Even more unsettling are the Nautilus’s eyes. I can’t think of what else to call them. Set in the ship’s bow are two transparent convex ovals latticed with metal girders, like the compound eyes of an insect.

My mind rebels at this design flaw. Windows on a sub? Especially big domed windows? The hydrodynamic drag would make navigation sluggish. The ship’s profile would make it easy to spot on sonar. Worst of all, as soon as the sub reached any kind of depth, those windows would implode, flooding the interior and killing everyone inside. And if you went into battle against modern ships with explosive weapons? Forget it. You might as well go to war inside a big glass bottle.

“This should not exist,” I say. “It definitely shouldn’t be seaworthy.”

Ophelia shrugs. “And yet…”

And yet here it is: a high-tech, century-and-a-half-old work of nautical art, docked in the middle of a volcano. I remember one of the creepier passages from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, where survivors of the Nautilus’s attacks reported seeing giant glowing eyes under the water—the eyes of a sea monster.

I have to admit, if I were a sailor on a three-masted, wooden-hulled merchant ship and I saw this crazy vessel barreling toward me underwater at ramming speed, I would’ve wet my nineteenth-century knickers.

“But it’s in perfect condition,” Nelinha says. “You repaired it in just two years, just you and Luca?”

Ophelia snorts. “Hardly. The exterior needed a lot of cleaning and many minor repairs, but the hull is self-maintaining. When Nemo died, the sub sat at the bottom of this lake, buried in silt, and went into a state of estivation.”

“Like an African lungfish,” Ester says. Suddenly, she is back in familiar territory. “They can stay underground in suspended animation for years.”

Ophelia looks pleased. “Exactly so, Ester. The Nautilus went into self-preservation mode. It was mostly dormant, using electrical currents and water circulation around the hull to maintain its integrity. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t damage. There were leaks. The inside of the ship wasn’t flooded, but…” She puts her hand in front of her nose, as if remembering the smell.

I sway back and forth, though I don’t think the boards are moving under my feet. My gaze wanders across the pier. The opposite side of the dock is lined with workstations and supply sheds that remind me, weirdly, of the shops on the Santa Monica Pier. I feel a hysterical giggle building in my chest. I wonder if we can get an ice-cream cone or some cotton candy before we go aboard the Nautilus.

“And Luca is…already on board?” I ask.