Chapter 13

In the weeks they had been in this future, neither Jules nor Phileas had found any threats. There were no strangers in the nearby villages other than the children who had been moved out of the cities to safety. Jules did all the scouting as Phileas feared he would be recognized too easily. With age and a full beard, Jules looked nothing like the young man Count Gregory had so relentlessly hunted.

This whole experience had an unreal quality to it. They felt very out of place and frustrated as they had to accept that nothing could be done to stop the murders until the very night they happened. "Forewarning is the only advantage we are allowed," Phileas said.

"I concur." Jules fidgeted with his glove buttons as he dressed for a walk into town. "I had hoped I could detect some staging for it. There are only a few days left and no sign of the League."

"I am going to ask that Loren keep his sister in Oxford this weekend," Phileas said. "There will only be one to concern ourselves with what way."

"What of Roberta?" Jules asked.

"She retires early and never leaves her room," Fogg said. "I am of a mind she may have been in the house unaware of what was happening. We will work on that assumption and allow for her normal routine. We will warn Loren so he will be on his guard. Otherwise, it is just a waiting game."

Jules Verne did his scouting expedition for the week. He had been doing weeklong holidays with the Foggs every summer for the last five years. Phileas and Rebecca reciprocated by coming to Paris in the fall. Jules had come to know the Village of Shillingworth almost as well as he knew his own home of Nantes. The bustling village appeared almost the same as it did in his time. Most of the buildings were the same. The families that ran the grocery, the mill, the blacksmith shop, and the bakery were the same. The people in them even looked familiar enough for Jules to feel at home.

Today, Jules made his appointed rounds about the village in the same routine fashion. He entered the village on horseback crunching through the snowy fields, leaving his horse in the livery. A short companionable talk with the liveryman followed. He asked about strangers and had lunch at the inn, checking the patrons. When that failed to bring fruit, he headed to the bakery for an apple tart, which was about the best on earth. He then gave the grocer a list he had offered to bring into town for the manor's cook, Mrs. Carter. The list was written out in ration portions, which Jules didn't ask about, but he heard about the rationing of various goods now and then. His list of errands ended when he gave the miller an order for flour. He remained, talking for several minutes. He noticing a stranger coming down the walk, Jules said, "Who could that be?"

"Ah, that is Mr. Brown," the miller said. "He rents the cottage on the upper valley road. He and his friends are in the country for duck hunting. They have been here since mid-November."

"Is duck hunting that good?" Jules asked.

"Oh yes, lots of ducks, although I suspect Mr. Brown and his friends are hunting good times rather than fowl." He grinned. "They spend more time in the pub than on the moors."

Jules nodded and left the mill as Mr. Brown entered.

Jules Verne didn't catch the look of half recognition on the newcomer's face as he turned to leave the mill. Mr. Brown knew of the Fogg family's visitors but had not known their names. He stared after the departing visitor. The miller called out his parting address.

Mr. Verne? Jules Verne? He should be long dead, and certainly not looking to be a man in the prime of life.

"Who did you say that was?" Mr. Brown said to the miller.

"A visitor with the Fogg family, Mr. Jules Verne," the miller said, tending to his work again. He smiled and gave his newest customer a wink followed by a bit of village lore. "I've heard it said the famous writer, Jules Verne, was a friend of old. One of his descendants, no doubt."

"I should think so, too," Mr. Brown said. "How very interesting that the families have kept in touch all these years."

Giles Brown conducted his business and left the mill to walk back up the snow-covered road to his rented cottage. He visited the village periodically, as Verne had been doing. But this was the first day the two men had been in the village and met. He wondered what the master would think of this.

The large two-story cottage they rented was dark inside. It was kept that way on purpose. The master didn't like harsh light. Giles was grateful for other reasons than his master's comfort. In the low light, the sight of his master was easier to take. His mind control was complete to the point that he could see and hear what Giles saw on his outings. His implant strengthened the effect to allow long distance mental monitoring and control. The master didn't invade his servant's consciousness anymore. It decreased Giles's usefulness and life expectancy with each invasion. Count Gregory needed his remaining servants well and whole. The five who came with him from the nineteenth century were all he had of his original League of Darkness.

Unlike his mind, the count's body had been ravaged. They suffered a wild ride until the sabotaged controls could be made to function again. Instead of going forward in time, they had been thrown backward, nearly to the Count's own original lifetime It had been hard work getting the machine to move forward again. The pilot had reached this time in short jumps of two hundred years or so, with stops of a week or more to do repairs. Trying to travel farther could have torn the damaged machine apart. Despite the pilot's best efforts, they had overshot their own time by seventy years landing here between two wars.

Upon researching libraries and other sources, Giles deduced that the original League had been eradicated. Destroyed so completely, no reference could be found. The master had been bitter but worked with Giles to make a new start. For the last five years, they had built a network within Europe's political structure. A senior observer in their own time, Giles became Count's eyes, ears, hands, and feet. Open warfare kept others from noticing their subtle movements.

Gaining an upper hand in one country wasn't enough in this larger interconnected world. They had to set up a wider reach, one or two at a time, consolidating control across Europe the way Count Gregory wished. Already, they had access to a group of key people, British diplomats, German officers, career bureaucrats and a few intimates of the Fuehrer. They had in turn given Giles access to others and from there others until the Count's spider's web was near complete.

And then, the Count had been informed of a name. Fogg. James Fogg of England was a spy and saboteur. He and a female partner had caused the timetable of their control to be pushed back time and time again. The Count's anger flowed through all his implanted followers. His mind screamed in outrage at the sound of his former enemy's name. "How dare that name still exist! I want him dead! I want them all dead!"

To that end, Giles sent the battered time machine to 1864 for one all-out effort at killing Phileas Fogg. In this time, the Foggs were numerous, but back then, Phileas Fogg had been the only living male of the family. That would be the best possible time to achieve the master's goal. If the machine overshot its objective again, their soldiers could still search him out.

They waited, but nothing changed.

When the machine disappeared, the count had expected time to be noticeably altered. That didn't happen. Historical records were checked. Nothing had happened.

"It is possible the machine broke up before its destination," Giles said, expecting the master's wrath.

Count Gregory chose action rather than fury. "We will go to Derbyshire, England." You will kill them all. Send orders to France to hunt down James Fogg.

Giles Brown had been here less than a month. He set careful surveillance on the family. An informant near the house had told him of the young master and his houseguests, but they were expected to leave at the end of the year. That would be their best chance.

Giles entered the Count's darkened room. "Master," I saw one of the visitors. It is a descendant of Jules Verne."

"It was Jules Verne," Count Gregory corrected him. His eyes opened and blasted Giles with white hot anger. Thankfully, it wasn't directed at him. "He is older, but he is still Jules Verne. If Jules Verne is in this present, well after his natural death; time travel has been used. Phileas Fogg will also be here."

Giles felt his master's surge of hope coming to life as if it were a long, disused, rusted-over wheel in his mind. "All is ready master. We can get them all anytime you order it."

"Excellent!"