Chapter 64: His Return!
Dawn broke over the rocky island, painting the Mediterranean waters in shades of gold and amber. Edmond Dantès stood at the highest point of Monte Cristo, scanning the barren landscape one final time. The treasure cave below held riches beyond imagination, but his heart yearned for something far more valuable. Revenge and the life that had been stolen from him.
He descended into the hidden grotto and carefully packed handfuls of precious gems into his pockets. The ancient chest, now mostly empty, was reassembled and buried once more beneath fresh sand and carefully placed stones. With the skill of a master craftsman, he disguised every trace of his presence, planting wild shrubs and watering them until the entrance looked as untouched as it had for centuries.
Six days later, the familiar sight of La Jeune Amélie’s sails appeared on the horizon. Dantès limped toward the shore, feigning weakness from his supposed injury. The smugglers were relieved to see him alive, though they complained bitterly about his absence during a close call with a government patrol ship.
"We barely escaped," the captain explained, his weathered face grim. "If only you’d been there to handle the wheel, your sailing skills could have saved us hours of terror."
Dantès listened with perfect composure as they described their narrow escape and the profits each crew member had earned, fifty gold pieces apiece. Not a muscle in his face betrayed the irony that he now possessed wealth that could buy their entire operation a hundred times over.
That evening, he sailed away from Monte Cristo for what he thought would be the last time.
In the bustling port city of Leghorn, Dantès made his first transformation. He entered the cramped shop of a Jewish gem merchant, a man whose reputation for asking no questions was as well-known as his keen eye for quality. Four small diamonds from Dantès’ collection became twenty thousand francs, enough to begin his new life.
The next morning, he surprised Jacopo with an extraordinary gift: a brand-new fishing vessel, complete with a hundred gold pieces for crew and supplies.
"I need you to do something for me," Dantès said, watching the young sailor’s eyes widen in disbelief. "Sail to Marseilles. Find an old man named Louis Dantès in the Meillan district, and a young woman called Mercédès in the fishing village. Learn everything you can about them."
Jacopo stammered his gratitude, unable to comprehend such generosity. Dantès explained with a carefully crafted lie about being a wealthy man’s son who had been sailing for adventure, recently inheriting a fortune from a deceased uncle. His educated speech and refined mannerisms made the story entirely believable.
In Genoa’s harbor, a sleek yacht caught Dantès’ eye. Built for an English nobleman who was currently touring Switzerland, the vessel was a masterpiece of Mediterranean craftsmanship. Fast, elegant, and built for a single man’s command.
"Forty thousand francs," the builder quoted.
"I’ll give you sixty," Dantès replied without hesitation. "But I take possession today."
The builder’s eyes lit up. Such an offer was too good to refuse, especially since his original client wouldn’t return for weeks. Within hours, Dantès had purchased the yacht with gold coins counted out in a Jewish merchant’s back room.
"I sail alone," he told the builder when offered help finding a crew. "But I need one modification, a secret compartment in the captain’s cabin. Three hidden sections, invisible to everyone but me."
The next day, with his hidden treasure securely stored in the yacht’s concealed compartments, Dantès sailed from Genoa. Crowds gathered to watch the mysterious Spanish nobleman, as they assumed him to be, handle the yacht with extraordinary skill. The vessel responded to his touch like a living thing, cutting through the waves with breathtaking precision.
Some spectators bet on his destination. Spain, Africa, Corsica. None guessed Monte Cristo. In just thirty-five hours, he was back at his treasure island, marveling at his yacht’s speed and his own growing maritime expertise.
For a week, he sailed circles around Monte Cristo, learning every current, every wind pattern, every hidden cove. The island would be his base of operations for what was to come.
On the eighth day, Jacopo’s familiar sail appeared on the horizon. Dantès’ heart pounded as he signaled his friend. Finally, he would learn about the people he’d left behind fourteen years ago.
But Jacopo’s face told the story before words could.
"Your father..." Jacopo began, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"Dead," Dantès finished, his voice steady despite the knife twisting in his chest.
"And Mercédès... she’s vanished. No one knows where she went."
Dantès listened to the crushing news without showing emotion, then quietly asked to be left alone. When he returned two hours later, his face was a mask of cold determination. Two of Jacopo’s men joined his crew, and they set sail for Marseilles.
His father’s death had been expected, prison ages a man’s family as surely as it ages the prisoner. But Mercédès’ disappearance was a mystery that demanded investigation. And there were other scores to settle, other truths to uncover.
The yacht entered Marseilles harbor on a brilliant morning, dropping anchor in the exact spot where, fourteen years earlier, a young sailor named Edmond Dantès had been arrested on his wedding day. Now, a wealthy gentleman with an English passport stood on the deck, his appearance so transformed that his own reflection barely seemed familiar.
The first test came immediately. Walking along the port, he encountered one of his former shipmates from the Pharaon, a sailor who had known him well. Dantès engaged the man in casual conversation, asking questions about the port, the ships, the local news.
The sailor was friendly and helpful, showing not the slightest flicker of recognition.
As Dantès walked away, he heard rapid footsteps behind him. "Sir! Sir, wait!"
His heart stopped. Had he been discovered?
"You made a mistake," the sailor panted, holding out his hand. "You gave me a gold coin worth forty francs instead of a two-franc piece."
Dantès smiled, his first genuine smile in years. "Keep it, my friend. And here’s another for your honesty. Buy drinks for your shipmates and toast to good fortune."
The sailor stared in amazement as the mysterious gentleman walked away. "Must be some rich foreigner," he muttered.
Every step through Marseilles brought painful memories flooding back. The streets, the buildings, even the smell of the sea, everything was achingly familiar yet somehow distant, like viewing his past life through a window.
When he reached the street where his father had lived, his composure finally cracked. The small apartment building looked shabbier than he remembered. The flower boxes his father had lovingly tended were gone, replaced by bare, cracked walls.
"Are there any rooms for rent?" he asked the building’s caretaker, though he already knew the answer.
"No, nothing available," came the expected reply.
"Please," Dantès pressed, "I’d like to see the rooms on the fifth floor. I’ll pay well just to look."
His desperation must have been evident, because the caretaker eventually agreed to ask the current tenants. A young newlywed couple, barely married a week, welcomed the strange gentleman who wanted to tour their modest two-room home.
Nothing remained of his father’s life. Different wallpaper, different furniture, different lives being lived in the same small space. Only the four walls were unchanged, walls that had witnessed his father’s final days, his death from starvation and heartbreak while calling his son’s name.
Tears ran down Dantès’ cheeks as he stood where his father’s bed had been. The young couple watched in respectful silence, sensing the sacred nature of his grief without understanding its cause.
When he left, they promised their home would always be open to him, moved by his obvious pain.
On the fourth floor, he learned that Caderousse, the tailor who had been present at his arrest, had fallen on hard times and now ran a small inn on a country road.
That afternoon, using the name Lord Wilmore from his forged English passport, Dantès purchased the entire building for twenty-five thousand francs, nearly twice its value. He immediately gave the young couple their choice of any other apartment in the building, rent-free, in exchange for the rooms where his father had died.
By evening, news of the mysterious English lord’s generosity had spread through the neighborhood. But greater mysteries followed when the same stranger was seen in the old fishing village, asking questions about people who had been dead or gone for fifteen years.
The family who provided information found a magnificent gift the next morning: a new fishing boat complete with nets and equipment. But their benefactor had already vanished, riding away on horseback before dawn.
As his horse carried him away from Marseilles, Edmond Dantès felt the final pieces of his old life fall away. He had been a naive young sailor, betrayed and destroyed by those he trusted. Now he was something else entirely. Wealthy, educated, and armed with knowledge of both his enemies and their secrets.
The boy who had been dragged away in chains was dead. In his place rode a man with the power to reshape destinies, to reward the faithful and punish the guilty. The treasure of Monte Cristo had given him the means, but fourteen years in hell had given him the will.
His real work was about to begin.
The Count of Monte Cristo would return to Marseilles many times in the years to come, but never again as Edmond Dantès. That name belonged to a grave in the Château d’If, and to a past that existed now only as fuel for the fire of justice that burned within him.