Free Captain Nemo: The Fantastic History of a Dark Genius by Kevin J. Anderson

Monsieur?   I would be at your doorstep every afternoon.”
    Pierre seethed, but he could not take out his anger on the daughter of a wealthy and politically powerful merchant in Nantes.   “Do you know where this ship is going?   When does it come back?”
    Madame Aronnax gave a stern glance to her daughter, and Caroline’s lips trembled.   “The Coralie is sailing around the world to a hundred exotic places.   She is not expected back for three years, perhaps.”   Her voice cracked.
    “Three years . . . around the world?”   Pierre shot up from the chair that Madame Aronnax had politely offered him.
    “The ship went down the river to Paimboeuf.”   Caroline remembered the schedules she had studied in her father’s shipping offices.   “She will tie up for the day, making final preparations, and will set off again at dusk with the tide.”
    “Paimboeuf,” Pierre said, suddenly intent.   “Thirty miles from here.”   Then he marched to the door of the Aronnax home.   “I must find a carriage.”
     
    xi
     
    While the three-masted ship traveled downriver into the wide estuary, Verne and Nemo stood on the scrubbed deck in exhilaration.   They whistled to people on shore; some waved back, but most had seen so many ships go along the Loire that they found nothing special about it anymore.
    The night before, in the deep darkness before dawn, the two had caught a few hours sleep on the Coralie ’s deck, and they awoke feeling stiff and sore.   But their excitement at setting out from Nantes filled them with energy.   Verne couldn’t believe they were underway, plying the winds and currents.   Each moment, he grew farther from his family and home as the breeze freshened and the sails strained like the belly of a gluttonous man.
    After the bustle of early morning duties, Captain Grant came to introduce himself, shaking Verne’s hand and giving him an assessing look.   The English captain had close-cropped brown hair, broad shoulders, and thin and wiry arms.   His wide-set eyes were surrounded by a deep set of crow’s feet, as if he had spent too many years gazing into sunrises and sunsets.   He wore a mustache in the English style and spoke stilted French with a strong accent, though Verne and Nemo could understand him well enough.  
    “I warrant we’ll spend plenty of time together while we sail.   ‘Tisn’t often I’m called upon to educate such fine young men as cabin boys.”   He patted the two on their bony shoulders.   “I’ve got no children of mine own -- so you two must substitute on this voyage.”   Grant’s voice was gentle and intelligent, but when he barked orders at his sailors, the long-practiced tone of command invited no questions.  
    When the ship tied up at Paimboeuf just past noon, some sailors went ashore to procure last-minute supplies, while another part of the crew worked on board.   Here on the Atlantic coast of France, the ships were larger.   Some of the huge four-masters boasted spacious cargo holds larger than the Cynthia and the Coralie combined.
    Captain Grant pointed to the new cabin boys.   “You two better go ashore while you’re still able -- and mark the feel of solid ground under your feet.   I warrant it’ll be some time before you do it again.”   He marched down the creaking gangplank.   “See that you return in an hour, lads, and be ready to sail.”   The captain tipped his hat at two young ladies strolling by, then headed for the harbormaster’s offices to fill out final paperwork and enter his logs.
    As they departed from the ship, Verne thought of his mother’s cooking and the well-guarded secret recipe of her special omelet.   He smiled at the memory of how his sisters played the pianoforte, how he often recited poetry or made up impromptu verses after dinner.  
    Then he thought of exotic countries, strange animals, and mysterious cultures.   He wanted see them all.   In time, his family would get over their shock at