Max Tilt: Fire the Depths

  The suit’s arms ended in grasping hooks, which Max was able to manipulate with a squeeze mechanism. Soon he was stooping to pick up shells and strange stones from the sea bottom.

  “What do you think?” came Basile’s voice as he lumbered toward Max, a chunk of white coral in one of his hooks and a sea pen in the other.

  Max could see his own grin reflected in the eye panel. “Two words,” he shouted. “Awe. Some!”

  “Ha! That’s the spirit. We’ll make a sea dog out of you yet—”

  Basile’s voice was cut off by the rasping bark of Niemand, radioing to them from inside the sub. “Playtime is over, boys! Have we forgotten that we have work to do?”

  “Yes, sir, of course, sir, may I shine your shoes, sir,” Basile drawled.

  Max could see him wink through the thick Plexiglas.

  Silently they returned to the port side of the Conch, where Basile opened the diving hatch. As they stepped in, the old captain hit a large red button. The door slid closed, and the pumps emptied the seawater. Max’s suit grew heavier and heavier until he was afraid he’d fall over. At the sound of an all-clear horn, Basile opened another hatch and helped Max walk to the diving room, where they removed the suits.

  “Sea fan—Isis hippuris,” Basile said softly, indicating the chunk of yellow coral he’d brought in, which looked like a thousand surgical gloves fused together. “Contains a steroid that may cure cancer.”

  Max’s heart began fluttering. “Seriously?”

  Basile smiled. “Just a theory. My old chum Stinky may have some cockamamie idea about bubble cities, but I’m interested in more practical things. And I get to use the resources of Niemand Enterprises—”

  Niemand peered into the room. “The boy is neither interested in nor welcome to know about our company’s projects, Basile! And we are not in the business of stopping and sightseeing!”

  “Ah, go back into the cage and finish eating your broken glass,” Basile said.

  As Niemand stormed away, Basile placed the piece of yellow coral into Max’s palm. “Be sure to keep this safe, lad. For good luck.”

  The next morning Max awakened to the sound of loud voices and thumping footsteps. He sat up as Alex burst into his room. “Do you hear that?” she said.

  “What is it?” Max asked.

  “Something I haven’t heard in a couple of days,” Alex replied. “Excitement. Something’s up. Come on!”

  By the time they got to the wheelhouse, Pandora, André, Sophia, and Niemand were all gathered around Basile in front of the viewing windows. André was trying to focus a search light on the area ahead. His bright green eyes scanned the sea bottom. “Lrwzbl . . .” he murmured.

  “We’re here,” Pandora said.

  “Here as in, where the coordinates told us to go?” Alex said.

  “Really?” Max blurted out. “Where’s the treasure? Can you see it?”

  Pandora smiled. “There’s very low visibility. The ocean floor is wildly uneven. This is a major continental fault line. If this were above water we’d see mountains, mesas, plateaus. Unfortunately the currents are strong. They’re pulling up all kinds of muck from below.”

  Basile was cutting the throttle to slow the thrust, but soon Max could see shadows playing on the surface, rising up toward them . . .

  “What the—?” Basile muttered as an alarm sounded. “Hold on!”

  The sub jolted. Max stumbled to the ground and grabbed onto a stool for balance. Scrambling back to his feet, he stood by André and looked into the viewing window. Alex was standing there, her jaw wide open.

  The Conch had juddered to a complete stop. Directly outside the window, Max saw one great, sculpted eye, only inches away.

  Niemand ran out of the room and returned a moment later. “I just saw what was out of the starboard-side window,” he said. “It is an arm.”

  The others stared, uncomprehending.

  “My friends, we are stuck,” he said, “between the head and the raised arm of a giant statue.”

  23

  “THROW it in reverse!”

  “Secure the anchor!”

  “Kill the engine!”

  “Mind your business!”

  Everyone was shouting. Max could barely think straight. He kept his eyes fixed on the scene outside the window. This was it. The exact location Verne had hidden from the public for all of these years.

  Now that the sub was still, the seaweed and muck were settling down. Barnacles had crusted the eye of the statue. Max had the eerie feeling that the eye might turn and look at him. For the time being, it seemed to be gazing sadly over a scene of complete devastation.

  Not far from the Conch, a massive gate arched overhead. Or what was left of it. Two columns, ridged and as thick as oak trees, rose up from the sea bottom. At least ten people could pass between them, shoulder to shoulder. If Max squinted he felt like he could see them. In robes and sandals. Heading into a glorious city that . . .

  Wasn’t.

  The columns were battered and slanting. Whatever lay across the top of the gate had long since fallen into rubble. In the dark thickness, all Max could see of the city were husks of buildings. They lined both sides of what must have been a grand avenue.

  Everything in sight was draped with seaweed and pimpled with shells and barnacles.

  “Max, come on, they’re letting us explore,” came Alex’s voice.

  Max turned with a start. “What?”

  “Get on your suit!” Alex was grinning, pulling him away from the window. “Basile, Pandora, and Sophia are staying behind to dislodge the Conch from the statue. But you, me, André, and Niemand are going.”

  “Niemand and Old Green Eyes?” Max groaned. “Why do we get the bad guys?”

  “Because the others can’t stand them? I don’t know—just get your suit on!” Alex was shaking with excitement. “Max, Jules Verne wrote about this in Twenty Thousand Leagues. Captain Nemo brought him to a great ancient city in ruins. In the book, he claimed it was Atlantis.”

  “But Atlantis is just a legend,” Max said.

  “Just come!”

  By the time they got to the fitting chamber, André and Niemand were already fastening their helmets. Max laid out his and Alex’s suits and quickly taught her how to slide in and stand up.

  “Testing . . . one two three!” came Niemand’s voice through the suit-to-suit intercom. “Everybody hear me? Say ‘Roger.’”

  “Roger,” said Max.

  “Roger,” said Alex.

  “Rnchs,” said André.

  “We will have to jump down to the seafloor,” Niemand said. “Stay close. These intercoms have a range of maybe thirty yards. Do we remember what the note said?”

  “‘Upon reaching the great unruined chamber at the prime locations of’—blah blah blah, we know that part,” Alex said, “‘be guided by the camptodactyl of the king.’”

  “That’s our mystery. We have only two hours to solve it before oxygen runs out,” Niemand said. “We’ve come this far. Be quick and keep your eyes out for clues. When we figure this out, our reward will be enormous. This, my friends, will be the start of a new world! The wealth that will go directly to fuel the greatest experiment in human history. The Niemand Era!”

  “Half,” Max said.

  Inside the helmet, Niemand’s eyes moved toward Max. “Pardon?”

  “Half of it will fuel the Tilt family,” Max said. “Right?”

  But Niemand had already hit the red button that controlled the entry/exit mechanism. Seawater began rushing into the chamber. Even in the suit it was deafening. Soon the side hatch slid open, and all four of them jumped into the world below.

  Max floated down, landing in a kind of slo-mo cloud of mud, seaweed, and scurrying fish. Alex landed beside him along with the other two.

  Slowly they made their way to the gate.

  Max’s footsteps sank as he forced the Newtsuit legs forward. It took all his strength to pull each step out of the goopy ocean floor. But as he appr
oached the columns, the ground became firmer.

  “There’s some kind of stone under this,” Alex said. “An ancient road.”

  Max was more interested in the strange ruins on either side of the gate. A low, jagged ridge, like the remains of a giant stone fence, curved away from the gate into the darkness on either side. It must have been extremely tall, because its pieces were strewn all over in great piles. Each piece was flat, and though in different broken shapes, they were the same thickness, maybe six inches. Max leaned down and lifted one with his grappling hook.

  It was smooth and slightly curved. “Alex, have you seen this?”

  “Yup, stone. There’s stone all over the place!” Alex shot back.

  “This isn’t stone. It’s more like . . . I don’t know . . . plastic!”

  “Put that down, Max—Bert and Ernie are way ahead of us.”

  Max dropped the shard and followed Alex through the grand entrance gate. Niemand and André were just lumps of gray along the road ahead, but neither Max nor Alex felt like going very fast. They swiveled their heads, gaping at the remains of buildings, wide boulevards, statues. It had the feeling of a great ancient city. “Do you see anything that says Atlantis?”

  “This could be Lemuria,” Max said. “That’s another legendary city.”

  Alex pointed to a structure about Max’s height, which was covered with sea growth and unrecognizable. “Look, ye ancient mailbox of the gods,” Alex said.

  They clomped slowly past the ruins of a big museum-like structure with wide steps and seven great, sculpted columns, two of which were now stumps. The building’s roof had collapsed, and what remained was so encrusted with sea detritus it looked like a wrecked ship. Eels slithered out of windows, and a school of fish burst from the front door as if the recess bell had just rung. Farther down the street, the fallen walls of a giant house revealed magnificent metal cogwheels that once must have generated great power. A tangle of wires and tubes jutted upward from within, like the guts of a slaughtered animal.

  “This is really weird, Max . . .” Alex said. “It looks like a power plant.”

  “In the ancient kingdom of Knossos on the Greek island of Crete, they had running water and flush toilets,” Max said. “So, who knows?”

  As they passed narrow stone posts, Max cleared away the seaweed to find carved words in a language he didn’t understand. “Street signs,” Alex said.

  Niemand’s voice crackled through the Newtsuit intercom. “What are you . . . far behind . . . come . . .!”

  He was getting out of range, but it was clear he wanted Max to hurry up. As Max rushed forward, his foot landed on a patch of sand that exploded like a bomb. He jumped back, gasping.

  A long, sleek body took shape in the grains of sand and rose up on triangular wings. “Watch out, Alex!” Max called.

  The creature nearly clipped Alex in the helmet before disappearing into the subterranean darkness. “What was that thing?” she cried out. “A pterodactyl?”

  “A ray,” Max said.

  As they trudged forward, Alex stayed close to Max. At the end of the block, the street opened into a vast clearing that must have been a great plaza. It circled an area maybe half the size of a football field. Max imagined ancient families in robes strolling after a meal, but now it was a wasteland of coral, hummocks, and glops of seaweed. Fish slithered around lazily, looking bored, as if Max and Alex weren’t there.

  Tall pedestals were equally spaced around the plaza. Most of them were attached to the feet and ankles of statues. “Max, we’re looking for a king, right? That’s what the message said.”

  “Right.”

  “What if one of these statues was the king? How will we know?”

  Max thought hard. “No. He wasn’t outside like this. He was in a chamber.”

  “Right, ‘the great unruined chamber . . .’” Alex said. “Max, if Jules Verne found this city, he would have seen pretty much what we’re seeing now, right?”

  “Except a hundred years ago,” Max said.

  “Would it have been that much different?”

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing most of the damage happened when the place sank. Which would have been maybe thousands of years ago.”

  “So let’s say not much has happened here since Jules Verne saw it,” Alex said. “Look around. Is there anything ‘unruined’?”

  They continued walking around the plaza. Niemand and André were skulking around some toppled wall. Max gave them a wave, but they were both looking upward at a huge, luminescent, flat fish that sailed overhead.

  The fish dove behind the circle of crumbled buildings. It disappeared just behind the plaza, over the top of another roof that was completely intact.

  “Okay,” Max said. “Do you see what I see? Right over there, in the middle of all these broken old buildings?”

  Alex smiled. “Looks unruined to me. Let’s lose Niemand.”

  Together she and Max bounded through an alley, out of sight of the two men. They emerged into a street behind the plaza. It was not quite as wide as the great boulevard they’d entered on, and was even more clogged with ruins. In one pile Max thought he could see a bone jutting out. He felt his stomach turn and kept his eyes on the intact building.

  Alex was already entering through the archway in front. Max followed her into a small entry room. Inside, protected from the currents, the walls seemed sturdy and mostly untouched. Through patches of sea growth Max could see the glowing colors of some intricate tile work. In the center was a broad stone altar or table.

  Beyond that was another room, deeper in, that glowed with eerie green light.

  He and Alex moved slowly toward it. They entered a grand, vaulted chamber made of a smooth marble festooned with green fronds, crustaceans, and rot. Max looked up to see a pair of great open rectangles in the roof. He figured they were probably glass windows at one time, but now they were holes overhung with spindly strands that waved in the water current like witches’ arms.

  At the center of the room was an enormous statue of a seated figure on its own pedestal. Max and Alex set to work clearing off the seaweed that was draped over it.

  Slowly they uncovered the sculpture of a man on a stiff seat. His gaze was intense, wise, kind, powerful—and so real it looked like he could come to life. But rather than a toga or robe, he was dressed in what looked like a scientist’s lab coat, with sculpted pens and measuring instruments in his chest pocket.

  “Doesn’t look like a king to me,” Alex said.

  “Or ancient,” Max said.

  “Maybe Verne brought it here for some reason, and then left it. This thing is about his vintage.”

  “He would not have been able to fit this into a submarine,” Max said. “This statue must be part of this world.”

  “So they were just fashion forward,” Alex remarked. “Or something.”

  Max leaned in to the pedestal to read the plaque. He couldn’t understand the words. But at the bottom was something completely unmistakable.

  Max backed away. The blood was rushing from his face. He thought about all the strange things they’d seen—the structures that resembled mailboxes, power plants, street signs . . .

  “Alex, this is not what we thought it was,” Max said. “It cannot be an ancient city built on an island that sank. Like Atlantis.”

  “What else could it be?” Alex said.

  “It was built here,” Max said. “Underwater.”

  Alex laughed. “By frogs?”

  “No,” Max said. “By people.”

  He gestured to the bottom of the plaque, and Alex leaned close to read what had been carved at the bottom:

  1863

  24

  “THIS is impossible,” Alex said. “Maybe it’s 1863 BC.”

  “There was no C to be B,” Max pointed out.

  “Say what?”

  “BC means ‘Before Christ,’ but how could you know you were before Christ, if Christ hadn’t been born yet?” Max said. “It’s not logical.?
??

  “There’s got to be an explanation,” Alex said. “Maybe they were originally on land . . . and the land sank in 1863.”

  “Then we would have heard about it. It would be in the history books. Like the fall of Rome. The volcano at Pompeii. Columbus. The American Revolution.” Max looked around, thinking. “Alex, Niemand has been talking about this crazy plan. Niemand Cities. People living in self-contained bubbles. It’s his obsession.”

  “Max, no! That’s not what this is,” Alex said. “Bubble cities are sci-fi. We don’t even have those in the twenty-first century.”

  “What if there was one, in 1863?” Max said. “And Verne discovered it. In his book, he called it Atlantis. But that was a cover-up, to make it sound mystical for his readers. Imagine if he tried to claim it really existed back then. No one would have believed him. That’s the whole point of The Lost Treasures. He left that to us, to discover the truth. Now.”

  “Why?” Alex asked.

  “Niemand’s ancestors hated Verne,” Max said. “I think Verne discovered something they really wanted. And they went after him. They converted his nephew—”

  “His nephew shot him!” Alex said. “If the bad guys wanted Verne’s secret, why would they kill him?”

  “He wasn’t shooting to kill—he wounded Verne in the foot,” Max said. “Alex, listen to me. Just outside the gate, I found tons of broken material. The pieces were flat, like chunks of a wall. They didn’t feel like stone. More like some human-made substance. Like plastic. This was a city under a dome!”

  Alex let out a crazy burst of laughter. She looked up at the statue. “And this guy . . . with his pocket protector? Who is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Max said. “The architect? The head scientist? The president?”

  But Alex was walking toward the figure slowly. “Max, look at his hand.”

  With her hook she reached up about eye level and brushed off seaweed from the statue’s hands, which were resting on a stone armrest.