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."

Quickly, Jules grabbed his books together, wondering why Fogg was here to see him dressed in full evening wear. The Englishman's long stride made it nearly impossible to keep up without running.

Rebecca stood just inside the doorway looking at the carriage outside, but turning as she heard the footsteps approaching.

"Thank heavens you're here, Jules."

"Rebecca, what's going on?"

"Your presence has been requested, Verne."

"What, Fogg?"

"I think Rebecca can explain it. After all, it is her assignment."

"Thank you so much, Phileas. Um, Jules..." She stumbled uncharacteristically over her words. What was going on? "Well, as you may be able to notice, we were at a formal supper this evening. It was for the new Italian consul, and it seems he had heard of the mole incident. Louis Napoleon himself remembered your involvement."

"The emperor? He asked to see ME?" Jules said, incredulous.

"No. The consul's daughter wants to meet you. She heard how you helped save the emperor, and the queen. She's only fourteen, Jules, and I think it struck her imagination. Of course," Rebecca's blue eyes teased, "it may be that she simply wants the company of someone other than boring old diplomats and a young Frenchman suits quite nicely."

"How do you know the consul's daughter, Rebecca?"

"She's my assignment."

"Yes," said Phileas depreciatingly, "another difficult job for England's first female agent."

"Oh, hush, Phileas. I'm taking care of her until she reaches London so that the consul can conduct his business here and there unimpeded.

"Does her father know that I'm a student?"

"Yes. It doesn't seem to concern him at all. Of course, Miss Cinzia seems to get just about everything she wants. Ah!"

The girl, it seems, has gotten tired of waiting in the coach. The door opens, and out steps the consulate's fourteen-year-old daughter.

The young girl stepped smartly up to Jules, and looked him up and down. "You must be Jules Verne," she said quietly. "Yes, you'll do nicely."

Jules looked quickly at Rebecca, who immediately stifled her mischevious grin. "Ah, yes, I am, Miss..."

Rebecca stepped forward and announced formally, "Jules Verne, may I present to you Miss Natalia Cinzia. Miss Cinzia, may I present to you Monsieur Jules Verne."

Jules extended his hand, grasped Natalia's delicate fingers, and kissed the back of the young girl's hand. "Charmed, I'm sure," Jules said.

Natalia quickly whipped her hand back out of Jules' grasp. "How dare you touch me without permission?" she fumed.

Jules' eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I'm... I'm..."

Natalia started giggling. "Oh, don't worry, I'm only teasing. If I'd been upset I'd've had Daddy's soldiers kill you on the spot."

That did little to quell Jules' fears. However, he did manage to force a small grin. "Rebecca, how can I ever thank you enough?" he said through gritted teeth.

Rebecca started giggling herself. "Well, for a start..."

Phileas had seen enough. "Right," he proclaimed. "I'd say it's time to head back to the Aurora. Don't you think so, Rebecca?"

"Jules and I want to go walking, don't we, Jules?" Natalia said boldly, as she took Jules' arm in hers.

"No, you don't, Natalia," Rebecca chastised. "I am here to keep you safe, and I say we head to the Aurora."

Natalia began to pout. "No!"

"Are the the English =always= so bossy?" Natalia pointedly asked Jules. Her mahogany eyes flashed defiance at her English keepers.

"Are Italians =always= so annoying?" Rebecca muttered under her breath to her cousin.

Fogg stood there with a rather amused smile painting his lips. Rebecca rarely had competition in the temper or determination department and this child had not hesitated in testing her mettle in either. Heaven help us all, the gentleman thought.

Natalia blatantly ignoring her protectors, slipped a graceful arm through the crook of Jules' arm and began steering him around the corner. She chatted breezily to her French escort, making it obvious that the prescence of Rebecca and Phileas was to be only tolerated...barely.

"Have you ever noticed, Mons. Verne, that the English believe they are the great civilizers of the world, but fail to mention that their people never knew what a fork was until the Italians decided to teach them some manners?"

Rebecca and Fogg fell into an uneasy step behind the two younger people. Phileas glanced at his cousin and imperceptibly shook his head, knowing that his kinswoman was comtemplating treading on Natalia's hemline causing her to fall face first into the nearest gutter.

"I really don't see what all the fuss is about anyway. When Papa told me that I required "protection", I insisted, =insisted= that they not be stuffy. So, what does he send me? Those two." She nodded her head in a backward motion indicating the Foggs.

"I am afraid that your friends have saddled you with the horrible duty," Natalia batted her luxuriously long black eyelashes at the student,"of making my life bearable."

"Of course, I told my Papa, if I am in need of protection, he should send me that lovely Mons. Cavois. He had a true appreciation for things civilized."

Jules turned to look at the Foggs, who had suddenly sobered.

"Cavois?" Jules asked quietly.

"Cavois." Phileas repeated in an icy tone.

Cavois. The name made their mouths go dry, and if the haughty little girl noticed, she gave no sign. Nervous energy seemed to be what propelled them through the streets, as much as each wanderer wanted to stop Natalia and shake her for her words.

“He was such a gentleman,” she prattled on, “M. Cavois is so well educated, so charming. When we were in Vienna, he took me all throughout the Kunsthistorisches museum. He knew about all of the paintings…”

“In Vienna…” said Fogg, hoping to draw the girl’s reverie out a little longer. His voice was strained, as if there was something seductive in the possibility that the missing link to the vanishing Cavois was suddenly only a few persons away. Natalia responded with glittering eyes and an expression irritatingly beyond her years.

“Yes, when I was ten, we lived in Vienna. Oh, such a splendid city, so much more elegant than London.”

Rebecca and Phileas communicated the entire thought to each other with a single look. Cavois had been in Vienna. Domenico Cinzia had entrusted this assassin with his child, and therefore it was possible that the girl’s father knew how to find Cavois.

“And have you seen M. Cavois since then, Natalia?” Rebecca asked. She did not even wish to comment on what the girl’s fondness for Cavois suggested about her personality.

“Oh, no, he simply left one day, and Papa would never say where he went…” Four years was a long time, it could be nothing. The two men may have parted on bad terms, if anyone could survive parting from Cavois under such circumstances. At the same time, it troubled her deeply – a man who was an intimate of Cavois was in London, where he would no doubt have access to many with great power, and therefore Cavois could have access, if Cinzia père saw fit.

“We could go to the Louvre, or the Musée de Cluny. Have you ever seen the tapestries of La Dame et La Licorne?” asked Verne gamely. The girl shot him a disappointed look. Perhaps she was expecting more adventure from a French student. “Although, if you liked Vienna, then you must like cafes...” Needless to say, the mere mention of something with a potential for scandal intrigued Natalia, who turned expectantly towards her guard.

Rebecca’s eyes widened. She expected him to try, but not that much. A café, really, was not ordinarily what she would consider appropriate. Now, though, her sole thought was to find a way to contact Chatsworth and let him know of the connection to Cavois. So far, she had scarcely been able to accomplish the simplest thing with the girl underfoot.

She looked briefly at Phileas, who raised his eyebrows at her. It was not helpful. She looked at Verne, who appeared to be less than enticed with the idea, but she suspected that he was willing to play along with Natalia, if it would help his friends.

Perhaps, if it was the right café…