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.

Jules' mouth dropped open. "Phileas!" he gasped. "What - why -"

Fogg interrupted him. "Verne, honestly! You trusting fool! I *told* Rebecca you would fall for it and -"

"Re- Rebecca? She knew -" Suddenly, Jules' amazement turned to anger. "You tricked me! But why, Fogg? What reason can you have?"

Fogg sighed, and sat back in his seat. "Well, it was not entirely a trick," he admitted. "I really did need to pick you up, *without* being recognized." He held up one hand to silence his companion. “But really, what were you thinking, going off with a strange woman?”

“But she wasn’t a strange woman –“ Jules began, and Fogg snorted.

“Don’t play word games with me, Verne, I am not in the mood. How many times have we told you to be careful? There are those who would consider you a rare prize – and yet you walk straight into the arms of strangers without a thought.”

Jules blushed. “I am sorry, Fogg. But she – I mean you – well, I didn’t sense a threat from her – er, you – oh, you *know* what I mean!”

Phileas gave a gusty sigh, and then chuckled, shaking his head sadly. “Verne, Verne, what can I do to make you understand the dangers you face?” He regarded the young writer steadily and smiled. “I shall just have to resign myself to becoming your perpetual rescuer.”

“I am sorry,” Jules repeated. He sighed and added, “I will be more careful, I promise.”

Fogg’s lips twitched. “Well, I suppose that will have to do.”

Jules frowned. "You said you needed to pick me up without being recognized. Those two men at the Library – were they looking for me?"

"Not exactly. They were looking for ME, although finding you would not have been a bad thing, from their point of view. Bait, you see," he added, as Jules began to ask another question.

"Bait?" Jules considered this. "But why are they looking for you, Fogg?"

Phileas paused, and carefully peeked out through the curtains. "That will have to wait, Verne," he answered. "We are due to meet Rebecca and Chatsworth in -" he glanced at his watch, "ten minutes. In the meantime, you can explain to me what you were doing in that musty Library."

Jules swallowed his questions. Phileas Fogg would tell him whatever he chose, *whenever* he chose. Quickly he filled Phileas in regarding his search.

At the end, Phileas was frowning. "Damn. I am sorry I didn't see that sketch of the Phoenix. It is not a thing I would like to see fall into the wrong hands." He glanced out the window again, as the coach drew up to a stop.

With a grimace, Phileas pulled the veil back over his face. "Remember, Verne, my name is Madame Coates."

Passepartout is waiting for them at the reception desk. "The Aurora is waiting out back."

Fogg nodded and lead Verne out back to the Aurora. As it lifts off, an armed figure emerges from the bushes. "Fogg, look!" Verne cried. The figure pulls out a large gun and takes aim at the Aurora.

Fogg pulled out a pistol and shot the figure in the shoulder. The Aurora was safe and Fogg can tell Verne why he was so cryptic. "Jules, do want to know why I didn't want to be seen?"

"We have found a device that could allow the League of Darkness build there own "Phoenix".  Altering time to keep Fogg and the others from stopping there.

"Once we get our equipment we can stop the League of Darkness." said Fogg.

"England, first." Phileas stated to Passepartout, as the valet set the correct course and lifted off.

Jules, rather confused, shook his head. "Another Phoenix? But how?"

"How is hardly the question." Fogg replied. "Where and when is more important." He rubbed his eyes, "Let's see now...Already today I have dressed as a woman, seduced young Verne from the library, and been shot at. Overall, rather par for the course. If only I didn't have to look at Chatsworth!"

Passepartout laughed and called over his shoulder, "Dresses the master likes--only Chatsworth he hates!" Jules broke into a large grin as Phileas' mood seemed to be restored.

"I suppose we *could* put Sir Jonathan in the dress and then shoot at him." Fogg pondered the possiblity. "Would any of Rebecca's fit?"

Passepartout again replied, "Miss Rebecca could spare that purple one that you don't care for, master." He grinned like a monkey.

Jules while enjoying this little bit of repartee, felt compelled to speak of more serious matters. "Fogg, who were those men shooting at us and why are you so unconcerned? Isn't there danger here?"

Phileas suddenly sobered. He spoke quietly to his young friend as his earlier levity evaporated, "The danger is quite real. That anemic attack is proof enough. They were not really trying to kill us so much as delay us, I think. Rebecca will know more. But, if I am not mistaken, I believe a trip to Mexico is in order."

Mexico? Verne thought. All his recent research may be of some help after all! His spirits rose at the thought. He opened his notebook and began to scribble.

They arrived in London in good time to moor the Aurora in Countess Eggleton's park adjacent to the grounds of Spannerling House. There was a plainclothes policeman waiting for them when they arrived, and he had been waiting for quite a while to judge from the installation he'd built for himself -- a brushwood lean-to, a fire, a pot of hot tea, some sausages roasting on a flat rock.

As Phileas and Jules exited the Aurora -- leaving Passepartout to finish the standing down procedures -- the policeman accosted Fogg with a polite bow, offering a square white envelope. Fogg looked at the address on the envelope and frowned, but it said merely "Phileas Fogg, by hand," so Jules could only guess that Fogg recognized the handwriting.

"Damn," Fogg said. "Chatsworth."

Jules had noted that Fogg could in fact express himself in very concise terms when necessary. "When?" he asked, losing hope for a chicken sandwich at Savile Row prior to embarking on their next step. "Now," Fogg said, and nodded at the policeman, who broke into a quick jog for the waiting coach-and-four.

Whitehall was quiet when Jules and Fogg arrived. The corridors were dark, the offices still. The guards on watch nodded Phileas through on face-recognition; Phileas led Jules swiftly to Chatsworth's office. Jules was having a hard time keeping up. Fogg was in a hurry, as if to get an unpleasant experience over with; and went through to Chatsworth's office through its half-open door without bothering to stop and knock.