Kage Baker: Noble Mold

“Heavens no.” She stopped to examine a weed. “I was quite polite. They weren’t comfortable around me, actually, but then mortals never are. Look at this! I’ve never seen this blooming so late in the year, have you?”

“Nice.” I glanced at it. I don’t know from plants. I know a lot about mortals, though.

So I was surprised as hell next day when Emidio and his brother appeared at the mission, trundling a cart full of swaying leaves into the open space by the fountain. I went out to greet them and Mendoza was behind me like a shadow. She must have been prowling her room, listening for the squeak of wheels.

“This is very good, my sons, I am proud of you—” I was saying heartily, when Mendoza gave a blast of subvocal fury.

Damn it, Joseph, this is wrong! These are just clippings, they haven’t brought the whole vine!

“—but I perceive there has been a misunderstanding,” I continued. “My cousin requested the vine itself, with its roots, that she may replant it. You have brought only cut branches, apparently.” The Indians exchanged glances.

“Please forgive us, little Father. We did not understand.” They set down the traces and Emidio reached into the back. “We did bring all the grapes that were ripe. Maybe it was these the lady wanted?” and he proffered a big woven dish of grapes. I looked close and noticed they did have a funny look to them, a bloom on the skin so heavy it was almost… furry?

“No,” said Mendoza, in clearest Chumash. “Not just the grapes. I want the vine. The whole plant. You need to dig it up, roots and all, and bring it here. Do you understand now?”

“Oh,” said Emidio. “We’re very sorry. We didn’t understand.”

“But you understand now?” she demanded.

“I am certain they do,” I smoothed. “What remarkable grapes these are, my sons, and what a beautiful basket! Come in and rest in the shade, my sons, and have a cool drink. Then we will go catch one of the little pigs I promised you.”

By the time we got back, Mendoza had vanished; the grapes and the vine cuttings were gone too. The brothers trudged away up the hill with their cart and one squealing shoat, his legs bound with twine. Pig Number Two remained in the mission pen, to be paid on delivery of the vine. I figured if the wives got that message they’d see to it the job got done.

Mendoza came out when they were gone. She looked paler than usual. She handed me a sheet of paper from her credenza. “This is a Priority Order,” she told me. “I sent them the codes on the grapes and clippings anyway, but it’s not enough.”

I read the memo. She wasn’t kidding; it was a first-class transdepart-mental Priority Gold telling me I was to do everything in my power to facilitate, expedite, and et cetera. “What have we got here, anyway, cancer cures from grapes?” I speculated.

‘You don’t need to know and neither do I,” said Mendoza flatly. “But the Company means business now, Joseph. We must get that vine.”

“We’ll get it tomorrow,” I told her. ‘Trust me.”

Next day, same hour, the brothers came with hopeful smiles and a big muddy mess of a vine trailing out of their cart. Such relief! Such heartfelt praise and thanks the kindly friar showered on his obedient sons in Christ! Mendoza heard their arrival and came tearing out into the courtyard, only to pull up short with an expression of baffled rage.

THAT’S NOT THE VINE! she transmitted, with such intensity I thought for a second we were having an earthquake.

“…And yet, my sons, I am afraid we have not understood each other once again,” I went on wearily. “It appears that, although you have brought us a whole vine, you have not brought the particular vine that was specifically asked for by my cousin.”

“We are so sorry,” replied Emidio, averting his eyes from Mendoza. “How stupid we were! But, Father, this is a very good vine. It’s in much better condition than the other one and bears much prettier grapes. Also, it was very difficult to dig it all up and we have brought it a long way. Maybe the lady will be satisfied with this vine instead?”

Mendoza was shaking her head, not trusting herself to speak, although the air around her was wavering like a mirage. Hastily I said:

“My dearest sons, I am sure it is an excellent vine, and we would not take it from your family. You must understand that it is the other vine we want, the very one you brought cuttings from yesterday. That vine and no other, and all of that vine. Now, you have clearly worked very hard and in good faith, so I will certainly send you home with your other pig, but you must come back tomorrow with the right vine.”

The brothers looked at each other and I picked up a flash of despair from them, and some weird kind of fear too. “Yes, little Father,” they replied.

But on the next day they didn’t come at all.

Mendoza paced the arcade until nine in the evening, alarming the other friars. Finally I went out to her and braced myself for the blast.

“You know, you lost yourself two perfectly good pigs,” she informed me through gritted teeth. “Damned lying Indians.”

I shook my head. “Something’s wrong here, Mendoza.”

“You bet something’s wrong! You’ve got a three-day delay on a Priority Gold.”

“But there’s some reason we’re not getting. Something is missing from this picture…”

“We never should have tried to bargain with them, you know that? They offered it as a gift in the first place. We should have just taken it. Now they know it’s really worth something! I’ll go up there with a spade and dig the damned vine up myself, if I have to.”

“No! You can’t do that, not now. They’ll know who took it, don’t you see?”

“One more crime against the helpless Indians laid at the door of Spain. As if it mattered anymore!” Mendoza turned on her heel to stare at me. Down at the other end of the arcade one of my brother friars put his head out in discreet inquiry.

It does matter! I dropped to a subvocal hiss. It matters to them and it matters to me! I call them my beloved sons, but they know I’ve got the power to go up there and confiscate anything they have on any excuse at all because that’s how it’s always been done! Only I don’t. They know Father Rubio won’t do that to them. I’ve built up a cover identity as a kindly, honorable guy because I’ve got to live with these people for the next thirty years! You’ll get your damn specimen and go away again into the sagebrush, but I’ve got a character to maintain!

My God, she sneered, He wants his little Indians to love him.

Company policy, baby. It’s easier to deal with mortals when they trust you. Something you used to understand. So just you try screwing with my cover identity, baby, just you try it and see what happens.

She widened her eyes at that, too furious for words, and I saw her knuckles go white; little chips of whitewash began falling from the walls. We both looked up at them and cooled down in a hurry.

Sorry. But I mean what I say, Mendoza. We handle this my way.

She threw her hands up in the air. What are you going to do, then, smart guy? You have to do something.

Day Four of the Priority Gold, and Company Directive 081244-A anxiously inquired why no progress on previous transdepartmental request for facilitation? Situation Report follows, I responded. Please stand by. Then I put on my walking sandals and set off up the canyon alone.

Before I had toiled more than halfway, though, I met Emidio coming in my direction. He didn’t try to avoid me, but as he approached he looked down the canyon past me in the direction of the mission. “Good morning, little Father,” he called.