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It was dusk and the sun was just starting to fade red and gold against the backdrop of the sky. It was the kind of evening for a musician to compose melodies for; grand and somehow familiar at the same time. A glimpse of the ordinary glories that came from the world and being alive in it.
The three of them – the professor, the classifier, and the whaler – did not often meet each other now. And when they did, it had always seemed a bad omen to go down to the ocean. None of them could truly keep away. Ned’s life and livelihood depended on taking to sea, and Pierre and Conseil had the love of marine study etched as permanently into their hearts as marks on scrimshaw. They could not keep away, but they had not gone down together since they’d returned home.
Tonight, however, they felt secure enough and safe enough to try it. And though they’d never speak aloud the name of the man they’d escaped for fear of somehow bringing him back, they sensed that he was miles away, a thing of the past and not worth spoiling a beautiful evening for. So they went.
The sea beat constantly against the sand like a baker kneading the shores of the world to suit her liking. The sea birds dared the waves to catch them if they could. And all around the noise was ceaseless, but peaceful all the same.
And that was how they walked, the three of them, because the three of them were the only people in the world who could understand the events that started in the autumn of 1866. And being that they were the only ones who did understand, they would always have a deep and unbroken bond with each other.
“Do you ever think about him?” Ned said after a long time with only the sound of the waves and Conseil’s occasional identification of shells and seagrass. He was asking them both, but the two of them understood that he’d meant it more towards Pierre.
“Sometimes,” Conseil said simply.
“I try not to,” Pierre responded, which was true. What he did not add what that he was mostly unsuccessful. A man who had so thoroughly overtaken his brain as Nemo had could not be erased in a week, or a month, or even a year.
Ned’s eyes darkened, and he scanned the horizon as if looking for something.
“It’s over, Ned,” Pierre said gently. “It’s over, and we have heard no reports of any sunken ships since our escape. Let’s let him have his peace, and try our best to make ours.”
“That’s easier said than done, old friend,” Ned replied grimly, but in spite of the haunted look in his eyes he smiled.
They carried on. The sky grew darker, and they knew that they would soon need to be heading for home.
It was Conseil who saw it first. “Monsieur,” he said quietly. This was a mere force of habit. Pierre continued to insist that Conseil call him by his given name, but Conseil found comfort in rituals, and politely declined. Pierre understood by now that it was the price for his steadfastness.
He turned to see what Conseil was looking at. It was a spiraled shell of the genus Fusinus. And Pierre knew at once why Conseil had pointed it out. For the shell’s makeup was spiraled counterclockwise – a left-handed shell.
They had discovered only one in their lives up until now; when the Nautilus was ensnared on the reef near Papua New Guinea. Both men had presumed that it was the discovery of their lifetimes and that they would never find another.
This one was perfect, too. Its form was an elegant backwards spiral, its opening was wrought in the finest shape, and it had strong walls and beautiful coloration. Pierre held it to the dying light, entranced.
He was never quite sure what caused him to break down. Certainly later Ned would tease him for being such a hopelessly devoted marine scientist that he could be brought to tears over a pretty seashell, but in reality, there was something much deeper at hand. Pierre had never been one to dwell on his own emotions, though, so what it was, he could not guess.
Perhaps he was simply overcome by the memories of the past journey, or perhaps his grief and terror remained unresolved and buried until some physical reminder brought them to the surface like the shell had been dredged up by the tide. Or maybe it was something else; something like the realization that what he had assumed had been only possible aboard the Nautilus was indeed possible outside it. The unique, turned usual. Maybe it was just a sense of the dying majesty of the wondrous ship.
Whatever the case, he ended up with tears running down his face and Ned and Conseil stepping closer to give him comfort.
“Pierre! What’s got into you, old friend?” Ned asked.
“It is the shell’s great beauty,” Conseil said, a touch dryly. “I am on the verge myself.”
“I can’t say what it is,” Pierre said, shrugging. He managed to smile through his tears. “I suppose I was just thinking about the Nautilus and about how it all seemed so… incredible. But it was not so much a fantasy world after all. Here’s the proof.”
“Of course it wasn’t a fantasy world,” Ned grumbled. “More like a nightmare.”
Pierre just sighed. “I would not go back. But it felt so unreal while we were there. Like we’d entered another realm. Nemo’s realm. Without him, this sort of discovery just doesn’t quite feel right.” He turned the shell over in his hands. “Like it should not be able to happen. I don’t know. Perhaps I’m not making any sense.”
Conseil looked uneasy. “Would Monsieur have us leave the shell, then?”
“No, of course not,” Pierre responded. “This is a rare and glorious find, worth celebrating! Come on. Let’s go home and we can catalog and identify the shell. It will be a worthy addition to our museum, and… I like to think that it will be a good reminder of what’s passed.”
“Too right,” Ned replied. “And thank God it has passed.”
With that, and with an inky blackness starting to spread over the far horizon and bidding the world good night, they turned from the sea and began their ascent back to their home and the simpler world of mankind.