rejected it. And here we are, Goliath chasing David.”
“I’d watch that talk.” Fulmer turned to her. “Look at the last coordinates. I’ve been at sea long enough to know we’re almost on top of that spot.”
“Is this, that place, that Brigand’s Trench?”
“It’s where we’re supposed to be,” Fulmer said, leaning off the rifle and pointing toward the spider, which was now diving for the ocean floor. “That thing led us here; so did the Kraken box. So, you tell me.”
* * *
The hashish had amber streaks, was of good quality, and Top Knot placed it in his bamboo pipe with delicacy for a man with only eight fingers. He never stopped speaking the entire process, even when lighting.
“We’re all dead, under this Nemo. You’re forgetting what we’ve gone through? I’ll have nightmares the rest of my life. Maybe the ones killed already, they’re the lucky ones.”
Rongo was sitting in his usual spot in the corner, wrapped by shadows. “My brother and I came to crew as a mission of mercy. And revenge. Now, they’re both dead, him and that Jess. All I want now is to find my way home. Kwenda nyumbani.”
The rest of the crew huddled by their card table, Top Knot stretched out on Jess’ old bunk, the smoke from his pipe building like a winter fog.
“You think crewing will get you there?”
One of them from the card table said, “I want to get paid. That’s all.”
Rongo’s voice was deep and steady. “You say Nemo won’t pay?”
Top Knot said, “We’re fools to expect something out of this voyage. We don’t know anything about it, except the number of dead. And the number of secrets. They want us telling about these serpents? No. Cut our throats, leave us tied to the bottom. Less trouble that way.”
Rongo said, “Nemo would not give that order.”
Top Knot lit the last bit of hash residue, letting it settle before drawing. “You know what he’s done? How many he’s left dead across thousands of miles of water? Why would it bother him with us? Or Fulmer? Better to go back to a humpback you harpooned, get the money from him.”
Rongo stood. “I came here for one reason. That reason is done. Now, all I want is to get paid, get home.”
Top Knot drew again. “Take a sand dollar.”
“I don’t believe.”
“Then it does no harm. Come on, a man like you.”
Rongo reached into a straw basket hanging from the bunk for a sand dollar. He turned the shell over in his palm: it was larger, with gray blooms. He dropped it on the table as if it was the pot for a poker game.
Top Knot said, “If there’s angels inside, then you’re protected.”
One of the crew split it in half, tapping both edges on the table, for the smaller shells, the Angels, to tumble out from the dollar’s middle. But there was nothing. Just dust.
Top Knot said, “You don’t leave this iron boat alive.”
The crew call sounded, ordering all to the bridge.
* * *
Nemo had given an “all stop” order that sounded through the ship as Rongo and the crew made their way to the bridge. The hum of the engines had calmed, and the Nautilus was easing into a drift.
Fulmer rubbed his arm and said, “As you predicted, the little beastie’s found his way home. Maybe you have, too.”
Nemo didn’
t respond, but took his place in the center of the dome, to see what was before him. The spider had dipped away, swimming on the other side of the ship, but it had led Nemo to this place. This thing, built from the ocean floor.
An enormous, double-door entrance in the side of an underwater mountain, with a large N at its center. Riveted, of dark blue metal and stone, it was wide and tall enough for the Nautilus, but had an ancient feeling, as if designed as part of a pyramid: a shielded fortress for the pharaohs, to repel any attackers from any time.
Fulmer said, “Miss Duncan, you wanted a place to dock for repairs. This looks pretty perfect, don’t it?”
Sara’s voice was all wonder. “I don’t know what this looks like.”
Darting from below the bow, the still-glowing Sea Spider swam for the entrance, the N spiraling open into a hatchway, and the mechanical thing vanished to the other side. The hatch closed as if it was never there.
“And there you are,” Fulmer said. “Whatever the hell it is, it appears to be waitin’ for us.”
“Not for us,” Nemo said. “Mr. Rongo, break out my diving gear.”
Sara turned to Nemo. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but you need to think this through.”
“You have no voice in this, Miss Duncan. Mr. Fulmer, the bridge is yours.”
Nemo and Rongo had turned, starting for the stairs to the belowdecks, when Sara said, “You’re putting everybody at risk! Your duty is to report whatever you find before more lives are lost. The safest place is from the Nautilus.”
Nemo stopped, regarding Sara and this defiance.
She said, “I’m just asking you to remember what’s already happened. This isn’t a challenge.”
Fulmer coughed out, “We could lob a couple of torpedoes, find out who’s on the other side.”
Nemo’s eyes were on Sara. “I haven’t made that decision, Mr. Fulmer. And if I’m willing to take a risk, then so are the rest of you. You’re of my crew, that’s what it means.”
Sara said, “You agreed to certain conditions in exchange for your freedom! You said you’d find whoever’s responsible for sinking those ships, and destroy them if ordered. If you don’t, it’s treason. Grant swore he’d hang you.”
“I’ve already been condemned, that’s a matter of record, but this other…” Nemo stepped in to Sara, threateningly close. “Was it your father who gave you all that information? You’re confirming my worst doubts about you, Miss Duncan.”
He grabbed her hand with Sigel’s ring, pulling it from her finger, the gold ripping over a joint. “But then, I don’t have to go to the gallows, as long as Grant has you as an assassin-in-waiting. Did he give you your orders personally?”
Sara said, “No, I am trying to stop this. Captain, if you make this choice, then it will solidify who you are to Washington and the world. Do you understand that we’re facing this with you, but you’re acting as if our lives are meaningless?”
“Is that what you would report to your father?”
“Everyone here risked their lives to bring us to this place.”
Nemo said, “I’m aware of everyone’s efforts.”
“Miss Duncan?”
Sara turned on Fulmer’s words as he fired two shots into the Phono, blowing it apart. Sparks and mirrors. The pieces were still spinning from impact when he said, “Sorry, Captain’s orders.”
“I am taking back my ship, Miss Duncan. Completely,” Nemo said. “And all shall know what’s behind this when I do. And what I do about it will be my own accord.”
Sara said, “Whatever it is could destroy the Nautilus. And nations.”
Nemo said, “My feelings about the world above are also part of record, but are you seriously suggesting that I’m somehow a conspirator in this, that I bear responsibility for these mechanicals, and all the rest of this destruction?”
“That is your signature on that structure,” Sara said. “You have to prove you have nothing to do with this, by following the direct orders you were given. I know you have other, personal missions you’ve sworn to carry out, but this must come first, sir.”
Nemo said, “You’ve just condemned yourself.”
He turned to Rongo, just controlling his rage because of the reference to his wife. “Crewman! Miss Duncan is under arrest for espionage and mutiny. The law of the sea, Miss Duncan. You know about that, by now.”
Rongo locked his arms into Sara’s, completely trapping her. “Apologies. Miss.”
Nemo said, “Lower deck. Mr. Fulmer, anything to say?”
“Our business is end of voyage, Captain.”
* * *
On the lower deck, Rongo released Sara. “Stop your fighting.”
“Where are you going to put me?”
Rongo said, “You want off this ship? To follow Nemo?”
Sara said, “To stop him, and save the ship and us.”
“That’s not going to happen. We’re taking the iron boat. Save our lives. But if you want off, then I won’t force you to be with us.”
Sara stood in front of the Whaler. “How?”
“A diving suit. If we take the ship, we won’t be here for your return, but maybe launch the silver ball. It’s up to you. No matter what, you’re still a prisoner. Miles of water holding you.”
“We can’t use the diving tube now; how will you get me out?”
Rongo said, “Can you cut your way through flesh?”
* * *
The Diver’s Access was still twisted apart, the war with the mechanicals torn through the iron, steel, and glass of the room. Fulmer checked one of the manta-skin diving suits as Nemo took a bone-and-brass helmet. The N pike was leaned against the wall with other equipment, most of it destroyed.
Nemo said, “There’s a purpose at work here.”
“Give me the signal, and I’ll torpedo the hell out of that purpose.”
“It’s still a journey of discovery, Mr. Fulmer. Let’s see what we find, then we’ll act. Or, you will.”
Fulmer said, “Captain, I wouldn’t be standing here if it wasn’t for you. I know that. So, put a team together.”
Nemo said, slipping on the suit, “An army of submariners marching off to war? I think that will be coming soon enough, Mr. Fulmer. Better I explore first, then we take action. Agreed?”
“Is that an order, sir?”
“Yes.”
Fulmer handed Nemo his helmet. “Then, agreed.”
“Keep a steady aim from the dome. I may not be able to use a weapon.”
“Already done.”
“You’ve been with me the longest.” Nemo handed Fulmer the master key to the helm. “For now, the Nautilus is yours. If I die, you’ll have your revenge, but remember why you signed on at the beginning. Use that part of your judgment to dictate your actions.”
“Aye, sir.”
Nemo stepped into the diving tube, and Fulmer turned all valves to fill it. He stood by, waiting. For an emergency, or a need.
* * *
The ocean rushing in, water rising above his eyes. This single moment, every time he is first surrounded by water, is Nemo’s alone. It’s when he becomes something else, a part of the sea. Even within a tube, before stepping from his submarine, or standing at the helm, and watching the waves through a port, covering his creation, as he angles the bow into a dive. That covering of water is his protection. His true home. It’s also his immortality, as the newspapers declared him the one man who can live under the sea.
These were all flashes of thought, and feeling, as Nemo dropped from the Nautilus, knowing it could be his final dive. Thinking it, for a moment. He kicked his legs to bring him down straight, then settled on the bottom. He took it in, then started for the huge, metal doors, using the pike as his staff. A sea turtle glided by, making part of the journey beside him.
A light on the doors blasted on, turning all of the sea darkness into something blinding. This bizarre, pulsing light, casting rings of brightness through the water, as if a piece of the sun’s been trapped, then releas
ed.
The Nautilus stayed in its place, neutral in the water, bow pointed for the giant doors and the beams of light. Challenging them.
Nemo struggled to move, trying to lift his legs, but couldn’t. It wouldn’t let him, the light holding his nerves. His eyes were paralyzed also. Held open by invisible clamps, the intense bright zeroed in on them like a hypnotist’s pendant.
He knew this sensation, knew what this was. And began putting his mind someplace else. Removing himself from this world, this moment, to a time when mesmerism was part of his life.
* * *
On the bridge, Fulmer had taken the helm, the light so intense, the reflection slamming back at him, the controls and gauges liquid to his eyes: melting, but not melting. White obscuring everything.
Fulmer turned to Top Knot. “Get to the engine, and set for full reverse.”
Top Knot said, “We leaving the mad dog to die?”
* * *
Sara pressed herself against a wall in the air-duct chamber, tight in the corner, not knowing who was going to come through the hatch.
Rongo entered with a helmet and suit. “This was the first of the iron boat that I saw. Like a bizarre, giant fish, but from some other time.”
Sara pulled out the palates of the Nautilus’ gills, tissue spilling, to the entrance of the water intake beyond. “One of Nemo’s proudest achievements, having this ship breathe.”
Rongo said, “So, it really is a living thing.”
Sara said, “Yes, with just as many contradictions. Good luck, getting home.”
“Bahati nzuri na wewe, dear msichana.”
She tethered her helmet so her head would fit through the small opening, pulled her diver’s knife from her belt, and began slashing the walls of pink, artificial flesh that was the Nautilus’ gills. She pushed her way through the cold, torn skin. Slime sticking to her as she made her way through layer after layer. Each one thicker, with more oxygen collected on its surface.
The sections reacted to the touch of the blade, quivering as she sliced more tissue, pushing to the next section as if she were a disease, working its way through a body, until finally getting through to the water chamber.
A massive wave rolled in. Sara scrambled for her helmet, crawling through the belly of the Nautilus, water powering in and out, until being pulled into the ocean by the water’s force.
Nemo Rising Page 26