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Nemo narrowed his eyes. So, the Sultan did not know everything Robur intended. Several of the astronomers trembled with poorly disguised fear at the prospect. Though he resented the warlord, Nemo had to admire the grandeur of the man’s dreams and the lengths to which he would go to achieve them.

“How long do you expect the flight to take, Caliph?” Nemo asked. “And how will the men return to Earth after they succeed in reaching the Moon?”

His expression stony, Robur clenched his jaw. “Those questions remain to be answered.”

As he watched the slaves loading the supplies, Nemo remembered the bustle of preparation before the Coralie had sailed from Nantes. This journey would be far different from a simple sea voyage.

Conseil’s round, blinking eyes displayed his astonishment. “No one has ever been to space. No one knows if the Earth’s atmosphere extends to the Moon . . . or what strange air the Moon men might breathe.”

“Nevertheless, our astronomers have no choice but to risk the journey,” Robur said. “I have ordered them to do this for the glory of their omnipotent Sultan.”

When the slaves finished loading the crates and animals and jugs of water, the astronomers climbed up and poked their heads into the capsule opening, one by one. Whispering among themselves, they finally agreed, then stepped back down, gesturing with ringed fingers and flowing robes. Robur climbed the ladder and peered inside the crowded shell. Satisfied, he climbed back down and bowed to his astronomers and ambassador.

Servants bustled in and laid out colorful rugs for the astronomers. Each man knelt and prayed vigorously. Then they stepped off their rugs, rolled them, and tucked them under their arms before climbing into the capsule. Robur saluted them, and the men waved back before another slave sealed the hatch from the outside.

Using a system of gears and pulleys, massively muscled slaves loaded the heavy artillery shell into the enormous breech of the Columbiad. With a clang, the endcap slammed shut and locked.

At a signal from the caliph, the guards commanded everyone to evacuate the complex. Though the workers had little understanding of the experiment, they did not need to be told twice, having seen the huge amounts of black powder poured into the explosive chamber.

Robur took one last look at his magnificent cannon, then gestured to the stone stairs that led out of the caves. His eyes glistened with a fire of anticipation. The prisoners followed him to the plateau, from which they could watch the Columbiad fire its shot.

Nemo had seen much smaller cannons fired aboard ship, and from his engineering studies he knew all about dynamics and inertia. He did not envy the volunteer astronomers who sat inside the capsule. In fact, he wanted to be far from the mountain when the mammoth gun blasted its projectile to the skies.

“Don’t know about you, but I’d watch out for the recoil,” Cyrus Harding said.

After the prisoners emerged into the bright sun, they hurried along the cliffside paths. One of the slaves was commanded at swordpoint to return to the cave and light the cannon’s long fuse.

Back on his stallion again, Robur galloped to a clear area on an elbow of land that had been designated as an observation point. The guards herded their European captives over to stand beside the caliph. “My best engineers made their calculations, and my best metallurgists completed this construction,” the caliph said, staring at the gun that protruded from the cliff. “I have every confidence that they did their jobs correctly.”

The giant gun remained silent in the sunshine, its muzzle pointed upward. Seconds passed, and the waiting became an agony.

The hapless slave came running out of the cave complex, his face filled with terror after lighting the fuse. His legs pumped as he dashed along the path; he tripped and sprawled on his face, but managed to gain his feet within an instant.

With a thunderous roar and a belch of smoke like an iron dragon vomiting