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But now the Victoria bobbed upward, standing straight. Though its sides remained crinkled, it had become buoyant, straining at the ropes.

“Caroline, climb up,” Nemo said, helping her. “Careful not to burn your hands.” Without arguing, she scrambled onto the tattered netting that held the sack together. The fire continued to roar, and the revived Victoria strained upward like a restless spirit.

“Doctor, you’re next,” Nemo said as he took the dagger and slashed one of the ropes opposite Fergusson. The long-legged explorer did his best to climb onto the sack.

Released from one of its tethers, the hot air balloon bent sideways, and Nemo slashed the second cord. As he leaped onto the netting himself, he cut the remaining rope so that the Victoria’s carcass rose into the air, no more than fifty feet above the ground -- but buoyant enough.

The horsemen arrived, livid with rage at seeing the balloon escape again. They fired their guns, puncturing the Victoria twice more, but air currents carried the revived balloon over the broad river that flowed gently to the sea.

“Hang on,” Nemo said, and they all clutched the ropes as their hot air balloon drifted low across the Senegal. It spun around like a top, letting Nemo see in all directions. He watched the black-clad raiders come to an abrupt halt at the muddy bank. Snarling and cursing, they shot impotently into the sky.

Although the cooling air leaked out of the sack, the desperate explorers approached the opposite shore swiftly enough. As Nemo looked toward the western bank, he saw that a cavalry troop of uniformed men -- British, from the looks of them -- had ridden out to intercept the balloon.

The Victoria kissed the water twice, dragging their feet in the turgid current, forcing the three to crawl higher onto the sagging sack. The balloon continued to bob across the water, buoyed by a slight breeze, then struck the mud on the far side and dragged them across the flatlands as the British troops advanced to meet them.

When the exhausted Victoria finally came to rest, the travelers sank into the folds of silk and panted with sheer relief. Within moments, the British troops galloped up in formation, smartly dressed, cleaner and healthier than anyone the travelers had seen in five weeks.

Nemo didn’t stand to greet them: His knees were too shaky and his muscles too weak from the exertions they had endured.

The British captain peered down at the mustachioed explorer in the mud, and tipped his hat. “Doctor Fergusson, I presume?”

Fergusson smiled so that his mustache curved upward like a black cat’s tail. He glanced over at Nemo and Caroline. “Yes, sir -- Fergusson, and friends.”

Part VII

Robur the Conqueror

i

Paris, 1854

Though he had been home for half a year now, still Nemo could not relax.

At dawn, with a cool mist slinking around the riverfront districts, Nemo gazed up at the painted building that overlooked the Seine. Three stories tall, the structure had gray siding and white shutters, and stone steps leading up to a tall, narrow door. Over the lintel hung a bright sign: “ARONNAX, MERCHANT, Paris Offices.”

Only a month after she had returned from Africa, Caroline had purchased the expensive left-bank property across from Notre Dame, where gulls flew around the spires, arches, and gargoyles. Boats passed along the river, ducking under bridge after bridge. Caroline’s main office stood directly on the water, across from the Tuileries Gardens, not far from the impressive Bourbon Palais.

Nemo could not argue with her decision to move her shipping offices to Paris. Both in business acumen and in her creative arts, Caroline had made herself into a person to be reckoned with. But the thought of having her so close to him, and still so unavailable, tore his heart with conflicting emotions.

Six years had passed since the Forward’s departure, and she still had received no word from Captain Hatteras. The Arctic explorer had not sent her so much as