“And failing miserably!”
“What?” a startled Yves asked.
“You heard me. They can’t get it to work. It has blown up twice. It has burst and burned twice more. It is consuming money, men, and time at an alarming rate. The money is minor, they can always raise another tax, the men mostly do not matter, the prisons are full enough, but the time is something we cannot spare. The teams working on engines were promised fuel a month ago. They are at a standstill until we get it for them. We’ve bought as much as we can but the people in Wietze are keeping a close watch on it and we cannot get anywhere near as much as we need.
“If we have a man who has practical hands-on experience in fuel production we need him right now.”
“M. LeBlanc says he can do it and I see no reason to question the man’s honesty.”
“Where is this wonder worker? I want to see him immediately.”
“I have a local residence recorded right here,” Yves said, picking up M. LeBlanc’s file.
“Let’s go.”
“What?”
“When I said we need that man right now, I meant right now! Let’s go!”
“But, sir, now?” It was, after all, very near the end of the day.
“Now!”
Yves knocked on the door. When a toothless old woman answered he asked, “Is this where Herni LeBlanc has a rented room?”
“Well, that was fast indeed. When he moved out this morning he told me he had someone else who would take the garret. Do you want to see it?” She really didn’t think they would. They really did not look like the type who would rent such a room up under the eaves.
“No, we do not. You say he moved out? Did he say where he was going?”
“No, all he said was he would send someone else to rent the garret. If that isn’t you, then good day to you.” With those words she closed the door.
“How odd,” M. DeMille said. “Why would the man move so suddenly and without a forwarding address as if something were wrong?”
Yves looked sheepish. “Well, I was planning on offering him that job in the Caribbean that we are having trouble filling. Since I knew I would need some leverage I told him he had to return some misappropriated funds immediately.”
DeMille smirked at his underling’s deviousness. Then it filtered through his mind and he realized if the man could not be found they could not use the knowledge the fellow was carrying around in his head. “That is not fortuitous, Yves. Find the man. Find him immediately and get him working on the fuel production problem. If you can’t produce him by the end of the week, then pack your bags. I think you would be the perfect man for that assignment in the Caribbean.”
Yves paled. He had absolutely no interest in seeing the new world.
By sundown agents and officials all over Paris were looking for one Henri LeBlanc. By sundown the next day only a fast horse could have stayed ahead of the search. The selfsame fast horse carried the word to every port in the country and every way station on the highways and byways to the border and beyond. Henri LeBlanc was a wanted man, a very wanted man indeed.
Behind the closed door an old woman winked at her fair-haired grandson. “Merci, Grandmere,” Henri said. “It seems I owe those fellows a lot of money and it will be a while before I can raise it.”
“How much do you need?”
Henri named a sum.
The old woman shook her head. “I’ve saved a great deal of what you’ve sent home, but not nearly that much.”
“That is not a problem, Grandmere. I will have the money by and by. I just need to stay out of sight and out of debtor’s prison until it catches up with me.”
“Well, you just plan on staying right here, out of sight, for as long as you need to. I will enjoy the company. Besides, the money you’ve been sending home will see to our needs for a good long time.”
Three months and a bit more went by. When he had the money in hand Henri LeBlanc went to the offices of Cardinal Richelieu’s intendants. At the first desk inside the door he said, “I need to see Yves Neff.”
“I am sorry, but M. Neff will be out of the office for quite some time, I am afraid. He is on an assignment in the field.”
Henri thought he detected a glint of humor in the voice of the clerk as he explained Yves’ absence. “Then I need to speak to whoever is handling his case load while he is gone.”
“And you are?”
“Henri LeBlanc.”
“Certainly. Please wait one minute, please. Page,” the clerk called. When the boy arrived the clerk said, “Take this man to M. DeMille immediately.”
At the word immediately the lad hesitated. “Immediately?” he asked.
“Yes, you heard me,” the clerk said with a nod. “Immediately.”
After what seemed like a very long walk that was surely out of the way they passed two armed men who seemed to be loafing in the room they were passing through. Upon seeing them the page quit dawdling and finally moved at a brisk pace until he stopped and rapped on a nondescript door which he then opened without waiting. Henri walked through and the page closed it behind him.
The mature gentleman setting behind an overflowing but organized desk looked up and asked “And you are?”
“My name is Henri LeBlanc, I worked for-”
Before he could even began to explain what the circumstances were the door opened again and the two guards entered the room with their rapiers in hand.
DeMille spoke to the guards first. “Take this man to M. Devereux at the research station.” Then he addressed Henri, “Your absence has cost us three months. I had hoped Devereux would have the cracking tower working by now but he has had no success. Now maybe we can get something done.”
“Oh, I am sorry to tell you this, but I’ve never worked on a cracking tower.”
“What? But your reports said you worked every aspect of making fuel from driving the well to selling the finished product.”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“Now I am confused. Have you or have you not had experience turning black petroleum into usable fuel?”
“Yes. I have done so and offered to do it again, but M. Neff said I was not needed.”
“M. Neff is looking after something in the Caribbean by now because he overstepped his authority. Before you leave please clear up one point for me. You say you have never worked on a cracking tower, how then can you have made fuel?”
“Oh, that is simple. We used an old-fashioned, outdated still and a cooling tower.”
DeMille snarled, “Get this man out of here.” Then he said, “M. LeBlanc. Understand me and understand me well. If there is not a report on my desk within thirty days telling me that enough fuel for the engine research project is no longer a problem, you may count yourself lucky if you are allowed to join M. Neff in Louisiana.”
Les Ailes du Papillon
1
Walks-In-Deep-Woods looked up through a haze of tobacco smoke to see Strong-Arm standing at the tent flap. Normally Strong-Arm went where he wished; he entered any tent he chose, never asking permission or hesitating-but he hesitated here, at the entrance to Walks-In-Deep-Woods’ tent.
Walks-In-Deep-Woods did not speak. He placed his hands before him, as if warming them at the fire; then he touched them to his temples, his cheeks, and his breast. Strong-Arm watched each hand motion, perhaps attributing meaning to the gestures…but Walks-In-Deep-Woods smiled inwardly to himself, knowing that they were for show, like most of what a shaman did.
Just for show, he thought to himself, but did not permit a hint of it to appear on his face. Solemnly (very solemnly, he reminded himself) he looked up at Strong-Arm, awaiting the chief’s first words.
“You are working some medicine,” Strong-Arm said. “I will come back later.”
“You are welcome in my tent, mighty chief,” Walks-In-Deep-Woods said. “How may I help you?”