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The engineers staggered in shock, as if they, too, had felt the blow. Some stared with a thunderstorm of rage across their faces. Liedenbrock swore under his breath, then began to weep.

Nemo clenched his jaw, trying to contain his absolute loathing for the man who had forced them here. He vowed again that he would never cooperate for the caliph’s aims. They had been here for seven years already and had grown too complacent. It would take cleverness and determination, but he would find a way to use Robur’s own technology against him.

The warlord’s men used their booted feet to shove Conseil’s body off the dock and into the cove. Then, three workers ran forward with buckets of water to wash away the blood.

His green turban in place, its emerald staring like a third eye from his forehead, Robur scowled at the gathered prisoners. “Now, get back to work.”

vii

As daylight seeped through the red silk curtains that hung over his windows, Nemo stood motionless, hypnotized by the fish swimming inside their tank. A glass-walled enclosure contained ten fish of various sizes and species, gliding back and forth. He had spent hours observing how their bodies and fins moved for propulsion, how their gills pumped water, how the fish existed beneath the surface.

His mechanical, armored war vessel would have to do the same.

Auda, who knew not to interrupt him during these contemplative times, had taken their son Jules, now four years old, to play in the back room of their home. Nemo’s many years of enforced work and research at Rurapente would culminate today with the launching of the new vessel. Despite the caliph’s self-imposed urgency, the Suez Canal had not yet been completed.

But the sub-marine warship was truly ready after many long years of labor, of sweat and blood. Either Nemo would succeed today . . . or fail utterly. With so many lives dependent on him, failure was not an option. Conseil had already paid for their work with his life.

A muscular guard marched through the door covering without announcing himself. “Caliph Robur wishes to depart. Now.” The bald man stood, intimidating, and waited for Nemo to turn away from the fish tank. His shaved scalp wrinkled with consternation at the delay.

Still, Nemo refused to hurry, resisting in every small manner he could find. With a deep feeling of dread, he went to Auda and Jules. While the guard glowered and made impatient noises, Nemo embraced his wife and son, promising them that nothing was wrong . . . but he wondered if this might be the last time he ever saw them. What did Robur have in mind for his engineers if the sub-marine vessel did perform as expected?

Hanging his head in resignation, Nemo followed the guard. He took one last look at the gracefully swimming -- though still trapped -- fish, then at the meager possessions he and Auda had gathered during their life in Rurapente. He marched behind the white-robed guard out to the crowded docks.

The new armored vessel lay like a half-submerged predatory fish tied up against the pilings. Eyelike portholes made of thick glass stared from the control bridge within the bow. Overlapping armor plates reminded him of the scales of the shark he had fought while adrift on a raft of flotsam from the Coralie. Jagged fins like sawteeth lined the dorsal hull, the better for causing severe damage to wooden-keeled ships traversing the Suez.

In secret, Nemo had named the boat the Nautilus, after Fulton’s turn-of-the-century design. In nature, the real nautilus was a cephalopod cased in a beautiful corkscrew shell, but the ethereal name could not disguise the fact that this was a powerfully armed ship of war, designed for causing death and destruction, nothing else.

Workers and slaves had gathered from the barracks, and Nemo hoped Auda would also come out to join them. The ever-present guards stood watching as the Nautilus was prepared for her maiden voyage. Nemo had taken the craft up and down the cove several times, testing