Sor Artemesia was trembling, and Matt realized that she was afraid. He remembered her nervousness when he’d first contacted the Convent of Santa Clara, and her obvious fear of Esperanza. Yet here she was, risking her life for what she believed was right. All Matt had to do was pass the word along to Cienfuegos, and the nun would join Major Beltrán under the poppy fields. He had that much power. Cienfuegos wouldn’t want to do it, of course, but he was powerless to disobey a direct order. El Patrón had given such orders many times.
“I’m not angry,” he said, although he was, a little. “I think you could stand up to Glass Eye Dabengwa.”
The nun laughed shakily. “I’m not that crazy. You’re still young. You can change. And now that I’ve said my piece, mi patrón, let’s stay friends.”
She held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Matt took it. “Friends,” he said. He saw that Listen was paying close attention to the conversation.
“What party?” the little girl asked.
“Something you won’t be invited to if you breathe one word about it,” said Matt, for now Ton-Ton, Chacho, and Fidelito had finally rolled out of bed and were sniffing with great interest the food Mirasol had on her cart.
* * *
The preparations for the party were in full swing. During the day Matt kept the boys away from the hacienda to keep from spoiling the surprise. He showed them a Safe Horse at the stables and said they could ride it if they liked. They were fascinated, walking around the animal and patting its sleek hide. “You couldn’t stand behind a Real Horse like that, Fidelito,” said Matt. “He’d knock the stuffing out of you.”
“Isn’t this a Real Horse?” asked Ton-Ton, and Matt was sorry he’d brought up the subject.
“It’s a Safe Horse. They’re—controlled.”
“That means, uh, they have microchips in their brains.”
“Poor creature,” said Chacho, stroking the animal’s nose. “I remember you telling the Keepers about putting chips into a horse’s brain. You said it was a good thing, because horses weren’t smart.”
“I didn’t understand what it meant then,” Matt said. He showed them the Real Horses used by the Farm Patrol, and the boys were immediately eager to ride. Matt promised that Cienfuegos would teach them.
They went for a long drive in Hitler’s car. Matt drove at first, and after a while Daft Donald showed Ton-Ton how to do it. Ton-Ton was a natural. He took to the machine as though he were part of it. Soon he was cruising around corners at a speed Matt had never dared to try, and Daft Donald grinned and flapped his hands as though they were flying. Suddenly they came around a bend and almost collided with a group of men dressed in tan jumpsuits and floppy hats. Ton-Ton slammed on the brakes.
A Farm Patrolman cantered up and tipped his hat. “Taking the lads out for a spin, are you, mi patrón? ’Tis good to see you about.” He turned and barked, “Walk faster!” at the eejits. They trotted double time and soon cleared the road. “Well, I’d best be after them before they trample the crop.” He tipped his hat again, and Matt nodded stiffly.
The workers disappeared in a cloud of dust kicked up by their feet. Ton-Ton, Chacho, and Fidelito looked stunned. “They’re like robots,” said Chacho. “They didn’t even flinch when the car almost hit them.”
“They couldn’t,” said Matt.
“Was that . . . a Farm Patrolman?” Fidelito asked, his eyes wide.
Matt said it was.
“So those are the bastards who took my father,” said Chacho. “They took Ton-Ton’s parents and Fidelito’s grandma.”
“They did not take mi abuelita!” the little boy cried. “She’s in California, living in an orange grove. She has a little house, and she grows corn and sells it in the marketplace.”
“All right! All right! Your grandma’s in California,” said Chacho. “Don’t get mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Fidelito said. “I’m upset because you’re telling lies.”
“Okay, I’m a big fat liar,” Chacho said. “Here. Do you want to punch me? Make you feel better?”
“N-no,” said the little boy.
Ton-Ton drove on. They went past more workers bending and slashing opium pods. Every third field lay fallow, and every tenth was covered with young plants that were being weeded by children. Ton-Ton stopped to observe them. “I thought the p-plankton factory was bad,” he said. “Do they, uh, work in the other fields when they grow up?”