I found something that, I have to say, seems even more impossible than my last findings. This time, what I found was actually in my house all along. I don’t know how I could have forgotten it before, but she used to write me letters, and with them, she’d pass along any kind of articles or magazine or newspaper clippings that she thought I’d find interesting. I’ll admit – I almost never read any of them when I was a kid. But I did save all of her old letters to me, I just couldn’t remember where.

Of course, I went up to the attic this weekend to look for something else, and there they were. I’d probably walked right by them a hundred times without thinking about it. Not everything she sent me was related to all this, not by a long shot, but I think I can sift through it to find what is. That’s how I found this piece, an old newspaper article she once sent to me. It seems… maybe not crazy, considering everything else, but improbable for sure. Anyway, here’s the article – I’ll let you decide for yourself.

London Lass Shoots for the Moon!

The Undertaking of the Baltimore Gun Club is Joined by Bold British Girl

No doubt all of our readers here at The Times have been following the grand escapades of the Baltimore Gun Club and their President, one Mister Impey Barbicane. The construction of the Columbiad cannon, intended to fire a projectile to the Moon, is just complete, I am assured. All day and all night, one could hear the sounds of construction, of people working away at the massive gun, and this very morning, they finally fell silent.

Here in Tampa Town, it’s become something of a sport to see who can find the best vantage point from which to view the Columbiad. Representatives from the Gun Club have repeatedly informed reporters that the necessary components will be complete well before the project’s deadline of December 1st. But while cannon-watching has inspired the public, theories abound as to the nature of the projectile – the materials, the size, the shape, all are in question. Academics debate in their halls and gunmen argue on the streets as to the best possible projectile for the Columbiad.

Readers, it seems today that we might have an answer! Word reached our reporters that President Barbicane received a communication regarding the construction of the projectile, and not a moment too soon. A telegram from London reached Barbicane, instructing him to build the projectile in a conical shape, rather than the proposed sphere, and that it should be built hollow rather than solid. While this would certainly be enough to ignite the fires of debate once again, this demand was by far the least incendiary component of the telegram. For you see, the writer of the telegram has decided to ride inside the projectile!

It sounds as preposterous to you as it does to me, dear readers, but we are assured that this is the truth. Until their arrival, the identity of the would-be cosmonaut was a mystery – the telegram was signed only as “-C”. Some believed that this was merely a silly prank – until a young lady identifying herself as Miss Caroline Rayne of London came forward as the author of the note.

Miss Rayne has met with Barbicane now, and shockingly, he has acquiesced to her request. Miss Rayne will be the first voyager from the Earth to the Moon. Already, revised plans are being drawn up for the projectile, and provisions are being supplied for the previously unmanned journey. To sate the curiosity of the public, who have been watching the grand undertaking with bated breath, a press conference with Mister Barbicane and Miss Rayne was conducted earlier this day.

Mister Barbicane stepped forward to the makeshift stage and was met with thunderous applause, and as he has always been a man of few words, he said little before gesturing for Miss Rayne to join him. Applause greeted her as well, but joined with the mutters and murmurs of the crowd, the speculation running rampant. She briefly introduced herself, before yielding to questions. “I am no wild-eyed fool, as many of you have supposed,” she said, addressing certain rumors to begin with, “The spirit of the explorer runs as strongly in me as it does in the intrepid men of the Gun Club.”

The first question asked of her was perhaps the most obvious – “Why are you doing this?” Miss Rayne appeared to consider for a moment before answering. “Because I have always been fascinated with the Moon,” she said. “And because I believe it is the duty of man- and woman-kind to always push the boundaries further. Besides,” she added offhand, flashing a winning smile, “I could hardly have it be said that an American set foot on the Moon before a Brit.” This won her some laughs from the international members of the crowd, already warming to her.

“But aren’t you afraid?” one reporter called out, brimming with concern. “What guarantee do you have that the projectile will not simply explode on firing?” Here, Miss Rayne looked almost pityingly at him as she answered. “I would not have agreed to the project if I did not have every assurance of my own safety. Indeed, President Barbicane, Captain Nicholls, and myself solved the last lingering problem yesterday. I have every faith in the principles of science and mathematics to guide us.”

Her casual mention of Captain Nicholls set the entire room a-twitter with conversation. If you’ve followed this story since its inception, readers, you know that Captain Nicholls of Philadelphia is a long-time rival of Mister Barbicane, and a leader of voices joined in skepticism of this undertaking. At this point, I myself had to stand and inquire, “Do you mean to say that Barbicane and Nicholls are now working together on this enterprise?”

She nodded enthusiastically as she confirmed that thought. “They certainly are. After their… disagreement yesterday, the two have come to an amicable solution and are both working tirelessly on the Columbiad project.” By ‘disagreement’, readers, Miss Rayne has diplomatically referred to a most notable event yesterday, in which Captain Nicholls challenged Mister Barbicane to a duel! To our great disappointment, no one witnessed the duel itself, the men having taken to the hinterlands to carry out the challenge. Rumor has it, however, that not a single shot was fired, leading one to wonder how they could have so easily resolved their differences.

Now the questioning moved on, to a reporter who asked, “Are you not afraid to travel alone? What if you do indeed meet the Selenites and they are a hostile people?” This, to me, seemed a fair question, as the possibility of Selenites has been raised time and time again during the course of this project. As willful as Miss Rayne seems, she could be no match for a tribe of wild Moon-men. “Oh, but I won’t be traveling alone,” she responded, again creating a shock of conversation in the audience. She tactfully waited for it to die down before she continued, “As part of our solution yesterday, both Mister Barbicane and Captain Nicholls have agreed to accompany me in the projectile. On December the first, we will all settle ourselves in the bullet and depart for the Moon.”

One reporter from a newspaper that I will not name, I shall only say that its poor reputation precedes it, was quite scandalized by this. “But a young lady, traveling alone with two men? Surely this is most improper!” the reporter gasped. For perhaps just a moment, I saw amusement in Miss Rayne’s expression. She put on a genteel smile and replied, “First of all, I must remind you that both Mister Barbicane and Captain Nicholls are married men, and men of honor at that.” At this, the audience had to agree. “Secondly, I would encourage you to think that a little impropriety for the sake of massive scientific progress is a worthwhile sacrifice. Should we survive this mission and return to Earth, I have no doubt people will have much more important things to discuss than my reputation.” She said this last with a sly wink, a reminder to the reporters as to the purpose of this conference.

A flurry of questions followed regarding Miss Rayne’s personal life, which I found far more improper than her proposed traveling companions, but her adamant refusal to answer any of them spoke to her personal character. She insisted that this conference was to be about the science and the mission of the Columbiad, and before long, it did return to form. Several reporters asked questions as to why the conical shape of the projectile was more favorable than the original spherical shape, and Miss Rayne answered them in detail, with mathematical proofs to back her up; she is evidently well-educated and a worthy companion of both Barbicane and Nicholls.

For my part, I must say that the young lady does seem to carry herself with the dignity and strength needed for a mission such as this. She handled herself with aplomb and proved herself knowledgeable for a lady of her age (I estimate that she is no older than twenty-five years). Readers, I was a skeptic, but I have no shame in admitting that this woman has made me believe in her cause.

She explained further that it is estimated that the construction of the projectile, if hollow, will take no more than a few days, in contrast to the Columbiad itself, which took weeks to cast and cool. This is of the utmost importance if the mission is to begin on the first of December, only two short weeks away. I have been reliably informed that if this deadline is missed, it will be many years before the Moon and the Earth are in such a favorable position for launch.

When Miss Rayne was finished answering questions, Mister Barbicane again took the stage and spoke briefly again about the deadlines and timelines of the project. He also announced that the Gun Club is opening the Columbiad for tours inside the massive cannon, open to all interested parties for a fee of five dollars per person. Although this is quite the hefty charge, nevertheless, I saw countless people in the room immediately pull out their wallets and begin counting their money, ready to leap into the Columbiad at the first opportunity. Do not think, readers, that I was so above it all either, for I have already put my name on a reservation list for the first tour tomorrow morning.

All in all, I am quite excited for the progress of the Columbiad, and I have every faith that our intrepid explorers will bring credit to the name of Earth and humanity in their voyage. From all of us here at The Times, we wish the best of luck to Mister Impey Barbicane, Captain Nicholls of the United States Army, and the singular Miss Caroline Rayne. In tomorrow’s issue, find the results of our own journey inside the Columbiad!

Now I wish I had read that when I was younger. Caroline seems… pretty impressive, actually. I know it seems impossible that she actually went to the moon in… whenever this was. But… strange things have been happening here. When I went to go look at a history book in our attic, I remembered that the last time I looked at it, it clearly showed that the first voyage to the moon took place in 1969, and under very different circumstances than those described above. But this time, when I found the appropriate chapter, it confirmed the above story. I know – I know it did not say that last time. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s freaking me out.

There’s no date on this newspaper clipping, but I do have the reporter’s name from their byline – Marlowe Rindley. I’m going to see if I can find anything else by this person, if they did actually write more about this. I’ll keep looking through grandmother’s old letters, but I really feel like this is a lead to follow. If this article exists here, published in a real newspaper, I can’t be the only one who’s finding all of this. There have to be others; there has to be a record of this besides what I’ve got. And if there is, I am going to find it, I swear.

Just when I thought the trail had gone cold, I found another piece of the story in my grandmother’s belongings. Three pieces, actually. Among all of her old photo albums, there was a nearly empty scrapbook. Only the first few pages had anything on them, and I nearly threw it away without recognizing it. Thankfully, something stopped me, and I looked closer. Previously, Elspeth mentioned ‘not letting her siblings win’, and I had no idea what she was talking about. I think I found my answer. At first glance, the first page of this scrapbook appeared to be another diary entry from Elspeth, but the handwriting didn’t match. After reading it, I realized that it’s from the journal of her sister, Caroline.

January 2

My apologies for not writing here more frequently. My habit of journaling daily seems to have lapsed, but I have a feeling it’s going to return shortly. It’s been over a month since I wrote, and I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose with the most obvious news: my birth parents have died. I never knew them, of course, and I love my adoptive parents dearly, but I can’t help but feel a sense of melancholy. All my life, I’ve known nothing about them, which perhaps made it easier to envision them as anything I wanted them to be.

Yesterday was the reading of the will. I was surprised at that, that they would leave anything to the children they barely even knew. I was even more surprised at being summoned to Chicago for the reading – my birth parents were Americans? Did that make me an American? God forbid. At any rate, my parents – the real ones, no less so for being adoptive – were supportive of me attending, and so here I am.

I will not lie, I was incredibly anxious about seeing my siblings again. Two years have passed since we last met, and if you recall, we did not exactly get along. That alone would be reason enough to be nervous, but obviously other things have changed since then as well. When I first met my siblings, they still knew me as their brother, Charles. When I made my true gender known to my close friends and family, I saw no reason to include them – we had agreed that it was best for us not to meet again. It was too awkward, too strange for all of us. I was worried that this meeting, with the surprise appearance of a sister and not a brother, would be even worse.

Thankfully, my worries were for naught. Although they were surprised, certainly, neither of them were outraged or disgusted, as others have been. Things were still tense, but for other reasons. You see, the contents of the will were very unusual. I imagine that each of us was expecting money, or property, or land – the types of things one usually inherits from deceased parents. Instead, we received a challenge.

When the lawyer read out the terms of the will, I don’t believe any of us understood at first. I was the first to overcome my surprise to speak. “You want us to travel around the world?”

“Yes,” the lawyer confirmed.

“And collect ancient artifacts.”

“Both ancient and modern, but yes.”

“In order to… become the leader of your… organization.”

“The Crossing, yes. I’m glad you understand.”

“I don’t understand at all,” I said, only realizing belatedly that Elspeth and Richard had said the same thing in unison. After our many differences, perhaps we are related after all. Elspeth then asked why we should do this, or what proof we had that it was real. She made a good point; what if this was all some trick?

I don’t know how to explain what the lawyer did, and I doubt you will believe me when I tell you. But it appeared that he snapped his fingers – and a flame popped into life between them. I know what you’re thinking, this could all be some sleight-of-hand, some magic trick, but I know what I saw. I’ve seen the magicians and performers of London, and none of them have ever done anything so real. He continued talking for a while, telling us exactly why we should accept this challenge. I was only half-listening, still staring at the tiny, but undoubtedly real fire in his hand. I knew, the second I saw it, that I had to have that power. It’s all the proof I needed. I don’t just mean the power of what appears to be magic – if there is indeed some powerful organization, some ‘secret society’ (as ridiculous as it sounds even now), I want in. And the chance to be the leader of it… well, my reaction goes without saying.

I’m sure that sounds terrible to you; it must make me seem like a bad person. But you must understand, I don’t want the power for the sake of power alone. Imagine the good I could do with that kind of influence. And imagine the ill that could be done with it if it fell into the wrong hands. I don’t wish to say that my siblings are ‘the wrong hands’, but I know I could make better use of it than they could. Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself; we’ve only just begun, after all.

While I was thinking, Elspeth and Richard had apparently already agreed to the terms of the will and were now looking expectantly at me. I nodded my head to the lawyer, and he passed me a paper and pen with which to sign my name. I paused, desperately hoping that we weren’t making some deal with the devil, but signed nonetheless. The opportunity was too big to pass up. After we had all signed, the lawyer passed each of us a list, neatly written in plain black ink. It was a list of the artifacts we are to try to collect. Some things were familiar, some were not, but suddenly the task felt much more daunting. The list was long, and some of these objects would no doubt be well guarded. I looked to the side to see how my siblings were reacting, and my resolve strengthened again.

It is now the next day, and our quest has officially begun. We have three years to gather these artifacts before reconvening in London to determine the winner. I admit that I’m glad this contest will end in my home city; the thought of returning is already a comfort. But I have no idea where to begin, and something tells me it will be a long three years before I see my home again.

I don’t know what to think about all that. It sounds preposterous, like a ridiculous hoax to trick gullible people like me. But I’m not so sure. There’s something about it that… feels like the truth; I don’t know any other way to explain it. The next page in the scrapbook looks like another piece of Elspeth’s diary, from the same day as Caroline’s.

January 2

Chicago, Illinois

You are not going to believe me when I tell you what happened yesterday. I can hardly believe it myself. When I last wrote, I was en route to Chicago for the reading of my birth parents’ will. New York to Chicago is not a short voyage by any means, but it was at least a pleasant train trip. I didn’t know what to expect from seeing my brothers again. I certainly did not expect to discover that I actually only have one brother, and a sister. Charles now chooses to go by Caroline, and I hate to say it, but she has a better fashion sense than I do. Perhaps that’s just the London style (I shouldn’t concern myself with such things, but lately mother has been telling me to act more ladylike, so that’s been at the front of my mind). It might seem like that discovery would be the most momentous aspect of a will-reading, but that was hardly the case.

I was the last to arrive to the lawyer’s office, and once I was settled, he seemed anxious to begin. He informed us first that our birth parents were the leaders of an organization called The Crossing. He looked at us expectantly, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction, but none of us had ever heard of it before. He continued, explaining that The Crossing is a kind of society of intellectuals, people who choose to influence from behind the scenes, rather than being public figures. This made sense to me theoretically, even if it did seem a little… suspicious. People have been claiming for ages that some secret society has been running the world for decades, so perhaps they’re more astute than I’ve given them credit for. He continued that all three of us had been named as heirs to The Crossing, but that there are conditions that must be met.

The will proposed a contest between us, to see who is the most capable of leading. We are to explore the world, collecting strange or powerful objects, and bring them back to London for The Crossing in three years’ time. I admit, I was incredulous as this information was revealed to us, and evidently my siblings were as well. I asked to read the will for myself, and the lawyer obliged, passing the document to me. It did confirm what he had been telling us, but it still seemed unbelievable. I asked, “Why should we just go along with this? How do we know this is even real?” I don’t even want to tell you what he did to provide evidence; I know it’s impossible. But for all the world, it appeared that he created fire out of nowhere in his hand, and was not burned. There must be some rational explanation, some science behind it, something I simply haven’t learned yet. I swear that I will find out.

Even though I do not understand what he did, it provided enough evidence to me that The Crossing must exist – what better explanation for something seemingly beyond belief than a group of learned individuals challenging the boundaries of knowledge? I care little for the idea of influencing the realms of politics, economics, or what-have-you, but the idea of learning from these people was more than enough to tempt me. When the lawyer placed a contract before us, binding us to the rules of this game, it took only a moment’s thought to sign it. After all, I have just finished university, but I feel that there’s too much to learn in this world that formal education could not teach me. Perhaps this is one possible path to learning more.

Richard and Cha Caroline also signed the contract, and without further ado, we were dismissed. The lawyer handed us each a small booklet, containing some checks made out to us for funds, passports, maps, instructions, and most interestingly – a list of the items we are to collect. I won’t get into the details now, but it’s a fascinating curation of artifacts, and I’m still trying to find the common thread in all of them, the theme of what we are to gather. Immediately, my head was spinning with plans and schemes for how to proceed. What would be the most efficient means of travel? Would I travel alone or find a companion? Which items would be the easiest or most difficult to obtain? All questions I’ll have to answer in due time. Right away, I know what my first stop is – the library.

The lawyer left the room, and my siblings and I sat there for only a moment more, unsure of what to say to each other. Richard was the first to stand up, as he said, “Well, best of luck to you, ladies. I’m not about to waste a second of our time!” And with that, he rushed out the door. Caroline then excused herself, but paused before she left. She quietly thanked me for understanding, and then went on her way. I do not know what she’s been through these last two years, but it cannot have been easy for her. Richard, at least, is unchanged, always hasty and daring. I was the last to leave, and as I stepped out into the cold, windy city, I wondered if maybe we were all making a terrible mistake as we embark on this journey.

Reading Elspeth’s account of what happened makes her actions in the previous diary entries I’d discovered make more sense, I think. This all still seems impossible, but strangely, I feel like I trust her. And who knows, maybe she really did find a plausible explanation for all this, and I just haven’t found it yet. The third page in the scrapbook is from Richard, again, giving his account of what happened that day.

January 1

What a day! Not only is it a new year, but I was able to see my sisters again today. Yes, sisters, plural. Charles has apparently decided that he’s actually Caroline, so all the more power to him, I suppose. It’s been over two years since we last saw each other, and sure, we didn’t get along so well then, but that doesn’t negate the fact that we’re family. They weren’t exactly what I would call thrilled to see each other again, but since I was the one who tried to bring us together in the first place, perhaps it makes sense that I was the only one who was glad of it.

It’s a shame that we had to meet again in such sad circumstances. I do wish I had been able to meet our parents while they were still alive. I don’t like to let things hang over me, but I truly regret never meeting them. Perhaps that’s for the best, though, as today’s reading of the will gave us a better sense of who they were, I think. Instead of leaving us any of the traditional things (money, houses, family heirlooms, blood oaths), we’re getting something different. Although, I suppose the deathbed conferral of family secrets is a tradition in and of itself.

It turns out, our parents were the leaders of a secret society called The Crossing, which has been pulling the strings of the world like a marionette (I knew it!). I’ll admit, that’s a little different from how I’d always imagined them. What’s more, they named their three children as the successors of the society. Sounds great, right? But there’s a catch. We have to go around and collect things from all over the world, and bring them back for The Crossing. We have three years to get as many items as we can from the list we’ve been given. Whoever gets the most wins, like a big scavenger hunt. A really big scavenger hunt.

I’ll tell you, I don’t feel like this is much of a catch. One of us gets to be the leader of a massive, powerful organization, but only after we have a great adventure for three years? Very well then, sign me up! I’ve always said I wanted to travel more from my little corner of the outback, and if this isn’t the perfect excuse, I don’t know what is. Even if this all turns out to be a fraud, what’s the harm? A little adventure never hurt anybody. I’ll admit I had some questions, maybe some confusion, but I was basically ready to go. Caroline and Elspeth asked any questions that I might have had, and I thought we were all set, so imagine my surprise when this lawyer snaps his fingers and poof! Smoke and fire, coming right out of his hand. If I wasn’t already sold, I would be then, and I could tell my sisters felt the same.

I was the first to grab the pen when he gave us the contract to sign, then Elspeth, then Caroline. I guess they were a little more hesitant than me, they wanted to give it a little more thought. But they both signed, and we’re all in this now. I wonder if we’ll run into each other any time in the next three years – after all, the world is only so big, right? And if we’re all going after the same things, it’s bound to happen. I’ll tell you, I’m not ashamed if I lose to them. They’re smart, and ambitious, and of course, a little bit older than me. I think any of the three of us would make fine leaders. I’m here to play the game, and take this adventure as it comes.

Now, I’m not saying I don’t want to win, of course; who doesn’t want to win? And you know I’m not going to make it easy on them. But our parents wanted us to do this for a reason, and if they were really the leaders of this whole worldwide society, I’m willing to bet they don’t do anything for just one reason. Sure, they want to see which of us is the most capable, but there’s ways to do that besides this little game. I’m thinking it’s going to be a whole ordeal. Our parents never even knew us besides a few minutes when we were babies. How could they possibly know that any of us are fit for this kind of role? I’m thinking this whole plot is their way of turning us into people who can lead. Of course, maybe I’m wrong, and they just want us to have some fun before taking on a whole lot of responsibility. You never know. I’m going to have fun either way.

So, after wishing my sisters good luck, I hopped out of there, looked up the first item on the list, and booked a ticket straightaway. I’m writing this from the train station now, ready to make my way to the East Coast, and from there? Next stop: the beautiful Mediterranean Sea!

So, that’s everything that was in the scrapbook. I looked at all the other pages, they’re all blank. Maybe grandmother intended to collect these pieces of the story here, but never got around to it. In any case, I think that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’ve taken the section of Elspeth’s diary I found before and pinned it in here. Anything else I might find, it’ll go in the book. And I do hope I find some more, because I’ve got more questions now than I started with.

I’m afraid I don’t really know how to start. The truth is, I don’t know what I’m getting into here. It could be nothing, or it could be… anything. I just hope it’s something. You see, my grandmother died a while back, and now it’s time for my grandfather to move out of their old house. As the only family member who still lives nearby, it’s my job to clean out their belongings and make the house ready to sell. This isn’t going to be an easy task, due to the size of the house and the sheer amount of… stuff, that’s accumulated here. I’ve found some interesting things already, little tidbits of family history, but yesterday, I came across the first thing that seemed really strange.

It didn’t look like much at first, just some scraps of paper tucked into an old photo album, but I felt compelled to read it, and I’m glad I did. It’s some diary entries from a woman named Elspeth, written during her time on a ship called the Nautilus. There are no dates, or references to events that might help me find when these were written, but it’s an interesting story nonetheless. When I asked my grandfather what it was, who this woman was, a look of disgust crossed his face. “Just an old obsession of your grandmother’s,” he said begrudgingly. I guess she spent ages trying to track down this story, but nothing much ever came of it. He didn’t want to discuss it with me further, but I was hesitant to just give up. After all, my grandmother must have had her reasons for caring so much about this. What follows is the diary as I found it, in case something should happen to this fragile bit of paper.

Today has been a most unusual day aboard the Nautilus. Granted, I have only been a resident of this fine vessel for a month or so, but what’s normal and what isn’t became apparent very quickly – there is a routine here. Today, we came quite close to being caught. Despite the audacity of the captain’s attempts at provoking other sea travelers, today was the first time any ship came even close to affecting us. They didn’t, of course; the Nautilus’ construction remains far superior to any ship I’ve ever seen before, though comparing it to other ships does it a grave disservice. The truly unusual thing was not the circumstances of the ship’s attack, but what came after: I am no longer the most recent resident of the Nautilus, for we have picked up three more passengers! The newcomers are two Frenchmen – a scientist and his assistant – and a Canadian harpooner. Nemo’s motivations for picking them up remain as inscrutable to me as were his reasons for taking me aboard. Needless to say I am grateful, because I need Nemo for the next step of my quest, but I do not understand why he deigned to carry me. I suppose he has his own reasons for everything that he does, whether or not I understand them. It shall be interesting, at least, to have someone else aboard who is not part of the crew. I have at least begun to pick up the strange language used on this ship, but it was dreadfully lonely until I did.

 

April 3

Evening, in my chambers

I’m afraid that I may have been incorrect in my assumption that these new passengers would bring any kind of excitement to this voyage. The scientist is a narcissistic bore; his assistant is a sycophant; the harpooner is a brute. The scientist, who goes by the name of Dr. Aronnax, came into the library the other day while I was reading, and almost immediately began acting condescending towards me. He was certain that I could not truly comprehend the text I was reading, nor the wonders around me in the library itself. At first, I assumed that his manner was due to my gender, as he certainly wouldn’t be the first professor I’ve encountered who doubted by mental faculties for that very same reason. As he continued on, it became clear that he likely would have acted the same towards anyone he might have encountered here, for his ego surely overshadows his intellect. I do not mean to malign his intelligence; he is certainly well-educated, but he seems to lack the necessary sense to apply that education. Rather than sit there and suffer his abuse, I excused myself to go and read in my chamber instead. Just outside the door of the library, I encountered his assistant, Conseil, who was rushing to his master’s side in a way I found almost comical. The lad is clearly infatuated with the doctor, though I doubt the good professor would ever notice. Such is the way of many men in academia, I’ve found, too stuck in their books to ever take a good look at the world around them. As you well know, I attribute my own successes in academia due not only to my intellect, but to the application of a little common sense as well. It seems that if Aronnax is overburdened with book learning, his companion Ned Land is the opposite – a man of few words, but a great deal of sense. He’s the only one of the new arrivals who seems to be wary of Captain Nemo. Aronnax idolizes him already, and Conseil will go along with whatever the professor says. But Mr. Land is of a more cautious breed; he already sees the dangerous capabilities of our captain. I know that I’ve been here a month longer than these gentlemen, but I could see from the first that Nemo, despite his erudition and eloquence, is as dangerous as any of the sharks that swim by us in the seas. My intention is to stay here only as long as it takes me to get what I need, and then find my way back to civilization as quickly as possible.

 

April 10

Morning, in the library

Clearly I need to take more time to assess this better, because I may have been incorrect about Mr. Land as well. He certainly sees that the captain is a dangerous man, but I made the mistake of assuming that he would tread carefully around him as a measure of safety. Rather, he takes the approach of harpooning a whale – he antagonizes the captain, questions his decisions, makes demands of him – I stay well out of it, not wishing to get caught when they inevitably butt heads. As a distraction from these troubles, we did make a most interesting excursion from the Nautilus today. I wrote before of the ship’s submersion mechanisms, and the ingenious system the captain devised for breathing and walking under the water. Perhaps I should feel guiltier about how I handled myself around Aronnax, but after his lordly attitude towards me, I took too much pleasure in explaining ever-so-patiently how the system works, when he could not see it for himself. To his credit, he only looked bewildered for a moment when he realized that I actually understood the science behind the device. It was the same look he wore on his face when he saw how I conversed with the crew of the ship in their constructed language at dinner the other night. I do so relish that look. As annoying as it is when someone underestimates me, it is a nice feeling to prove them wrong.

At any rate, we ventured out from the ship for the purpose of hunting in a beautiful underwater forest. I knew from my books that such things existed, but a description on a page does not do justice to it when you can see it with your own two eyes. I must confess, I was rather glad to be included in the hunting at all; it is seldom permitted for those of my gender to participate in hunts. Thankfully it appears that for all his flaws, Nemo has no such compulsions towards misogyny. Ned Land looked as if he were going to protest when he realized that I was really joining them, but he was silenced with a look. I never did get the thrill of bloodlust that my brother seems to when it comes to hunting, but there is something to be said for the satisfaction of providing for yourself, of drawing all that you need from nature with no middleman. After several hours of hunting, we did bring quite the bounty of food back to the Nautilus, despite one pointed suggestion from Aronnax that maybe I’d be happier gathering up some of the edible plants, rather than handling one of Nemo’s air-guns myself. In fact, I was quite fascinated by the variety of undersea plants growing around us, but I would never give him the satisfaction of seeing me set down that gun and let him think that he’d persuaded me at all.

 

April 19

Near midnight, in the library

In my time on board the Nautilus, I have never stopped searching for the object referred to on my list as “Nemo’s Pearl”. I am forced to conclude that whatever it is, and wherever he keeps it, it is not here on the ship. I’m beginning to think that perhaps I should give up on my quest for this particular object and pursue another – it may be a more economical use of my time and funds. I am quite comfortably outfitted due to Mr. Dardentor’s generosity, but it seems impossible to collect some of the items on this list in only three years. However, I doubt Richard is feeling any sort of trepidation, and Caroline is likely no less daring than he is. I have to accept that this is only the early days of our quest, and to back down so early would be admitting defeat. I will not quit this ship until I have acquired Nemo’s Pearl, but I confess I have started to make a plan to make my escape. The captain has made it entirely clear that the passengers of his ship are expected never to set foot on dry land again, to remain indebted to him for all their days. Clearly, I have no intention of being trapped here. Early in my days onboard the ship, I was shown the location of the ship’s boat, a small vessel, but doubtlessly a well-constructed one. When the Nautilus strays too close to the shore, I will set off in the boat myself and make for the nearest city. From there, onwards to the next destination! Unfortunately, I fear it may be some time until I can remove myself from the Nautilus, and Captain Nemo grows more and more volatile each day…

 

April 23

Morning, in my chambers

A break-through! Just when I thought that I would never find the Pearl, Nemo has foolishly placed it right in my path! His ambition must be blinding him, for he clearly trusts all his passengers implicitly. I suppose it’s not hard to put your trust in those you believe to be completely enamored of you. I admit, I can’t imagine Professor Aronnax or his companions fomenting much of a rebellion, or even disobeying the Captain. Ned Land may distrust him, but he now fears him too much to step out of line. I will not lie to you, nor to myself – I too am afraid of the Captain. I do not believe I will come to any harm while in his care – he is a man of morals, after all – but I fear his wrath should I be caught attempting to escape. The solution, obviously, is that I must not be caught… I digress. I must tell you of the wondrous Pearl and how I came to find it. The other day, I overheard Aronnax explaining the history and procedure of pearl gathering to his companions. The man must be dreadfully afraid of sharks, I realize, as he made quite the slip-up in his lecturing, claiming that a single oyster may contain as many as one hundred and fifty sharks! I thought this was quite humorous, that this superior sort of man should be so intimidated by one of nature’s beasts. I had to stifle my laughter before entering the library. Aronnax stopped short upon my entry, but then continued when he realized I had no interest in joining them; I had only come to the library to find a volume on the islands of the South Pacific, following a lead from my previous research. From listening to him, I gathered that Nemo must be planning an excursion to a pearl fishery sometime soon. I immediately realized that this must be the most likely path to my goal, and I went in search of Captain Nemo.

When I asked him if I might be permitted to join this expedition, he responded most curiously. “What interest do you have in such a thing, Elspeth? You’ve not expressed such enthusiasm over material wealth before, unlike the Professor and his companions.” I had to carefully consider how to respond; perhaps I’d come across as over-eager. “I am not interested in the pearls as such, Captain. I only wish to appreciate their natural beauty, before they’ve been processed and polished and altered by man. And besides,” I added, trying to sound nonchalant, “I am here to learn, and I have never seen a pearl fishery before.” My explanation seemed to satisfy him, and he agreed that I could go along on their expedition. The next day, we disembarked from the Nautilus and made our way towards the fishery on the very boat I spoke of previously. From there, we donned our diving dresses and submerged ourselves in the waters. I never thought I would say this, but I actually feel that I’m getting used to the diving apparatus. It seems almost comfortable now.

Incredibly, one of our first stops was the object of my desire. Nemo seemed almost like he was showing it off, which is rather uncharacteristic of him, to my mind. Nonetheless, he lead us into the cave that housed the tremendous mollusk, pried open its shell just enough for us to see, and revealed the largest, most stunning pearl I have ever seen in my life. It was just about the size of a coconut, and I know, dear reader, that this seems too fantastic to believe. I could have stared at it for ages like that, but Nemo closed the shell and indicated that we were to leave the cave. Clearly, Nemo has been protecting and guarding this pearl for some time, allowing it to grow larger and larger, thus appreciating in value. Perhaps someday, when he is short of funds himself, he intends to sell it off and profit massively. Unfortunately for him, this will prove impossible.

We journeyed further into the pearl fishery, and though I did admire the sights we saw there, I could not keep my mind off of the grand pearl. I lagged behind the rest of the group, and as if on cue, Aronnax’s fears were realized – the men were faced with a rather large shark. I could tell that it had not seen me, and rather than do the sensible thing and flee, the men clearly had every intention of fighting the shark. I took the opportunity to dash back to the cave as quickly as I could. I could feel the water tugging at me, slowing my movements; it’s near impossible to run underwater. When I reached the cave, I wrenched open the shell of the mollusk and laid my right hand upon the glorious pearl. After taking one last moment to appreciate its beauty, I recalled the words I had been taught by my parents, the ones that would whisk away whatever I touched to… well, I admit, I don’t know where it went, nor any of the others. Nonetheless, I once again recited, “I hereby claim this treasure and dedicate it to The Crossing.” The pearl began to take on a golden shine beyond that of its own natural lustre. With a soft popping, it vanished into thin air, leaving the great mollusk empty.

Satisfied, I exited the cave as quickly as I could and ran back to where I had left the group. I arrived just in time to see a new group of sharks devouring the body of their now-dead brother. The men simply stood back and watched, though the rivulets of blood in the water made my stomach churn. I had never previously been a squeamish person, but being surrounded by so much viscera was a uniquely disgusting experience. From there, we returned to the Nautilus, and no one commented on my absence, if they had noticed at all. By the time I retired to my cabin, I was quite exhausted – working the enchantment that collects the prizes for me does seem to leave me drained. I barely had the energy to undress before I collapsed into my bed, but I know I fell asleep with a broad smile on my face.

 

May 1

Afternoon, in my chambers

Since acquiring Nemo’s Pearl, I have been somewhat less anxious to leave the Nautilus. I am quite assured that no one here knows I have taken it, least of all Nemo himself. With that weight off my shoulders, I have been much more able to enjoy the pleasures and wonders of traveling under the sea, despite the captain’s growing madness. He stays more and more in his own chambers, interacting less with us passengers. I can tell that Aronnax, Conseil, and Ned Land are growing restless, however. I overheard them plotting an escape of their own (their plan did not differ greatly from my own, strangely enough), and they’re quite lucky that Nemo did not discover their scheming. If I thought they actually had the courage to attempt such an escape, I would suggest to them that we could work together to do so. As such, I doubt that they will. But for the time being, I am finding myself content here, and I will delay my exit accordingly. I still feel I have so much more to learn here.

 

May 12

Early morning, the Nautilus’ boat

I have never in my life experienced such foolishness as I have this past day. I had gathered that Aronnax and his companions had grown much more insistent in their attempt to escape, and as if in response, I became much more reluctant to leave the ship. I have come to enjoy being here, and the companionship of the crewmen has become invaluable to me. Nemo’s moods are volatile indeed, but it is nothing compared to the insanity of these men. The captain, at least, can be reasoned with. Last night, the Nautilus encountered a ship known as the Avenger. When Nemo asked us to retire to our chambers and remain there until morning, I knew what he intended – he was going to sink the ship. We’d been through this routine twice before since I had come aboard; once was when we had taken Aronnax and company aboard. The captain knew my objections to this activity, and I knew his reasons for undertaking it – we had had the debate on several occasions and it was clear that we’d never convince the other, so yet again I accepted my confinement without argument.

Unbeknownst to me, Aronnax, Conseil, and Ned Land foolishly chose this moment to make their escape. At least, their plan was unknown to me, until the door to my chambers slammed open, with them on the other side of it. I had been resting in my sitting room, reading a book until I went to bed, so you can imagine how much this intrusion startled me. “We’re here to rescue you!” Aronnax said in a tone I imagine he thought of as gallant. “What?” was all I could manage to say. “I don’t need rescuing!” Ned Land turned to the Professor and said, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Turning back to me, he continued, “Come along then, miss.” He grabbed me by my arm and pulled me out of my seat, evidently intending to drag me all the way to shore if necessary. Indeed, I was powerless to resist his physical strength until we made it to the boat.

Once safely shut inside, we separated from the Nautilus, though I’ve no idea how Ned Land seems to have obtained the necessary key. Once separated from the vessel, I was then released. Aronnax looked at me in an infuriatingly patronizing way, his intent no doubt sympathetic. “It will be alright, my dear. You seem to be suffering from a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome. We’re off the coast of Norway now, and when we get to land, I’ll ensure that you see the best doctors money can buy.” This fool thought that I’d been shanghaied by the crew of the Nautilus as he had, rather than joining up voluntarily as had been the case back in the Mediterranean what feels like so long ago.

Besides, my knowledge of oceanography was evidently better than his, for I knew that if the coordinates he’d given to me were accurate, we were rapidly approaching the maelstrom that lay between the Lofoten Islands and the coast of Norway. Were we in the Nautilus, I would’ve had no fear of the gaping maw of the sea, but I did not care for our chances in the small boat, no matter how well-constructed it may be. Indeed, I began to feel an uneasy swaying in the movement of our vessel. I tried to speak up, but at every turn, one of the men shushed me condescendingly.

When the seas began to get truly rough, the boat was hurled and launched by the waves, and Aronnax fell and hit his head against one of the metal walls of the boat – he was unconscious. Taking my attention off the others, I rushed to his side and did my best to pillow his head and protect it from more damage. He may have been an arrogant fool, but he certainly didn’t deserve to die of untreated head trauma. Ned Land stayed close to the helm of the boat and did his best to keep us away from the maelstrom, swearing and wrestling with the wheel. Only a few minutes later, Conseil too took a nasty fall and was unable to stand back up. I crawled across the floor to pull his body back to a corner where I had already placed the Professor, sheltered from the violent tosses of the seas. I attempted to shout some words of advice to Ned Land, but either the wind swallowed my voice, or Land chose to ignore it; I’m afraid I’ll never know which is the truth. But a particularly tumultuous wave threw him from his feet, and I knew instantly that he would be unable to get back to the helm in time to save us from sinking. The maelstrom was already too close to sucking us down to the ocean floor.

I managed to pull myself up, and as I did so, I grabbed a hank of rope from the wall. I staggered to the wheel and tied the rope around my waist and the steering column so that I did not get so mercilessly thrown. To his credit, Ned Land had done an admirable job in keeping us from the edges of the maelstrom, and that made it easy to pick up where he had been unable to continue. We were about halfway around the swirling vortex from where we had started, and I knew if we could just get to the other side, we would reach clearer waters. I fought with the little boat, the wheel threatening to tear itself out of my hands as the wind whipped us to and fro. The night was not on our side, as the moon was new and did not shed any light on the churning, pitch black waters. The first gray light of dawn was such a tremendous relief to me that I nearly wept, the slightest rays of sun showing that we’d very nearly escaped now, not much further to go before we reached calmer seas. When we did finally feel the waves settle beneath us, I wrenched my hands from the wheel to find that they were cramped and tight, stiff in the position they’d taken for so long. To my surprise, I turned to find Ned Land looking at me with a shocked kind of awe, and he even saw fit to shake my hand as a gesture of respect.

We had a few close calls, but I hope it doesn’t sound prideful to say that I kept us from drowning that night. To you, dear reader, these exploits may sound brave or courageous, but I must tell you that I felt no such thing. All I felt was fear, and a tremendous desire not to die that night. Now, the sun is rising and the men are all still soundly asleep, but as I look out over the horizon, I can see the Nautilus approaching – our absence has finally been noticed. I have a plan to convince Nemo to trust me again, but they are too close now to write of it. If I am successful, I’ll tell you all about it.

 

May 13

Evening, in my chambers

It appears my grand scheme has worked, with Nemo none the wiser! After I stopped writing, I returned to the helm of the ship and steered us towards the Nautilus. We joined quickly, and Nemo himself came aboard the small boat. I made a great charade of weeping with relief to see him, and I wove a great tale of having been kidnapped by the brutish professor and his men. He did his best to comfort me, though matters of sentiment clearly do not come naturally to him – I cannot criticize, for they are not exactly my own area of expertise, in all honesty. He told his men to take me back aboard the Nautilus while he decided what to do with the would-be escapees. I do truly believe that Nemo would have had the men killed if I had not intervened; my time with him has convinced me that there is nothing he would not do to protect the secret existence of his ship. I pleaded for mercy however; insisting that they did not know what they were doing, that they had made a foolish mistake – which was not technically a falsehood – and that they could be left safely upon the shore and never see the Nautilus again. I did my best to play up how stupid these men were in comparison to Nemo’s brilliance, how much I desired to remain aboard the Nautilus, how mercy was the true measure of a great man. I was afraid I may have overdone it, but Nemo did eventually consent to have two of his crewmen anonymously leave Aronnax and company with some Nordic fishermen who live by the coast. As I re-entered the Nautilus, I do regret to say that I heard Nemo order his men, “Take care to ensure that our guests remember nothing of their time with us.” As the door closed behind me, I heard the sickening crunch of three carefully inflicted, even calculated, blows to the skull.

 

May 20

Midday, in the library

Unfortunately, it seems as if my ploys have not completely escaped notice – I’ve found that the crewmen of the Nautilus watch me much more closely than they did before, and talk to me less. I regret that; I was truthful when I said I enjoyed their companionship. I know that they report to Nemo on my comings and goings about the ship. It only emphasizes that I must someday soon leave the Nautilus, and the thought saddens me. I did not have to exaggerate much when I expounded to Nemo on my desire to continue traveling with them. But I will wait for the perfect opportunity, rather than rushing off at the first chance like Aronnax did. I do find myself hoping sincerely that they are alright and that they truly have no recollection of the Nautilus. It will make life simpler for them if they do not have to live with this knowledge. In the meantime, I will continue my studies and do my best to enjoy my remaining time here. I don’t know if I can win back the trust of the crewmen, but I hope that is the case. I have heard that our next destination will be in the South Pacific and it will be quite a long ways to get there, even at the Nautilus’ incredible speed. I am determined to look on the bright side – after all, I’m certain that some of the artifacts on my list are to be found in the South Pacific…

As I know my grandfather will never see this; I feel safe saying it here – after reading this incredible story, I have every intention of investigating further. From what he said, grandmother didn’t get very far in her own research, despite years of trying. I’m hoping that by putting this out here to the world, someone who knows more about this will come forward, or that this somehow will lead to the answers my grandmother sought. If grandfather is correct, I’ll find more of this story around the house – god knows I’ve only just scratched the surface on all the mountains of junk here. I want to know what happened to Elspeth – did she escape the Nautilus? What was this list she referred to? What was this quest she was on? And most importantly – what the hell happened when she touched the pearl and said those words? I feel like there’s something important behind this story, and I want to know more.