Authors: Tony Abbott

Mississippi River Blues (12 page)

“Are you Fogg?” he repeated, smiling politely.

“Fog?” said Frankie. “Sometimes Mr. Wexler says Devin's brain is in a fogâ”

The man shook his head vigorously. “No, no. I mean Phileas Fogg. I am the new servant of Mr. Phileas Fogg whose house is at Number Seven, Saville Row! Passepartout is my name. It is pronounced Passâparâtoo! I am French, from France. In fact, I am a Parisian from Paris.”

“I'm a Devin,” I told him. “This is a Frankie. We're Palmdale Middle Schoolians from Palmdale Middle School. It's a long way from here.”

“By the way,” said Frankie, “where is
here
?”

“London, of course!” the man replied.

“That's England, right?” I said.

“Of course!”

“Dude,” I said to Frankie. “I got one right.”

Frankie made a face at me. “Excuse him, Passepartout, but what year is it?”

“Eighteen hundred and seventy-two!” he said brightly. “Now, if you will be so good as to help me find Mr. Fogg's house, I would thank you.”

Frankie and I both shrugged at each other. There was no denying it. We had landed in a book again. The same book that was sitting on the sidewalk in front of me.
Around the World in Eighty Days
. I picked it up and flipped to the first page. “Here we go again,” I said.

“Okay, Passepartout,” said Frankie. “Let's go.”

“Good,” he said, heading down the street. “I cannot be late. The agency that hired me has told me that Mr. Fogg is very punctual, very exact. He fired his last servant because he heated Mr. Fogg's shaving water two degrees lower than requested! And shaving water to an Englishman such as Mr. Fogg is a very serious matter!”

Horses and carriages
clip-clop
ped by us. Everyone was wearing old-fashioned clothes, the men in suits and women in long dresses and hats. Lots of umbrellas.

Finally, we turned the corner onto a wide street of brick and stone houses. The sign said
SAVILLE ROW.

“Mr. Fogg, they say, is very rich,” Passepartout went on. “He spends much of his time playing cards with his friends at the Reform Club, a very famous club of the richest gentlemen in London! This is the sort of person my new master is!”

“Sounds a little dull,” said Frankie.

“I want dull!” said Passepartout. “After spending many years as a circus juggler and acrobat, bicycle racer, and street singer, I am looking to work for a quiet man! I yearn for rest.”

“I love to rest!” I said. “It's my specialty, in fact.”

“And what restful activities do you prefer?” asked Passepartout.

“English class,” I said. “It's a good place to sleep.”

“Well, here we are,” said Frankie, pointing to a green door with a gold knocker on it.

“Let's knock,” said Passepartout. “How do I look?”

“Cool,” I said.

“I do not feel cool,” he said. “I feel very nervous!”

Using the knocker, Passepartout announced that we were there. A moment later, the door opened and there stood a well-dressed man. He was tall and thin, and had a neat, short beard. He was about the age of my dad, maybe a tiny bit older.

The guy had no wrinkles anywhere on his clothes. He looked like one of those store dummies, except that his eyes looked smart, and he obviously had a lot going on inside his dome.

“I am Phileas Fogg,” he stated.

“Good day, sir!” said Passepartout. “I amâ”

Mr. Fogg held up his hand abruptly. “What is the proper temperature for shaving water?”

“Man!” Frankie whispered to me. “A quiz already?”

Passepartout blinked. “Eighty-six degrees.”

“Correct,” said Phileas Fogg. “You may enter.”

He waved his hand and we passed through into the entrance hall of a very quiet and very neat house.

“I'm Frankie,” said Frankie going in. “This is Devin.”

Taking us into his living room, Mr. Fogg said, “I am exact. I am settled. I am quiet. My life is one of unbroken regularity. I have my routines. I wake every morning at precisely eight o'clock.”

Passepartout nodded sharply. “Yes, Mr. Fogg.”

“I have toast at twenty-three minutes past eight.”

“Yes, Mr. Fogg.”

“I shave at thirty-seven minutes past eight.”

“Yes, Mr. Fogg.”

“I do not like turbulence in my household. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Fogg!”

“Good,” the man said. He pulled a watch from his pocket. “What time do you have?”

“Twenty-two minutes past eleven,” said Passepartout.

“You are four minutes slow,” Fogg said.

“My watch is set on Paris time,” said Passepartout.

“You are in London now,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Then I shall change to London time!” said Passepartout. He twisted a knob on his watch. “There.”

“Good,” said Fogg. “From this moment, twenty-six minutes after eleven
A.M.,
Wednesday, October second, you are my servant.”

“Thank you, sir!” said Passepartout. He leaned forward as if he were going to hug Mr. Fogg, but his new master swiftly put up his hand to stop him.

“Now, Passepartout,” he said, “there are exactly one thousand one hundred fifty-one steps from my door to the door of the Reform Club, and I have exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds in which to traverse that distance. Therefore, I must now leave.”

Without another word, Phileas Fogg took his hat in his hand, put it on his head, and slipped through the front door, closed it behind him, and was gone.

“Wow,” I said. “He's very â¦ very â¦”

“I know!” said Frankie, peeking out a front window.

As Fogg left the house and crossed the street, an out-of-control carriage dragged by two wild horses shot right by him. Fogg kept walking at the same pace.

“That carriage almost ran him down!” I said.

“He didn't even notice,” said Frankie.

“The man is a machine!” said Passepartout.

“A robot,” said Frankie.

“A fast robot!” I said, as we watched Phileas Fogg walk quickly down the street.

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What a Trip!
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About the Author

Over the last two decades, Tony Abbott has written dozens of mysteries, comics, and adventure books for young readers aged six to fourteen, with series including Danger Guys, the Time Surfers, the Weird Zone, Underworlds, Goofballs, and the long-running fantasy series the Secrets of Droon. He is also the author of the fantasy epic
Kringle
and the realistic novels
Firegirl
(winner of the 2006 Golden Kite Award for Fiction), The
Postcard
(winner of the 2008 Edgar Award for Best Juvenile Mystery), and
Lunch-Box Dream
. Among his latest novels is
The Forbidden Stone
, the first installment of the twelve-book saga the Copernicus Legacy. Tony has taught on the faculty of Lesley University's MFA program in creative writing, is a frequent conference speaker and visitor to schools, and presents workshops to creative writers of all ages. His websites include
www.tonyabbottbooks.com
,
www.thecopernicuslegacy.com
, and the literary blog
www.fridaybookreport.com
.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Connie Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-4804-8688-1

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com