Velvet Undercover by Teri Brown

duties might be as an assistant to the governess. I’ve just closed the book Miss Tickford gave me on the Hohenzollern dynasty when I hear an odd tapping on the window. I freeze, hardly daring to look behind me. When I do, I see nothing through the stiff lace curtain covering the glass. I wait but there’s no sound. I’ve almost decided it’s my imagination when it happens again.
    Tap. Tap-tap.
    I leap to my feet, unsure as to whether I should go to the window or run from the room. But before I decide, Miss Tickford appears in the doorway.
    â€œI think someone’s knocking,” I tell her.
    She nods and then walks across the kitchen and over to the window as if such tapping were the most natural thing in the world.
    I stare, openmouthed, as she opens the window, reaches her arms out, and pulls in a pigeon.
    â€œI hope you like birds,” she says, petting his head.
    I throw my hands up. “Just when I think that I’m beyond being surprised . . .”
    â€œLife will always surprise you.” She holds the pigeon out toward me. “Bird, meet Samantha.”
    â€œBird?” I reach out and run my fingers over his silky back.
    â€œI call them all Bird. It saves me from having to remember names.”
    â€œYou know so many?”
    Her lips quirk upward. “Not really. But they’ll be used a lot during this war, mark my words. They’re incredibly useful in passing information along when radio or telephone transmissions are either compromised or too risky.”
    I nod as the bird settles, warm and unafraid, in her hands. “I knew the troops had them, but I didn’t know they were used in espionage. It makes sense, though.”
    â€œThe palace has a pigeon roost. Three of the birds are plants, and each bird will get the information to severaldifferent operatives within the city. Use them only in an emergency, though. Most of your communication will be through the Hess Bakery.”
    My heart tightens. “On the Nürnberger Straße?”
    She nods. “Do you know it?”
    â€œI visited it as a child.”
    â€œOh, good. We’ll use that in your signal.”
    The bird coos, recapturing my attention. “How will I know which pigeons are ours?” I ask.
    In answer, Miss Tickford sets the bird on the table, then snaps her fingers three times. The bird flies to her shoulder after the third snap. “All LDB birds are trained to respond to that.” She points, and for the first time I see a small silver tube attached to his thin leg with a wire so fine, it looks more like a strand of hair than metal.
    â€œI’ll give you several of these before you leave. Use invisible ink if you can for the message. If not, LDB code will do.” The bird sits patiently as she unwinds the wire and takes off the tube. Then she unscrews the lid and pulls out a thin roll of paper. It’s blank. “This one is for training purposes,” she explains. Taking a pen, she scratches something on the paper, rolls it back up, and hands it to me. “Here. You try.”
    I pop the scroll into the tiny tube, screw on the lid, and then attach it to the bird’s leg, careful not to tie it too tightly. His leg is rubbery and cold. “You need stockings, don’t you, poor bird,” I say to the pigeon, who coos softly in response.
    Miss Tickford smiles and then puts him back through the window.
    â€œWhat constitutes an emergency?” I ask as we watch the bird fly away.
    â€œImminent discovery, imprisonment, or death,” she says.
    A chill runs through me as the bird becomes a speck in the sky.
    â€œNow, come. We must transform you into Sophia Thérèse.”
    Several hours later, I’m sitting in the back of a luxurious motorcar that was mysteriously procured for my use. Miss Tickford said the prince would expect nothing less of Sophia Thérèse. I’m wearing an antique blue charmeuse gown trimmed with snowy lace. The