Spies Are Like Daffodils
A Spontoon Island story
© 2023 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  RockBaker


Nine.



Midway through his chicken soup and grilled cheese sandwich, Henry glanced up and looked past Nunevya. He reached across the aisle and patted the table in front of Bernie before waving forward.

“I think it’s down that way,” the stork said, “on the left.”

The fox finally swallowed what was in his mouth and said, “It’s Ivan and Igor.”

“Really?” Phlute twisted around in his seat and waved. “Hi, guys!”

Nunevya was about to take a mouthful of her lobster bisque, glanced over her shoulder at what Patafuerte was pointing at, and the spoon dropped into the bowl with a splash. “You know them?” she hissed, trying to make herself smaller.

“Sure,” Henry said. “They gave us a lift to catch up with you.”

“Bozhemoi . . . “ The minkess facepalmed. “They are secret police, you idiots.”

Three pairs of ears twitched.

“They are?” Patafuerte got to his feet and took up a position blocking the aisle, with Phlute getting up and standing behind him. “That’s far enough, guys. Is what she’s saying the truth?”

Igor stopped and crossed his arms across his chest. “Da.”

The fox glared at the bear. “I don’t think I like you anymore.”

The wolverine behind him chuckled. “Feeling is mutual, weird boy.” He turned and moved aside as a schnauzer wearing a feral leather overcoat stepped past him. “She is there, Major,” Sergeant Awfulich said.

“So I see,” the schnauzer said, and he stopped short and looked at Patafuerte. “I know you.”

The red fox’s ears went back. “And I remember you now – you’re Major Fergnergenberg or something. Saw one of your cigarette cards back in Seathl.”

Two pairs of ears twitched.

“The name is von Fecklessenberg,” the canine said. “I know of you from the file I read about your . . . unorthodox arrival in Spontoon last year.” He raised a brow and smirked. “I must say, I am unimpressed.”

“Hey!” Bernie shoved Henry aside. “What about me?”

“Who are you?”

The stork drew himself up, the top of his head scant inches from the ceiling. “Bernie Phlute, Minkerton’s Detective Agency.”

Von Fecklessenburg’s ears twitched. "Ah, yes. I of course know of you, Mr. Phlute."

"I'm that famous?"

The schnauzer chuckled before the avian had time to start preening. "Hardly. On a list of the 100 top Minkerton’s agents, you are number 120." His smile faded. “Sergeants Awfulich and Blymy, take her into custody.”

Nunevya gave a frightened squeak and slid under the table.

Henry stepped forward, fists raised. “All right, who wants a – “ He never finished the sentence, as the bear’s fist smacked the fox’s nose. Patafuerte reeled back and Blymy took aim at Phlute, and as the tod finished shaking his head to clear it he saw the stork using his flexible neck to easily evade Blymy’s punches. “Wha – Why didn’t you do that sooner?” Patafuerte said.

“Hey! I don’t stick my neck out for just anyone, you know.” Bernie said. “Now, my friend, are you and your partner ready for a thrashing? I must warn you – I’ve been trained in the manly arts by the best teachers in Schenectady.”

Sergeant Awfulich said, “That is very interesting.”

“Thank you,” Phlute said, and while he was distracted Blymy punched the stork square in the face. Phlute’s head wobbled uncertainly on his neck as he mumbled, “Can I come in now, Mom? These kids play rough . . . “ He staggered backwards a few paces as Patafuerte readied himself to resume the fight.

“Okay, fellows, you can stop the floor show,” came a stern voice from behind the fox, and Henry glanced over his shoulder to see the conductor standing there, with two porters and the train’s cook behind him. The cook, a lean ermine, was hefting a large and murderous-looking cleaver. “What’s going on here?” the bear asked.

Bernie said woozily, “They – “

“She,” von Fecklessenburg said, pointing at the minkess under the table, “is a traitor to the Russian Empire. I am an accredited officer of police, and I am placing her under arrest.”

“I see,” the conductor said, “and do you have a warrant?”

“Pah! I do not need a warrant – “

“Maybe not in Roosha,” came a voice behind the schnauzer, “but we ain’t in Roosha right now.”

The Major turned to see the Marine skunk he’d encountered earlier standing, or rather looming, over him. A light brown-furred, white-striped bushy tail was twitching slightly, and von Fecklessenburg turned back to face Patafuerte. “We are outflanked, for now,” the schnauzer growled. He snapped his fingers and shouldered past the Marine, with the wolverine and the bear following him.

Nunevya resumed her seat and Patafuerte, still dabbing at his face with a napkin, also sat back down. The conductor moved past Phlute and offered a paw to the skunk. “Good thing you showed up, Private - ?”

“Private First Class Melvin Wilkins, Sir.” The two shook paws.

“Oh, yes, I’d heard you boarded the train down in San Diego.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m headed to Tacoma to join the Fleet.”

The bear smiled and reached up to pat the skunk on the shoulder. “Good lad. What’ll you do up there?”

“Anything I’m ordered to do, Sir!” the skunk said enthusiastically. “General Butler’s the Secretary of War, and the Corps’ll do whatever he tells us to do. Why, if he threw sand at a brick wall and yelled ‘Hit the beach!’ we’d all step up.”

“I don’t doubt you would,” the conductor said. He turned to look at the minkess, the stork and the fox. “After you finish lunch, I suggest you three return to your compartment – and stay there until dinner.”


***


Nunevya Bizwacz sat close to the window, gazing unseeing at the scenery flashing past the train.

Seated as far away from the minkess as possible, near the door, Henry Patafuerte sat and occasionally glanced from Nunevya to the aisle running down the middle of the car.

Seated across him, Bernie Phlute sat and fidgeted. The fox and the stork avoided making eye contact with each other.

Finally, the fox spoke. “Um . . . “

“Yeah?” Phlute asked.

“Nothing. Just still hungry.”

“Same here.”

“Think there might be something at the club car?”

The stork considered this. “Maybe.”

Patafuerte nodded. “That brings up another question.”

“Oh?”

“Dinner, and, um – “ he glanced at Nunevya before putting his paws together and resting his head on them.

“Prayers?” Phlute asked. “I thought all Rain Islanders were godless atheists.”

“No, we’re not,” the fox said testily. “I’m Militant Agnostic myself. I meant sleep.”

“Oh.” The stork glanced around. “I think there are two bunks in this compartment – “

“You are not staying here,” the minkess said.

“Now, Miss,” Patafuerte said, “you’re important, and you need protection. It’s necessary that someone sleep with you – er, sleep in the same compartment,” he said hastily as the minkess glared at him. “We’ll discuss it after dinner, okay? Right now, Bernie and I are going to the club car.”

“What should I do?” Nunevya asked.

Phlute thought for a moment. “Close the curtains, and lock the door. We’ll knock like this,” and he rapped out Shave and a Haircut, “so you’ll know it’s us.”

“Agreed.”

“Good, that’s settled.” Patafuerte stood up. “If there’s a second bunk in here, what’ll we do?”

The stork grimaced. “You’re not sleeping with me again, I’ll tell you that,” he said as he and the fox stepped out of the compartment.

“Nunevya did not wish to hear that,” the minkess muttered as she locked the door and closed the curtains.


***


“Where are we going, Your High Well Born?” Sergeant Awfulich asked.

“I am hungry, Sergeant,” the schnauzer replied, “as I expect you and Sergeant Blymy are. The club car may serve something to eat as well as drink, yes?” The wolverine and the bear nodded, and von Fecklessenburg gestured for Awfulich to open the door for him. The wolverine complied, and the schnauzer stepped forward.

And promptly reeled back, clutching his head and wincing before the cane came down and struck him between his ears again.

While von Fecklessenburg rubbed at his aching head, an elderly feline with a cane was escorted out of the car by a nurse, who said, “Now, now, Mrs. Totenschlager, we don’t go around hitting people, you know.” To the schnauzer the nurse said, “You must forgive her. She’s not well,” and she and her charge headed down the aisle.

Wincing one more time, the schnauzer straightened up and entered the club car, taking a seat at the bar and his two compatriots sitting on either side of him. They looked around and froze, glaring at a red fox and a stork at the far end of the bar.




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