* * * * * * * * * *
MEMENTO VIVERE
- Secundus -
Lacrimosa Dies Illa
Rebecca turned reluctantly away from her study of Passepartout's piloting of the =Aurora=. The ship glided through the air as gently as a will-o'-the-wisp. If not for the constant hum of the engines, Rebecca could have believed they were riding a cloud.
A dark cloud, though, in more than one sense. It was before dawn. She had hurried back to the Service to get her gear and some documents, knowing fully well that if the =Aurora= was ready before she returned, Phileas would go without her. Now she was torn between her fascination with the ship and worry for her cousin.
Phileas was a dark silhouette against the magnificent array of panoramic windows at the prow of the gondola. He held a glass of brandy in one hand. The other hand grasped the rail. He was looking at the beautiful night outside, but he was clearly seeing a very different thing. Rebecca walked to his side.
"Phileas..." There was a very unusual tremor of indecision in Rebecca's voice. "It's possible that the body is not..."
"I know."
"You didn't need to come. I could have..."
"Rebecca." His voice stopped her. "I have to do this. I owe him that. At least that."
"There is no debt, Phileas."
"Isn't there." Phileas turned to her. His voice was clipped and frightfully controlled. "He died for me, Rebecca. I call that a debt. Of life."
"It was his choice. And coming to Prussia right now could be dangerous for you. Your cover was blown wide open."
"Do you think I care about that? Do you think I give a jot about covers, or safety, if I have the slightest chance of bringing my brother home? Would you do any less?"
Rebecca bit her lip in frustration. It was so hard to talk to Phileas when he was like this. He wouldn't listen to reason, he wouldn't care about details, and he could very easily get killed... =Oh=. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the stiff stance of her cousin.
"We just have to leave the =Aurora= in some secluded spot, find Brideshaw, and... identify the body," she said, carefully. "And then it's back to England without any fuss. No need to take unnecessary risks."
Phileas took a sip of brandy and turned to the windows again.
"Of course."
But his voice did not hold any reassurance and Rebecca did not dare to insist.
* * * * *
The night went on, weary and monotonous. Phileas sat at the table, behind a newspaper, clearly using it as a barrier, not as reading material. Rebecca got bored of reading Brideshaw's incredibly dull monthly reports and started pacing the cabin, until a small sigh from Phileas's side of the room made her stop. She went to the small kitchen and found Passepartout there, busying himself with breakfast and looking worried.
"Miss Rebecca," he said, smiling, when he saw her. "Tea will be ready very rapidly."
"That's fine, Passepartout." She leant on the opposite wall and watched him work. "You seem to keep the =Aurora= very well stocked at all times."
"I am never knowing when the Master decides to go, to stay. It's best to be fooded."
"Do you know why are we going to Prussia?" She didn't think it fair to drag Passepartout into a dreary and potentially dangerous mission without at least a fair warning, and if Phileas had not told him, she would make sure that the valet would know enough to take care of himself.
"The Master told me," he said in a low voice. "To seeing the body of a man who is maybe brother Erasmus, yes?"
"Do you know... what happened?" she went on, gently. Did Passepartout know about Phileas's involvement with the Service? And hers?
The valet gave her a quick sideways look. "I... Some of it. Brother Erasmus fell down the edge and into the river. Mister Fogg was there and he couldn't help. He does not talk much. He goes dark when he thinks it."
Rebecca, also, felt the darkness, when she thought about it. Losing Erasmus had been a very cruel blow, and she still felt his death acutely. The sadness was mixed with the guilty relief of knowing that Phileas had not been lost as well. But what was a comfort to her was a curse to her cousin.
"It is a good thing to do this," Passepartout said unexpectedly, startling her. "Maybe the master gets some rest now, like when things are ended."
"I hope so." Said Rebecca, doubtfully. After a pause, she added, "I suppose you must be wishing that you were with your former master now."
"Not me. Not Passepartout, Miss. On the first, with this master, it was, how do you say, rare. Not normal, not the kind of normal master a valet is getting. But the Baron was not normal either. So, it is good, not bad. I get used. And we do lots of more funnier things, with Mister Fogg. Only not this thing. This, not being funny. It being sad. But I want to help. I pilot the =Aurora= as very fastly as I can, if that helps. Tell me how to help, and Passepartout helps."
Rebecca looked at him for a while and saw nothing but good cheer, helpfulness, and loyalty. Being an agent, her trust was hard to get and harder to give. And yet, her instincts told her, no, =screamed= at her, to trust this man. But in her line of work, trust recklessly given could be lethal. She smiled at him and nodded, noncommittally.
"You are doing just fine, Passepartout."
* * * * *
Alone in the cabin, Phileas closed his eyes, weary to the bone, knowing what awaited him in the red penumbra behind his eyelids. His hand clenched of its own accord, crumpling the newspaper, clutching a dead hand that would always and forever slip from his, and plunge into the gorge, and leave him alone at the edge of the abyss, aching.
* * * * * * * * * *
End of Chapter Two
MEMENTO VIVERE
- Secundus -
Lacrimosa Dies Illa
Rebecca turned reluctantly away from her study of Passepartout's piloting of the =Aurora=. The ship glided through the air as gently as a will-o'-the-wisp. If not for the constant hum of the engines, Rebecca could have believed they were riding a cloud.
A dark cloud, though, in more than one sense. It was before dawn. She had hurried back to the Service to get her gear and some documents, knowing fully well that if the =Aurora= was ready before she returned, Phileas would go without her. Now she was torn between her fascination with the ship and worry for her cousin.
Phileas was a dark silhouette against the magnificent array of panoramic windows at the prow of the gondola. He held a glass of brandy in one hand. The other hand grasped the rail. He was looking at the beautiful night outside, but he was clearly seeing a very different thing. Rebecca walked to his side.
"Phileas..." There was a very unusual tremor of indecision in Rebecca's voice. "It's possible that the body is not..."
"I know."
"You didn't need to come. I could have..."
"Rebecca." His voice stopped her. "I have to do this. I owe him that. At least that."
"There is no debt, Phileas."
"Isn't there." Phileas turned to her. His voice was clipped and frightfully controlled. "He died for me, Rebecca. I call that a debt. Of life."
"It was his choice. And coming to Prussia right now could be dangerous for you. Your cover was blown wide open."
"Do you think I care about that? Do you think I give a jot about covers, or safety, if I have the slightest chance of bringing my brother home? Would you do any less?"
Rebecca bit her lip in frustration. It was so hard to talk to Phileas when he was like this. He wouldn't listen to reason, he wouldn't care about details, and he could very easily get killed... =Oh=. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the stiff stance of her cousin.
"We just have to leave the =Aurora= in some secluded spot, find Brideshaw, and... identify the body," she said, carefully. "And then it's back to England without any fuss. No need to take unnecessary risks."
Phileas took a sip of brandy and turned to the windows again.
"Of course."
But his voice did not hold any reassurance and Rebecca did not dare to insist.
* * * * *
The night went on, weary and monotonous. Phileas sat at the table, behind a newspaper, clearly using it as a barrier, not as reading material. Rebecca got bored of reading Brideshaw's incredibly dull monthly reports and started pacing the cabin, until a small sigh from Phileas's side of the room made her stop. She went to the small kitchen and found Passepartout there, busying himself with breakfast and looking worried.
"Miss Rebecca," he said, smiling, when he saw her. "Tea will be ready very rapidly."
"That's fine, Passepartout." She leant on the opposite wall and watched him work. "You seem to keep the =Aurora= very well stocked at all times."
"I am never knowing when the Master decides to go, to stay. It's best to be fooded."
"Do you know why are we going to Prussia?" She didn't think it fair to drag Passepartout into a dreary and potentially dangerous mission without at least a fair warning, and if Phileas had not told him, she would make sure that the valet would know enough to take care of himself.
"The Master told me," he said in a low voice. "To seeing the body of a man who is maybe brother Erasmus, yes?"
"Do you know... what happened?" she went on, gently. Did Passepartout know about Phileas's involvement with the Service? And hers?
The valet gave her a quick sideways look. "I... Some of it. Brother Erasmus fell down the edge and into the river. Mister Fogg was there and he couldn't help. He does not talk much. He goes dark when he thinks it."
Rebecca, also, felt the darkness, when she thought about it. Losing Erasmus had been a very cruel blow, and she still felt his death acutely. The sadness was mixed with the guilty relief of knowing that Phileas had not been lost as well. But what was a comfort to her was a curse to her cousin.
"It is a good thing to do this," Passepartout said unexpectedly, startling her. "Maybe the master gets some rest now, like when things are ended."
"I hope so." Said Rebecca, doubtfully. After a pause, she added, "I suppose you must be wishing that you were with your former master now."
"Not me. Not Passepartout, Miss. On the first, with this master, it was, how do you say, rare. Not normal, not the kind of normal master a valet is getting. But the Baron was not normal either. So, it is good, not bad. I get used. And we do lots of more funnier things, with Mister Fogg. Only not this thing. This, not being funny. It being sad. But I want to help. I pilot the =Aurora= as very fastly as I can, if that helps. Tell me how to help, and Passepartout helps."
Rebecca looked at him for a while and saw nothing but good cheer, helpfulness, and loyalty. Being an agent, her trust was hard to get and harder to give. And yet, her instincts told her, no, =screamed= at her, to trust this man. But in her line of work, trust recklessly given could be lethal. She smiled at him and nodded, noncommittally.
"You are doing just fine, Passepartout."
* * * * *
Alone in the cabin, Phileas closed his eyes, weary to the bone, knowing what awaited him in the red penumbra behind his eyelids. His hand clenched of its own accord, crumpling the newspaper, clutching a dead hand that would always and forever slip from his, and plunge into the gorge, and leave him alone at the edge of the abyss, aching.
* * * * * * * * * *
End of Chapter Two
