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Surprised, the sailor set the rope in his lap. “Why, he set sail this mornin’, sir. Off to sea. Cabin boy for Captain Grant’s explorin’ ship, the Coralie.”

Pierre frowned. He didn’t recall the ship, but then so many came and went in the port. “What about my son Jules?” He frowned at the sailor as he tugged on his own grayish sideburns, trying not to show his growing uneasiness. “A redheaded young man who often plays with the Nemo boy? They’re also frequently seen with the daughter of that merchant, Aronnax.”

The sailor blinked at him in perplexity. “Ye mean ye don’t know, sir?”

“Know? Know what?”

“Shipped out together, as mates, they did. The two lads sailed off at dawn.”

Pierre Verne gave a strangled cry. The sailor bent back to work on the rope to hide a smug grin over this supercilious man’s look of horror.

#

Madame Aronnax could not understand why Monsieur Verne, a local lawyer, would be pounding on their door at noon, or why he would insist on speaking with her daughter. But Caroline answered the summons herself, straight-backed, her mouth a firm line, dressed in the daily finery her mother demanded.

“My son Jules is gone,” Pierre said, looking into the girl’s blue eyes, shattering the porcelain composure of her expression. “Did you know that he boarded an English ship, the Coralie?”

Caroline drew a deep breath. “It is possible, Monsieur. My father arranged for André Nemo to take passage aboard Captain Grant’s ship, and I believe your son joined him. They told me their intentions last night.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me, the boy’s own father? You could have written a message, sent out one of your servants --”

“It is not my place to tell you, Monsieur.” She used all the hauteur her mother had taught her. “It was a matter given to me in confidence.”

An appalled Madame Aronnax looked on, but Caroline held her ground. “Your son and André Nemo talk a great deal and have big ideas. Jules Verne is known for the stories he likes to tell.” She sniffed. “Should I come running to you each time they make up a wild scheme, Monsieur? I would be at your doorstep every afternoon.”

Pierre seethed, but he could not take out his anger on the daughter of a wealthy and politically powerful merchant in Nantes. “Do you know where this ship is going? When does it come back?”

Madame Aronnax gave a stern glance to her daughter, and Caroline’s lips trembled. “The Coralie is sailing around the world to a hundred exotic places. She is not expected back for three years, perhaps.” Her voice cracked.

“Three years . . . around the world?” Pierre shot up from the chair that Madame Aronnax had politely offered him.

“The ship went down the river to Paimboeuf.” Caroline remembered the schedules she had studied in her father’s shipping offices. “She will tie up for the day, making final preparations, and will set off again at dusk with the tide.”

“Paimboeuf,” Pierre said, suddenly intent. “Thirty miles from here.” Then he marched to the door of the Aronnax home. “I must find a carriage.”

xi

While the three-masted ship traveled downriver into the wide estuary, Verne and Nemo stood on the scrubbed deck in exhilaration. They whistled to people on shore; some waved back, but most had seen so many ships go along the Loire that they found nothing special about it anymore.

The night before, in the deep darkness before dawn, the two had caught a few hours sleep on the Coralie’s deck, and they awoke feeling stiff and sore. But their excitement at setting out from Nantes filled them with energy. Verne couldn’t believe they were underway, plying the winds and currents. Each moment, he grew farther from his family and home as the breeze freshened and the sails strained like the belly of a gluttonous man.

After the bustle of early morning duties, Captain Grant came to introduce himself, shaking Verne’s hand and giving him an assessing look. The English captain had close-cropped brown hair, broad shoulders, and thin and wiry arms. His wide-set eyes were surrounded by a deep set of crow’s feet, as if he had