James Palmer - Shadows Through Time

“Miss Marsh showed us an artifact,” said Challenger, no doubt eager to change the subject to something more tangible.

“Ah, yes.” Nemo approached a cabinet full of drawers and opened one, pulling out a familiar lump wrapped in seaweed. He showed them the artifact in all its grotesque novelty. “It is obvious it was made by some intelligence, and is quite ancient, perhaps even older than the pyramids. I believe it predates when man was first believed to have acquired the ability to use tools.”

“But that’s impossible,” boomed Challenger. “Look at those markings. It was made by human hands.”

“It was made by intelligent hands,” Nemo corrected. “We don’t know that they were human. I’ve uncovered similar signs that man is not the first intelligent creature to walk this planet, or swim in its oceans.”

He moved to a far corner of his strange museum. “We found this in an antique shop in Arkham, Massachusetts,” he said, gesturing to a glass case that housed what appeared to be a large, ornate and strange-proportioned tiara made of some unusual amalgam of gold. Burton, Challenger, and Herbert moved in for a closer inspection, marveling at its grotesque outline. “Who would make such a thing?” muttered Challenger. “And what kind of head would it fit?”

“Wait.” Burton looked to Nemo. “You mean to tell me that you have lived beneath the ocean for years engaging in some sort of underwater archaeology? Why? What started you on this track? Forgive me if I offend you, but you don’t strike me as the altruistic type.”

Miss Marsh made to protest, but Nemo held up a restraining hand, silencing her. “You are correct, Captain Burton,” he said. “I began my tenure beneath the sea as a misanthrope, even making war with the surface world for a time. But I have seen the error of my ways, and to atone for that violent past, I have dedicated myself to being mankind’s savior, whether they know it or not. There are secrets down here that were invisible even to me, but Miss Marsh here has helped open my eyes to a greater threat than even man himself.”

Burton glanced at Miss Marsh, who nodded.

Challenger pointed at the artifact, still in Nemo’s hand. “But what does this mean? What is that ghastly thing depicted in the artifact?”

“It is a representation of Dagon,” said Captain Nemo. “An ancient deity of most sinister aspect feared by most primitive seafaring peoples of the world.”

“You mean worshipped,” said Burton.

Nemo’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I mean feared. Most of the ritual regarding Dagon involves not paying him obeisance but avoiding his wrath. That, and keeping him asleep, at the bottom of the ocean.”

Challenger chuckled. “And I suppose in all your fabulous wanderings you have run across this Dagon? Is he stuffed and mounted somewhere in this undersea museum of yours?”

“I have not, and he is not,” said Nemo, glaring at the much larger scientist. “Nevertheless, recent worldwide events have lead me to believe that, as the Bard said, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ And I think you of all people, Professor Challenger, should know that more than most.”

“And we will find the cause of this mental malady at these coordinates, 49°51′S 128°34′W,” said Herbert, pointing to the spot Nemo had indicated on his map.

“Exactly,” said the Captain.

“And that’s why you procured my services,” said Herbert.

“Right again,” said Nemo. “We have a long voyage ahead of us, and I have urgent matters that require my full attention. You have the run of the ship. Please, make yourselves at home. You may avail yourselves of my library as you wish. My crewmen will attend to your needs. In ten days’ time I have a special activity planned I’m sure you will all enjoy. Herbert, I believe you have some preparations to make. Until then.”

The captain of the Nautilus exited through a short hatchway at the other end of his curious “museum,” letting Burton and the others know in no uncertain terms that this little meeting had adjourned.

Challenger arched a dark, bushy eyebrow at Burton. “His answers only raised more questions.”

“He is usually quite taciturn,” said Elizabeth Marsh. “He will reveal more of himself in time.”

“What of you?” asked Burton. “Nemo said it was you who started him on this strange path.”

Marsh grinned. “All in due time, gentlemen. This has been a lot for you to take in.” She strode carefully from the room.

Burton looked to where Herbert had been standing near the map, but he too had gone.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” said the explorer.

“Indeed,” said Challenger. “And what do you make of this impossible ship of wonders? Built without oversight or patronage from any government. This Nemo is a man of perhaps limitless resources.”

“So it would appear.”

“He’d have to put in for repairs somewhere,” mused Challenger. “The Nautilus would have to be in dry dock at some point. He said himself that this was a newer model. Who could house such a vehicle and keep their mouths shut?”

“I don’t know,” said Burton. “But I think we have bigger things to worry about just now. Such as what mystery awaits us at coordinates 49°51′S 128°34′W.”

Over the next few days Burton availed himself of Nemo’s vast library. There were several original Indian texts he found interesting, including a copy of the Kama Sutra written in Hindi, but much of the volumes replicated his own, and after three days he lost interest. Instead he wandered the Nautilus , hands in his pockets, busying himself with studying the comings and goings of the crew. Burton realized the Nautilus had to surface every two or three days to replenish its supply of air, always far from the shipping lanes and, whenever possible, at night. During some of these times Burton came out and smoked while Nemo consulted his sextant and wrote in a little notebook he kept for navigational purposes.

Challenger entertained himself by spending hours in Nemo’s museum studying the strange specimens their host had collected in his explorations of the ocean. Most, as Challenger had said, were unknown to science, and the zoologist couldn’t resist further study and perhaps even taxonomic cataloging of these plants and animals no other human eye had ever seen.

Burton had seen very little of Herbert, but had come to understand from talk among the crew that he was working on something in the bowels of the Nautilus , connecting some contraption of his own invention to the wondrous submarine. He disappeared for days at a time, looking tired and haggard when he finally made himself known, his clothes looking slept in. Sometimes Nemo would join them, and they talked of current world events, which Nemo had a keen interest in. But he rarely spoke more than a few words about where they were going and what they were going to do once they got there. Was this a journey of exploration and discovery, or one of violent action? Burton didn’t know and no one seemed willing to tell him.

Elizabeth Marsh had made herself scarce during this time as well. The few times Burton did see her, she was walking arm in arm with Captain Nemo, the two of them conversing in forced whispers.

Burton didn’t know whether to be overjoyed at the thought of another exciting adventure, or worried, and he shared his misgivings with Challenger one afternoon in Nemo’s museum.

“It’s the thrill of the hunt, Burton!” said the burly zoologist.

“Yes,” replied Burton, “but what are we hunting?”

On the tenth day of their voyage, Captain Nemo addressed them after breakfast. “I have an activity planned that I think you will all enjoy. A hunting expedition.”