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somber. Wearing Carnival costumes to hide their identities, a group of important ambassadors and world
leaders entered according to the secret agenda. Alert guards showed them to a secure conference room,
which was lit by large candelabras.
Suspicious of each other despite the reassurances of diplomacy, the men removed their feathered hats
and sequined domino masks. Outside, they had not been noticed; the meeting would be completely
discreet.
Three street-level windows had been shuttered for privacy. The room had been a third-floor chamber
when the villa was built, but now because of the waterlogged city's sinking, it was at the level of the
canals and the raised cobblestone street. The lower rooms had already drowned, and the air smelled of
rot and mildew.
The important delegates representing France, England, Germany, Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Russia,
exchanged subdued greetings. Many of the men spoke several languages; they had kept the number of
interpreters to a minimum, to help assure secrecy.
"Now, gentlemen," said the British representative when they were all seated, "each one of us knows that
the fate of the world may very well hang in the balance this night."
The expressions around the room remained grave. The German ambassador said, "All of our countries
are counting on us to resolve our differences, to address accusations, and to make mutual resolutions
regarding this arms race."
"We have evidence that the hostilities attributed to France in recent months have in fact been the work
of a& savage provocateur," said the French leader. "Our people have had enough war and bloodshed for
one century, due to our own social strife, as well as foreign aggression." He glanced pointedly at the
German representative, who snorted.
"Your complaint is with Chancellor Bismarck. He left power a decade ago. The German Empire seeks
to strengthen itself internally, not annex worthless French territory;"
"Worthless. !"
"Gentlemen!" The Russian pounded a beefy hand on the table. "This is going nowhere. We must
establish peace terms and resolutions. All of our countries are tinderboxes."
"Well said, well said," the British diplomat interjected. "Let us not offer any excuse to light a political
match. Now then, since we all have the same fundamental objective, shall we begin? The rest of the
world does not know we are here. Therefore, it should be a simple matter to address our issues and
formulate simple, binding resolutions."
"Provided we are not interrupted," the Frenchman said.
"This meeting has been established with the utmost security," the German pointed out. "What could
possibly interrupt us?"
On the bridge of the Nautilus, Ishmael said in drawling Hindi, "Helm three feet to port. Steady. Two
feet. Decrease prop a half knot." The members of the League crowded in the control room, ready to
begin their work.
As his crew guided the armored vessel, Captain Nemo peered into his periscope. Through the eyepiece,
he could see the far-off revelers, the celebratory torches, the feasts and flowers in the streets of Venice.
"The Carnival is quite the affair."
"I love a party," said Gray. "Perhaps we should all join them. After all, Nemos already wearing his own
costume."
"I tend to avoid large gatherings and all that noise," the captain said.
As the canal narrowed, the stone walls closed together like a slow and deadly trap. The Nautilus eased
cautiously forward like a big mechanical shark in the shadows of this dingy section of the drowning
city. Ishmael's expert guidance kept the alloy armor plates from being scratched against the slimy walls,
only inches away.
"We can go no farther, Captain," Ishmael said, before the undersea vessel could get stuck.
"All ahead stop!" Nemo said.
"Reverse engines!" Ishmael shouted.
The big brass propellers reversed, sloshing a backwash as they dampened the vessels headlong inertia.
The high prow snagged a clothesline, stretching it almost to snapping before the majestic boat came to a
final stop beneath a high, vine-covered bridge that arched overhead.
On the metal deck in front of the conning tower, Nemos crewmen jumped onto the canal towpath,
tossing ropes. On either side of the narrow, mossy walkway, the men affixed the cable moorings, lashing
them tight. One man glanced up at the curved bridge as four boisterous Carnival participants raced from
one building to another, laughing with the drunken chase, and disappeared into the opposite villa. None
of them glanced down at the water or the huge ship floating below.
Like metal tongues, three gangplanks extended from the ship's side hull and settled on the towpath.
Captain Nemo and Allan Quatermain led the way as a large group of Nautilus crewmen marched out of
the ship, including men suited up as divers. Their footsteps made muffled bangs on the gangplank, then
crunched on the brick and gravel walkway. The rest of the League followed them out into the streets of
Venice.
They exchanged orders like rapid-fire gunshots. "Break into squads and begin to sweep the city," Nemo
said.
"One flare per five-man team," Ishmael said.
"Look for any hint of the Fantom," Quatermain said. "Signal at the first sign of suspicious activity."
"But this is a vast city of masks and mystery " Mina said.
"Then you will be very much in your element," Quatermain said, and signaled her to hurry along.
"What about Skinner?" Tom Sawyer asked in a whisper, looking behind him. No one had been able to
find the invisible man since Quatermain had chased him out of his cabin. Now that the Nautilus had
arrived in Venice and their mission was to begin, Skinner had abandoned them. He could be anywhere.
The American, and most of the others, were convinced he had intended to cause trouble all along. "I bet
he's working for the Fantom."
"Just be alert for his treachery, young man," said Dorian Gray with a distasteful curl of his lip. "We all
will. He's still hereabouts, somewhere, probably spying on us all. No telling what sort of mischief he
still has in mind." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]