Jules Verne sat in the library of the Sorbonne. The hour was late and he knew that he should be returning to his cheerless room, but the library was warm and the chair, while not exactly comfortable, was much better than the one that resided under the table he used as a desk. The pile of books beside him did not contain treatises on the law, for which he felt slightly guilty, but instead were the libraries reference volumes on that strange civilization that once ranged over large stretches of the country now known as Mexico, the Aztecs.

The pictures in this latest book showed sketches of devices found by explorers as part of that civilization. Jules was looking specifically for any mention of anything that might be a part of that strange vehicle he and his friends knew as the "Phoenix." This peculiar machine had the ability to move through time the way that Phileas Fogg's dirigible Aurora could sail through the air. He was about to give up on this one as well when he spotted a diagram that looked familiar.

He turned the pages of his own notebook to find his sketch for comparison. "Yes!" he said triumphantly. "They match!" He scribbled the name of the book down next to his drawing. When next he saw Phileas, Passepartout, and Rebecca, he would have something to report.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Someone was coming. Someone silent. A shadow fell across his notebook. He turned quickly to look.

The sound of the walking stick's 'whap' as it landed in the middle of his notebook, nearly made Verne jump out of his skin, if that were possible. In a spastic and badly executed defense tactic, the student attempted to both grab the notebook and retreat at the same time. This merely resulted in Jules dropping his book, overturning the chair, and soundly landing on his Nantesian rump.

Alas, his execution of such preservational tactics needed much work.

Verne's instinct for danger was considerably honed by numberous run-ins with the League of Darkness. Always, they sought to capture him, or his notebooks or both.

The voice that answered Verne's rather pathetic attempt at escape was cool, English, and slightly annoyed.

"For the love of God, Verne! Haven't your professors instructed you a million times to =pay attention=? Haven't =I= instructed you to do the same? Yet, here you are in some musty little corner, buried in a book, oblivious to the world..."

Verne attempted to staunch the forthcoming lecture from Phileas Fogg. However, that hope dwindled into nothingness as the Englishman stood glaring like Napoleon overseeing the troops... well, perhaps Mons. Bonaparte wasn't the best analogy.

"You really =must= be little more prepared."

"I know, Fogg."

"You could be grabbed and thrown under a pile of these dusty tomes for a century, at least, before anyone would even =notice=... let alone find you!"

"I know, Fogg."

"And then, =who= do you suppose would be required to dig under all these moldy papers in search of you?"

"You, Fogg."

Fogg laughed. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. I would have Passepartout do it!" he added matter-of-factly.

"How did you find me?" Verne asked his protector.

"I followed a trail of breadcrumbs..." the Englishman answered. "Somewhat stale, french, bagette breadcrumbs. Verne, if you are =not= in that hovel that you call your apartment, and you are =not= in that hovel that you call a bistro, then it stands to reason that you are...=here=. Now gather your papers and your wits and let's go. Rebecca is waiting outside."

As Jules busied himself trying to gather together his things and recover some of his dignity Phileas bent over to pick up Jules's notebook and retrieve his walking stick. His face fell when he saw the sketch of the Aztec version of the Phoenix that had been built by young Al.

"Damn! Verne, I thought we agreed that you were to destroy this and..." Phileas froze as he caught site of the design in the book Jules was quickly closing.

Jules had wanted time to think of a way of bringing the subject up without incuring Phileas' wrath. He knew Fogg felt the machine was only trouble in a civilization not yet ready for it. But his own curiousity had driven Jules to find out more.

Fogg reached out grabbing the book and quickly thumbing through it, arrived at the diagram and tore it from the book.

"Fogg! You can't just destroy the library's property!" Jules whispered hoarsley, trying to contain his emotions. But his rage nearly boiled over as Fogg ripped the sketch from his notebook. Fogg saw that the young man looked as though he were about to have an apoplectic fit!

"If you could find it, so could the League of Darkness. Really, Jules you need to learn how to protect yourself, even from that curiosity of yours. We sent that infernal machine off into time and space for a reason. We sunk the other at the bottom of the Mississippi. The last thing we need is the League capturing you and the plans for that monstrosity at the same time! Now come on or we will be explaining ourselves to Rebecca."

With that, Fogg folded both sheets of paper and stuck them in his pocket, took up his walking stick and headed out of the Library at a pace Jules would have had a hard time keeping up with even if he hadn't been standing there dumbstruck. Recovering himself Jules hurried to catch up.

As they exited the Library both were in to much of a snit to notice the Observer lurking in the shadow of the library behind the corner of the stone edifice. He watched as the two men entered the carriage with Rebecca and headed off at a furious pace.

Rebecca could sense the tension as soon as Phileas and Jules entered the carriage. They barely greeted her and then sat on opposite sides of the elegant coach staring out the windows.

"Um, is everything all right?" Rebecca asked.

"Everything is just fine, dear cousin," Phileas replied from his seat next to her. His voice was cold and he did not bother to look in her direction. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Jules said absolutely nothing.

"Ah," Rebecca replied and sighed inwardly, thinking what a very long night it was going to be. "Well, Jules, did Phileas at least tell you where we're going?"

Jules glared at Phileas who refused to meet his gaze. "No, he didn't. It must have slipped his mind while he was destroying valuable personal property."

Rebecca looked at her cousin aghast. "Phileas, is this true?"

"I am really not in the mood to discuss it," Phileas snapped back at her.

Rebecca took a deep breath to hold her temper in check. She knew that tone of voice and it meant that Phileas could not be reasoned with no matter what. After a moment she turned back to their young French companion.

"Well, Jules, we're on the road to Versailles."

"Versailles? Why all the way out there?"

"There have been rumors, you see, about a ghost haunting the place the recently and from the descriptions it sounds very much like that starman creature we encountered at Shillingworth Magna."

That got his attention. Jules leaned forward in the coach and completely forgot about his tiff with Phileas.

"You think there might be another one?" he asked eagerly.

"That is exactly what we hope to find out," Rebecca said and couldn't help smiling. Jules was so adorable when he was enthused about something. "And since you've had even more experience with this creature than we have, I thought it best if you come along."

"Thank you," Jules replied sincerely. "I really appreciate this, Rebecca."

"Not at all. And with any luck we'll be able to solve this mystery once and for all."

Jules sat back in the coach and was soon lost in thought as he contemplated meeting another starman. Neither he nor his companions were aware of the lone figure on horseback following them just out of sight. Nor we they aware when that same lone figure suddenly slipped into the woods when they reached the French countryside.

Some time later Jules was beginning to doze to the rhythm of the carriage when the horses neighed and they came to an abrupt stop. They couldn't possibly have reached Versailles yet. The three traveling companions stared at each other and then Phileas lowered the window to call to the driver.

"I say, man, why have we stopped?"

"I'm sorry, sir," the driver quickly apologized. "But there seems to be a body in the road."

Phileas and Rebecca exchanged glances. "I do not like this," Phileas growled.

"Neither do I," Rebecca replied. She removed her hat and with the quick efficiency of long practice, began divesting herself of her outer garments. "I'll get up on the roof while you take a look at the body."

Phileas reached into an inner pocket and brought out one of his small pistols. He handed it butt first to Jules. "Keep your eyes open," he instructed the younger man as Rebecca, now attired in her form-fitting working costume, left the coach via the window.

Jules nodded to Phileas and moved so that he could see behind the coach. All previous grievances were forgotten as they responded to the potential threat. He had learned that the Foggs had an almost preternatural awareness of danger. There was something definitely eerie in the quiet of the night and the nervous movement of the horses.

Phileas drew another gun from his pockets and opened the coach door. He slid out without exposing Jules to any lurkers in the woods, and carefully approached the figure huddled on the road. The smell of singed cloth and flesh was in the air, but the body did not appear to be burnt. Phileas knelt and examined it closely without touching it.

The clothing was that of a farmer or gardener, the boots dusty and the shirt less than immaculate. From the back Phileas could see no sign of injury. He put out a gloved hand to turn the body over.

Phileas had seen death in many forms and believed himself prepared for it, but even he could not suppress a recoil and a gasp. Running down the front of the body in a line that might have been drawn with a straight-edge was a two-inch-wide strip of charred flesh. It started at the forehead, ran down the face and chest and along one leg. The clothing was seared to the scar where it was not gone altogether. Conquering his revulsion, Phileas removed a glove and touched the flesh. It was cool, but not cold. The body had been dead some time, but not more than two or three hours. There was no sign of rigor setting in.

He stood and called to Jules. "Verne? Come out here and bring one of the rugs with you." They could do nothing for the dead man and Phileas had no intention of leaving one of them with the cadaver. They would move it out of the road and notify the authorities in Versailles.

He turned and saw Jules and Rebecca approaching. "It is rather nasty," he warned them. There was no point in telling Rebecca not to look; she would do so anyway.

"Very nasty." Rebecca's voice was even, but her face was paler than it had been a moment ago. "What do you make of it, Jules?"

Jules hastily spread the rug over the body. When he could trust himself to speak, he said, "It looks like it has been hit by lightning. But there hasn't been a storm anywhere near here for days."

"That was my thought," Phileas said. "Ridiculous though it seems."

At that moment, Jules's hair seemed to stand on end. With a strangled cry, he pulled Rebecca and Phileas closer to him and away from the coach. From out of the clear sky, a bolt of blinding white light came streaking down and struck the coach which burst instantly into flames. Phileas started for the coach with a thought of saving the driver and horses, but another bolt landed between them and the flaming carriage.

Phileas whirled and pulled the others after him into the woods on the side of the road. Yet another flash set the trees behind them burning. Wordlessly, they plunged deeper into the forest.