James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“It would appear so.”

“Excellent. Please join the others on the observation deck.”

The captain of the Nautilus moved toward the doorway.

“Where are you going?” asked Challenger.

“To the bridge. We need to find a safe place to put into shore, where we will mount our expedition.”

“I’m coming, too,” said Challenger.

“As will I,” added Burton.

“Fine,” said Nemo. “Suit yourselves.”

Burton and Challenger followed Nemo to the bridge of the Nautilus . It took up two levels and was fitted out in brass. The most utilitarian portion of the ship Burton had yet seen, it was staffed with uniformed men of almost every conceivable race. A long gangway stretched across the upper half of the bridge, and Nemo strode across this confidently—followed by Burton and Challenger—to a standard ship’s steering wheel, which stood before a large, rounded viewing port.

“Surface three hundred meters,” Nemo said, and Burton could feel the ship begin to rise, stopping when it had reached the indicated depth. “I don’t want to give away our position to anyone who might be watching,” he said to Burton and Challenger. The two men exchanged quizzical glances as he lowered the periscope and looked out at the portion of the mysterious landmass that rose above the waves.

“Yes,” he said. “Marvelous.”

Pulling away from the periscope, he offered Burton a look.

Burton saw a vast, flat stretch of land that appeared devoid of life. In the hazy distance, he could make out several tall structures, too regular in shape to be natural. One of them appeared to be a pyramid, but bigger than any he’d ever seen in the Valley of Kings in Egypt.

“Bismillah.”

Challenger shoved Burton out of the way and jammed his face into the periscope’s viewer. “Blimey,” he said. “This has South America beat.”

The view shifted due to the submarine’s movements. Challenger pulled himself away. “Well,” he said, “I guess there’s just one question.”

“Just one ?” said Burton.

Challenger smiled. “What do we call it? Atlantis? Lemuria? Mu?”

“R’lyeh,” said Burton, his voice almost a whisper.

Nemo’s eyes narrowed to slits. “How do you know that name? Have you been talking to Miss Marsh?”

“No, uh,” said Burton, “I dreamed it. At least I think I did. It might have been a memory.” He stared at the periscope in silence.

“Let’s worry about the naming of things later,” said Captain Nemo. “Gentlemen, prepare for your expedition while I navigate us into a safe, secluded place from which to launch it.”

Burton and Challenger could both tell by now when they had been dismissed, so they left Nemo to his preparations.

Feeling a bit more useful now, Burton returned to his room and unpacked his gear. He cleaned, oiled, and loaded his pistol, then sharpened his khukuri blade. Then he donned a white linen shirt, white linen pants and boots. A pith helmet completed the ensemble. Sheathing the knife, he tied it to his back, the handle within easy reach of his right hand.

There was a knock at his door. Herbert and Challenger waited on him, likewise similarly outfitted.Only poor Herbert looked out of place, even though he had cleaned up from his exertions connecting the Nautilus to his Time Machine.

“Nemo has put in to a bay on the far side of the isle from where we surfaced,” explained Challenger. “It should be safe there. Nemo is going to accompany us to shore.”

“What about Miss Marsh?” asked Burton.

“He said I should stay behind, where it’s safe,” said Miss Marsh, gliding up the corridor. The tone of her voice suggested her displeasure over the decision. “Don’t worry, boys,” she said with a wink. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you.” With that, she sauntered off.

“Most extraordinary, isn’t she?” said Herbert, staring after her.

“That’s an understatement,” said Challenger with a laugh. “Well, Burton, are you ready to embark on the adventure of the ages?”

“I’m as ready as I am ever likely to be.” Burton left his stateroom and closed the door, following Herbert and Challenger up the corridor.

Precisely at noon—if such a man-made designation held any meaning in an age that existed before recorded human time—Captain Richard Francis Burton, Professor George Edward Challenger, and Herbert the Time Traveler stood atop the Nautilus with Captain Nemo and surveyed what no human being had ever seen, the mythical landmass Burton’s nightmare had dubbed R’lyeh.

The Nautilus had put into a little cove. Nemo surveyed the land through a pair of field glasses, studying every line, every rock and tree.

The air was stifling and thick, strange given their proximity to the South Pole. This was a more temperate age, stuck between Ice Ages.

“How do we get ashore?” asked Challenger. “By swimming?”

Nemo waved to one of his attendants, who stood near the submarine’s open hatch. He turned and opened a watertight locker attached to the hull and pulled out a tight, heavy-looking bundle. Yanking the cord attached to the side of the bundle, the attendant tossed the whole thing overboard. It grew into a raft as it hit the water.

“Remarkable,” rumbled Challenger.

“Another invention of mine,” explained Nemo. “It uses compressed air to inflate. It deflates almost as easily and can be used over and over.”

“Ingenious,” declared Herbert.

The attendant reached into the locker and produced two short oars. He handed one to Burton and one to Challenger as Captain Nemo leapt into the raft, sitting at the head of it, his back to the sinister island.

The two explorers glanced at each other, surprised they were expected to row. Burton shrugged. Such divisions of labor by perceived class were inherently silly. He jumped into the boat and took his place on the left side. Herbert jumped in and straddled the boat in the middle, clearly not used to being at sea.

With considerable effort, the much larger Professor Challenger joined him, taking position on the right. Nemo’s silent attendant tossed them the rope and disappeared back into the Nautilus with the speed of a rabbit diving into its warren to escape a predator. R’lyeh clearly unnerved the crew. And Burton and the others were headed straight for it.

They rowed. A feeling of sinister unease stole over Burton as they got closer to the mythic landmass. There was something wrong about it. By all rights, it shouldn’t exist, and yet here it was. But there was more to his unease than that. There was a pervading sense of cosmic malignancy, of hostility toward man. He got the feeling they were being watched, but he couldn’t tell from what corner or by what agency. All he knew was he didn’t like anything about any of this, and he longed for London, and Isabel.

“Atlantis,” Herbert said, giggling. “Mu. Lemuria. It’s true. All of it.”

“Herbert, calm down,” said Burton.

“Don’t you see? It’s all true. We thought it based in fable, but it’s not.”

They put into the shallows, and Captain Nemo jumped from the raft in ankle-deep water. Burton and Challenger followed suit, and the three men towed the raft up onto the sand. Only then did Herbert alight, still giggling and talking to himself, his forehead covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

“Pull yourself together, man!” rumbled Challenger.

“Do you think the raft is safe here?” asked Burton.

“Yes, it will be perfectly safe,” Nemo said. “If not, we can always signal the Nautilus .”

“Where should we head first?” Challenger tromped up the beach, examining the thick, course jungle green that rose up to oppose them. Burton had never seen anything like the vegetation that surrounded the beach: giant ferns and thick, stumpy trees with fronds like those of the familiar palm jutting out the tops of them.