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

Thumbnail art by  rockbaker


Three.



Darling, he is looking the other way, and it’s our time. Meet me at the sunset when the sun is high on the day named for light. If you wear green, your admirer will wear a red rose. Come away with me.

Nunevya felt her mouth go dry as she read the lines in the Tilikum Times two days later, and a giddy rush of relief made her tail twitch. Bozhemoi, someone had finally answered her letter. The ad was worded exactly as she specified, naming the place, date and time, and the method by which she would recognize the person sent to collect her. Her first thought was that it was about damned time, until she glanced further down the page. She froze in the middle of reaching for her teacup, her paw starting to shake.

Two of them?!

She grabbed the teacup, downed the contents in one gulp, and poured another cup. By Saint Anna, could both the Americans and the Rain Islanders want her, or was it just an error on the part of the printer?

The minkess took a few minutes to collect herself. The day for the meeting was only three days away; she could maintain her façade and get through this.

So she finished her breakfast, took a bath and got dressed. She took a last look in the mirror, reminding herself that she had committed herself to this course of action. The minkess straightened up, made one last adjustment to her headfur, and left the tiny apartment.

She could do this.

She hoped.


***


The message had been simplicity itself. Of course, his briefing papers included a full explanation of what the message meant, so he wouldn’t get confused. The packet also included a map to show him exactly where to go.

Bernie Phlute admitted to himself that he was a little mystified that Hooker had seen fit to include that amount of detail. Seriously, he told himself, he wasn’t some neophyte; he was a senior Minkerton’s detective, he’d been places and done things. It was good that Carl picked him for this assignment, because it showed that his talents were respected and recognized.

He’d found the newspaper office right off, which was a good thing. Of course, a map and directions had been given to him.

The stork clicked his beak, making a ‘tsk’ sound as he recalled running into some stupid fox at the entrance to the newspaper office. The oaf had tried to go inside at the same time he had. They’d backed off and tipped their caps respectfully.

And gotten stuck in the entrance again.

The third time Phlute turned and pointed down the road, and when the fox turned to see what was coming, Bernie had dashed into the office and gone to see about getting the coded message into the paper.

Oldest trick in the book.

With that done, Phlute smirked at the fox as he came inside and the stork left to go back to his hotel.

Now, on Sunday morning, the stork looked at his reflection in the hotel room’s mirror. He made an adjustment to his bow tie and made sure that the red rose – the recognition signal – was firmly in his lapel before leaving the room.

This was a piece of seed-cake so far.


***


The message had been simplicity itself. Of course, his briefing papers included a full explanation of what the message meant, so he wouldn’t get confused. The packet also included a map to show him exactly where to go.

It was pretty odd, Henry Patafuerte thought to himself, that the Vice-Commodore had seen fit to include that amount of detail. Seriously, he told himself, he wasn’t some tyro just learning the ropes; he was a seasoned officer in the Intelligence Service. He’d been places and done things. It was good that Broome had chosen him for this assignment, because it showed that his talents were respected and recognized, and that he could be trusted.

The tod had found the newspaper office right off, which was a good thing. Of course, a map and directions had been given to him.

The fox swished his brush irritably as he recalled running into some dumb gangly stork at the entrance to the newspaper office. The boob had tried to go inside at the same time he had. They’d backed off and tipped their caps respectfully.

And gotten stuck in the entrance again.

Henry had gotten ready to try a third time when the stork suddenly pointed down the road and said, “Look over there!” Well, sure, you never knew who might be sneaking up behind you, so the tod had looked, and when he turned back around there was no sign of the stork except for a glimpse of his tail feathers as the avian dashed into the office.

Henry had almost hurt his nose trying to do a facepalm.

He went in and almost collided with the stork again. Golly, what a fool. Well, Henry put the guy out of his head and walked up to the window to get his message put in and paid for. With that done, Patafuerte went back to his hotel.

Now, on Sunday morning, the fox looked at his reflection in the hotel room’s mirror. He made an adjustment to his tie and made sure that the red rose – the recognition signal – was firmly in his paw before leaving the room.

This was a piece of cake so far.


***


Sunset Café.

Sunday.

Noon.

Nunevya felt her tail jittering nervously and she looked down to see her paws trembling slightly. The minkess took a deep breath, willing her paws to stay still as she finished buttoning up her dress. It was rather a pretty outfit, one she’d bought in Tilikum. The skirt and jacket were a bright shade of green, and she was sure that whoever had answered her call for help couldn’t miss it.

She glanced at the clock and drew a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling and squaring her shoulders. She had committed herself to this path; there was no going back.

Pausing only to grab her purse, the minkess left her small one-bedroom apartment.

Fortunately, thank the Lord, the weather was pleasant, and the café wasn’t very far away. She was greeted by the head waiter and shown to a small table out on the patio, one that gave her a view of the river. The waiter gave her a menu and walked away, and she started to look at it while surreptitiously glancing around.

There were a few diners apart from herself. One, an avian, appeared to be trying to read a newspaper. He wasn’t doing a very good job of it, though; his beak was almost poking through the newspaper while he peered over the top of the paper with narrowed, beady eyes. The bottom edge of the newspaper was sitting in the plate bearing the remains of his breakfast, slowly absorbing grease. Another diner was an athletic-looking fox who might have been handsome if he’d been a mink, sipping coffee and making no effort to hide the fact that he was looking around. He held a cruller in one paw, acting like it was a cigar he was smoking, before he finished eating it.

Nunevya blinked.

The bird – a stork, da – and the fox both . . . oh, Saint Anna defend her.

They both had red roses.

The stork had his in his lapel, while the fox now had one in his paw. He’d occasionally raise it to his nose, sniff it, and make motions like he was flirting with someone unseen.

The minkess suppressed the sudden urge to bolt. She had never expected that two of them would show up . . .

Oh Lord, they’d spotted her.

The fox grinned, placed the stem of the rose between his teeth, and reached down beside him. He stood up and her heart sank when he saw that he had a violin case in his paw. What the hell was he on about? Nunevya thought that this would be done quietly, without attracting any attention.

The stork’s beak punched through the newspaper. He fumbled with it briefly, pulled it off his face and threw it on his table. He stood, ruffled his feathers and started toward her.

There was only one chair across the table from her. They reached it at the same time.

They both tried to sit, and jostled briefly before standing up and glaring at each other.

"Excuse me."

"EXCUSE me."

"Excuse ME."

"I asked first."

"I'm seated first."

"No, you're not, you're sitting on the table."

"Amscray, oobbay," the stork said, clicking his beak as if he was trying to threaten the fox, who crested at him.

Her fear morphed into irritation. What sort of tail-dragging idiots had been sent for her? “Look,” she said, laboring to keep her voice down, “another seat, over there. One of you pull it over and both of you, please, for the love of God, sit down.”

The fox took advantage of the momentary lull to seize the chair, and he stuck his tongue out at the stork, who grumbled and got another chair. When they were both seated Nunevya said, “You are here to help me?”

The two mels glared at each other suspiciously before nodding.

“Where are you from?”

“U.S.A.”

“Rain Island.”

They said it simultaneously, and their suspicious glares intensified. She tapped her spoon against her coffee cup, and they both looked at her. “Look – “

The stork interrupted. “Now, see here, little lady, yandelvayasna grldenwi stravenka.”

Nunevya paused in mid-word and frowned. “What is that?”

“Russian, of course,” the stork said.

“No, it is not,” she said as she shook her head. “I speak Russian, nu? I speak it all my life. That is not Russian. Maybe . . . Hungarian, I don’t know.”

“Allow me, Ma’am,” the tod-fox said. “Sinyaya ruchka moyey teti v yeye krasnom chemodanchike.”

“So what if your aunt’s blue pen is in her red valise?” the minkess asked in an increasingly irritated tone. “Look, I am trying to escape Grand Duchess’ service, yes? I cannot go with both of you.”

The fox said, "Don't worry, we'll settle this.” He extended an index finger and began to chant something, pointing back and forth between himself and the bird. “One potato, two potato, three potato, four. Five potato, six potato . . . "



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