Niemand perched on the edge of the snowmobile, reached in, and flicked the ignition switch. The engine roared to life. “When the coasts flood, and people flock to a bold network of my underwater cities,” he said, “your names will grace street signs and office buildings. I will forever be grateful that you helped me get to Ikaria. I intend to learn much from their ingenious prototype.” He held up the book from Alex. “I intend to learn much from this too. And profit very well by it.”
The rope was digging into Max’s skin, cutting off circulation. “This hurts.”
“Trust me, in a moment you will no longer feel pain,” Niemand said, standing up. “Oh, by the way, have I told you what niemand means in German?”
Alex and Max stared back, agape.
“It means ‘no one,’” he continued.
Max thought back to Jules Verne’s diary. When I asked even of his name, he said, “I am no one.” Taking this for a joke, I dubbed him Captain No One, and he happily answered to this ever afterward.
“You’re Nemo . . .” Alex said, her eyes wide and her voice a hollow rasp. “You’re the insane captain in Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea . . .”
“Smart girl. Nemo indeed means ‘no one’ also. But I am not he. Just as you are not Jules Verne.” Niemand barked a laugh. “I am a descendant. Like you, I am committed to carrying on a great man’s work. And finding your great man’s treasures. For which, I’m afraid, I no longer need your help.”
Max stared straight ahead. The front of the vehicle was pointed directly toward the violent, crashing surf. “Fi-i-i-i-ishhhh.”
“Here’s what I will tell people,” Niemand said. “I will describe how Basile and I found you ruffian hoodlums desecrating a holy site, attempting to steal a valuable meteorite. Perhaps the gods themselves unleashed the violent calving of ice shelves that caused all this damage. When we valiantly tried to bring you back, you tossed poor Basile to his death. Then, as I beat my chest in grief over my comrade, you cruelly stole my snowmobile. And as we all know, children and motor vehicles are a volatile and often tragic mix . . .”
Max wasn’t hearing the words. He was lurching to both sides. Alex was cursing and screaming. “You don’t kill kids!” she screamed.
“I do have a soft spot, my dear.” Niemand leaned into the vehicle and put his hand on the gearshift. “So I will not watch.”
Niemand flipped the lever to Drive. And he walked away.
33
NIEMAND had lied. He couldn’t help but steal a look.
He followed the vehicle with his eyes until it vanished into a rude, billowing cloud of ice and vapor.
The screams of the children did tug at his heart. But two lives were nothing compared to the lives of many. And children needed to know their place. Right now, their place was certainly not to stand in the way of progress.
Not that there was no sacrifice on his part.
Niemand turned away from the wind and sighed. He had agreed to this brutal hike in the first place, and now he would have to walk the entire distance back to the village alone in this ungodly cold. Certainly there would be no rescue vehicles coming for him. The streets of Piuli Point were flooding, and buildings were on fire, so who would even notice his absence?
Still, though shaded by sadness, this event had given him fresh energy.
He would hire a new captain from the Inuit, after they’d tidied up the damage to the town, of course. For which he would donate a generous portion of funds, asking nothing in exchange, save perhaps an ocean-view suite in their finest hotel. Certainly Piuli Point could provide that.
He would give Sophia the book to translate and decode upon his return. Verne was a crafty old coot. There might be many, many more steps on this journey.
Niemand held up the meteorite he’d found on the boy. He recognized the cord hanging from the back. It looked very much like a fuse. Which, when broken, would ignite explosives. And some explosives, he knew, lasted a very long time in the cold.
It appeared someone was trying to make mischief—to actually cause an ice shelf to calve. It would be the only explanation for the catastrophe that followed. But what ogre of a human being would do such a thing? What cruel, sadistic maniac?
For sure the culprit was not Verne.
Niemand laughed at the sheer audacity. “My dear Nemo,” he murmured, staring at the dense stone. “Is this your idea? Was this part of some larger plan? Would that you were alive to tell me.” He patted the book that he had taken from the girl. “Perhaps I shall find out. I am, as always, all ears.”
As he picked up the pace, Niemand put the meteorite back into his pocket. He glanced up to the heavens and smiled at No One.
No one smiled back.
34
MAX saw nothing. Felt nothing.
The ice whipped his face until he bled. He knew he was screaming. He knew Alex was screaming. He heard their voices, but he felt separate from his battered body. As if he were floating overhead. Floating in a sea of fish and skunk and sweaty feet.
He remembered the snowmobile jouncing against ice. In his mind, he saw it lifting into the air like a spaceship . . . spinning . . . its once rigid sides now smashed in. The ropes that had been tied so tightly to their sides no longer held. They had some give. He felt Alex fighting in the seat beside him . . . both of them fighting until the rope jolted upward, nearly taking off his nose. And then they were lifted away from the seat, floating free, not knowing up from down. He remembered seeing the snowmobile being swallowed up in the icy river below them. The pain knocked the air from his lungs and the thoughts from his brain.
Until now.
“Max!”
Alex was calling his name, and he felt cold fingers close around his arm. His eyes blinked a thousand times until he saw Alex in the water. He had landed on the flat top of a floating sheet of ice. Alex was swimming, floating, trying to keep her head above water beside him, struggling to hold on. Her lips were blue, her eyes white as paper.
Max reached down to his cousin. Her forehead was bleeding, her lips quivering, but she had the strength to grab his outstretched hand and hold tight. He feared sliding into the water, but the ice’s rough surface provided enough friction so he wouldn’t slip. With more strength than he thought he possessed, he yanked her out of the water. She tumbled onto the frigid platform next to him, nearly falling clear off the other edge, which was only three feet away.
“A-a-ah—are—ah—” Max was trying to speak, but his mouth was stiff and unmoving. Are you okay? was all he wanted to say, but instead he silently collapsed next to her, exhausted and cold and aching all over.
“M-M-Max?” She was slapping his face now. “Max, stay awake!”
Each slap was a stab of pain. He felt blood rushing to his face.
“Max, hang on!” she was shouting. “I s-s-see lights, Max! We’re moving f-f-fast! We’re moving away from the mess! Do you hear me, Max? D-D-Do you hear me?”
Max blinked. He could see Alex’s face looming over him. Her skin was a ghostly blue-white shade. “L-L-Lights?” he murmured.
Her face broke into a desperate grin. “Look! To your left!”
Max didn’t have a chance to look. Because the iceberg struck something hard and solid, jolting both of them. He felt himself sliding . . . rolling . . .
Alex grabbed his arm before he could fall into the black water.
“Wha . . . what . . . was that?” Max asked. He felt himself sitting up. Blinking.
Alex was turned away from him now, and he struggled to turn his body. Facing them were two giant glass eyes, staring up from the water.
And a bent antenna.
“The Conch, Max!” Alex said. “Do you see it?”
Max nodded numbly. It was the Conch. No question. The platform was tilted and bent, the hatch still shut tight.
As he struggled to face the moored submarine, his body ached and his teeth chattered. “How . . . how did it survive the explosions . . . the flood . . . ?”
“Dentedly
,” Alex said. “It’s a sub. It has sides of steel.”
They both looked around at the chaos. The current was thundering past them like a raging freight train. Behind them where the cove met the sea, the harbor’s edges were curved inward like a horseshoe. The shape sheltered the area—somewhat. Still the cove was clogged with ice. The water was high, the shore flooded. Only about half of the boats remained upright, and they were rocking violently. One small boat was puttering slowly in toward the shore, with one person at the motor and another standing with a metal pole, pushing the ice away. The boat was framed by the flames that rose from buildings on shore. Lights swirled and sirens blared as fire fighters and first responders rushed to the scene.
Alex held tight to the Conch’s metal footholds to keep them still. She cast a glance to Max. “Come on. Let’s break in.”
Max shook his head violently. The Conch meant Niemand. No no no. “I can’t go b-b-back in there.”
“We’ll never make it back to shore, Max!” Alex shot back.
“What if he’s in there?” Max shouted. “Waiting for us!”
Alex held his arm firmly. “We took the express snowmobile to the water, Max, and then rode here on a flood. Do you really think Niemand would have made it back to town on foot and then gotten out here in that time?”
Max took a deep breath. The math made sense. And he was feeling so cold.
He nodded.
Alex used the foothold to boost herself to the platform. She reached down to help Max up. He clenched his teeth against the pain of three zillion bruises. Together they knelt on either side of the hatch. Opening it meant turning a solid metal ring. They both grabbed on to it.
But it began moving. Slowly. By itself.
Alex sprang back. Max grabbed on to the round railing to stop himself from falling into the water.
The ring made a creaking noise as it traveled a full circle. Then a click. The door swung open on its hinge.
“Max . . . ?” Alex said.
“Fish fish fish,” Max said.
From the center, the shadow of a figure began to emerge.
35
“GREAT suffering cephalopods . . .” came a hoarse, scratchy voice.
Two swollen eyes peered out from a face mangled by fresh scars and crisscrossed by rivulets of blood and seawater.
“B-B-Basile?” Alex said. “But you’re . . .”
“Dead!” Max added.
The face nodded. “Well then, I must be in heaven. Because I’ve been visited by two angels.”
Alex let out a shriek of joy.
There he was. Alive. Battered, but alive.
Dark chocolate . . . ham . . . Max never smelled them both together. Relief. Confusion.
It didn’t seem possible. They had seen him go over the cliff. This was a miracle, and Max felt like he wanted to cry because this whole mission needed miracles to happen.
“I can’t believe—how—but you—” Alex reached down and threw her arms about the old captain.
“Gently,” Basile said, his face twisted with pain. “I’m not half the man I used to be. Come. It’s awful nippy out there. I managed to turn on the lights and heat.”
Alex and Max followed Basile down the ladder and into the sub. The big man was moving slowly, grunting with each step. Max could hear a steady beeping from inside the control room, and fluorescent lights illuminated the sub’s interior.
Basile was hunched over badly. As he stepped aside from the ladder to let them down, his left leg dragged beneath him. The floor of the sub was smeared with blood. “Would one of you be so kind as to help me return to the medical room?”
Max linked arms with him. “You’re losing a lot of blood.”
“It’s only . . .” Basile winced as they started walking.
“A flesh wound?” Max said.
“Exactly,” Basile replied. “Go slowly, lad.”
“How can you be here?” Alex said. “We saw you fall!”
“Believe I hit the side of the peak on the way down,” Basile said. “Rather well padded with snow, I suppose. Broke my fall. Nearly broke my back. Slid the rest of the way. Don’t quite remember what happened afterward . . . woke up on the deck of a fishing boat. I imagine they would have preferred a net of herring. Great seamen, those chaps. Managed to keep us afloat until we got to the harbor. Then the keel split on the port side. One of the patrol boats was stuck in the cove, and they saw us. Bloody fellows wanted to take me to shore. But I made quite a noise. Insisted I had medicines and first aid on the Conch. Honestly, I did not want to see Stinky again. Afraid I would rip him apart and be thrown in jail. I think they allowed me to board just to shut me up—although I imagine they’ll be back once the commotion dies down.” The map of blood and hair shifted on his face as he managed a smile. “Then I heard you two squirrels up top.”
As they neared the medical room, Alex stopped to hug him. “It’s a miracle!”
“It’s physics,” Max said.
“Don’t get too emotional, young fellow,” Basile said with a weak laugh. “Now, I’m dying to know how you managed to get here!”
As Alex quickly summarized what had happened, Basile’s face grew redder. Even before she finished, he was muttering curses under his breath.
At the door of the medical room, he turned toward both of them. “I shall never forgive that man. As long as I am alive, I will seek to bring him to justice for what he did to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up. Then we’ll review our options.”
As he collapsed into a chair in the corner of the room, blood dripped steadily onto the floor at his feet. “I think one of us should stay and help you,” Alex said.
But Basile’s head had lolled back into the seat, and he was fast asleep.
“He needed stitches,” Alex said as she entered the command room.
Max looked up from the instrument panel. His cousin’s face was grim and a little teary. “Yuck.”
“I know. There was surgical thread. Basile insisted on doing it himself. I tried to help, but . . .” Alex turned away. “He’s strong, Max. But those injuries were bad. His eyes are moving funny. The bruise on the left side of his head is swelling.”
“Nonsense!” boomed Basile’s voice from behind them. “I’m feeling fresh and dewy and good as new!”
Alex spun around. “You were supposed to rest, Basile.”
“Miles to go before I sleep!” Basile entered the room using crutches. His left leg was wrapped in a crude-looking cast. His beard was mostly cut away, and bandages decorated most of his face. An enormous, blood-soaked gauze square covered his head. As he hobbled toward his navigator’s stool, Max hopped off. “Thanks, laddie, for keeping that warm.”
“I was curious about how you start the engines,” Max said.
Basile let out a snort as he sat. “Ah, the mystery of the ignition. We’ve all been trying to figure that out.”
“You don’t know?” Alex said.
“Astonishing, eh?” Basile said. “Niemand is the one who starts the sub. Every time. Makes us look away as he enters the code. The blasted fool doesn’t trust anyone else to do it. He thinks someone will try to steal the sub!”
Alex exhaled. “He’s with us even when he’s not with us.”
Max focused on the steering column’s ignition panel.
“Seven panels, twenty-six possible letters for each,” he murmured. “That’s about two billion possibilities.”
“Well then, it’ll take a bit of work to crack it,” Basile said.
“Like, years,” Max said.
“It’s a password, lad,” Basile said. “There’s a jolly good chance we’re guessing words, not random letters.”
“Exactly!” Alex said. “Try using GREED and INHUMAN and HORRIBLE and MURDERER. If those don’t work, maybe we can figure out how to hot-wire this thing. Just get us out of here. Back to New York where we can pick up our car, go back to Ohio, and start all over again.”
“What?” Max said. “We can’t just g
ive up, Alex. Niemand has the clue to the next location. We have to get it back.”
“We can’t,” Alex said. “Because he doesn’t have it.”
“He does!” Max said. “He took it from your jacket pocket, remember? It had the leather cover. He opened it up. He checked to see that it was French and everything.”
“He doesn’t read French, Max,” Alex replied. “If he did, he would have noticed it was the book we got in Ikaria—that’s the one I had in my jacket pocket.”
“Wait—then who has the one we found in the elephant’s forehead?” Max asked.
“I put it in my jeans pocket,” Alex said. “I fooled him.”
“Haw!” Basile bellowed. “Ouch, that hurt. Brava to you, Alex. So we go forward—not back! That’s the spirit!”
Alex fished the soggy leather-bound book from her jeans. “Except that it’s pretty much useless now, Basile. It went with us in the water.”
Max’s heart sank. He couldn’t believe his eyes. All of this for nothing. They would be going home now, empty-handed. Even Alex could go home to Canada. Max would be going home to . . . what?
Alex was trying to open the book, but the pages were stuck together, so she just tossed it onto an instrument table. Max sat on the floor of the sub and began rocking back and forth. “Fish fish fish . . .”
“Max,” Alex said gently.
“It’s my fault . . .” He thought about Vulturon’s trip into the kitchen. He had scared Mom. It was probably the zillionth time he’d done something wrong. He never did things right. He didn’t know how to interact with anyone. He couldn’t read people’s faces. He said all the wrong things. Too many things. Too few. He gave Mom and Dad stress. Stress led to sickness. And now he was going to be kicked out of his own house. He would have to explain what happened. That would give her more stress. “It’s my fault!” he repeated.
“Hey, cousin, we did the best that we could,” Alex said. “It was a great try. Jules Verne would have wanted us to do this.”
Alex’s hand was on his shoulder, and he pushed it off. Now the words from that first booklet were scrolling in his mind. The words he had locked in his memory. The words that had made him lose his senses and agree to this crazy, ridiculous, idiotic plan.