The Others: Whispers in the Dark
by the Chronicler
----------
Chapter Four
-----
"Now, let's not get frantic here." Rebecca cautioned as she watched her cousin load, check, then re-check his weapons. Damn, he was being just a tad over protective! "He could of just gone out for a walk. take advantage of the cool night air to clear his head." she suggested.
"Without letting one of us know?" Phileas Fogg doubted it. Jules was a very considerate fellow. He agonized over the slightest of inconvenience to his host, particularly in the worry department. Hell, he could be dangling in the torturous clutches of Count Gregory himself, and he would greet his rescuers with a shy `My apologies, Fogg. I didn't intend to be such a bother.'
Rebecca had another point of view though. "Phileas, you did just attack him with a psychologist."
"I did not attack him!" Phileas snapped just a little too harsh for him to convince even himself of his words. Great! Now the boy had gone and made him feel guilty! Taking a deep, calming breath,
Phileas slipped his matching pistols into their shoulder holsters. "Verne never intends to get into trouble." he said softly, sliding into his jacket. "He just happens to be very good at attracting it. And, now he's hearing voices, which, by his condition of late, have influence over him." He paused for effect. "Rebecca, this is not the best time for a walk."
Thinking of no argument for that, Rebecca sighed. She picked her shawl up off the back of a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. "In the very least, let's play with the notion that there is no real reason to shot anyone right away."
Phileas smiled slightly. "Perhaps, of course, for the exception of Verne." When Rebecca looked up at him sharply, he continued with "A minor wound to his leg might keep him in bed for at least a few hours."
Rebecca smiled.
"Master?" Passpartout entered the room cautiously. After the initial blow-up of the basic `How could you lose him?' from Fogg, which, of course, Passpartout knew he didn't mean, he had been extra careful not to anything else that might, in the least, upset the man.
His guest, on the other hand, had no respect for the higher class.
The grizzly old lamp lighter pushed passed the valet and faced off directly with Phileas Fogg. "Ah have lamps ta care fer. Ah don't have no time to wait on polish this and thats." he growled. He shoved something at Phileas.
Fogg frowned, He looked down at the object, and his frown deepened.
"Jules' notebook." Rebecca stepped forward to take it.
"Where did you get this?" Phileas demanded.
"So, the lad does belong to ya, eh?" The old gray eyes narrowed. "he sure ain't seem all polished like ya folks, though." He glanced at Passpartout who had come up to stand beside him. "The lad even smiled at ol' Willy 'ere. Ain't everyday a youngun walkin' dis block takes a moment fer an ol' man like me."
"Tis a French thing." Passpartout explained.
"The subject at hand..." Phileas snatched the notebook and held it up as a reminder, "is where is that ever so polite young man!"
Ol' Willy eyed the englishman with distaste. "Aye, that would be the subject, eh." He shrugged. "Ah don't know where the laddy be now, suh. ah found that thingy down in front of ol' Mac's Cab an' Stables. Seen it wit' the lad earlier." He frowned, turning back to Passpartout. "Strange little fellow that lad be, eh?!"
"How so, Mister William?" Rebecca asked.
Ol' Willy glanced at the woman. His eyes widen slightly. "Wal, ah'll be damned fer sure fer not seeing that lass right off the handle!" Apparently he liked what he saw. But a nudge from Passpartout reminded him of her question. "Eh? oh, yea, strange lad ah was saying. Right nice an' all, don't ya get me wrong, miss. But he was talkin' to the air like it 'ad a life all upon itself." He looked once more to Passpartout with a smirk. "That be a French thing too?"
"More than not." Phileas answered for his valet. "Can you show us where you found this?"
Ol' Willy frowned. "Ah do have lamps to light, suh."
Rebecca smiled that perfect men-will-do-anything-for smile. "It is quite important that we find him."
Ol' Willy only glanced at her, then returned his attention to Phileas. He scratched his unshaven, dirty chin. "That lad's in trouble, ain't he?"
Phileas matched the man's gaze. "He could be."
With a sigh, the old man shrugged. "Young folk, eh?" After a moment thought, he answered with "Wal, let's go dig him out of his mess." He turned and lead the way. "Ya know, suh," he called over his shoulder, "ah have meself a wee lad 'bout that age. he could be in church, swearing all his goodness to the big man himself, an' he'd still come out the doors in a heap of trouble. We elders gotta help each other out if our youngsters are ever gonna live long enough to suffer as we do."
Phileas was frowning as he followed the man out onto the street. "He is not my `youngster.'" he growled, ignoring Rebecca's giggle as she followed behind.
**********
Jules Verne shivered.
The air had suddenly become very cold... as if he was suddenly higher.
He struggled with that thought. Higher? He was on the floor of some stable somewhere where he didn't want facing someone he no longer wanted to meet.
Wasn't he?
Whispers....
There was a click and the blow of cold air stopped. Did someone shut the window.
Whispering...
He wasn't lying on a cold, dirt floor. This was soft, warm... now that the window was closed. A bed?
Whispering.....
Wait! Those were real whispers! Real, honest to goodness, distinct, not-all-in-his-head voices!
"Calm yourself, Tam." hissed a voice. "You're scaring Autumn."
"She should be scared!" another voice hissed back. "Candle, he isn't like us. He's dangerous to the future."
"Then don't drop him." was the whispered answer.
*He's awake.*
Jules head echoed with the words he didn't hear. Those were inside his head.
"Knock him out, Autumn."
*I'm sorry.*
Once again, the voice from within turned into blinding white light....
....and then blackness.
**********
Fogg dragged his fingers through the dirt that made up the floor of the stables.
"There be no fight, Master." Passpartout observed as he wandered around, inspecting the building on his own.
"Jules would not just drop his notebook." Rebecca pointed out.
Phileas rose up and glanced around. "Then whatever happened happened without a fight. he was either surprised or distracted."
"One in the same, isn't they?" Ol' Willy asked. He was beginning to get a feel for the seriousness of the situation. By the way his three new companions have been acting, this was much more than lads and their mischief. This boy was in real trouble!
"On occasion." Phileas mumbled. "He isn't here." he announced with a shake of his head.
"If what you are looking for isn't where you're looking, you should look elsewhere." Passpartout offered. A glare from his master clamped his mouth shut.
"Unnecessary, yet point." Rebecca mumbled. "William, do you know who runs this place?"
"Ol' Mac, miss." The Lamp lighter scratched at his dirty side burns. "Funny he not being here. He ain't the type to leave the barn door open... so as ta speak, miss."
"Well, then, perhaps we should find this..." Phileas struggled to properly ruin the Queen's english in the same manner the old man did, "Ol' Mac an be seeing what he knows, eh?"
Rebecca smiled.
The group headed outside again.
But they had only gone a few yards when Ol' Willy paused, frowning. "Now, that not be right, that fer sure, suh." he muttered. He waved back at the three following him, indicating for them to look up. "Eh, now, what would be a blotting out the stars like that?"
Phileas stepped up to his side and stared at the night sky. High in the sky and moving out and across the marina was a large nothing. Darker than the rest of the sky, it blocked the stars, the moon, and everything else that belonged in the sky.
"It can't be." Rebecca gasped at his elbow.
"Mister Jules be blowing up the Promethus." Passpartout agreed.
Phileas eyes never left the air ship in the sky. "He wounded it, he did not destroy it." he mumbled. He took a step after the ship as it moved further away from them. "And that is beside the point." His hands balled up in to tight fists. "That is not the Promethus." He turned raging eyes on his cousin and valet. "That is the Aurora!"
by the Chronicler
----------
Chapter Four
-----
"Now, let's not get frantic here." Rebecca cautioned as she watched her cousin load, check, then re-check his weapons. Damn, he was being just a tad over protective! "He could of just gone out for a walk. take advantage of the cool night air to clear his head." she suggested.
"Without letting one of us know?" Phileas Fogg doubted it. Jules was a very considerate fellow. He agonized over the slightest of inconvenience to his host, particularly in the worry department. Hell, he could be dangling in the torturous clutches of Count Gregory himself, and he would greet his rescuers with a shy `My apologies, Fogg. I didn't intend to be such a bother.'
Rebecca had another point of view though. "Phileas, you did just attack him with a psychologist."
"I did not attack him!" Phileas snapped just a little too harsh for him to convince even himself of his words. Great! Now the boy had gone and made him feel guilty! Taking a deep, calming breath,
Phileas slipped his matching pistols into their shoulder holsters. "Verne never intends to get into trouble." he said softly, sliding into his jacket. "He just happens to be very good at attracting it. And, now he's hearing voices, which, by his condition of late, have influence over him." He paused for effect. "Rebecca, this is not the best time for a walk."
Thinking of no argument for that, Rebecca sighed. She picked her shawl up off the back of a chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. "In the very least, let's play with the notion that there is no real reason to shot anyone right away."
Phileas smiled slightly. "Perhaps, of course, for the exception of Verne." When Rebecca looked up at him sharply, he continued with "A minor wound to his leg might keep him in bed for at least a few hours."
Rebecca smiled.
"Master?" Passpartout entered the room cautiously. After the initial blow-up of the basic `How could you lose him?' from Fogg, which, of course, Passpartout knew he didn't mean, he had been extra careful not to anything else that might, in the least, upset the man.
His guest, on the other hand, had no respect for the higher class.
The grizzly old lamp lighter pushed passed the valet and faced off directly with Phileas Fogg. "Ah have lamps ta care fer. Ah don't have no time to wait on polish this and thats." he growled. He shoved something at Phileas.
Fogg frowned, He looked down at the object, and his frown deepened.
"Jules' notebook." Rebecca stepped forward to take it.
"Where did you get this?" Phileas demanded.
"So, the lad does belong to ya, eh?" The old gray eyes narrowed. "he sure ain't seem all polished like ya folks, though." He glanced at Passpartout who had come up to stand beside him. "The lad even smiled at ol' Willy 'ere. Ain't everyday a youngun walkin' dis block takes a moment fer an ol' man like me."
"Tis a French thing." Passpartout explained.
"The subject at hand..." Phileas snatched the notebook and held it up as a reminder, "is where is that ever so polite young man!"
Ol' Willy eyed the englishman with distaste. "Aye, that would be the subject, eh." He shrugged. "Ah don't know where the laddy be now, suh. ah found that thingy down in front of ol' Mac's Cab an' Stables. Seen it wit' the lad earlier." He frowned, turning back to Passpartout. "Strange little fellow that lad be, eh?!"
"How so, Mister William?" Rebecca asked.
Ol' Willy glanced at the woman. His eyes widen slightly. "Wal, ah'll be damned fer sure fer not seeing that lass right off the handle!" Apparently he liked what he saw. But a nudge from Passpartout reminded him of her question. "Eh? oh, yea, strange lad ah was saying. Right nice an' all, don't ya get me wrong, miss. But he was talkin' to the air like it 'ad a life all upon itself." He looked once more to Passpartout with a smirk. "That be a French thing too?"
"More than not." Phileas answered for his valet. "Can you show us where you found this?"
Ol' Willy frowned. "Ah do have lamps to light, suh."
Rebecca smiled that perfect men-will-do-anything-for smile. "It is quite important that we find him."
Ol' Willy only glanced at her, then returned his attention to Phileas. He scratched his unshaven, dirty chin. "That lad's in trouble, ain't he?"
Phileas matched the man's gaze. "He could be."
With a sigh, the old man shrugged. "Young folk, eh?" After a moment thought, he answered with "Wal, let's go dig him out of his mess." He turned and lead the way. "Ya know, suh," he called over his shoulder, "ah have meself a wee lad 'bout that age. he could be in church, swearing all his goodness to the big man himself, an' he'd still come out the doors in a heap of trouble. We elders gotta help each other out if our youngsters are ever gonna live long enough to suffer as we do."
Phileas was frowning as he followed the man out onto the street. "He is not my `youngster.'" he growled, ignoring Rebecca's giggle as she followed behind.
**********
Jules Verne shivered.
The air had suddenly become very cold... as if he was suddenly higher.
He struggled with that thought. Higher? He was on the floor of some stable somewhere where he didn't want facing someone he no longer wanted to meet.
Wasn't he?
Whispers....
There was a click and the blow of cold air stopped. Did someone shut the window.
Whispering...
He wasn't lying on a cold, dirt floor. This was soft, warm... now that the window was closed. A bed?
Whispering.....
Wait! Those were real whispers! Real, honest to goodness, distinct, not-all-in-his-head voices!
"Calm yourself, Tam." hissed a voice. "You're scaring Autumn."
"She should be scared!" another voice hissed back. "Candle, he isn't like us. He's dangerous to the future."
"Then don't drop him." was the whispered answer.
*He's awake.*
Jules head echoed with the words he didn't hear. Those were inside his head.
"Knock him out, Autumn."
*I'm sorry.*
Once again, the voice from within turned into blinding white light....
....and then blackness.
**********
Fogg dragged his fingers through the dirt that made up the floor of the stables.
"There be no fight, Master." Passpartout observed as he wandered around, inspecting the building on his own.
"Jules would not just drop his notebook." Rebecca pointed out.
Phileas rose up and glanced around. "Then whatever happened happened without a fight. he was either surprised or distracted."
"One in the same, isn't they?" Ol' Willy asked. He was beginning to get a feel for the seriousness of the situation. By the way his three new companions have been acting, this was much more than lads and their mischief. This boy was in real trouble!
"On occasion." Phileas mumbled. "He isn't here." he announced with a shake of his head.
"If what you are looking for isn't where you're looking, you should look elsewhere." Passpartout offered. A glare from his master clamped his mouth shut.
"Unnecessary, yet point." Rebecca mumbled. "William, do you know who runs this place?"
"Ol' Mac, miss." The Lamp lighter scratched at his dirty side burns. "Funny he not being here. He ain't the type to leave the barn door open... so as ta speak, miss."
"Well, then, perhaps we should find this..." Phileas struggled to properly ruin the Queen's english in the same manner the old man did, "Ol' Mac an be seeing what he knows, eh?"
Rebecca smiled.
The group headed outside again.
But they had only gone a few yards when Ol' Willy paused, frowning. "Now, that not be right, that fer sure, suh." he muttered. He waved back at the three following him, indicating for them to look up. "Eh, now, what would be a blotting out the stars like that?"
Phileas stepped up to his side and stared at the night sky. High in the sky and moving out and across the marina was a large nothing. Darker than the rest of the sky, it blocked the stars, the moon, and everything else that belonged in the sky.
"It can't be." Rebecca gasped at his elbow.
"Mister Jules be blowing up the Promethus." Passpartout agreed.
Phileas eyes never left the air ship in the sky. "He wounded it, he did not destroy it." he mumbled. He took a step after the ship as it moved further away from them. "And that is beside the point." His hands balled up in to tight fists. "That is not the Promethus." He turned raging eyes on his cousin and valet. "That is the Aurora!"