The Other Log of Phileas Fogg

9

Though their trip had been speedy, it had not been nonstop. All three Europeans had frequently required the Parsi to halt the elephant while they dashed into the bushes. Toward the end of the day even the imperturbable Fogg looked pale. Before they went to bed, master and servant stepped out into the thick jungle to perform certain bodily functions they felt almost too weak to perform. Fogg listened serenely, if sympathetically, to Passepartout’s groans, moans, and complaints until they were finished with their duties-or hoped they were.

He said, “Have you been checking your watch, as I impressed on you that you should?”

“But certainly…”

“And?”

“And nothing! No signals of any kind! Which is indeed fortunate! If there had been, then we would be certain that that pig of a rajah…”

“Speak more quietly,” Fogg said. “It would be easy for someone to approach unnoticed in this dense forest.”

“Pardon, sir, but it is possible that I did not hear the tiny gong which announces that another…”

“Do not use that word.”

“…another, er, watch, is activated and broadcasting. The noise made by the beast’s motion and the creaking of the howdah, not to mention our groans, made it difficult to hear.”

“It’s quiet enough now.”

“Except for the screaming and chattering of those monkeys and the yelling of those birds. And the Parsi says that we will hear leopards and tigers tonight.”

“It will be quiet enough in the bungalow,” Fogg said. “You will keep the watch beside your ear tonight.”

“But certainly! I had planned to do just that. And if the signal comes?”

“We will answer it.”

“Name of a pig!”

“In our own fashion,” Fogg said. “However, there is one way we can assure that it is sent.”

“Assure it?” Passepartout said. He had been pale before: now he looked as white as one of the demons in the legends of the Hindus.

“There is no need to repeat myself. When the others have gone to sleep, you will set it on transmit.”

Passepartout’s eyes swelled like a pouter pigeon’s chest.

“But why? We will be instantly whisked…”

“I am not finished. You will do this very briefly. Flick it off and on and then wait. If, in ten minutes, there is no indication that another device is on, you will repeat the transmit. For a half-second only. You will repeat this pattern for two hours, after which I will take over.”

“What do you plan? What could we do if we did get a signal?”

“That is arranged,” Fogg said. “If you get a signal before your two hours are up, wake me at once.”

Passepartout did not like the idea of having to stay awake when he was so tired. He discovered, however, that he would not have been able to sleep in any event. His muscles felt as if they were ropes which had been used to lift heavy stones all day; his bones, it seemed to him, had been twisted as if someone had been trying to make corkscrews out of them. His nerves were like harp strings which vibrated to every sound as if they were sounded by ghostly hands. The sudden maniacal laughter of birds, the screaming of some large animal far-off-a leopard?-and a distant roar-a tiger?-made him jump as if Fogg had kicked him. Soft slitherings and rustlings in the thatch of the ceiling did not contribute to his relaxation. And the apprehension with which Fogg’s unknown plans filled him built up like dough in an oven.

He heard the Englishman’s regular breathing and wondered how he could go to sleep so soundly and so quickly. Sir Francis was quietly groaning and turning every few minutes; evidently, he was finding it difficult to drop off. What if the brigadier-general were still awake when, or if, a signal came?

After a while, unable to lie still, the Frenchman arose and stepped outside the bungalow. The moon had risen and was shedding an effulgent light on the hillside. The vast bulk of Kiouni and the small body of the mahout-guide were black under the shade of a giant tree about twenty yards away.

A loud cracking made him leap a few inches off the ground. His heart accelerated. Were the thuggees approaching through the bush with their garrots in hand, intending to strangle the foreigners and so sacrifice them to the goddess Kali without the spilling of blood? Was a wild elephant coming toward them with a vast malice in its vast heart? Was a herd of the dangerous wild buffalo or savage wild pig about to attack them?

Passepartout sighed, and his tired heart beat more slowly. No, it was only Kiouni tearing off a branch of the tree to feed his huge stomach. He munched while his belly rumbled as if it were a distant but mighty cataract.

Verne says that Kiouni slept all night, forgetting that the poor beast had been traveling all day and had had nothing to eat. Kiouni needed sleep, but needed food more, since an elephant requires several hundreds of pounds of forage a day to maintain his strength. Kiouni had gone to sleep, standing up, for several hours after arriving. Now hunger pangs had awakened him, and he was eating, indifferent to the noise he was making or its possible interference with the sleep of the humans.

Though the mountain air at night was cold, Passepartout perspired heavily. Mon dieu! he thought. What could they do if they were transported into the heart of the rajah’s palace? Their only weapons-pitifully tiny-were the jackknives he and Fogg carried. And would not the rajah be prepared for them? Would he not have many of his soldiers lined up around the distorter, all armed with rifles and swords? Would not he, Passepartout, and his mad master be helpless to resist capture or slaying? Far better to be killed at once. To fall into the hands of a Capellean meant days of the most terrible torture. Ah, if he did not quit perspiring he would catch a cold which would quickly transform itself into a fatal pneumonia.

Look! The Parsi, who had said he would stand watch over his beast, had lain down on the ground and was even now snoring so loudly that he could be heard through the elephant’s stomach stormings. Wretched creature! Had he no sense of duty? How could the Parsi sleep while he, Passepartout, suffered? Was all the world asleep except for the sinister predators of the jungle, the voracious Kiouni, and himself?

He held the watch up to his ear and listened. It emanated nothing but its steady ticking, measuring Time, the shadow of Eternity, while Passepartout and the universe grew older. But the universe, though doomed to die eventually, would be here a long long time after Passepartout had become dust and less than dust. Dust which a tree would draw up within its woody body and which some elephant would strip off and digest in its stomach and then eject and which the ground, not to mention some bugs and birds, would eat and then eject. So Passepartout, in a million dissociations, would go through eternity being taken in and driven out, though, thank God, unconscious of all the indignities and nastinesses. Unless the Hindus were correct and he, as Passepartout, a whole, would be reincarnated again and again.

Yet he could live in his body for a thousand years if he escaped accident, homicide, or-here he crossed himself, since though an Eridanean he was also a devout Catholic-he killed himself. Why throw away a millennium by allowing himself to be sucked into the trap assuredly set by the rajah of Bundelcund? Was this not suicide, and was not suicide unforgivable? Would Fogg agree to this reasoning, this inescapable logic, if it were set before him?

Alas, he would not!

But perhaps the rajah had no intention of sending out a distorter wave. Perhaps he was sensible and was snoozing away at this very moment, no doubt in the soft arms and on the soft breasts of some beautiful houri or whatever the Hindus called their wives. That would be much more rational than sitting up late at night and sending out signals. But men, alas, were not always-or, in fact, were seldom-rational.

As if to affirm this conclusion, the watch emitted a ringing sound.

Passepartout jumped again, and his heart thumped as if it were a trampoline on which fear was performing. The dreaded had indeed happened!

For a second, Passepartout thought of keeping the news to himself. But, despite his terrors, he was a courageous man, and it was his duty to inform the Englishman. First, though, he must send the return signal.

As soon as the ringing stopped, he pushed down on the stem of the watch and quickly twisted it one hundred and eighty degrees to the right and then set the hands on the prescribed numbers. Immediately after, he returned the hands to the correct time-his correct time, anyway-and returned the stem to its original position. Then he hurried into the bungalow to wake Fogg up.

Fogg awoke easily and was on his feet at once. After listening to Passepartout’s excited whisperings, he said, “Very well. Now, here is what we shall do.”

Passepartout had been as pale as moonlight on still waters. Now his skin looked like that moonlight after it had been passed through a bleach. But when Fogg was through talking, Passepartout obeyed at once. His first task was made easier because the Parsi was still sleeping soundly and soundily. His snores were terrible enough to frighten off a tiger. Passepartout led Kiouni away. When they were half a mile d own the southern slope of the mountain, the two men climbed up the rope ladder and rode him the rest of the way. Kiouni did not like being taken away from his feeding, but he did not trumpet. He went slowly because his eyes could not pick out obstacles easily in the moonlight. Also, he had to be careful about stepping into holes. The weight of the beasts is such that even a four-inch misstep may break their legs.

About an hour later, the two were at a distance which Fogg judged sufficient. Passepartout dismounted; Fogg remained on the elephant.

“But will not Sir Francis and the guide be able to hear the sounds even from here?” Passepartout said.

“Possibly,” Fogg said. “However, the mountain itself and much forest is between us. They should deaden the sounds. They may believe they are hearing a distant temple bell. In any event, there is nothing they can do about it. When we return, we shall tell them that the elephant ran away and we went after it.”

Passepartout shivered. “When we return…!”

It would be more realistic to say “if,” not “when.” Nevertheless, he admired the optimism of the Englishman and deeply hoped that it was not ill-founded.

During the journey, Passepartout had three times swiftly adjusted the watch to send out signals. The received signals were now coming every twenty seconds.

“Set it so it will go on transmit in five minutes from now,” Fogg said. “But make sure that its field is wide enough, since it must include Kiouni. And make sure that it will automatically go on receive five minutes after its transmit mode is terminated.”

Passepartout, his teeth chattering, opened the back cover of the watch and set it as directed, turning three tiny knobs. He placed the watch in a small hole he had dug in the ground with his knife. It was necessary that the device be below the ground level of those to be teleported. Also, the hole would keep the elephant from accidentally stepping on it if he should move, though Passepartout hoped that the beast would stand still. If he did take too many steps in any direction, he and his riders might find themselves cut in half.

He scrambled back up the rope ladder and pulled up the rope after him. He coiled it on the floor below one of the howdah seats. Mr. Fogg was already sitting on the neck of the beast. He had closely observed the command words and hand and touch signals used by the mahout. He used them now as if he had been in the profession for years. So far, the animal had obeyed him. Would it continue to do so when it suddenly found itself elsewhere and surrounded by hostile humans?

Passepartout, unable to consult his watch, mentally counted off the seconds. He was sitting on the saddle between the howdah seats, his unfolded jackknife in his hand. He felt pathetically helpless, and he wondered what the nine hundred and sixty years of life that he was throwing away would have been like. Ah, to see what 2842 A.D. held for him! Or even 1972! When the Eridaneans had exterminated the verminous Capelleans, then they could change the world. Would it take more than a hundred years? Would not Earth be a paradise, a veritable Utopia, with all war, crime, poverty, disease, and hatred wiped out forever? Why should he be denied the fruits of his labor because of this madman whose placid back was now before him?

But if a cause is to win, it must do so over the bodies of martyrs, as someone, probably an Englishman, had once said. It was his misfortune to be one of those martyrs. Still, a martyr should not sacrifice himself unless the cause could profit by it. There would be no profit to anybody tonight except the rajah of Bundelcund.

Yet, had not Fogg said that, for him, the unforeseen did not exist?

But what if he had foreseen that the rajah would die but they would die too?

No, Fogg was a gentleman, and he did have a kind heart. He would not ask his servant, and his colleague, to be killed also. Not unless it was necessary, Passepartout thought, his heart drooping now like a flag on a breezeless day. But what could they do with only small knives against rifles and spears?

“Ah, mon…”

And they were there “… Dieu!”

Fogg had not been as blind as Passepartout had thought. A spy had long ago managed to report where and in what manner the distorter was located and guarded. Fogg had not told Passepartout about this simply because he was not sure that the situation had not changed since the report. It would not do to have Passepartout all set for one environment and suddenly be faced with the unexpected. It might throw him too much off balance. The poor fellow was in a state of terror as it was. Indeed, Fogg would have left him behind if he had not been sure that Passepartout would be thoroughly capable once the action began. No genuine coward would have survived to the age of forty in this secret war. Nor would Stuart have entrusted his mission to anybody who had not proved himself many times over. To fear is not to lack courage.

His main concern was the behavior of Kiouni. His training as a war elephant was only half-completed. Even a seasoned old veteran might go into hysterics.

The transit was made instantaneously. There was no sense whatsoever of passage through time or distance. Their ears were battered with a great clanging as if they were standing a few inches below a bell as large as the bungalow. Its sound was shattering, and Fogg and his aide, though holding the jack-knives with their fingers, had to thrust the ends of their thumbs into their ears.

Kiouni bolted; his trunk was raised and he was, seemingly, shrilling panic through it. He could not be heard above the hideous clanging, which, as always, tolled nine times. This auditory phenomenon accompanied the operation of a distorter at both the receiving and transmitting ends. The site of the watch they had left behind would be loud with nine clangs, loud enough to carry faintly to Sir Francis and the Parsi even with some miles of mountain and forest deadening it.

The theory accounting for the noises was that the distortion of the space in the area around the devices caused a condensation and bending of the electromagnetic field of the Earth itself. The return to a normal state resulted in atmospheric disturbance and consequent clangings. This theory was disputed, but it did not matter what made the noises. They were unavoidable and, unfortunately, acted as an alarm.

Fogg saw at a glance that the rajah had not moved the distorter since the report. Its location was something that only an Oriental would dream up.

They were in a vast room lit by thousands of gas jets. It soared perhaps six stories, ending in a great white dome. The room itself was circular with a diameter of perhaps two hundred yards. Its circumference was set with over three hundred tall and narrow archways-a quick estimate-with a mosaic walk about ten feet wide inside it. This ran completely around the chamber. The walk was set about an inch above the level of the great pool that constituted most of the surface level of the place. The floor was mostly a body of water, and in its center was a circular islet of smooth red marble. This had a diameter of forty feet. Kiouni and his riders had appeared in its exact center, though they did not stay there long.

Kiouni had begun running madly almost at once around and around the edge of the islet. Elephants are splendid swimmers, but even in his panic he had not cared to plunge into the water. The reason, Fogg perceived as he rode around and around, was the large number of large crocodiles in the pool.

Fogg set himself to calming the beast. While engaged in this seemingly hopeless business, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked back and then upward. Passepartout was pointing at the ceiling. Fogg saw a square of blackness appearing in the center of the white dome. From it, suspended on a cable, a car was descending. Six dark faces topped by white turbans stared over the sides of the car.

Fogg looked at the archways around the walk. They were still empty.

Passepartout then pointed at the center of the islet. He indicated what they had missed before because the bulk of the elephant had been between the rajah’s distorter and the two men, and both had been too occupied since to look for it.

The device must have been set in the circular depression in the center of the islet. Certainly, it had not just been placed in the hole so the newcomer merely had to stoop over to pick it up. It would be placed within a defense of some kind. What alarmed Passepartout was that the distorter, contained in a watch, was disappearing. It had been placed on top of a cylinder set about an inch below the level of the islet’s surface. Now the cylinder was sinking swiftly into the shaft.

The islet must be hollow with a room beneath the surface. Men below were operating the machinery which raised and lowered the cylinder of stone. They would remove the device from the top of the cylinder and take it to a safe place. Then the rajah’s men would take care of the intruders.

Kiouni had not slowed down in his circular dash. There was no more time for endeavoring to control him. Fogg gestured at Passepartout to take his place, and he rolled off the neck of the beast. His agility would have drawn applause from the professional acrobat, Passepartout, under different circumstances. But the Frenchman was too busy hanging on.

As Fogg slid down the gray wrinkled side, he pushed himself away, landed facing the elephant’s side, fell back, but kept on walking backwards and so saved himself a hard fall on the marble. Whirling then, he yanked from a vest pocket a watch, twisted its stem, looked down into the hole, and dropped the watch. From first to last, despite his swiftness, he managed to perform with an air of unhurriedness, of perfect aplomb.

The men above him and the men below may have, undoubtedly did, cry out. He could not have heard them since his ears were still ringing. But he did look up and saw, not unexpectedly, that five in the car were brandishing sabers and one was holding a rifle. This looked like a modern rifle, perhaps the Mauser adopted by the Prussian army only the year before. Those in the car could see that the invaders had no firearms. Since no smoke had resulted from his dropping of an object into the shaft, they must have believed that, if it were a bomb, it had failed to go off. Possibly, they had not seen him drop the watch, since his body had been between them and the shaft. Nor would they believe they had to shoot the intruders; they were trapped. They could take their time, dispose of the elephant if it failed to calm down, and overpower the men. Meanwhile, the rajah would have retrieved the distorter in the room.

Fogg believed that the rajah was down there, since it was unlikely that he would allow anyone but himself to handle the invaluable device. In fact, Fogg was certain that there was only one man below, the rajah. The fewer who saw the distorter, the better. It would be, in the eyes of the Hindus, a magical device, one that many would do anything to possess.

Mr. Fogg turned, having extracted and set another watch. With a smooth motion, he tossed it upward into the car, which was now about two and a half stories above the islet. The actions of those he could see became very agitated. Two dived out of the car into the pool. The car disappeared in a spurt of flame surrounded by smoke. The blast was dimly heard by the two men and Kiouni, but they felt it as if it were a giant hand slapping them. Bits of thin steel and flesh and bone rained over them.

Fogg was knocked off his feet. Passepartout came tumbling off Kiouni’s neck. The elephant whirled and began running in the opposite direction along the edge of the islet. Passepartout fell without injury, rolling on the floor and coming up on his feet as if at the end of an act. His hair was wilder than ever, and his blue eyes were huge. Fogg returned to the hole in the center while smoke from the explosion, blown downward at first, rose around him. He knelt down and looked into the shaft. The watch case, for it had contained no watch, could be set to explode its contents or to convert them into a gas. This would be expelled at a high rate of speed to fill any small chamber. Its effect dissipated almost immediately so that he did not have to fear breathing the air coming up from the shaft.

Mr. Fogg’s face kept its serenity, but his log records his astonishment and alarm at what he saw. The cylinder had continued to sink into the shaft in the floor of the room below. Even as he watched, it stopped with its top about three feet above the floor. Beside it lay a short, stocky dark-skinned man dressed in gorgeous garments. His wrists and fingers were covered with bracelets and rings bearing pearls and jewels that only a very rich rajah could afford. His hair and beard were gray, and his hook-nosed face was wrinkled. Fogg knew that the gray and the wrinkles were only makeup. Rajah Dakkar of Bundelcund had not wanted his agelessness to be rumored about. Such a story would have brought him to the attention of the Eridaneans far sooner than it had, and the British might have become aggressive if they thought he had a secret for prolonging life.

The rajah had opened the lid of the cylinder before it had stopped sinking. If it had not been for the anesthetic gas, he would have been out of the room by now with the distorter. But the device, encased in a big golden-plated watch with several inset diamonds, lay nine feet directly below Fogg. He only had to remove from around his waist the magnet and the long thin silken cord to which it was attached and to drop it straight down. The gold covering would not be affected, but the steel plates and the steel works within would be sufficiently magnetized. And then he could pull the treasured object up by the cord.

But a man was standing by the marble cylinder and reaching out for the device. Something stopped him, perhaps a sense which told him that he was being observed. He looked upward. Fogg did not cry out, though how even he kept his self-control is difficult to understand. He knew the man. His beard was gone, and the eyes were no longer black but a dark gray. Fogg might not have recognized him now if it had not been for the extraordinary width between the eyes.

The man was now wearing the uniform of an officer of Her Majesty’s Indian Sappers, which accounted in part for Fogg’s failure to recognize at once that he had seen him only recently. Once the effect of the uniform passed, Fogg saw the resemblance between him and the man he had seen standing in the doorway near the Reform Club. Yes, it was he. The man he had served under, the man in the doorway, the man now about to take the distorter were the same. But how had he arrived ahead of Fogg? Had he come via a distorter?

The man mouthed one word, faintly.

“Fogg!”

So, he did not recognize Fogg as a former member of his crew. If he had known, would he not have wanted to let Fogg be aware that he had penetrated his disguise?

Fogg uttered the man’s name softly.

“Captain Nemo!”