May 25, 1883
The French - Atlantic Coast
They arrived at the coast two and a half days after leaving the Franco-Italian Alps. From the private rail train – whose ownership was still a curiosity - the group and their goods were bundled into various carriages, carts, and cabs, which took off in different directions. Presumably, this was to confuse anyone who might follow them. Lettie watched as Turner was taken to an enclosed cab, and forced to sit between his two escorts. Throughout, he kept his eyes down, and his mouth tight as though biting the inside of his lip.
Securely ensconced, he then began looking around as surreptitiously as possible, from under his thick brows, and once he spotted the lady doctor, and she him, Turner kept an eye on her until the carriage door was closed. It seemed for a moment that he was actually concerned for her.
Inexplicably, she hoped he was no longer angry with her. She still hadn’t figured out what had triggered his outburst.
None of Turner’s men were to be seen. They remained on the train and Lettie wondered how they would make it to whatever destination was ahead. If they were to make the journey at all. Would they be killed?
Nemo and his sailors were in a much better mood now that they were nearer the ocean. It had occurred to Lettie that land travel was not a comfortable thing for men used to the sea and their own ship. Nemo did not travel by rail well, and it showed through his royal mask each time the train had to stop for coal, water, or a switch. He gave no other observation nor asked questions, choosing a brooding silence instead.
Wickham, the silent Mariner, and Lettie were then seated in a plain carriage with a pair of semi-matched horses. It was meant to appear uninteresting and likely to belong to a merchant with only so much money to spend on luxuries. A wealthier man would have a fancier rig with matching horses. No doubt Wickham had a set of his own.
The driver quickly whipped the team up to a run, giving Lettie all the more reason to wish they had a better-manufactured transport. Every bump, hole and rock in the road translated into a jarring lurch for the passengers.
Wickham kept an eye on the proceedings through the small, curtained window until they were too far away to see what was happening. Checking his watch several times, he turned his attention to Lettie. Looking over his glasses, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You’ve had more time to digest your conversation. What else did Turner say?”
“Not a great deal more than I already told you. He wasn’t in a very chatty mood two days ago, something I suspect had to do with the beating he received. Nothing has improved over time.”
“Not on my orders.”
“Pardon me?”
“He was not beaten on my orders.” Wickham was irritated by her inference.
“If you say so,” she said, not actually believing him. “Mostly he confirmed what I already suspected. I believe without a doubt that this is Robur’s doing.”
Nemo stirred from his introspection and looked somewhat surprised. “Who or what is Robur, other than the Latin word for ‘Oak?’” he asked Wickham.
“A problem.”
“A man,” Lettie corrected him, harshly, out of exhaustion. “A man you clearly haven’t told Captain Nemo about.” Her remark caused Nemo to tense. Lettie continued, “A man who has the genius and vision to design an airship. A viable airship.”
Wickham barked out a laugh. “A vision only, thank God.”
“No, sir, a fact. A design completed and operational.” When Wickham stopped laughing, she continued. “I can’t guarantee you of it, but the evidence is there.”
“Evidence? You mean he’s not just starting to build it?”
“Didn’t you read about the Weldon Institute?”
“Easily persuaded Americans and sensational journalism.”
“You should have believed them. The evidence has been mounting. I believe I saw his ship at least twice, once while I was crossing the Atlantic and once in Paris. Professor Pierce was a witness as well.” When neither man commented, Lettie continued. “I believe the Professor is on board Robur’s ship. Robur himself offered me passage on it and any assistance I might require in my research. Mr. Turner has reiterated that offer. No, Mr. Wickham, the airship has been built and is in use. I am also of the opinion that it has been for some years.”
“Tell me, why didn’t you take him up on his initial offer?”
Lettie sat up straight and glared at him. “Because I value my character and could never willingly allow it to be lost as a compromise for a goal that I can well achieve on my own. You may be able to do whatever it is that pleases you but as a woman, I cannot. And I will not!”
“Thus, Turner was sent to abduct you. As you said, you could never risk your reputation or career on willingly setting yourself into Robur’s hands.” Wickham leaned back, and rubbed the wax of his moustache with his fingers out of habit, neatly smoothing the coated hair into its approved curl. It gave him something to do while he decided what came next. He stared at her for a full minute with an expression that could either be anger or admiration. “Well done,” he finally said. “An airship … a functional airship. Wonderful.”
“I believe that we should be aware of the skies above us as well as the terrain. Robur has the advantage of being able to attack us from either the ground or the air.”
Wickham nodded in appreciative agreement. “I’ve considered the place selected for the rendezvous. The whole area is flat, which makes our approach by sea or by land very difficult to hide. Adding now your belief that Robur is capable of striking from above, it makes the area all the more advantageous to him.”
“He is able to hide in some sort of cloud, a vapor I believe he is able to create, though I honestly don’t know how. If there is enough fog or clouds in Holland, we may not see him at all. And the North Sea is known for its storms and fog.”
Nemo shook his head. “There are two very important questions we’ve not asked ourselves. Why and how? The latter question begs to know how he is able to do any of this. The resources necessary for a heavier-than-air craft are tremendous. Materials, fuel, cost? The effort to conceal such an undertaking in secret is substantial, this I know. And the former question is more philosophical but equally important. Why did he build this airship? Why is he pursuing Miss Gantry and her knowledge of volcanoes? Is there no one else in the field of volcanism more appropriate? Perhaps not, as it would be much less troublesome to abduct a woman foolishly traveling on her own.”
“Could a volcano provide anything that he might need?” Wickham asked.
“That is a ridiculous idea,” she snapped. Her head still hurt. “Volcanoes are too violent, unknown, unstable …”
Wickham tilted his head in a knowing way and allowed himself a slight smile. “Unless, of course, you could predict when they happen and how big they might be?”
Lettie’s heart pounded. Of course, it made insane sense. “Then you believe that somehow Robur has found a reason to utilize some aspect of volcanism. I don’t know what that would be. But, you are correct, if a volcano’s behavior is ultimately predictable and proven consistent, as I believe it can be, then whatever resource it provides becomes the more available resource.” She began straightening out her skirts in her nervous habit. “That is why I am involved; that’s why they have such an interest in my research.”
Nemo could hear the disappointment and possible shame in her voice. “Science and discovery have always existed for themselves, but as with all things of value, someone will always desire to use it for profit or gain.” The harsh words were well meant, but fell on embarrassed ears.
“My prediction model is entirely imperfect.”
“Has it never worked?” Nemo seemed to expect an answer of complete failure.
She shook her head. “It works about half the time. Statistically speaking, I might as well be guessing. I daresay I’d have too large a failure rate.”
“Yet, with your Prediction Model in its current state, Robur still stands half a chance of succeeding where he had no chance before. Unlike a geologist, his guesses would not be so well founded.” Nemo folded his arms across his chest. “The question of why, continues. Why has he done this? Pure science? Lust?”
Lettie colored deeply and turned to stare out the carriage window. She didn’t know. “I have no sense of Robur except from the one time I met him. He is proud, arrogant, brilliant and unaffected by the rules of society.”
Wickham leaned heavily on his elbows as the carriage hit a deep rut in the road. “What nationality is Robur? Did he speak with an accent? Did he give you any indication of loyalty to a king or country?”
“He’s not doing this out of loyalty to anyone but himself. He plays with people and no monarch or general would put up with that for very long. No, I’ve not seen a flag or any other indication of nationality. As to race or language, I’m at a loss here as well. He appeared to be European and yet not. He spoke English like an American.”
Nemo raised an eyebrow. “Speaking of Americans… what is your take on Mr. Turner’s character?”
“Loyal. Brutally loyal. And self limiting. He seems to me to be very intelligent, exceptionally bright, yet he waits for orders and allows another to give him direction. He has very little scientific training but is curious enough to ask and smart enough to understand.” Lettie looked up at both men, surprised at a memory. “And he’s been traumatized. Something distinct. Time in prison or in a war I think. And, his scar …”
“But he gave no clear indication of what Robur is up to?” Wickham demanded, taking control of the conversation again.
“None. And other than building the trolley or something, I can’t understand why Professor … Rajiv is involved. He hasn’t the slightest knowledge of volcanoes.” She smiled at a further memory. “Well, a little, but only what he’d learned from a somewhat outdated book. I was a bit flattered that he’d made the effort so that we could converse on a mutual topic. I didn’t have the heart to tell him his information was antiquated.”
Nemo smiled then realized he was doing so and immediately settled his expression into his requisite frown. Yes, he had smiled because it was good to hear that Rajiv had a sense of kindness in him. Or, romance? A civilized man needed to marry and reproduce himself. Sadly, Rajiv was a “civilized man” and Nemo was adamant that he had no need - for civilized men or civilization.
Lettie glanced up at Wickham. “How did you know to come to my aid?”
“I became aware of Robur some time ago. The flag planting. The trumpet blowing. Then his attack on the Go Ahead. Later, he appeared to be following you, perhaps even studying you. He was seen in London, watching after the Professor too. He is a dangerous man, and clearly we’re only just now learning how dangerous he is.” He looked at his watch again. “None of this is disturbing you, Miss Gantry?”
“All of this is disturbing me, Mr. Wickham,” she snapped.
“Surely you are enjoying the attention and interest?”
Lettie glared at him. “Mr. Wickham, I find this so-called attention quite appalling. And, in some instances, quite insulting.”
His hazel eyes twinkled a bit as he recognized the discomfort in her response. “Forgive my assumption,” he said with absolutely no regret whatsoever.
“You will assume whatever pleases you, Mr. Wickham. I should have hoped that your observations, brief though they are, were more accurate.” The tone of her voice changed to aloof superiority. “As a scientist, I find that I must carefully develop and test my hypothesis before declaring a theory or fact. I would recommend to you the same tactic in the future.”
Wickham scowled. “How very logical of you.”
Nemo shook his head and closed his eyes for what would likely be too long a journey to his ship.