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.

Jules was no fool and he had been a star pupil in the Fogg School of Sneaky Tricks. Without waiting for the goon squad to recover, he grabbed one of the piles of books on the table and hurled it at them. Another stack was heaved in the direction of the mysterious Madame Coates. The dust from the tomes alone would have been enough to immobilize any unsuspecting human, not to mention the fluttering pages and heavy bindings.

Jules snatched up his notebook and the book with the Aztec drawing and ran through the confusion. With a prayer that the authorities would not remember that he had also been indirectly responsible for the last trashing of the library, he shoved one of the heavy shelves over in the baddies' direction to further delay them. Then he headed, not for the stairs where they might expect him to go, but for the back part of the building.

He reached the door he was looking for and eyed it for a moment warily. "I know you lead to a dark alley," he told it. "I know that dark alleys are not my forte. But, when you gotta go, you gotta go." He plunged through and down the rickety set of outdoor steps.

The alley was indeed very dark. The darkness was augmented by a heavy mist that seemed to have come up from nowhere. Jules selected a direction and started to run again. He stumbled over unidentified objects that he did not care to invetigate and kept going. He was finally forced to stop and lean against a wall from sheer exhaustion.

Once he caught his breath, he took stock of his surroundings. He felt fairly certain he was still in Paris, since he did not think that he had run completely out of town, but nothing was familiar. He was considering where to go to ask directions (even though he was male, he was not, as has been pointed out earlier, a fool) when he went stiff.

Something poked him hard in the middle of his back.

Jules squeezed his eyes shut, certain that he was about to be shot or skewered or something else equally unpleasant. Then he heard a familiar voice.

"Tsk. Really, Jules, another dark alley? Haven't we taught you anything?"

Jules' eyes flew open and he spun around to find himself face to face with Rebecca Fogg dressed in an elegant gown and wielding a parasol. He nearly sagged with relief.

"Rebecca! What are you doing here?"

"Saving your precious derriere...again, so it appears. The question is, what are *you* doing here? No, wait, let me guess," she held up her hand to stop him just as he was about to go into a rather involved story."Tall woman, all in black?"

Jules was astounded. "Yes! How did you..."

Rebecca sighed. "I was afraid of that. This is very bad, Jules. We have to..."

At that moment they heard voices and then the two thugs from the library appeared in the alley.

"There he is!" One of them shouted, just in case there was any doubt as to who they were after.

Rebecca quickly looked for a means of escape and decided on the door behind her. "Hurry, Jules, in here," she ordered.

Jules did as he was told and bolted through the door which led to a narrow set of stairs that went up. He and Rebecca ran up the stairs and found themselves in a long, dim hallway with several doors on either side. Jules could hear giggling and other... sounds coming from behind the doors. He was trying to figure out what those sounds might be when one of the doors opened and a scantily clad woman appeared. She took one look at Jules and smiled alluringly.

"Well, hello," she said in a sultry voice. "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

Jules stood rooted to the spot, having forgotten how to talk all of a sudden. But just as the woman began to approach him, Rebecca put herself between them possessively.

"Sorry, dear, this one's taken," she said in a tone that meant business.

The woman looked sincerely disappointed, but she turned and headed down the stairs at the opposite end of the hallway.

Jules stared after her, wondering how she got her corset to fit that way...

Then he turned to Rebecca in horror. "Rebecca! Do you know where we are?" he hissed. "This is a..."

"A brothel. Yes, Jules, thank you for pointing that out."

"But we can't hide here," he protested.

Just then they heard footsteps on the stairs behind them. Apparently the thugs weren't so stupid as to figure out where they'd gone.

"It seems we don't have any choice," Rebecca told him, then she began opening doors, trying to find an unoccupied room. "Ooops, sorry...I beg your pardon...Oh, do carry on. Ah. Here's one. Quickly, Jules, inside."

They entered the room and shut the door behind them. It was a dingy place, making Jules' garret seem like a palace in comparison, but it would have to do. Rebecca went to the window and tried to assess the possibility of escape that way.

Too late. The footsteps in the hall were getting closer. And closer...

Rebecca made a quick decision.

"Jules, kiss me."

He stared at her in utter shock. "What?"

"We have to make this look real. Now kiss me."

"Rebecca, I can't just..."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake." Then she grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him squarely on the mouth just as the door to their room flew open.

Jules had been wanting to kiss Rebecca for a long time. Well, now she was kissing him, but not under circumstances where he could enjoy it.

The door burst open; a tall figure filled the doorway making escape unlikely.

"Verrrne!" Phileas nearly shouted, "What the devil do you think you're doing? Rebecca and I saw those men chase you into the alley and now I find you..." He broke off.

**I could imagine steam coming from those aristocratic ears, if I didn't think I was going to die.** "Mmmff...Fogg! This isn't what it looks like. We thought it was the league coming after us." Jules attempted to explain, while Phileas drew closer.

"Rebecca! You should know better..."

"Shhh! Phileas. Keep your voice down or they'll find us."

"Really, as if a bit more noise makes one whit of difference in this sort of establishment."

"That may be true in general, but two men arguing sounds a bit unusual. This isn't THAT sort of establishment." Rebecca retorted.

Jules flailed his arms a bit helplessly during this exchange, as Rebecca had not seen fit to stand up yet. "Rebecca.." He tried to call some attention to his plight.

"What? Oh, I am so sorry Jules. Let me help you stand up, all right?"

A door banged loudly, followed by several heavy footsteps and the odd shriek or two. This time it was the league.

"Quick, Phileas, close the door!" But it was too late--the pair of league goons had already seen him.

**Well, I am a gambling man...** thought Phileas, **if this works out right..." He ran down the hallway, slamming the door behind him. **I hope this pays off.**

In the tiny room, Jules and Rebecca looked at each other, worried more about Phileas than themselves.