added smoothly, “Or perhaps the Premier of Turkistan was more powerful than you knew. Or had more powerful allies.”
“China? Or Russia? China and Russia, wasn't it? That was a summit meeting in Moscow, not an arbitration.”
He shrugged, shutting off the conversation right there. “You have your instructions, sir. I think that you understand them now.”
“China, Russia, and Turkistan. Who's running the show, General?”
The look that flared from his eyes was like an axe-stroke. “I run it,” he said quietly.
Black Christmas. That was what we called it. There were gifts given, and maybe a few people had the heart to sing a few carols in their own homes, in spite of the billeted soldiers. God knows there were prayers said.
But electricity wasn't really basic. What was basic was fuel.
On any ordinary-scale map, we were located in the coal belt of southern Illinois, but in fact there wasn't a single coal mine in the district. I gave some thought to the possibility of starting one ourselves, and gave it up; no matter how you figured it, the thing just wasn't feasible. Coal was one of the oldest industries in the state. This whole area had been surveyed and explored and evaluated time after time, and Nizam had reluctantly pulled the local records out of the sealed Court House for me. There was certainly coal in Kraft County, but it was too low-grade and too hard to get at; and while we would have gladly settled for a lot less than commercial quality, we didn't have the equipment or the know-how to mine anything that didn't just about jump out of the ground at us.
That left wood, wind, and muscle. A windmill and a good rationing system might be all we needed for our water supply. But the wind wasn't reliable enough for anything that needed steady power. I set all the local talent I could scrape up onto putting together a wood-burning steam engine for Morris Schott's feed mill. I was proud to see that Kraftsville people could work together, even if it took a catastrophe or the end of the world to get them started. It wasn't all smooth, either.
I ran into Leland Kitchener on foot one day, which was unusual. He was a shabby little old fellow to look at (probably not as old as he looked, for that matter), but there was more to Leland than showed on the outside.
“Morning, Mr. Bond. How's your house guest?”
“Making himself very comfortable, Leland. What's new?”
He walked with his hands in his pockets and his head and shoulders hunched forward, so when he looked you in the eye he had to peer through his eyebrows. He grinned up at me. “Well, to hear people talk, I guess about the newest is you buying Perry Carpenter's house.”
“What do they say about it?”
“Well, there's some says it don't look just right.”
“Then there's some that don't know what they're talking about, Leland. I'm buying that house as a kindness to Christine. She can't live there alone, a young widow and a baby—not with this billet rule. And she won't want to be responsible for a house. This way she's able to move back in with her folks and forget it. I'm taking the responsibility off her hands.”
“That's what I tell them, Mr. Bond. Nobody wouldn't think any different if it wasn't for him being your coach at school, and the house being right next door to yours. They're saying —some people are saying—you bought it for these Turks.”
“I tell you what, Leland. We're all in this together, and we can't afford not to trust each other. You tell them so. I didn't buy the house for anybody else, and nobody's going to be able to say I did. By next week there won't be any house.”
His smile went sly and sweet. “You need any help, Mr. Bond, I'm your man.”
It was true the Turkistanis looked interested in Perry's house. It would be convenient to barrack the bodyguards, at least, next door to General Arslan. But it would be more convenient from my point of view to have an empty lot there. The house belonged to me now, and
“China? Or Russia? China and Russia, wasn't it? That was a summit meeting in Moscow, not an arbitration.”
He shrugged, shutting off the conversation right there. “You have your instructions, sir. I think that you understand them now.”
“China, Russia, and Turkistan. Who's running the show, General?”
The look that flared from his eyes was like an axe-stroke. “I run it,” he said quietly.
Black Christmas. That was what we called it. There were gifts given, and maybe a few people had the heart to sing a few carols in their own homes, in spite of the billeted soldiers. God knows there were prayers said.
But electricity wasn't really basic. What was basic was fuel.
On any ordinary-scale map, we were located in the coal belt of southern Illinois, but in fact there wasn't a single coal mine in the district. I gave some thought to the possibility of starting one ourselves, and gave it up; no matter how you figured it, the thing just wasn't feasible. Coal was one of the oldest industries in the state. This whole area had been surveyed and explored and evaluated time after time, and Nizam had reluctantly pulled the local records out of the sealed Court House for me. There was certainly coal in Kraft County, but it was too low-grade and too hard to get at; and while we would have gladly settled for a lot less than commercial quality, we didn't have the equipment or the know-how to mine anything that didn't just about jump out of the ground at us.
That left wood, wind, and muscle. A windmill and a good rationing system might be all we needed for our water supply. But the wind wasn't reliable enough for anything that needed steady power. I set all the local talent I could scrape up onto putting together a wood-burning steam engine for Morris Schott's feed mill. I was proud to see that Kraftsville people could work together, even if it took a catastrophe or the end of the world to get them started. It wasn't all smooth, either.
I ran into Leland Kitchener on foot one day, which was unusual. He was a shabby little old fellow to look at (probably not as old as he looked, for that matter), but there was more to Leland than showed on the outside.
“Morning, Mr. Bond. How's your house guest?”
“Making himself very comfortable, Leland. What's new?”
He walked with his hands in his pockets and his head and shoulders hunched forward, so when he looked you in the eye he had to peer through his eyebrows. He grinned up at me. “Well, to hear people talk, I guess about the newest is you buying Perry Carpenter's house.”
“What do they say about it?”
“Well, there's some says it don't look just right.”
“Then there's some that don't know what they're talking about, Leland. I'm buying that house as a kindness to Christine. She can't live there alone, a young widow and a baby—not with this billet rule. And she won't want to be responsible for a house. This way she's able to move back in with her folks and forget it. I'm taking the responsibility off her hands.”
“That's what I tell them, Mr. Bond. Nobody wouldn't think any different if it wasn't for him being your coach at school, and the house being right next door to yours. They're saying —some people are saying—you bought it for these Turks.”
“I tell you what, Leland. We're all in this together, and we can't afford not to trust each other. You tell them so. I didn't buy the house for anybody else, and nobody's going to be able to say I did. By next week there won't be any house.”
His smile went sly and sweet. “You need any help, Mr. Bond, I'm your man.”
It was true the Turkistanis looked interested in Perry's house. It would be convenient to barrack the bodyguards, at least, next door to General Arslan. But it would be more convenient from my point of view to have an empty lot there. The house belonged to me now, and
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