FORMER SECRET SERVICE AGENT KNIGHTED BY THE QUEEN
Well, I bet I got your attention with that one didn't I? Well it's not every day
that one of your closest friends makes the front-page headlines in the London
Times.
What was that? What friend? How did it happen?
Boy, you are full of questions, aren't you. Well, I suppose I could be persuaded
to tell the story. Or perhaps you could pick up the latest addition of the
London Times.
Huh? It's all sold out? Oh, yeah. That would be Passepartout's doing. He was so
proud of his master that he had to buy up all the issues and send them off to
family and friends. Can't blame the man, though, it was quite an adventure.
What adventure you say?
Well, if you've got the time to listen, I guess I have the time to tell it.
Oh, by the way, my name is Jules Verne. I'm a student at the University in
Paris. Or at least I was. It makes it rather hard to keep up with your studies
when you're gallivanting around in a large dirigible trying to save the world
from the League of Darkness.
Dirigible? League of Darkness? Well, if you'll stop asking so many questions and
let me tell you the story, you'll find out all about them.
The dirigible is owned by a man named Phileas Fogg.. ,what?... .Oh, you've heard
of him, have you. Yes, he used to belong to Her Majesty's Secret Service. One of
her best agents actually until his brother was killed on assignment. After that,
Fogg sort of fell apart. But he's doing much better now, thank you. Well, at
least for the most part.
I suppose it would help If I introduced you to the other main characters of the
story before I begin. That way you won't have to stop me again with more
questions.
There's Rebecca Fogg. She's Fogg's cousin. Absolutely stunning woman.... uh, did
I just say that? Oh well, I guess it's a good thing she wasn't around to hear
that. Anyway, she's an agent of the Secret Service herself - doing very well and
making a name for herself.
And Passepartout. He would be Fogg's faithful valet. Now, there's a man that's
all heart. Totally loyal to his master, need I say more?
Okay, okay. Enough about us. Before I start in, though, I'll have to give you a
little background. That way, I won't have to start at the very beginning and we
can get into the action that much sooner. Sound good? Great.
It really started with the theft of the Bloodstone of Healing. An ancient
artifact that had once been a part of a much larger artifact known as the Crown
of Souls.
The Crown of Souls was made of the purest gold, laced with platinum highlights,
and set with three bloodstones which rode high on its crest. In addition, many
other gems of lesser value adorned its surface.
But its beauty was beguiling, for the Crown of Souls was a very powerful and
very evil relic. Among themselves, scholars of such ancient items, whisper
stories of it's great evil and the many awful powers associated with it.
In essence, the crown is able to absorb the attributes of a dying soul. In
particular, the dying soul of a person the wearer kills or whose death he is
ultimately responsible for. At the time of death, the person's soul would enter
the crown and be assimilated into the wearer.
The crown was originally forged in ancient Egypt for a powerful Pharaoh by the
evil necromancer Daglan. In order to safeguard the secrets of the crown and
make certain that none but he would ever wield it, the evil Pharaoh used his new
prize to kill the magician. With the death and absorption of Daglan's power,
the man would become invincible so long as he wore the crown. The Pharaoh then
used the evil power of the crown to extend his evil empire into the neighboring
lands.
On the eve of his greatest battle, in which he was certain to crush the last
bastion of goodness left in those dark and distant lands, his plans went astray.
The evil warrior was riding along a dark back country trail with his entourage.
As the night wore on, a heavy mist seemed to seep up from the very ground
itself. About an hour later, his band was attacked by a small party of warriors
from the land of Cush, the land he had been about to enter. Taken by surprise,
the Pharaoh was thrown from his horse, and the crown upon his head rolled aside
and was lost in the mist.
The short battle which followed ended with only minor wounds for the Pharaoh and
his troops. As his men cleared the corpses from the road and began to loot
their fallen bodies, he set about finding his prized crown. After searching all
night and finding nothing, he fell to his knees and cried out in frustration.
"It seems to have vanished into the mists themselves!" How could he go into
battle without his most secret weapon? But soon, his men had convinced him that
it was not the magic within the crown that made him so powerful as it was his
own natural wisdom and strength.
And so, pride comes beforeth the fall.
The next week in battle the evil Pharaoh fell and was killed. Upon seeing his
death, the rest of his officers fled, leaving the army without direction and
soon they were also defeated.
What had happened to the crown?
The attack by the small party of warriors the week before had simply been a
diversion. The crown had not been lost in the mists as the Pharaoh had
supposed. It had been snatched up by the only warrior not fighting in the
battle. During the brief battle as his compatriots sacrificed their lives, he
took the crown back to his lord where they hoped to dispose of the evil
artifact.
But the crown could not be destroyed by normal methods, try as the people of
Cush did. Not even great magic succeeded. After several near fatal attempts it
was decided that the crown should be disassembled and simply buried. The
leaders of Cush had a special box made of pure gold assembled in which they laid
the crown. Three smaller boxes were also constructed in which each of the
bloodstones was placed. Then in a ceremony where they asked their gods to guard
and protect it from the hands of evildoers, they buried the boxes in the Temple
of Re, the god of the sun, where it laid undisturbed for many many years.....
Until the year 1839 when the Temple of Re in Cush, now known as Nubia, was
discovered and excavated by French Egyptologist Augutste Mariette. Although the
temple held few riches for the excavator, he did uncover the golden box that
held the Crown of Souls.
Also in Mariette's party was a young englishman by the name of Marcus Baeuvin.
Baeuvin, with a degree in ancient history from Oxford, also spoke many ancient
languages. He was able to translate the warnings on the golden box and relay
them to Mariette. Mariette, not being a very superstitious man, considered the
warning a fanciful tale and ignored it. Baeuvin could not. Without telling
Mariette of the power of the three bloodstones, he hid them amongst his
possessions and replaced them with three similar stones he had found earlier.
Since the dig in Nubia had been funded by the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, that is
where the Crown and all the other items they had discovered were placed.
Everything except the three bloodstones which Baeuvin took with him back to
Europe, where several years later as curator of the British Museum, he was able
to place one in the British Museum, the second in the Louvre in France and the
third in the Museum in New York in the Americas. He figured with the crown in
Egypt and the bloodstones placed in three different countries, he would avert
the possibilities of anyone ever reassembling the artifact.
So, tell me. Does this sound like something a group calling themselves the
League of Darkness would be interested in obtaining?
Well, Baeuvin, now Lord Marcus Baeuvin, thought so when a few months ago the
bloodstone came up missing. Despite all his efforts to guard the artifact - like
hiring only those he trusted to watch over it when he himself was unable, and
placing an alarm on the shatterproof glass that surrounded it - one night it
simply vanished.
Baeuvin was now forced with a decision. He could say nothing, hoping the thief
had no idea what he had stolen, or he could come clean about what he had done so
many years earlier. Unfortunately the decision was made for him when it was
discovered that the stones in the Louvre as well as New York had also been
stolen. Baeuvin had no choice but to come clean.
The night after the theft he gained an audience with Queen Victoria herself and
told her what had happened. Most fortunate for all of us, Her Majesty agreed
with Baeuvin's motivation if not his execution. Something had to be done. And
there was only one person she trusted enough to take on the job.
Most fortunate for us, for if it had been anyone else doing the requesting, I
seriously doubt Fogg would have taken the job.
Okay, enough background. I can tell you're ready to get to the action. Hope you
enjoy the story.
* * * * * * * *
CHAPTER ONE
In Which The Services of Phileas Fogg Are Requested
"Chattsworth?" Just the sound of the man's name sent a shiver down Fogg's back.
"Why in the bloody h-Il would I want to see Chattsworth?"
Rebecca puffed out her cheeks in frustration. She had known this would not be
easy. "Because he would very much like to see you." She said sweetly.
Fogg turned to regard her, one eyebrow arched in a patronizing manner. "Oh, I
highly doubt that, Rebecca. I believe he despises me more than I despise him. If
that's at all possible."
Oh, it's possible, she thought but instead said, "Oh alright, Phileas. It's not
that he would like to see, it's that he needs to see you."
This time the other brow went up. "Really?" he exclaimed, a smile catching at
the corner of his lips. "Needs to see me? Well, that's positively intriguing."
A full-blown smile broke out on Rebecca's face before she could stop it, and she
playfully swatted her cousin's arm. "Oh, shut up, Phileas."
The smile was catchy. Fogg grinned at his younger cousin as she walked over to
the desk in the parlor of the Aurora and picked up the piece of paper she had
dropped there a few moments earlier. She unfolded the note as she walked back.
"See for yourself, Phil." She remarked as she handed it over to him. The note
was short, sweet, and to the point. Very Chattsworth.
Rebecca,
Have a very delicate situation come up. Secrecy is imperative. Need Fogg.
Chattsworth
"A delicate situation?" Fogg repeated as he looked up.
Rebecca shrugged. "You know as much as I do. The note came by messenger just an
hour ago and I came here as soon as I could get away."
Fogg refolded the paper very neatly and handed it back to her. "Well, I've
nothing better to do tonight. Passepartout has the weekend off and it's really
rather boring around here without him."
"You're all heart, Phileas. Aren't you the least bit curious?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "I can't think of anything Chattsworth would have to
say that would in the least bit interest me."
Well at least I've got him to go, she mused. Wasn't nearly as difficult as I had
expected...
"I've a coach waiting outside." She replied.
* * * * * * * *
"Have you noticed how busy it is around here today?" Fogg inquired as the
carriage finally rolled to a stop outside the walled entrance to the building
housing the British Secret Service.
"Busy?" Rebecca repeated. She hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. There
was the occasional carriage rumbling by and a few passersby walking along the
cobbled streets, but nothing that wasn't normally there whenever she paid a
visit to the office.
He nodded his head out the window of the carriage. "The extra guards on the roof
and as we passed, I was able to count at least one guard at the corner of each
of the buildings within the city block."
Rebecca sat up straight and leaned past her cousin to look out the window
herself. She had to stare up at the roof for several moments before she was able
to pick out the men that Phileas had so casual observed. And she had not noticed
anyone along the street that would have made her pause to think they might be
agents of the Secret Service.
"No, I had not noticed." she admitted slowly, not wanting to, but realizing that
Phileas already knew she hadn't. He always knew when she slipped up.
"Ah," was his only response. He climbed out of the carriage then and turned to
help her down. She couldn't help but notice the flick of his eyes as he scanned
the area around them. The hand that held hers was stone hard, reflexes ready at
a second's notice, but to a casual observer, Fogg would have seemed relaxed and
completely unaware of his surroundings.
"Do you think something is wrong?" she whispered, dropping her voice so low that
he barely heard the question.
"Wrong? No." he answered. "Expected. Yes."
He held his arm out and she placed her hand demurely on his wrist. To anyone
watching, they appeared a perfect gentleman and his consort as they walked at a
casual yet determined pace through the gate and down the walk toward the door.
Once inside they were promptly greeted and told that Sir Jonathan Chattsworth
awaited their arrival in his office. As outside the building, Fogg noted the
increased number of guards that seemed to be mulling about, appearing
lacksidasical yet tensed in readiness. This time Rebecca was quick to notice as
well. She caught her cousin's eye and nodded. He smiled in response. She was a
quick learner.
* * * * * * * *
Sir Jonathan Chattsworth was the head of the British Secret Service, yet one
would have been hard pressed to guess so upon casual observation this evening.
He had been pacing a hole in the Oriental rug covering the floor of his office
for a good two hours now. Ever since the messenger had left the building with a
message for Rebecca Fogg. Although he knew without question that she would come
immediately upon receiving the note, he was not so sure she would be bringing
her cousin. Phileas Fogg was a very hard man to pigeonhole. Just when you were
certain you had his responses all figured out, he would go and do something
totally unexpected. And that frightened Chattsworth more than anything else. A
man that could not be predicted was a dangerous man indeed. Especially when that
man was as full of passion as Fogg.
Perhaps I should have told him at whose behest his presence was requested, he
thought. Surely he would not decline that invitation. So Chattsworth berated
himself for not having done that very thing. Of course, he had not done it in
the first place because of his ill feelings towards the man. But as head of the
Secret Service, he should have been above such feelings. D-mn that man for
bringing out such things in me.
A knock at the door brought him abruptly out of his revelry and he hurried over
to his desk, sitting down behind it, before speaking. It would not do to find
the head of the Secret Service pacing nervously up and down the carpet. "Who is
it?" he called out, hoping his voice sounded calmer than he felt.
"Rebecca Fogg." came the young woman's reply.
Chattsworth swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "Come in."
The door opened a moment later and his prized best agent flowed into the room.
He thought flowed, because Rebecca Fogg had a way of filling a room with her
effervescent presence whenever she walked in. She, like her cousin, was a force
that could not be ignored.
Behind her, walked in Phileas Fogg and Chattsworth breathed a sigh of relief. He
had not relished the idea of what would have happened had the young man not
come.
"Ah, Miss Fogg. Glad you came as soon as possible." He got up from the desk and
walked around it to greet her properly.
She inclined her head. "Sir Jonathan."
Chattsworth then glanced up at Fogg. The younger man was regarding him with the
intensity of a cat watching a caged bird. And that's exactly how he felt. "Fogg,
good of you to come."
A slight smile formed at the corner of Fogg's mouth. "How could I resist,
Chattsworth, It's not very often that one is needed." The emphasis on the last
word made the older man cringe. He had dreaded wording the invitation that way,
but he could think of no other word that might appeal to the man's senses.
'Well, yes...." Chattsworth started to stutter out. Fortunately he was saved
further embarrassment by a familiar voice that sent both Foggs twirling around
in their tracks.
"Yes, Mister Fogg, your services are quite needed."
For the first time in his life, Phileas Fogg was at a loss for words. Rebecca
made a small noise in the back of her throat and curtsied deeply to hide her
surprise. If the speaker had been anyone but the Queen of England, Chattsworth
would have thoroughly enjoyed the flustered expression on Fogg's face. As it
were, however, he felt the need to step in...and quickly.
"Your Majesty, I present to you Phileas Fogg and his cousin Rebecca Fogg."
Fogg recovered quickly and moved forward to take the Queen gloved hand in his.
He bowed deeply at the waist and kissed the knuckles of that hand. "Please
forgive my rudeness, Your Majesty," he said as he straightened to his full
height, nearly dwarfing the poor woman. "I was unaware we had company."
The woman reached out and gently patted the hand that still held hers "Normally
I would have waited to be introduced, but I am afraid that time is not a luxury
we have at the moment."
She waved a small hand toward the chairs gathered around Chattsworth's desk "Let
us have a seat first and Chattsworth with tell you what is required."
Fogg escorted the Queen to the nearest chair and assisted her in sitting. He
then in turn helped Rebecca, and finally took a seat for himself. Chattsworth
waited until all three were seated before returning to his desk.
"I am sure you have heard about the disappearance of the Bloodstone of Healing
from the British Museum last night." he started.
"Disappearance?" Fogg repeated. "I had assumed it was a robbery."
"That is what we are letting the newspapers report, Fogg. But they have not been
given the entire story." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk.
"There is more to this theft than what meets the eyes." And for the next forty-
five minutes he proceeded to tell them why.
There was a few moments of silence after Chattsworth finished in which the two
Foggs sat, digesting what had been said. Finally Phileas broke the silence.
"Do you actually believe all this...this," he was wont to say nonsense, but he
did not wish to offend the Queen if she did, so instead he just left it.
"I'm not sure what I believe right now, Mister Fogg." The Queen replied. "But
someone believes it is true. In the interest of national security I would know
who that is and what they plan to do with the crown."
"Well," Rebecca remarked, "It's an inside job. That much should be completely
obvious. Has someone checked out the guard who was on duty?
The Queen nodded. "Her name is Marion and she is Lord Marcus's daughter. She is
above suspicion."
Fogg sat back in his chair, elbows on the arms of the chair and his fingers
steepled in front of him. It was a posture Rebecca knew well. She stopped
herself from making a comment, deciding it was best to let her cousin think
through what he was about to say instead of blurting - as she was always wont to
do.
"Begging your pardon, Your Majesty," he replied slowly, "No one is above
suspicion. Not even Lord Marcus. We are, after all, a very self-centered race.
Everyone - even someone as above reproach as Lord Marcus - has a price. It's
just that not everyone's price is monetary."
Chattsworth actually blanched. Rebecca's eyes threatened to pop out of her head,
but she bit her lip to keep from making a remark. She knew if she kept quiet
long enough, Phileas would make a point.
The Queen, however, was intrigued. "And you. Mister Fogg, have you a price?"
"I am only human, Your Majesty." A small smile crossed his face as he looked
over at Chattsworth. "Despite what some people may think. It is based, of
course, on your priorities."
"Do go on, Mister Fogg. You have my interest peaked. And the honor of Lord
Marcus at stake."
"Let us say, for example, that Lord Marcus was to find out that his beloved wife
was deathly ill. Her only hope of making a full recovery is to undergo a very
expensive operation. He does not have the expenses to cover the operation, nor
does he wish to impose on his closest friends. He does know, however, of a
certain artifact in the Museum - where he is curator - that would fetch a hefty
price. He fabricates an elaborate hoax to cover the theft, making it nearly
impossible to discover the true culprit. He then sells the artifact to someone
willing to pay what he needs. His wife is saved and no one is the wiser for who
would dare accuse him of such villainy. His price you see, was not the money,
but the life of his wife."
"That is a very frightening thought, Mister Fogg." The Queen replied. "Then are
we not to take a gentleman at his word? Are we to consider everyone suspect?"
"This can be a very frightening world, Your Majesty. Even a true gentleman has
a price, but he will let you know when his price has been paid for he will not
ask you to take his word."
"Ah," she smiled in understanding. 'Very enlightening, Mister Fogg. I am very
glad to say that you are on the side of the British government. Such
intelligence in an enemy would be too frightening to comprehend. I knew you
would be the man for the job."
Fogg pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. "What would you have me do with
the stones once I find them?"
The Queen was happy to note that he had not said 'If I found them.' "You are
to return whatever you find and whoever you find to Sir Jonathan. We will then
decide what needs to be done."
Silence reined for the longest of moments as Fogg sat in his chair, fingers
steepled before him again, lips pursed, and a faraway glaze to his eyes. Three
sets of eyes watched him. And when he finally spoke, three sets of lungs finally
breathed.
"I'll need all the information we've secured so far." He replied, "And I'll need
to speak with Lord Marcus and his daughter. As well as everyone else that had
access to where the bloodstone was kept." He gazed intently at the Queen. "I'll
also need complete license to do what I think needs to be done."
She smiled. "If you can give me your word as a complete gentleman, Mister Fogg,
that whatever you do will be in the best interest of England and the Queen."
Fogg couldn't help but return the smile. "You have my word as a gentleman, Your
Majesty,"
"Than complete license you shall have." She glanced over at Chattsworth. "Give
Mister Fogg whatever he requires, Sir Jonathan. That includes manpower. This is
to be considered priority one with maximum privacy." Her eyes narrowed then as
she saw the expression spreading across the man's face. She knew very well of
the animosity between the Head of the Secret Service and the best agent it ever
had. Their feud was no secret. "And, Sir Jonathan, he answers to know one save
myself. Is that understood?"
Rebecca shot her cousin a reprooful look. Now was not the time to gloat. Fogg
raised an eyebrow as he caught her eye, but his face did not change expressions.
He knew better than to provoke a fight in such unfair circumstances. There would
be plenty of time for that after the job was done.
(
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