The Island at the Top of the World Page #2

fuel for the motors.

The fuel, I'll leave to you, Captain.

All other necessities have

been amply provided by my staff.

I think it is best that we

have an understanding.

We have an understanding.

I bought and paid for your airship.

It's mine.

I intend to use it to find my son,

who is lost in the Arctic.

But I cannot do it without your help.

I can offer you nothing

except hardship and danger,

except your place in history.

- History?

- Think of it, Captain.

You have an opportunity which

comes but once in a generation.

The world will know you not only

as the first man to fly over the Arctic,

but the first man, perhaps,

to brave the North Pole itself.

Today, we make history.

There should be flags, music,

a speech from the president.

But what do we have?

Two children and a herd of goats.

When you bring her back to France,

the celebration's

gonna break all records.

- We are ready to depart.

- Very good, carry on.

Silence!

There will be no speaking.

Well, we are on our way.

A glorious day, Monsieur.

We rise with the sun.

Congratulations, Captain.

This will be a morning to remember.

Something in the food hamper

just bit me.

That is not the food hamper,

that is the small boudoir of Josephine.

It's some kind of a dog.

Of course, the best kind: French.

I am not interested in its nationality.

- Who brought it aboard?

- No one brought her aboard.

She lives here. This is her home

since the airship was begun.

I'm not running some kind

of flying kennel.

Get rid of it.

Very well, if you wish, Monsieur.

Of course, it will take time.

The sun has warmed the gas.

We must wait until night

to return to the hangar.

- Then bring back the ground crew.

- Wait until night?

That will mean 12 hours.

I can't lose the time.

You're absolutely right, Sir Anthony.

Congratulations, Josephine.

We've signed on our ship's mascot.

Very well, but I don't like small dogs,

and I never did.

Britain may rule the waves,

Sir Anthony,

but the French airship rules the sky.

Already, we are speeding in triumph

across the shores of your homeland.

It's raining as usual, I see.

- How far have we come?

- About 150 miles.

Hundred and fifty? In six hours?

Is that what you call

"speeding in triumph"?

We'll travel faster,

but now my motors are at half-speed.

What on earth for?

Damn you!

- They must run themselves in.

- Poppycock!

I want full speed!

There are the controls.

If you want full speed,

it is your responsibility, not mine.

What do you say now, Sir Anthony?

I say, I want full speed.

And I mean to have it.

You have your wish, Monsieur.

It's on your head.

- What's happening?

- Somebody route the propeller.

I followed your orders, Monsieur,

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