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."

The inhabitants of the coach looked at each other in consternation, then as though directed by a choreographer, stuck their heads out of windows to see. The moon was only half full and the shadows of the trees made it difficult to make out the form lying across the road. Phileas and Rebecca went for the door simultaneously, but Phileas got his hand on the latch first, owing to his longer reach. "You stay in the coach," he told the other two.

Rebecca glared. "I will not."

"Yes, you will." Phileas held up a hand to forestall further protests. "This may be a trap. Someone has been following the coach since we left the library."

She did not bother asking if he were sure. Phileas did not make pronouncements like that idly. He often rode facing the rear of the coach to watch for suspicious circumstances. It was a habit left over from his active days in the service. She reached into her reticule, withdrew a gun, and nodded.

Phileas opened the door and swung himself down to the roadway. One of his many specially altered pistols appeared in his right hand as he approached the prone figure. It did not move, even when he prodded it gently with an elegantly shod foot. He gave a final wary glance around, then knelt and turned it over.

That must have been some sort of signal. Flashes of light from both sides of the road coupled with the sound of rifles firing sent the already nervous horses into a rearing, plunging frenzy. Phileas leapt aside to avoid being trampled as the coach streaked away into the darkness. Before he could recover, he found himself buried under an avalanche of bodies. His gun was snatched away and he could not even try to struggle against the weight upon him.

A head appeared over his--one of peculiar shape and shininess. He recognized the helmet of the Observer of Count Gregory with its many lenses. Through gritted teeth, Phileas said, "You've outwitted yourself this time. Verne is in the coach and safely away."

The whispery voice that answered was surprisingly feminine. "I am not after Mr. Verne at this time. It is you, Phileas Fogg, that the Count requires."

Passepartout had followed the carriage from the library. He knew that Phileas had planned to meet Jules there so he could then take Jules and Rebecca to the estate with the strange siting. Passepartout was watching the carriage as it stopped and started again with breakneck speed.

"This not be looking good." Passepartout remarked as he lowered the Aurora and matched her speed with the carriage.

"Oh dear lord!" Rebecca exclaimed as the carriage sped away jostling her and Jules. One thought came to mind. "Phileas!!"

Rebecca stuck her head out the side window and Jules scrambled to look out the back. They could both see two forms on the ground.

"Stop the carriage at once!" Rebecca shouted at the driver who did not seem to hear her.

"Stop the carriage!" shouted Jules joinning in Rebecca's cry and trying to hold his papers and his notebook, afraid they would fly out of the carriage.

"If you do not stop the runaway horses, I will shoot." Rebecca uttered agitatedly. She was doing her best to stand up right with her head and part of her body out the window. She could feel Phileas slipping through her fingers and she could not bear it. She had to stop the carriage.

The driver looked back at her with an evil grin and spurred the horses even faster. Rebecca was almost thrown back into the carriage, but she held her ground. She took aim.

"I warned you.."Rebecca stated matter of factly as she fired at the driver. The bullet, with nearly divine intervention, hit the driver in the neck instead of the head where Rebecca had aimed. He fell from the carriage and was riden over by the wheels. Rebecca was thrown back into the carriage on top of Jules as the horses continued to speed away faster. The carriage tipped over and the horses broke free running out of sight. Jules and Rebecca fell into an unmoving heap on the floor.

Moments later, Passepartout landed the Aurora near the now wrecked carriage. He walked over hoping everyone was well.

"Mr. Jules, Miss Rebecca..you being all right?" Passepartout asked peering inside.

Jules and Rebecca groaned unwilling to move at the moment because it hurt. Rebecca blinked up at Jules, who now lay flopped on top of her.

"Jules, if you would please move, so that I may breathe.." Rebecca asked a now blushing Jules. He moved and with Passepartout's help, gently pulled her out of the carriage. "Thank you.."

Jules collected all of his papers and joined them next to the Aurora.

"Where is Mr. Fogg?" Passepartout asked with concern. He was afraid that Phileas had gotten into real trouble.

"We do not know, Passepartout. He went to check on a body in the road when the madman of a driver tried to kill us. I, for one, would like to know what happened to my cousin." Rebecca replied.

"Someone does not want us to reach that estate, Rebecca. The question is why?" Jules looked thoughtful.

"Well, Gentlemen, we have two choices. We can continue on or we can turn back to find Phileas." Rebecca looked expectantly at Jules and Passepartout. "At least we have the Aurora..."