Free Mendoza in Hollywood by Kage Baker Page A

before Beckman’s sent in. It should be easy to get domestic positions. I have several letters of recommendation from persons of the highest quality, all giving me an excellent character.” She smiled, narrowing her eyes. “As you are doubtless aware, although California is technically a Free State, it is inadvisable for a Negress to travel alone. Kalugin has been assigned duties in San Francisco, and dear Eucharia agreed to travel with us to lend
respectability
to our journey.”
    Eucharia was stepping back from Porfirio and regarding him, hands on hips. “We’ll have a high old time tonight,” she said. “Got any tequila?”
    “No, and no Southern Comfort, either,” replied Porfirio, and that set both of them roaring with laughter. I guess there was some history there. I hadn’t seen Porfirio smile like that in the whole time I’d been there, not a real smile like he was enjoying himself.
    “But what of you?” Nancy took my hand. “Have you been happy?”
    “Happy? I—well, of course. I’ve mostly worked alone, you know, back in the mountains. Remember how I wanted to come here after I graduated, how I made New World grains my specialty? Well, the Company finally noticed. Here I’ve been, years and years now.”
    “I heard about what happened in England,” she said quietly, looking at my hand. “I was so sorry. I wrote to you.”
    I shivered. “I was in therapy for a while. I probably never got your letter. Well, it was a long time ago, and I’m over it now. But thank you for writing.”
    “Here we are!” Kalugin came puffing up the trail, a trunk under either arm. “Everything seems to have survived the journey, Nan. Will you do me the kindness of showing me where I can stow these, mademoiselle?”
    “This way.” I gestured, and took one of the trunks from him and swung it up to my shoulder. He made a little dismayed sound but followed me to the adobe, where I led them down the long corridor to the guest room that was kept for visiting operatives. “Here you are. Don’t be scared of the cowhide bed, they’re actually very comfortable,” I said. “Dinner at 2000 hours, alfresco. The menu includes such authentic regional delicacies as grilled beef, frijoles, and tortillas, but I should warn you that a tortilla here bears no resemblance to the Spanish item of the same name.”
    “Yes, I’ve discovered that.” Kalugin hastened to relieve me of the trunk. “Allow me, that really is too heavy for a lady.”
    I could lift a horse, let alone a trunk, if I had to, like any cyborg; but how sweet of the man.
    I left them alone to get the dust of the journey out of their teeth, and went to pace around in the oak trees for a while. Was I happy for my old friend? Yes, unquestionably; but I didn’t want to be reminded of being young, or of England, or of the mortal man who had died there so long ago. He was after me again, following me relentlessly from shadow to shadow through the trees.
    Eucharia helped Porfirio prepare supper for the rest of us, but then the two of them disappeared into the night with pistols, a small box of ammunition, and a lot of aguardiente. Imarte was away on one of her sleepovers at the Bella Union, thankfully, and Oscar had trekked far afield on his quest for a buyer for the Criterion Patented Brassbound Pie Safe; so the company around the cookfire was fairly intimate that evening. Juan Bautista even brought out his guitar.
    “But how charming,” Nancy said. “That was made in Old Spain, was it not? And by a master, to judge from the inlay work.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” said Juan Bautista in a tiny voice. He’d fallen in love with her, desperately, of course. “One of the mortal travelers left it. Lucky chance, huh?”
    “Can you play it?” I peered at him across the firelight. “I’ve never seen you actually play it, Juan.”
    “Sure he can,” said Einar, putting another log on the fire. “I hear him practicing sometimes.”
    “I play for Erich von Stroheim,”