Foxworth Academy by Chris Blewitt Read Free Book Online

from them.  Looking left, they stared down a cobblestone street empty of pedestrians.  The buildings were gray and drab, some with broken windows, others with flower pots outside the front door and drapes covering the windows.  The same could be said on their right.  They saw a few shops and started toward them.
    “Where in the world are we?” Ally said. 
    “More importantly,” Brett replied, “How did we get here?”
    “We’re not even in the US,” Ally said, “based on how that woman spoke.  Where do you think we are?”
    “She sounded English, didn’t she?  Maybe we’re in England.”
    “What?  How in the world did we get to England?  And what’s with the ridiculous clothes?”  She took off her hat.
    Brett stopped and grabbed her arm.  “Don’t you remember the voice?  We have to keep these hats on at all times.”
    Reluctantly she put the hat back on and they started walking down the cobblestone street.  They passed row homes mostly and a few were advertising rooms for rent.  The first store they came to was a florist but it was closed.  Brett checked his watch but it said 11:30, the time it was in class, but maybe not here, wherever here was.  A few houses had names written in script above the front door.  Adams, Baker’s Pub, Lincolnshire Tavern.  They were all closed.  They came to a cross street and had the option to go straight, left, or right. 
    “Come on,” Brett said, leading Ally left, downhill.
    More of the same surroundings abutted both sides of the street.  This time, there were a few people milling about.  Mostly men, walking toward an unknown destination, maybe work, the way they were dressed in dark drab suits and uniforms. 
    “Excuse me?” Ally said to the closest man walking in their direction.  “Excuse me?”
    The man turned his head in her direction but continued walking.
    “Don’t you hear me?” she pestered.  Eventually catching up to him, Ally grabbed the man’s sleeve and spun him toward her.
    “Get your mitts off me, vagrant,” the man said.
    “I’m not a vagrant,” she said.  “Listen, I just have a question for you,” she pleaded.
    The man turned and continued on his way.
    “Where are we?” she asked.
    The man slowed his pace and turned back toward her with a puzzled look.  He said, “This is Canal Walk, are you lost?”
    “I mean where are we?” she asked.
    “The County of Hampshire,” the man said, increasing his pace.
    Brett and Ally stopped.  “Hampshire?” Brett said.  “Are we in New England?  Like the state New Hampshire?”
    The man ignored them, shuffling off.  In the distance, Ally heard a voice shouting something over and over. “Come on,” Ally said, walking ahead of Brett.
    As they got closer they could make out the voice of the young boy.  “Daily Echo five pence!  Echo here, five pence!”
    They reached the corner of the street.  A boy no older than ten stood with a pile of slim newspapers beside him.  He held one in his hand waving it back and forth.  “Echo, five pence!” he exulted. 
    Brett thought about the message back in the classroom and patted his pockets.  There were some coins in his pants.  He reached in and pulled out a fistful of unrecognizable coins.  “I’ll take one,” he said to the boy, holding out his hand of coins.
    The boy looked at him, grabbed the coin, and handed him the newspaper.  “Cheers,” he said and he continued his sales pitch.  “Daily Echo!”
    Brett and Ally stopped at the corner and Brett read aloud.  “Southhampton’s oldest daily newspaper.”
    “What’s it say?” Ally asked, trying to read the paper.
    Brett shuffled the paper and paged through it quickly. 
    “The date, check the date,” she said.
    He flipped back to the first page.  “Edition number one hundred.”  He paused and looked at Ally.  “April 10 th , 1912.”

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    T he class viewed the unfolding scene with great interest.  Most leaned forward to hear the