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.

Jules jumped to his feet to confront the figure, then felt slightly foolish as he realized its feminine shape. Not that he had not had problems with females of a villainous bent before, but this one was merely standing silently watching him. He could see no signs of guns, knives, or anything else that might be interpreted as a weapon. She was dressed completely in black, including black gloves and a thick black veil. Very tall for a woman, he noted, almost as tall as Phileas. "May I help you?" he said finally.

For a moment there was no reply, then the veil stirred. "You are Monsieur Jules Verne?" The voice was muffled by the veil, and Jules could not guess at her age from the sound.

He nodded, realized she probably could not see too well, and spoke. "Yes, I am." He was still too wary to remember his manners. Lately, strangers had meant trouble and only trouble. "And you are?"

There was a suggestion of a chuckle in the muffled voice. "You could not pronounce my real name. For now, you may address me as Madame Coates. That is close enough to suffice."

Had Jules been a cat, his fur would have started rising. All that black and no real name. He edged away, sidling along the length of the library table. "And, what can I do for you, Madame Coates?" he asked cautiously.

"A small thing. But, important. At least to me. However, the explanation is long and standing is tiring. Will you come with me to my coach?"

Jules weighed his options carefully, go to the carriage with Madame Coates or refuse? Not long ago, he wouldn't have hesitated, but considering the turns his life had taken in recent months...

"I'm sorry, Madame. I really can't go with you."

She didn't look at all pleased at this. From what he could tell, that is, since the woman's face was covered with a black veil. Hm. Maybe he should ask her to sit down and talk here?

Before Jules could open his mouth, two more figures advanced out of the darkness. The League of Darkness, that is. He backpedaled, but couldn't go very far because of the book-covered table at his back. Wonderful. Jules frantically scrambled over the chair and around the table, but not quickly enough.

THWACK!!!

"Ouch!" Yelled Jules, turning to face his attacker.

"Sorree," grimaced the generic, black-clad League of Darkness minion.

"You imbecile!" Shouted his partner, while Madame Coates snorted in disgust. The fellow had whacked Jules upside the head with a three-foot loaf of bread, which now crumbled uselessly to the floor. The fellow hadn't even used a crunchy, stale loaf! These fellows were obviously NOT on the League's A-list of goons.

"Why did you hit me?" Questioned Jules.

The first goon answered, "Well, to knock you out, duh. You refused to come with our shill, so we had to get you ourselves."

"You could have grabbed me, or threatened me with a weapon, or something," Jules complained. "You could even have asked. There are two of you and only one of me and you're both bigger than I am. Everyone always hits me on the head." His hand rubbed the mild bruise. "Ew, it's all greasy! I just washed my hair, too." He turned angrily to the goons who stood cluelessly next to the black-clad woman.

"Well, grab him, you fools!" She shouted.

"Ya don't hafta yell, sheesh," griped the second goon, moving forward.

Well, he had given them permission to just grab him, so the first goon wasn't expecting the sharp kick to his kneecap. He hopped around on his other leg going "owowowowow!" until he collided with a chair and fell over. The second goon laughed uproariously at his companion's plight.

"Do I have to do everything myself?" Said the woman to no one in particular. "You're coming with me, Monsieur Verne."

"What for?" He asked, fairly certain that he could outrun the guards and the woman.

"To advance the plot. We'll never get anywhere if you don't come with us!"

"Oh." Jules leaned back on the table thoughtfully.

"I'll go with you," Jules said after a brief pause. "But let me gather my things first."

Verne reached over to the window sill and grabbed a knapsack and reached to pull down a red scarf that was hanging from the window latch at the center of the sash.

As he did this, he glanced out the window and, as expected, was answered with a flash of light - the sun reflecting off a mirror.

That was reassuring. Rebecca and Phileas had seen the signal which meant the League had fallen into their trap.

Jules turned toward the lady Coates and struggled to keep from smiling. "I'm ready to leave now, Madame Coates. May I ask where we are going?"

"Never you mind, Jules Verne," Coates answered, with a peculiar emphasis on his full name. "We'll take care of the little things, you simply need to keep your eye on the future."

They made a solemn parade out of the library and into the street, one of the minions in front of Jules and the other behind, with Madame Coates bringing up the rear. Jules decided it would not hurt to try and give the hidden Foggs a clue. "Where are you taking me?" he asked in a slightly louder voice than necessary.

Madame Coates shook her head, or at least her veil. "You do not need to know that. Even these two imbeciles do not know where we are going. I will drive the coach."

The imbeciles exchanged glances. "I don't like this," one muttered to the other.

"Neither do I, but we ain't been paid yet," the second replied.

They rounded another corner into a dark sidestreet. The coach waiting there was large and the windows had been blackened so that the interior was invisible. Madame Coates gave a coin to the street urchin who had been holding the horses and waved him away. "Get into the coach, Jules Verne," she ordered.

Jules dared not glance around to see if the Foggs were in sight. He followed instructions, opening the door and mounting the steps. When he turned to sit, he almost let out a yelp of surprise. Crouched behind the door where he could not be seen was Phileas Fogg with a shushing finger to his lips.

Jules sat in the far corner, doing his best imitation of threatened innocence at rest. A moment later, the two thugs joined him inside and were dispatched with businesslike thumps on their respective heads by Phileas's walking stick. As the coach started to move forward, Phileas opened the door and rolled the extraneous passengers out. He then sat opposite Jules and smiled somewhat wearily. "That's that, then," he said. "Any idea of our destination, Verne?"

Jules shook his head. "Is Rebecca following?" he asked.

"She is in a coach and Passepartout is overhead in the Aurora. We'll soon learn where the League intended to take you this time."

The coach took off as Phileas and Jules looked out the windows.

Strange, Jules thought to himself. The panes of glass are dark from the outside, but transparent from the inside... someday mirrors will be like this.

Within moments the coach stopped. Jules looked through the leaded glass pane at a confectionry & tobacco products store.

"Our captors either have a sweet tooth or need a smoke," Jules surmised, pleased with his deduction.

"Verne, over here," Philease responded in one of his stop-annoying-me voices.

Jules turned to notice Phileas motioning to the view from the other side of the carriage.

"An 'abandoned warehouse,'" Phileas corrected him. "Definitely a place suitably unpleaseant enough for the League of Darkness."

Another carriage with faster-trotting horses pulled along side the Coates-driven carriage. Suddenly their carriage shook, and the spooked horses started trotting away - Jules and Phileas could hear and feel the struggle above, but could not get out of the carriage for there were no finctioning handles on the inside.

A loud smacking sound of fist upon flesh was followed by a thumping sound with a vocalized "umph."

Rebecca must have dispatched the driver, Jules thought. He hoped.

Slowly, the carriage made its way back to its previous destination and the driver climbed off the carriage.

The door on Phileas' side opened. Jules peered out and was greeted by one of Rebecca's charmingly crooked smiles.

"Jules, Phileas do come along," She matter-of-factly ordered them out of the contraption. It was a habit with her: ordering people about. And with Phileas, too, Jules noticed.

As he stepped out the the vehicle onto the litteres cobble street, Jules looked to Rebecca while asking, "Did you see what happened to Mrs. Coates?"

"Oh yes," Rebecca chuckled, "she apparently made an unannounced call upon the local haberdashery."

Jules looked concerned, "Was she harmed in the fall?"

While righting her hair and clothes, Rebecca brushed of Jules' concern along with the accumulated dust of her recent activities, "Your dear Mrs. Coates looked safe as houses for someone sprawled across the threshhold of a dry goods shop."

Rebecca closed the door, trapping the two unconscious thugs and walked past Jules and Phileas toward the warehouse. She sized up the door then forced it open.

Turning to them she sighed. "Shall we make of go of it, or would you two rather engage in more meaningless small talk?"

Without word, the two men followed her into the darkened entrance.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim room, Jules looked around. This place looked familiar; it felt as if he'd been in this very warehouse multiple times. Except the lighting was different, the walls were painted different color and the furniture had been moved around a bit.

Nah, Jules thought. It was just his imagination playing tricks on him again.

An unlit lantern was sitting upon a nearby sideboard table. Jules walk over to it with his back to Rebecca and Phileas. He lit the lamp with the matches he kept in his breast pocket. Light filled the room.

"There, that's better," the Frenchman said, turning back toward his companions.