Title: Communion

Author: Tweedledium

Feedback: Yes

Permission to Archive: Please notify author prior to archiving at Tweedledium@yahoo.com

Category: General

Rating: G

Disclaimer: Characters from The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne belong to others, namely, Talisman Crest. Any others characters that may appear will be original, unless specified as otherwise.

Thanks: To those who deserve it. You know who you are.

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Communion

by Tweedledium

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The two sons stood side-by-side in silence awaiting the arrival of their father. Each eyed the other, testing the boundaries of fraternal patience by stubbornly refusing to be the first to speak. It was a game the siblings had played many times before. The brother who broke either silence or a smile, lost. And so, the younger one endeavored to make the elder one lose by performing ridiculous gesticulations such as contorting his face into amusing or disgusting expressions. The elder tried, with Herculean effort, to retain a composed demeanor. The younger finally brought forth his brother’s voice, by jamming his index fingers into his own nostrils and pulling the nasal orifices into opposite directions, all while attempting to touch his chin with the tip of his tongue.

Unable to remain silent any longer, Phileas spoke, "Stop that."

Erasmus unplugged his nose, and without even so much as wiping them on his shirtsleeves, offered his hand solemnly to his brother saying, "Good match, Phil. Shake."

Phileas raised a single eyebrow with suspicion, answering flatly, "I think not."

The younger boy’s grin reached from ear to prominent ear, as he attempted to stifle his percolating laughter. "Phil," he chortled, " you should see your face!"

"You should have seen yours," Phileas replied with a bit of a sniff. "Really, if father walked in, however would you explain such bizarre behavior?"

The grin widened, "I would tell him that you dared me!!"

"And I would deny it," the elder Fogg kept his eyes focused straight ahead of him, but noted his brother’s wiggling with his peripheral vision. He calmly asked, "Whom do you think father would believe?"

Erasmus chirped happily back at him, "There’s only the two of us, Phil. The odds are fifty-fifty, you know that."

The fourteen-year-old shook his head in a superior display of parental-like disapproval, "You are far too smart for your own good. Care to confess to anything before father arrives?"

"No." The lad shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Really?" Phileas continued, "Nothing at all? No ants in the sugar bowl? Frogs in the chamber pots? Ras, please do not tell me that you have been peeping at Cassie and her fiancé again."

A crimson blush heated the cheeks of the younger boy. He defended himself like a criminal who was overly familiar with gaol, "That…that was not my fault! You know… I was up in the hayloft…investigating! I was there first! I was! How was I to know that Cassie and Will would come up and…ugh! Phil! I am never touching a girl! Never!"

A slightly lopsided grin tweaked Phileas as he sagely replied, "Hmm. We shall see about that, little brother. You are only nine. You should allow yourself a bit more time regarding girls. When you are a man, I suspect you shall revise your opinion."

"I am a man! I can prove it as well. Look," Erasmus shoved his right hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a lint encrusted, slightly battered cigar. He held it out for his brother’s inspection. The young boy’s face lit up with excitement as he displayed his forbidden treasure. This purloined souvenir was the ultimate proof of his manhood.

"That is one of father’s!" Phileas was aghast at his sibling’s crime. No wonder they had been summoned to the study in the middle of the day without reason, he thought. A small wave of panic began to wash over him as he foresaw serious discipline looming in the immediate future. The words retched out of him in spasmodic chunks, "Wh…Wh…Where did you get that?"

"The humidor. Really brother, I sometimes wonder about your logic. Where else would I..."

"Have you g…g…gone mad? You st…st…stole a cigar from f…f…father?"

"Not stolen. Stealing is a sin. I am borrowing it. When I am old like you, I shall buy him another. And there’s no need to get in a tizzy. He’ll never miss it." Erasmus’ voice remained steady in spite of his brother’s rising excitation. "I returned the one that I broke."

Up until this moment, Phileas controlled his anxiety as he stood waiting, but Erasmus’ nonchalance regarding his petty thievery frustrated him to such a degree that his stuttering resurfaced. Phileas managed to overcome the habit to the point where it only appeared when he was highly agitated or troubled. For all his perseverance, he still could not speak normally in the presence of his father and Boniface judged him accordingly. Erasmus’ inability to see beyond his own desires triggered his brother’s trepidation, which manifested itself in a cacophonic explosion of stumbling syllables and convulsive consonants.

Erasmus never considered the consequences and he was forever finding trouble. He could sniff out mischief better than his father’s hounds could flush game. It was understood that Ras lacked the influence of a mother in his life, but that was no justification for latrociny, Phileas thought. Ras would not worm his way out of this one. The only thing that had saved his brother’s hide in the hayloft incident was his own intervention.

Phileas had approached Cassie to render certain that the young maid properly understood the situation. He had no desire to bring his father’s wrath down upon the girl. She was only staying for another month before leaving their service for marriage. Cassie, though, needed to fully comprehend that if news should happen to reach Sir Boniface about Erasmus’ "investigating", his father might be inclined to inquire as to what precisely his younger son found so intriguing in the loft that day. Since the entire affair occurred on Fogg property, it might stand to reason that his father would disapprove of the use of his stables for conduct not specifically equine-related.

The maid wisely decided not to inform anyone of the incident, and Phileas was rather proud of his diplomatic handling of the matter. His father would have been proud as well, except that his father would never know.

Erasmus turned and stood facing his brother. Phileas watched silently as the former bravado dissolved into slumped shoulders, watery eyes and a bowed head. Letting out a bit of a sigh, the boy said earnestly, "I am sorry, Phil. Truly, I am. I didn’t mean to get us in trouble. Honestly."

"Us? Wh…wh," Phileas breathed in deeply, and relaxed, visualizing the sounds gliding fluidly under his palate and above his tongue. One more breath and he spoke, "I…have done nothing…wr…wrong."

The younger lad locked his slate-colored eyes onto his brother’s verdant green. His brow furrowed with concern and the impish grin of a moment ago was transformed into a thin, solemn line.

"Right," Erasmus replied calmly. " I meant me, not we." He paused for a second and asked, "How badly do you think I’ll get it?"

"I don’t know." Phileas slowly felt himself regaining control over his stammering tongue. "I suppose it depends. For heaven’s s…sake Ras, don’t you understand? The punishment may be far more than a lashing with a switch. I have only just returned home from s…school. If father believes that I am a poor influence on you, he may not allow me to stay. He could send me back to London."

Erasmus’ lower lip quivered, as his eyes suddenly glassed over with unshed tears. He cried, "Oh no. Not that! Phil, I never see you as it is. Father wouldn’t do that, would he? Take you away from me? I won’t let him. I’ll fess up. I’ll take the blame. I deserve it after all. I shall sacrifice myself for my own reckless stupidity, I will!" He swallowed hard in an effort to retain his composure, but failed. He sniffed and threw his arms around Phileas as a half-choked sob escaped, "Just as long as he keeps us together."

Phileas placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Squeezing it gently, he spoke softly in a comforting voice, "It will be all right. Foggs stick together, no matter how great the difficulty or how impossible the odds. Look here." Erasmus stepped back as Phileas held out his hand. "Go on. Take it."

"But you said before that…"

"Never mind, just clasp my hand."

Erasmus straightened, throwing his shoulders back in an exaggerated motion and tightly grasped his brother’s hand.

"Do you feel that iron-clad grip? That is the grip of a Fogg. We hold on tight and do not let go—ever."

His face broke into a hesitant but relieved smile. Erasmus nodded his understanding and spoke, "Thank you, Phil. I should hate to ever lose you."

"And I, you."

The sound of the doorknob turning brought both boys to attention. Erasmus sprang back to his spot on Phileas’ right just as the door opened and Sir Boniface entered the room with a quick, determined step. He did not look at his sons, but walked directly towards his desk, stopped as he reached his chair, and began to rifle through the assorted paperwork piled there. One letter caught his eye in particular. He examined it and made a small "tsk" sound, before shuffling it into a different heap. Picking up the next missive and without lifting his eyes from it, Boniface addressed his children, "Good afternoon."

The boys responded instantly, though not in unison, "Good afternoon, father."

"G..g…good afternoon, f…father."

Boniface glanced up at Phileas, and shook his head with an air of disapprobation before returning to the form he was perusing. "I am here to inform you of revisions to the usual familial routine. This change will affect several scheduling regimens, including, but not limited to, how you shall both be spending this summer."

Erasmus shot his brother a look of despair, which Phileas answered with the slightest negative motion of his head.

"I am informing you of this together because it is evident, to even the dullest of minds, that my sons make a habit of collaboration, whether threatened by outside forces or participating in domestic…intrigue."

It was Phileas’ turn to shoot a look at Erasmus, fighting off that first sickening squirm of nausea in the pit of his stomach. Was it possible that his father knew about Ras’ foray into the hayloft? He stood paralyzed by the growing certainty that he was being exiled to London. It was either that, Phileas thought, or the latest incident was already discovered. Boniface’s voice roused him from his dark contemplations.

"Some would consider it foolishness to add a new variable into our particular domestic equation, and yet, that is precisely what I have elected to do. Your cousin, Rebecca Fogg, is outside awaiting her introduction to you."

"Cousin? We have a cousin?" Erasmus’ voice was a chirp in sharp contrast to Boniface’s measured bass. "Phileas, did you know that we had a cou…"

The arctic stare from his father froze the question in his younger son’s throat. Boniface straightened himself to his full height, and looked at them, eyes boring straight through to their very thoughts.

"I was unaware, Erasmus, that fathers were required to seek the council of their nine-year-old progeny in matters of family and Christian charity."

Phileas winced with pain at his father’s sarcasm, even though he was not today’s target. He silently prayed for some divine intervention to bestow a modicum of common sense into his brother, or at the very least, to strike Erasmus temporarily dumb for the remainder of the meeting.

A meek-voiced Erasmus spoke, "I am sorry, father. That was very disrespectful of me. It shall not happen again."

"See that it does not or I may have cause to reexamine my humidor for missing cigars."

Erasmus blanched visibly. Phileas, too, felt the blood leech out of him at his father’s words.

Boniface continued, "And I expect the misappropriated item to be returned with a full and detailed apology in writing along with proper compensation and assurances that no such incident shall occur in the future. I believe that my meaning is understood?"

"Yes, father," Erasmus soberly replied.

The man turned to his elder son, who also stuttered an affirmative.

Returning to his papers, Boniface stated, "Rebecca recently lost both her parents in separate and unrelated incidents in India. She is six years old. You did not know of her existence, because I have only become aware of it myself. I have already met with her to prepare her somewhat for her new life here. She has been briefed on the both of you and understands that neither of you possess any expertise on little girls. She is not dim-witted and is adjusting. Given all that, I remind you that she is a Fogg—just as you are a Fogg. I expect no more or less from her than I expect from either of you."

He gave the boys no time to comment or react to this barely digested information before raising his voice and commanding, "Enter!"

The door of the study swung open in perfect synchronization to the swiveling of the two brother’s heads. In walked a small girl dressed completely in white with fiery red hair. Phileas thought she looked like a solitary church candle, whose purpose was not so much as to bestow a comforting light as to combat the darkness at all costs.

Rebecca walked in confidently, holding her head high. Her chin was set with determination and her remarkable blue eyes were bright and clear, unclouded by sadness or apprehension. Phileas chanced a glance at Erasmus who stood frozen and dumb-founded, his mouth slightly ajar. A nudge reminded him of his manners as he silently closed his mouth.

Boniface watched Rebecca intently as she approached. He did not frown, as was often the case when either of the boys made a social entrance, but then again, this young girl seemed incapable of missteps. She moved silently, quickly and with a simple grace. She performed no extraneous movements such as swishing her dress or fiddling with her sash. Approaching the desk, Rebecca stopped and waited for recognition.

"Good afternoon." He spoke in the same unilaterally patronizing tone he employed when addressing anyone other than Her Majesty or The Prince Consort. Sir Boniface was quite equiponderous in that way: everyone received the same sangfroid manner. The girl was not intimidated. She curtsied prettily for him and replied with a firm voice, "Good afternoon, Uncle."

"Rebecca Fogg, these are your cousins, Phileas and Erasmus Fogg." The man nodded and Rebecca turned to the brothers and curtsied.

"Good afternoon, cousin Phileas. Cousin Erasmus." She looked back at Boniface who smiled slightly in approval at her. Rebecca curtsied for the man again this time increasing the depth of the dip in response to her benefactor’s smile. She returned her attention to the siblings expectantly.

Boniface raised an eyebrow at the monastic silence. "Boys?" he prompted.

The two brothers extended their greetings to the newcomer in as close to choral unison as Phileas’ stammer would allow.

Rebecca failed to react. Phileas would have expected a smile or perhaps a nod of acceptance from the child. After all, she was the interloper. Instead her perlustration was calm and unimpressed which resulted a precipitous rise in Phileas’ anxiety. He felt as though there were now two pairs of eyes set in judgment over him. He managed to enunciate the "good afternoon" flawlessly, but stammered repeatedly over the word, "Rebecca." An annoyed look at the mangling of her Christian name shadowed the small girl’s features and embarrassed him. Phileas cursed his own poor luck. Why couldn’t she be named Anne?

The three stood there in silence, waiting for Boniface to signal the end of the performance. Gratefully, they did not have to wait for long.

The door of the study silently opened and the butler entered, "Pardon me, Sir Boniface, but Sir Holsapple has arrived."

Surveying the scene with a cursory glance, Boniface said, "Very well. It is done." He immediately moved towards the doorway and passed through heading towards the parlor. The study door closed, erasing the youngsters from both the patriarch’s sight and his thoughts.

The three cousins stood there for a minute looking mutely at the door. Phileas half-hoped his father would return and tell them what to do next or give them leave to continue the status quo: Erasmus getting into trouble, Phileas getting him out of it, and Rebecca…

"What are we supposed to with her? Really. Whatever is father thinking? A girl? What are we supposed to do with a girl? I hate girls," Erasmus spoke with an inspired sense of self-righteousness.

Phileas ignored his brother’s comments as he instead considered what other agendas his father had planned for the lot of them. He set his mind to extrapolating today’s events into the oncoming days, and weeks, and years. He walked to the nearest chair and flopped down into it, lost in thought.

Erasmus glanced at his brother and noting Phileas’ distracted state of mind, turned towards Rebecca, grinning wickedly.

"You came from India, didn’t you? They have all manner of fierce beasts in India. Panthers and snakes and…tigers! That’s it! I shall pretend that I am a ravenous tiger! A tiger that is hungry for Rebeccas!!"

He stealthily walked towards her, lips pulled tightly over his gums, and baring his teeth in a ferocious smile. Erasmus shook is head wildly, freeing his brown locks from their carefully groomed alignments and sending them into an orgy of curls. He splayed his fingers out, bending each at the knuckle so that he was armed with "claws". Hunching his shoulders, he spoke in as menacing a voice as the nine-year-old could muster, "You know what I am, don’t you—Rebecca? You know how to play. Come, we are just pretending. They have tigers in India, don’t they?"

"Not as many as England has monkeys!"

She spit the words back at him and simultaneously "clawed" her own right hand, raised it above her head, and swung it down in a perfect arc of gathering speed and power. Erasmus, being both quicker and taller, easily stepped away avoiding the blow, as a delightfully mischievous grin branded his countenance.

He checked his brother’s position again and finding no interference, Erasmus continued to his teasing, "Is that the best you can offer? You really are a girl, aren’t you? Barely worth the notice, poor, little orphan." He turned his back on her in distain and walked towards the far window.

Rebecca stood rooted to her spot; her body quivered as the anger rippled through her. Eyes narrowing, she balled her small hands into tight fists, squeezing the blood out, readying them for battle. Erasmus took his third step away when she launched herself in a cat-like spring, tackling him solidly from behind.

Both the velocity and vehemence of the assault caught Erasmus off guard. He had no time to place his hands before him and fell almost directly on his face. He let out an "ooohhff!" as the floor’s contact expelled the air from his lungs. And it wasn’t over yet.

Phileas materialized beside them. Reaching down he grabbed his cousin off from on top of his brother. Rebecca thrashed at him so forcefully that he was obliged to hold her out away from his body in order to protect himself from her incessantly kicking feet. As soon as he felt the weight lift, Erasmus, prisoner no more, leapt to his feet, as he cradled his left hand with his right.

"She..she bit me! It’s bleeding!!" was all the astonished lad could manage.

Rebecca continued to squirm, but Phileas was determined not to release her until he was certain that she had regained some semblance of sanity. All he needed was for her to go shrieking out of the room like a banshee to bring all of Shillingsworth Magna down around their ears. This needed to stop—immediately.

The kicks lessened in intensity. Phileas lowered the girl only two inches when he spied her hand stretching towards his wrist poised to deliver a painfully sharp pinch.

Before Rebecca was able to complete her second attack, Phileas shook the girl as sharply as he dared and shouted defiantly, "No! No more!" His cousin instantly became limp. He wasn’t sure if it was from the unexpectedness of the shake or the conviction of his voice that worked, but whichever it was, Phileas was grateful.

He breathed in a large inhalation of air to steady his nerves before addressing her in a calmer tone, "Rebecca, I am going to put you down. I want to talk to you, do you understand?"

She looked at him steadily though her eyes seemed to lose a bit of their previous fire, as the heat of rage subsided. Rebecca shook her head affirmatively.

Phileas gently placed her on her feet, kneeling down on one knee to keep their faces level, but left his hands on the child’s hips until he was completely sure that she wouldn’t bolt for the door. Erasmus had wrapped a handkerchief around his wounded hand and came to stand beside his older brother.

"There," Phileas said gently. "It’s always better to keep one’s feet firmly placed upon the ground." He smiled at her for the first time and inquired, "Are you all right?"

Rebecca shook her head no.

"Hmm," he continued, "I am not surprised. The last creature that bit Ras became violently ill. It seems that my brother tends to upset one’s digestion. I never tried it myself, though I have been sorely tempted."

"Whose side are you on?" Erasmus answered indignantly.

"I am not on any side. And this is not a war."

Phileas’ reproof was enough of an admonishment to silence Erasmus, at least for the present and he sighed softly as he released Rebecca completely. "Oh dear, not even a smile" Phileas said with disappointment. "I, for one, was rather hoping to see you smile, cousin."

"I want Sangita. Can you get her? Please?" Rebecca asked pitifully.

Erasmus interrupted again, "Whom is she talking about?"

Phileas hissed at his brother to be quiet as he focused his attention on the girl. "Sangita? She is the woman who brought you here?"

Rebecca nodded as the tears began to form and journey down her silken cheeks. "She is our maid. She told me that everything would be fine and that my new family would take care of me and that I should be brave because I wouldn’t be alone. She said…" A small sob choked out of her as she buried her face in her hands, and began to slowly rock from side to side.

Oh Lord, Phileas thought. I remember that. I remember doing exactly that after mother died…rocking myself because she could no longer hold me!

He felt the lump rise in his throat and swallowed hard in a futile effort to erase it. He remembered the desperate need for consolation and that when none came, he did the only thing at he could do--comfort himself. That is what she is doing now, he thought.

Phileas closed his eyes against the torrent of memories that flooded his mind and his heart with pain. In counterpoint, he heard his father’s voice echoing in his head, "You are almost a man. A man is dignified. A man is logical. You are a Fogg and such trivialities are unworthy of you. The needs of the few are inconsequential. You must learn to concentrate on the larger picture. Details should be treated as precisely that and no more." The voice faded. In the end, all of his father’s lectures did not outweigh that one small sob originating from "inconsequential" need. Phileas opened his eyes and reached out, gathering Rebecca to himself with the tenderness of his mother’s arms remembered. He would never forget.

Rebecca allowed herself to be embraced. Phileas wasn’t at all sure if she would. She had been through a great deal in a short period of time and it is so much easier to pull away than to chance being hurt. He relaxed as he felt her hands move away from her face and begin a tentative hug. After another moment, the sobs had quieted down to an occasional sniffle.

Erasmus ventured to speak, poking his head into the cocoon of safety that Phileas had provided for Rebecca. He looked at his brother with a mixture of concern and curiosity, "Is she all right, Phil? Shall I run and get Mrs. Harper?"

Phileas replied, "I’m not really sure. Why don’t you ask Rebecca?"

He wrinkled his nose at the request, but only slightly. Erasmus hesitated long enough to fortify himself with a quick sigh and a glance at Phileas, who nodded his encouragement. Reaching out, he softly touched his cousin’s shoulder.

Rebecca turned her face towards the boy. She silently watched him with tear-rimmed eyes. Her nose was stuffed and it’s color now rivaled that of her disheveled hair. It was a very different picture from the one that she had presented a mere ten minutes ago.

Erasmus exclaimed, "Heavens! You look ghastly! Sorry. Sorry. Really, I am. I didn’t mean ghastly, I meant…imperfect. Yes. Not like a girl. You know, more like a Fogg."

"I am a Fogg." Rebecca answered simply.

"Well, you certainly fight like a Fogg. Look," he said, removing the handkerchief and inspecting the damage to his hand, " the bleeding’s nearly stopped." Erasmus held out the wounded palm to Rebecca and added, "Excellent tussle, cousin Rebecca. Excellent."

"You aren’t angry with me for hurting you?" she asked with confusion.

"No. I was very rude. Father said I was ‘the ruler of rudeness’ once. And…I deserved it. You may be an orphan, but I doubt you need to be reminded of it." Erasmus stared at his feet in a sudden display of regret. "Perhaps it might make it easier if you thought of Phileas and me as…half-orphans, because we are, you know."

"Really?" she said turning to Phileas for confirmation.

"Yes," Phileas replied. "Ras is telling the truth. Mother died when I was nearly your age, actually."

"I was only six months old," the younger boy chimed in. "We manage. We do. Because everyone knows that Foggs have an iron-clad grip, like the one you had on my hand." Erasmus glanced at Phileas, smiling with a mixture of pride and admiration for both his brother and himself.

"Really? I am a Fogg. That means that I have an ironclad grip? Is that true, Phileas?" Rebecca again deferred to the older boy for corroboration, her spirits brightening considerably.

Phileas nodded, "It certainly looked that way to me. I had to rip you off of him, you know. If I were merely thirteen years old instead of a full fourteen, I might not have been able to remove you at all." He returned his brother’s glance, keeping his mien serious, but finally throwing in a sly wink.

"But there is more than just that, if you are truly a Fogg…much more." Erasmus added hastily.

Rebecca’s excitement increased. Her eyes brightened and she smiled with genuine enthusiasm, "Yes? What is it?"

"When a Fogg grabs onto something," Erasmus shoved his hand confidently in the direction of Phileas. "We hold on tight…"

Phileas grasped his brother’s hand firmly, "…and never let go."

The two brothers shook hands with conviction, smiling affectionately at each other. Rebecca watched the familial display with great interest. However, the spark of a moment ago dimmed considerably as she deliberated.

"Oh. I see. But you cannot shake hands with three people. It doesn’t really work. Shaking hands works for two—not three."

Phileas quickly responded, "Who specified a handshake?"

"Phil!" Erasmus began to protest.

Holding up his index finger to silence his brother yet again, Phileas began to explain, "I have a better idea: the idea of three. Here Rebecca, take your right hand and latch onto my right wrist."

Rebecca complied and Phileas grinned at her. "Excellent. Yes, just like that. Now Ras, you kneel down over here and latch onto Rebecca’s wrist with your right hand. And now I shall grab onto your wrist with my right hand. There. Do you see? We are all connected and holding tight—ironclad grips one and all!"

Rebecca giggled in delight. "That is marvelous! Oh and look! There, in the center… is a triangle!"

"Ha! Good one, Phil! A triangle!" Erasmus agreed.

Phileas cleared his throat to command the attention of the others. With a smattering of a philosophical tone in his voice, he explained, "Actually, I prefer to think of it as a tetrahedron. A tetrahedron is the strongest geometric shape that there is." He looked at the blank stares of the youngsters and added, "Of course, both of you already knew that."

Erasmus piped up, "Of course we did, didn’t we, cousin Rebecca?"

"Um…I think so," she replied hesitantly.

Laughing at their bravado, Phileas said, "Well, now you know. The favorite geometric shape of the Fogg family is the tetrahedron…"

"And we have ironclad grips…" Erasmus added.

"And we never let go—ever," Rebecca concluded.

Phileas looked around at this happy triad, each of them smiling at the others. He recognized it as a pure moment: rare and beautiful. He wondered how long it would last.

Leaping to his feet, Erasmus cried, "That’s enough praying for today. Come on, Phil. Let’s show Rebecca the "old man" oak--even if she probably doesn’t know how to climb. She can just be a girl and watch us do it."

Rebecca flew to defend herself, chasing after Erasmus as she did, "I do so know how to climb! I can climb better than you! Where is your sissy tree? There are humongous trees in India, Erasmus. Humongous!"

Phileas got to his feet trotting slowly behind them. He thought, it was not such a bad day after all. If I can only keep Ras from falling and Rebecca from climbing… He sighed. The others had already reached the gardens when Phileas broke into a run. All in all, it was just another adventure. Passing the younger two, he turned and laughed.

"I’ll race you!" he dared.