Tue, February 07 2012
| TITLE: | A Trip to the Mississippi River |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Moishouki |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | Crossover, Crossover Workshop |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | G, Gen |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | |
| DESCRIPTION: | Crossover Workshop Entry |
| STATUS: | Complete |
Once again they had chased the Prometheus all the way to the Americas; once again they had dealt with the League of Darkness. For now, it was time to go home. The Aurora’s owner, Passepartout’s master Phileas Fogg, seemed reluctant to return to his house in London, and rather insisted on visiting the Mississippi river. Jules Verne traded glances with Rebecca, knowing that what Fogg was really after was another trip down the river in a paddle-wheel steamer – not because Fogg was all of that interested in riverboats propelled by wheels, but because Fogg was an anthropologist. The only place where the Mississippi riverboat gambler was to be found was on a riverboat on the Mississippi, and Fogg clearly meant to engage the species in its native habitat.
“All right, Phileas,” Rebecca said. “We’ll find you a riverboat. But we’ll be waiting for you up-river, second landing after tomorrow.” She wondered if she would see Sam Clemens, who – she vaguely remembered – was from the general vicinity. That had been so long ago, she thought, she was sure he wouldn’t remember her, and still . . .
Fogg just sighed patiently, as though she had only said what he intended all along. Passepartout smiled, and put the Aurora on course for the Mississippi.
The people of the small village had seen an odd balloon flying in the sky, floating with the clouds. The odd yellow balloon seemed to have something hanging on to it, dangling below, looking small so high up in the sky. The first person who saw it raised the cry and people had rushed outside from their houses, from the general store, or from the bank to look. The sighting had fortuitously coincided with recess in the village’s school-yard, and the school-teacher had had a hard time getting the children back in class. One boy in particular, once forced to come inside, had insisted on standing at the open window with his head craned out to watch; and no matter what the teacher said, or how sternly the teacher ordered him to take his place at his desk and come back to his lesson, he didn’t obey, staying right where he was to watch the flying thing with a great interest until the teacher – tiring of yelling without effect – took more direct measures to enforce discipline.
From further on downstream, outside of the village, another boy had seen the flying thing; and had watched with interest, as well. He climbed down out of his tree and ran to the school where he would find his friends at the end of the school-day; the flying machine was by all evidence coming closer and closer to the village, and would surely land there.
The truant boy was right. By the end of the day the flying machine had landed and was secured to the ground. The odd balloon was huge in the eyes of a boy, and his curiosity about it even larger.
“Tonight,” the curious boy from the school-yard said to his friends, “I will go see that thing closer.” His friends looked at him, impressed.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” a little girl had asked, clearly worried.
“Don’t worry, Becky, I will only go see, and perhaps get something for you from it.”
The little girl reddened a bit at the comment as some other boy, Ben, looked at him. “Won’t that be dangerous?”
The adventurous lad, having his own mind already made up, put his hand on Ben’s shoulder and looked at him. “Surely a bit, but I’ll do it. I’ll tell you all tomorrow, unless you came outside tonight with me and watch from the alleyway.”
The boy who had not been in school -- and who was in a dirtier state than the others -- added, “I will be there, too, and I will go with you to see that thing.” They all parted as he spoke; the teacher, Mr. Dobbing, was leaving the school, with Jeff -- the school telltale – on his trail. Remarking them, they all run away to avoid to be caught plotting; well, as fast they could, with one of them having sore buttocks.
Later, after the sun was hid and the moon was full and high in the sky, a dark form slid outside through an open window and walked furtively in the night. In another part of the village, another form had done the same, while a third had left the forest by the side of the Mississippi river near the village. The three forms had greeted one another by loud cats’ mewings. The mewings had next parted a bit as one of the “cats” had stepped farther than the others toward the odd and huge thing.
Inside the airship, the noise being made by some unnerving tomcat was really annoying some of the occupants. “What the hell are those cats doing here? Couldn’t they go make their infernal noise somewhere else?” Phileas Fogg complained, looking out the porthole to try to see the subject of his outburst of temper.
Rebecca looked up from the book she was reading to see Jules deeply asleep on the bench, as if the animal sounds had not disturbed him at all. “It’s only some cat that is probably trying to protect the food that it’s managed to find, Phileas.”
Passepartout smiled. “Yes, Master, perhaps Passepartout should be letting out some fish, to be sure we get quiety again.”
Phileas shot him a frown and stayed to look by the window on the wall with the night-vision glasses. After a second he spotted his prey.
“There it is, and it’s far from being a tomcat. It looks more like a little scoundrel that needs to hear what I think about the way he is trespassing on my property,” he said; and the shadow he could be moved outside the cabin, grabbing the intruder who was trying to get in by a back door and drawing him inside to the main room where Rebecca rose when she heard the commotion of her cousin forcing a young boy to step in the Aurora. Jules awakened and saw the scene, too, just as Passepartout; who stepped to the side, and only just in time to get out of the way before his master threw his captive into the nearest chair.
The boy, puzzled to have been caught but amazed by what he saw inside the odd thing, stayed where he was to look at his surroundings and his unhappy hosts. Phileas stepped in front of him, still frowning. “So, young man, who are you, and what the hell were you trying to do to my airship so late in the evening? Haven’t your parents told you that it’s wrong to do things like that, sliding out in the night, trespassing, creating a nocturnal uproar?”
The boy looked at them all intently. They were strangers, yes, but only people like anyone else by what he could tell at the first sight. He would have expected people who traveled that way to be extraordinary in some way; that was somehow even more amazing. “I’m Tom, Tom Sawyer, sir.” And tried his best ploy to get out of trouble, “I was only curious, I wouldn’t steal anything, I only wanted to see. And my aunt Polly, she would really not be happy to know, you’re right, sir.”
He did his best to sound repentant and sorry enough for what he’d done that it would stave off the threat of a second spanking before the day was really over. The man -- the harder of them, the one who’d caught him -- seemed really quite ready to grab him again and to haul him off home for his aunt Polly to deal with, but the lady and the younger man seemed sweeter-tempered, just as did the man in the striped waistcoat. “Let him go, Fogg,” the younger man said. “It’s only a too-curious lad, he did nothing bad, after all.”
The man sighed aloud and Tom knew he was unhappy and really very angry, even though he had his back to Tom now. The lady, a really pretty one with hair of a particular colour that could be seen even in the dimmed light of the room, smiled at him in a really friendly manner. “Phileas, he’s only a boy. Leave him alone, and let him go back home. I’m sure that there was really no harm done, and he will not go back on that.” Tom was sure he saw her wink at him.
The man in the striped waistcoat came closer. “Perhaps the young man is thirsty or hungry, and perhaps Passepartout could…”
Tom almost jumped from his chair and fell on the floor when the man called Phileas turned to face him, interrupting the man in the striped waistcoat. “Stop that, Passepartout! I’m taking our young uninvited guest outside,” he said, and stepped closer to Tom. Tom saw him clench his jaw, and felt his hand gripping Tom’s arm as tight as a metallic claw -- but yet without the strength to hurt Tom’s arm – as he dragged Tom back outside.
“Now, Mr. Sawyer, if I hear a cat or see you dawdling around my airship again, your aunt Polly will be getting a visit from me,” he said; and released Tom’s arm, as Tom looked on the man who seemed less angry as he straightened his jacket before he added “Curiosity can bring bad consequences. You should be wiser and keep that in mind. Go away before I change my mind, and put my boot to your arse.”
Tom stepped away, a smile on his face. He would have a lot to say to his friends about what he saw and was sure his arms would be a proof enough about his meeting.
End.
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