Captain Nemo_ The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius - Kevin J Anderson [66]
He shouted with delight, and the noise echoed back at him, refracted by the crystals and stalactites, so that it sounded as if an entire chorus of wide-eyed young men had expressed their amazement. If only Caroline could be here.
He drank in the splendor for minutes, until he remembered he had few torches remaining. Then he extinguished the fire and sat waiting until his eyes adjusted. A brighter patch of the pale glow appeared from below. He would use the staggered flow of stalactites as a staircase to reach the bottom of the pit.
Nemo made his way, grasping with both hands, feeling with his feet. The stalactites were slick and damp. Every inch was accomplished at the risk of falling to his death, but he continued, undaunted. He knew there must be an easier path somewhere, for the dinosaur could never have toiled up through this treacherous labyrinth. For Nemo, though, any path that continued to lead forward was as good as any other.
Halfway down, he found a wide ledge, where he curled up and slept again. Some hours later, he woke, drank some mineralized water that had pooled in a depression on one of the rocks, and set off once more.
When he reached the bottom, he fell to his knees on the cold, hard stone. After he caught his breath, he walked toward the brightening light. He emerged into a second grotto, even more vast than the first, and Nemo knew he had stepped into another world -- a fairyland beyond even the wildest theories of modern science.
The ground was soft and crumbly, and the air smelled of mulch. All around him, as far as he could see, stood immense fungi, mushrooms as tall as trees. The mushroom caps were white, each ringed with a golden frill. Some were the size of dining chairs, others grew four times as tall as a man. Wreaths of mist crept around the gigantic toadstools, and dripping strands of moss clung to the rocks. A greenish, cold light filled the chamber as if it oozed from the rock walls.
Far in the distance, obscured by the humid air, Nemo heard a raucous cry from a bird whose species he could not determine. It sounded immense, louder and stranger than any bird he had encountered in his travels.
He walked into the forest of mushrooms like a lost wanderer and stood under them as if seeking refuge beneath Herculean garden umbrellas. They made him think of the parasols Caroline carried when she strolled out in the sun dressed in her finest clothes. Her mother had seen to it that she had the finest accouterments, but Caroline held them awkwardly, daydreaming, letting her parasol droop to the mud as her attention wandered to other things.
Nemo shook that thought from his mind and continued.
He rapped his knuckles against the stiff stem -- or was it the trunk? -- of a mushroom. It was softer than wood, but still firm and thick. When he pushed harder, a rain of dusty spores showered from the broad mushroom cap. They covered him like sawdust as he coughed and sneezed, but he laughed and knocked the mushroom again, setting off another shower. He ran through the mushroom forest, bumping the pallid stems and unleashing a torrent of spores.
He climbed one of the mushroom trunks and used his pirate cutlass to hack off a chunk of the soft fungus. He chewed on it, finding the delicate flesh a wonderful accompaniment to his preserved dinosaur meat.
Nemo wandered through the mushroom forest, always continuing toward the brightening light. When at last he passed beyond the mammoth toadstools, Nemo looked ahead into a steaming primeval jungle filled with prehistoric plant life. He could lose himself in its wonders and mystery for months without end.
Just then Nemo heard the ominous sounds of large creatures crashing toward him through the dense underbrush.
iii
Paris, ah Paris!
Leaving his backwater town behind, Jules Verne felt as if he had stepped into a color-filled painting