Philip Farmer - The Other Log of Phileas Fogg

If that happened, then he would go to his own cabin and transport himself to the chief. If need be, they could come back to the General Grant. It would mean a change in plans, which the chief evidently did not wish. But that could not be helped.

Nemo also wondered where the chief had gotten his distorter. As far as he knew, the one found in China was the only one the Capelleans possessed. But he did not know everything. That cursed secrecy was an evil not always necessary.

With such thoughts, he entered Fogg’s cabin.

The next few empty moments, he had no thoughts at all.

The empty lamp swung against his head as he entered.

When he awoke, he was lying tied up in a fetal position on the table. He knew then that they had taken the distorter from him and secured it to the underside of the table on which he lay.

Passepartout, at Fogg’s bidding, looked outside. On returning he said, “No Fix in sight, sir. Could Fix be what he claims to be? Surely, if he were a Capellean, Nemo would have called him to his assistance? He would need him to guard the distorter.”

“That could well be,” Fogg said. “You will inquire after him sometime this morning. After we return.”

Passepartout said, “You are determined to carry out this, if I may say so, mad project?”

“I am.”

“Will I be accompanying you and this man, sir?”

“Assuredly.”

“We were lucky last time, sir. But now…”

“We must find out what is behind this.”

Passepartout sighed but said no more.

On a chair lay the weapons which had been taken from various hiding places in Nemo’s clothing. There was a knife which had been strapped to his left leg, another in a scabbard on his right leg, one in a sheath suspended from his belt in the rear, and a small cylindrical object the function of which Nemo declined to explain. Passepartout, however, found out how to operate the thing. A small slide on its side, if pressed, would obviously discharge the cylinder’s contents from a hole at the other end. Pointing the end close to Nemo’s face, he said, “Now, sir, please illuminate me. Or I will activate this and so possibly extinguish you.”

Passepartout had no intention of doing so, since Nemo might wish to die to escape questioning. Nemo suspected this, but he could not be sure. And he did not intend to commit suicide unless he were in a far more hopeless situation.

“It will expel a stream of cyanide,” he said.

“Very clever,” Passepartout said. He gave it to Aouda to use in case Fix should appear.

Fogg said, “Miss Jejeebhoy, you will reset the distorter for receive a minute after we are gone. But I do not believe that you should stay in this cabin. The door cannot be locked, and we can’t be sure that Fix won’t be coming along. As soon as we’ve made the transit, you will take the distorter to your cabin and tape it to the underside of your table.”

“Why not leave this man…”

“Nemo,” Fogg said.

“This Nemo here?”

“I do not trust him, however capable Miss Jejeebhoy is,” Fogg said. “He has enormous strength and great intelligence and resourcefulness. If we could get loose from our bonds while unobserved, he might be able to do so, observed or not.”

Nemo had been hoping that they would reveal just how they had gotten loose, but they were keeping this a secret. He would find out someday; he swore to that.

“Besides,” Fogg said, “seeing him bound and gagged may disconcert whoever is at the other end. You may gag him now, Passepartout.”

“The clanging will undoubtedly awaken everyone on the ship,” Fogg said. “And Fix, if he is a Capellean, will know what is transpiring. If anyone knocks, tell them you are frightened and won’t come out. Open the door for no one.”

“I understand,” Aouda said. Her voice was so soft, so lovely that Passepartout’s heart bounced as if on a trampoline. How could Fogg resist such a woman, who so openly adored him?

Aouda said, “The bell-like sounds will have to remain another of those mysteries of the sea.”

How prophetic her words were, though even she could not have foreseen that from that night there would be, not one, but two marine mysteries.

Passepartout crawled under the table and set the watch to activate within four minutes. He and Fogg climbed onto the table and stuck their fingers in their ears.

The three men found themselves aboard another ship.

This, however, was a small sailing ship, and the sun stood at an altitude indicating some time around nine in the morning. Fogg knew that this would place them somewhere in the Atlantic, probably between the 15th and the 30th meridians. After this hasty calculation, he had no time for scientific matters.

They had dropped a few inches from the air onto a small deckhouse near the forepart of the ship. They were so close to a mast projecting from the roof of the deckhouse that they could reach out and touch it. Near them, piled on the roof, was an untidy mass of canvas.

The only other human being in sight was on the deck about twenty feet away where he would be sure to be out of range of the distorter field. Pieces of white cotton stuck out of his ears, and he held a revolver.

The sailor did not shoot at once because he must have thought that the two armed men were Capelleans and the bound man was the “slave” he had requested. It was true that he had expected only one Capellean and two bound men and a bound woman, but this may have further contributed to his astonishment. He could not grasp the idea that the situation had been changed.

Nemo, though painfully deafened by the nine clangors, nevertheless acted quickly. He straightened out and pivoted on his side, his long powerful legs coming around to strike both his captors across their ankles.

Passepartout, with the acrobat’s quickness of reaction, leaped into the air. Fogg, who should have foreseen this move, since he claimed that the unforeseen did not exist, was knocked off his feet. His shot went wide of the sailor and, of course, informed him that all was not as it was supposed to be. The sailor fired at Fogg, missed, perhaps because of the roll and pitch of the ship, and then ran along the deck toward the stern. Passepartout bounded down in pursuit, even though armed with only one of Nemo’s knives. He slipped, fell, rolled, and was back up on his feet at once.

Fogg had sprawled forward, and so was unable to keep Nemo from rolling off the roof of the deckhouse. He fell heavily on his side, and Fogg was after him a few seconds later. However, Fogg did not think there was much Nemo could do from then on. To make sure, he struck Nemo over the head with the butt of his revolver. Blood welled out from the wound, and a second later he suffered from another wound. The sailor, having turned once to fire at Passepartout, had missed. The bullet went downward and hit Nemo in his right arm.

Fogg left the limp and bleeding body and hastened after Passepartout. The sailor had taken refuge behind the rear of the aft cabin, just forward of the wheel. Passepartout waited for Fogg at the companionway to the fore cabin. This could be entered by a sliding door which was already shoved to one side.

Since they had not been in a confined space, and the distorter had been, the clangings had not affected their eardrums as much as the previous time. Their hearing was restored enough so that they could hear each other if they put their heads closely together and shouted. Fogg told his comrade to wait there while he inspected the interior of the aft cabins. Perhaps there was another entrance at the other end of his deckhouse. He had to make sure that the sailor did not try a surprise attack by using this. Before reemerging from the doorway, he would give the password. Thus, if the sailor had entered the other end, and overcame or killed Fogg, he would not be able to take Passepartout unawares.