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Now, as the skiff from the Coralie approached the Capetown shore, Ned Land stood at the prow. The big Upper Canadian pointed with a callused hand. “Look there, scamp -- that be Table Mountain, and there be the Lion’s Head.” He winked at Nemo. “If ye want more civilized sights, in town ye’ll see elegant houses, the likes o’ which ye’d find in London, Glasgow, or Paris.”

The quartermaster was eager to be ashore, because once on dry land he could smoke tobacco again. On board the ship, smoking was forbidden because of the fire danger; instead, the sailors had to chew plugs of tobacco and spit brown streams over the sides. Ned pulled his clay pipe from a shirt pocket, holding it with anticipation. Maybe, Nemo thought, the Canadian could also get a new striped shirt. . . .

The Coralie remained at the Cape of Good Hope for a fortnight while her crew cleaned hull and hold, refitted and restocked. Nemo composed and sent long letters to Caroline Aronnax. He still remembered the way her hair shone in the sun, the scent of her perfume, the feel of her parting embrace . . . all as if it were yesterday. He hummed the melody of some of her illicit musical compositions.

Nemo also tore out the pages of his journal describing the voyage thus far and posted them back to Jules Verne, so that his friend could read a detailed account of more than a year aboard ship. Though he wished Verne had been able to accompany him, Nemo had no regrets.

Captain Grant did not approve of his crew’s wild impulses in the city known as the “Tavern of the Seas,” but he preferred them to let off steam under the watchful eyes of Capetown’s magistrates, rather than on his ship.

When they returned aboard for the last time, exhausted and penniless, the Coralie’s crew was ready to set off for the Indian Ocean. . . .

ii

“Time for your Sunday lessons, lad,” Captain Grant said, interrupting Nemo from another afternoon of swabbing the sun-washed deck. Naturally, the young man didn’t complain.

At sea, the ship was its own country. On board, the captain became peacemaker and disciplinarian, judge and jury, physician, expert seaman, businessman, and any other role he chose. For an eager pupil like Nemo, Captain Grant had become a teacher as well.

Inside his spacious, specimen-crowded quarters, the captain hauled out his favorite volumes -- the notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci, filled with drawings and musings and ideas. “Leonardo lived three and a half centuries ago, yet verily his inventions remain marvelous today.” Captain Grant stared at the pages with wistful eyes. “I purchased these copies in Milan -- crude reproductions of the originals, but the magic remains.”

With a long finger, he pointed to sketches of contraptions that looked impossible, yet intriguing. “Leonardo lived in troubled times, lad, when Italian city states waged war against each other. Because he believed knowledge must be based on observation, he drew studies of anatomy, plants, architecture. He developed theories of mechanics and mathematics, and applied them to engineering.”

Nemo could not decipher the writing on the pages in front of him. “I don’t speak Italian, sir.” He had been learning passable English aboard the ship, but had not yet managed any other languages.

Captain Grant chuckled. “‘Twould be of no help to you, lad. Leonardo was left handed, so he taught himself to write backward. One must hold the letters in a reflecting glass to understand.” He turned a ragged page. “Feast your eyes on the drawings alone and allow your imagination to translate.”

An architectural plan of a cathedral, the cross-section of a human skull, designs for strange weapons. . . Nemo pored over plans showing a gigantic crossbow, a chariot with revolving scythe-blades to mow down infantrymen like weeds, and a four-wheeled car armored with wooden planking. The brilliant inventor had also drawn designs for flying craft, huge mechanical flapping wings, a flying screw, and a broad kite large