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?"

 Chapter 3: Leaving the Library

Jules paused, and the woman leaned a bit closer.

“I understand your hesitation, Monsieur Verne, but it is imperative that you come with me immediately.” She glanced around briefly, then murmured, in a voice so soft he could barely catch it, “There are those who would gladly prevent this meeting… very… dark and troublesome individuals – do you understand?”

Jules caught his breath. Could she mean – the League of Darkness? He glanced around the quiet Library, and suddenly made his decision. He caught up his notebook and coat.

“Very well, Madame, I will accompany you.”

The woman made a sound of triumph, and caught Jules by the arm. “This way,” she whispered, "the front entrance is being watched.”

She led him through the dark Library, into the store-rooms in the rear. She indicated a set of double doors.

“This way, Monsieur Verne, through the loading-dock. We must hurry.”

Suddenly Jules was aware of the sound of footsteps coming up behind them, hurrying footsteps, that did not sound like the usual shuffling footfall of the aged Librarian. He hurried after the tall woman, who had already opened a door, and was looking outside.

“It is good,” she whispered, as Jules came up beside her. “We are unobserved.” A large black coach pulled up into the alleyway at the back of the Library. The driver was unrecognizable in a hat, dark coat and scarf. “Very good, here is our transport,” smiled the tall woman.

Swiftly they exited the building, and entered the coach. As they left the alley, Jules, looking out the window, saw two men exit the Library by the door they had just used. It was impossible to recognize them, by the brief glance he had, but he did notice that one of the men wore a scarlet vest beneath his coat.

The coach turned into the street, and Jules turned back to the woman. Was she his abductor, or his rescuer? He opened his mouth to speak, but the woman stopped him with a gesture.

She flung back her veil, to reveal – the handsome face of Phileas Fogg!

“Surprised?” Fogg asked.

"Surprised?" Jules laughed, "Not in the least, Fogg. You forget I live in a part of Paris where many men dress up as women for the stage to put bread on the table. And you, Fogg, for all your gracefulness, do not make make a believable woman."

Phileas shot Jules a nonplussed look, but Verne continued.

"Besides, Fogg," Jules explained, "Your cologne is a dead givaway. You really should.."

"That's enough, Verne," Fogg interrupted. "One of us will have to dress as a convicing woman, Rebecca's life may depend upon it."

With the disguise as failure, Phileas started to peel off the woman's frock to reveal that beneath, he was still fully-dressed in men's street clothes. He repeated with a resigned sigh, "life may depend upon it..."

With those words, shades of panic flashed across Jules' face. "What are you saying? Just yesterday midday she asked me to research the Aztecs of Mexico."

"Forget that, Verne." Phileas was becoming annoyed. "I warn you, if you don't get that nose of yours out of books more often, the world will pass you by. Anyway, as I was saying, Rebecca is in danger. I fear she has been abducted."

"By whom?" Jules was getting impatient.

"I'm not sure," Fogg answered, "but it may be the Turks. Or at least one Turk I know Rebecca has crossed paths with before."

"But, what about Rebecca, where is she?" Jules pressed for more information.

"I have no idea, but she was renting a flat nearby and when I arrived to pay a visit this morning, her rooms were ransacked, and I found this on the front step," Fogg held up an intricate metal ring.

"That's the ring Rebecca got at the Turkish bazaar," Jules said as he grabbed the ring from Phileas.

"As I was saying, I think the Turks are behind it, and we'll need a disguise to break into the Turkish embassy as a cleaning woman." Phileas started explaining an elaborate plan as Jules continued to study the ring.

"Wait," Jules interrupted. "This ring is not Turkish; it's Aztec. Look. This symbol on the ring matches one from the book in the library about Aztecs." Jules showed Phileas Rebecca's ring and how it, indeed, was identical to the sketch he made in his journal.

"Good lord," Phileas said as he tapped on the carriage to signal the driver to change route.

Phileas rapped on the roof of the carriage with his walking stick and instructed the driver to go to where he had left the Aurora parked on the outskirts of Paris. The driver, seemingly unperturbed by the change in the sex of his passenger, turned the carriage about and sent the horses into a brisk trot.

"Do you know who those men from the library are?" Jules asked.

"No, but one of them was watching Rebecca's flat. That is where he picked up my trail. I thought perhaps I could throw them somewhat off the scent with this." He gave the now discarded disguise an irritated kick. "But, as you say, I am afraid I do not make a convincing woman."

"It must have slowed them down though," Jules pointed out. "They haven't followed us from the library."

"Yes, well, there is that." Phileas shifted uneasily. "What else was in that book, Verne? The one where you found the sketch?"

"Drawings of strange devices that were said to be inventions of the Aztecs, or possibly the Toltecs or Mayans. The Spanish explorers of the day were not all that careful to tell them apart."

"More interested in the gold than recording their impressions," Phileas agreed. "So the Phoenix was in there?"

Jules nodded. "A lot of other machines as well. Of course, I don't know the scale, but some of them could have been weapons. It was hard to see past the elaborate decorations to the functional parts. The drawings were not very good."

The carriage pulled to a stop and the two passengers disembarked. Passepartout appeared in the door of the Aurora and ran to them. "Master! Master!" he cried. "Come with me! We must hurry!" His face was flushed, but with excitement or anger they could not tell. Until he spoke again:

"A ransom note has come to the Aurora!"

"Where is it?" Phileas snapped as he thrust the clothing at Jules who took it automatically, even as he echoed Phileas's question.

"Here. In here. Come inside!"

They ran to the Aurora and Jules tossed the clothes into a heap just inside the door. Passepartout produced an envelope and a sheet of paper. "Nothing on envelope," he reported. Not even name. I found on forward deck when I went out. Sealed with wax. No mark."

Phileas took the note and went to the table. He placed it flat so that they could all read it. The handwriting was Rebecca's. There was no mistaking the neat hand cultivated from her boarding school days that could not quite conceal the flamboyance of her personality.

Dearest Phileas:

I have been abducted. You probably don't need me to tell you that, but this is being dictated by my captors who have given me leave to add enough in it so that you will know it was truly written by me and not some sort of clever forgery. As though you could be fooled by forgery.

They want any and all information that we have on the Phoenix, which they are calling 'the Cardinal's Chariot' a la Passepartout. And, what is more ridiculous, they want Jules with it. Apparently they tried for him before coming after me, but couldn't find him. They caught me as I was leaving the flat, like some bloody amateur.

At any rate, their instructions are for Jules to be given all the notes that we have on the subject, including detailed reports of our encounters with it, particularly from Passepartout. When he has them, he is to go to the Café Bleu De Perroquet on the Rue De Feuille and await further instructions. Alone, of course.

They are willing to wait until tomorrow evening, but not much longer than that. I'm not sure what happens then, but I imagine it could be extremely unpleasant. Probably involving losing body parts.

Your Rebecca

there was a silence after they had finished reading. Finally Jules spoke up. "I suppose there isn't any doubt that it was written by Rebecca?"

Phileas replied grimly, "No. It is Rebecca all right. I'm certain of it."