Around the World in 100 Days (28 page)

On Doomsday Minus Twenty-Three, they reached the broad valley of the Yenisei, the largest river in Siberia. Beyond the Yenisei, the gloomy taiga gave way again to the treeless, rolling grasslands known as the steppes. The farther west they traveled, the larger and more closely spaced the towns became—for all the good it did the travelers. Often they were in and out of a town so quickly that Charles, to his frustration, was unable to even learn the name of the place. His diary entries had become rather sketchy and repetitive:

Charles was being kind. In truth, their misfortune was due less to bad luck than to a mistake on Harry's part—not a large mistake, nor a foolish one, just an ordinary oversight. But sometimes small errors can lead to serious consequences.

Omsk was, as Charles indicated, a well-populated, busy metropolis—far too busy to suit Harry. The streets were filled with wagons and carriages and people on foot who stopped to gawk at the marvelous machine. Harry was forced to slow the
Flash
to a crawl, which only made matters worse, since now the gawkers gathered around the car for a closer look. A man in a European-style suit called to them, “You are the English motorists, yes?”

“
Da!
” replied Harry.

To his fellow Omskites, the man shouted something that included the words
aftomobil
and “Fogg.” The people responded with cheers. “It looks as though they've heard of us,” said Harry with his trademark grin, which had been seen so seldom of late.

Johnny groaned and, sliding down in his seat, pulled his cap over his ears.

Thanks to the growing crowd of well-wishers, the already-choked thoroughfare became nearly impassable. Harry had to halt frequently and suddenly; he was continually applying or releasing the hand brake, pushing the throttle in and out, engaging and disengaging the gears. So occupied was he with avoiding collisions that he neglected to lower the flame on the burner, and Johnny, upset by all the people and the noise, failed to notice. At last the boiler built up such a head of pressure that the safety valve blew, sending steam shooting from the smokestack.

The alarmed townsfolk scattered, some crying out in fright; the commotion, in turn, startled several horses, including one harnessed to a cart full of clay pottery. The animal reared into the air, dumping its load onto the pavement and shattering half the pots. The driver, who was also thrown from the cart, stormed up to the motorcar, limping and spouting a stream of what Harry could only assume were invectives and imprecations.

Harry shut down the burner and did his best to apologize in his limited French, but the man would not be mollified. He began shouting,
“Policija! Policija!”
Two policemen pushed their way through the spectators, who had recovered from their fear and reassembled.

Brandishing their batons, the officers herded the motorists and the injured party toward the station house. Johnny had to be pried away from the
Flash
. “Harry?” he pleaded.

“It'll be all right, lad.” Harry spoke to the officers in French. “What about our carriage without horse? She cannot stop in the center of the street!”

“Don't worry,” said one of the policemen. “Someone will move it.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “That is what worries me.”

“No one will steal it, if that's what you mean,” said the man, rather crossly. “This is a law-abiding town. Now get moving.”

Though it galled him to do it, Harry resorted to the tactic his father had so often used on his fabled journey: He offered to pay the cart driver double what the pots were worth if he would drop the charges against them. “You Englishmen and your money,” said the policeman. “You think you can buy your way out of this? I've told you, this is a law-abiding town. You must go before the magistrate.”

“And when will the magistrate be here?”

“Tomorrow.”

They spent the next twenty-four hours in a badly heated jail cell so small that Harry could not even pace about. He sat cross-legged on a bunk and meditated and, for a change, it actually seemed to help. Charles passed the time by playing solitaire and writing in his diary. Johnny curled up in his bunk like some hibernating animal waiting for spring.

The following afternoon they were brought before the magistrate, who quickly scanned the police report, then glanced up with an eager look on his face. “You are Harry Fogg?” he said, in English.

“Yes, sir.”

“I have been following your adventures in the Moscow newspaper. But there has been nothing for at least a fortnight; I wondered what had become of you. You managed to repair your motorcar, I take it?”

“Yes, sir, we did. We also escaped a band of outlaws and crossed the Tchuma River in full flood. The only tight spot we have not managed to extricate ourselves from is the Omsk jail.”

“I am sorry for the inconvenience,” said the magistrate. “I hope it has not cost you too much time.”

“An entire day, actually.”

“How many days remain before you must be back in England?”

Harry turned to Charles, who said, “Seventeen, Your Honor.”

“Seventeen days? To cross all of Europe? Then why on earth are you standing here? It is clear that the whole incident was merely an accident!” The magistrate shouted something in Russian. Whatever he said, it had a profound effect. The three motorists were ushered from the room—not roughly, like prisoners, but respectfully, like visiting dignitaries. “Good luck to you, gentlemen!” the magistrate called after them.

The police escorted them to the spot where they had left the
Flash
. “You see,” said Harry cheerfully, “I told you it would be all right.”

“Except that we lost an entire day,” said Charles.

“Not to worry. We'll make up for it. As long as the
Flash
holds up, we're—” He broke off and halted in his tracks, staring at their motorcar, which someone had pushed out of the street and onto the wooden sidewalk.

“What is it?” said Charles. “What's wrong?”

“We've been robbed,” said Johnny.

THIRTY-SIX
In which

Every bit of their equipment and supplies had been carried off, including their heavy coats, their bedding, the tents, the canned goods—even Johnny's tools. What's more, the acetylene lamps had been removed from the fenders, and there were gaping holes in the rain hood where someone had cut away numerous squares of the leather.

“I thought you said this was a law-abiding town!” cried Charles.

“This is not the work of criminals,” said the policeman. “I suspect it was ordinary townsfolk who wanted a souvenir from the famous globe-circling motorcar.”

“Oh, well,” said Charles, “when we're freezing and starving to death out there on the steppes, we'll console ourselves with the knowledge that it was all just a bit of harmless fun!”

“Calm down, Charles,” said Harry. “We can buy more supplies. Let's just consider ourselves lucky we're not still sitting in that jail cell.”

“I could easily arrest you again,” said the policeman, “for showing disrespect to an officer of the law.”

“The magistrate would only release us,” said Charles smugly.

“Perhaps.” The policeman sounded even more smug. “But it could take some time to schedule another hearing for you—possibly as much as a week.”

Charles grudgingly let the matter drop. It took the rest of the afternoon to replace the stolen supplies—not all of them, by any means, only the most essential items. As Harry and Charles stood in a mercantile store, selecting woolen blankets, Harry unexpectedly let out a laugh. “I'm glad you find the situation so amusing,” said Charles.

“I was just thinking about how you told off that policeman. Not very gentlemanly of you, old chap.”

“I was angry. I still am.”

“I know. And you must admit, that in itself is rather amusing.”

“In what way?” demanded Charles.

“Well, you sounded so indignant, so . . . proprietary, as though the thieves had done you some grave personal injury. But most of the supplies were ours; all you lost was a portmanteau with a couple of changes of clothing. And I noticed that, earlier, you said ‘we lost an entire day'—not
they
, but
we
. You seem to consider yourself an actual part of this expedition, not just an observer.”

“Haven't I earned that right?”

“Of course you have. But isn't that conflict of interest, or something? I mean, your father is betting two thousand pounds that we'll lose, and yet you seem determined to have us win.”

Charles fingered one of the blankets thoughtfully. “When we started out, you know, I thought the whole idea was ludicrous. I was certain we'd break down before we got out of England. But this trip has convinced me that motorcars are just as practical as locomotives—more so, in fact, because you can go anywhere you like with one, not just along a set of tracks. Someday soon they're going to replace the railroads. If we can make my father understand that, it's worth a lot more than two thousand pounds.”

“I agree,” said Harry. “Now, we'd better pay for all this and get on the road; we have a lot of miles to make up.”

“Right. But see here, Harry. Perhaps you'd better let me take care of this. You can't have much money left.”

“Thanks for the thought, my friend, but I can't have your father accusing me of cheating—accepting aid and comfort from the enemy, as it were.”

“It's not his money; it's mine.”

“All the same, I'd rather not. Besides, I have more than enough to cover it.”

“I don't mean to be rude, but how the deuce did you manage that? I saw your bankroll after you lost that race to Morrison. You were running low even then.”

Harry scratched his head and shifted about uncomfortably.

“Never mind,” said Charles. “I suppose it's none of my business.”

“No, no, the fact is, I'm tired of keeping it to myself. Just promise me one thing—you won't breathe a word about this to Johnny.”

“All right. I promise.”

“You remember your father's friend, Drummond, whom we met in San Francisco?”

“Of course. What about him?”

“Well, I . . . The thing is, I . . . I sold him the
Flash
.”

“You're joking.”

“No, unfortunately, I'm not. I was nearly out of money, and it was the only way I could think of to raise enough for the rest of the trip. I certainly couldn't ask my father for more.”

Charles shook his head incredulously. “That was a deuced stupid thing to do, Harry. I see why you didn't want me to tell Johnny. But you know, he'll find out eventually, and he's going to be extremely upset.”

“Ah, but that's where you're wrong. You see, I wasn't nearly as stupid as you think. I didn't sell Drummond the
Flash
outright. I made a deal with him: He gets the car only if we lose. If we win, I give him back his money, and we keep the
Flash
. So Johnny never needs to know.”

“Provided we win the wager, that is.”