"Who said that?" Verne called out cautiously, looking suspiciously into the shadows,"What do you mean?"
"I'm alright Jules," a voice finally answered – Phileas'.
"Fogg? Who's there with you?"
"An old friend," he replied, limping from the shadows,"Verne, meet Pierre Dubois." Another figure emerged from the darkness, his face horribly scarred.
"Th-the chemist?" Verne asked.
"What used to be the chemist," Dubois rasped, his voice low and haggard.
"Fogg, didn't you say you suspected his involvement with…" Jules asked Phileas, unsure of what to think, eyeing Pierre nervously.
"The League?" Dubois answered before Phileas could,"I was in it for the money, for the power. Now, I'm out for revenge against it, after what they did." Dubois paused slightly, but spoke no further and Jules was left to ponder Pierre's reasons for vengeance.
"Don't worry Verne, he's loyal. And if not…" Fogg merely patted the pistol at his side. Dubois looked to the ground in shame, though his head snapped up suddenly.
"They're close."
"Let's go then, the Aurora isn't much further off. Verne, give me a hand here."
"Let me carry the girl," Dubois spoke in lowered tones. Jules looked at him hesitantly, and turned to Fogg, unwilling to let the girl fall into the hands of someone from the League.
"Verne, let him have her," Fogg commanded, as if he knew something Jules did not. Reluctantly, Verne watched as Dubois took the girl from his arms. Still watching Pierre cautiously, Jules slipped his arm around Phileas to support him as they made their way, best they could, to the dangling ladder of the Aurora.
Before Phileas could even get a firm grip on the rope, the city square over which the Aurora floated, was infested with minions of the League. From the right, emerging from the left, flooding out from above, they encroached upon the small group in the middle, smiling menacingly, hands outstretched. Releasing the ladder, Phileas thrust it at Verne. "Pierre, give him the girl. Verne, get up the ladder with her." Pierre deposited the girl back into Verne's arms, giving her one last sorrowful look.
"But Fogg, you're injured," Verne argued, reaching for the pistol.
"Yes, but I've got better aim," Fogg replied sharply,"Don't make me threaten you again, get up now!" Verne began to scale the rope ladder leading upwards, the girl held securely with one arm, the other gripping the rungs. All the while as he climbed, he watched the confrontation below.
* * * * * *
"Dammit, Passepartout, I'm going down. My cousin seems to have gotten himself into another impossible situation," Rebecca called out, heading for the open hatch. A sudden shock shook the balloon, throwing her to the floor. "Passepartout! What was that?!"
"I is not knowing Miss Rebecca," Passepartout replied, frightened, trying to regain control of the balloon. Despite his efforts, the balloon shook again. "It is the other ship Miss Rebecca, they are firing!"
"As if it wasn't bad enough already!" she cried, exasperated,"Listen Passepartout, here's the plan, follow it explicitly: don't, get, hit." With that, she descended down the ladder, up which Verne was already climbing.
Passepartout, at the wheel, sighed frustrated. "Don't get hit," he mimicked, "Excellent plan." His sarcasm was cut short as the other ship fired on them again.
"The plan, Passepartout, the plan!" Rebecca called up from the hatch. Rolling his eyes, he returned to steering, a difficult task considering the League was trying to knock them from the air.