The Mammoth Book of New Jules Verne Adventures (61 page)

“Creatures like that — mixtures of human and beast. They look like the product of the imagination of a madman.”

She shrugged.

“I saw things in the jungle of Belize that I would never have imagined at home in Creston, South Carolina. I spent half my childhood in the water of Lake Marion along with other children. We came to know every creature in that little aquatic world, from the smallest water-bugs to tortoises with the wisdom of eternity in their eyes to eels that could eat a dog in two bites if that dog was foolish enough to swim too close. But in Belize I saw spiders that eat careless birds and plants that eat baby pigs. But still, the eels were eels, the spiders were spiders.”

“I did not make these up.” Speranza tapped a graceful fingernail on the portfolio containing the Roentgen—Daguerre plates. “The machine has no imagination, even if a madman might.”

Colonel White pondered in silence, then shook his head. “Those things,” he tapped a powerful finger against the Tuscan’s portfolio, “those great star-headed, conical things, and that other, that incredible beast with tentacles like ropes, with legs like a giant beetle and with the mockery of a human face on its carapace — do they really exist?”

A rectangle of light broke the mood. Speranza Verde had reached toward the portfolio, perhaps to open it and remove the envelope of celluloid image plates once again, perhaps to touch Dwight David White’s hand with her own, but instead she grabbed the portfolio and placed it protectively on her lap. The Tuscan hydrologist and the Confederate soldier turned to see a trio of silhouettes in the illuminated doorway of the lounge.

As Dottore Verde and Colonel White watched, the three newcomers advanced toward them. The latter trio halted beside the table from which Colonel White rose, his military bearing giving him the appearance of a man taller than his actual stature.

“Herr Schwartz, Monsieur Rouge.” The Colonel raised his hand in suggestion of a military salute. The German archaeologist clicked his heels and bowed; the Frenchman bent over the white linen covered table, took the reluctantly offered hand of Speranza Verde in his own and brushed his lips over it.

“We have a pleasant chat been enjoying, Monsieur Rouge and I,” Schwartz stated. “We had thought to share a — what I believe you call in your Confederacy a night hat, Colonel White? — before retiring for a few hours sleep.”

“A nightcap, Herr Schwartz. Won’t you join us?”

Monsieur Rouge bowed once again. “May I present Captain Alexandre, of the
Rosny.”

The third newcomer advanced to the table. She was as tall as a man, like Colonel White she was attired in a uniform, its midnight blue colour contrasting with the Colonel’s Confederate grey. Her features were strong but not masculine. Her hair was so dark that it appeared almost to blend with the blue of her jacket, flashes of candlelight seeming to be caught and thrown back from her coiffure. The door through which the trio had entered was closed now, the sole illumination coming from the candle on the table. The Arab musicians had packed their instruments and retired.

Brass buttons on the woman’s tunic gave back the flickering light of the candle. The cuffs of the tunic were wrapped in wreaths of gold braid and on her chest the orders and decorations gave testimony of a distinguished naval career. A dark, pleated skirt fell to below her knees.

Herr Schwartz and Monsieur Rouge drew chairs from a nearby, unoccupied table. Rouge held one for Captain Alexandre before seating himself. A waiter brought a bottle of schnapps and placed it before Herr Schwartz and one of cognac which the French explorer and the naval officer would share; glasses were provided for all.

Shortly the quintet were engaged in conversation. Colonel White waited for Speranza Verde to place her portfolio on the table again and share its contents with Schwartz and Rouge, but she gave no indication of doing so. In fact, at one point Jemond Jules Rouge asked if there was something she wished to share, but Speranza Verde brushed aside the obvious suggestion.

“Just a few minor items, Monsieur, nothing of importance.”

“We are all together,” Colonel White said, “except for our English colleague. Does anyone know where Sir Shepley Sidwell-Blue has disappeared to?”

“I am sure he is preparing for our expedition.”

Captain Alexandre drew an ornately engraved watch from a uniform pocket. Holding it close to the candle she announced, “We must be aboard
Rosny
in two hours, so as to depart in three.”

“So soon?” Speranza Verde exclaimed.

“It is the tides,” Captain Alexandre explained. “The Marée de Fureur is a most unusual tidal body. It will offer sufficient draft for the
Rosny
today, and she can make faster headway using the electro-atomic power of her Curie engines than creeping along on the Wells track drive. Surely, Mademoiselle Verde, you are familiar with the behaviour of the marée.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Have you studied the tide tables for this month, Mademoiselle Docteur?”

“I have. Of course we have only a limited record of tides. The creation of the Sahara sea in 1930 had unexpected results, creating tides in the Mediterranean where none had previously existed, and providing for my profession wondrous new food for thought. The northerly flow will begin at four o’clock in the morning.”

“Indeed.” Captain Alexandre raised her glass, tested the nose of the cognac, sampled its flavour only with the tip of her tongue, then lowered her glass smiling.
“Bon.”
Her gaze flicked from face to face of her companions. “I trust you have all stowed your scientific equipment and your personal gear — Mademoiselle, Messieurs?”

Speranza Verde said, “I prefer the title of Dottore alone.”

“Very well. As you wish, Dottore Verde. My point, however, is that we must sail with the tide or we lose the opportunity. The French Republic has a great fleet but no nation’s resources are without limit. We do not wish to waste this time.”

“And Sir Sidwell-Blue?” the German asked.

“He will board
Rosny
on schedule or he will find only a sealed bulkhead or a vacant quay. We sail with the tide.”

The party dispersed, some to gather such brief moments of slumber as they could, others to remain awake pending the time to board the submersible.

Rosny
was an example of the newest and smallest
Nautilus IV
class of submersibles. Barely sixty metres in length, the submersible carried a small crew. Propelled by her Curie engines, she could outspeed and outmanoeuvre any other known submersible craft on the planet. She was also capable of crawling over dry or muddy terrain on extended tracks based on the designs of the Englishman Wells.

Her interior fittings, in the tradition of her kind stretching back to the original
Nautilus,
were of mahogany and polished brass. Her floors were carpeted. Her galley was filled with fresh viands and fine vintages produced by the enological artists of Metropolitan France and her North African provinces.

Only in the department of weaponry might
Rosny
be deemed deficient. Outfitted as the submersible was for purposes of reconnaissance and exploration, she carried neither cannon nor torpedo nor submarine bomb. Her crew had been trained in riflery and such arms were stowed in the submersible’s armoury; her officers, also, were furnished with sidearms.

Colonel Dwight David White stood at the foot of
Rosny’s
gangplank. He held a single item of luggage, containing changes of clothing, necessary toiletries, and certain equipment with which he had been furnished by the technicians and planners of his nation’s embassy and military legation in Serkout.

The Colonel was of course thoroughly familiar with the courtesies and ceremonies of both the military and diplomatic communities of the world. When he boarded the submersible he saluted the colours of the French Republic, offered his sidearm, a Harrington and Richardson .32 automatic, to Captain Alexandre and received permission to retain possession of the weapon.

The quay, of course, had been illuminated with spotlights to facilitate boarding
Rosny
in the hours of the night. A crescent moon had been visible from Colonel White’s hotel room; from the quay its pale radiance was utterly obliterated by the brilliance of artificial illumination.

Once on board, Colonel White declined the assistance of a crew member in carrying his single item of luggage to his tiny but richly furnished cabin. Here he distributed his personal items, retaining only his firearm and technical gear in a smaller case which he removed from his principal luggage and locked to his wrist with a specially designed handcuff.

Thus prepared he brushed his hair, straightened his uniform, and made to join his fellow inquirers.

As had been prearranged, the investigative team assembled in the Captain’s cabin as they arrived and settled into their respective quarters. The cabin was furnished with a polished conference table and plush chairs. An ornate instrument panel comprising a great clock-face, compass, barometer, and navigational tools filled most of one wall. An electrical lighting system furnished illumination and the soft susurrus of fresh air, processed and piped throughout
Rosny
by the most up-to-date means, gave evidence that the submersible was a self-sufficient and self-contained world of its own.

The cabin was located above the main body of the submersible and was fitted with large glass panels on both starboard and larboard sides. Upon arriving in the cabin, Colonel White observed the activity of sailors and dockmen on the quay. Not a word was spoken before
Rosny
began to move, so smoothly and gradually as to create the illusion that the submersible remained stationary while the quay with its brilliant lights and scurrying workers was retreating.

But within fleeting moments, to
Rosny’s
forward motion was added a horizontal movement. The black sky with its crescent moon and glittering Saharan stars appeared overhead only briefly, then
Rosny
opened her buoyancy tanks to the Saharan brine.

Soon the world outside
Rosny’s
heavy glass panels became one of utter blackness. Eventually brightly luminescent denizens of the Saharan deep would reveal themselves, Colonel White and his companions knew, but for the moment they might as well have been in the depths of interplanetary space, for all the commerce they held with the sea that surrounded them.

They sat around the polished wooden table, Jemond Jules Rouge at its head, Colonel White, Speranza Verde, Siegfried Schwartz and Sidwell-Blue. The submersible’s Captain, Melisande Alexandre, had taken her place inconspicuously away from the table, clearly indicating a desire to observe but not to dominate the proceedings to follow.

Yes, Sir Shepley Sidwell-Blue had arrived at the quay in time, barely in time, to make the sailing of
Rosny.
He was dishevelled. He was followed to the boarding ramp by a driver and footman carrying valises from which loose shirt-ends and stocking garters hung, his shirt was rumpled and his blond hair fell across his forehead, but he did not miss the sailing.

After mess men had served coffee and biscuits M. Rouge made welcoming remarks to the assembled group. “We are proceeding beneath the surface, my friends. The tide is with us, flowing in a northerly direction. We should reach our destination within a half-day’s cruise. Until then, I hope that we may discuss our plan of investigation.”

Gazing around the table, he continued. “Each of you has been selected as the outstanding representative of your chosen profession. Dottore Verde was of course our first chosen expert. Her study of the tidal flow through the Mar& de Fureur has been vital, for the hydrological patterns and alterations of the sea bed encountered in this new body of water is a challenge unique.”

He bowed to Speranza Verde.

“Herr Schwartz and Sir Shepley are representatives of converging disciplines. Our preliminary findings indicate that the relics we are about to examine are of an Egyptian or pre-Egyptian origin. Their significance and value to the modern world, beyond that of the purely scholarly, are, one surmises, incalculable.”

The German nodded acknowledgement of Rouge’s words. Schwartz had lighted a black cigar and gestured with it. The Englishman, clad in soft tweeds that complemented his light hair and moustache, fumbled in his pockets for a pipe and tobacco. Finding them, he packed the pipe and held a match to its bowl. The smoke that rose was drawn away by the submersible’s ventilation system. Sidwell-Blue muttered his acknowledgment.

“And Colonel White,” the Frenchman concluded, “is our military man. A grand concession by France to nominate a representative of the Confederacy to this position, but of course the friendship of our two great Republics is of historic nature, known to all around the world.”

Before David White could reply, the room was startled by the clatter of Sir Shepley Sidwell-Blue’s pipe on the polished mahogany table. “I say,” the Englishman exclaimed, “I fear we’re under attack. Just look at that!”

He pointed to the oblong window on the starboard side of the cabin.

A vast creature was charging at
Rosny.
Its eyes were huge, its open mouth contained rows of gigantic, murderous teeth.

Its fins were clawed like those of certain tropical frogs that David White had encountered in his service in the jungles of Belize, and it used them in a manner suggestive of an amphibian crawling toward its hopeless prey.

Strangest of all, the creature appeared to be carrying a lighted lantern in its single hand. Upon more considered observation the seeming lantern proved to be a naturally luminescent organ mounted on a flexible stalk that rose from the creature’s forehead.

David White’s hand moved instinctively to his sidearm. But he realized almost at once that the Harrington and Richardson would do little to help the voyagers if their aquatic attacker succeeded in bursting through
Rosny’s
glass plate. To his astonishment, the creature swam to within seeming inches of the glass, then hovered, its clawlike fins moving slowly to and fro. At the submersible’s rate of speed the creature was obviously a mighty swimmer to maintain pace at all, no less with such seeming ease.