Chapter 12

Phileas Fogg rode a carriage to the docks of London Pier twenty-two, as instructed, arriving near midnight. The day had warmed, but the evening was brisk again. A storm was coming; Phileas could feel it in the air. He just hoped their night's business could be concluded before the rains started. Slipping about on a rain-soaked deck was never a good thing. And Melody could not be expected to be sure-footed.

The carriage stopped along the dock beside a well-appointed yacht. It was a forty-foot catch painted black with gold trim. Its sails were black, and its rails trimmed with brass. It was a showy thing. Whoever owned it liked to flaunt their wealth. One came down the gangway to greet and bring him aboard. Phileas recognized the tall, massively built Arab instantly as the one he fought in Tripoli and aboard the Quest. The man looked down at him from his greater height and smiled.

"How is your head?" he said, smiling.

Fogg ignored the provocation, looking over his surroundings instead.

This isn't good. The dock was too uncluttered. The vessel was too well guarded. There would be few chances of getting out of this. With the box tucked under his arm and his cane in hand, Fogg followed the Arab aboard.

A distance away, Rebecca was thinking the same thing as she surveyed the area and the ship her cousin had just boarded. She could see the carriage as it had stopped, but couldn't follow it. Instead, she and Passepartout had hidden their horses in an alley and had settled at the pier entrance to watch. They were standing behind a large stack of broken crates, waiting to be reused or cleared away. There was a little mist, but the air was heavy with the promise of rain. One could smell it; that and the odor of fish and pungent scents of seawater and dirty docks. Rebecca wriggled her nose and wondered just how she was going to get close enough to be of use.

"Miss Rebecca," Passepartout whispered, getting her attention. He was squatting beside her in their cramped hiding place. He pointed upward. There was a long warehouse running down the middle of the pier. Its front side, close by them, was piled high with crates and barrels. Passepartout made a gesture with his fingers, walking up. Rebecca thought about it for a moment and nodded.

They quietly made it to crates, tested the way they were stacked against the building, and climbed up. The valet, with his usual ease, climbed the crates like a mountain goat. He jumped for a drainpipe, turned himself upside down, got his legs up onto the roof and then pushed himself the rest of the way up, using the pipe as a reverse rope.

Rebecca watched in awe, knowing full well she wouldn't be able to repeat those maneuvers. She didn't have to. The valet reached down to her. She tossed up her satchel first before jumping for his hand. The rest of the going was easier. The two quietly moved along the roof on its opposite slant from the yacht until beside it. From their new position, they had a perfect bird's eye view of the entire deck and could keep watch.

Rebecca took her satchel off her shoulder again and opened it, laying out its contents on the roof.

Let's see, pistols, dynamite, fuses, a few smoke bombs… Yes, we have everything.

Aboard ship, Phileas had been taken to a locked cabin just below deck. He found Melody in it unharmed. She was sitting up on a narrow bunk as the door opened. The sailor that brought him didn't loiter about to see their reunion. He opened the door long enough for Phileas to walk in and locked it again.

Melody had not been asleep, just resting and waiting. Since being brought to the ship, she had not left the cabin for anything. There hadn't even been a book or stray newspaper to help her occupy herself. Meals were brought to her regularly by one of the ship's men. The fear of her situation had dulled in the boredom. Melody was calmer now and ready to be done with this adventure.

"Phileas?" She called to him in surprise.

"In the flesh," he answered jovially, scanning her for injuries and assessing her condition.

She wasn't hurt that he could tell and seemed to do well. The look Phileas saw on Melody's expressive face at first sight had been unrestrained relief, but there had also been something else in it. Something that verified what Rebecca had said to him earlier, a look of such wholehearted joy at the sight of him; it had taken his breath away.

A sudden rush of emotion hit Phileas. He had hoped, but had not really believed until now. Now, that the truth was out…

Phileas stepped forward and scattered Melody's reserve to the winds. He tossed his cane and the box on the narrow bunk as she sat up and pulled her off it and into a crushing embrace for a long, unrestrained kiss. After so long wanting to do just this and holding back… Phileas put everything he had into it; all the pent-up passion, worry for her safety, and joy at knowing she loved him.

His move took Melody so by surprise. She had pulled back, not sure what he intended in advancing on her so fast. The kiss left her surprised to react. One of his blinding, earth-shattering kisses had been the last thing she had expected. Just like before, it swept her off her feet and into the stars where she met him, passion for passion despite her confusion. The man's kisses were true magic!

Phileas eventually pulled back, looking down, seeing her face glow. Only belatedly did he realize he had been holding her off the floor. The reserved, apprehensive girl he had been hosting in his home all these weeks was gone. Back was the warm, breathtakingly lovely treasure he had lost his head to at sea. She was all flushed a rosy peach with eyes shining up at him like pure gold. The sight of it brought back another memory of how he could make them glitter, but that would have to wait.

"Phileas?" She questioned, after finding her voice. She was completely bewildered at this sudden change in him.

"We have a great deal to discuss you and I," he said, smiling down at her. "But first we have to get out of here." Setting her back down on the floor, Phileas forced himself back to the problem at hand and how to deal with it. He didn't expect to be allowed a great deal of time in private. "What's been happening?"

"Mohammad, the man who kidnapped me, he said father had stolen a map from him. It shows the location of over a dozen tombs. He said he would kill me if you didn't find it and then kill you and take away everything to search for it himself."

"We found it," Phileas assured her, retrieving the box from the bed.

"He also said you are a government agent?" She questioned. "You told me that before, but not exactly what it meant."

"Was an agent," Fogg corrected. "I resigned years ago, officially, that is. I still get called back to help Rebecca. But we will discuss all that another time. Things are going to happen very quickly. You must be ready and do as I say instantly."

A key rattled in the door.

"I will."

The door opened. Two sailors stepped in with pistols to usher them out. Phileas retrieved his cane and box before proceeding Melody on their way.

They were walked down a narrow passageway to an opulently set up cabin, draped with silk hangings and strewn with rugs of leopard and lion skin. It gave Phileas a shudder, remembering Adrianna Locke's parlor. But the spider in this parlor was male. He was tall and large, as some of the Arabian Desert people could be. He was seated on a pile of silk cushions, dressed as richly as a sultan, and had the relaxed demeanor of a lazy despot. Beside him was the Arab who had met Phileas on the dock, wearing a wicked looking curved sword.

"Mr. Phileas Fogg," their host said, inclining his head in a small greeting. "I trust you have satisfied yourself that I have treated your young lady well. An interesting bit of playacting, that mock wedding," he said. "Did you really think it would frighten me away to think that she had been made your property? I am more familiar with English customs than that, sir. I know your marriage customs. But even a desert bandit with less understanding of English customs would not have been deterred."

He spoke orders to the large Arab beside him in their native tongue. The man stepped forward, taking the box from Phileas, and handed it over to his master with a bow. More words were exchanged. At the end of the brief conversation, the tall guard left the room.

Their host opened the box to examine the map inside. "I am a collector of these old maps," Mohammad said. "The ancient ones guarded their secrets carefully. But if one knows where to look, one can reclaim the riches of the past."

He looked up at Melody, deliberately appraising her. Fogg noticed, knew he was being baited and held himself in check. Showing any special interest in her could be dangerous, if not deadly.

"She is a pretty thing," he observed. "A desert bandit would have seen a secondary prize to be had. I am not a desert bandit. I am a businessman. And yet, I also see an opportunity here. She knows too much to let go, and you, Mr. Fogg, no doubt have enemies that would like the idea of your disappearance. I cannot allow either of you to leave here. You know too much of my English partners and their enterprise. I have decided that both of you will return to North Africa with me. I won't kill you unless you insist, but I don't see any reason I can't make a profit on a pretty young girl and a man with a strong-looking back."

With a gesture, the two sailors were sent forward to catch hold of Phileas and subdue him. They weren't quick enough and wouldn't have been. Phileas had been expecting a trap and was ready for it. Faster than Melody could follow, Phileas went into devastating action against their guards. He rounded on the sailor on his right who had the gun with his cane. The blow found his gun hand, knocking it wide, causing the gun to fly away. The cane then came up savagely against the side of his head, dropping him like a sack of flour.

The man to Phileas's left stepped forward as his fellow fell. He stepped into a hard thrust to the sternum, knocking all breath out of him. Too stunned to offer any further trouble, Phileas jerked him off his feet and into a sprawl on the deck.

Now that their two guards were dealt with, the cane was pulled into two pieces, a shiny short sword in one hand and the scabbard in the other. He held it up against the man coming back to his feet and told Melody to open the cabin door. Thinking quickly, Melody had already snatched up the pistol that had hit the floor in the struggle. She had been holding it on their host, making sure he didn't join the struggle.

"I think your plans will have to go unfulfilled," Phileas insisted from his now strengthened position. "We will go now."

"Do you really think you will get very far?" the Arab taunted, still sitting back in his pile of pillows, completely relaxed. "Even now, my crew is getting the ship ready to leave. They will not let you leave this ship alive."

"I would suggest you be satisfied with getting your map back and leave England as soon as possible. And don't come back." he said.

Phileas left the cabin after Melody, locking the door in place, using the scabbard of his sword cane pulled through the narrow door's latch to hold it shut. On deck, they found a bevy of activity. Sailors were indeed getting the ship underway. Phileas sent a shot through a rope being tightened by one of the crew. Its report and the snap of the line caught everyone's attention and stopped all work, as Phileas had planned.

Carefully, he held the pistol on the two closest men and ordered Melody to get off the ship ahead of him, pushing her toward the gangway. As she made her way to the ladder, a pistol was heard cocking to his right. Phileas turned to see a sailor aiming a shot, not at himself, but at Melody. Phileas was just turning his arm to take a shot when another pistol discharged from somewhere on the dock. The sailor taking aim on Melody fell to the deck, dead.

The night exploded with a blast near the stern. Wood shattered and flew in all directions, sending sailors to the deck in a panic. Smoke filled the air as smoke bombs landed on the deck and along the pier.

Mohammad came on deck with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other and murder in his eyes. He was greeted by more explosions as his ship was pelted with sticks of dynamite. One stick, hissing and spitting sparks, landed within a foot of him. He grabbed for it and threw it hard overboard as fast as he could. Just before it hit the water, it exploded. The percussion sent him and his closest crewmen to the deck in a sprawl.

"Cast off!" He shouted to his men over the smoke choked chaos. "Cast off while we still have a ship to save!"

In the confusion of saving his ship, Mohammad never saw Phileas or the girl as they ran behind the screen of smoke to safety.