Another Journey to the Center of the Earth

By Richard Johnson

The Lady Janice Obrien visits 19th century London to hire an explorer to follow the path described by Jules Verne in his famous novel to find her husband. Some adventure but mostly a love story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Johnson
• Release date: Jun 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476460406

Book preview

ANOTHER JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

By Richard Johnson

Published by Richard (Rick) Johnson (Desert Dragon Productions) at Smashwords.

Copyright March 2012 Richard Johnson

ISBN 9781476460406

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

LONDON

THE DOCKS

ICELAND

STRAPI

THE RACE

THE DESCENT

DAY TWO

COAL

THE WELL

ALONE TOGETHER

REUNITED

WATER

MOTHER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ANOTHER JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH

By Rick Johnson

LONDON

Ruth and I watched the crowd humiliate the speaker from the back of the lecture room.  The Royal Society, filled with the great names of academia, saw this titleless upstart as fair game and took every opportunity to ridicule his theory.  The fact that he had done more, seen more, than many of the men in this room mattered naught to them.  THEY had the Titles and Degrees and he did not and so nothing he said was worthwhile.    Having no academic degrees of my own but possessing great experience, I understood his frustration. Of course, the fact that he HAD been allowed to speak at all showed his determination and drive and that impressed me.

Ruth, I spoke to the woman at my side in Romanian.  I believe that we have found our man.

Are you certain?  Listen to this room.  They hate him, make fun of him.  They think he is a fraud.

Exactly, my love, and this is why I want him.  A man like that will do whatever it takes to win the respect of these fools.  He must force himself to succeed when another would fail.  Besides he is desperate and I prefer my men to be somewhat desperate.  They try so hard to please me when they are.  Come, let us have lunch and allow our target to calm down a bit.  I want him relaxed enough to avoid taking his frustrations out upon us but not so relaxed as to be able to find another solution.  When dealing with men like that, this balance is delicate and well worth finding.

We left the hall, the men bowing to us as they recognized from our dress that our station was far above theirs.  At least they understood manners… to an extent. Here I met one famous scientist who advocated that the steam engine be outlawed as he was able to prove that once the machine reached 65 miles-per-hour, the human body would be crushed to a pulp by the velocity. Here another was arguing that Archaeosaurs could not have ever existed for they were not mentioned in the christian bible which many present took to be the ultimate word on science. Another conversation revolved around the possibility of firing a manned cannon-cylinder to the moon and back though that man was countered by the first who argued the acceleration dangers which the second discounted claiming that the body could easily survive being shot from a cannon. Such were the arguments in this hall of science and such were the reasons I tended to ignore what the academic experts said. My personal experiences often proved them to be wrong in their intellectual assumptions as each generation proved the former generation to be incorrect, only to be proven wrong themselves by the next generation of scientists. Ruth, no matter what facts and truths a scientist tells you today, he will always be proven wrong by the next crop of scientists, and so their lives shall proceed.

Yes, Mother, she agreed.

I hated London.  The year was 1870 and London was a cesspool of filth. Thousands of chimneys burned soft coal for warmth and cooking, spewing tones of soot into the skies, soot that settled upon the inhabitants and often made breathing difficult.  Few cared to clean after their horses who defecated in the streets as casually as the people cast their garbage into the streets, alleys and rivers.  Daily, a horse or ten would die, to be stripped of its tack and left to rot in the streets, only to be butchered by hoards of men with knives who ate the choicest parts, selling the rest to those unscrupulous butchers who would label said cuts as fine beef.  Jack was carving trollops in the alleys and it was believed that he was related to the King who protected the Ripper. In some parts of the city, one could not wade through the garbage in the streets or survive the muggers in the alleys.  The police were generally corrupt and any man in a tavern near enough to the water risked impressment into a navy that still believed in flogging a man to death for stealing a crust of bread. And the Summer heat simply aggravated the stink.

However, the opera and museums were among the best in the world and nightlife here was to die for.

We had our lunch and planned our actions then, when finished, visited the bank to withdraw some cash, for we would have need of my wealth.  It was while passing an alley that we heard the moans.  I knew it was a trap or maybe the victim of a previous mugging but I was never one to allow the innocent to suffer if I could interfere.  That trait made me valuable to many governments and nobles who sought my hand in and out of wedlock.

We never reached the groaning man for he rolled over with a revolver in hand as his fellow stepped from the shadows.  Ah, here we are dearies, you’ll not miss that money in your purse.  He reached for my purse, obviously having seen us exit the bank.

I commented in Romanian, This one is mine, you take the other.  Let me know when you are ready.

Yes, Lady,  she replied in that same language. Ruth had been disowned by her Jewish family in Romania for the one talent that caused me to hire her as a companion. Ruth was gifted (her Synagogue said cursed) with the mental facility to detect and control the beasts of the fields. She was a Beast-Master, as my Faith referred to such people and it was a few years into our business relationship that my desires changed from avarice to affection, then when cast out by her people, I adopted her as my own.

What’s that gibberish? my man demanded, his weapon waving between we two.  Ruth nodded and I allowed him to take my purse, then I pretended to swoon and as he stood, undecided and unbalanced, still grasping my purse which I still held, I took hold of his hand and revolver and jerked it then twisted the hand back until the man screamed.  It takes less than four pounds of pressure to snap a wrist and I used far more.  The mugger screamed more, his voice