Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to someone else. That's all I have to say.
Author's Note: It may seem strange that I thought Jules and Phileas meet before, so I decided to add to that thought with how they really found that out and how they did meet. Enjoy. Oh, and [words] indicates flashbacks of sorts, and I do not know if sailors eat watermelon, but I felt it had to fit in somehow. You'll understand soon.
Chance Encounters
Paris: 1861
Phileas knew that at one point he would pace a hole in the floor, but no one stopped the obviously angry English gentleman. Phileas Fogg of London had graying hair that was always cut specifically to the same length and always combed forward to seem ready to fall over his forehead. His sideburns showed no signs of gray, though, and came to small stumbled points near his mouth. His suit was a cold blue color with a light plaid vest covering a white starch shirt. His neck was hidden by a burgundy scarf that was more like a tie then a light scarf, and in his right hand was a gold-topped cane that he used to pace and click at the stones near the room where his young friend, Jules Verne, was being treated.
The mission had been dangerous one, and that Phileas and Rebecca knew. Despite it all, they couldn't leave Verne alone in England without any friends, since they needed Passepartout to pilot the Aurora. So they reluctantly took him alone, intending to pass France and drop him off with enough money to return to his Parisian garret. Time and a quick message made it impossible by the time they had taken off, and so the young author had accompanied them and at one point they had all gotten separated from each other. When Phileas had found Verne nearby at a lonely hut, he was suffering a high fever as well as a huge loss of blood that made the young man paler then before. Passepartout and Rebecca were able to find them with the help of the Aurora, but by then he needed medical attention quickly, as it turned out he was poisoned.
Phileas, lucky enough not to eat any of the food given to him, was fine when they finally got to a good hospital and also had the two in the hut arrested. He cursed himself for not seeing how it was not easy to get a deathly fever after two days, and that they had those poisonous berries nearby.
He cursed himself for letting Jules accompany them on the mission. Now he was nearing death, and he hated that. He always did, even before Erasmus…
" Monsieur Fogg?" a voice made Phileas turn to face what he only considered a younger and much more worldly version of Verne. His hair was cut short, like the hairstyle adapted by the French Navy, and his eyes were a little lighter then Verne's and didn't have the same want for adventure or a new idea forming behind them. Phileas nodded, and held out his hand, " You are?"
" I am Paul Verne, Jules' brother," the young man answered, and now Phileas noticed the uniform that he was wearing and also the way he walked, like he had been off land a few years.
" You…heard about it?"
" Madame Fogg sent a telegraph, and I came here as quickly as I could. Is he…okay?"
Phileas took a deep breath, and was about to explain a few things when suddenly Paul seemed to study his face more closely and then frowned, " Strange."
" What?"
" You…you look like someone…never mind."
Phileas was now totally curious, " No, I won't laugh. Tell me."
Paul looked very much like Verne then, trying to get out what he wanted to say, " You look like Guy de la Pierte, a…a person Jules made up when we were younger."
" Who?" Phileas slowly remembered he had used the name "Pierte" only once before, and that was a trip to the West Indies, years ago. He did a quick count and realized Jules would've been 10 at the time.
" It's not important," Paul started, but Phileas stopped him, " No…when did he think of this person?"
" I was 8, and he was 10 at the time. What happened a week before was…"
["We're going to be in big trouble, Jules," Paul said as they walked onto the docks of Nantes, the small town where they lived. Both brothers looked very much alike, with Paul supposed to favor his father and Jules favoring his mother. Both, though, were nearly twins. Jules was two years older then Paul, and both had seen the world in their mind's eye. Jules spent most of his time learning more about the world then about Latin. Math, a subject that Paul could never stand, came quick to Jules and his teachers praised him for that despite the fact that during most of the time his notes held sketches of far away places and also of strange machines he simply thought up while writing the notes.
Jules smiled warmly at the eight-year-old. " Well, a little trouble is worth the adventure," he assured him, and he looked at a huge in called Red Lion. A picture of a lion's head, painted a deep blood red, hung over the door, and loud laughter came from inside.
" Ye lads wish ta go in?" a voice with no particular accent asked, and the two turned to see one of the tallest men they had ever seen. He stood high above them and his face was had two long scars down both cheeks and a nose that had been broken more then once and probably recently. Still, his blue eyes twinkled with an impish mischief that Paul had seen so many times in Jules' eyes whenever he thought of some new idea for travel or some new place to go, and they read about it by candlelight before blowing it out and Jules telling him of marvelous adventures they would have, tracking wild game, simply exploring, once accidentally caught up by a giant, tame bird that flew them above the trees of India and South America. He also wore sailor's clothing, the clothing that seemed patched together from ten different nations and his walk was bowed, that of a seamen who had spent some time on water and not on land.
" Come, I get ye a few bites ta eat. What're ye's names?"
" Jules. This is my brother Paul."
Paul was speechless the whole time as Jules and the man, who said his name was Mathieu "for this time bein'" went into the Red Lion.
Inside was a huge mess of cheap drinks and smoke. Jules coughed a little and Paul's eyes watered, but they were lead over to a small table where the smoke was less and the smell was bearable.
" A drink fer me and three slices a watermelon," Mathieu said to a woman that had a very low-cut dress and was well endowed enough that both Jules and Paul looked down and started to cough.
" Yer yonguns are modest," the lady said, smiling as her long red hair, curled and put up by only a handkerchief, neatly fell across Jules face as he looked up to her brown eyes. She smiled warmly at him, " Yer'll a bright one, ain't ya?"
Jules nodded, and the woman patted his head. She looked at Paul, smiling still as he now looked in her eyes, " N yer a one that'll find bein' happy at sea like ol' Matheiu. Still, I think that the first shall travel further then the last."
" Off with ye, Bridgette," Matheiu said, " don't fill them boys heads with yer hocus-pocus."
" Ah, Matheiu, but ye were the one who asked for advise first, and now they ask not for it and I find that easy ta give. I go get yer drinks."
The woman, Bridgette, walked off and Jules followed her momentarily before looking back to Matheiu. " What was all that about?"
" Ack, Bridgette, she's a fine wentch but she also have strange talents. She ain't a Frenchlady full, but parta this n' that along the way. She have a strange power that'll get her hanged in another time. Here, humph, here she justs tells us we're made for sea or we're made ta marry a pretty girl on another port."
" What did she tell you?" Paul asked.
" She say I take something holy and leave behind me life while a young man met my second voyage will meet the keeper of it. I think she's full of--."
" Ye shouldn't talk like that ta the boys, they have good parents," Bridgette had returned with the huge tankard as well as three slices of watermelon. Both Jules and Paul had never tasted the melon, and Jules was the first to take a bit of the red flesh. It had a sweet taste, and inside his mouth he felt it turn to water. Matheiu took a bite, and spit something out. It was a small, black seed. Paul looked quickly to find multiple seeds, but Jules was already learning how to spit them far indeed. At one point, the rest of the tavern got Jules and their best spitter, Santiago, into a contest. Matheiu bet a few on Jules and promised half of the earnings to the two brothers. Jules had collected a few seeds from Paul's piece, which his younger brother had taken off with his fingers, and put one in his mouth, rolled it backwards with his tongue, then spit. The seed hit the wall and stayed there, a few inches above Jules' actual height. Santiago went next, but his came close to the wall. Two more seeds showed an improvement, and Jules won the bet.
At that moment, Paul looked at the watch and let out a curse that made all of the seamen blame the other. " Dad'll kill us!"
" What?" Jules asked as he got the money.
" We're an hour and a half late!"
Jules let out an equally mortifying curse that made a few of the maids hit some of the customers for not noticing the young boys as the said boys rushed out and ran for their lives towards home.
The situation at home was not a good one. The boys, red faces and puffing from the race, slowly tried to creep in without their father noticing.
" You know," a voice said, coldly and made both boys freeze, " that school was over nearly two hours ago."
Both boys said nothing as they heard the slap of his cane against the floor before the carpet muffled the sound. Finally, both boys felt their hair stand up on the back of their necks as Pierre Verne, their father, touched them both with his hand, making Paul cringe and Jules wonder what happened to the cane. Jules himself was the disobedient one, mainly because he didn't want Paul to get in too much trouble. Once, he had taken a blame for a broken vase when Paul had accidentally knocked it over. Paul was mad at Jules for doing it, but Jules pointed out he wouldn't have knocked it over had Jules not been running after him so they could play 'tag' in the house.
" Well?" Pierre Verne asked, " Why are you so late?"
Neither boy said a word, and Jules felt the hand grip his shoulder tightly, squeezing it. If he moved, Jules was sure that he would either get a bruise or a broken shoulder. He wanted his mom there.
" Paul?" Jules felt himself freeze and the hand on his shoulder lightened but probably strengthened on Paul's, " You are not telling me…"
" It's not his fault," Jules spoke up, " we were at the docks, looking at the ships, and we lost track of the time. I wanted to go--."
A sharp slap sent him down to the floor, but gave Paul enough time to run to the drawing room, where their Mother had to be.
" I was speaking with Paul!" his father roared, but Jules got up and said, " But he didn't do anything! It was my fault! He was just following me! I'm sorry!"
Jules now saw that the cane was leaning against the table, and Father Verne picked it up, " He will…"
" NO!" Jules screamed, and ran forward. Despite the blows, he stayed between his father and the drawing room just as his mother came out, Paul behind her huge dress.
" Pierre! Stop!" she screamed, and the cane stopped in mid-flight as Jules was swept up protectively in his mother's arms. His whole body hurt but it was just bruises, the ones that left in a few days.
" They--they--*disobeyed* me!" he growled.
" That gives you no right to hurt him such!" his mother said back, " Now, I'm going to take care of them. You calm down, or else I won't let you see them tonight!"
The two boys left into the drawing room with their mother, Paul telling her everything as Jules recovered and Father Verne went to get a brandy.]
Paul stopped his story just as a woman rushed into the hospital room. She had gray hair that was done up elaborately and behind her came Rebecca, almost a younger version of the woman.
" Paul," she said, hugging him close as Rebecca came next to Phileas. " Jules' mother," she explained, " I had to tell them all, Phileas."
" I understand, Rebecca. No need to worry."
Jules' mother asked Paul in French what had happened, and Paul said he didn't know. The woman went over to the door and asked one of the nurses to be let in to see her son. She went in just as a man who reminded Phileas too much of his late father walked in. Phileas could see Paul cringe a little at the slap of the cane on the stones, and it was loud enough that Phileas would have to later ask him to stop it. The man had on a suit and a top hat, and Phileas surpressed a laugh at the fact that it seemed none of the people in Jules' family looked good in hats. His face was hard and had none of the qualities that Paul or Jules now had, except for the eyes and perhaps the way the hair was, or had been. He looked over Phileas and Rebecca, then at Paul.
" You should be back on the ship," he said, addressing his youngest son.
" I will go back when Jules is well. I have time for leave, and I intend to use it until I know if Jules is well or in the ground."
The thought of Jules dying was not one that Phileas liked, and he tried very hard to not think about it. Instead, he walked over and introduced himself and his cousin to the older Verne. He regarded them almost distastefully, and then looked at Phileas specifically, " I must ask you a favor."
[Jules' right arm still hurt from the last blows his father gave him, but he didn't care now. Today he would have his adventure, and no one knew about it, not even Paul. Jules felt a pang of guilt, leaving his brother to the wraith of his father, but he had to leave. If he didn't then he would become a lawyer, and that was the one thing Jules would never become, even if it meant he dies penniless and alone.
Mathieu was still there, and he greeted Jules with a great enthusiasm, remembering not to say a few sailor's words around the boy. Last week had proven that he listened well and remembered even better.
" What'll it be, Jules?" Mathieu asked as they started down the dock. He slapped Jules shoulder and it was all Jules could do but to cry out and get away from the ache that spread through there.
" I want to be a sailor. Please, can I go with you on your next voyage?"
Mathieu's cool blue eyes looked at the young man, and his face frowned. " Why do ya want ta be a sailor?"
" I want to get away from here. Please, Mathieu. I'll do anything!"
Mathieu thought about it. Even if he took Jules on as a scrubber, the boy was young and small, and very pretty. A few of the sailors would try to take advantage of him, and that wouldn't help the boy. He would be tainted forever, but Mathieu, unbeknown to Jules, had felt the lad cringe nearly inwardly, and he hoped it wasn't another bruise he had added to whatever ones were on the boy's shoulders. He could even see a few under his collar, and that made him even more intent on making sure the boy wasn't harmed again, even if he had to adopt the boy or fake his death and give him a new name.
" Fine, Jules, I'll take ye. We'll sail to the West Indies today on the Coralie, my schooner. Come, I'll take ye out there."
Jules nearly jumped for joy and the two headed out on a small boat. When they reached it Jules amazed Mathieu by knowing his way around the boat and not having the usual walk that most people from land had. He quickly learned his way around the boat before he was called to help Mathieu with something.]
" As you must know, my son was sent to Paris not to become a…a…writer," the way Pierre Verne said the word almost made Phileas want to hit him. It was like a curse word to this man, " I wanted him to study law at Sorbonne, which he seems to have forgotten to do for the past few months."
Phileas nodded, remembering the events of the past few months, " I'm sorry to say that my company has not helped with his attendance. We nearly always insist that he join us when we travel, but sometimes he seems to have a mind of his own and simply come with us, even when he should be studying or attending school. I'll take about that with him later." /Over my dead body. He won't know a word of this conversation./
" I would appreciate it more, Monsieur Fogg, if you simply told Jules to always attend it, even when you are on a trip. I understand that he dislikes the practice, but it is for his best that he forgets those foolish thoughts of his about space-travel and under-sea voyages, and even if he stops writing, if it means he get a good life."
Fogg felt himself want to shake the man awake from whatever dream he was in. Jules would never give up writing, even if he had to sell his soul to continue. Writing was his only outlet for the thoughts that were inside of his mind, the very precious mind that more then one group of people wanted to get their hands on.
" Sir," Rebecca said, stopping most of the conversation with an angry Phileas, " I don't think you understand. Jules writes to try and understand his ideas. If we took that from him--."
" He might put his mind towards more practical things, like what I sent him here for!" Pierre Verne said viciously to Rebecca, and now he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that Phileas Fogg was angrier then before.
[Phileas Fogg, or Monsieur Pierte as he was being called for this mission, sat straight and smiled at the captain of the Coralie as he called for the cabin boy to help Fogg with his traveling cases.
" Ah, Jules, come in lad," the captain said, and Phileas turned to see a small boy in what looked like a school uniform that was to be his uniform for this trip. The boy was small, with a firm but wiry build that made Phileas doubt he could even carry the hat case. His hair was dark brown and cut short, his eyes nearly the same color and covered a little by the tossed locks in front of his face.
" Jules, this is Monsieur Pierte of Paris," the captain introduced Phileas to the boy, " For this voyage, I want you to make sure he's comfortable."
" Oui, captain," the young man was polite, and he seemed too innocent and young to be onboard a schooner.
Phileas stood, thanking the captain, and took one of the heavier bags. The young boy took the rest, and he was able to keep up with Fogg and show him to his room. It was well furnished, and to Fogg's surprise the boy was able to place the bags on the bed where he asked them to be. His collar fell a little, and Phileas frowned at the dark part of the skin he saw under it.
" Young man," he said, making him stop and turn, " Come here a moment." The boy came forward and looked up at him with trusting eyes. /God, someone without any decency would love to take advantage of those eyes/. " What's your name?"
" Jules, Monsieur."
" Jules, have you been cabin boy very long onboard the Conalie?"
" No, Monsieur. I just got on at Nantes."
/His father would probably stop the ship the minute we leave. Damn, one…no, we're early in leaving. It won't matter unless he displays some 'affection' here/ " Are you from Nantes?"
" Oui, Monsieur."
" Please, call me F…Pierte."
The boy looked at him curiously, then something seemed to click behind those eyes, wheels turning everything until it came into place and he saw whatever he saw. " You are not a Pierte, are you Monsieur?"
" What?"
" I won't tell anyone. I have enough secrets of my own to not tell, I can hold one more."
/I believe you. Damn, so would Erasmus, so would Father, so would Rebecca. Everyone would/ " No, but I won't tell you my real name."
" It must start with an F, and you must be from England. You should remember that you're a Pierte. What would you call your first name, Monsieur?"
He hadn't thought that far ahead, and now he smiled a little reluctantly at the boy, " I never thought of that." He now frowned, " How did you know I was from England?"
" You have an English accent, even covered with your wonderful French. Also, you stutter when you speak your 's'."
" I thought I had gotten rid of that," Phileas said mainly to himself, unhappy at the fact the young boy had picked it up quicker then anyone else, then he turned to look at the boy. " What would you suggest for a first name?"
" Guy de la Pierte is a good name. It seems that you are as rich as you dress, but not a monarch or from a monarch. You have to remember that you are a Pierte, though. Are you a spy?"]
" Monsieur Verne," Phileas said, trying very hard to control all of his anger, " I would never tell Jules any of what you said. He is a deer friend to me, and his writings are part of him. He hates the idea of being a lawyer, and perhaps if you weren't so blind you'd see that!"
Rebecca put a hand on Phileas shoulder, more to keep him from killing the elder Verne then control his anger. Her own eyes flashed dangerously as Jules' mother came out of the room.
" The doctor says that we have to wait until tomorrow to see if he is better," she noticed her husband glaring at Fogg, and also the two Foggs standing side-by-side, nearly blocking the way to Jules. " Come, Pierre. There is little we can do. I'm sure that we can find a nice hotel somewhere."
The older Verne glared once again at the Foggs, then started towards the door. His wife stayed only to hug her youngest son, then turned to follow him out.
" Now you know why we all wanted out of there," Paul said after they had left, " I was lucky enough to get out at 18, but Jules…he was lucky too, I guess, especially to find friends like the two of you."
Rebecca smiled at the younger Verne, and Phileas sat down to calm his nerves.
["Why do you ask?"
" You don't change your name unless you are hiding from someone or you're a spy. I think you couldn't hide from someone, you're too…regal."
Phileas smiled inwardly at the comment, " Well, if I told you…never mind. Yes, I am a spy, but you promise not to tell anyone?"
Jules nodded, his hair becoming even more mussed up. The ship was heading out, when a knock on the door stopped the two. Phileas slowly went and opened the door to find the captain in the doorway.
" I am sorry, Monsieur, but we have to turn back to Nantes."
" Why?"
" Jules' father, he wishes that the boy come back home, why else?"
Phileas didn't have to look at the boy to see him pale. " But I want to be a sailor. Can't you just--."
" No, young un, that means I break the law. Would you like to never return to France again?"
The boy's head lowered and Phileas leaned down to touch his shoulders gently. The boy gasped and Phileas stopped before slowly pealing off the jacket and moving the collar down enough to see a huge bruise, the kind you would see from someone grabbing a person's shoulder's too hard.
" Did your father do this to you?" Phileas asked. The boy didn't say anything, and the captain came and looked. " Dios, Jesus and everyone else. Ya never told me he did this, lad."
The boy looked at them both, " He didn't know. It was…he would've hurt Paul if I hadn't."
Paul was obviously a younger brother. Phileas could relate, remembering the numerous times he had to save not only Erasmus but also Rebecca in small childhood games.
" So you got in his way, just so your brother wouldn't be hurt?" Phileas said. He didn't believe this was an accident, or even what Jules intended.
The boy hung his head. " No…I…I didn't do my Latin lessons, and he gave me a test. He told me not to daydream there, and I told him that we hadn't learned that word or how to conjugate it yet. He grabbed my shoulder because I was trying to leave."
" Lad, ye are lyin' ta us."
The boy could obviously not go on, but Phileas realize he thought he would betray his father or his brother if he did, " We won't tell anyone. A secret for a secret, Jules," Phileas told him. The boy swallowed hard.
" He asked Paul too, but it was an advanced word neither of us knew, or was supposed to know for the next two years. He was going to hurt Paul, and I told him Paul couldn't have learned it because he was only a few years behind me, and I didn't know it either. He grabbed me then for telling him that, and maman had to pull me away. It hurt all day."
Phileas did a quick check as the captain moved to the door to make sure no one was coming in or that the father had yet to come.
" Nothing broken," he said, " It will just take some time to heal. You don't have to worry, Jules. If you have any problems…remember that you did have this adventure and met someone special."
Jules smiled a little as the captain said, " He's here."
Phileas stood behind Jules and now pretended to be absorbed in something else. The man himself was tall, but not taller then Phileas. He wore a hat that probably didn't agree with him and had a mustache as well as a thick cane.
" Jules," he said sternly, and Phileas felt himself tense. He wouldn't let him hurt the boy onboard the ship.
" Yes, Papa?"
The man glared at the boy, then took him by the hand. " Come. We are going home. Now."
The boy had no other choice but to go along with him, and the captain walked out behind them. Phileas himself stayed in the cabin and tried to think about his oncoming mission.]
Phileas and Paul stayed outside the room all night, watching nurses and doctors come and go, a few other patients come in and some go out either healthy or dead. Phileas never watched them if they were dead, only kept his eyes on the door. It had been his fault before if Jules had been hurt by his father, and now, when they young man could take care of himself, Phileas was once again responsible for his pain. Paul said nothing through most of the night until Phileas had to know what happened after Jules came home. He had to know how Paul remembered that name from so many years ago.
" Paul," Phileas said, getting the young man's attention, " what happened…when Jules came home from running away, or trying to?"
Paul looked at him, then shook his head, " Father was mad. He and Jules talked, and the next day Jules promised Maman that he wouldn't run away again."
" Paul," Phileas was now urgent, " Tell me, really."
Paul sighed, " Papa didn't yell at him. Not until he got home…"
[Paul had stayed near the only person who could fend off their father, and that was Paul's mother. She was in the drawing room, the door open, when they heard the door in front slam and Paul saw Jules being pushed into the main room, where all of the 'lessons' took place. Paul looked over at Jules, surprised he hadn't been beaten senseless yet. Probably because Father Verne didn't want a scandal on the way home. Paul looked towards his mom, but she simply looked at Jules with longing. Paul remembered that he hadn't heard the conversation the two parents had had before Pierre Verne left for the docks. Had his mother been ordered not to interfere?
" Close the door!" Pierre Verne roared as Jules stood before him, and Paul could only think of those Japanese samurai he had read about in books on Japan, those that would rather kill themselves then dishonor their families, themselves or their friends. He also couldn't help but think about the dogs that some boys tied cans to their tails, or those few men that were usually sent into battle to test out the strengths of a fort with their lives. Behind the door, Paul heard yelling, most of it from the elder Verne, but once or twice he head Jules' voice, most of the time it was cut off by a hard slap that echoed through most of the house or by a small yell of pain. Paul and his mother waited, Paul's heart aching to simply tear open the door and take the blame, like so many times Jules had protected him from his father's wraith.
When it was time for bed, Paul went there alone. He waited up, with no candle, for Jules to either come in or be carried in. As each minute turned into what felt like hours, Paul prayed silently that Jules wasn't dead.
Finally, the door opened a crack and Jules limped in. Paul didn't light a candle, and Jules didn't either. Paul heard him get ready for bed and finally get in. He sounded hurt, and Paul was glad tomorrow was a day off from school. He didn't know how Jules made it through the days when Father beat him then sent him to school early the next morning. Paul had few of those days, the ones where Jules, despite it all, couldn't protect him from whatever Father did.
The next morning Jules woke up earlier then Paul and avoided Paul altogether until the next night. They were still awake, both staring at the dark ceiling.
" Jules?"
No answer.
" I didn't tell him…if you're mad at me or…"
" I'm not. We told him a week ago. I shouldn't have tried it."
Paul looked at the dark form of his brother, " No, you shouldn't say that. You did something I don't think I would've. You…you nearly did something great and escape what destiny Papa wanted for you. At least you had an adventure."
Jules didn't say something for a while, probably he was thinking about what Paul said.
" A man was onboard, going to the West Indies. He was a spy, I think."
Paul smiled at the story. " What was his name?"
" Guy de la Pierte, but he was using another name. He could be an Englishman or a Frenchman, and either way he wore a wonderful blue coat and…"]
" So for the past few years after that we invented a new world, where you…or Guy de la Pierte, was traveling around the world, having daring escapes, meeting wonderful people."
" And then he started to write?"
" It was plays at first, and some poems that didn't really have any good rings to them. He finally started just writing, and then he was sent to Paris."
Phileas looked at his watch. Nearly time for the doctor to check Jules again. Putting it back, he looked at Paul. " Do you think he would like to see his father again?"
" Not unless he wants to stay here another few days. He never beat him enough to send him to the hospital, I remember that," Paul said, sighing, " but I do remember he was always the one with an adventure in mind. Had he really gone with Mathieu, then perhaps he would be a sailor with great ideas, and not your friend."
The doctor came in and checked on Jules. Phileas stood as he came out.
" Monsieur Verne has recovered, I'm happy to say," the doctor said as Rebecca and Passepartout, as well as the Verne parents, " He will be fine. Tomorrow he can leave."
The doctor was congratulated by Rebecca and Mrs. Verne hugging him and kissing both of his checks. Phileas quickly went into the room and closed the door before making sure no one would come in. Verne himself looked much better then the last time Phileas had seen him. He opened his eyes as Phileas came and sat next to his bed.
" Fogg," his voice was a little hoarse, but it was better then when he couldn't speak.
" How do you feel, Verne?"
" Um…weak."
" Understandable," Phileas wondered how to put what he had learned, " Verne…do you remember the Coralie?"
Verne closed his eyes a moment, then nodded. " You were there. I remember that, and you were being called Pierte until I told you to be called Guy de la Pierte."
" You…you remembered that and…"
" Fogg, I remembered that a while back, when we were in Russia and fencing. When you put your hand on my shoulder and told me it was okay. I remembered Guy de la Pierte, and I was going to make him a character in a play or book but then I remembered how he looked, and I realized it was you. I never told you because…well, I thought you wouldn't."
Phileas smiled warmly at his young friend, " I remembered you, Jules. I spent most of that time trying to not stutter or seem English. I remembered everything you said, and I think I realized that you saw more then anyone else did, or cared to. I spent most of my time practicing in a way that when I asked a child for directions, they would think I was what I said I was."
Verne smiled a little, the smile lighting up his face.
" You're father's here," Phileas, later, wondered why he even mentioned it. It would've been better, perhaps, had he not.
" Oh," was all Jules said, then fell asleep. Phileas left and closed the door gently.
" Is he awake?" Paul asked.
" No, he went to sleep a few moments ago. Thank you for coming, Paul Verne."
Paul shook hands with Phileas, and quickly left. Phileas bid goodbye to Mrs. Verne and Mr. Verne, then sat down with Rebecca next to him.
" What's wrong, Phileas?" Rebecca asked.
" Rebecca," Phileas started, then paused, and finally said, " Remember the Coralie?"
" Yes. Why?"
Phileas smiled suddenly, " Jules Verne helped me become a better spy on that ship years ago."