heart.
“Interesting mask,” she said.
“Oh, this?” Modo knocked at the wood. “Mr. Socrates gave it to me.”
“Yes,” his master said, “you cannot hold that shape forever, you’ll need it to cover your face on the ship. We’ll explain it as an affectation. These are also for you.” Mr. Socrates handed several official papers and a ticket to Modo. “You’re to play my son.”
“And what would your name be, Father?”
“Robert Reid, son,” Mr. Socrates replied, smiling. “And your name is Anthony Reid.”
“I’ll be the best son you ever had,” Modo said, meaning it to be a joke, but it came out sounding too serious.
Something like sadness crossed Mr. Socrates’ face for an instant. “You’ll be extremely busy with studies and training. Mrs. Finchley is joining us to help you with your acting. It’s almost a two-month trip, so I expect you to be a brilliant actor by the end of it. Mrs. Finchley will also chaperone Octavia. She can’t be seen traveling alone with three men.” Octavia rolled her eyes at Modo and he struggled to hide agrin. “This will give Mrs. Finchley opportunity to refine Octavia’s upper-class accent. And etiquette.
Especially
her etiquette.” He stood impervious to her glare. “She will be my niece,” he added. “Miss Charity Chandra.”
Eight men in dark greatcoats passed them on two wagons.
Our luggage
, Modo realized. Five twelve-foot-long crates were on one wagon and several trunks on the other. Being a mail steamer, the
Rome
was designed to carry a goodly amount of freight. Modo was curious: what could be inside such huge crates? But Mr. Socrates didn’t offer an explanation.
A bell on the ship began ringing. Time to board. As they climbed the gangplank to the first-class cabins, Modo studied the ship. It was fully four hundred feet long, with four masts and two smoke funnels. A grand enough beast, Modo thought, but he remembered the monstrosity that was the
Wyvern
. That Clockwork Guild battleship would have dwarfed this royal steamer. But it would be a fine ride all the same! The idea that this new, modern ship would take them all the way from London to Sydney in less than two months was astonishing. Going first class was the icing on the cake.
A porter led them to their cabins. Modo would be sharing one with Tharpa, next door to Mr. Socrates. Octavia and Mrs. Finchley’s cabin was on the other side.
Modo was impressed by the size of the cabin, the rich red carpets and curtains, and the view the porthole allowed, looking out over the docks and other steamships waiting in their berths. Below the porthole was a teak table with a chess set, the pawns and knights and such already in place.
Modo picked up the king. “I shall defeat thee mightily,” he said, and Tharpa laughed.
Both beds were luxurious.
“There will be just enough room to spar,” Tharpa said. “We shall do so every morning.”
“I look forward to it,” Modo said jovially.
They sat and waited for their luggage, but Modo quickly grew bored. “I’m going to scout out the ship,” he said.
“Yes, go, young sahib. Scout to the contentment of your heart.”
Modo strode along the top deck, passing a good number of lifeboats, which made him feel secure. He crossed under the bridge and spotted the captain, a white-bearded man watching a seaman unfurl the Union Jack from the crow’s nest. The captain looked as though he’d been at sea for the last hundred years, and that was fine with Modo.
He made his way among the passengers, avoiding the bustles of the ladies and sidestepping gentlemen with walking sticks. He reached the forecastle of the ship as the horn sounded and the RMS
Rome
began to move out of the docks, pulled by a smaller steam-powered tugboat, through the locks to the Thames.
“Are you feeling seasick, cousin?”
Modo turned as Octavia gave him a wink.
“No,” Modo answered, pleased that she might have been looking for him. “I seem to have conquered my
“Interesting mask,” she said.
“Oh, this?” Modo knocked at the wood. “Mr. Socrates gave it to me.”
“Yes,” his master said, “you cannot hold that shape forever, you’ll need it to cover your face on the ship. We’ll explain it as an affectation. These are also for you.” Mr. Socrates handed several official papers and a ticket to Modo. “You’re to play my son.”
“And what would your name be, Father?”
“Robert Reid, son,” Mr. Socrates replied, smiling. “And your name is Anthony Reid.”
“I’ll be the best son you ever had,” Modo said, meaning it to be a joke, but it came out sounding too serious.
Something like sadness crossed Mr. Socrates’ face for an instant. “You’ll be extremely busy with studies and training. Mrs. Finchley is joining us to help you with your acting. It’s almost a two-month trip, so I expect you to be a brilliant actor by the end of it. Mrs. Finchley will also chaperone Octavia. She can’t be seen traveling alone with three men.” Octavia rolled her eyes at Modo and he struggled to hide agrin. “This will give Mrs. Finchley opportunity to refine Octavia’s upper-class accent. And etiquette.
Especially
her etiquette.” He stood impervious to her glare. “She will be my niece,” he added. “Miss Charity Chandra.”
Eight men in dark greatcoats passed them on two wagons.
Our luggage
, Modo realized. Five twelve-foot-long crates were on one wagon and several trunks on the other. Being a mail steamer, the
Rome
was designed to carry a goodly amount of freight. Modo was curious: what could be inside such huge crates? But Mr. Socrates didn’t offer an explanation.
A bell on the ship began ringing. Time to board. As they climbed the gangplank to the first-class cabins, Modo studied the ship. It was fully four hundred feet long, with four masts and two smoke funnels. A grand enough beast, Modo thought, but he remembered the monstrosity that was the
Wyvern
. That Clockwork Guild battleship would have dwarfed this royal steamer. But it would be a fine ride all the same! The idea that this new, modern ship would take them all the way from London to Sydney in less than two months was astonishing. Going first class was the icing on the cake.
A porter led them to their cabins. Modo would be sharing one with Tharpa, next door to Mr. Socrates. Octavia and Mrs. Finchley’s cabin was on the other side.
Modo was impressed by the size of the cabin, the rich red carpets and curtains, and the view the porthole allowed, looking out over the docks and other steamships waiting in their berths. Below the porthole was a teak table with a chess set, the pawns and knights and such already in place.
Modo picked up the king. “I shall defeat thee mightily,” he said, and Tharpa laughed.
Both beds were luxurious.
“There will be just enough room to spar,” Tharpa said. “We shall do so every morning.”
“I look forward to it,” Modo said jovially.
They sat and waited for their luggage, but Modo quickly grew bored. “I’m going to scout out the ship,” he said.
“Yes, go, young sahib. Scout to the contentment of your heart.”
Modo strode along the top deck, passing a good number of lifeboats, which made him feel secure. He crossed under the bridge and spotted the captain, a white-bearded man watching a seaman unfurl the Union Jack from the crow’s nest. The captain looked as though he’d been at sea for the last hundred years, and that was fine with Modo.
He made his way among the passengers, avoiding the bustles of the ladies and sidestepping gentlemen with walking sticks. He reached the forecastle of the ship as the horn sounded and the RMS
Rome
began to move out of the docks, pulled by a smaller steam-powered tugboat, through the locks to the Thames.
“Are you feeling seasick, cousin?”
Modo turned as Octavia gave him a wink.
“No,” Modo answered, pleased that she might have been looking for him. “I seem to have conquered my
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