Rita chimed in. "Tom doesn't have it quite right. DDT doesn't kill the bacteria directly, what it does is kill the lice which transmit it."
By now, Andrew's two companion guards had come up also. All three of them were frowning fiercely, obviously lost in the "explanation." But one word did register.
"That… ah, 'DDT,' " said Andrew. "It kills lice." Reflexively, all three Yeoman Warders started scratching themselves.
"Yup," said Tom. "Deader'n doornails. Of course, you have to keep spraying an area now and then to get the full effect. But we brought quite a bit of the stuff with us, and it really doesn't take that much. I imagine we've got enough to spray all the places in the Tower where people actually live. Rita?"
She nodded firmly. "Not often," she qualified. "Some places-except the sleeping areas-probably not more than once. But DDT decays at a very slow rate. The stuff'll last for years-which is a good part of the reason, of course, that back in the U.S. of A.-the old U.S. of A., I mean-we finally decided-"
She broke off, obviously realizing that this was neither the time nor the place to delve into the long-term drawbacks of using DDT. Her husband charged into the breach.
"And it helps a lot-a lot," said Tom firmly, "if you also have your clothing and bedding regularly cleaned. They need to be steam cleaned, though, to kill the lice. Regular washing won't do it."
The three guards stared at each other. Then, back at Tom.
"What is, ah, 'steam cleaning'?" asked Andrew.
Tom started to answer, but Rita interrupted. "We can show you-but, you'll have to give us some help."
Immediately, the frowns on the faces of the Yeoman Warders changed from those of puzzlement to suspicion. "We canna-" Andrew started to say.
Rita shook her head. "I'm not talking about any kind of private or secret 'help.' You'd have to get the agreement of your own commanding officer, or whoever"-she waved her hand-"is really in charge of this place. Which I never have quite figured out. For all I know, it's the earl of Strafford himself."
The frowns of puzzlement were back. Rita smiled sweetly. "In order to 'steam clean,' we'd have to set up something we call a 'laundry.' Which doesn't mean exactly the same thing you probably think it means. We'd have to build some kind of big central heating area, run water through it to make steam, then-"
Now at a bit of a loss, she glanced appealingly at Friedrich Bruch. As was his usual manner, the always-quiet Friedrich had been standing toward the rear of the little crowd gathered in conversation on the walkway. Seeing Rita's eyes upon him, he shuffled forward.
"I worked for a time in the big public laundry in Grantville," he said softly. Softly, but not hesitantly. "I can design a steam-cleaning system for the Tower, given the necessary resources and labor. It's really pretty simple, when you get down to it."
The guards stared at him. Stared at Tom and Rita. Then, stared at the door to St. Thomas' Tower. The door was opening now, Melissa almost charging through.
"Faugh!" she exclaimed, tearing the mask from her face. Then, imperiously, handed the spray gun to Darryl. "Take this thing, would you? I've had enough of it."
Seeing the three guards, almost ogling her, Melissa gave them a somewhat savage smile. "I will say this, however. I won't be scratching myself to sleep every night. Typhus and plague be damned! That alone is worth its weight in gold."
Three Yeoman Warders, as one man, started scratching reflexively.
After the earl of Strafford had explained the situation to the man who was considered probably England's foremost doctor of the day, Sir William Harvey frowned.
"If I understand you correctly, my lord, you are concerned that this might be a subtle ploy on the part of the Americans? An attempt, perhaps, to poison the entire population of the Tower."
Strafford pursed his lips. "Not that, exactly. Perhaps." Suddenly, he heaved a great sigh. "Sir William, to be honest I don't know what it is I fear-or might fear, or should perhaps fear. If anything. For all I know, their proposal-their offer, if you will-is quite genuine. I simply…"
His voice trailed off into silence. Harvey's lips quirked a bit, into something that was half a smile of understanding and half a grimace of shared exasperation.
"Ah, yes, Lord Strafford-I do understand. Believe me! The short time I spent in Grantville was often, ah, frustrating. Never quite knowing what to believe, and what not. The great discomfort-great discomfort-of old sureties being rattled by new and-to me, at least-outlandish theories. Still-"
The doctor swiveled his head and stared out the window of the palace. His eyes seemed slightly unfocused.
"I do not think…" He took a long breath. Then, abruptly: "You've read, I suspect, the long report I wrote for His Majesty on my experiences in Grantville?"
Strafford nodded.
"Do you recall my account of a public session I attended of what they call their 'Congress'? It's a bit similar to our own Parliament."
Again Strafford nodded; the gesture, this time, accompanied by a thoughtful running of his fingers through his thick hair. "You are referring, I imagine, to the dispute that took place over the use of-what did they call it? 'Chemical warfare'?"
"Yes. 'Chemical and biological warfare,' to be precise. I sat through the entire debate, my lord. There's a gallery from which guests can observe the proceedings. I was quite fascinated-and more by the political struggle taking place, really, than the scientific aspects of the question."
Strafford grunted. "You don't believe, then, that the whole thing was a staged performance?" He hesitated for a moment, then added: "That seems to be the opinion of His Majesty himself, and most of his courtiers. Laud thinks so as well."
Harvey barked a little laugh. " 'Staged'? For my benefit, you mean? So that I might scurry back and warn everyone that the Americans have the capability of slaughtering entire nations?"
Strafford nodded. Harvey barked another laugh. "To be honest, my lord, I doubt if many of their officials were even aware that I was in the gallery. And that hardly explains the speech given by their President, when he insisted on addressing the Congress directly. You did read that portion of the report also?"
Strafford smiled. "Yes, I did. I was rather amused, despite the man's appalling language. He seems a blunt and direct sort of fellow." The earl closed his eyes for a moment, summoning his memory-which was, as always, excellent-and began reciting:
" 'If you pass this stinking bill, I will veto it. If you override my veto, I will refuse to implement the provisions in my capacity as the head of the armed forces. I will also give it a development budget too small to pay for a child's toy. If you try to impeach me for so doing, I guarantee you will be in the worst damn brawl of your lives. We outlawed this crap in the world we came from, for Chrissake-and for good reason!-so why is anybody here such a fucking idiot as to think it's a good idea in the new one? Do I make myself clear? Go ahead, try me."
Harvey smiled. "Mind you, my lord, I doubt if the proposal would have been adopted anyway. But after that little speech-he broke custom, apparently, by even appearing to give it in the first place-the thing was dropped immediately."
Strafford studied the doctor. "And what do you think? Could the Americans make such weapons?"
Harvey shrugged. "From what I could tell, based on conversations I had with various people… the answer is both 'yes' and 'no.' Yes, they could make them. But not without great difficulty, and not in such quantities as to enable them to poison entire nations."