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“How can you do so much research, Jules, how can you know so many things about the world -- and yet understand so little about people?”

Caroline shook her head, and Verne saw that reading about Nemo’s death had pierced her to the core. She’d always held out hope, since Nemo had survived one ordeal after another . . . yet he had never come back for her, not in all these years, even though she knew he was alive. That had stung her to the core. Reading his book, she must have felt her spirits rise at first, delighted with the story, her sole connection to the only man she had ever loved . . . and then been crestfallen when Verne blithely sank his character in the deep whirlpool.

“I have always encouraged you in your writing, and I have hoped for the best success and happiness for you,” she said. “But must your friends pay such a high price for your dreams? You are not the only one who has dreams, Monsieur Jules Verne.”

Then Caroline stood straight and composed herself. She smoothed back her loose strands of hair, ran a hand across her damp forehead, and took a deep breath. “He has always been your friend, Jules, and you know he is still out there somewhere.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “Many men envy you -- do you know that? You have fame, money, a kind and devoted wife. Why did you need to do this? What more could you want out of life?”

As if slapped, Verne slumped back in his chair. What more could I want? He envied Nemo for the life he had lived, rather than just imagined. But Verne had missed the opportunities -- some had been taken from him, like the voyage on the Coralie, like Caroline’s love for Nemo . . . and some Verne had been too reluctant to reach out and take.

But he could say none of these things to Caroline. She watched him intently, as if she could read his thoughts, then she left his writing office and made her own way out the door of the apartment. Before Caroline turned away, he thought he saw a single tear in her cornflower-blue eyes.

Honorine went about her routine, her face worried and curious, but Verne knew it would be a long time before he could explain everything to his wife.

He feared that he had lost Caroline forever.

Part X

AROUND THE WORLD

i

Nautilus, 1870

For two years, Captain Nemo’s armored sub-marine boat was the nightmare of the seas.

While standing like a grim statue at the helm of his Nautilus, he wrecked dozens of heavily armed war vessels, and the navies of the world sent out hunting craft in search of the “sea monster.” Though a few of these ships blundered across Nemo’s path and opened fire with their cannons, the Nautilus never faced any real danger.

He continued without remorse and without any sign of stopping -- but after two years Nemo began to question whether his crusade was of any use. His anger had become a habit, his revenge a routine -- and he felt that his heart and soul had died. Even Auda and young Jules became mere haunted shadows in his past. He was afraid to think of Caroline, how he could return to her at any moment and ask for her forgiveness and her love. He dared not.

To the dedicated crew, this had never been a game, but a deadly statement that the political leaders of the world must hear. Sending that message had become their job, repeated often. With the blood of countless hundreds on his hands, with the tortured screams of drowning seamen unheard in the depths of the oceans, Nemo’s shoulders grew heavy. His conscience trembled on the brink of despair. What had it all been for?

He convinced himself that the victims he’d killed had all been willing participants in war, and thus guilty. But . . . had he not himself been a soldier in the Crimea? In fact, every crewman aboard the Nautilus had been recruited from that terrible war. And had he not charged into battle because of confused orders or misguided loyalties, like some of these men?

Did Nemo have the right to mete out his personal justice on such people as he and his men