174 Bernard Bleeds Again (1/2)
He'd kept back something when he told his father about his unpleasant misadventure. He didn't mention he'd acquired a very strong, very deep desire to rip the guts out of every Mexican he came across, in either world. He felt it again as he lay back on his hiber bed.
When he arrived in Fort Lander, he found himself frowning at a wayward chicken running down the street in front of the house that served as his residence. The chicken was chased by one of the Mexican colonists, and Bernard realized that a bit of planning was required before he could indulge in his murderous desires. The Mexican colonists were very useful - they took care of the fucking chickens, among other things - a final solution to the Mexican problem required careful planning, and plenty of foresight.
Bernard stood on the front porch of his residence and watched the Mexican capture the chicken with a diving lunge at its legs. The chicken's bid for freedom was ended; it beat its wings madly while hanging head down in its captor's grasp. It was utterly helpless, and Bernard smiled an evil smile. He had begun to dislike chickens lately.
He was able to tell that the chicken struggling in the laborer's grasp was a cock. A male chicken had a very short life expectancy. It was used to impregnate as many hens as possible while it grew to biggest possible size. Then it was slaughtered for meat, while its numerous lovers went on contentedly laying eggs, and getting laid by a succession of fresh males. It was nice to be a hen.
While Bernard was watching the chicken, his brain was busy absorbing all the new New World data: an update on what had happened since his last visit. When the last update on the list popped into his conscience, he grimaced and set out for the ship dock.
The road to the harbor on the river led between two rows of buildings, mostly wooden cabins inhabited by colonists. The wood was already turning grey because of the weather. Here and there, children were playing in front of the sagging front porches of the houses. Bernard encouraged colonists to bring along their children. Yes, they were a burden to begin with. But they'd grow up ten times faster in the New World, and make much better citizens than their parents. They'd know what was what by the time they grew up. They'd be obedient.
It was a ship that clearly wasn't ready to sail anywhere. Its smaller, rear mast was tilted at a crazy angle; the rigging hadn't been completed. Two men were working on the ship's steer, suspended on a platform - a plank with two ropes: they appeared to be fastening the steer blade mount with big wooden hammers. Thuck-thuck went the hammers, in rhythm with Bernard's steps, as he descended down the partly cobbled path towards the pier.
The foreman had seen him approach, and he jumped off the side of the ship almost the moment Bernard stopped. He half-walked, half-ran up to Bernard, meeting him at the beginning of the pier, and said:
”Good morning, sir.”
Bernard inspected the man before him from top to bottom in a single sweeping gaze. The boots and leather pants were okay, but one of the wooden buttons on the thick leather vest was cracked. Another was hanging by a thread. Bernard said:
”Mend those buttons the moment you finish this shift. What's going on?”
”Everything according to plan,” the foreman said. ”We're slightly ahead in some areas. But the rigging - the rope-makers are late. I have to ask you to have a word with them. They're already a couple of weeks behind. And we still don't have a single anchor.”
”I thought the first anchor was delivered a couple of days ago!”
”It cracked when we tested it. The blacksmith's working on a new one. It should be ready the day after tomorrow.”
”We need two anchors by the end of the week,” Bernard said.
”I know. So does the blacksmith. But there's only so much that he can do.”
”He'll have to work harder,” said Bernard. A gust of wind hit his face, bringing the stench of the leaves rotting along the shoreline of the river. Baring his teeth with disgust, he said:
”And so will you. I want this ship ready for tests no more than a week from now. Seven days. I'll make sure you get everything you need. Do you need extra men?”
”A couple of hands would be good, sir,” said the foreman. He was stiff with apprehension. His intuition was correct. Bernard said:
”I'm firing you if you don't deliver. You're out of here. You can go and stand in the lineup with the other losers applying for handouts if you fail me. Do you understand?”
”Yes, sir,” said the foreman, silently hating Bernard. The fucking pipsqueak! He wasn't even eighteen! Who the fuck did he think he was?
”I'm going to talk to the rope guys right away,” said Bernard. ”Get your ass in gear. Move!”
”Yes, sir,” said the foreman, and scurried towards his coworkers like a frightened cockroach. Bernard moved too, walking fast to the rope maker's workshop. It was located at the other end of Fort Lander, and he was beginning to sweat by the time he got there.
What he found at the rope maker's workshop instantly made him hot with anger. The rope maker was leaning against the back doorway and talking to a grinning Mexican chica, while his two young assistants were clumsily undoing the plaits of a short thick rope, each of them working at one end.
”What the hell is that?!” Bernard shouted. He had a mind to give the Mexican girl a clip on the ear, and the rope maker a kick in the ass. The girl's hand flew to her mouth when she saw Bernard, and she ran away; the rope maker turned round, and snapped to attention.