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“So what are we supposed to do now?”
Lavrock pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked up from the charts. “I know I said I was open to advice, but I didn’t mean you.”
Cyril raised an eyebrow. “Still so suspicious.”
“I’m not like Nemo...like Nemo was,” Lavrock pointed out coldly, transferring his attention back to the nautical map. “I’m not going to pretend everything’s tickety-boo just because I sang at you a little. What rot.”
“I want to help!” Cyril insisted. “Do you think the Russians won’t just shoot me if they raid the island again? Because they will come back, you know.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m looking for suggestions from people who didn’t already sell us out to them.”
Lavrock waited for Cyril to take the hint, but he didn’t budge.
Once again regretting he hadn’t followed his first instinct upon realizing he had abducted the wrong person and just tossed Cyril overboard, Lavrock pulled out another chart. After the last journey of the Nautilus he had marked what he believed to be the general location of the explosion. Now he slowly traced the pattern of reefs and undersea mountains, judging the most likely paths a ship would take.
The approach to the island was difficult, but if the Russians tried again they’d certainly make land on Matoka eventually. For that matter, the English navy could very well have started searching the region where Lavrock’s ship went down as well. The last thing the islanders needed was a full-fledged sea battle breaking out around them…
Suddenly he found his view of the chart blocked by Cyril’s brown eyes. “Move.”
Cyril didn’t budge, putting his chin in his hands and staring up at him. His eyes looked very warm and soft, Lavrock noted distantly, far different from his initial false shell of cheer, or his manic outburst when his true goals had been exposed. “You’re looking at the wrong charts,” Cyril said.
“What?”
Cyril walked over to a work table at the back of what had once been Nemo’s cabin. Out of respect, Lavrock had moved few of his possessions when he took over as commander (no, as leader, he reminded himself. He wasn’t a military man anymore.).
“Look,” Cyril said, opening a leather-bound notebook.
Lavrock couldn’t read the mirrored Polish, written in Nemo’s scrawled handwriting that looked as if it would be more at home in a conductor’s score, but the diagrams were clear. “A...larger Nautilus?”
“Nemo wanted the islanders safe. The Russians think they want Matoka.” Cyril smiled, and Lavrock found himself smiling back suddenly. “Who says we can’t all have what we want?”