Prophecies of a False God

Chapter Seven

Instead of resting after the count had left, as if he could being strapped into a chair with some kind of metal ring around his head, Jules thought back to all of Arago's lessons as far back as he could remember, especially to his last days with him before he mysteriously disappeared from his life for the final time. He never did know what happened to the old man or why he left. Jules just remembered him saying that his time with him was finished. However, he had vague memories of him being there for him when he was under Dr. Harwell's hallucinations a month ago.

Arago had taught him to be careful with whom he shared his ideas and vision with and he also remembered him telling him to close his mind off to those who threatened to steal it. Jules managed to do it against the doctor's drugs, but Count Gregory was different. He was ruthless and smarter than any of the other villains he and his friends had ever come across. How long would he be able to resist? How long would it be before the young writer no longer believed his deranged mind, as Fogg had called it, was a gift, rather than a curse? He wasn't sure.

As his mind had drifted off, Jules had no idea how much time passed before the league's doctors and scientists walked back into the cavern, which he now realized, since his mind is clearer than it was before, that they were somewhere within the volcano, and began to finish up with last minute details before they began his torture. It wasn't much longer before Count Gregory wheeled in again as well and kept watch on his men, overseeing their preparations until he finally turned around and locked eyes on Jules. He kept up his defiance, despite the deep fear he felt in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you ready for my men to begin, young seer?" the monster asked as he wheeled over to be face to face with Jules.

"I have told you before, I am no seer or the future, or a psychic, or anything else that you all seem to think I am," Jules answered in frustration. "I am just a writer, who has an overactive imagination, nothing more. I don't know what the future holds."

Gregory replied, "You see, Verne, it is because of that imagination of yours that I believe you are the brightest man of this time and will indeed be a big influence of our future. This is why you here."

Jules glared at the count as he responded bravely, "There will be a bright future for the Foggs and Passepartout and for everyone else, whether I am in it or not, but there will be no future for you, Count. They will stop you and you won't be able to come back again."

"You underestimate my power," the count answered. "You underestimate me."

"You're wrong," Jules replied. "You overestimate yourself and you underestimate the Foggs' will to ensure the same future as I dream of. You will lose."

Count Gregory grew angry at the young man's bravado and turned to face his men as he shouted, "Begin the machine! I want what is in his mind! I want it now!"

A doctor walked over in front of the count and as he bowed before him out of fear for his own life, he stuttered, "We… we can begin… right away, but… but… we must go slow… and be pa… patient. If we don't, he will d… die."

"Then, stop sniveling and get on with it," Gregory responded.

"Yes, master," the man answered and then moved to stand in front of Jules as he tightened the small, metal prods up against his head all around the spherical device that connected him to the machines surrounding him. "Forgive me, my young friend, but, as I am sure you already know, this will hurt."

Jules only ignored the man as he stared down at him with a smug look across his face and then when he finished, he moved to walk back into the area where the controls stood, in order to wait for the process to begin. Once the count gave his signal, one of his scientists standing beside the doctor, who only stood back to watch, as he was there to make sure that Jules stayed alive until the count was finished with him, stepped forward and turned a dial to its lowest setting on the machine before him. The only sound that could be heard then throughout the cavern was the sound of panting and then suddenly a loud scream, as pain radiated throughout Jules' skull and body.

Meanwhile…

When Phileas and Rebecca finally made it to the physician's home, they knocked, but only Passepartout came up to greet them and said, "Master and Miss. Rebecca, you make it. Good, but doctor isn't here. His house is unlocked, but no one is home. I come inside to try to help this man, but he is already dead."

Rebecca looked down at the body of their attacker and then back over at Passepartout and asked in surprise, "But how is that possible? He was wounded, but surely it wasn't that bad?"

"Poison, I believe," the valet replied as he walked around the table where the body lay and lifted a bit of a powdery substance onto his finger from the corner of the man's mouth. "I not sure, but later I can examine it aboard the Aurora, once we find Master Jules, of course."

"He must have taken it when Passepartout turned his back for a moment," Phileas responded somberly as he sat down in a chair nearby in defeat. "Death was better than to allow himself to be interrogated by us. We have failed again."

Passepartout objected, "We have not failed Jules, Master. We only hit rake in the road."

Rebecca smiled softly as she said, "That's fork, my friend. We hit a fork in the road, not a rake and Passepartout is right, Phileas. We are not finished yet."

"What about prophet?" the Frenchman asked. "He must know where Master Jules is?"

"I am afraid Mateo, or Jacques, is dead also," Phileas answered angrily. "He too killed himself before we could question him again and in front of all of Catania."

Passepartout replied, "We can still blow up wall inside prison cell blocking passage the men that took Jules went. Hopefully, it's a long passage and no one will hear us coming."

Phileas responded solemnly, "Yes, it appears we have no choice. We shall head back to the Aurora to gather us the supplies we need. Thank you, Passepartout."

Phileas walked out of the physician's home in dejection, then Passepartout looked over at Rebecca, and stated with surprise, "Master hardly ever apologizes and I do not recall him ever looking like this before; so defeated."

"I have, but only after the death of his brother and then once again when he thought he had killed us all at that bloody castle in Scotland," Rebecca answered sadly. "He only gets this way when he is truly afraid or believes he has failed those he cares about most."

"As I say before, we will find him," Passepartout replied. "And then Master can butcher the count as he wishes. He will like this."

"I hope you're right, Passepartout," Rebecca responded quietly to herself after the Frenchman walked away. "I really do, or it may mean the end of Phileas Fogg."