Dumas rumbled a great belly laugh. "Even now, when you see how my fortunes have fallen? Oh, ho!"

"But I've read your work, Monsieur Dumas. Surely your fiction has created a treasure for humanity far beyond" -- Verne gestured around the carriage house, but indicated the whole estate -- "beyond all this."

Dumas frowned at him. "At the moment, I'd gladly give up my novels if I could only retain possession of my home." The footman finished harnessing the horse and then climbed up to the buckboard. The great writer's single faithful employee would also drive the carriage.

Verne hung his head, astounded at the famous man's misfortune. His dreams for success had shattered into even smaller pieces. "I just wish my own fictions were more in demand. I haven't managed to capture the excitement as you have. My historical novels don't have the spark of life or the sense of wonder that you portrayed in The Three Musketeers The Three Musketeers."

Dumas beamed at hearing the praise, even at such a moment. "Ho! And I will continue to write books like that, mark my words -- though I may have to rely solely on my own imagination from now on, as it seems I'll have considerable difficulty hiring other writers."

The big man opened the carriage door. "Every author is different, Jules. I have a flair for portraying historical charm, but if I were to devote my talents to the sort of stories that come from the pens of Voltaire or Balzac, I would fail miserably. Oh, ho! Jules, you have been working too hard to do what I I have done. Perhaps historical adventure isn't where your special ability lies." have done. Perhaps historical adventure isn't where your special ability lies."

"Then what should I write about?" Verne said with an edge of desperation. He still hadn't heard any answers he could use.

"Write what you know, what you have learned, what you have lived. Write what is in your heart." Dumas looked at one of the laden sacks on the floor of the carriage house. With a grunt, he picked it up and tossed it onto the seat, the only clear spot wide enough for the writer's enormous b.u.t.tocks.

Verne drew a heavy sigh. "But my life has been tedious and uninteresting. No one would want to read about my experiences. What am I to do?"

With great effort, Dumas heaved himself into the carriage, grabbed the heavy sack, and subsided into the seat with the sack on his lap. Eager to help, Verne trotted across the dirt floor and opened the doors of the carriage house. The footman flicked the reins, and the horse stamped, impatient to be off.

Dumas raised his eyebrows, looking out the carriage window. "What about your friend Nemo? When you told me about his adventures, there was excitement in your eyes -- a fire. Delicious! You have the journal from when he was stranded on his island, correct? Certainly those are tales worth retelling?"

As if struck by a thunderbolt from the sky, Verne stepped back and his face lit up. Of course! He needed only to tell tell the adventures -- not necessarily experience them himself. the adventures -- not necessarily experience them himself.

Dumas swung the carriage door shut. "I hope to see you again someday, Jules Verne," he said through the window. "But now I must be off on . . . pressing business as far away from here as I can get."

"But how am I to find you?" Verne said. "I'd like to send you a new ma.n.u.script. I'm sure you'll like it."

Dumas leaned out the window of his carriage. "My dear man, at the moment my object is not not to be found." The footman snapped a whip at the horse, and the vehicle rattled onto the cobbled path and out a side driveway. They fled toward a winding forest road that would eventually meet the main thoroughfare. to be found." The footman snapped a whip at the horse, and the vehicle rattled onto the cobbled path and out a side driveway. They fled toward a winding forest road that would eventually meet the main thoroughfare.

While his once-magnificent estate was ransacked, Dumas left Verne behind with his creditors . . . and his new ideas.

iv

Like a mythical air spirit robed in green, red, and blue, the immense balloon drifted across Africa for two more weeks.

Fergusson spent the daylight hours in scientific ecstasy, doc.u.menting swamps and forests, mountains and plains never before seen by an Englishman (or any other European, for that matter). He considered himself a "geographical missionary" for the Royal Society. On maps and charts, most of Africa's interior remained blank, but this expedition could fill in a swath of new territory. Caroline diligently sketched everything they observed.

Nemo tended the recondenser cylinder that controlled the exchange of hydrogen gas between the two balloons, which allowed him to raise or lower the Victoria Victoria through thick clouds and above storms. In relaxed moments, Caroline withdrew her wooden flute and played quiet melodies, adding her songs to the African veldt. through thick clouds and above storms. In relaxed moments, Caroline withdrew her wooden flute and played quiet melodies, adding her songs to the African veldt.

Comfortable against the wicker side of the car, she and Nemo talked about their lives, their hopes and disappointments, as well as simple matters of daily existence. "Did you ever think we'd end up here, in a place like this, Andre?" Caroline's fingers twitched, as if she wanted to take his hand, but didn't dare. Dr. Fergusson puttered with his instruments and his notes, oblivious to the attraction between them.

"I always hoped I would be with you . . . but sometimes wishes don't come true the way you imagine. Our lives haven't gone the way we'd planned."

She drew a deep breath. "If only I had known you were still alive on the island, if only I could have --"

Nemo stopped her. "Caroline, even if you had known, you would still have married Captain Hatteras, and he would still have sailed off to find the Northwest Pa.s.sage . . . and we would still be here now, in this same balloon." He smiled. "And there is nowhere I would rather be."

Leaving the Serengeti Plain behind, the Victoria Victoria crossed over a huge lake, but Caroline could not find the prominent inland sea on any of her charts. They gazed at the immense body of water, whose sh.o.r.e was dotted with small fishing villages like beads on a necklace. In the shallows, islands hosted numerous flocks of birds. crossed over a huge lake, but Caroline could not find the prominent inland sea on any of her charts. They gazed at the immense body of water, whose sh.o.r.e was dotted with small fishing villages like beads on a necklace. In the shallows, islands hosted numerous flocks of birds.

"It's large enough to be the source of the Nile," Fergusson said with a touch of awe. For a century, one expedition after another had searched in vain for the headwaters of the great river. The Royal Society had given the mystery its greatest priority, but so far none of the conventional expeditions had found any answers.

Unfortunately, Nemo could choose only the balloon's general direction of travel, and the body of water was so vast they would have needed to travel to the northern end to see if its waters drained in the proper direction. "Someone else will have to verify it."

"Mark it on the map with great care, Madame," Fergusson said with a smile that made his huge mustache bristle. "Indeed, if I may be so bold, I shall even name this lake -- for future cartographers, of course."

Nemo had never sought credit for himself. "That is your right, Monsieur, as the leader of our expedition."

"Which name do you choose, Doctor?" Caroline asked.

Fergusson looked up at the magnificent balloon over their heads. "Why not name it after the vessel that has carried us across such great distances and difficult terrain, eh? We shall call it Lake Victoria."

v

At noon on the nineteenth day, Nemo used a s.e.xtant to measure the alt.i.tude of the blazing yellow sun and, through trigonometry, determined their position. "We've drifted north of the equator," he said, pleased.

Caroline marked the spot on their charts. "As near as I can tell, we have traversed fourteen hundred miles -- almost two thirds of the way across Africa."

"Indeed!" Fergusson perked up. "On foot it would have taken us a year to get this far, my friends . . . if we survived at all in such inhospitable terrain, eh?"

Caroline pointed out what the two men had not yet mentioned. "By drifting northward, we are heading across the widest part of the African continent. That will increase our time of travel."

"We can still make it in five weeks, my friends."

Nemo double-checked the Victoria Victoria's inflation gauges. "I hope so, since our hydrogen won't last much longer than that."

Caroline ran a finger across the blank, unexplored section of map just waiting for her notations and observations. The balloon pa.s.sed over rolling hills and then river lowlands as Nemo worked the recondenser, raising or lowering them to find an optimal stream of wind. Finally they came upon a second huge lake surrounded by swampland and villages of huts built upon stilts.

Fergusson studied his map, comparing it with what he saw while Nemo took another set of positional measurements. The explorer's heavy eyebrows shot upward, and he grinned so broadly that his bushy mustache looked as if it might fall off. "That is Lake Tchad! We've gone farther than I antic.i.p.ated."

"We've also gone farther north than we should have," Caroline said.

But Fergusson would not be disappointed. He had already filled two journal volumes describing the landscape and recording the zoological specimens he shot. He'd also kept a careful log of how the wildlife varied with the terrain. Watching his diligence, Nemo recalled how Captain Grant had studied the various fishes and sea creatures they encountered on their ill-fated journey, also keeping detailed scientific records . . . now lost to the world.

Fergusson fiddled with the recondenser controls to drop the balloon far enough to study the marshes and sh.o.r.eline of enormous Lake Tchad. Nemo quickly intervened and operated the device himself. He knew they had to conserve their hydrogen gas to keep the balloon aloft for the remainder of the journey across the widest part of the continent.

They drifted low over swamps with reeds growing out of the water like porcupine quills. Natives in long canoes paddled about the shallows, casting fish nets. Crocodile silhouettes slithered along, while storks and flamingoes waded in the mud, probing for sh.e.l.lfish with their beaks.

Caroline pointed out a group of large dark forms perched on gnarled mangroves bent over the lake marshes. "Are those birds? They are larger than any vultures I have heard of."

Fergusson s.n.a.t.c.hed the spygla.s.s out of Nemo's hand. "Not just vultures, Madame -- condors. Rare and magnificent birds, perhaps the largest in the world. We simply must have a specimen, eh?"

He retrieved his sporting rifle and fired a shot at the cl.u.s.tered birds. One of the enormous condors dropped into the marsh with a splash of water and black feathers. The thunderous rifle blast startled the remaining birds, and they took wing with raucous, horrible cries. Each monstrous bird had a wingspan of fifteen feet, as big as the glider-kite Nemo had built on his island.

Three crocodiles moved in to feast on the feathered carca.s.s floating in the swamp. The other giant birds moved together like sharks of the air. Their naked heads were covered with skin that looked like sunburned flesh around black eyes, and a h.o.r.n.y plate rose rudderlike from each horned beak. The condors headed toward the Victoria Victoria, as if they saw it as prey.

"Now they are coming for us, Doctor," Caroline said, frowning at the explorer. "Why must you shoot shoot everything?" everything?"

Fergusson blinked his hazel eyes at her, as if he'd never considered there might be another way to doc.u.ment scientific discoveries. "Don't worry, Madame. Condors are carrion birds. They'll have no interest in us."

Then the gigantic creatures fell upon them.

"Give me the other rifle, Doctor!" Nemo said. "We'll both have to shoot now."

His first shot nicked the closest bird, severing a clump of feathers from its outstretched wing. Fergusson, with better aim and greater practice, felled another creature.

Caroline searched in the basket and came up with a boat hook they used to snag branches. She jabbed at one of the condors and struck its outstretched claws. The carrion bird flew away, only to circle around and come back.

The other condors rose higher to attack the Victoria Victoria from above. With razor talons they slashed at the balloon, ripping huge wounds in the colorful silk outer skin. The balloon began to leak gas, and dropped toward the swamp. from above. With razor talons they slashed at the balloon, ripping huge wounds in the colorful silk outer skin. The balloon began to leak gas, and dropped toward the swamp.

Nemo's second gunshot hit one of the condors. Then he turned desperately to the controls of the recondenser cylinder. He had to withdraw the hydrogen into the intact inner balloon before it all leaked out. "Caroline, help me! Get rid of all the ballast you can." He threw out the remaining sandbags, which briefly counteracted their descent.

Fergusson reloaded his rifle. "We'll be lost if they tear the inner balloon as well, eh?" He shot again, and another giant bird fell from the sky.

Caroline began tossing out everything she could find: spare clothing, cooking utensils, pots, empty containers . . . then full ones. With a satisfied expression, she jettisoned the heavy elephant tusks into the sky. Nemo decided they could do with only one of the two grappling-hooks, so he sawed at the cable and threw the heavy anchor overboard.

The Victoria Victoria remained aloft, but now the colorful outer skin flapped like flesh sloughing from a leper's back. Fergusson shot again and again, with Caroline frantically helping to reload, until only two of the condors remained. Still, the sinking balloon careened toward Lake Tchad. If the balloon crashed, they would all be trapped in the middle of unexplored Africa. remained aloft, but now the colorful outer skin flapped like flesh sloughing from a leper's back. Fergusson shot again and again, with Caroline frantically helping to reload, until only two of the condors remained. Still, the sinking balloon careened toward Lake Tchad. If the balloon crashed, they would all be trapped in the middle of unexplored Africa.

In desperation, Caroline picked up their largest water tank. She hesitated, knowing how much they needed the supplies, but judging by the rate at which they dropped, they would never make it across the vast lake . . . unless they could increase their buoyancy. Nemo looked at her, struck by how beautiful Caroline appeared even in extreme distress. He nodded sharply to her, and she threw out the water tank.

Nemo studied what remained of the wounded Victoria Victoria. He felt guilty that his ambitious dreams had tempted Caroline into this disastrous trip -- though he would not have traded the past weeks with her for any treasure in the world.

Finally, with a grim sense of determination, Nemo knew what he must do: the only chance for the balloon to continue, the only way to keep Caroline safe. Down there, he could survive on his own resources, for as long as it took -- he had done it before on the mysterious island. But he didn't dare tell her what he meant to do.

"Goodbye, Caroline." Unable to resist, he kissed her soft lips, startling her. The look in her eyes made his heart ache so that he almost lost his resolve . . . but if he did, he knew they would all die.

She moved forward to kiss him again, but Nemo slipped away to grasp the edge of the basket. Moving before his anguish and regret caught up with him, he stared at the approaching waters of Lake Tchad and the swamps that extended to the horizon.

Now Caroline saw what he meant to do. "Andre!"

She reached for him, but he did not allow himself to be swayed. He took one last glimpse of her beautiful, heart-shaped face . . . and then decreased the weight of the balloon by one hundred and forty pounds -- his own weight.

Nemo dropped through the air and into the water with a huge splash. Coughing but treading water in the murky shallows, he looked up in time to see Fergusson fire a final shot. The remaining two condors flew away, back toward their nesting trees.

He spat water and shook his head to clear his eyes. He could see Caroline's pale face leaning over the edge of the balloon's basket. She stretched out an arm as if to beseech him, but with its sudden increase in buoyancy, the Victoria Victoria rose again into a stiff breeze. rose again into a stiff breeze.

All alone and lost in the water, Nemo watched the balloon, out of control now, rise up and glide away into the distance.

vi

More than an hour later, the remaining anchor snagged on a twisted acacia tree. The damaged Victoria Victoria clung desperately, as if it needed a rest as much as its two remaining pa.s.sengers did. clung desperately, as if it needed a rest as much as its two remaining pa.s.sengers did.

Drained and in shock, Caroline moved about like one of Mesmer's entranced subjects. Ever since they had departed from France months before, she had secretly begun counting the days until she could declare Captain Hatteras lost at sea. Caroline knew that Nemo would wait as long as necessary. But he had thrown himself overboard to save her.

Fergusson remained intent on the problem of the Victoria Victoria itself. His eyes were bright, and he tugged at his mustache as he pursed his lips and studied the gas-heating apparatus and the remaining inner balloon. "Our friend Nemo's design was brilliant, eh? Even after such a horrendous attack, we have survived. Remarkable." itself. His eyes were bright, and he tugged at his mustache as he pursed his lips and studied the gas-heating apparatus and the remaining inner balloon. "Our friend Nemo's design was brilliant, eh? Even after such a horrendous attack, we have survived. Remarkable."

"But he he did not survive," Caroline whispered, her face pale and drawn. "Andre is gone." did not survive," Caroline whispered, her face pale and drawn. "Andre is gone."

Fergusson gave her shoulder a paternal pat. "There, there, Madame -- that remains to be seen. We mustn't underestimate our intrepid friend's resourcefulness, must we?"

She forced a smile at that, realizing that Fergusson had a point. Nemo had been lost before, and still he had made his way back to her. She hoped he would do the same now.

As they bobbed on the end of the snagged anchor rope, Fergusson pored over his notes and charts, searching for an answer. A scrubby forest covered the ground around them, broken by gra.s.sy areas and standing ponds. Caroline could see no paths, no signs of even primitive civilization. She didn't know where they were now, or how far they'd drifted from where Nemo had fallen into Lake Tchad.

Caroline drew a deep breath. His quick, impulsive kiss still burned on her lips. She knew why he had sacrificed himself, but she would rather they had all crashed in the African wilderness; that way they could have worked together to make it to the coast.

But if Nemo had done such a brave thing for her her, then she vowed not to waste his sacrifice. By all that she loved in the world, Caroline would find a way to get them out of this -- and she would would find him. Somehow. find him. Somehow.

Caroline looked up at the netting that enclosed the sagging silk envelope of the external balloon. "That outer fabric is doing us no good. If we strip away the cloth, we'll get rid of a lot of dead weight."

"Indeed!" Fergusson said with sudden eagerness. "The outer bag is over six hundred pounds of gutta percha-covered silk. Removing it might give us enough buoyancy to continue our journey, eh?"

Grim and numb, Caroline took one of their long hunting knives. "I'll do it, Doctor. You You go and find Nemo." Her voice left no room for argument. Placing the knife between her teeth, she stood on the edge of the basket, then climbed the ropes to the outer webbing that held the balloon in place. go and find Nemo." Her voice left no room for argument. Placing the knife between her teeth, she stood on the edge of the basket, then climbed the ropes to the outer webbing that held the balloon in place.

Fergusson took his rifle and a pack, then descended the ladder to the th.o.r.n.y acacia. Soon, whistling a tune to himself, he had disappeared into the tangled forest below. . . .

Caroline planted her feet in the squares of netting. The monstrous condors had torn a four-foot gash in the scarlet fabric and another in the green section. The outer balloon was irreparable, even if they'd had more hydrogen gas to refill it.

Since they had already discarded most of their heavy objects into the lake, regaining six hundred pounds of lift required them to take on ballast again. That would also enable them to retrieve Nemo, if ever they managed to find him.

She replaced the despair in the pit of her stomach with iron-hard determination. Caroline pressed her lips together and lost herself in work. She had to slice the silk into strips and pull wads through the gaps in the webbing, taking special care not to puncture the inner balloon with the dagger point.

She thought of when she'd been younger, how she had enjoyed talking with Nemo from her window late at night, how she had flirted with him and strung him along . . . and Jules Verne as well. Because of her father's successful business and social standing, Caroline would never have been allowed to marry either of the young men, though she'd made her promises to a young Nemo, and had meant them with all her heart.

Yet now, with her father dead and her legal husband vanished somewhere in the Arctic . . . she knew she'd have been happier with Nemo after all. Angry, she tore strip after strip off the outer balloon, letting the tatters float away like colorful ribbons to adorn the top branches of the thorn trees.