Daughter of the Deep(71)

‘We can’t take weeks,’ I decide.

‘Also,’ Ester says, ‘we can’t stay here forever. As long as the reactor is online, we have limitless power, water and air. But in about seven days we’ll run out of food.’

Top rests his head on her thigh. I think he is reminding her that food is important and also it tastes good.

‘One week.’ Nelinha scratches the bandage on her forehead. ‘To do the impossible. Get engines back up and running.’

‘Get some of those torpedoes functioning,’ Dru adds.

‘Clean the slime out of the vents.’ Gem shudders. ‘So is that the plan, Captain? Return to Lincoln Base?’

I stand, trying not to wobble. ‘If anyone thinks we should do the sensible thing – running and hiding – speak now.’

No one advocates for the sensible thing.

I love my crew.

‘Okay, then,’ I say. ‘It’s a good thing we’re the best class Harding-Pencroft has ever seen. We get the Nautilus operational in one week. Then we return to Lincoln Base. And we show Land Institute they’ve messed with the wrong bunch of freshmen.’





After this inspiring speech, I eat cookies in the library.

Ester has ordered me to rest for at least one hour while the aspirin she found on board kicks in. (I think she wants to observe me to see if I actually turn into a fish.) While the rest of the crew scurries around, cleaning and repairing, carrying toolboxes and buckets of goop, I try to relax in a musty armchair, an original French copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in my lap.

It feels very meta to be reading a fictional book about the Nautilus on board the actual Nautilus. I wonder if Nemo read the book before his death, and if the inaccuracies annoyed him. At any rate, it isn’t autographed To Nemo, Love, Jules. I checked.

Ester sits across from me in a love seat. Top snuggles next to her. Ester uses a library book as a lap desk, jotting down information on each note card, then tossing it onto Top before starting a new one. Judging from Top’s contented snoring, he does not mind being buried in information.

The fireplace glows cheerfully. I don’t know who started it, and I still don’t know how it works or where the smoke goes, but it does take some of the damp chill out of the air. I wouldn’t even know we were underwater except for the window looking out on the blue void, with the occasional silvertip shark swimming past.

I’m grateful for Ester’s company. I’m sure she has a million other things to do, but I imagine she also realizes that if she wasn’t watching me, I’d jump out of my chair and start working.

‘Relax,’ she chides me again.

It’s difficult to relax when someone keeps telling you to relax.

Only a few days ago, Ester and I sat in a different library, on board the Varuna, and I was trying to look after her. Now we’ve switched roles.

I flip the pages of the novel. I stop on an illustration of an underwater funeral. A dozen people in old-fashioned dive suits gather solemnly around a grave. I remember the scene – one of Captain Nemo’s crew members had died – but I don’t remember the details. I hope finding this picture isn’t an omen.

‘Why did Dev do it?’ I murmur. ‘How could he have …?’

I can’t even put his betrayal into words. He lied to me, put a tracker on me, collaborated with our enemies. He destroyed our school, killed our teachers and fellow students … all for the sake of a submarine.

Ester puts down her pen. She stares at a spot just above my head. ‘Why do you think he did it?’

Oof. I forgot Orcas train in psychology. Still, her question is a good one.

I trace my fingers across the funeral illustration. ‘Our parents’ death. He blamed Harding-Pencroft.’

‘Did he ever tell you that?’ she asks. ‘I mean, before he broadcast it from the Aronnax?’

I shake my head. ‘He always tried to stay positive for me. He was the perfect big brother. I guess I never thought about what might be going on behind that smile …’

It’s disturbing to think how little I knew about Dev. It’s even more disturbing to realize that he was holding together his positive facade for my sake, while inside he was stewing in bitterness.

I never saw it. Or at least I never let myself see it. Land Institute obviously did. They used it to turn him against HP, and me.

‘Captain Nemo had a lot of anger, too.’ Ester speaks in a monotone, as if recalling a dream from years ago. ‘When Ned Land and Professor Aronnax met him, he terrified them. The British had killed Nemo’s wife and oldest child. He hated the European powers. He wanted to dismantle their empires. He destroyed their ships, funded rebellions. If Nemo was around today, the world governments would probably call him –’

‘A terrorist.’ I remember Caleb South’s accusation about Harding-Pencroft: You were protecting the legacy of an outlaw.

Ester nods. ‘Land Institute has always been motivated by fear and anger. They want to destroy Nemo’s legacy. But they also want to be Nemo.’

I study the book’s illustration. It’s hard to reconcile the idea of Nemo the terrorist with Nemo the brilliant inventor. Then again, our labels always depend on who’s doing the labelling. Patriot, freedom fighter, terrorist, thug. Prince Dakkar was a brown man fighting the colonizers. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t have helped his reputation in Europe.