May 28, 1883
The Nautilus
The North Sea
By the time the Nautilus’s clock declared it late afternoon, Lettie had allowed herself to leave her room, pushing back tears that were trying to fall, hardening herself, and finalizing her plans. She was exhausted and emotional, two things that were of no use to her.
Her plan was complex, which meant it would work or fail miserably. No in between. Failure would mean imprisonment for the rest of her life: or worse. For all her attempted understanding and observations, she hadn’t anticipated what Wickham was willing to do. Success or failure? She prayed for the former and expected the latter.
First she had to do the sensible things. All but the bare essentials would have to be left behind. Fight or flight? Flight. There was no sense in trying to become courageous now.
The crew had stored the bulk of her luggage in a locker. It was easy enough to get into the storage room. Digging quickly through the luggage she pulled out a leather box. In it she kept her tools: a hammer, a jeweler’s lens, gloves, binoculars, recent maps, goggles, and a long cloth tape measure. There was also a celluloid bottle for the collection of gases in water. Pencils, scraps of paper, a knife, and a rubber eraser. The tools of a volcanologist. Added into the box, with its cross-the-body bandolier strap, went the two packages of Mr. Winchester’s .44 caliber, centerfire, brass cartridges. It made the kit outrageously heavy, but she couldn’t do without protection. Over her arm she also slung her beloved rifle: in case she had to fight.
Lettie relocked the storage door, having made everything inside look undisturbed. A sharp ping and the sound of a dropped tool froze her to the spot. She pressed her back to the locker door, not sure what she would say if a crewman found her there.
She waited, quietly, listening only to her own shallow breathing. The ship was so small, it was any wonder she didn’t have ten men walking past her at any given moment.
No one walked by. Astonishing, considering how many men lived on board the submarine.
She began breathing heavily again. Her next stop was, in her own estimation, dishonorable but necessary. Were she stealing from Wickham, frankly she wouldn’t care. And she just might have to take something of Wickham’s; she actually had something in mind. But stealing from Nemo? He had been so intimate. She knew things now that elicited her compassion. And, certainly she respected Nemo’s scientific knowledge. He would understand, wouldn’t he? This was for Rajiv; surely he’d understand and forgive that? This was for her freedom too, and that he had to comprehend.
Two crewmen left the diving room, conversing in the Nautilus’s language. It was empty now. Lettie stepped in, half anticipating that men in dive suits would spring out of the hatch.
Quickly she found the seal-skin coats and gloves.
Carefully detaching a connecting tube between the underwater pack and the helmet, she detached the mouth piece as well. She then inserted one of the empty reservoir tanks into the pack and started to sling the whole unit over her other shoulder. It was too heavy; it couldn’t be done. Reluctantly, she set the apparatus back on its hook, but allowed her hand to linger on the helmet and its decoration.
“You would not be able to refill the reservoir, so you are wise not to take it.”
Lettie didn’t turn around … mostly out of shame.
“Without the helmet,” Nemo continued, “you cannot go underwater. You would also want the canvas suit for protection.”
“It’s likely just as well, the helmet is not the appropriate material or design for protection as I should like to use it … as you suggested I use it. Copper, after all, conducts both heat and static electricity.”
“This is, in an essence, stealing from me?” Somehow he didn’t sound as angry as he should have; in fact, he didn’t sound angry at all.
“It is no worse than stealing my future from me. But if you think I do this lightly, you would be in error. I have to do what I must. I cannot live out my life in a prison.”
He began stuffing the gloves into the pockets of the coats. “I swear that I did not know what Wickham planned for you and never sought to cause you harm. If you wish to trade with me instead of simply taking …”
She turned to face him then. “I’d prefer that by far. But in trading, you will become entangled in my little plan. I don’t think you should be so exposed, so involved.”
“I know what it is you are planning to do, though how I might be curious enough to ask. Yet, I think I should remain ignorant for the time. Bring me back my nephew. Do what you must; just bring my nephew to me.”
“Wickham?”
“Wickham is using us all and presumes too much.” Nemo’s eyes began to grow narrow in rage. “I’ll see to Wickham as much as I can. Promise me you’ll help Rajiv.” His face began to redden.
“I can only promise you to do everything I can. I don’t know if I’ll be successful. You should consider what to do if I fail. I barely have a plan now. For the moment all I intended was to gather these things.”
“Do more than gather, Doctor. Leave. As soon as possible.”
She stopped for a moment, a freezing wave sweeping over her body and leaving her stomach queasy. “Captain. What about Mr. Turner? You know what Wickham will do to him, or at least what he claims he will do?”
“Turner has made his bed.”
She shook her head, hoping the vigorous movement might warm some part of her. “I cannot look the other way.”
“You’re too soft,” Nemo spit at her. “Harden yourself. You cannot afford to be a woman. You must be like a man.” His blood was up.
“Since men claim logic as their exclusive realm, allow me to apply it here. Mr. Turner must go with me. I’ll need to take him with me. He’s the only one who will know where to find your nephew.”
For a long silence, he stared out at nothing in particular. The blood raised now faded from his face. Nemo sighed and nodded in one gesture. He half expected that she would require Turner. He was sorry that she had. Turner was not worthy but he could spend no more time on that. He quickly pulled a second sealskin coat off a hook and handed it to her.
“And I must ask about his men.”
“You are being a woman again. They are not his men. Merely hirelings from Paris. We left them behind. You needn’t spend another moment thinking of them.” He seemed annoyed that she’d asked after such inconsequential persons.
“Thank you, sir. I shall, therefore, remain focused on the task at hand.” She hesitated. “I have one more thing to ask of you.” Lettie drew a folded, addressed letter from her pocket. “I ask this of a man who knows the pain of losing family. This is a letter I was going to send to my father from Brindisi. Can you arrange to have it mailed? It will relieve his suffering if Mr. Wickham is correct and I am believed to be missing. He will take it as a sign that I am alive and well. I finished it today in order to suggest that the report of my abduction is false. I know what he is feeling. I know what I would feel if he were the one who had disappeared. Please. Will you do this?”
He nodded, his temper cooled considerably. He accepted the letter, holding it for a moment. Quickly he pocketed it, looked up at her with a renewed officiousness and said, “In two hours we will dock against the shoreline. Mr. Wickham will take several of my men to secure the area. Two hours.” He said nothing else but turned and walked from the room.