Sat, May 19 2012
Several months later
It was a quiet evening. So quiet the night creatures were silent. So pregnant with anticipation this night, the very air was still. Rebecca Fogg sat in a tree, twenty feet above ground, on the grounds of a butcher shop. She was dressed in a loose fitting black jacket and trousers over her fighting suit against the chill of the late autumn night. She had been up in the tree since dusk watching the movements of the guards. Watching and waiting, she had reviewed her last week of desperate worry and fear.
Jules had been missing three days when she had accompanied Phileas to Paris on the Aurora. Her cousin had sent Passepartout to Verne’s apartments to offer their friend an invitation to dinner. All Passepartout had found had been an empty room with freshly broken spindles on the rail by the door. They had been broken inward as if someone had fallen on them as they fell away from the door. The one chair in the room had been overturned and all his drawings, which camouflaged the holes in the plaster, had been taken. The three of them had in response searched Paris using every source of information possible until one of Phileas’s old friends in French intelligence had found a trail leading to this broken down meat house.
Right now, Phileas and Passepartout were on the ground making their way inside. Phileas had sent Passepartout up to her just before heading off toward the butcher shop. Rebecca had told the valet where the guards she had seen were. Rebecca couldn’t remember ever having seen a League hideout with so many guards. It was like the Tower of London, the place was being so well protected. If the men were caught, Rebecca would be their insurance of gaining help. This wasn’t her idea of course. Phileas insisted she act as their watch guard in this manner. His reasons were perfectly sound, but sitting up in a tree away from the action was contrary to her instincts.
Through her field glasses, Rebecca watched as the two on the ground took down yet another guard as they worked their way closer to the building. ‘That makes five.’
On the ground, Passepartout allowed Phileas to deal with the inert body of their latest successful ambush as he peeked around the corner of the building they had slowly worked their way to. No one was visible presently. The door was only ten feet away. So close, yet more dangerous for its closeness. Passepartout lightly slipped around the corner. There was no sound coming from inside. The valet tried the knob and found it open. That made him very nervous. Open doors he had not expected.
Phileas came up to his back as Passepartout pushed the door open further. The two men shared a look of encouragement, and then stepped into the building. The cavernous main room was full to the rafters with boxes. It would have been a long search had what they were looking for not been in plain view. Jules was trussed up like an aging Christmas goose at the far end of the shop. He was shoeless and shirtless in the chill of the ice-cooled room. The young man’s wrists were bound and used to hang him eight feet off the ground on a hook in a line of beef carcasses. He looked small and frail in comparison to his surroundings. His head was thrown back on his neck, unconscious and unmoving. The position was a macabre imitation of the headless carcasses around him.
The men went to work right away to free him. Passepartout vaulted across the tops of the boxes between him and Verne to the line of carcasses. He set himself for a moment then jumped at the nearest carcass to Jules. He caught the hook over it with one hand and caught a foothold on its ribcage to hold steady. Thus braced, Passepartout leaned out using a knife to saw at the ropes holding Jules.
Phileas came up underneath on a quickly commandeered crate to take the weight off Verne’s wrists as Passepartout worked. When the rope broke free, Verne’s body limply gave itself to his rescuers support. Phileas slowly lowered the young man to the floor. Jules didn’t appear to be hurt other than the damage to his wrists from being hung up. He was breathing shallowly and his skin was like ice. Phileas pulled off his jacket to give Jules warmth. He tried to bring the young man around with a few light slaps to the face, but the attempt was unsuccessful.
‘Jules could be more injured than he looked or he could be drugged,’ Phileas quickly assessed, but that would have to be decided later. Phileas pulled Jules up and onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry giving Passepartout the lead heading out. They were directly under Rebecca’s position in the tree line, moments from safety, when the remaining guards stepped out of the trees and surrounded them.
From the tree, Rebecca saw what was going to happen and watched in angry frustration, as there was nothing she could do about it. Two guards coming from another direction had found one of Phileas’ leavings. The unconscious man had been roughly roused to get a report, as an alarm signal had been given. Five men answered it and had waited here in the trees for Verne’s rescuers.
Rebecca looked on the scene of her team’s capture grimly. It appeared that there was only one gun in the group of guards surrounding Phileas, Passepartout and Verne. Everyone else was armed with knives or clubs. Phileas was ordered to put Jules down by the lead man who held that gun so he could be searched. His and Passepartout’s weapons were found quickly and confiscated. Now the enemy had three guns. They were all however taken into custody by the lead man. He took possession of the weapons like a happy collector.
‘Either that or he didn’t trust his cohorts to know what to do with one,’ Rebecca considered.
Looking the situation over, Rebecca decided that seven to two were bad odds. Six to three would be much better. Mister gun collector was standing four feet forward and twenty feet down form her position. Remembering what Passepartout said about using something to cushion her fall from this height, Rebecca chose mister gun collector’s shoulders.
Phileas didn’t look up, but he knew Rebecca would be right over them. He had known this mission could turn bad too easily and had been proven right. There had been too little cover getting to the building and too many guards. That’s why he had insisted his cousin act as watch guard. After they were taken back into the butcher shop again, Rebecca could climb down and go for help. Expecting that, seeing her fly down from her perch onto the gunman’s head had the last thing Fogg had thought to happen.
The man crumpled under her weight. Rebecca rode him down to ground level standing on his back as his body came to a halt in the grass. She continued down into a squat quickly scooping up one of the guns. She then sprang up again, turning to the next nearest attacker ready for anything. Most of the men around them had been too stunned by her entrance to move quickly. To her bad luck, this one wasn’t as badly shaken. He went into motion in the same instant Rebecca turned to him. As she completed her turn, he kicked out landing a blow on her forearm. Pain shot up Rebecca’s arm numbing her hands. The gun went flying into the dark brush.
Bodies moved quickly after that. Phileas and Passepartout took advantage of Rebecca’s surprise appearance to take on their nearest guards. Phileas smashed the big brute to his left in the chest, knocking all air out of his lungs. That man collapsed into a large lump in the grass. Passepartout’s man didn’t go down as easily. He kicked the bearded bear of a man in the stomach, which felt like kicking a tree. The bear just stared at him with a vicious snarl promising pain for pain. Another man came behind him grabbing his arms before Passepartout knew he was there. The bear’s snarl changed to a smile as he approached. The valet pulled hard against his captor meeting the bear halfway. With the man behind him off balance, Passepartout kicked up, landing a blow to the bear’s right kneecap. From there he landed his next foot into the bears left hip, then climbed up to smash the bear’s chest. Lastly, Passepartout kicked off, using the bear’s great head to start his momentum in a heels-over-head spin. The bear hit the grass on his back in one direction as the man behind him hit a tree on his way to the ground in the other. Passepartout landed on his feet like a cat between the two of them, both of which were now out cold.
In the meanwhile, Rebecca was still dealing with the thug with the club. He had landed two good blows on her besides the one that knocked the gun away. ‘A fair street fighter this one,’ she acknowledged. He had caught her once high around her middle with one arm at one point, but she used Passepartout’s move to climb a nearby tree trunk dislodging herself. He fell hard to the ground behind Rebecca, who landed on her back nearby. They both rolled back up off the ground and began circling again.
Phileas saw Rebecca’s predicament from his place several yards away, but couldn’t help her yet. His second man appeared to be the bear’s brother and was giving both he and Passpartout a hard time. This second bear used a long ugly looking butchers knife against them. He brandished it one way then the other. Phileas had already caught a glancing blow to the shoulder that cut his coat and sliced his arm open. Passepartout had caught an arching slice across the chest. A thin red line of blood was now soaking into his damaged shirt and vest as he continued to fight, working harder to keep out of the knife’s way. With Passepartout on the retreat once again, the bear spun on Phileas, going for his stomach. Fogg saw it coming and kicked hard at the wrist. The bear’s wrist broke from the force. The hand opened sending the knife flying. Now that the bear was unarmed, Passpartout didn’t feel the need to be so cautious anymore. He stepped into the bigger man’s range and landed a hard fast blow to his jaw… then a second one while he was stunned. The valet’s third blow finally put the bear on the ground.
Both men then turned to search out Rebecca. She was still dealing with the same man. The club had been lost at some point during his last attack. In its place, the street fighter had pulled a knife like the one the bear had had. He had it held lightly in his right hand. Phileas took in a breath as he saw what the man was about to do next. His hand shot out straight at Rebecca’s chest. Phileas winced as he stomach clenched in anticipation of the sight of his cousin being killed and he too far away to be of any help. There was no chance of his reaching her.
Rebecca saw her opponent’s next move too. She dropped down and forward into the ground fast in spits. Her attacker’s movement put him close above her as he finished his thrust into empty air. His face was that of almost comical surprise at her unexpected defense. Then it transformed itself into agonized pain as she continued her tactic. Rebecca rammed her fist into the man’s groin. Then she laid back into the ground and spun her outstretched legs in a circle, kicking her opponent’s legs out from under him. The street fighter landed hard on his back curling into a ball to protect his damaged manhood. Rebecca rolled to the side springing up as he went down.
“That’s not fair!” The street fighter said in a high pitched strangled voice.
“No fairer than attacking a helpless woman,” Rebecca countered. The man looked as if he would cry before blessedly being saved the humility in unconsciousness.
Rebecca then turned her attention to her companions to check their condition. Jules was still lying unconscious on the ground. Phileas and Passepartout were both bleeding, but not too badly. Phileas, she noticed, had the most deliciously perplexed look on his face as he came closer taking her by the shoulders. Her cousin was amazed and completely astounded by her new unknown skills and he was so grateful of them and her continued existence, Phileas could barely speak.
“I don’t know where you could have learned such unorthodox tactics cousin, but I think I may kiss your teacher,” he said barely holding back his euphoric relief.
From his position against a tree trunk, holding his wounded chest together, Passepartout grinned hearing his master’s heartfelt gratitude. “Not necessary master,” he allowed considering English reserve and proprieties. “Handshake will do.”
The End
Part 1 | Part 2