The Dark Deeps (5 page)

It was tricky for Modo to drink with his mask on, but he’d done it often enough that now he expertly dipped his head, lifted the mask with his left hand, and sipped. “It does taste delicious, sir. We’ll raise a cup in your honor when you die.”

Mr. Socrates smiled. Modo was pleased by his master’s
reaction, and even more pleased to see that his teasing had brought a smile to Octavia’s lips. He took a satisfied sip of tea and swished it about playfully.

Mr. Socrates held his teacup perfectly still. “I suppose you are wondering why I have asked you here.” He took a slow sip. “My intention is for you two to marry.”

Modo spurted his tea back into his cup.

Octavia said, “Each other?”

“For espionage purposes only, of course.”

“I have no desire to be married—again,” Octavia said indignantly, giving Mr. Socrates a cool stare. “I’m sure you’ll remember that my last husband died.”

“Pardon me?” exclaimed Modo.

“Yes,” Mr. Socrates said. “I haven’t forgotten that, and I understand your hesitance. Perhaps you’ll have better luck this time. I’m certain that Modo hopes so, for his own sake. You two will travel to New York, and you must keep up appearances. After all, unmarried men and women do not travel together without a chaperone.” He sipped his tea. “I already have tickets on the steamship
Abyssinia
, departing this afternoon. It’s a twelve-day trip, and you’ll have a stateroom and study. You’ll take on the roles of Mr. and Mrs. Warkin. I have passports, papers, and money for you. Modo, because your disguises last only for a few hours at a time, Octavia will fetch your food.”

“I look forward to it, sir,” Modo blurted out happily, while Octavia snapped, “I don’t fetch!”

“My error,” Mr. Socrates said. “I used the wrong word. Octavia will be kind enough to bring food to the room,
because you shall be playing the part of a somewhat ill man. That will allow you to remain in your cabin most hours.”

Modo still couldn’t get his mind around it. He would be on the ocean. Going to America. With Octavia!

“I’ve never been on the ocean before,” he said.

“Not entirely true, Modo,” Mr. Socrates said. “You did cross the Channel as a child.”

“I did?” Modo gripped his teaspoon a little tighter. His only childhood memories were of Ravenscroft. “When?”

“That’s not important now.”

“Who are we supposed to be meeting?” Octavia asked.

“Ah, you always have your mind on the task, Octavia. Good. Good. Mr. Wyle, who has been an employee of mine for many years. I was expecting communication from him, but it hasn’t arrived. You shall go and find out what the delay is. I’ve prepared a dossier, which you will memorize, of course.”

He handed a paper to Octavia, who looked it over quickly and tossed it to Modo.

“You have it memorized already?” he asked.

“Of course.”

Modo stared at it a bit longer, then set the paper down.

“And your wedding rings.” Mr. Socrates opened a small envelope and handed one ring to each of them. Modo’s gold band was a little loose.

“Does it do anything?” Modo asked.

“The ring? Yes, if you fall in the water it will expand into a cork float.”

“Truly?” Modo said. Octavia rolled her eyes. Modo blushed. “Ah. You were joking.”

Mr. Socrates actually grinned. Modo ran his fingers over the gold ring. Married. He nearly laughed out loud. Then it dawned on him: he would be sharing a room with Octavia! He began to sweat profusely.

Mr. Socrates placed a photograph on the table. Modo leaned forward to more closely inspect the grainy image of a man in a French military uniform, a woman and a young girl beside them. The woman was Japanese and wore a kimono. The girl’s face was circled, and Modo could clearly see that she must be their daughter, as she had both the determined look of the man and the beauty and coloring of the woman. At the bottom was written
1869, age fourteen; Hakodate, Japan
.

“This is the Brunet family. Captain Alphonse Brunet died of wounds sustained during the Boshin War. His only daughter was Colette Brunet. She is eighteen now and works as a spy for the French government. She is highly regarded despite her youth, and she has risen to the top of the ranks.”

“What does she have to do with our assignment?” Modo asked.

“Patience, Modo. I’m coming to that. Miss Brunet is searching for something called the
Ictíneo
. Since the French have given her the job of finding it, that would strongly indicate it’s their top priority.”

“I assume it’s important to us, too,” Octavia said.

“Yes, the French are allies, but we cannot allow them to gain any advantage over us, especially on the seas.”

Octavia adjusted a lock of her hair. “In other words, you
want to gather up all the toys before the French have a chance to play with them.”

“Ah, such cheekiness.” Mr. Socrates no longer seemed amused. “These
toys
are what decide the fate of the empire.” He looked at Modo. “Can you guess what the name
Ictíneo
means?”

“Uh, it’s Greek, correct?”

“Yes, but what does it
mean?
”

“Well, an
ichthus
is a fish.
Neo
is ‘new.’ So it’s a new fish.”

“Yes, perhaps that’s what it means. The root of the second word could be
naus
, or ship. So it may mean ‘fish ship’ or a fish as big as a ship, a blunt translation. There are rumors of a sea monster.”

“A sea monster!” Modo said. “A whale, like Moby-Dick? Or is it more like the kraken?”

“Mrs. Finchley allowed you to read too many flights of fancy,” Mr. Socrates said sadly. The sense of shame made Modo shrink inside. But they were good stories, he wanted to say. He couldn’t imagine his childhood—or his life now—without books. Every line of Coleridge was stamped in his memory.

“In any case,” Mr. Socrates went on, “I doubt that Miss Brunet is pursuing an actual sea monster, though I admit one can never be certain what the depths of the ocean will produce. I have myself seen squids the length of a ship, whales as large as an island. One theory from other members of the Association is that they have replaced the ivory tusks of narwhals with metal ones and trained them to sink ships.”

“Is that possible?” Octavia asked, her eyes large and distractingly beautiful. Modo bit his lip, trying to keep his mind on their task.

Mr. Socrates nodded. “A few months ago I would have said no, but our encounter with the Clockwork Guild has opened my eyes. After all, they melded flesh and metal in ways beyond human comprehension.”

Modo swallowed. He didn’t like to think about the Clockwork Guild. They had nearly destroyed the Houses of Parliament and, worse, had attempted to kill him several times in the space of a few short hours. Just the thought of Miss Hakkandottir and her metal hand was enough to make him shudder. She lived on in his nightmares; more than once he had woken up in a cold sweat from a dream in which she had plucked out one of his eyes with her sharpened metal nails.

“Attaching metal spears to whales sounds like something they would do.” Octavia was tapping her fingers on the table. “After all, those hounds of theirs were half iron, half flesh. That idea would certainly be in keeping with what we know of them.”

“I’d be quite happy never to have to set eyes on one of those hounds again,” Modo said.

“Don’t be frightened, Modo,” Octavia said. “I’ll protect you.”

“I’m not frightened! I was only stating a fact.”

“There’s no indication that the Clockwork Guild is involved,” Mr. Socrates said. “The Guild is, as we say in the business, sleeping. They’ve disappeared down the rabbit hole. But one can never be too cautious. In the meantime, we will
act on what we know. The papers Modo retrieved from the embassy include the last transmission from Brunet, which I have deciphered to mean that a ship was sent for her to command. We need to know where she went.”

“And will Agent Wyle have the answer to this question?” Octavia asked.

“He should have reported in by now. You, Modo, must discover his whereabouts. Octavia shall assist you.”

“I’ll lead the investigation, you mean,” Octavia said.

Mr. Socrates shook his head. “Modo will take point. You will work together. If you are not able to make contact with Wyle, then it will be your mission to pursue Colette Brunet and discover the story behind the
Ictíneo
. We must either have that technology or destroy it.”

“Destroy it?” Modo asked.

“Yes. I cannot overstate this. Our nation is built on sea power. We must control the seas. Modo and Octavia, this is not a small assignment. You will be the eyes and the ears of the empire.”

“Me peepers are me own,” Octavia said with the accent from her pickpocket days.

“This is no joke!” Mr. Socrates raised his voice ever so slightly, but the change made Modo sit up straight. Octavia, too. “I don’t send you on this assignment lightly. I have arranged for clothing for you. All is packed in the next room. And there is one final thing.” He opened a box on the table. “This.” He took out a leather item from which hung a safety chain.

“A wallet?” asked Modo.

“Open it,” Mr. Socrates said.

When Modo did so, he found that the top half of the wallet encased a square mechanical device. The change pouch of the wallet held an electric cell.

“What is it?”

“A wireless telegraph,” Octavia said. She smiled at Modo’s surprise that she should recognize it. “I’ve seen one before, but this one is amazingly small.”

“You are very observant, Octavia,” said Mr. Socrates. “That’s exactly what it is.”

“But how does it work?” Modo asked. “How far will the messages travel?”

“Alas, the distance isn’t great. You must be close to a telegraph line. It will work, occasionally, on the ocean; you’ll be able to communicate through the transatlantic cables. You keep it, Modo, since the husband always carries the wallet. Secure it in a safe place on your person.”

“I shall.”

“And I also have this.” From the same box Mr. Socrates took out what looked like black netting, but when he shook the fabric, two eyeholes appeared in it. “A mask. Much easier to transport than your papier-mâché ones. You can keep it in your pocket and it will stretch over your face, concealing any shape.”

“That is excellent, sir!” Modo folded the mask carefully, surprised by the suppleness of the material.

“Now you must go and make yourselves ready. A cab is waiting to take you to the train to Liverpool. At two o’clock this afternoon your ship departs.”

M
odo did not have to pretend to be ill on the voyage—he spent the first three days seasick. He slumped on the bed in their stateroom, the fancy satin blankets and swansdown pillows providing little comfort. His net mask was a damp sponge of stale sweat that clung to his face like a starfish. He could eat the occasional orange slice or cracker, or bits of a sugar biscuit, but that was all. Octavia had brought him lemonade, but just the smell of it made him retch.

“The deviled kidney is excellent,” Octavia said, sitting at the glass dining table in their room, cutting the kidney with a silver knife. Modo gritted his teeth, biting back a snide reply. “The fried onions are straight from heaven,” she added.

“You are intentionally being cruel, Miss Milkweed.”

“Oh, suddenly so formal, Modo. Is our marriage already on the rocks?”

He ignored her. “I should sleep on the floor,” he said. “You have the bed. I’m well enough now.”

Octavia laughed. “Don’t be foolish. I’ve slept in worse holes.” She had used the sofa as her bed for the voyage. They’d been given a Chinese privacy screen, which Octavia pulled across the room at night.

Modo had insisted the lights stay low. In his state, it had become impossible to shift into a more attractive appearance; he had tried twice and nearly passed out both times.

He remembered Mrs. Finchley, the closest person he had to a mother, wiping his forehead whenever he was sick as a child. How he missed the sound of her voice, the touch of her hands, and the way she used to hold him. It seemed a hundred years ago. But even then, even with a fever, Mr. Socrates would make Modo test the limits of his abilities to transform.

“You’re deep in thought,” Octavia said. “Reliving the plot of some penny dreadful?”

“At this point I’m a living penny dreadful.”

Octavia laughed, and Modo was pleased with himself.

“You said you were married before.” He gripped the sheet. He’d punch her first husband, if the fellow wasn’t already dead.

She shrugged. “It didn’t last; my beloved was old.”

“Beloved? You—you really were married?”

“Ah, it was just another game for Mr. Socrates. My husband was an old Chinese agent called Mah. We were investigating a triad—a Chinese underground society.”

“I know what a triad is,” Modo huffed, wishing his voice didn’t sound so whiny. “How did he die?”

“Not arsenic, in case you were worried. As I mentioned, he was old. One day, over breakfast, his heart gave out and our investigation was over.”

“Sounds horrible!”

“Well, I didn’t actually see him die—I was still sleeping behind a screen, not unlike this one. He was overbearing, opinionated, and loud, and he drooled. Otherwise, I was sad to see ol’ Mah go. Mr. Socrates was very angry with him for having the audacity to die while on assignment, so neither of us should ever do that!”

“Don’t even joke about dying. When were you married?”

“A few months before you and I met. Now, enough questions. It’s time for my little penny dreadful to sleep,” Octavia said.

“Must I?”

“You can hardly keep your eyes open. I’ll entertain myself by strutting up and down the deck and dining in the Paris café, where the young lords and gentlemen will no doubt watch me like hawks.”

The thought made Modo clench his fists under the sheet. “A married woman shouldn’t be out on her own!”

“Tut, tut!” Her hand was on the doorknob. “I’ll tell them I’m getting my sick husband some tea. Sleep well, my lord,” she said, then was out the door.

Modo did fall asleep, but it took longer than usual.