Pierre considered our situation and, as always, offered his opinion. “While I am happy to go along with you because you are a complete idiot without the great Pierre,” he announced, “it seems you have made the usual ill choices, donkey.”
“I’m just trying my best.”
“First, I’ve pointed out to the crazy American inventor there that metal does not float. Yes, we are somehow bobbing, but I hope this craft does not leak like a canoe because there is no pine pitch to repair it and it will plummet to the bottom in a very short time.”
“It might be better for morale not to speculate on such a possibility,” I said.
“Second, you have thrown in with savants, whom I told you in Canada have very little practical use. I have noticed these here seem to carry a great deal of useless information about rocks and extinct animals, but very little expertise in assaulting a fortified pirate city.”
“‘A learned blockhead is a greater blockhead than an ignorant one,’ Ben Franklin used to say. Just to give you the point, Pierre, if it will shut you up.”
“Third, I see no cannon or rockets aboard, or even your old rifle and tomahawk.”
“I’ve been reduced to borrowing American naval boarding arms, a pistol and cutlass. And we have some of Fulton’s mines, or what he calls torpedoes.”
“Fourth, you are to proceed, if I understand the plan correctly, to a guarded harem to rescue a female friend who happens to be the mother of your child, suggesting not a lot of foresight into that matter, either. Harems, I am informed, are full of women, and there is no group more difficult to govern or direct. Cattle you can corral and buffalo you can stampede, but women? It is like making a file of cats.”
And he sat back, his argument at last made.
“But it seems,” I said agreeably, “that I’ve rectified my bad planning by enlisting my old friend Pierre Radisson. Not only can he point out my faults, but I’m certain he’ll find solutions for all the difficulties he just listed. No one knows better than Pierre the evil character of the enemies we’re up against, and no one is happier riding in a copper sarcophagus to seek revenge against the very woman, Aurora Somerset, who shot him in the back.”
He considered, and nodded. “All this is true. So. I will put my mind to keeping you out of trouble, donkey, and doing so before the sun rises too high. I do have a question for Monsieur Fulton, however.”
“Yes, Monsieur Radisson?”
“Locked as we are in a cramped chamber, and unable to emerge without drowning, just how do you propose to sink an enemy vessel?”
“Ah. It is quite clever, if I do say so myself. On board are three copper bombs, each containing one hundred pounds of black powder and a gun lock to set them off. Protruding from my turret is a spear like a narwhal’s horn, its butt end coming inside through a stuffing box, as you can see. Oakum packing around the shaft keeps leakage to a few drips. Now: We creep under the bottom of an enemy ship and twist the shaft by hand to drill it into the enemy’s bottom. Near its pointed end is an eye, threaded with a lanyard that also comes back to the tower here. After the ‘horn’ is screwed into the victim’s hull, we back off, pulling the lanyard. At the rope’s other end is tied a copper mine. As the lanyard threads through the eye of the narwhal horn, the mine, or torpedo, is pulled with it until it is jammed fast against the enemy ship. Then a jerk of the lanyard sets off the gun lock and the explosion. By that time we have backed sufficiently away to survive the concussion.”
Pierre looked dubious. “And if the torpedo goes off prematurely? Or the horn doesn’t stick? Or the enemy hears us fumbling about underwater?”
“Then we are probably sunk ourselves,” the inventor said. “It is fearfully important to get things right. I’m sure we can all muster the proper intensity.”
“Certainly we have motive for doing so,” the Frenchman agreed.
Fulton turned back to look out his tower. “I see the evening lights of Tripoli. A little to starboard, Frenchman.”
“Do you think they might see us?” Cuvier called up.
“Our sails are small and dark and our hull barely above the water,” Fulton said. “We can tack close before submerging.”
So we neared the port. While Tripoli is on Africa’s northern coast, its bay faces northeast, formed by a protective spit, islands, and reefs. The westernmost entrance is a gap in the reef just two hundred yards wide. We sailed close enough that we could hear the breakers and Fulton could judge our position by their creamy white. Then the inventor had Pierre rudder us into the wind while he popped up through the hatch to swiftly drop and lash the sails and mast. Then he came down, closed and locked the hatch, and turned a handle. There was a hiss and gurgle as buoyancy tanks filled.
“Archimedes himself discovered the principle of displacement that suggests how a boat may be made to sink or rise,” Fulton said.
“Fish use the same principle in their swim bladders,” Cuvier said.
“And humans sleep in a feather bed,” I put in.
It grew even darker, so we lit a candle. “We are now below the surface, gentlemen, and about to make history with an undersea naval attack.”
“Without being able to see where we’re going?” Pierre amended.
“Yes, we are somewhat blind. My compass is illuminated with bioluminescent fox fire, an innovation first suggested by Franklin for the American Revolution’s Turtle, so once again we benefit from the wisdom of Ethan’s mentor. From here we’ll navigate by compass, and then rise just enough to peer through the tower windows. Ethan and Pierre, start cranking our screw propeller. Cuvier and Smith, look to our guns and powder.”
It was humid and close inside the submarine. Pierre and I were soon sweating as we cranked away.
“How long can we stay down without any air?” the voyageur asked, panting.
“With this crowding, three hours,” Fulton said. “But I brought a copper container from Toulon pumped full of two hundred atmospheres, which was suggested to me by the chemist Berthollet. If released it should give us oxygen for three hours more. If the candle begins to gutter, we’ll know we need more air.”
There was no sensation of progress. Occasionally Fulton, peering at his compass, would call a slight course correction. Once we heard a scraping on the starboard side, as we grazed a harbor reef, and we steered away. Finally the inventor told us to rest and he began pumping a lever that emptied water from the ballast tanks. The faintest glow came from the tower windows as they cleared the surface of the water.
He waited a moment for the water to sheet away and then turned in all directions, looking about. Then he dropped down to grin, excited as a boy.
“Gentlemen, we’re in the middle of Tripoli harbor and no alarm has been raised.” He nodded to Pierre. “Good job, helmsman.” And then he clapped his hands, once, with a pop. “Now. What do we want to blow up first?”
“The castle, then the harbor,” I said. “Smith can carry one of your explosive torpedoes, and you can time your submarine assault for dawn. Blow up at least one corsair to create confusion, with a final torpedo in reserve. Cuvier to crank, and you to navigate, Robert.”
“But it is America that is at war with these rascals, and we are Americans, are we not? I’m afraid that, as hopeless as this assault is, Ethan, I must insist that I join you. Smith can crank and Cuvier can steer the submarine. I’ll carry a mine ashore because I’m the one who built it and know how to fuse it.”
“You’re willing to give over command of the Nautilus?”
He smiled. “If I let the French play captain for a while, maybe they’ll buy her! You’ll put in a good word for me with Napoleon, won’t you, Cuvier?”
“And why does the Englishman have to crank for the Frenchman?” Smith interrupted.
“You’re stronger, with more endurance than our biologist. You know as well as I do, William, that it is almost impossible to get a Frenchman to do anything he doesn’t want to do, while an Englishman will volunteer for almost anything, particularly if
it is arduous and disagreeable. We must all recognize our national traits.”
“And what’s the American trait?”
“To get into quite unnecessary trouble through idealism, pride, and the need to rescue helpless women. Right, Gage?”
“Astiza is anything but helpless.”
“At any rate, you two savants are the best to figure out how to attack enemy shipping in this harbor. Pierre has worked with Ethan before, and I’m a Yankee as well. Our nation has declared war, and now we’re going to execute it, or die trying.” He swallowed, and by God I liked him, eccentric inventor or no. I always admire a judicious man who masters his fear more than an enthusiast with stupid courage.
“I’ll pick you up when you have the woman and the boy, and you can put in a good word with Napoleon yourself,” Cuvier promised. “We leave nobody behind.”
“And can England and France cooperate?” I asked Smith.
“Let this be a new beginning, under the Peace of Amiens,” the Englishman said. “I’m betting that Bonaparte never goes to war with my country again.”
“Perhaps France and England will even be allies,” Cuvier said.
“Don’t speculate too ludicrously. But at least we can man this casket together.”
“To peace!” Pierre said. “Except for this little war here.”
“Dawn is when our work must be done,” I reminded, “lest the mirror be used against us. When the sea lightens, surface slightly, and listen. When chaos begins ashore, try to strike in the harbor. If everything is timed perfectly, we might have the slimmest chance.”
“Nothing goes perfectly in battle. You know that.”
We were all quiet a moment.
“But not for the other side, either,” I finally said. “In gambling, you don’t have to be perfect, just good enough to win the game. Let’s put on our Arab robes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
We maneuvered to the outermost boat in a line of docked feluccas and Fulton, Pierre, and I crawled out onto the fishing vessel, clambering from one to another until we were on the stone platform of the harbor. The Nautilus sank out of sight.
Yussef’s palace was ugly as a chopping block, and everywhere there were ramparts with the black snouts of artillery poking toward the sea. Up on a fortified platform just north of the castle, facing the harbor, was a shrouded round disk that was a deeper black against the stars. That would be the mirror, I guessed, and very likely a thousand pirates and janissaries were between it and us.
Pierre looked at the looming walls. “We have to climb these? Perhaps you are not a donkey, but a spider.”
“I propose that we drink our way into the dungeons instead, and make our way upward from our old home by the stairs. Do you remember the taverns, Robert?”
“Aye, the ones run by the Christian slaves and prisoners for Muslims forbidden to sell alcohol on their own.”
“I thought Muhammadans weren’t supposed to drink, either,” said Pierre.
“And cardinals aren’t supposed to have mistresses,” Fulton said, “and yet half could give lessons to Casanova. All men are pious, but find a way around their strictures. Have they repealed human nature in Canada?”
“We men of the woods have limited experience, but not that limited. So we’re to become pious drunkards?”
“To get ourselves in the door,” I said.
He looked up. “A cleverer idea than scaling this fortress.”
Like all cities in all cultures, Tripoli had made accommodation between what men were supposed to do and what they want to do. Islam frowned on usury, so the Jews exiled from Spain had become the bankers. Alcohol was forbidden, so Christian slaves could make an extra living by quietly providing it. The practice had spread to the prisons themselves, where entrepreneurs also provided the chance for the devout to obtain a prostitute, pawn booty hidden from taxation, or buy literature more stimulating than the Koran. The Muhammadan town might be more orderly than a Christian city, but sin could be found among the jailers and janissaries as easily as at the Palais Royal. Accordingly we crept along to the courtyard that abutted Yussef’s prison and slipped into one of the grog shops on its periphery. I ordered in Arabic while scouting for our chance to get beyond the dungeon gates.
Two guards in a corner were very quietly becoming inebriated, and once I was sure they’d become sufficiently muddled, I approached to refill their cups and propose a sale of opium. Drugs go with prisons like hand to glove, with the cottage industries of the inmates devoted mostly to paying for the narcotics needed to make hopelessness tolerable. A dishonest jailer can make more money selling to thieves than a thief can ever get stealing, and guarding the miserable bagnios of North Africa was a sinecure as valuable as being bookkeeper in a treasury. These guards didn’t trust me, of course, but they sensed opportunity and were greedy enough to beckon me to a locked door. When passing through I jammed the keyhole with a nail to prevent the latch from closing. And when the jailers bent to inspect my narcotic—flour and ground tea I’d brought from Sterett’s schooner—my companions crept in and clouted the drunken fools with socks we’d filled with sand from the streets.
We hesitated then, silently debating what to do with the two unconscious guards, until I reluctantly drew my naval cutlass from under my robes and thrust it through both their bodies, finishing them. Fulton gave a little groan.
“We are at war, gentlemen, with fanatics who are holding hostage my innocent son and who hope to declare war on all civilization,” I said. “Steel yourselves. It’s going to be a long night.”
“They won’t show us mercy, either,” Pierre said.
“Certainly they haven’t yet.”
“Let’s get on with it, then,” said Fulton, swallowing as he looked at the dead. Apparently practicing war close-up was not the same as designing its machines, and the deadly consequences of his genius were just occurring to him. I wondered if Archimedes had discovered that, too? Had the old Greek ordered the dismantling of his mirror to not just keep it from the Romans, but from mankind itself? Could his own king have killed him in frustration?
“But first we take their pistols,” said Pierre. “With the mood Ethan’s in, I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”
“And their keys,” I added. “Help me drag the bodies out of sight.”
I felt nauseated as we crept back into the labyrinth of dungeon tunnels under Yussef’s castle. The smell of earth, sewage, and lightless corruption came back like a slap, triggering old fear, and we could hear moaning and the occasional insane scream. Then I reminded myself of Astiza and little Harry, captive somewhere in the harem far above, and resolved to blow this mouth of Hades permanently shut by bringing Yussef’s fortress down on top of it. Let slip the dogs of war!
We passed several iron corridor gates, locking them again to discourage interference or pursuit. Then a flight of stairs upward that I recognized as the way I’d been taken to Yussef’s palace to meet Astiza.
“I think our army of three needs to divide at this point,” I said. “Robert, somehow we’ve got to get your torpedo, or mine, to where the mirror is and set it off.”
“Archimedes might have used a catapult,” he said. “Perhaps something similar will occur to me. How do I get within view?”
“If we can get you to the roof of Yussef’s storage rooms you may be able to look across. Follow this tunnel and hunt for stairs, if you don’t meet a sentry.”
He drew his own cutlass. “Or kill one if I do.”
“What is your assignment, donkey?” Pierre asked.
“Go to the harem where the women are.”
“Of course.”
“That’s where Harry and Astiza should be. I’ll slip in, find them, and bring them down to go out the way we came.”
“And brave Pierre, who never seems to be given the job of rescuing harems of young, nubile, enticingly captive women?”
“Brave Pierre has the most important job of all. Take these keys and release as many prisoners as you ca
n. When we retreat, their escape will create confusion while we make for the plunging boat. Beware, Pierre, an ogre lives in these tunnels. He’s a brute known as Omar the Dungeon Master and we want to avoid him.”
“A presumptuous title. Is he big and ugly, like you?”
“Bigger. And uglier, I dare say. Even homelier than our late giant friend Magnus Bloodhammer.”
“Then I shall be David to this behemoth’s Goliath. I am the great Pierre Radisson, North Man and voyageur, who can stroke twenty hours in a single day and travel a hundred miles before sleeping! None can portage more weight than I, or drink more, or dance more splendidly, or jump higher, or run faster, or more quickly charm a woman! I can find my way from Montreal to Athabasca with my eyes closed!”
I’d heard all this several times before. “Then you’ll do fine in the darkness down here. Quickly, Pierre, and quietly, and run like a deer if Omar hears you. We need you in our submarine to remind us again of your prowess.”
“Of course you need me! Those two savants you left there, while they have undoubtedly concocted eight new harebrained theories of the history of the earth, have probably by now lost all sense of direction, if they haven’t sunk already. Well, Pierre will do all the real work as usual, and meet you at the gates that lead out of this dung hole. Then we will work on your reform!”
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