The Children of the Company Part 11

"We'd just leaned down for the first sip when there was Margarite in the doorway; it seemed she'd only just noticed we were out of cooking oil and she was three-quarters ready with the vleeskroketten she was making for dinner, and wanted to know what she should do?

"Well, of course, what she wanted was for me to go out and buy a jar of oil, but I wasn't having any of that, I just tossed her a guilder and said, go down to Hobbema's on the dam, and she sulked away looking martyred but-"

"Why do you allow insubordination in a mortal?" Latif inquired with a slight frown.

"Because she prepares fish beautifully, and she's married to Joost, and Joost really is a treasure," I explained. "He's smart, he keeps his mouth shut, and he knows the best places to buy good horses in a hurry without paying a fortune. Sometimes you just have to put up with certain things in mortals, you know? So anyway, I turned back to Magdalena, who had just got to the part of the play where the pirate chief is about to ravish his sister all unknowing, when the front door opened and in came Lisette, all in high spirits because she'd just closed a deal for an unknown early Defoe ma.n.u.script.

"In fact she was waving it as she came running in, and went leaping into Diego's room to scan it and collided with the Facilitator, and both their sets of priceless doc.u.ments went flying everywhere and you never heard such screams!

"So then, Magdalena quite understandably got the impression that my daughter was being a.s.saulted by a Swedish cavalry officer, and-I'm not frightening you, am I, dear?"

"No! No, not at all!" said Latif, though his eyes were wide and staring.

"Well, the point is, you see how things can get?" I waved the paring knife. "It's hard keeping up the appearance of an ordinary mortal family without alarming the neighbors."

"I suppose so."

"You'll have days like that, too, when you're a full-fledged Executive Facilitator, mark my words." I dumped the last of the potatoes into the soup kettle. "We all do."

"I bet Suleyman doesn't," said Latif.

"Who? Suleyman? North African Section Head Suleyman? Oh, he's a lovely man! You know him?"

"He recruited me," said Latif.

"He was here on business one time-Recruited you? Really? Where?" I dug around in a drawer, wondering what Margarite had done with all the long spoons.

"From a slave s.h.i.+p," said Latif in an offhanded sort of way, and I looked up at him all ready to cry out You poor baby, because he was after all such a very small boy sitting there in my kitchen, and how much tinier had he been when Suleyman had rescued him from such a horrible place-but I could tell from the look in his eyes that the last thing he wanted me to do would be to exclaim over him.

At least now I knew why he wanted to grow up so fast. So I just said, "Well, we all get off to a bad start in life, or the Company wouldn't be able to s.n.a.t.c.h us away from the mortals, I guess. It was plague took my whole family but me; there I was, all alone with corpses when the nice immortal lady found me and recruited me for Dr. Zeus." I located the spoon at last and turned to stir the soup. "So, you know Suleyman. He's one of the best, I must say, but he has days when everything goes wrong, too. You just ask him, if you ever run into him again."

"Oh, I will," Latif informed me. "I'm going to be his second-in-command, when I've graduated."

"Really?" I exclaimed. "How nice! You've already been informed of your a.s.signment?"

"No," he replied imperturbably, "But it's going to happen. I'll make it happen."

Well, I didn't know what to say at that, because, you know-we don't make things happen. Oh, we can request a.s.signments, and if we've got the right programming and it suits the Company's purpose, our requests might be granted once in a while-but it's the Company tells us what to do and not the other way around. So I just stirred the soup, and the little boy sat and watched me.

"But enough about me," he said, in that outrageously grown-up voice he affected. "Tell me about yourself. Now that I'm getting some idea of what's involved in running an HQ, I'm more than ever impressed by your command abilities! Tell me, how do you like to relax?"

"Well-you know-like anybody does, I guess," I waved my free hand. "Going out, going to the theater, dining, conversation with the mortals."

"You find mortal conversation relaxing?" Latif raised his eyebrows.

"Sometimes." I looked darkly upward in the direction of Margarite's room. "When they're not sulking."

At this point Johan appeared in the doorway again, tears in his eyes, holding out his d.a.m.n little dog like an offering. Kackerlackje was stiff as a board, lying on his side and foaming at the mouth.

"Van Drouten-the seizures stopped but now he's doing this-"

"And after all, immortal conversation can be just as irritating," I explained to Latif, tossing down the spoon and wiping my hands on my ap.r.o.n.

The mutt didn't die; he never did. Within a few days he was up and yapping as loudly as ever, and even seemed to remember a little of his paper-training, as opposed to his usual forgetfulness on the subject. What a joy to have in the house, huh?

But as it happened, we didn't have to put up with his presence for much longer, because about a week later I got the notification that Johan was being transferred to Brussels. So I gave him a nice farewell dinner party and we saw him off with his suitcase and animal carrier, and Margarite was so happy the dog was going with him she was in a good mood for a week.

And Latif appeared to be fitting in pretty well, which was nice. He followed me everywhere, observing just as he was supposed to. He seemed to have figured out that commenting out loud on their shortcomings made people uncomfortable, and kept his thoughts to himself now. He asked the other operatives intelligent questions about their particular specialties and made a point of sitting with each of them for at least one day, watching as they went about their various businesses, especially Eliphal.

He had no difficulty with the mortals, either. In fact he went out of his way to make friends with Joost, who was charmed by him, and took him along on his horse-trading rounds. It's always a good idea to have a mortal with you when you're in one of their cities for the first time, I think, anyway. It helps you see it through their eyes.

When we went out shopping, Latif obligingly carried my basket and fan, and put up with all my mortal neighbors who came crowding to stare at him with the excuse that they had some really spicy gossip for me. And I can't think he minded being told what an adorable little fellow he was, or having sugar rolls pressed into his free hand, though the cheek-pinching bothered him, but it would bother anybody. People don't remember very well what it's like to be children.

Actually I guess Latif didn't remember much either, as sophisticated as he was. No, that can't be quite true: there was a day when we were out on the Dam and he stared, fascinated, at a black mortal, a slave or servant probably, who was following behind his master. What a mortal he was, too! Gorgeous, with these long legs in thigh-high boots and his full white s.h.i.+rt with its lace collar open at the throat, skin like polished ebony, striding along in goodhumored arrogance, chatting with his master about the pistols they were on their way to buy.

He saw Latif staring at him and grinned hugely, such perfect white teeth, and winked. Latif caught his breath, I swear; and all the way home he was walking with the mortal's long-legged stride, practicing that grace.

But that was about the only time I saw him being a little boy, which worried me. The rest of the time he was stone-cold serious and grimly determined to become the perfect operative. I've had trainee Facilitators in their twenties who weren't as dedicated to learning their jobs. But then, Latif was special, wasn't he? Or he'd still have been in the junior cla.s.s at a Company training base somewhere, with other children his age.

He watched closely as I dealt with the everyday business of running the station: feeding operatives who dropped in at any hour of the day or night, seeing to it they were issued whatever field supplies they needed, and ordering anything we didn't actually have on hand at the station. There was the station budget to fight with, frantically thinking of ways to stretch it until the next fiscal quarter! There were couriers to greet, pouches to be signed for or sent on their way, dispatches to be transmitted; there were s.h.i.+pments to be received and sent of so many humdrum things that would become priceless over time.

Who needed all those copies of the new London Daily Courant or the Moskovskya Viedomosti? What about all those Watteau and Rigaud paintings, who on Earth would want such sickly candy-box things? And the Pachelbel scores that the composer just happened to misplace, or those jottings by Hakuseki, would wealthy collectors really pay small fortunes for those in the future? It always amazes me, the garbage that time turns into gold; but, you know, that's how the Company makes its money. If it keeps herring on my table (and makes me immortal, too!) who am I to raise an eyebrow?

And Latif learned quickly, he really was a brilliant little boy, and grasped very well the importance of interfacing with the mortal community, building relations.h.i.+ps within it that we could use to the Company's advantage and reinforcing the illusion that we were a perfectly (well, reasonably) normal mortal Amsterdam family. It helped, too, that I didn't have to keep stopping his lessons to sweep or peel onions.

Yes! Margarite's good mood didn't last past the week of Kackerlackje's departure, but she didn't lapse into the usual pattern of headaches and diarrhea that made her unable to cope with daily routine. She went into a frenzy of activity instead. The house was as spotless as it's ever been, meals were ready on time, and suddenly there was an airy, digestible quality to her cooking that made me realize that maybe it had been just a little heavy before.

Though when Eliphal stopped on the stairs to pay her a gallant compliment about the latest batch of vleeskroketten, she still glared at him. What was going on in her head? No use to ask Joost; when I brought up the subject he just shrugged and held out his hands, gesturing How should I know? Then he swung Latif up on his shoulders and they went out to watch s.h.i.+ps being unloaded.

Summer ended, and the ca.n.a.ls were pretty with drifting yellow leaves for a week or two before the cold set in. I had to order a new wardrobe for Latif, because he'd outgrown the furred jacket he'd brought from Mackenzie Base, so quickly was he beginning to shoot up. He was going to be tall and imposing, and I was glad for him. I don't think he'd felt an Executive Facilitator should be short and undignified. He prowled around the house for a couple of weeks wrapped in knitted shawls until his new coat arrived.

He was bundled up like that the morning I rose early and came down to find him sitting at my credenza, with his little fingers pattering away at the keyboard rapid-fire-speed.

"Good morning!" he greeted me pleasantly, glancing up. "I woke up early and I couldn't go back to sleep, so I just thought I'd check your mail for you."

"Oh," I said, yawning. "Did I have any?"

"Yes." He indicated a stack of printouts as he closed and shut down the credenza. "The usual things. Answers to queries, priority orders, directives. I've sorted them for you in order of importance. I hope I wasn't presuming?"

"No, no, you need to learn this stuff, after all," I replied, sitting down beside him and flipping through the printouts. He really had prioritized them, too; I was quite impressed. "This is great! Gosh, you're a quick study, Latif."

"I'm glad you think so," he replied graciously. "And actually, I was wondering: in view of the rapid progress I'm making, do you suppose it's time I was fast-tracked?"

"Fast-tracked?" I looked up from the printouts to stare at him.

"Accelerated," he explained. "My educational schedule revised to send me on to Eurobase One ahead of the originally estimated date. What do you think? Would you be receptive to the idea?"

"Oh, I don't know, sweetie," I told him dubiously. "Shouldn't you have some childhood? I mean, look at you! You've still got your baby teeth, and you're out in the field already. Don't you think you've been fast-tracked enough as it is?"

He watched me intently as I answered him, and I was half afraid he'd get angry; but he just nodded and made a dismissive gesture.

"You're right, of course," he said at once. "I'll bow to your judgment. I'm undoubtedly not as proficient at this yet as I think I am."

And I was so impressed by the gracious way he took my refusal that I hastened to rea.s.sure him about what a little genius he was.

Well, I was right about his being a genius.

Snow fell one morning, and all the muck froze so that the view from the parlor window was just like a postcard, and the houses across the ca.n.a.l were all frosted with white. Really it was perfect weather for curling up beside the window with a nice cup of hot chocolate, but we'd run out; everyone had been craving Theobromos desperately lately, for some reason. It was too early in the day to get blitzed anyhow, and I had work to do.

I admired the snowy scene for a few minutes before settling down at my credenza to check my incoming dispatches, sipping my coffee meditatively. I liked this time of the morning, before the rest of the household was awake, when I usually had some peace and quiet.

The first blast in my little symphony of horror was a communication from Verpoorten in the Brussels office complaining about Johan. Not Johan exactly; Verpoorten said he was an able enough Botanist, though I'd been a little mistaken about what his specialties were when I recommended him for transfer to their gardens project, and right there warning bells began to ring in my head. I hadn't recommended him! He'd been requested, hadn't he? But I read on, appalled.

It seemed that Kackerlackje was making himself just as inconvenient at Brussels HQ as he had in my house, and Verpoorten was a lot less inclined to cope with him. He had had to give Johan an ultimatum, apparently. The dog had to go. Johan had acquiesced in tears, but only on the condition that dear little Kackerlackje be sent back to me, since Johan knew I loved him as much as he did and moreover had always looked after his precarious health like a loving mother.

Boy, there aren't words to describe my consternation. Some Executive Facilitators I know would just give the d.a.m.n dog all the paint he could eat and then send him diving tied to a rock, but I'm nice, you know? I was so upset I put the communication aside without sending a reply and went into my fiscal file. I'd buy something, that would take my mind off my troubles! Time to order new components for the doc.u.ment scanner, yes, Diego had reminded me about that only yesterday, and Lievens wanted another s.h.i.+pment of red oak for cabinets.

What a surprise I got when my credenza informed me I had insufficient funds for the transaction ...

Thinking of course that there must be some mistake, I checked my budget balance, and then I got a real surprise.

This has happened to you, right? So you know that after the first frantic denial a sort of icy numbness sets in and you settle down to go over the books with a fine-toothed comb, determined to find the mistake. That's what I was doing when the knock came on the door.

Too much to expect that Margarite would answer it, of course. G.o.d forbid she should actually do her job or anything like that. As the knock was repeated a little more loudly I rose to get it, scanning irritably for where in the house Margarite had got to. There was her heartbeat, coming from her bedroom, and some other sounds as well ... oh, dear, was she throwing up? No wonder she hadn't lit the fires or started breakfast yet. I'd have to do, it, of course- My annoyance at this fled right out of my mind when I opened the door and beheld my two visitors.

Quite an elegant-looking lady and gentleman, as much as you could see of them for the furred coats in which they were bundled up. They were both immortals, too.

"Executive Facilitator Van Drouten, I presume?" inquired the gentleman. "May we have a moment of your time?"

So of course I invited them in off the stoop, and settled them in the parlor while I excused myself a moment and ran off to grab Lisette, who was just coming downstairs, and asked her to go see what the matter was with Margarite, and see if Joost couldn't be prevailed upon to light the fires so we wouldn't all freeze? Then I found a bottle of gin and three gla.s.ses and brought them out to my guests.

They were even more elegant out of their coats, quite exotic-looking, too, for all that they were dressed in perfect up-to-the-minute Continental fas.h.i.+ons. The man had been Incan or Aztec or one of those originally; he had the copper skin and the gloomy sneering dignity. The lady had white skin, green eyes, hair like a raven's wing, a real stunner if she hadn't had such a disagreeable look on her face. So had the man, actually. But they both smiled politely as I poured them gin and asked how I could help them.

"You're too kind," the man said, hooding his eyes. "May I introduce myself? I am Security Technical Sixteen Turtle and this is my a.s.sociate, Botanist Smythe. We're presently stationed at New World One."

"My gosh, what a long way to come," I exclaimed, offering them both their gin. They accepted the gla.s.ses but did not drink.

"Oh, we arrived by air transport," Sixteen Turtle said, turning the stem of his gla.s.s between his fingers. "We don't expect to be away long." And then he transmitted subvocally: It's my hope we can resolve this issue quickly, to our mutual satisfaction.

I didn't know what to make of this, because usually the only time we need to speak to each other subvocally is when we don't want the mortals to hear us speaking out loud, and there were no mortals within earshot. But I gamely transmitted: Gee, I hope so, too.

"Amsterdam is truly lovely at this time of year," Smythe told me graciously, though she was looking daggers at me. May I begin by a.s.suring you that we feel compet.i.tion is a good thing, generally?

That's nice, I transmitted back, and out loud I said: "How nice to hear someone say so! Usually all people ever want to see are tulips, tulips, tulips, you know, and of course they don't bloom at this time of year ..."

"Yes, I was aware of that," Smythe replied, and I remembered she was a Botanist and felt silly.

Compet.i.tion, transmitted Sixteen Turtle, can actually stimulate business. And in a global market, there are certainly enough potential customers for everyone.

What, for tulips? I responded. My G.o.d, don't invest in bulbs! Don't you know what happened last time? The bottom fell out of the market and-But from their offended expressions I could tell I was off the mark somehow.

Could you come to the point, please? I transmitted, just as Lisette came running back downstairs.

"Van Drouten? I don't think Margarite should get up today-" she blurted, and then noticed I had guests who were glaring at me strangely. "And I'll-just tell you about it later, okay?"

"Please do," I snapped, "and you might suggest to Joost that he deal with her in the meantime."

"He's not here," Lisette informed me, wringing her hands. "He, uh, apparently took Latif out to build a snowman."

"Mortal servants!" Sixteen Turtle shook his head, sounding tolerantly amused. "We have similar troubles with ours."

"At least yours don't sneak out to build snowmen, not in South America," I grumbled, and Lisette took that opportunity to vanish discreetly.

"Oh, we have snow in the mountains," Smythe a.s.sured me. Though not in the plantations of Theobroma cacao. And that, madam, brings us to the point.

Really?

Yes. Sixteen Turtle lifted his gin and held it under that aristocratic nose of his to inhale the bouquet. We're quite prepared to tolerate the existence of a rival operation. It's not as though we haven't got an adequate market on the Pacific Rim already, and to be frank, we can't see our operation expanding any further. He lowered the gla.s.s and fixed me with a cold dead stare. What we're not prepared to tolerate, however, is gross mismanagement to the extent that the Company is alerted, not only to the existence of your operation, but ours as well.

At least now I knew why we weren't talking out loud.

"Funny, you know, but I just can't imagine snow that close to the equator," I said cheerily, but now I was looking daggers right back at them. You're black marketeers, aren't you? And you deal in Theobromos!

Did you think you were the only one to have conceived of this idea? demanded Smythe, but Sixteen Turtle was realizing I really hadn't known what was going on. He lifted his head, peering up our staircase and inhaling deeply, and I did, too, and suddenly singled out the fragrance that had been driving us all subliminally crazy lately, masked as it was by nutmeg and cloves: Theobromos.

My shock was enough to get through to Smythe, too, and she and Sixteen Turtle looked horrified. They'd just as good as confessed to an Executive Facilitator that they ran a Theobromos racket, and moreover brought her attention to one being run out of her own HQ! Not that I think there's anything wrong with the black market, mind you, since Dr. Zeus never stocks enough Theobromos in the Company bases. But it is against Company regulations, and any operative caught at it faces disciplinary measures.

Sixteen Turtle recovered himself first. He smiled broadly and put his fingertips together.

"Ah, but I can certainly imagine your beautiful country ablaze with tulips," he said. Dear me, I can't imagine this will reflect favorably on your record, he transmitted. One of the operatives under your command dealing in contraband Theobromos? And not very well, I might add.

How not very well? I demanded. You thought it was my operation, didn't you? You may as well tell me all the details. Has somebody been using my codes to buy the stuff?

Would it be in our best interests to tell you? Smythe replied, looking as though cocoa b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Yes, it would, I told her grimly.

She and Sixteen Turtle looked at each other before he transmitted.

Well, madam, it appears that someone with much audacity but little expertise has recently purchased a great deal of a certain commodity in your name, apparently with the intent of cornering the European black market on that commodity. Nothing to distress anyone in that; as I believe I pointed out, the global market can bear more than one player in this game. However, the player in question has offered the commodity at such absurdly low prices that he or she is certain to arouse suspicion. Moreover, by our calculations, your culprit can't possibly turn a profit! And such practices are not only likely to ruin the individual dealer, they're bad for business generally. This was why we felt obliged to warn you, for your own good- I remembered my nonexistent budget balance.

I see, I transmitted. I didn't, yet, though. Just at that moment another transmission crackled through the ether, slightly distorted by snow and panic, and unfortunately on a wide enough band so my visitors heard it, too: Van Drouten! Very angry mortal looking for you! I'm trying to head him off, but- It was Kalugin, sounding as though he were running along through the frozen streets.

That was exactly what he was doing, too, because a moment later there was a commotion on the front stoop and we could hear Kalugin saying: "Sir, I implore you! Whatever your grievances against the man, the City Watch will look dimly on stabbing him in this good lady's parlor-"

"Excuse me, won't you?" I said, leaping up to answer the pounding on my door. When I opened it I beheld Kalugin, or rather his broad back, because he had got in front of my visitor and was holding his hands up in a placatory gesture. The visitor was a diminutive mortal gentleman who was glaring around Kalugin at me with an expression of such venom it made my hair curl.

"Where is the Jew Eliphal?" he demanded.