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Spies Are Like Daffodils
A Spontoon Island story
© 2023 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
RockBaker
Eleven.
Patafuerte was still grumbling about his lost violin, but the tod was resolutely determined not to start gekkering. Making those noises were not the mark of a well-mannered fur, and Mrs. Patafuerte’s son Henry was raised right.
Which had made Marie Chienne-Furieuse’s behavior last year all the more mysterious and inexplicable. Golly, there she was, an heiress who went to all the best schools, gekkering like a dockworker. Well, that was Americans for you.
He almost didn’t have any appetite for dinner, but managed to clean his plate in time to escort Nunevya back to her compartment. Again, she made him walk in front of her, which he thought was a sign that she didn’t trust him. What, couldn’t he admire what Nature had given her?
So he led the way, squeezing past a girl dressed as a nurse talking to the conductor. He caught the name “Mrs. Totenschlager” as the nurse explained that the woman, apparently someone the nurse was looking after, was “feeling frisky” for some reason. The conductor was nodding, but spared enough of his attention to give Henry the eye as the fox moved past him.
Once they were back in the compartment, Major von Fecklessenburg strolled past, Sergeants Awfulich and Blymy in tow, headed for the dining car. The schnauzer merely glanced in at the minkess, stork, and fox, and gave a grim smirk before moving on.
“I don’t like him,” Bernie Phlute said.
“I’m sure he’s not thrilled with you either,” Patafuerte said.
The stork’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t much like you.”
The fox crested. “Feeling’s mutual.”
“Nunevya does not care,” the minkess said. She stood up and said, “Nunevya wishes to go to bed now.”
“Gee, okay Miss,” Henry was on his feet in an instant, “I’ll help you with the bed – “
“You will not,” the minkess said. “You and Stork Boy get out.”
That brought Phlute to his feet. “What? We’re supposed to protect – “
“Fine, yes, protect,” Nunevya said, “but protect OUTSIDE.” She shoved at both mels until they were in the aisle before sliding the door shut and locking it. She glowered at the two mels before emphatically whisking the curtain closed.
“Gee,” Patafuerte said.
“I was looking forward to a night’s sleep,” Phlute said. “Been a long couple of days.”
“Yeah,” the fox agreed. “But we’ll be in Tacoma tomorrow. You can get some sleep then while Nunevya and I take the ferry across to Rain Island.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Sez you, Fluffy.”
“Sez me, Featherbrain.”
“Nunevya say, SHUT UP!” the minkess yelled from behind the curtain.
Henry’s brush and Bernie’s tailfeathers flicked. “Look,” the stork said with a weary sigh, “we can catch a nap in shifts.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. One of us watches the door, and the other can catch a nap in coach.”
“Makes sense. I’ll take first watch.”
Phlute’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”
“You said you were tired.”
“Oh? Huh, yeah. I did, didn’t I?” The stork started off down the aisle and paused. “Wait a minute. I just thought of something.”
“Yeah?”
“Who’ll wake me up when it’s time for me to take over watching the door?”
Patafuerte shrugged. “I’ll think of something. You go get some shuteye.”
“Okay,” and Phlute trudged off.
***
“Hey, you. Wake up!”
Bernie Phlute sputtered, snorted, and sat up, rubbing his eyes and clacking his beak in imitation of a fur smacking his lips. “Wha – “ he yawned widely. “Whazzup?” he succeeded in asking.
He had to blink a few times until the blur in front of him resolved itself into an angry setter with what looked like wads of cotton wool stuffed into his ears. “Wake up, you,” the canine said. “You’re snoring.”
“Snoring?”
“Yeah, snoring,” the setter said as he pulled the cotton from his ears.
Phlute spluttered, “That’s stupid! I never snore!”
One woman consoling her crying baby said, “It sounded like a slide whistle.”
“It drowned out the engine,” another setter, this one a femme, said.
A wolfess, her paws pressed to her ears, merely glared at him.
“I – I sounded like a slide whistle?” Phlute asked. Perhaps a dozen passengers nodded at him, with one or two pointing at him before pointing at their noses, as if he’d just gotten a clue in Charades.
Ignoring the memories of what happened at last year’s office Christmas party – it hadn’t been his fault that someone had left the door to the furnace room open - the stork got to his feet, stretched, and headed out of the car, to general applause.
He stamped into the sleeping car and saw Patafuerte knocking on one compartment door. The door slid open, and there was a conversation that the stork couldn’t catch, but his feathers fluffed out in surprise when he saw a withered feline paw shoot out, grab the startled fox by the collar, and yank him into the room, the door sliding shut behind him.
Phlute paused at Nunevya’s door; yes, still closed and locked, so he moved next door and listened.
He heard Patafurte stammer, "Wh-Why - ?"
"I didn't bring a book," an elderly voice replied. “So I'll give you until the count of 361,219 to get out before I yell. For help. Yes. Help."
“But . . . Ma’am!? Please . . . no! Don’t touch me ther-aha!” The voices were eclipsed by muffled noises and clothing flapping about.
The stork straightened up, smiling as he started thinking. If he could get the Rain Islander off the train, there’d be nothing to stop him from convincing the minkess to come with him. It’d please Alan Minkerton, of course, and the American Government. Huey Long could use a win.
A soft yip and a hoarse yowl drew his attention to the room next door.
Phlute grinned nastily as he hit the call button for the porter, and only a few minutes later a feline in the usual white uniform coat entered the car. “Yes, Sir?” the porter asked.
Bernie Phlute pointed at the door like a judge condemning some hapless miscreant. “There's a MASHER in there!”
The porter leaned close to the door, ears flicking as he listened. He nodded and asked, “How do you know he’s a masher, Sir?”
“I saw him go in there. He should be put off the train for his behavior,” Phlute said piously.
“Stand back please, Sir,” the feline said, and the stork backed away as the porter rapped smartly on the door. “Hello?” he asked.
And yelped as the door opened, a paw shot out and grabbed him, and pulled him in. The door shut again. Phlute walked over to the door as he heard the lock click, and he listened.
The stork didn’t have ears, but if he had they would have been either standing straight up in shock or flat against his head in embarrassment. His tailfeathers fluffed slightly as he backed away and took up the task of watching Nunevya Bizwacz’s compartment.
“Ha!”
Phlute’s head whipped around to see Sergeants Blymy and Awfulich framed in the doorway. “So,” the wolverine growled, “where is the fox?”
“Um, ah, indisposed,” and Phlute started to back away.
“Leaving you to watch minkess, nu?” the bear said with a deep and threatening chuckle. “Is too bad for you.” He ground his right fist against his left palm as he and the wolverine started toward the stork.
Bernie Phlute stopped after backing away three steps, setting his beak grimly and clenching his fists. He had to protect Nunevya, even if it meant his injury or death. Such was the lot of a Minkerton’s operative.
The bear and the wolverine stepped closer, and the nearest compartment door slid open. An elderly feline paw shot out, grabbed Awfulich, and yanked him into the compartment.
Followed shortly afterward by Blymy disappearing as well.
The door slid closed, and locked.
There was a muffled voice, maybe Blymy’s, muttering something like a prayer in Russian. There were sounds like several large somethings moving about inside the compartment, along with one feminine giggle.
Phlute decided that he didn’t want to know that, and went back to guarding Nunevya’s compartment.
His watch showed that it was just before midnight when a steward bearing a tray came from the dining car, and was pulled in as soon as he got near the old lady’s door.
The stork shook his head, partly in disbelief and partly to clear his head. “Good grief,” Bernie muttered, “talk about your stamina . . . “
His own stamina was starting to flag, and there was no sign of that dumb Rain Island fox. Patafuerte was supposed to relieve him, not be entertaining some old woman. He started pacing the length of the aisle, flapping his arms from time to time in an effort to stay awake.
A compartment door shot open.
The stork yelped as a paw grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar.
The compartment door closed, and locked.
***
Nunevya Bizwacz growled, trying to use her pillow to muffle the sounds of moaning and certain activities going on next door. Finally she gave up and switched on the light, sitting on the bed and grumbling to herself.
Things seemed to subside after a while, so she shut the light off again and lay back down.
There was a soft click, and she was out of bed in an instant, eyes wide open.
Someone had tripped the lock on her compartment door, and was starting to ease it open.
The minkess scrambled to get to the door, moving to grab the interior handle as a paw slipped in and grasped the door, preparing to shove it open. Nunevya took a deep breath, and shoved the door closed, slamming the intruder’s paw between the door and the frame. There was a pained yelp and the paw pulled free of the trap, followed by footsteps heading away.
There was the sound of a door opening, and another yelp.
Making sure that her door was securely locked, Nunevya wondered how so many furs could fit into a train compartment. She decided, as she lay back down to make another attempt to sleep, that there were some things she was not meant to know.
But she did think that Weird Boy, that fox, would have had another part in the door. The minkess chuckled softly and drifted off to sleep.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Spontoon Island story
© 2023 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
RockBakerEleven.
Patafuerte was still grumbling about his lost violin, but the tod was resolutely determined not to start gekkering. Making those noises were not the mark of a well-mannered fur, and Mrs. Patafuerte’s son Henry was raised right.
Which had made Marie Chienne-Furieuse’s behavior last year all the more mysterious and inexplicable. Golly, there she was, an heiress who went to all the best schools, gekkering like a dockworker. Well, that was Americans for you.
He almost didn’t have any appetite for dinner, but managed to clean his plate in time to escort Nunevya back to her compartment. Again, she made him walk in front of her, which he thought was a sign that she didn’t trust him. What, couldn’t he admire what Nature had given her?
So he led the way, squeezing past a girl dressed as a nurse talking to the conductor. He caught the name “Mrs. Totenschlager” as the nurse explained that the woman, apparently someone the nurse was looking after, was “feeling frisky” for some reason. The conductor was nodding, but spared enough of his attention to give Henry the eye as the fox moved past him.
Once they were back in the compartment, Major von Fecklessenburg strolled past, Sergeants Awfulich and Blymy in tow, headed for the dining car. The schnauzer merely glanced in at the minkess, stork, and fox, and gave a grim smirk before moving on.
“I don’t like him,” Bernie Phlute said.
“I’m sure he’s not thrilled with you either,” Patafuerte said.
The stork’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t much like you.”
The fox crested. “Feeling’s mutual.”
“Nunevya does not care,” the minkess said. She stood up and said, “Nunevya wishes to go to bed now.”
“Gee, okay Miss,” Henry was on his feet in an instant, “I’ll help you with the bed – “
“You will not,” the minkess said. “You and Stork Boy get out.”
That brought Phlute to his feet. “What? We’re supposed to protect – “
“Fine, yes, protect,” Nunevya said, “but protect OUTSIDE.” She shoved at both mels until they were in the aisle before sliding the door shut and locking it. She glowered at the two mels before emphatically whisking the curtain closed.
“Gee,” Patafuerte said.
“I was looking forward to a night’s sleep,” Phlute said. “Been a long couple of days.”
“Yeah,” the fox agreed. “But we’ll be in Tacoma tomorrow. You can get some sleep then while Nunevya and I take the ferry across to Rain Island.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Sez you, Fluffy.”
“Sez me, Featherbrain.”
“Nunevya say, SHUT UP!” the minkess yelled from behind the curtain.
Henry’s brush and Bernie’s tailfeathers flicked. “Look,” the stork said with a weary sigh, “we can catch a nap in shifts.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. One of us watches the door, and the other can catch a nap in coach.”
“Makes sense. I’ll take first watch.”
Phlute’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”
“You said you were tired.”
“Oh? Huh, yeah. I did, didn’t I?” The stork started off down the aisle and paused. “Wait a minute. I just thought of something.”
“Yeah?”
“Who’ll wake me up when it’s time for me to take over watching the door?”
Patafuerte shrugged. “I’ll think of something. You go get some shuteye.”
“Okay,” and Phlute trudged off.
***
“Hey, you. Wake up!”
Bernie Phlute sputtered, snorted, and sat up, rubbing his eyes and clacking his beak in imitation of a fur smacking his lips. “Wha – “ he yawned widely. “Whazzup?” he succeeded in asking.
He had to blink a few times until the blur in front of him resolved itself into an angry setter with what looked like wads of cotton wool stuffed into his ears. “Wake up, you,” the canine said. “You’re snoring.”
“Snoring?”
“Yeah, snoring,” the setter said as he pulled the cotton from his ears.
Phlute spluttered, “That’s stupid! I never snore!”
One woman consoling her crying baby said, “It sounded like a slide whistle.”
“It drowned out the engine,” another setter, this one a femme, said.
A wolfess, her paws pressed to her ears, merely glared at him.
“I – I sounded like a slide whistle?” Phlute asked. Perhaps a dozen passengers nodded at him, with one or two pointing at him before pointing at their noses, as if he’d just gotten a clue in Charades.
Ignoring the memories of what happened at last year’s office Christmas party – it hadn’t been his fault that someone had left the door to the furnace room open - the stork got to his feet, stretched, and headed out of the car, to general applause.
He stamped into the sleeping car and saw Patafuerte knocking on one compartment door. The door slid open, and there was a conversation that the stork couldn’t catch, but his feathers fluffed out in surprise when he saw a withered feline paw shoot out, grab the startled fox by the collar, and yank him into the room, the door sliding shut behind him.
Phlute paused at Nunevya’s door; yes, still closed and locked, so he moved next door and listened.
He heard Patafurte stammer, "Wh-Why - ?"
"I didn't bring a book," an elderly voice replied. “So I'll give you until the count of 361,219 to get out before I yell. For help. Yes. Help."
“But . . . Ma’am!? Please . . . no! Don’t touch me ther-aha!” The voices were eclipsed by muffled noises and clothing flapping about.
The stork straightened up, smiling as he started thinking. If he could get the Rain Islander off the train, there’d be nothing to stop him from convincing the minkess to come with him. It’d please Alan Minkerton, of course, and the American Government. Huey Long could use a win.
A soft yip and a hoarse yowl drew his attention to the room next door.
Phlute grinned nastily as he hit the call button for the porter, and only a few minutes later a feline in the usual white uniform coat entered the car. “Yes, Sir?” the porter asked.
Bernie Phlute pointed at the door like a judge condemning some hapless miscreant. “There's a MASHER in there!”
The porter leaned close to the door, ears flicking as he listened. He nodded and asked, “How do you know he’s a masher, Sir?”
“I saw him go in there. He should be put off the train for his behavior,” Phlute said piously.
“Stand back please, Sir,” the feline said, and the stork backed away as the porter rapped smartly on the door. “Hello?” he asked.
And yelped as the door opened, a paw shot out and grabbed him, and pulled him in. The door shut again. Phlute walked over to the door as he heard the lock click, and he listened.
The stork didn’t have ears, but if he had they would have been either standing straight up in shock or flat against his head in embarrassment. His tailfeathers fluffed slightly as he backed away and took up the task of watching Nunevya Bizwacz’s compartment.
“Ha!”
Phlute’s head whipped around to see Sergeants Blymy and Awfulich framed in the doorway. “So,” the wolverine growled, “where is the fox?”
“Um, ah, indisposed,” and Phlute started to back away.
“Leaving you to watch minkess, nu?” the bear said with a deep and threatening chuckle. “Is too bad for you.” He ground his right fist against his left palm as he and the wolverine started toward the stork.
Bernie Phlute stopped after backing away three steps, setting his beak grimly and clenching his fists. He had to protect Nunevya, even if it meant his injury or death. Such was the lot of a Minkerton’s operative.
The bear and the wolverine stepped closer, and the nearest compartment door slid open. An elderly feline paw shot out, grabbed Awfulich, and yanked him into the compartment.
Followed shortly afterward by Blymy disappearing as well.
The door slid closed, and locked.
There was a muffled voice, maybe Blymy’s, muttering something like a prayer in Russian. There were sounds like several large somethings moving about inside the compartment, along with one feminine giggle.
Phlute decided that he didn’t want to know that, and went back to guarding Nunevya’s compartment.
His watch showed that it was just before midnight when a steward bearing a tray came from the dining car, and was pulled in as soon as he got near the old lady’s door.
The stork shook his head, partly in disbelief and partly to clear his head. “Good grief,” Bernie muttered, “talk about your stamina . . . “
His own stamina was starting to flag, and there was no sign of that dumb Rain Island fox. Patafuerte was supposed to relieve him, not be entertaining some old woman. He started pacing the length of the aisle, flapping his arms from time to time in an effort to stay awake.
A compartment door shot open.
The stork yelped as a paw grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar.
The compartment door closed, and locked.
***
Nunevya Bizwacz growled, trying to use her pillow to muffle the sounds of moaning and certain activities going on next door. Finally she gave up and switched on the light, sitting on the bed and grumbling to herself.
Things seemed to subside after a while, so she shut the light off again and lay back down.
There was a soft click, and she was out of bed in an instant, eyes wide open.
Someone had tripped the lock on her compartment door, and was starting to ease it open.
The minkess scrambled to get to the door, moving to grab the interior handle as a paw slipped in and grasped the door, preparing to shove it open. Nunevya took a deep breath, and shoved the door closed, slamming the intruder’s paw between the door and the frame. There was a pained yelp and the paw pulled free of the trap, followed by footsteps heading away.
There was the sound of a door opening, and another yelp.
Making sure that her door was securely locked, Nunevya wondered how so many furs could fit into a train compartment. She decided, as she lay back down to make another attempt to sleep, that there were some things she was not meant to know.
But she did think that Weird Boy, that fox, would have had another part in the door. The minkess chuckled softly and drifted off to sleep.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Mink
Size 87 x 120px
File Size 51.3 kB
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