Chapter 3-Third-Act Reunion

Blayne let herself silently into the sitting room. "Phileas?" she asked quietly.

Jules looked up, a bit startled. "Oh, hi, Blayne."

"Hello, again, Jules." She smiled gently at him. Her entire manner seemed a radical departure from what was typical of her. In no way that Jules could adequately define, she was… changed.

Passepartout hurried in behind her. He walked directly over to Phileas. "Master?"

Phileas stared up at him resentfully. "What do you want?"

"I is thinking it is time for my Master to be sleeping now."

"No, no..." Phileas shook his head violently. "I do not want to sleep. Not until we have rescued my Rebecca..."

"Of course not, Fogg. We understand." Blayne assured him.

Blayne picked up a glass and unstopped a decanter of brandy. Seeming to change her mind, she replaced the decanter and the glass on the table. With a casual glance in Phileas's direction, she emptied the glass vial in her hand into the glass. Jules stared at her in surprise, and opened his mouth. She caught his eye and gave a quick shake of the head. Jules closed his mouth quickly. Passepartout wore an expression of innocence that surely meant that he knew exactly what Blayne was up to.

"Is Master wanting for some brandy?" Passepartout asked gently.

"Yes, please."

Blayne filled the glass and carried it over to Phileas. "Bottoms up, Fogg." She raised the glass in a mock-toast before handing it to him.

He took the glass and took a small sip. "You will help me, Blayne?"

She nodded. "Of course I will. Agent Rizzo and myself are already making plans."

"Him?" Phileas snorted, taking another sip of the brandy. "Is that really necessary?"

"He is a good Agent, Fogg, no matter how you may feel for him personally. Drink up."

Fogg half-drained the glass, and only Blayne's quick hand kept it from falling to the floor as Phileas went limp.

"I is telling Master that he be needing sleep now." Passepartout said firmly. "And now you is seeing that I is right. Master has fallen to sleep in his chair, he is so tired." He smiled innocently.

"Is that what happened?" Jules asked, grinning at Blayne and Passepartout.

"Obviously." Blayne smiled back at Jules for a moment before placing the glass on a nearby table. "What else? Why don't you two gentlemen carry him up to bed?" Blayne suggested. "When you return, we have a lot to discuss." Blayne sat down to wait for the return of the two men. She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back.

"You aren't asleep, too, are you?" Jules asked quietly when they had returned from putting Phileas to bed.

Not moving, Blayne said. "No. Just thinking. Jean, what, if anything, can you tell me about Rebecca's mission that I don't already know?"

"Is not much more to be telling. Is simple finding of facts."

"But why Rebecca?"

"Sir Jonathan is saying is short on men."

Blayne opened her eyes and sat forward in the chair, her arms resting lightly on her knees. "Let's all have a drink and discuss matters."

Passepartout quickly filled three glasses. Wine for himself and Jules and scotch for Blayne. "You is thinking that this is wrong?" he asked, sitting down.

She nodded and stood up. "I can think of no godly reason why a man with Sir Jonathan's resources should be so short on men that he would have to send someone in Rebecca's condition across enemy lines." Putting her glass down, she began pacing. "No, scratch that, I can think of one." She fell silent, staring absently into the fire.

"What?" Jules demanded, staring at her. "Talk to us, Blayne."

"It's this. My organization has been losing a lot of men lately."

"In ambushes like the one you and your partner walked into?" Jules asked.

"Yes, but the thing is..." She hesitated. "Jules, I lied about how Johansen died. I shot him in self-defense after he had already shot me."

"I don't understand." Jules said hesitantly.

"Neither do I. He was a good Agent. Solid. This is not the kind of thing he would ever have done. And yet he did... And this is not the first time."

"You is meaning that others of your people is going pop and shooting at you?" Passepartout stared at her, wide-eyed.

"Not just me. All throughout the organization. It's senseless. Random."

"You think that maybe Sir Jonathan has been having a similar problem?" Jules asked.

She nodded. "The thought had crossed my mind. Which only explains why he sent Rebecca, not what happened to her."

"Even best Agents is sometimes making mistakes." Passepartout said softly. "Miss Rebecca is being one of best, but maybe she was not well enough to go..."

"You think a straight foul-up might have gotten her caught?" Blayne asked. "It's not unreasonable."

"Look, how are we going to get her back?" Jules asked. "We don't even know if she's still alive, or where she's being held."

"We do know she's still alive." Blayne corrected him.

"You do?" Jules shook his head. "How?"

"Forget about it." Blayne advised. "I've got my people engaged in an intensive search for Rebecca as we speak."

"What about your problems?" Jules asked, frowning. "Surely you wouldn't draw resources from that investigation even for Rebecca's sake."

"Of course not. We've got man-power enough to go around, Jules. Don't worry."

Passepartout had sat silently through this exchange. Finally, he asked, "You is having people enough in Prussia to help us?"

"I have people everywhere they are needed a week before they know they will be." Blayne informed him flatly.

"I is seeing..." Passepartout nodded.

Jules scratched his head. "Why does the American Secret Service have so many Agents abroad?" he asked.

"Ah, Master Jules. Miss Brenna no is working for Americans. She work for... multi-national organization." He beamed at having produced the words properly.

"Is that true?" Jules asked.

"It is. We employ Agents from all over the world. We're headquartered in Alexandria." She looked at Passepartout. "Jean, there are times when you talk far too much." she noted dryly.

Looking hurt, Passepartout opened his mouth to reply when Jack Rizzo came bursting into the sitting room. "We have a hit on Rebecca Fogg!" he announced happily.

"A hit?" Jules asked, frowning.

"They've found her." Blayne supplied for him. "Can I get you a drink, Rizzo?"

"Please." He nodded and sat down. "She's being held in a Prussian prison on charges of spying. Bren, you were right."

She handed him a glass of wine. "About what?"

"That creep Chatsworth was confronted by the Prussian ambassador four days ago. He said none of his Agents had any business in Prussia and that as far as he knew Rebecca Fogg was still in the country recovering from an injury incurred on her last assignment..."

"I could strangle him ..." Blayne sighed.

"Not that it isn't exactly the kind of thing he would do." Rizzo noted. "I mean, certainly Rebecca would never tell them who she was. She'd die first."

"And he'd let her." Blayne sighed.

"Which means that we have to get to Prussia yesterday." At Blayne's sharp look, he added, "Figuratively speaking, of course." He grinned. "So I was figuring we borrow Fogg's air-ship and do a hit-and-run, snatch-and-grab kind of operation."

"I like that plan." Blayne nodded. "Passepartout, can you foresee Fogg denying us the use of the Aurora?"

"To be saving Miss Rebecca, Master will certainly be saying yes to anything. Shall I prepare her to leave?"

"Please do." As Passepartout quickly left, Rizzo rose as well. "I had better go pack."

"Do that. I think a long-distance raid would be safest. Land the Aurora several miles away from the prison and take them by surprise."

"I like that plan." Rizzo smiled at her and bowed before leaving.

"Sounds like you two do this kind of thing a lot." Jules noted softly.

Blayne jumped. "Well, we see our fair share of action." she admitted, sipping her scotch. "As you seem to, Monsieur Verne." She smiled at him over the glass's rim.

Jules grinned and bowed his head. "Well..." He shrugged, then pressed on with his questioning. "But, I don't understand. If you don't work for the Americans, who do you work for?"

"I work for... the people I work for." She smiled and bowed her head. "As Passepartout said, we are a multi-national organization. We don't owe our allegiance to any government. No the Americans, not the British, not the Russians or the Ottomans."

"But who funds you?"

She smiled. She had not expected such a practical question from a young dreamer like Jules. "We fund ourselves. Many of our members have... marketable skills."

"I don't understand."

"We own patents on certain inventions. We own a number of plantations and orchards. Very mundane stuff, really." She smiled up at him. "And there a handful of rich families that contribute to the cause."

"What is the cause?"

"You do know how to jump right to the point, Monsieur Verne." She smiled at him. "Um, I guess you could say Democracy is the main thing we strive for, but there are others. We are very strong believers in the free exchange of knowledge."

"Is that why you fight against the League?"

"The League fights against us, Jules Verne, against the future. We just... fight back."

"The future?" Jules smiled. He absently wondered exactly how much about him she actually knew. Could she know how much those words would speak to him? Was that why she had chosen them.

"Is there any cause more worth fighting for?" she asked quietly. "You've seen the future, Monsieur Verne? Then you know what it is we fight for." She sighed gently and sank into a reverie so deep that Jules was reluctant to disturb her.

"What do you call your organization?"

She blinked, surprised by the question. "We have many names, most secret."

"It seems odd to me that a group dedicated to the free exchange of information should keep itself secret from the world."

"How better to protect ourselves?" She took his hands in hers. "Look at me, Jules. Can you doubt my sincerity?"

He shook his head, taken aback. "No..."

"Good." She smiled and gave his hands a little squeeze. "During numerous religious persecutions throughout history, members of the religion being persecuted have gone under-ground to protect themselves from those who would persecute them. We've done the same to protect ourselves from the League."

"Then you were public at one time?"

She nodded. "And almost wiped out in less than a year." She smiled at him again. "And since I know that you are simply fishing for enough information to identify us, I must respectfully decline to answer any further questions along this line."

Jules blushed and bowed his head. "I though I was being clever."

"You were." She winked at him. "But unlike you, I do this for a living." She rose quietly and left Jules to his thoughts.

Jules stared after her thoughtfully, wondering what it would be like to have that amount of poise and confidence. And that strength of conviction.

Blayne joined Passepartout in the Aurora's kitchen. "Jean?" she began.

He turned from his packing and smiled up at her. "Bren?"

"Jean, I am very worried about Fogg."

"We is all being worried, Bren." Passepartout frowned slightly. He got up. "But when we is finding Miss Rebecca, he is being better. Right?"

Blayne sighed. "I'm really not sure."

"I is not understanding."

"He has this... connection to Rebecca, Jean, and I think that it might be what's causing most of his distress now."

"Is not just being upset, then?"

She shook her head. "I think he's experiencing some measure of whatever discomfort Rebecca is in."

"This is... possible?" He frowned dubiously.

She nodded. "Fogg has a rare talent It's untrained, but it's there. And where Rebecca is concerned, that talent is amplified. I really don't know why or how, but..." She shook her head. "Jean, if anything happens to Rebecca, I can't imagine what would happen to Phileas, though I'm guessing it won't be pretty."

"You mean… if she die... he die too?"

Blayne closed her eyes. "If he's lucky." She sighed. "Jean, you've seen the way Fogg takes loss. It's never a pretty sight... But Rebecca. Her death would shatter him."

"But he is eventually to be getting over even this..."

She shook her head. "Jean, I have long viewed Rebecca as the only thing which keeps Phileas alive. This is not just psychological. It is spiritual."

"Oh." Passepartout was silent for several minutes. Then he brightened visibly. "Then we is better being that much more sure to be rescuing Miss Rebecca quickly and in only one piece."

Blayne could not help but smile at his optimism. "Bless you, Jean." She hugged him swiftly. "We'll leave as soon as Rizzo returns."

"Will my master yet be awake?"

"Probably not, which is probably just as well. You know how he feels about Rizzo."

"All this fuss he is making over one little innocent flirtation to Miss Rebecca." Passepartout shook his head. "My Master is being very territorial at times."

Blayne smiled and nodded. Sometimes, smiling and nodding was best. "We'll carry him aboard. You don't have to worry about waking him."

Passepartout nodded. "Is good, but... when will Master be awakening?"

"In another six or seven hours."

"Is long time. Miss Brenna's sleep-potion is making Passepartout's looking like warm milk."

"I had your 'warm milk' once, Jean. Woke up ten hours later with no memory of where I was or how I got there."

"Ah, but you was sleeping well?"

"Very well." she admitted with a laugh. "Do you have a stretcher of any kind that we can carry Fogg on?"

"I is getting it."

*****

Jules sat silently in the Aurora's sitting room. In fact, everyone was silent, except for Agent Rizzo who sat on the floor gently strumming a guitar. Jules would not have called the sounds issuing from the guitar 'music' but Rizzo seemed pleased with the results. Wearing a faint smile, he bobbed his head in time and occasionally tapped his foot against the floor. Blayne was staring at him in disgust. She had been unaccountably reluctant to allow him to bring the guitar on board in the first place, but Jules noted that her foot occasionally tapped in time with the strange 'music' Rizzo was making. She would catch herself, stop, and make angry faces at Rizzo.

Finally, she jumped out of her seat and started towards the stairs. "I'm going to check on Fogg."

Passepartout looked in from the steering cabin. "Is you needing help?"

"No, no help, thanks." She grabbed a satchel that Rizzo had brought with him and started up the stairs.

Jules rose to follow her. "Don't, man." Rizzo advised mildly.

"But…" Jules stared uncertainly after Blayne. He was concerned about Fogg's safety for no good reason he could name.

"He'll be fine, man. Bren can be an uptight short-hair at times, but she cares about him."

Uptight short-hair? Jules stared at Rizzo for a moment before sitting down again. "Did you write that thing you were playing?"

"Nah. It's a Hendrix. Star-Spangled Banner."

Jules nodded although this failed to clarify anything at all. "Do you know any others?"

"There are very few I don't know, actually." Rizzo grinned at him. "I hear a song once and I can play it note-perfect. Here, check this one out. I always tease Bren about how much it sounds like her."

In spite of himself, Jules moved his chair closer to Rizzo. He had inherited an interest in music from his mother. Yet another of his interests that his father had disapproved of. When Rizzo struck up the opening notes, Jules was almost relieved to hear that this sounded much more like actual music than the previous piece. He was surprised when Rizzo began singing. The man had an amazing voice, substantially more mellow than his speaking voice. He even managed to sound serious, and more than a little sad.

"She would never say where she came from:
Yesterday don't matter when it's gone.
While the sun is bright,
Or in the darkest night
No one knows.
She comes and goes.

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday.
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still I'm gonna miss you...

Don't question why she needs to be so free
She'll tell you it's the only way to be.
She just can't be chained
To a life where nothing's gained
And nothing's lost.
But such a cost...

'There's no time to lose,' I heard her say,
'Catch your dreams before they slip away.
Dying all the time...
Lose your dreams
And you may lose your mind.
Ain't life unkind?'

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday.
Who could hang a name on you?
When you change with every new day
Still I'm gonna miss you…"

*****

Unaware that she was the object of a serenade less than ten feet below her feet, Blayne moved silently around Phileas's room, not wishing to wake him. She quietly filled a basin with cool water and soaked several washcloths in it. By the time she was done, Phileas had begun to stir. She wrung the excess water out of one of the cloths and gently caressed his face with it.

Somewhat revived, he covered her hand with his. "Re… becca?" he groaned, trying to make out her face in the darkness.

"It's Blayne." she replied gently, moving the cloth over his throat and bare chest. "How do you feel?"

"You drugged me…"

"I deemed it necessary that you sleep." Blayne said without remorse or shame. "If nothing else to allow me to better assess your condition. So how do you feel?" She continued moving the cloth over his bare skin, offering him what relief she could.

He sighed. "Rested. Weak…"

"Still? Is it better?"

"It's worse." he sighed.

Blayne echoed the sound. "And your connection with Rebecca?"

Phileas stared up at her in the darkness. "Why do you believe in this thing? When no one else does…"

"The human race is composed primarily of idiots, Fogg." she snapped. "How is your connection with Rebecca?"

"Weaker. It's slipping away from me. She is slipping away from me…"

Blayne sighed. "Will you let me try something?"

"What?" He stared warily up at her.

"Something that might strengthen your bond with her."

"Do it." Phileas said quickly.

"You don't even know what it is yet. Do you really trust me that much?"

"It depends on the time of day and the prevailing winds." Phileas smiled weakly at her. "What does it involve?"

"I give you a shot and I show you how to put yourself into a mental state that will strengthen the bond. It's called hypnosis."

"What's in the shot?" Phileas asked, frowning.

"An agent that will… strengthen your natural abilities."

"What natural abilities?" Phileas shook his head. "You make less sense than Passepartout at times."

"Still strong enough to whine, I see." Blayne opened Rizzo's satchel and pulled out a syringe and a glass vial. "Well?"

Phileas sighed. "I should know better by now than to trust you with syringes full of mind-altering drugs." Phileas noted. "Will it help you find Rebecca?"

"Undoubtedly." She filled the needle and carefully tapped out the air-bubbles. She sat on the side of the bed and took his arm. She held it firmly under her left arm and looked for a good vein. Pinching his left upper arm with two fingers on her left hand, she used her right to slide the needle in. "I'm going to inject now." she said, removing her fingers from his upper arm. "This may sting a bit. Try not to flinch."

Phileas nodded. As promised, it stung rather badly. He made a face, but did not move or make a sound. By the time Blayne slid the needle out, he was already becoming light-headed. "How does this work?"

"You just lay back and relax. Listen to the sound of my voice and try not to focus on anything else. Okay?"

"Okay…" He nodded weakly.

Blayne sighed and pulled his arm into her lap. She felt for a pulse before beginning. He was already weak, and the rational part of her mind could not believe that she had just given the man such a powerful drug under the circumstances. His pulse was slow but strong. She kept her fingers positioned over his pulse-point as she began.

"Fogg, I want for you to breathe very deeply. Nice deep breaths, in through the mouth and out through the nose. Concentrate on your breathing…" She waited until his breathing had slowed substantially before continuing. "Now I want you to listen. How many people, including yourself, can you hear breathing?"

"Two."

She nodded. "Good. Now concentrate very hard and listen for a third person. Listen until you hear her breathing." She waited.

"I hear her. Is it Rebecca?"

"Does it sound like her?"

Phileas, who would have recognized the sound of Rebecca's breathing in a crowded room, nodded.

"Good, now listen for her heartbeat. Do you hear it."

A slight pause, then, "Yes…"

"Good. You can hear her heart beating. Can you hear yours?"

"Yes…"

"Good. Concentrate on yours now. Keep Rebecca's in your consciousness, but focus on yours. Focus on controlling it. Make it beat in unison with Rebecca's. Can you do that."

"I'll try…" Phileas muttered uncertainly. He began breathing very deeply.

Blayne felt his arm relax and his pulse change. It was faster, more irregular, weaker. "Is it done?"

"Yes…"

"Good. Your mind is now occupying two bodies at once, Fogg. Do you feel that?"

"Yes. It's… strange."

"I'm sure it is. You can tell which one is yours because of my hands on your arm and my knee against your side. Do you feel these things?"

"Yes…"

Blayne sighed in relief. "Perfect. Now, tell me what the other one feels like."

"My arms hurt. They're slippery."

Blayne frowned. "From what?"

"I think it might be blood. There are chains on my wrists. I'm hanging from my wrists. My feet aren't on the ground."

Blayne winced. "What else hurts?"

"My back. My sides, my ribs. My legs and feet… So many chains. They were kicking me before, hitting me, but they've stopped now."

Blayne bowed her head. "Open your eyes. Tell me where you are."

Phileas's eyes remained shut. "It's dark in this place. It smells. I can only open my left eye. The other is too swollen…"

Blayne felt tears sliding down her cheeks as she envisioned Rebecca hanging from the ceiling of a dark, smelly cell, bloody and battered. "Is anything broken?"

Tears were now streaming down Phileas's face as well. "Maybe my ribs. Very hard to breathe."

Blayne nodded. "Okay. You need to remain calm. I want you to come back to yourself now. Feel my hands on your arms." His pulse became stronger. "Do you feel them?"

"Yes. But I want to go to her again…"

"No, Fogg. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. For now, you have to forget what you've experienced here."

"I don't want to."

"You have to, for her sake. You need to be strong for her now."

"I'll try."

"Don't try. Just do it. She needs you to be the strong one right now. Later she can be strong for you. Now, you must be strong for her."

"Yes…" He nodded.

"Good. And once you've forgotten what has happened here, you may come back to me. Not until then. And when you do, you'll feel stronger, strong enough for both of you."

Phileas nodded and after a time, his eyelids fluttered. His pulse was normal again. He began sitting up. Blayne reached out and helped him. He groaned and made a face.

"Why does the inside of my mouth taste like a sewer?"

She smiled faintly. "Just a side-effect of the drug. Other than that, how do you feel?"

"Much better, actually. I expected to feel worse."

She shook her head. "But you don't do you? Use your strength to her advantage. Keep her in your thoughts and will her to have a portion of your strength."

He nodded. "Could you hand me my shirt. I'd like to go have a cup of tea to have this taste from my mouth."

Blayne helped him dress, quietly and with all the detachment of a woman who performed this action every day. Then she walked with him to the sitting room, supporting him. Although he felt worlds better psychologically, physically he remained weak. She helped him into a chair. Rizzo was teaching Jules the words and music to "Let it Be" and the two did not immediately notice the presence of Blayne and Phileas. Phileas seemed both entranced and calmed by the music, so Blayne allowed Rizzo to finish before announcing their presence. She made a mental note to yell at Rizzo later on.

"Gentlemen." Blayne said softly when Rizzo had finished.

"Fogg!" Jules climbed to his feet and approached his friend. "How are you feeling?"

"My condition is much improved, Verne. Passepartout!"

Passepartout came rushing into the sitting room. "Is my Master being well again?"

Phileas nodded. "Much better, thank you. I could, however, use a cup of tea."

"Right away, Master."

"How close are we to Prussia, Passepartout?" Phileas asked.

"Not more than an hour from our destination, Master."

Phileas nodded. "Thank you, Passepartout." He looked at Blayne thoughtfully. "We'll discuss your borrowing of my dirigible after we have recovered Rebecca."

"At your leisure, Fogg." Blayne smiled at him. "In the meantime, as we are less than an hour from our destination, we should discuss the particulars of my plan."

"Oh, then you do, in fact, have one? Other than drugging and abducting me, that is? How remarkable."

Blayne ignored this comment and helped herself to a sip from her flask. "We land several miles from the prison, borrow a pair of post-horses and launch a long-distance raid. We extract Rebecca while maintaining a zero-presence profile. We return to the Aurora."

Rizzo nodded. "And then we get the hell out of Dodge."

Blayne shot him a warning glance, but nodded. "It's a good plan, Fogg."

"It is. You and I can manage it easily."

"I don't think so, Fogg." Blayne shook her head. "You're in no shape to do this."

Fogg shook his head and leaned towards Blayne. "This is my Rebecca we're talking about here, Blayne. I am not leaving this in the hands of Agent Rizzo."

Rizzo made a rude comment under his breath.

"Fogg, you are staying." Blayne said firmly. "Someone needs to stay and guard the Aurora."

"Let him do it!" Phileas jerked his thumb at Rizzo.

Blayne rose and walked over to Phileas. She bent over him and whispered, "Do you really want to leave Agent Rizzo alone and in charge of your ship? You do know that he takes things apart when he's bored, don't you?"

Phileas stared up at her cautiously. "'Takes things apart' does he?"

She smiled bitterly and nodded. "The bigger the better, Fogg. You really want to leave him alone with your ship?"

"And there is the matter of my superior training in these things." Rizzo noted mildly.

"Fine!" Phileas snapped, throwing up his hands in disgust. "Go!" He struggled to his feet and faced Rizzo. "But if one hair on her head is out of place because of your carelessness, so help me-"

"Fogg!" Blayne said warningly. "You might wish to show a bit of gratitude to Agent Rizzo."

"I'll show him gratitude when I have my Rebecca back in one piece." Phileas said firmly.

"Whatever." Rizzo shrugged as though it did not much matter to him either way. He was used to Phileas, and though he would never admit it, rather amused by him.

Less than 20 minutes later, they all felt the gentle jolt of the Aurora setting down. Passepartout entered the sitting room.

"We is where you have requested, Miss Brenna."

"Thank you, Jean. We'll be gone less than two hours."

"Are you armed?" Phileas asked as they turned to leave.

"We each have two guns and a few throwing-knives."

"Take this." Phileas opened a drawer and pulled out a small satchel. He handed it to Blayne.

She looked inside. "Dynamite, Fogg? The point is to maintain a low profile."

"Just in case." Phileas said softly. There was real concern in his voice.

Blayne nodded and accepted the satchel. "Thank you."

"Bring my Rebecca home in one piece, Blayne, but keep yourself safe as well."

She nodded. "That's the plan."

Rizzo said softly, "I like the plan."

Blayne smiled at him and the two started off. A quarter of a mile off, they found a post-stable and 'borrowed' a pair of horses. After leading them a safe distance from the stable, they mounted and spurred the horses forward. Post-horses were bred for speed, and these two were fine examples. They closed the distance to the prison in less than 30 minutes and the horses were not even sweating.

As their intelligence had indicated, the prison was in an extremely remote location. Only a handful of guards could be seen about the perimeter. Doubtless, the Prussian government did not think that such a well-hidden prison required more. Blayne and Rizzo tied their horses far enough from the perimeter that they would not draw notice, then they slowly crept on all fours towards the prison.

Using hand-signals developed by years of working closely together, they devised a plan. Rizzo crept to the left while Blayne carefully started right. Rizzo struck his guard on the base of the skull. Remembering Phileas's description of Rebecca's condition, Blayne casually broke his neck and resumed her trip towards the prison. She met with Rizzo near the entrance of the prison. The two communicated their success by hand-signals and once again took stock of the situation. Two guards stood at the entrance of the prison. No others were immediately evident.

The two quickly and silently closed the distance to the front entrance. Blayne did not hesitate before doing to this guard what she had done to the last. Rizzo, who had his arm tightly around the second guard's throat, stared at her, wide-eyed. She made the hand-signal for 'later' and cold-cocked Rizzo's guard. Rizzo stared at her for a moment longer before following her into the small prison. It was not hard to find Rebecca as the tiny prison only had one cell. Rizzo's mind was immediately taken off of Blayne's actions when he saw the way Rebecca was bound.

Her wrists were tightly manacled and the chain had been tightly wrapped around her wrists and lower arms numerous times. Another chain was strung through that chain and suspended her several inches above the ground. Her arms were wrapped in chains as well, keeping them firmly pressed together behind her head. Her legs were similarly trussed. Her ankles were bleeding as well.

"Oh, my God." Rizzo whispered, staring at her.

Blayne produced a small lantern and lit it. This made the scene before them even more horrible. Perhaps to avoid taking any chances at all with her, they had striped her of her clothes. She had obviously been beaten quite recently, and blood ran down her bare arms. Her right eye was indeed swollen shut as Phileas had said. A livid bruise on her right side indicated possible broken ribs. Blayne swallowed hard and set about picking the lock as Rizzo stood guard.

She strode into the cell. "Rizzo, do you have those bolt-cutters?"

He nodded and tossed them to her. Blayne cut the chain holding Rebecca up and gently bore her to the ground. "No wonder Phileas was so out of it..." she whispered. She checked Rebecca's pulse before cutting away the rest of the chains. "Becky? Can you hear me?"

Rebecca stared up at her with glassy eyes.

"Right, then."

Blayne extended her hand without looking up from Rebecca. Rizzo handed her a small leather satchel. Blayne reached inside and pulled out a small wooden box, full of different vials and a number of disposable syringes. She stared down at Rebecca for another moment before looking back at the vials. She counted, three across and two down, and pulled the vial out of its place. She picked up a needle, judged Rebecca's weight by eye, added five pounds and jabbed the needle through the vial's rubber casing.

Rizzo looked over her shoulder and noticed which vial she had selected, a powerful stimulant. "Is that wise, man?" he asked gently.

"Don't second-guess me." Blayne snapped, feeling as though she was trapped in some insane nightmare. She licked her fingers to wipe away the dirt and blood on Rebecca's arm so that she could find a vein.

"Registering my objection to this as well." Rizzo muttered behind her. "I'm from the sixties, Blayne. I know my drugs, and that shit is not meant to be mainlined."

"Objection duly noted." Blayne replied flatly, injecting Rebecca. She replaced the vial and found a painkiller. She gave Rebecca a smaller dose of that, not wanting to overwhelm her system with drugs that had conflicting purposes. "Now we wait." she announced.

Rizzo peered anxiously out the door of the cell. "Not liking this, Bren. Not one little bit."

"Again, noted." Blayne bent over Rebecca, again feeling for pulse. "Come on, cousin…" she whispered in Rebecca's ear. "Can't do this alone, you know. I need your help. Can't face Phileas, can't do my job, can't even smile without you there to make the day bright…"

"That's very sweet, Bren…" Rebecca groaned.

Blayne heaved a sigh of relief. She looked skyward. "Thanks. I owe you one." She helped Rebecca into a sitting position. "Can you walk?"

"I don't think so. Can you carry me?"

"Yeah…" Wincing at the pain that she knew she must be causing her friend, she slung her over one shoulder and started towards the door. "Rizzo, how's our profile?"

"No alarm yet, so I'd say they haven't found the bodies..."

"Then I'm guessing it's time to get the hell out of Dodge."

They hurried back to their horses, managing to avoid the remaining guards, and spurred them on as quickly as they could. They made it back to the Aurora in half the time it had taken them to reach the prison. Blayne spent the whole ride struggling to keep Rebecca upright in the saddle and steer the horse at the same time. By the time they returned to the Aurora, she was fairly certain that she had managed to win herself a nasty set of saddle-sores for her effort.

Phileas and Jules were waiting at the door for them, and as soon as they had helped Rebecca in, Jules ran to tell Passepartout that it was time to leave.

Rebecca, partially recovered, stared around the Aurora in confusion. "Phileas!" she cried when she saw him. Blayne and Rizzo helped her cross the room to him, then stepped back as he took her gently into his arms. "Phileas..." she repeated, kissing him gently on the side of his neck. "I missed you..." she sobbed.

"Oh, Rebecca..." he muttered, holding her as tightly as he dared, either not noticing or politely ignoring her total lack of clothing. He rocked her gently. "I was so worried about you."

Jules watched this scene with tears in his eyes. Passepartout looked as furious as Blayne felt. Phileas and Rebecca seemed quite oblivious to the presence of four other people in the room as they held each other as tightly as they could. Rizzo felt faintly as if he were spying on a pair in the midst of love-making and turned his back on the scene. He began riffling through his satchel.

Blayne gently pulled them apart. "Get hot blankets." she ordered Phileas, supporting Rebecca up the stairs. "Rizzo, bring that bag up."

Rizzo immediately marshaled Jules and Passepartout and herded them into the kitchen.

Rebecca allowed Blayne to help her up the stairs and into bed. "Where's Phileas?" she asked suddenly, looking panicked.

"He'll be up soon. I promise."

Rebecca looked up at Blayne. "Brenna, this is going to sound crazy, and I probably wouldn't tell anyone but you, but when I was in that cell, I could feel him there with me..."

"I believe you, Becky." Blayne said, taking her pulse. "Just try to rest. You're in dreadful shape."

"I'm dying, aren't I?" Rebecca asked softly. She was not afraid, only a little sad as she pictured what her death would do to Phileas.

"No!" Blayne shook her head vehemently.

"That last beating, Brenna... It was very brutal. I think they broke some ribs... and I can't breathe too well... One of the ribs may have punctured my lung."

Blayne was aware that Phileas was standing behind them. His timing could not have been worse. Phileas handed her a pile of hot blankets. "You can not let my Rebecca die..." he pleaded softly.

"I know that!" Blayne snapped. "As soon as Rizzo gets up here, we'll start working on her."

"What can I do to help?"

Blayne closed her eyes. "Be calm. Hold her hand. If nothing else, we can make her comfortable."

Phileas stared at her. "She is dying then?"

"Not if I can help it." Blayne promised, not entirely sure that she could make good on this particular one.