The Mammoth Book of New Jules Verne Adventures (34 page)

November 23, 1894

As I take up my pen to
record these events of the past, I consider how many times I have previously
sat down to do so, only to reconsider and crumple up the first page without
bothering to go on to the second. Perhaps this account will be dismissed as
fiction; perhaps it will go unnoticed altogether. I have no control over any of
those eventualities; I am but the teller of the tale. As to whom I am, it is of
little consequence. Were I to release my name, the reader might indeed
recognize it, but that knowledge will add to neither the truthfulness nor the
strangeness of the story. I am not the hero of this particular tale; rather, it
is a man of remarkable abilities and intellectual capacity, a man known to the
world as Captain Nemo.

How I came to be in the
service of Captain Nemo is as immaterial to this history as my identity.
Suffice it to say that I became a crewman in his submersible vehicle, the
Argonaut,
in the year 1876, during my twenty-sixth summer. Those familiar with two
popular literary works in which Captain Nemo appears may protest that his great
sub-aquatic vessel was not called the
Argonaut,
but the
Nautilus,
and
they would be right, at least in part. They may also feel that they know the
history of this amazing personage, but as I discovered during my time with the
captain, the written record as it has existed up until now constitutes a
deliberate fabrication. Until now, the truth about Captain Nemo has never been
set down.

The most remarkable
adventure of my life began in late August of that year, when Captain Nemo and I
had consigned First Mate Willett to his Maker at the bottom of the Indian
Ocean. Willett and I represented the sole crew of the
Argonaut,
which
was a much smaller vessel than the
Nautilus,
and his untimely demise —
not, ironically, the result of one of the sea’s inherent dangers, but rather a
burst appendix — cast a pall over the ship, so much so that when Captain Nemo
appeared before me several days later with expression graver than any I had yet
encountered, I initially assumed it was a late reaction to the tragedy. That,
however, was not the case.

“Louis, we are changing
course immediately,” he announced. “We will be heading for latitude 150° 30’
and longitude 34° 57’.”

“Where is that, sir?” I
asked.

“The site of a former
land mass in the South Pacific. I only pray I am not too late.”

“Too late for what,
Captain?”

I could see a
thunderhead forming on his face, and began to fear that my rampant curiosity,
which occasionally served to annoy this man of indecipherable moods, was about
to raise his ire. Within a moment, however, the storm passed.

“You might as well know,”
he said, sombrely. “The time may come when I am in need of your assistance in
this matter. Come with me while I reset our course.”

I followed him to the
ship’s navigational room and, not for the first time, marveled at the
directional system he had installed, which literally steered the submersible
through the depths of the ocean in automated fashion, based on his
calculations. While the system’s finer working points were known only to the
captain, I knew that it operated on the same mechanical principle as a music
box, with a slowly revolving cylinder that held movable and removable dots
that, depending on their placement, controlled the instruments that governed
depth, speed and direction. I waited until he was finished, at which time he
astonished me by inviting me to join him in his private study, as though I were
an equal on board the
Argonaut!
After offering me a cigar made from
seaweed, which I declined, he lit one of his own, savoured the greenish smoke,
and began. “As of this moment, Louis, we are in pursuit of a man named Ludovico
Divenchy,” he said. “Have you heard that surname before?”

As he pronounced it —
DEE-von-SHEE
—
I was not familiar with it, and said so.

“The name is a modern
derivation of the original spelling, which might be more familiar to you:
da
Vinci.”

“You mean, as in
Leonardo da Vinci?” I asked.

“I do, though you will
not find the Divenchy branch of the family on any official records. The
spelling and pronunciation was altered by the grandfather of Ludovico Divenchy,
and subsequently retained by Ludovico’s father Beniamino and his brother
Cesaré. They alone know of the family connection.”

“How, then did you learn of such things, Captain?”

“I should think that
would be obvious, based on what I have told you.”

“You mean, you are . . . ?”

“I am Cesaré Divenchy,”
he acknowledged, “and the man we are pursuing is my brother.”

I sat stunned at this revelation. “What has he done?”

“What I have prayed was
not possible, even by my brother, whose knowledge of engineering surpasses my
own, despite his youth,” he replied. “He has raised the
Nautilus
from
its place of rest, that is what he has done. The signal sounded this morning.”

“Signal?” I uttered, now hopelessly lost.

“Before sinking the
Nautilus,
I installed on its dorsal fin a device that operates on the principles of
electro-magnetic waves. The wave it emits is contained underwater, but in the
open air it is programmed to sends a message to a receiver, which I keep here
on board the
Argonaut.
Receipt of that signal means that the
Nautilus
has surfaced, and there are only two men in the world with the knowledge to
facilitate it. Since I have not, it has to be Ludovico. Believe me, Louis, it
is in the best interest of mankind to keep the
Nautilus
hidden at the
bottom of the ocean.”

“But why?”

“Because of what it
contains. Buried within the
Nautilus
is the body of my father, Beniamino
Divenchy. Not only does he rest there, but his legacy is there as well — a
legacy for which the world is not ready.”

“I do not understand,
sir,” I said.

“How lucky you are,
Louis,” Captain Nemo said ruefully, “for understanding my father and the
consequences of his work has not offered me many peaceful days. Father was a
scientist, and a brilliant one, but he did not so much leave footsteps as
craters which were impossible to fill, at least by me. It was as though there
were two men co-existing within his body: one of them benevolent and caring,
and the other driven by his work to the point of inhumanity. Ludovico inherited
Father’s driven side. He was brash and daring, never for one second doubting
himself, even as a child. For that reason, Father favoured him at all times. I
say this without bitterness, for I was quite content upon the day I could be
free of them both. As a young man I travelled the world; I wed a beautiful
Nepalese woman and had two wonderful children; I had little to do with my
father and brother, until the association was forced upon me.”

“Forced by whom?” I
asked.

“By those who wanted my
father’s discovery.” He rose and began to pace in agitated fashion. “You may
see fit to call me mad, Louis, but what I am about to tell you is the truth. My
father discovered a way to make gold. I do not mean earn gold, I mean
make
it,
create it from a base element.”

“He found the
Philosopher’s Stone?” I gasped.

The captain shook his
head impatiently. “There is no such thing. The transmutation of iron into gold
is a chemical reaction involving extreme heat and molecular bombardment.”

“What a boon to mankind
that could be!” I enthused.

Captain Nemo smiled
sardonically. “So it might seem. So father wished. Alas, there was a dangerous
side to it. Through Ludovico’s indiscretion, word of my father’s discovery
filtered out. Most refused to believe it; however a few dangerous and powerful
men sought to verify the rumour, and did so. Once confirmed, these men never
gave us a moment’s peace, they hounded us for father’s notes.” He sat back down
and regarded me through sorrow-filled eyes. “I was the weak link in the chain
of familial stubbornness because I had a family. I took my wife and children
out of Italy, but no matter where we went, we were pursued by these evil men. Eventually
we fled to India, a country we loved, but were soon discovered. These human
monsters did not even try for me. Instead they went straight for my innocent
family. They murdered my wife and babes in cold blood and over their precious
bodies told me to go to my father and tell him that they would not be deterred
in their campaign to gain the secret of transmutation.”

After swallowing down a
lump in his throat, the captain continued: “I did travel back to my father to
deliver a message, but not the one my tormentors were expecting. I told him
Cesaré Divenchy was dead, murdered as thoroughly as my wife and children. I
told him I cared not if he also died at the hands of these criminals. And then
I forcibly expelled him from his own laboratory and used his damnable discovery
for my own good. I worked for two full days, never stopping to eat or sleep,
the heat of the forge searing my flesh, until I had created enough gold to buy
the city of Rome. I’d have made even more, had not Father summoned Ludovico to
the house and told him to break down the door.”

The captain again fell
silent, casting the cabin into an eerie stillness. At last he continued: “I
left him, not caring a lira for his fate, took my gold and used it to finance
the
Nautilus
and my escape from the world. Six years later he came to
me, ill, weary and disillusioned, a broken relic of a once indomitable figure.
He was tired of being pursued and knew there was only one place he could truly
hide: on board the
Nautilus.
I dismissed my crew and took him in, and
for the first time began to develop something of a filial relationship with my
father. I took the
Nautilus
to an uncharted island in the South Pacific
and vowed to remain there with him, hidden from the eyes of the world. And then
the impossible happened: that infernal balloon filled with castaways landed on
the island! I wanted to go elsewhere, but Father would not hear of it. By then
the admirable side of his personality had gained dominance over the dark side,
and he wished only to help others. It was he who aided the castaways while I
remained in the shadows.

“After three
interminable years of blundering about, they made their way into the
Nautilus.
By then, my father was dying, and in his last moments on earth he managed
to put forth the greatest prevarication of his life: he claimed that
he
was
Captain Nemo. He spun a fabrication of his supposed early days as Prince
Dakkar, which, despite glaring inconsistencies, the fools accepted without
question. On his deathbed, Father created a lie to throw our constant pursuers,
who had begun to suspect that the missing Cesaré Divenchy was Captain Nemo, off
the trail. He thought only of protecting me, and thus died for me. I secretly
recovered everything I needed from the
Nautilus
and then sent it down to
become the grave for both my father and his papers. How I hated to consign my
glorious ship to oblivion. I went on to build the
Argonaut,
which is
smaller, less personal, harder to love, but which has given me ten years of
peace. Until now.”

He then fell into a
silent, almost trance-like, contemplation that I was unable to penetrate. Even
though I still had questions about his story, there was nothing I could do
except leave him to his mood and go back to my cabin and my journal. Except for
what communication was necessary for the continuance of life on board the
Argonaut,
the silence continued until we reached the designated latitude and
longitude coordinates.

The sun was high when we
surfaced and all I could see on any horizon was water. But using a telescope,
Captain Nemo spotted a small dark shape protruding from the water to the east. “There,”
he said, pointing. “It has drifted some.” Going below, he steered the
Argonaut
toward the object, and as we came closer, I could see fins on the back of
the shape — steel fins. It was the
Nautilus.
As soon as the
Argonaut
had
pulled up against its hull, the captain reappeared on deck and threw a noose of
rope over one of the metal dorsal fin spikes, then swung himself aboard and
waited for me to do the same.

He opened the hatch of
the
Nautilus,
and as we descended into the vessel, I was struck by both
the design of the
Nautilus
and its beauty, and I could easily see how a
man could live here indefinitely, the laird of his own self-created, tranquil
castle. In the dim light of a single candle, I followed him into a chamber that
was clearly designed as living quarters. On the bed was the well preserved, if
emaciated, body of an elderly man with long white hair and beard, and I could
see the facial resemblance between the remains of Beniamino Divenchy and his
son. “I am sorry, Father,” Captain Nemo said quietly. Then looking to the wall
opposite, he added: “Even from here I can see that the safe has been opened.”
Hastening to it, he found it empty.

Before he could comment,
though, a low, unearthly moan filled the
Nautilus,
and for a moment I
stopped breathing, for it seemed to be coming from the body of Beniamino
Divenchy! Captain Nemo’s face paled as we cautiously approached the ornate bed
that served as the corpse’s bier, and only when close enough to touch it did we
notice a figure lying on the floor on the other side of it. It was a man — a
brawny man of about thirty years of age, with dark hair and beard.