Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius - Kevin J Anderson [182]
In all their attacks, never before had Nemo chosen to take prisoners or pick up survivors. But now, with his heart heavy, the silhouette of the single refugee made him think of how he himself had clung to flotsam after pirates had captured the Coralie. This man would die out here if the Nautilus didn’t pick him up . . . and somehow turning his back on that one soul seemed even more cold-blooded than destroying the ship itself.
When the Nautilus drew up to the wreckage, Nemo remained outside, looking down at the bedraggled survivor. He and two crewmen reached over to help the spluttering man onto the metal-plated hull.
The stranger had dark hair, a trim mustache, and gangly legs that seemed even more awkward in his wet, though dapper, clothes. His face was gaunt, his eyes close-set. The survivor’s expression and his huffy demeanor puzzled Nemo. He expected the refugee to express either terror or outrage -- or even pathetic appreciation for being rescued. Instead, the man stamped his feet on the hull plates of the Nautilus to shake the water from his drenched clothes.
With long-fingered hands he wrung out cupfuls of water, and then neatly arranged his hair. He met Nemo’s gaze with a stern look and didn’t seem the least bit curious about the Nautilus or its wonders. He looked more ruffled and indignant than frightened.
“My name is Phileas Fogg, sir.” He sniffed with great displeasure, then looked over his shoulder at the remains of the sunken warship. “You and this abomination of a vessel have just cost me a very large wager.”
ii
Though space was at a premium in the sub-marine, the ornate salon was large enough for Nemo and the odd-tempered refugee to stretch their limbs and make themselves comfortable. Fogg looked as if he had settled into a dark and smoky gentleman’s club, perfectly at home.
As the Nautilus departed from the wreckage of the American warship (a vessel ironically named the Invincible), Nemo saw to it that his lanky passenger recovered, was well-fed, and received new clothes. This done, he found himself in a dilemma as to what to do with Mr. Phileas Fogg. Nemo did not want to keep this tall and fastidious man a prisoner aboard his underwater craft forever.
He intended to keep the Nautilus a secret, mainly to make sure that no other warlord like Robur decided to build such a vessel for his own ambitions. Though the sub-marine had been observed numerous times, most people still considered it a sea monster. Even after his friend’s novelistic account in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, no one suspected that Verne’s “extraordinary voyages” had any basis in reality.
Fogg accepted his situation with grace and lounged in one of the chairs in the salon. He folded his long right leg over his left and sat at an angle, ignoring the undersea wonders that passed by the salon’s circular viewing window. He seemed entirely uninterested in the armored underwater vessel.
Anxious to learn more about his new guest, Nemo stayed close to the man. Fogg asked no questions concerning the Nautilus, paid little heed to the engineering innovations designed into the craft. When the prim man finally asked a question, he looked Nemo in the eye and said, “My good man, might you happen to have a cigar? My own were irreparably soaked, and after all these inconveniences, I have a powerful craving for tobacco.”
Taken aback, Nemo went to a cupboard in the salon, opened a sealed case, and removed a box of brownish cylindrical objects -- a new delicacy invented by Cyrus Harding. “Try these. I believe you’ll be satisfied.”
Phileas Fogg lit one of the unusual cigars and sat back, puffing and concentrating as he tasted the smoke. “Most unusual.” His brows furrowed as if his brain were working over the convolutions of an extraordinary mathematical problem. “Is it your own label?”
Nemo wondered if he could surprise the unflappable man. “They’re made of a dried seaweed that is high in the substance