more—how shall I put it?—flesh is progressing at a satisfactory rate.”
“And why do you mention this?”
He paused, deep in thought. She knew better than to ask another question at this point.
“I was going to send you there,” he said a second later, “but I have reconsidered. Lime is progressing nicely, and you and your airship skills are needed here. Our assembly of the myrmidons is of the utmost importance.”
“You want me to transport bodies?”
“Yes. An airship is faster than boats. I have ordered you a larger airship, though construction will not be finished for three months. We’ll make do with our older airships. Soon we’ll have more than enough material.”
“Is this a demotion?” she asked, then quickly added, “Sir.”
He smiled. “No. You enjoy being in the air and your efforts will help the Hades project come to … well … to life.” Another dry chuckle.
“If these are your orders, then I will follow them. But there is little challenge to transporting the dead. Would you prefer I bring them back alive? That would be simple enough. I would need only a dozen or so Guild soldiers. And irons.”
“Ah, Ingrid, that is an intriguing idea, but far too time consuming. And I need the extra soldiers here. You may head southwest now—there are materials in New Zealand. I shall contact you en route if your orders change.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then she left him and made her way to the airship tower near the dock. The
Hera
could make the journey to New Zealand in four days. She commanded her pilot to start the engines and her crew to load supplies. The sooner she was in the air, the better she would feel.
8
Operating on Instinct
M odo sat at a table in the open-air section of Le Grand’s café, wondering if his shivering was from the breeze or nervousness. Octavia seemed aloof this morning, though they had shared the occasional word about the weather or how different Paris was from London. She’d said she didn’t like the smell of the city and he’d said it was no worse than the Thames. They’d said little since.
Their fellow diners were all engaged in animated conversations. Modo was pleased to find that he understood most of the French he overheard. He noticed too that everyone was very fashionable; he’d never seen such an array of ladies’ hats in England. Everything in Paris was remarkably stylish, from the people to their fiacre carriages; even the tables of the café were a fancy wrought iron topped with glass.
He searched the crowd for Colette, expecting her to appear at any moment. He’d decided to shift into what he called the Knight face, the one that she’d seen before, so she’d be able to recognize him.
“I like the Doctor face better,” Octavia suddenly said.
“Better than what?”
“Than this one,” she said. “It was more sophisticated.”
“Well, I’m sorry that I don’t look sophisticated enough for your taste.”
“No, it’s me who is sorry, husband.” She didn’t seem to be sorry. He could only presume it was the impending arrival of Colette that was responsible for her change in mood. It had been a good journey here. She’d even exclaimed how beautiful Paris was when they first stepped off the train from the port of Le Havre. But since they’d woken this morning she’d been nitpicking. In all his years of education, why hadn’t he thought to ask Mrs. Finchley to explain the female mind?
They continued to wait in silence. At a quarter to one Octavia began tapping her teaspoon on the table.
“Must you do that?” Modo asked.
“Ah, sorry, husband. I forgot how jangled your nerves are.”
“I am not jangled!”
But he was and he knew it. Had Colette given up on waiting here for him? He’d traveled as quickly as possible after receiving the letter. Of course, she had probably assumed he’d be traveling from England, not Canada.
“Your French mistress is late,” Octavia noted.
“She’s not my mistress,