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The old man shrugged. “Never bothered me.”

Verne had never stopped dreaming about a life of travels to exotic lands. He longed for when he’d been able to share those hopes with Nemo, and Caroline too. Perhaps this sailboat was the best he could do for now. A river outing on this ramshackle rented boat might be just what he needed.

In his pocket, his fingers rubbed a franc coin. He pretended to be more concerned about the money than taking the boat by himself without telling his father. But at his age, he should be making his own choices, whatever the consequences. It wasn’t so much money, really. Not for a grand adventure.

The old owner scratched his bulging belly, in no hurry for Verne to make a decision. Flies buzzed by, and the water smelled of fish and drying weeds. Some might have found the smells unpleasant, but Verne had lived on the riverfront all his life. To him, the Loire carried the scents of distant countries, treasures and trinkets, rich spices and unusual cuisine.

Right now, he supposed Nemo was having a fine time sailing the seven seas. Had he already gone around the world? Both Verne and Caroline had received a few dated letters from Nemo, but the last one had arrived some time ago. However, messages sent across such great distances were often delayed or lost. He was anxious to hear news, and it did not occur to him to worry.

Verne looked again at the small, forlorn boat. Though his friend lived a life of excitement, he would have to content himself with drifting downriver in a leaky sailboat. He looked at the questionable craft, then at the potbellied man, and yanked the coin out of his pocket. “I’ll take it for the day.”

With agonizing slowness the old man extended his hand to take the money. “Ride out with the descending tide, and then come back with the flood tide a few hours later. You can’t get lost. Just follow the river.”

Verne worked at the damp knots of the frayed tether rope. “I’m not worried, Monsieur. I have faced danger before.”

#

Earlier, when Nemo’s silence had stretched for eighteen months, Verne had screwed up his courage and gone to see Caroline Aronnax. He met her in the outdoor café where they stole a bit of conversation over cups of chocolat chaud and gooseberry pastries.

Looking at Caroline, Verne still felt the confusion of youthful love. Stranded here in Nantes while Nemo went around the world, Verne felt as if he had let her down. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to take care of André, as I promised to do.”

She dismissed his concern. “I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

Verne shared his new stories and poems with her, glowing every time she laughed at one of his clever plot twists. He needed to show her that the son of a dull though modestly successful attorney was worthy of her love. Monsieur Aronnax was a friendly enough sort, though Caroline’s mother always sniffed in disapproval when Verne came asking after her daughter. . . .

Hands trembling around the delicate porcelain cup in the outdoor café, he tried to meet Caroline’s bright blue eyes. Verne noted how beautiful she looked in a lilac dress and a hat trimmed with fine lace from Chantille. She kept nudging the lace aside, as if it made her itch. “So, what did you want to see me about, Jules? Another new adventure story?” She laughed in anticipation. “Pirates on the high seas? Explorers in Amazon jungles?”

“Not a story this time, Caroline, though I did write you a . . . poem. But I, uh, forgot to bring it with me.” He flushed, remembering his heartfelt and embarrassing expressions of undying love. He didn’t dare let her read them, though. “I . . . you must be aware of my . . . feelings for you.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like you to consider --” He drew a deep breath.

All the words drained out of his head: the beautiful speech, the lyrical love letters he had written but never sent, the passionate sonnets. “I mean, would you wait for me? I realize you miss Nemo, but he’s been gone for a long time.”

Caroline looked up, startled. At least she didn’t laugh at him. Instead, she