by Arthur Slade
Hostility? Octavia wanted to shout. I have spent every last waking moment searching the high seas, begging a one-legged drunken fisherman for passage, only to find Modo with you in a diving bell. Octavia cleared her throat. “I just don’t trust the French.”
“And I don’t trust the English. Modo, though …” Colette paused. “I do trust him.” She stood. “I do not think we can accomplish much more. This tête-à-tête has come to an end. Though I must ask a favor.”
“Which is?”
“Would you give this to Modo?” Colette produced a folded note from a pocket in her dress. Octavia did not reach for it, let her hold it out in the air.
“You don’t want to give it to him yourself?”
She was surprised that Colette seemed a little shaken. “Have you ever seen his face? His true face?”
“No. Have you?”
“Well, that is—how shall I put it?—a matter of confidentiality.”
Did he show it to you willingly? Octavia wanted to ask, but she bit her tongue instead.
“Please take the note,” Colette said. “I must go and find out when my ship leaves.”
Octavia closed her fingers around the paper. “Good day, then,” she said. “Good luck.”
“Yes, bonne chance to you and to Modo.” Colette gave her a slight smile. “Adieu.”
EPILOGUE
The Assignment Ends
FROM HIS BED ON THE THIRD FLOOR of the boardinghouse, Modo could watch the fishing and whaling ships and the occasional steamer come in, but mostly he spent his time reading, and recovering, wearing a mask he’d made from a pillowcase. The water brought back so many memories, and he couldn’t yet come to terms with what had happened to Captain Monturiol, Cerdà, or Icaria. It was just too painful to think of their sacrifices for a country that no longer existed.
No, that wasn’t quite true. There were the survivors on the Filomena. They would still have Icaria in their hearts. He hoped they had landed safely with their sympathizers. However, Garay had said they intended to resupply. Where would they go next?
There was a knock at the door. Before he could answer, it swung open. “I am eternally looking after you.” Octavia entered the room, holding a lunch plate. She set it down next to him, and Modo sat up to see lamb, cabbage, and rye crèpes. “As per your request. Lamb is expensive here, but you deserve it.”
“Ah, you are a dear soul,” Modo said. He still felt as though he hadn’t eaten for weeks. He took a moment to straighten his lips and teeth, then lifted the bottom portion of his mask and forked half of a crèpe into his mouth.
Octavia had seated herself across from him and poured them tea. She seemed smartly pleased with herself. In fact, if he hadn’t known better, Modo would have said she was enjoying looking after him. She had explained that after the Hugo had been attacked, they had docked in Reykjavik, and she had been searching for him ever since.
“You’re looking stronger.”
“Only thanks to you,” he said. “Who would have known that you could be such a nurse?”
“Ah, I play so many parts. And I do have new information. Fishermen found a few of the Icarians in lifeboats.”
“How many?”
“Twelve.”
His heart sank. “There were more than twenty locked up on the Wyvern. The rest must have perished.”
Octavia nodded. “Apparently there weren’t enough lifeboats and they drew lots for their places. A very organized and brave group.” She sipped her tea. “But that’s not all, Modo. The survivors have disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes, they were locked in one of the government buildings. The Icelanders weren’t too happy about all the ships they’d sunk. But they vanished overnight. They must have sympathizers here. A secret cell.”
“They were from every country,” Modo said.
“Are they a group we should be wary of?”
Modo shrugged. “I believe they just want to be left in peace.”
“Well, they’re gone now. Mr. Socrates will not be pleased. I’m certain he would have wanted to interview them.”
Modo was glad that the Icarians had escaped. From both the British and the French. “Any sign of the Wyvern?”
“Fishermen found only bodies of Guild soldiers. It’s as if they preferred death over being captured.”
Somehow that didn’t surprise Modo. “And Mr. Socrates? Any orders from him?”
“He’s coming to deliver his orders himself, though it’ll be tomorrow before he arrives and his inquisition begins. My brief explanations of what you saw and what happened are not enough! He’ll want his goods straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. He did ask about your health. Since when has he been concerned about an agent’s health?”
“Perhaps I am his favorite,” Modo said, then laughed. When he was done laughing, he asked, “And what of Colette?”
“Why are you asking about her?”
“I only wonder how she is. Is she up and around?”
“Actually, she left for France this morning. I had tea with her last night, though. She gave me a few details about your adventures together. And this.”
She handed a note to Modo, but he just held it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked.
Modo shrugged, then unfolded the note carefully. It read:
Modo,
I am weaker than I want to be, and that shames me. One day I will be strong enough to greet you as you deserve. Ignore my reaction. Remember, you are more than your appearance.
With great admiration and gratitude,
Colette
He folded it up. She couldn’t look at me again, he thought. Not even to say goodbye.
Octavia studied him. “Did she curse you and England?”
“No.”
“Ah, we are better off without her,” Octavia said. “She seemed a bit of a harpy. And her accent was so provincial.”
“Provincial? It was Parisian.”
“I know. I just wanted to see if you would defend her.”
Modo chose that moment to eat a little more of the food she’d brought.
“And what now?” he asked finally.
“I’m hoping you’ll be well enough this evening to walk about the town with me. Once You-Know-Who gets here we’ll be drilled with questions, questions, questions. Perhaps we can go out to eat. They have scrumptious fish here.”
Modo closed his eyes. “Tavia, I don’t care if I ever, ever eat fish again.”
ARTHUR SLADE has published several novels for young readers, including The Hunchback Assignments; Jolted: Newton Starker’s Rules for Survival; Megiddo’s Shadow; Tribes; and Dust, which won the Governor General’s Literary Award for Children’s Literature. He lives in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, with his wife, Brenda Baker. Visit him on the Web at www.arthurslade.com.