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Chapters (72)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Epigraph
  4. FOREWORD
  5. INTRODUCTION
  6. Harding-Pencroft Academy
  7. The Freshman Class of Harding-Pencroft
  8. Chapter One
  9. Chapter Two
  10. Chapter Three
  11. Chapter Four
  12. Chapter Five
  13. Chapter Six
  14. Chapter Seven
  15. Chapter Eight
  16. Chapter Nine
  17. Chapter Ten
  18. Chapter Eleven
  19. Chapter Twelve
  20. Chapter Thirteen
  21. Chapter Fourteen
  22. Chapter Fifteen
  23. Chapter Sixteen
  24. Chapter Seventeen
  25. Chapter Eighteen
  26. Chapter Nineteen
  27. Chapter Twenty
  28. Chapter Twenty-One
  29. Chapter Twenty-Two
  30. Chapter Twenty-Three
  31. Chapter Twenty-Four
  32. Chapter Twenty-Five
  33. Chapter Twenty-Six
  34. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  35. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  36. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  37. Chapter Thirty
  38. Chapter Thirty-One
  39. Chapter Thirty-Two
  40. Chapter Thirty-Three
  41. Chapter Thirty-Four
  42. Chapter Thirty-Five
  43. Chapter Thirty-Six
  44. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  45. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  46. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  47. Chapter Forty
  48. Chapter Forty-One
  49. Chapter Forty-Two
  50. Chapter Forty-Three
  51. Chapter Forty-Four
  52. Chapter Forty-Five
  53. Chapter Forty-Six
  54. Chapter Forty-Seven
  55. Chapter Forty-Eight
  56. Chapter Forty-Nine
  57. Chapter Fifty
  58. Chapter Fifty-One
  59. Chapter Fifty-Two
  60. Chapter Fifty-Three
  61. Chapter Fifty-Four
  62. Chapter Fifty-Five
  63. Chapter Fifty-Six
  64. Chapter Fifty-Seven
  65. Chapter Fifty-Eight
  66. Chapter Fifty-Nine
  67. Chapter Sixty
  68. Chapter Sixty-One
  69. Chapter Sixty-Two
  70. Chapter Sixty-Three
  71. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  72. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“My ancestor,” I continue, “the one who called himself Nemo, he left you alone for a very long time. I am sorry for that. The thing is…I’m the last of the Dakkars. I’m alone and unique, just like you. We’re kind of each other’s last chance. I’d like your permission to come aboard. I promise I’ll do my best to respect you and listen to you, if you’ll do the same for me. And if you could refrain from killing me, that would be great.”

There is no way to tell whether the sub has heard me or understood.

Does it have little coppery ears somewhere on that hull? Does its artificial intelligence even recognize voices?

Only one way to find out.

I step onto the ramp.

I am not immediately electrocuted. I decide this is a good sign.

“Thank you,” I tell the Nautilus. “I am coming aboard.”

And I step over the last threshold my parents ever crossed.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Two things I do not associate with submarines: elegance and air freshener.

From the main hatch, a circular stairwell descends into a grand foyer that looks more like part of a cruise ship than a working sub. I half expect a steward in a white uniform to offer me a tropical beverage.

The black walls gleam like polished ebony, bordered with golden nemonium beams. On the other side of the room, a second spiral staircase leads down to a lower level. In the center of the marble floor (at least, it looks like marble) is a mosaic crest: a large golden cursive N in a circle of black, wreathed by golden squid. Underneath is the motto MOBILIS IN MOBILE.

Latin. Difficult to translate. Something like moving through the moveable or movement in motion, neither of which makes much sense.

Seeing that motto in person gives me a punch in the gut. I remember reading it in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea the summer before eighth grade, just after my parents left home for the last time…before I got the news that I was an orphan. My life was moving through the moveable, and I didn’t even know it.

Now I’m standing in the actual Nautilus. Cyrus Harding and Bonaventure Pencroft passed through this room. So did Ned Land and Pierre Aronnax. Not just as characters in Jules Verne’s novels, but as real people.

My head spins. The smell from the air fresheners doesn’t help. They are the cheap kind you might buy at a car wash—cardboard cutouts shaped like Christmas trees. Some dangle from the stair railing. Others are taped to the nemonium wall beams. The cloying fragrances of pine and vanilla wage a war for dominance in my nostrils.