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The captives mumbled to each other, but Nemo stepped forward and squinted along the angle of the barrel. “It’s an artillery piece that lets you fire cannon balls across the Mediterranean?” In his mind, he calculated the range of such a cannon, but had trouble believing his own answer. Robur must be as mad as he was ambitious.

The Caliph brushed the comment aside. “Your assumption is false, Engineer. Not every creation is driven by war -- as you will see, once I rule the world. An enlightened leader can foster many wonders for the human race.”

He gestured toward the gigantic Columbiad. “No, this cannon is not a weapon of war, but a device for scientific pursuits.” He smiled again. “With it, I will fire not an explosive artillery shell. . . . I intend to launch men to the Moon.”

“I’d not want to ride in such a ship,” Cyrus Harding observed. Nemo refrained from comment, his brow furrowed as he considered the parabolic trajectory. Offhand, he did not know the velocity required for such a shot to escape the Earth’s gravity and reach outer space.

“Everything is prepared,” Robur said, “and today we test the Columbiad. That is what you must see.” He swiveled to take in the group of captives. His flushed face held a passion that infused his words with a plea for understanding. “You, my technical experts, must understand what I can accomplish, what you can be a part of . . . even if the Sultan himself does not yet grasp the concept.”

Busy people moved in the outbuildings around the facility, making preparations for the exhibition. Nemo felt a sudden dread that the caliph would ask for a volunteer from among the prisoners, a test subject to ride in this fanciful projectile to the Moon . . . and if so, he planned to fight.

Robur led them to the cliffside, his movements electric with enthusiasm. He remained on his horse and gestured for the others to enter a doorway and descend carved stone steps into chambers excavated from solid rock. After Nemo and the others had entered the complex, Robur dismounted, giving the stallion to one of his white-clad guards, then he followed.

The stone-walled chambers held workers, supplies, and materials to fulfill the technical requirements of the purported moonshot. The base of the immense cannon nestled in an iron cradle mounted into the living rock.

Dominating the echoing room stood a conical projectile that resembled an armored pavilion. Climbing ladders to reach the capsule’s hatch, slaves loaded crates of supplies, cages of chickens, cushioned chairs, and even a goat through the opening. Pudgy, well-dressed men in flowing robes inspected the operations from ground level, looking very important. The men turned toward the newcomers, then bowed deeply when Robur entered.

“We are completing the final preparations, Caliph,” one of the men said, tapping his knuckles together with a clink of jeweled rings.

“We are most gratified that you have given us this opportunity to prove the correctness of our calculations,” another said in a watery voice, more terrified than eager.

“I would have it no other way.” Robur’s voice had a warning edge.

By now, Nemo understood enough Turkish to deduce that these men must be court astronomers and perhaps an ambassador of the Great Sultan who ruled the Ottoman Empire. Caliph Robur had chosen them as his representatives to the Moon. Nemo considered them all fools.

Robur stroked his pointed beard and straightened his turban. He continued to watch the preparations, explaining nothing to the captives. Judging by the glint in his eyes, he wanted the prisoners to figure everything out for themselves.

Cyrus Harding spoke up. “Do you intend to send these men on a journey into space? They’re going to be launched in that capsule?”

“I have chosen them as emissaries -- in the Sultan’s name, of course. They will take everything they need, including fresh food and water, supplies, even baubles for any Moon men they encounter. I intend to open the lunar world