A Place so Foreign by Cory Doctorow (best ebook reader under 100 .TXT) 📖

far as I go."

"Sir, is that an ultimatum?" Pondicherry asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Call it whatever you please, buster. It's my final, iron-clad offer. You don't like it, I can talk to the Chinaman. He seemed pretty eager to get some good metal home to the Emperor."

"You wouldn't — he's too far back, it would violate the protocols."

"That's what you say. It may be what the trade court decides. I'll take my chances."

"Six and a half ounces," Pondicherry said, in a spoiled-brat voice.

"You don't hear so good, do you? Six ounces is the offer on the table; take it or leave it." Nussbaum pushed some papers across the table.

Pondicherry stared at them for a long moment. "I will sign them, sir, but it is with the expectation of continued trade opportunities. This is a good-will gesture, do you understand?"

Nussbaum snorted and reached for his papers. "This is about steaks and metals.
This isn't about the future, it's about today, now. That's what's on the table.
You can sign it, or you can walk away."

Pondicherry blew air out his nose like a crazy horse, and signed. "If you'll excuse me, I need to use the WC again." He rose and left the room, purple from the collar up.

"What a maroon," Nussbaum said to the closed door. "This's gotta be a real blast for you, huh?" he said.

I grinned. "It's not so bad. I liked watchin' you hogtie him."

He laughed. "I never would've tried that on your father, kid. He was too sharp. But fatso there, he's terrified the Chinaman will give the Middle Kingdom an edge when it faces down his Royal Navy. All it takes is the slightest hint, and he folds like a cheap suit."

That made me chuckle — a cheap suit!

I gave him my best innocent look. "Who else knows about the Frenchman?" I asked him.

Nussbaum grinned like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I realised about halfway through that conversation that being Lester's boy, you've probably read just about every word old Jules 'wrote.'"

"I have," I said. I took out "War of the Worlds." "How does Mr Wells feel about this?" I asked.

"I imagine he's pretty mystified," Nussbaum said. "Would you believe, you're the first one who's caught on?"

I believed it. I knew enough to know that the agencies that policed the protocols had their hands full keeping track of art and gold smugglers. I'd never even thought of smuggling words. If the trade courts found out. . . Well, hardly a week went by that someone didn't propose shutting down the ambassadorships; they'd talk about how the future kept on leaking pastwards, and if we thought 1975 looked bad, imagine life in 1492 once the future reached it! The ambassadors had made a lot of friends in high places, though: they used their influence to keep things on an even keel.

Nussbaum raised an eyebrow and studied me. "I think your father may've figured it out, but he kept it to himself. He and Jules got along like a house on fire."

I kept the innocent look on my face. "Well, then," I said. "If Pa didn't say anything, you'd think that I wouldn't either, right?"

Nussbaum sighed and gave me a sheepish look. "I'd like to think so," he said.

I turned the book over in my hands, keeping my gaze locked with his. I was about to tell him that I'd keep it to myself, but at the last minute, some instinct told me to keep my mouth shut.

Nussbaum shrugged as though to say, I give up. "Hey, you're headed home today, right?" he said, carefully.

"Yes, sir."

"I've got a message that you could maybe relay for me, you think?"

"I guess so. . ." I said, doubtfully.

"I'll make it worth your while. It's got to go to a friend of mine in Frisco. There's no hurry — just make sure he gets it in the next ten years or so. Once you deliver it, he'll take care of you — you'll be set for life."

"Gosh," I said, deadpan.

"Are you game?"

"I guess so. Sure." My heart skipped. Set for life!

"The man you want to speak to is Reddekop, he's the organist at the Castro theatre. Tell him: 'Nussbaum says get out by October 29th, 1929.' He'll know what it means. You got that?"

"Reddekop, Castro Theatre. October 29th, 1929."

"Exac-atac-ally." He slid "War of the Worlds" into his briefcase. "You're doin' me a hell of a favour, son."

He shook my hand. Pondicherry came back in then, and glared at me. "The embassy contacted me. They can set you at home six months after you left — there's a courier gateway this afternoon."

"Six months!" I said. "My Mama will go crazy! Can't you get me home any sooner?"

Pondicherry smirked. "Don't complain to me, boy. You dug this hole yourself. The next scheduled courier going anywhere near your departure-point is in five years. We'll send notice to your mother then, to expect you home mid-July."

"Tough break, kiddo," Nussbaum said, and he shook my hand and slipped me another wink.

#

The courier gateway let me out in an alleyway in Salt Lake City. The embassy had given me ten Wells Fargo dollars, and fitted me out with a pair of jeans and a workshirt that were both far too big for me, so that they slopped around me as I made my way to the train station and bought my ticket to New Jerusalem.

It was Wednesday, the normal schedule for the Zephyr Speedball, so I didn't have too long to wait at the station. I bought copies of the Salt Lake City Shout, and the San Francisco Chronicle from a passing newsie. The Chronicle was a week old, but it was filled with all sorts of fascinating big-city gossip. I read it cover-to-cover on the long ride to New Jerusalem.

Mama met me at the train station. I'd been expecting a switching, right then and there, but instead she hugged me fiercely with tears in her eyes. I remembered that it had been over six months for her since I'd gone.

"James, you will be the death of me, I swear," she said, after she'd squeezed every last bit of stuffing out of me.

"I'm sorry, Mama," I said.

"We had to tell everyone you'd gone away to school in France," a familiar male voice said. I looked up and saw Mr Johnstone standing a few yards away, with our team and trap. He was glaring at me. "I've had the barn gateway sealed permanently on both sides."

"I'm sorry, sir," I said. But inside, I wasn't. Even though I'd only been away for a few days, I'd had the adventure of a lifetime: smoked and drank and been 'jacked and escaped and received a secret message. My Mama seemed shorter to me, and frailer, and James H Johnstone was a puffed-up nothing of a poltroon.

"We'll put it behind us, son," he said. "But from now on, there will be order in our household, do we understand each-other?"

Our house? I looked up sharply at my Mama. She smiled at me, nervously. "We married, James. A month ago. Congratulate me!"

I thought about it. My Mama needed someone around to take care of her, and vice-versa. After all, it wasn't right for her to be all alone. With a start, I realised that in my mind, I'd left my Mama's house. I felt the Wells-Fargo notes in my pocket.

"Congratulations, Mama. Congratulations, Mr Johnstone."

Mama hugged me again and the Mr Johnstone drove us home in the trap.

#

All through the rest of the day, Mama kept looking worriedly at me, whenever she thought I wasn't watching. I pretended not to notice, and did my chores, then took my Chronicle out to the apple orchard behind the Academy. I sat beneath a big, shady tree and re-read the paper, all the curious bits and pieces of a city frozen in time.

I was hardly surprised to see Mr Adelson, nor did he seem surprised to see me.

"Back from France, James?"

"Yes, sir."

"Looks like it did you some good, though I must say, we missed you around the
Academy. It just wasn't the same. Have you been keeping up your writing?"

"Sorry, sir, I haven't. There hasn't been time. I'm thinking about writing an adventure story, though — about pirates and space-travellers and airships," I said.

"That sound exciting." He sat down beside me, and we sat there in silence for a time, watching the flies buzz around. The air was sweet with apple blossoms, and the only sound was the wind in the trees.

"I'm going to miss this place," I said, unthinking.

"Me, too," Mr Adelson said.

Our eyes locked, and a slow smile spread over his face. "Well, I know where I'm going, but where are you off to, son?"

"You're going away?" I said.

"Yes, sir. Is that a copy of the Chronicle? Give it here, I'll show you something."

He flipped through the pages, and pointed to an advertisement. "The Slippery Trick is in port, and they're signing on crew for a run through the south seas, in September. I intend to go as Quartermaster."

"You're leaving?" I said, shocked to my boots.

To my surprise, he pulled out a pouch of tobacco and some rolling papers and rolled himself a cigarette. I'd never seen a schoolteacher smoking before. He took a thoughtful puff and blew the smoke out into the sky. "To tell you the truth, James, I just don't think I'm cut out for this line of work. Not enough excitement in a town like this. I've never been happier than I was when I was at sea, and that's as good a reason to go back as any. I'll miss you, though, son. You were a delight to teach."

"But what will I do?" I said.

"Why, I expect your mother will send you back East to go to school. I graduated you from the Academy in absentia during the last week of classes. Your report card and diploma are waiting on my desk."

"Graduated?" I said, shocked. I had another year to go at the Academy.

"Don't look so surprised! There was no earthly reason for you to stay at the Academy. I'd say you were ready for college, myself. Maybe Harvard!" He tousled my hair.

I allowed myself a smile — I didn't think I was any smarter than the other kids, but I sure knew a whole lot more about the world — the worlds! And maybe, in my heart of hearts, I knew that I was a little smarter. "I'll miss you, sir," I said.

"Call me Robert. School's out. Where are you off to, James?"

I gestured with my copy of the Chronicle.

"My home town! Whatever for?"

I looked at my shoes.

"Oh, a secret. I see. Well, I won't pry. Does your mother know about this?"

I felt like kicking myself. If I said no, he'd have to tell her. If I said yes, I'd only have myself to blame if he spilled the news to her. I looked at him, and he blew a streamer of smoke into the sky. "No, sir," I said. "No, Robert."

He looked at me. He winked. "Better keep it to ourselves, then," he said.

#

The ticket-girl at the Castro Theatre wasn't any older than I was, but she wore her hair shorter than some of the boys I'd known back home, and more makeup than even the painted ladies at the saloon. She looked at me like I was some kind of small-town fool. It was a look I was getting used to seeing.

"Reddekop only plays for the evening shows, kid. No organ for the matinee."

"Who you calling a kid?" I said. I'd kept a civil tongue ever since debarking the train, treating adult and kid with equal respect, but I was getting sick of being treated like a yokel. I'd been farther than any of these dusty slickers would ever go, and I was grown enough that I'd told my Mama and Mr Johnstone that I was going off on my own, instead of just leaving a note like I'd originally planned.

"You. Kid. You want to talk to Reddekop, you come back after six. In the meantime, you can either buy a