Philip Farmer - The Other Log of Phileas Fogg

Fix knew he couldn’t clear that furniture in one dive. And if Fogg had the furniture piled all the way up to the ceiling, he’d be hanging there a helpless target. No doubt, Nemo and Vandeleur would be able to shoot Fogg once they had seen his fire. But Fix wouldn’t be able to see that. He’d be dead. And for what? For a man who had used him, not to advance the interests of all Capelleans but only to advance his own.

Nevertheless, he said nothing. Words would be useless. He took his Webley from his pocket and followed Nemo to the door behind which Passepartout waited. Nemo used his air pistol to shoot out the lock mechanism. Fix opened the door, and Vandeleur rushed in with an air pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. The room was dark, but Fix carried an oil lamp which lit up enough for them to see that the Frenchman was not in the room. Nor was he hiding in the bathroom or the wardrobe or beneath the bed or behind the curtains. The windows were still locked.

“You said he wouldn’t dare open his door and look out!” Vandeleur said.

“He’s even more foolish than I thought,” Nemo said. “I gave him too much credit for intelligence. Fix, run down and see if he’s outside! He may have used the servants’ staircase while we were coming up the main one!”

“Yes, sir,” Fix said, “but I don’t think so.”

He started to run off, but Nemo called him back.

“What did you mean by that?”

“He wouldn’t desert Fogg and the woman,” Fix said.

“You do know these Eridaneans well, don’t you?” Nemo said slowly. “Well, run on down and make sure. Then report to me on the third floor.”

Fix was back a few minutes later. He found the others trying to revive a stunned Osbaldistone. The door to Fogg’s room was open.

“You were right, Fix,” Nemo said. “He came up here, hit Osbaldistone on the back of the head, and the three went… someplace. They could not have come downstairs, however. I went up the main staircase and Vandeleur went up the other. Osbaldistone just went up, so they have not had time to get far. I doubt they’d stay on this floor; they probably went on up. However, Fogg is so tricky, he may be in a room on this floor.”

What a mess! Fix thought. Nemo might be a great brain, a genius at mathematics and engineering, but when it came to affairs in which lightning thought was needed, not a gigantic ratiocination, he did not do so well. He was also too arrogant, too egotistical. He underestimated everybody else. Perhaps he would learn a lesson from this and use his genius in a more appropriate manner. But what did Fix care about him? Nemo thought Fix was a traitor, and he’d see Fix die.

Well, he was a traitor, if thoughts made a man a traitor.

Nemo lifted Osbaldistone with one arm and carried the dangling body to the landing off the main staircase. He dropped the baronet, who groaned once but did not recover consciousness.

Nemo said, “Fix, you will pile furniture, curtains, anything flammable, on the landing and the steps of the servants’ staircase. Vandeleur, you’ll do the same for the main staircase. After the piles are completed, soak them with paraffin oil. We’re going to burn down the house and with it Fogg, the Frenchman, the woman, and the distorter. The fire will bring a large crowd, into which we’ll disappear. We’ll meet at Nesse III.”

He looked at his watch. “A quarter after eight. Fogg has thirty minutes to get to the Reform Club. He is going to lose that bet, since he will be in Hell before then.”

Fix shuddered at the image of Fogg and Passepartout and the beautiful and gentle Aouda screaming in the flames.

It took about ten minutes for the two to carry out wooden tables and chairs, curtains, bedsheets, and feather pillows and stack them on the stairs and the landings. Vandeleur and Nemo then began bringing out lamps, but not enough of these were filled with oil to satisfy Nemo.

“We’ll turn on the gas jets, too,” he said, “but I want to get a fire going that will absolutely prevent those three from getting over the piles. Fix, you go into the cellar and see if there are extra cans of oil. On the way back, notify the captain of what we are doing. Tell him to return to his post then and to wait until we leave before he goes over the wall. Determine that he has ladders or some means of getting over the back wall, since it will be dangerous to go through the house once the fires have thoroughly started. The jets won’t be turned on until just as we leave, but the chances of an explosion will be high. Have you got that straight?”

Fix said, “Yes, sir,” and he hurried off. He went into the deep and gloomy cellar, which was not as deep or as gloomy as his thoughts. A few minutes later, he emerged with two large cans of oil. There were several step ladders against the cellar wall which Moran could use. In the front room, he put the cans down and went to a sideboard from which he decanted a half-tumbler of brandy. He poured this down, stopping only when he coughed. Tears running down his cheeks, he put the tumbler down. Then, not so pale and shaky, he walked toward the rear of the house. On reaching the main rear door, he looked out into the darkness. Moran was a darker shape among the shadows, crouched by the side of a huge stone urn. Fix opened the door and said, “Captain, come here quickly! I have a message for you.”

Nemo looked at his watch again. Soon, the gentlemen in the Reform Club and the great crowd outside would see the flames rising and would wonder whose house was burning.

Hearing footsteps coming up the staircase, he turned. Fix, a few seconds later, climbed up over the pile with a big can in each hand.

“Put one down there and take the other to Vandeleur’s pile,” Nemo said. “We’ll set his afire first.”

Fix set one of the containers on the floor and walked toward Nemo. Nemo turned away to watch Vandeleur, who was bringing a bundle of curtains to add to the large pile. Fix reached into his coat and brought out his revolver. He held it by the barrel.

Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were at a window in a front room on the fourth story. The gaslights below showed an almost deserted street. Four gentlemen were standing talking across the street near the corner light.

“They must be the men Nemo’s stationed to intercept us if we should escape,” Fogg said. “There’s no way of getting away from them. As soon as they see us coming down on this bedsheet rope, they’ll come running. We must drop fast and start shooting as soon as we reach the ground.”

Aouda, sitting in a chair, said, “I still think I should stay here. I can use only one hand, and I’m not strong enough to hang on with it.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” Fogg said. “I told you that we will go down together and that I will have one arm around you. Our gloves will keep us from burning our hands.”

“But… ”

Aouda stopped. Fix’s voice was coming from the end of the hall.

“Mr. Fogg! Believe me, this is no trap! I have knocked out Nemo and the others! I could not let them burn you alive. Please believe me, Mr. Fogg, and come quickly!”

“It might well be a trick to locate us,” Fogg said.

“Mr. Fogg! Nemo said I might be a traitor, and I’m sure he was going to see that I was killed. And God knows what he meant to do to my family. Please believe me. I have a pistol, but it is in my coat, and my hands are in the air. See for yourself. But quickly!”

“It could be true. It’s not entirely unforeseen,” Fogg said. He walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it a crack. There was Fix, slowly walking down the hall, his hands held high.

Fogg opened the door a little more, stuck the end of his revolver out, and said, “Come on in, Mr. Fix.”

Fix entered. Fogg shut the door and said, “Where are your colleagues?”