Fire the Depths

by Peter Lerangis

  Max walked closer to the left hand. All the fingers lay flat on the armrest, except for the pinkie. The knuckle was bent upward like a tent. “The sculptor kind of messed up on the pinkie,” Max said.

  “No, he didn’t,” Alex said. “Think. The note from Verne. ‘Upon reaching the great unruined chamber . . . be guided by the camptodactyl of the king . . .’ Max, back when I translated this, I looked up that word.”

  Max nodded vigorously. “It has to do with finger, right? Because of dactyl.”

  “How do you know that?” Alex said.

  “I have a model of a pterodactyl. Ptero means ‘wing’ and dactyl means ‘finger.’”

  “And campto,” Alex said, “means ‘bent.’”

  Max walked toward the statue. “Be guided by the bent finger . . .”

  He turned toward Alex. Even through the thick glass of her helmet, he could tell she was grinning.

  She reached up toward the statue’s hand, manipulated the hook open at the end of the Newtsuit arm, and grasped the crooked pinkie. With a solid click, the finger moved. It was pointing upward now, like someone daintily sipping from a cup of tea.

  “What now?” Max said.

  Beneath them the floor began to rumble. Clumps of seaweed began floating downward, dislodged from above.

  From the corner of his eye, Max could see Niemand and André stepping into the room behind them. “What the devil—?” Niemand said.

  Before they could turn to answer, Max felt himself losing his balance. The ground beneath them shifted. He leaned forward at the waist, trying as hard as he could in this bulky suit to look down.

  André bounced toward them in his Newtsuit, moving with powerful leaps. He managed to grab one of Alex’s arms and one of Max’s, by trapping each between one of his own arms and his suit. Falling backward, he pulled them from the statue—until all three were floating free.

  They landed on the seafloor. Max pushed down with his arms, thrust himself into a standing position, and turned toward the statue. The platform he and Alex had been standing on had slid away, just in front of the seated figure. The king.

  What remained was a giant black hole.

  Four massive helmets peered down into the abyss. The light from the holes overhead cast an eerie greenish glow into an underground chamber about eight feet square.

  And in the center was an enormous wooden box.

  A treasure chest.

  25

  “WE did it,” Max said. “We did it!”

  He didn’t care about the shortness of his legs. He began dancing inside the suit. He saw his parents’ faces in his mind, their looks of utter astonishment. He would buy them a new house. He would buy Smriti and her family a new house. He would buy Alex a house next to theirs. He would fly in the best doctors in the world for Mom . . .

  Alex was grinning too. She tried to hug him, but in these bulky suits it was more like bumping torsos.

  “Let’s not get overexcited,” Niemand said. “We haven’t opened it yet.”

  André stepped into the hole and allowed himself to float down to the chest. He unraveled the rope from his shoulders and wrapped it around the chest side to side and back to front. Then he tossed the other end of the rope upward and said, “Chhrff!”

  “You heard him—lift!” Niemand barked. He wrapped his end of the rope around the base of his arm hook, tying it into a secure knot. Max and Alex did the same farther down the length of the rope—and they all began to pull back, like a tug-of-war.

  The chest was stuck tight to the bottom. It took ten pulls before André managed to dislodge it. It tilted upward, then rose end first. André dug his hooks underneath and gave it a boost.

  Max yanked as hard as he could. The water’s buoyancy helped. In minutes the chest was up onto the chamber floor. It was made of some superhard material, dented and covered with sea growth, but not broken through. “Dear Poseidon, what is this chest made of?” Niemand murmured.

  Max was smelling mint. He almost never smelled mint. “I am extremely excited,” he said.

  “Eeeee!” Alex squealed. Even in the thick Newtsuit, Max could see her face bouncing. He knew that meant she was dancing.

  “Can you tell how heavy it is?” Max asked.

  “Of course not,” Niemand snapped. “We’re underwater. We’ll get it back to the Conch and open it. Now! Now!”

  Alex gestured down into the pit. “What about André?”

  “Right,” Niemand said. “Of course.”

  He untied the rope from the chest and tossed it down to his crew member, who wrapped it around his own waist. André bent his knees and jumped upward, while Max, Alex, and Niemand pulled. When André was safely out of the pit, he stood and raised his arm to high-five Niemand.

  But Niemand ignored him. “Hurry. The oxygen is low. You take one handle, and I’ll get the other. I think we can walk this thing back.”

  Max looked at the oxygen gauge inside his mask. It read 33%.

  Alex pulled him along. But she and Max quickly fell behind the two men. “Can’t you go any faster?” Alex said.

  “My feet don’t reach down to the shoe part!” Max said.

  As they slowly trudged back through the center of the ruined city, Max watched his gauge:

  29% . . . 23% . . . 17% . . . 9% . . .

  As they got to the columned entrance, the gauge was lit red. The number 5% flashed brightly. Max was trying desperately not to breathe. Not to waste the oxygen.

  Just beyond the columns, the upper body of a massive heroic statue lay on its side. But the Conch was no longer wedged between the cheek and the arm. Basile, Pandora, and Sophia had managed to free it. Now the sub sat on the seafloor, its guide lights flashing and its hull just slightly dented. The door to the diving bay was open and waiting.

  Niemand and André were way ahead of Max and Alex. “You guys! Slow down!” Alex cried out.

  But the two men were hoisting the chest up into the bay. They both leaped up and stood on either side of it. Max could see Niemand banging his hook against the red button. Slowly the door began to shut.

  Niemand gave a little wave with his hook, then turned his back.

  “Wait!” Max shouted.

  “They can’t be doing this,” Alex said. She pulled ahead of Max, heading toward the sub in big leaps.

  The scene in the bay was a blur. Max could see Alex reaching her arm out . . . jamming it into the closing door. “Be careful!” he screamed.

  The door would crush her. It would rip open her Newtsuit.

  As he moved faster, the sand roiled up from below him. For a moment he saw nothing. The oxygen gauge flipped from 4% to 3%. A bright light emerged from the murk, and it took a few seconds before Max realized what it was.

  The Conch’s door was open. Alex was in the hatchway. Next to her, Niemand had his hand on the red button.

  No, not Niemand. Max was close enough to see a different face through the helmet. A familiar pair of piercing green eyes flitted toward him.

  Niemand had not opened the door. It was André.

  “You saved our lives,” Alex said, as she and Max walked into André’s workroom.

  “Arrrgll,” André said, his face turning red.

  “He says Niemand shut the door by mistake,” Pandora said. “His oxygen had run out, and he panicked.”

  Basile spat out a curse. “Not likely. The bloke’s soul is dead. I’ll bet his body uses no oxygen.”

  The chest was sitting in the middle of the room. With a series of hooks and chisels, Basile and André had scraped away seaweed and barnacles from its surface. In the harsh fluorescent light, the chest glowed a dull gray green. A pile of tools lay on the floor—screwdrivers, chisels, a drill, and a hammer.

  Sophia was examining the surface through a magnifying glass. “This appears to be some sort of polymer,” she said. “But with extraordinary strength.”

  “I hope not too strong,” Basile said, lifting a small hammer. “We have to open this baby.”

  He p
ounded the latch until the lock broke. Eagerly he, André, Sophia, and Pandora took turns trying to pry it open with chisels. “Krampf!” André finally yelled.

  “Yup, shut tight,” Basile said, grabbing a sledgehammer from the wall. “Stand aside, will you?”

  But Niemand was entering the room behind him, smelling of cologne and wearing a crisp black shirt and a purple silk jacket. “I see someone has forgotten to follow directions. I asked you to wait.”

  “Blimey, what took you so long to get ready?” Basile asked. “Shaving the hair off your knuckles?”

  “Hand that to me, Basile,” Niemand growled.

  Basile laughed. “Excuse me?”

  Niemand removed his jacket and folded it over the back of a chair. “Do you need a written invitation? The sledgehammer, please. You may be a man-buffalo, but you lack technique. It’s all in the wrists and the angle.”

  Niemand took the hammer and raised it high, bringing it down hard on the chest. It connected with a bang, then bounced away, nearly taking off André’s head in its flight.

  “My hands!” Niemand cried out.

  “Good work, Thor.” With a sigh, Basile picked up a circular handsaw and stood astride the chest. It buzzed to life, and Basile brought it down onto the center of the chest. Sparks flew as he penetrated the surface. The acrid smell of burning plastic and metal filled the room.

  When Basile was done, he’d made a rough circle about the size of a head.

  Max, Alex, Pandora, André, Niemand, and Basile all gathered around the chest. No one seemed to want to make the first move. Max’s heart pounded as if he’d swallowed the sledgehammer.

  Niemand was the first to thrust his hands in. His face went immediately pale. “What on earth . . . ?”

  Max couldn’t help himself. He wedged his own arm next to Niemand’s and felt along the bottom. It was slimy and cold. But there was absolutely nothing there.

  No. Not nothing. His fingers closed around a flat metal box. He pulled it out. It was brownish green and rectangular and just fit through the hole.

  No one said a word as Max felt around the side of the box and pressed a tiny button. The box sprung open, and Max held it out for all to see.

  “A book?” Niemand said. “Another blasted book?”

  “For years you’ve been trying to find a book,” Basile said.

  “A book that led to a treasure, Basile,” Niemand said. “I’m ready for the treasure now.”

  Max let the box drop and opened the book. “It’s French,” he said, handing it to Alex. “You read it.”

  Alex swallowed. All eyes stared at her, and she took a deep breath.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  26

  THE LOST TREASURES

  —PART TWO—

  Dearest reader, if you have found this, I envy your intelligence and bravery. I share your horror over the vast destruction here. For the land of Ikaria was the hope of the world, the refuge of geniuses. Here, under a giant crystal shell, lived a modern place of peace and learning. Trees bursting with fruit, crops of infinite yield, controlled sunlight and darkness.

  Whence did these people come?

  We will never know. But I believe we were the first to find them.

  The captain of the submarine had heard a rumor of this place. From sailors. Men who had been ridiculed for their claims. But he was a man obsessed, searching for years. I took this to be scientific excitement, but I was wrong.

  I should have suspected darker aims. At first he would not even tell me his name, saying only, “I am no one.” Taking this for a joke, I dubbed him Captain No One, and he happily answered to this ever afterward.

  And now, Captain No One and I were at a city like no other. Flabbergasted. Lo! People appeared from behind buildings. They ran through wide boulevards, they clung to the carapace to see us—men, women, and children of all heights and hues.

  We saw the flash of artillery through the submarine window and felt the ship rock violently. And then another. “Barbarians!” cried the captain. “They dare attack us!”

  “They appear human, captain,” I said. “I believe they are frightened by us.”

  I made welcoming gestures, expressions of friendship through that window. I urged the captain to send some sign of peace.

  “Destroy them,” were the words of this man who wanted to be called No One.

  I protested vigorously. What we could learn from these people! But nothing could stop him. And no words can describe my horror at the release of the depth charge.

  With a flash of fire, the carapace was breached. A hole shattered the thick material, jagged and mean as a lightning bolt. An explosion turned the sea to red. Our vessel spun away with the force, and it was luck that we were not dashed against coral.

  I shall never forget our return to examine the wreckage. The carnage was astonishing. There were no survivors. All on board the submarine wept, save the man whose heart was granite.

  As we donned our diving gear to explore, I vowed to learn the techniques of this advanced civilization, so that their work would not be in vain. What they had discovered beggared belief. Were they of another world? Another time? Why did they live in hiding?

  Watching the captain, I realized that he had become obsessed with Ikaria’s secrets long ago. He had been anticipating this very moment. The destruction of Ikaria was no act of revenge, but part of a plan. He ordered his crew to salvage what they could of the scientific records. Anyone smuggling so much as a stone would be shot.

  It was in the great chamber that I happened upon a treasure so vast I needed to sit to regain composure. It was as if this extraordinary race had found some strange alchemy to convert seaweed to gold and jewels.

  Now the crew, heretofore working together peacefully, became fractured. Two crew members were shot for their greed. Three more were forced to take the treasure back to the ship.

  I fear I test your patience, dear reader. For where, you wonder, is this fortune?

  Here must I take the opportunity to explain the odd nature of my greatest work, The Lost Treasures.

  The book was written all at once by yours truly. Word of its existence was passed to my dear friend Hetzel. But I fear that the followers and family of my nemesis will waste no time trying to find it.

  So, my dear reader, it is in pieces. Pieces that I have taken, over my later years, to the various sites of my adventures. For these places, tucked away in remote corners of the world, contain unfathomable secrets.

  Part One, as you know, has been given to my son to keep safely hidden in the family. If you are reading this, then you have been guided by it.

  Here, in your hands, is Part Two.

  Upon leaving Ikaria, my enemy directed our ship, our treasure, and me to the village closest to the ring of ice on the eastern shore of the great land that least matches its own name. Upon entering the cove of the cook’s competition, look for the bump on the elephant’s forehead.

  JV

  27

  “THAT’S it?” Niemand asked as Alex finished reading.

  “I don’t understand . . .” Pandora said.

  Basile let out a giant belly laugh. “Haw! Elephant’s forehead! The chap had a sense of humor.”

  “Do you have any idea what it costs to run this submarine?” Niemand barked. “And why have I done this—for a wild-goose chase leading to a nonsense note?”

  “It’s not nonsense, it’s a code,” Max said. “It’s his way of keeping this a secret.”

  “From some crackpot submarine captain who’s been dead for a century?” Niemand said. “Verne doesn’t even name the fellow.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Max said, spreading the book on a table. “We can do this.”

  “It’s the Max method,” Alex said. “Break the problem down into smaller components. Works every time.”

  Pandora, André, Sophia, and Basile gathered around the table. Niemand stood silently against the wall, examining his fingernails.

  “Start from where it
gets weird,” Max said.

  Sophia read, “‘The village closest to the ring of ice—’”

  “Stop there,” Max said.

  “Ring of ice . . .” Basile said. “Sounds like something up in the Arctic.”

  Pandora’s eyes went wide. “A ring is a circle—he’s talking about the Arctic Circle!”

  Max nodded. “Good. So he means ‘the village closest to the Arctic Circle’—”

  “‘On the eastern shore of the great land that least matches its own name,’” Alex read.

  “Sweden! Because nothing there is sweet?” Basile blurted out. “Denmark, because there are no dens?”

  “Kranj,” André mumbled.

  “André’s right!” Sophia said. “Greenland!”

  “That’s what he said?” Alex asked.

  Basile grabbed a map of the Atlantic Ocean and pointed to a massive island north of Canada. “Greenland. It’s great in size, and it’s mostly ice—so not very green.”

  Pandora ran her finger up Greenland’s east coast, stopping at a line of latitude. “This is between the sixty-sixth and sixty-seventh parallel. Where the Arctic Circle starts.”

  Her fingertip was just beside a small village, exactly where the Arctic Circle intersected the land. “Piuli Point . . .”

  “Hop to it, everyone!” Basile thundered.

  “It’s about time,” Niemand said.

  As the other crew members dispersed, Alex pulled Max into the hallway. “We never got to the part about the bump on the elephant’s forehead,” Max whispered.

  “Are there elephants in Greenland?” Alex asked.

  “No,” Max said.

  Alex sighed deeply. “One step at a time . . .”

  As the Conch broke the water’s surface, Max shielded his eyes. The Greenland shore was an attack of whiteness—a towering ice cliff that filled the window from left to right. It rose from the water like a twisting curtain of great vertical prisms, growing larger as the sub came closer. The sun reflected pinpoints of white, green, and blue off the surfaces, which blinked and juddered as the Conch bounced off blocks of ice in the water.

  “Up here, there are many words to describe ice,” Basile said. “The little flat stuff is pancake ice—when it’s like an island unto itself, it’s an ice floe. Pudding ice, if it’s mushy and mixed with snow. We avoid pack ice, which is all clumped together and could block our path. Icebergs are your heavy monsters mostly below the surface. That sorry-looking thing full of ridges? Old ice. And we’re traveling through a path in a nice stretch of stream ice. When it gets really cold, sometimes the chunks of ice rub against each other, and the frequencies make a noise like singing.”