The Mammoth Book of New Jules Verne Adventures (43 page)

He had slipped the Colt I had given him a few days earlier into
his belt. The Redskins had given up their posts. Faking anger, I leapt to my
feet, and moved as close as I could to the rifle held by the Brave who stood
next to the door “What’s the meaning of all this, Fogg?”

“Calm down. You’ll be
given all the explanations you need shortly. But, before that, I have one last
ritual to complete. This place will be fine.”

I wanted to protest, but
Fogg raised his index finger to his lips and murmured, “Shh! Let me
concentrate.”

He took off his gloves,
as I had seen him do in Singapore, and then consulted his pocket watch, as he
had done in France and on board the
Mongolia.

“Yes,” he said, “The
time is right. And the location is fitting,” he added after another glance at
his watch, which he then put away.

Next, Fogg’s hands
appeared to dance in the air, painting complex figures in the void, similar to
Japanese calligraphy. Each movement left a luminous residue in its wake, much
like the energy halo mentioned by the metapsychics, but even brighter. I
noticed that the Sioux, who were impressed, had closed their eyes. I took
advantage of the opportunity to slip over to the rifle I had noted earlier and
grab it without being noticed.

When I returned my
attention to Fogg’s incandescent sculpture, I noticed that it was “inhabited”.
I was no longer surprised by the famous detonation, much like the sound of a
gun being fired into eiderdown. I was familiar with the phenomenon by now and
showed no emotion. Fogg repeated his Buddha trick. But there was one difference.
The “brother” he contacted appeared to be no more than a child, judging from
his small stature. (I easily towered head and shoulders above him).

I understood my error
when the last remnants of the halo dissipated. The individual who had thrown
himself into Fogg’s arms, who was kneeling on one knee, was definitely a
full-grown man, as could be seen in his features, which were the same as Fogg’s,
emaciated, with a hint of trickery in his eyes.

A dwarf! Fogg’s American
brother was a dwarf!

“My dear Passepartout,”
Fogg started, “Allow me to introduce the final member of the Moriarty tribe,
the adorable Loveless . .”

He stopped there. I had
cocked my rifle. The small click had its usual effect. I held everyone off, the
Sioux, Fogg and the dwarf — Loveless Moriarty. What a dance card!

“You promised me some
explanations. I believe the time has come. Unless your curious watch has
something to say about all this?”

“This device is much
more than a simple timepiece,” Fogg started. “It enables me to keep track of
the brief periods of time when a breach is opened between two worlds and to
locate the areas where the energy required for a transfer flows at its purest.”

I had guessed as much,
but I preferred not to interrupt him, particularly since what interested me
most was still to come.

“This technology is the
fruit of the information that is constantly exchanged between the Reform Club
and certain scientists from other worlds. I joined those amateurs to take
advantage of it. If they only knew the potential of what’s available to them!
But those Pall Mall imbeciles prefer to lend a hand to Her Majesty’s secret
services, rather than turn a profit. You should know all about that since you’re
an agent for France, aren’t you?”

I nodded in agreement.
What was the point in lying?

“And as for me . . .
Well!” He sighed. “Good grief, I fear that my tale is both terribly trite and
terribly complicated. Of course, my name isn’t really Phileas Fogg. In some
circles, I’m known as Professor Moriarty. Use that name, if you prefer.”

I learned no more. What
was the true identity of this “Professor Moriarty”? Believe it or not, I still
have no idea today, fifty years after our first meeting!

“As you may have
noticed,” he continued, “I’m rather skilled at contacting other worlds. For a
time, I trained with that medium Daniel Home, when he officiated in London. But
I soon came to realize that my talent far surpassed his. I could have put my
talent to good use for profitable purposes, and I would have succeeded beyond
my wildest dreams. But money or rather money
alone
holds no interest for
me . . .”

Oh, now we’re getting to
it, I thought. With a shake of my rifle, I ordered him to continue.

“As a result of the
contacts I made with other worlds, I learned one fact that the metapsychics
have yet to learn: each of us, you and me alike, has as many doubles as there
are universes.”

“As many brothers, you mean?”

Fogg/Moriarty nodded.

“Almost twins, with a
few slight differences, depending on their environment. As you see, the
unfortunate Loveless was stricken with a serious illness in his youth and didn’t
grow as he should have. But what does that matter?”

The dwarf, in fact, was
smiling, not the least bit inconvenienced by his disability.

“Although the body may
have undergone certain modifications, the mind, my dear Passepartout, the mind
of each double reverberates in unison with the same concerns. There’s no chance
that a nice boy from the London we know would behave like a boor anywhere else.”

“Or vice versa.”

Moriarty burst into laughter.

“Of course, you’re right. And vice versa!”

I changed the topic
abruptly. “How many of you are here, now?”

“You crossed paths with
my first brother, dear Fantomas, in France, without realizing it,” replied the
fake Fogg.

“That can’t be!” I
exclaimed. “They’re so much like you that I would have noticed!”

“Except that that
particular brother is a master of disguise. Imagine him with a goatee, fake
eyebrows and dressed as a railway porter.”

I jumped. The blackguard
had duped me thoroughly with his “Mr Smogg”! He had pulled the wool over my
eyes with the audacity of the master criminal he actually was.

“All right, I’ll let you
have that one,” I admitted. “But as for the transfer on the
Mongolia, I
stand
firm. You reappeared alone
down below
and then I locked the cabin door!”

“My dear friend, you’re
not the only break-in artist around. There are others who can pick locks too,
you know. The individual you saw reappear was my brother, the admirable Nemo.
And as for me, I waited until you left your hiding place to go to the upper
deck and peacefully join the captain’s table, while my twin slipped off on
board the submarine that was waiting for him.

“So, you knew I was
there, watching you.”

“But, of course. Just as
I knew that you were following me in Asia, when I set out to meet my Asian
brother, the refined Fu Manchu.”

I admitted that this
point astounded me. But the reason for all these masquerades was still beyond
me.

“Why did you allow me to
observe the successive arrivals of your brothers without making any attempt to
stop me?”

“First of all, because I
didn’t want to alert your employers. It’s far easier to keep an eye on a single
agent. Then, too, because I wanted a worthy witness. And I think you are one,
my dear Passepartout, if that really is your name.”

I couldn’t believe my
ears. “A witness? Whatever for?”

The Moriarty twins
laughed like little children. They seemed to find my puzzlement quite amusing.
Loveless continued with the explanations.

“To make the game worth
it, my dear chap, we need adversaries who are worthy of our talent. What point
is there in sowing chaos if we have to remain in the shadows? No, what we want
to do is make sure that our exploits burst into daylight! And for that, we need
this world to recognize our intentions. The report you will be handing in will
help
with that. Consider it the first move in the game between
ourselves and Good, starting now!”

I was dumbfounded, as I’m
sure you must realize. So, Moriarty and his diabolic doppelgangers considered
this whole thing a game!

Hesitantly, I asked, “And
just what are your intentions?”

“Some pillaging, an
assassination or two, a little bit of extortion, definitely some terror, and a
couple of abductions or so. How would I know?” “Fogg” admitted. “Put yourselves
in our shoes for a just few moments, my dear fellow . . . Your world is such a
magnificent prey, with its vast wealth and potential! We all come from places
that are so poor, so sad, so desolate, that our criminal genius is wasted. Who
would fear the name Moriarty in the world I come from? No one at all, no one at
all . . .”

So, he admitted that he
came from another world. Which one? I never found out.

“On the other hand,”
added the dwarf, “America will tremble and quake before Loveless!”

“And Europe before
Fantomas!”

“China before Fu Manchu!”

“Africa and the East
before Nemo!”

That seemed to be
everything that had to be said. I aimed my rifle at the “professor’s” chest and
declared, “I won’t let you.”

And I fired. The
detonation exploded in the tent, causing the diabolical brothers to convulse in
laughter.

“Come on now, old man.
Don’t you recognize that weapon? It’s the one you gave me in San Francisco.
Loaded with blanks. Quite unlike this one.”

He brandished his Colt.
Rage filled me as I realized that I could have escaped from the tent without
the least risk of getting shot.

“The game has started,”
Moriarty repeated.

Loveless nodded and
added, “And
you
will be our adversary. You and your brothers. We’ll help
you transfer them here. We’ll have so much fun!”

276                     
JOHAN HELIOT

And that’s the entire
story of the very first case in which I found myself fighting against that
devil Moriarty. After the Sioux episode, I was drugged and I completed Phileas
Fogg’s incredible trip around the world in a state of unconsciousness. Fogg
then disappeared from circulation, making way for Moriarty, after first
marrying Aouda. I’m convinced that he put her away safe from harm in his
original world, since I never heard mention of the beautiful princess after
that.

I submitted my report to
the
Statistics Section
and resigned. From that
time on, I was driven by a single obsession — the need to organize and
coordinate the fight of Good against Evil, on a planetary scale.

And that’s exactly what
I have done, from my Pall Mall HQ, a stone’s throw from the place where it all
started. I did promise, at the beginning of my tale, that I would get back
there. Now you know the real reasons behind the Diogenes Club.

But I know you’re dying
to ask THE question.

You know the one I mean.
The one about my brothers?

Well, Loveless Moriarty
kept his word. Taking advantage of the fact that I was at his mercy, he used me
as bait to lure his first adversary to America, which he took for himself. Then
the professor proceeded in the same manner, using the watch he had stolen from
the Reform Club, and other brothers appeared, here and there.

They all looked just
like me, except for a few details: James, the American, shared my small stature
and energy; Fandor, the Frenchman, enjoyed my athletic prowess. Yet, the most
famous of all had nothing in common with me, except for a vague expression in
his eyes. Just as I remained short and my waistline swelled with age, Sherlock
was lean and lanky . . .

And the Moriarty brothers?
Unlike
my
brothers, unfortunately, they’re not all
dead. If you have any doubts about that, just ask yourself who placed the gun
in the hand of that Serb student in Sarajevo, in June 1914.

In one manner or
another, the game is still being played.

But without me. I’m
tired, old and worn out by the fight.

This object in my hands
. . . perhaps you recognize it? Yes. It’s Phileas Fogg’s famous watch, just as
I collected it from the Reform Club storeroom.

I’m planning another
trip around the world. I don’t know exactly where I’ll wind up, but I’m sure
you’ll understand that I would truly like to meet a certain individual, someone
I met in the jungle fifty years earlier.

Treat me like an old
coot if you like.

That’s not a problem.

Meanwhile, you have no business
stifling my confession or disclosing it, as you did so admirably well in the
case of Sherlock’s exploits, dear Dr Watson.

With kind regards from
Mycroft . . .

Translated from the French by
Sheryl Curtis