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Now Hetzel lifted the manuscript and extended it toward Verne. “I believe you can salvage much of this, my friend, but you must give me an entirely different work with the balloon information in a novel form. Write a new kind of book, a fiction that depends upon scientific knowledge and exploration -- but you must engage us with characters who learn these things in the course of a story, rather than simply recounting bald facts as a lecturer.”

When Verne took the manuscript, his hands were trembling. Hetzel sat up straighter in bed and yawned, plumping the pillows behind his back. “Buried in your paragraphs, you mentioned offhandedly some travels your friend made in a balloon across unexplored Africa. I suggest you use that as your framework, create an epic quest with brave explorers traveling in the fabulous balloon you have postulated. Certainly that would make for more interesting reading?” He raised his eyebrows.

Shaken, Verne nodded and backed away. “Yes, Monsieur Hetzel. I understand. I . . . I will work without pause, and present you with a new manuscript within two weeks’ time.”

Hetzel smiled. “If you can perform that miracle, Jules Verne, we can publish your book in time for the Christmas holiday season.”

Verne emerged from the back apartment, his mind spinning as he stumbled across the garden. He did not yet allow himself to accept the joy of what had just occurred. He still had a great deal of work ahead of him, so he wasted no energy in dancing with excitement. He thought of his long-dead friend, André Nemo, and his escapades with Fergusson across Africa.

He would change the names of Nemo and Caroline, of course, and create new, fictional characters to accompany the good doctor. Even so, Verne had a wonderful story to tell. . . .

ii

The following spring, Jules Verne found a mysterious message slipped under his door during the dark of night. Standing in his robe the following morning, he picked up the scrap of paper; his brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Jules, old friend, come to Paimboeuf on April 2nd and prepare to be gone for a week. One mile up the coast, you will find a sheltered cove. Meet me there at midnight. I promise you an extraordinary voyage you shall never forget -- a journey you have always wanted to take.”

The note was unsigned, and extremely intriguing.

Scratching his full beard, Verne stepped back into his flat and closed the door with a click. Honorine had already spent an hour in the everyday battle of washing, dressing, and feeding young Michel, but Verne decided not to show her the note . . . not yet. His pulse raced as he thought of the mystery.

Who might have sent such a message? Was it a hoax, or some sort of treachery? Should he be concerned for his safety? Despite his longings and his dreams, Verne rarely had cause to seek out “adventures.” Not real ones, anyway. He actually preferred to travel in his imagination, as his father had made him promise to do.

But few people knew that. They expected a different sort of person after reading his novel. . . .

In early 1863, Verne’s Five Weeks in a Balloon had been published to wide acclaim. Readers all across France had snapped up the adventures of Dr. Samuel Fergusson and his intrepid companions (vastly different from Nemo and Caroline) crossing Africa in his remarkable balloon. Foreign publishers had translated the book into diverse languages.

Seeing the success, Pierre-Jules Hetzel had offered his young author a lucrative publishing contract to write additional novels in the same vein -- books grounded in science, combined with extraordinary journeys to fascinate the reading public. Verne was to write three novels a year, for which he would be paid 3000 francs -- not a fortune, but more than he made in the stock market. And certainly more than he had ever made from his theater work. He was an unqualified success as a writer after so many long years.

After breathlessly signing the contract that bound him to Hetzel, Verne had rushed home elated. In the foyer of their flat, he danced