Grantville Gazette 37 gg-37

by Коллектив Авторов

  Nick looked at the chalkboard. "I am saddened to see the State Library on the list again, but I am particularly interested in hearing the details of yesterday's incident that has caused the proprietor of City Hall Cafe and Coffee Shop to put her name first on the list." Nick gestured to Cora. "The floor is yours."

  "I don't want the floor. I'm not even sure why I'm here and I didn't write my name up there. I think Simon did it," Cora said.

  "Cora, we all know about the accident at the shop yesterday, and we are happy that Maria will recover, but we would appreciate it if you would share your version of what happened. Just tell the story, and we'll listen. And there may be questions. after," Nick said as he sat down.

  "I still don't know why I'm here," Cora said. "I bought an espresso machine from Clarence about six months ago, and it blew up and nearly killed Maria!"

  Father Nicholas stepped over to Cora on one side, and Reverend Jones on her other. Simon held her shoulder while Nick held her hand. "Cora, we're going to ask you to try to tell us what happened exactly. Just start slowly. How does the machine work?" Simon said.

  "I don't know how it works inside, but outside, you put coffee in the filter and put it on the machine and sit a cup under it, then you pull down on the big lever, and espresso squirts out of the filter into the cup." Cora started to calm down.

  "But that's not all, Cora," Nick said.

  "No, it isn't. If someone wants steamed milk, you take the milk pitcher and put it under the steam wand and open the steam valve and steam comes out and heats up the milk, and froths it. That's all there is to it. It's really, really, simple."

  "Then what happened?" Simon asked.

  "Brother Bernard had ordered a cappuccino, and Maria was joking with him like she always does. She flirts with everyone, and she always said she was making a cappuccino for a Capuchin, and Brother Bernard always laughed and said that he was no Capuchin, he was the Dominican spy in Grantville. Anyway, Maria was starting to steam the milk and all of a sudden, the pipe the steam comes out of just blew out of the machine and hit Maria in the face. Then the steam hit her and burned her face."

  "And then what?" Nick asked.

  "Then we called the ambulance and took her to the hospital."

  "Thanks, Cora. Why don't you sit down and listen now for a bit? People may have some questions, but there's no reason to stand here," Simon said. He and Nick took her to a chair, and Simon handed her a glass of water.

  One of the people said, "I have a question. Cora, do you do any maintenance on the machine? How do you clean it? That sort of thing."

  "I run a clean shop," Cora nearly shouted. "We clean it every night, and you have to clean out the filter between shots. Is that what you mean?"

  "No. Do you do anything inside the machine? Do you clean the insides any?"

  "No. I don't know anything about the insides."

  "And with that;" Simon said, "I think that it's Clarence, Jonas, and my turn."

  Clarence and Jonas explained how they had built the machine, how the boiler operated with an electric coil on a thermostat and a water level sensor, how the steamer took steam off the top of the boiler through the wand with a simple valve and a fixed pipe, and how a pressure relief valve was on top of the boiler to keep it from blowing up. Questions arose to clarify the difference between this and Clarence's line of hot water heaters.

  Then Simon explained what they had found when they took the machine apart, how more than half the boiler had filled with scale from the evaporating water, and how a piece of scale had broken off and had jammed the thermostat so that it didn't prevent overheating, and another piece of scale had blocked the steam pipe. That the pipe had worked loose over time, and finally one last time, the pipe had blocked off completely and the wand had flown out.

  The questions went back and forth for a short time, but the conclusion was clear. Clarence knew about scale buildup from hot water heaters, but hadn't thought through how much more scale would be deposited from the massive evaporation of the steam for the steam wand. He hadn't consulted with, or had Jonas consult with, the steam guys in Grantville. The steam heads were shaking their heads. When the discussion wound down, John Grover stood and looked around.

  "I think we're done then," John said. "Let me summarize. The boiler needed a port to use to put vinegar or something in to clean scale on a regular basis. The wand needed to be tightened every night, and there needed to be an externally visible pressure and temperature gauge to track if problems arose. Are we agreed that we've got this?"

  The room sounded with agreement.

  "Then we've got enough to put this incident behind us, and to put the solution in front of us. Who wants to write the report and the new procedures?"

  Jonas stood. "I built it. I will write the report. I may need help with the words."

  "Help is available," John replied, then turned to Cora. "Cora, we know what happened, we know how to fix it, and we know how to prevent it from happening again. Jonas will write a complete report, and write a checklist for you for how to maintain the machine so that it is safe to use. We're convinced this was a true accident, another incident of Murphy's imp sneaking in when we weren't looking. Do you have any questions?"

  "No, I don't think so. We can go back to making espresso then?" Cora asked.

  "As soon as we fix the machine, and you have the checklist Jonas is going to write," Clarence said.

  "Good!" Cora said.

  John looked at the board. "We have only one other report tonight, and I propose we take a break first, then we'll pass the floor to Doris McIntire and Chelsea Parker from the State Library . . . again."

  ****

  "Everyone ready?" John looked around. "Okay, then. Doris, Chelsea, you have the floor."

  Neither of them stood. Chelsea looked at Doris and said; "This one's on me, I think. One of my guards, and I'm not bothering with who just now-we've already dealt with that internally-but one of the guards opened the front door of the school and the door into the library this morning at six. He was alone, which is against policy, and he had not had a check in from the guard detailed to do the outside walk-around before opening the door. As you all know from the last time, that's part of the procedure. The outside walk-around should finish, come in the employee door, check with the duty guard, and then the duty guard, with a second watcher, is supposed to open the outer doors and then the inner."

  Chelsea took a deep breath. "Yesterday morning, neither of those things happened. The duty guard, who will not be guarding anything for the foreseeable future, skipped those steps, and at six o'clock, simply unlocked the inner door, went through it to the front door of the school, unlocked that, and just walked back to the ready room. He had no partner, and so no one stayed at the front desk. I offer no excuses. We had the policies in place, but they were not followed." She looked at Doris. "I can't tell any more, I wasn't there."

  Doris patted Chelsea's hand. "I was there. I will never understand them, but I was there. I was coming out to the front desk. Apparently, the guard had already opened the door and there was no one at the security desk, so I didn't know the door was unlocked. I was thinking about Brother Johann's plan to try using the high school history classes to each sort a box of loose papers from the overflow storage." She took a deep breath. "I had my head down, and had just reached the front desk when I heard the school's front door bang open. Moments later, the library door burst open and that . . ." Doris hesitated. ". . . that person ran in carrying a bag. The bag was oil stained, and he was shouting. I'm still not sure what he was shouting. I'm honestly not certain of the language, but the hate seemed clear enough. It's the first time I've had to do this, the guards are supposed to check every bag and box that comes into the library, but I really didn't doubt that I was right. He sort of spun back as though he was going to fling the bag into the stacks. So, I pulled the front-desk gun and shot him."

  Doris looked down, then she looked up and around the room. "The bag fell back and I grabbed it and thr
ew it out the door toward the front doors. It burst into flames when it hit, so I knew I was right, but I will never, ever, understand why these people want to burn us out. They come from all over, you know. They seem to think that burning the library will undo us being here. You can't burn ideas. Are they stupid?"

  Chelsea took over. "After the first shot, three guards and two librarians responded. The invader was down, and the high school staff responded to the fire at the front door. It was out within two minutes, from the ready hoses. We have no information on who the arsonist was. He had no documents on him at all, and Doris had put three hollow points, center of mass. After that, it was the usual clean up."

  Simon Jones spoke, "Chelsea, how many does that make now?"

  "Five we've had to shoot in the last four years. The security guards capture a bomb or flammables about once a month through the regular checks. The walk-around finds someone trying to break into the school or something occasionally," Chelsea said. "It's a much harder job than I expected when I took it."

  Doris spoke, sounding tired. "Being a librarian in Grantville is sure different now. Who would have thought that librarian certification required monthly range time?"

  The group spent a half-hour asking questions, double-checking the procedures and considering what could be done differently. Despite the trouble it caused, the conclusion the group reached was to fall back to the "missile silo paradigm" and to require two keys to open the library's front door, each passed hand-to-hand from one duty guard to the next, so that no one could ever open the library alone again. Several people noted that in both the library and the coffee shop cases, the problem could be prevented by a change in procedure. The final conclusion was that once again the checklist stands as one of the most useful tools against the imp of the perverse.

  John Grover stood. "Doris, the Grantville Society of Saint Philip of the Screwdriver offers you our formal thanks. You are welcome here any time, even if you haven't shot an idiot. Cora, thank you, too. Your participation will help prevent other workers from being hurt or even killed by small boilers again. And so, for both of you, I have our thanks, and this talisman . . ." John handed each of the women a small, yellow-handled phillips screwdriver. "In the hopes that it will help you to keep Murphy's imp before you, and joy and humor in your hearts."

  The room echoed with, "Amen."

  A man in overalls opened a bag by his seat and removed two jars and a paint brush, then went to the last banner. Soon it sported two more imps crushed under the cross of Saint Philip's Screwdriver.

  Some time later, after everyone else was gone, Nick looked around the room, knowing that the catering staff from the Gardens would soon have the tables down and the room cleared. He stared up into the eyes of the image of Saint Philip. "Of course, I buy the beer. I can't think of anything better to do with the money." He removed his rosary from his belt, and left the parish hall, heading for the church. "But I'm still a priest."

  ****

  Equal Rights, Part Two

  Jack Carroll and Edith Wild

  The Thuringen Gardens

  Yakov Chekhov was mopping up a spilled drink when the crowd suddenly went quiet, and heads started turning toward the television behind the bar. He began to make out the announcer's words, and then saw the pictures.

  Satan's balls! That's her! If they catch one of those English pricks, they'll get the other one, and they'll both talk! Could be any minute!

  He shoved the mop and bucket into the janitor's closet, slipped out through the kitchen, and around to the street.

  He took a fast look around without turning his head-no police in sight, and the next tram to Schwarza was only half a block away. He jumped aboard with nothing but the clothes on his back and the cash in his pocket. At the end of the line he started walking. Once clear of the town, he got off the roads and headed for Saxony.

  One thing was for certain, the next nom de guerre he picked wouldn't be anything like the last one, it wouldn't even be Russian.

  July 11, the second day

  At two in the morning the call came in by CB that the Garbage Guys had spotted Olivia Villareal's pickup truck in the bushes off a dirt lane near the in-town end of Murphy's Run. It was Marvin Tipton's shift to coordinate the search, and he rousted Officer Erika Fleischer out of bed to bring Pluto to the scene. Pluto couldn't catch a scent of Olivia outside the truck. He picked up something, but couldn't follow it far; he wasn't a tracker. Marvin asked a mounted volunteer to ride out to the count's stables, to see if the jaegers there had a dog that could help. Meanwhile, he phoned over to Leanna's place, to ask Carlos to come look at the truck and see if he could see anything that didn't belong.

  ****

  Olivia woke up freezing in what could only be the middle of the night, and managed to sit up, still sore as hell. The lamp was lit. By its light she could see a bowl of bloody water beside the mat.

  There was a cheap-looking velour jogging suit on the table, the garish kind of pink somebody like Velma Hardesty would go for. There wasn't any underwear with it. Then she heard someone move, and turned her head to see a young man behind her.

  "Please take that look off your face, Olivia Villareal. I am not an adulterer or a rapist." He finished wiping his hands on a large napkin, and tossed it aside. "The clothes are what I could find; I regret that they are no better. Bennet ruined your own in his frenzy. This is a disgrace, and beneath my dignity that any of this should have happened."

  She hurriedly pulled on the jumpsuit. It wasn't much of a fit, but it covered most of her body, and the zipper closed all the way. "Your dignity? What are you talking about? How long have I been-"

  His shoulders slumped for a moment. "Since yesterday afternoon. Bennet took you when you approached Oughtred's house. He drugged you with opium. I brought you this; it is chloramphenicol."

  She thought hard; nothing was clear in her mind. But then she realized what he meant. "Oh, God! There's never been anyone but Carlos."

  "Faithful as Penelope. I thought as much. I give you the chloramphenicol, for your sake, for your husband's and for your children. I would apologize on behalf of Bennet, if an apology could mean anything now. He is taking it, much good may it do him."

  He gestured to the napkin on the cave floor.

  "The wound to your arm, which you must have suffered in being lifted up to this place, is properly dressed now. You look to be fit enough now for the descent, as soon as the lingering effects of the opium have worn off. I have brought more food and water, as well. Fare well, and God be with you. I cannot stay, unfortunately."

  She tried to speak. She couldn't find the words.

  He was gone. The line whipped around a little as he went up it to the clifftop, and then there was silence.

  Damn. Go up after him? No, she was weak and dizzy, no idea how much blood she'd lost, and with the injured arm, in no shape for that kind of climbing. It would have to be down, like that miserable rat had said, and a rappel that far was nothing to try in the dark. Eat. Rest.

  When Olivia woke again, it was already late afternoon. The cave mouth was in shadow. So much for looking for something shiny to try signaling with.

  ****

  By the end of the day, the count's hounds had followed the unknown scent as far as they could, but lost it in the busy sidewalks downtown. The organized teams had done a thorough line search through the area around Olivia's pickup, then done it again crosswise. Nothing. The Boy Scouts were working outward up the ridges. The two perky old ladies at the map in police headquarters kept marking off backyards and sheds that had been checked by the householders, as the phone calls came in.

  Juergen Neubert stood back, thinking. The truck's placement had looked to him like deliberate concealment. Suppose it had been dumped there, to delay the alarm and divert attention from the real scene? Where else should they look? Even with all the help they had, searching the whole town, let alone the surrounding territory, would take far too long for someone who might be hurt and lying out in the o
pen. What did they have for clues, though? Well, the stranger Rothrock had appeared at Oughtred's house, almost at the far end of Murphy's Run, immediately before the destruction happened in the Villareal house. That might mean something. He'd send search parties out that way in the morning, the dogs first.

  ****

  Olivia sized up the situation. If that crazy bastard Bennet came back and she was still here, there wasn't much chance of getting away alive. One thing was for sure, she was in no shape to put up much of a fight this time around. Got to go. No sense waiting any longer.

  All right, what was there for gear? The second guy had left a harness that fit after some adjustments. By some miracle it was a full-body harness. That would make rappelling a whole lot more manageable, with the injured arm. Not much else that would be of any use. No pitons or tools. Damn. That nutcase Bennet had even chopped her shoelaces to bits. She tore a few strips of cloth off her shredded shirt and twisted them so she could lace up her sneakers. Then she ate and drank as much as she could, and filled up the wooden canteen that lay beside the table.

  The next shock was seeing the line hanging down past the cave entrance-it was her best blue rope, one she never rented out. How had they gotten hold of that? She looked out carefully-it reached the ground, all right, but instead of being passed freely through a ring up above and doubled, it was just one line hung down from the top. Single line technique. Not a method she liked.

  Nothing to do but hook up and start the descent, though. The harness was just a harness, the jerk hadn't left any kind of ascenders, if he even knew what they were. If she hadn't been injured and doped-up, she could have managed that much of a climb anyway.

  Nothing about this was any fun. It was a long way down, and with the curvature of the cliff, she was a good way out before she was halfway to the ground.