Asimov's Science Fiction - June 2014 by Penny Publications Page B

realization came to Orphan, and despite his self-assurance may have been glad—even relieved—to find a traveling companion in that foreign land that was their destination. "Do you know, I can tell you are a man of letters yourself. There is an aura about you, as of a man who's lived his life surrounded by books—a veritable book man, I should say."
    Orphan felt his face grow cold.
    "What is wrong?" Herb said in concern. "Did I say something to offend you?"
    Orphan forced a smile. Outside the waves beat against the hull like the pounding of a fist against a closed door. "No," he said, "it's just... you reminded me of something I'd rather not be reminded of, for the moment."
    "My apologies," Herb said, a little stiffly. It was not, after all, his fault, Orphan thought. He had meant, no doubt, to give a compliment, and instead was faced with alarm.
    "I did write," Orphan said. "I had some aspirations as a poet, but I'm afraid they've rather faded now."
    Herb nodded, and his eyes searched Orphan's face with that probing, intelligent gaze he had already recognized in the man. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said, and it seemed to Orphan that his companion could sense the deeper pain that lay behind his words.
    "Forget it," Orphan said. He took a sip from his tea and grimaced. "It tastes like piss," he said. Herb laughed. "Too true," he said. "Shall we go see what else there is to do on this tub?"
    "Let's," Orphan said, and the two rose from their seats and ambled away down the corridor.
    There was not much to do aboard the
Charon,
and so it was with some relief for both when the ferry finally docked at Calais.
    Anxiety, however, soon took hold of Orphan as he and Herb disembarked. Sitting behind a chipped wooden table, a half-finished dinner beside him in a box, was a French immigration officer in full regalia.
    "Your passports, please," he said.
    Herb was going first, and was about to hand the officer his passport when a man, dressed in a dark cape and holding a cane, pushed in front of him.
    "Fix," he announced in a loud whisper. "Detective Fix. Scotland Yard."
    "Ah, yes," the French officer said. "Detective Fix. Your passport?"
    The caped man handed it over, looking impatiently at his watch.
    "Yes, that is fine," the officer said at last. He pointed at Fix's passport photo and laughed. "Very good!" he said.
    "Yes, yes," Fix said, snatching back his passport. "It was a stormy day and the photographer was a nincompoop. Did you receive my wire?"
    "We did."
    "Have they...?"
    "Left on the eight o'clock train, I am afraid," the officer said. "We did not detain them."
    "Fine," Fix said impatiently. "May I go? I have already lost valuable time."
    "Of course," the officer said, tapping his nose conspiratorially. "Au revoir, Monsieur Fix."
    The detective stormed off and the officer looked after him for a long moment. "Nincompoop," he muttered to himself at last, as if tasting the word. Then he turned back to the small queue that had formed.
    "Your name?" he said. Herb was next.
    "Herbert George Wells," Herb said.
    "And your profession, monsieur?"
    "I am a writer."
    "Oh," the French off icer said, and raised his eyebrows. "What do you write, monsieur?"
    Herb blushed. "Scientific romance, that sort of thing," he mumbled, and Orphan, watching him, almost laughed despite his nervousness. But the French officer's face lit up at the words. "Roman scientifique?" he said. "But that is marvelous!
C'est bon!
You are going to
la convention du monde?
"
    "Yes," Herb said, pleased and surprised. "You know of it?"
    "Of course!" The officer reached under his desk and returned with a rather used-looking book. "See?"
    Orphan craned his neck. It was a copy of Victor Hugo's classic (for even Orphan had read it as a child),
La Créature de la Lagune Noire.
"Here in France, we honor such writings," the officer said, and he rose, and shook Herb's hand. "Welcome, Mr. Wells. Welcome to France."
    Herb, grinning, returned the handshake heartily, and left the officer