The only thing Cincinnatus had going for him was that the authorities didn’t really know how much trouble he was in. “I tol’ you an’ tol’ you, suh,” he answered, sounding as stupid as he could, “I don’t rightly know. I used to work fo’ the man, is all.”
A muscle in Bliss’ right cheek jumped. A scar, as from a knife, cut that cheek, which made the tic more noticeable. “Lots of people used to work for the Rebel son of a bitch,” he said, mildly still. “How come he chose you?” His eyes, a peculiar pale brown, were very intent.
“I ain’t got a clue, suh,” Cincinnatus said. “Could I please go back to workin’ reg’lar again, suh? If I can’t do my job on account o’ you folks askin’ me questions all the time, things git hard back home fo’ my wife an’ my little boy an’ me.”
Bliss steepled his fingers and leaned across the table toward him. “Now let’s just talk about your job, shall we? Lieutenant Kennan gives you a good character from the days when you were working on the docks, and Lieutenant Kennan, I happen to know, doesn’t hardly give niggers good characters a-tall.” His own accent thickened. Was he trying to lull Cincinnatus into thinking him a fool?
If he was, he failed. Cincinnatus could tell how good at his job he was, stubborn as a hound and sneaky as a snake. “I worked hard for the man,” Cincinnatus said. “I work hard every place I work.”
“That’s what Lieutenant Straubing says, too,” Bliss agreed with a nod. “He says you work as hard as any man he ever saw. But he also says there’ve been a hell of a lot of fires and explosions in units his outfit has resupplied. You want to tell me about that?”
“Only thing I know is, a couple times last year the lieutenant said we should all keep an eye on each other on account of trouble like that,” Cincinnatus said. “Don’t know what ever came of it.”
He did know they hadn’t found the ingredients for the cigar-shaped firebombs he’d got from Tom Kennedy. As soon as Straubing made worried noises about such things, he’d made sure not to keep them in or near his house. Had the U.S. authorities discovered them, Luther Bliss wouldn’t be asking him questions now. He’d be taking him apart with a hacksaw and pliers and cutting torch.
Bliss kept tiptoeing around the edges of the truth: “Kennedy had a pal, storekeeper named Conroy. His place burned down last year, too-hell of a fire. Conroy hasn’t been seen much since. Folks saw you goin’ into that store.”
“Yes, suh, I did that, every now and then,” Cincinnatus said-no point denying something where the denial could be proved a lie. “It was on the way home from the riverside. But I didn’t do it a lot-he had high prices, an’ he didn’t fancy black folks much.”
“Black folks,” Bliss said musingly. “It’ll be different for niggers now that Kentucky’s back in the USA. Not so hard like it was before.”
“Hope so, suh,” Cincinnatus said. The law probably would be different. But, from what he’d seen, most whites in the USA had little more use for Negroes than did most whites in the CSA. And he didn’t see white Kentuckians changing their ways because a new flag flew over them.
Bliss clicked his tongue between his teeth. “Won’t be illegal for niggers to be Socialists, even, long as they’re peaceable about it.” He paused. “Of course, niggers likely won’t get to vote right away. It’s not like this was New England or somewhere like that.”
“No, suh,” Cincinnatus said with a sigh. Black Kentuckians wouldn’t get to vote till a majority of white Kentuckians decided they should. Cincinnatus didn’t plan on holding his breath.
He just hoped that oblique reference meant Luther Bliss was still tiptoeing around his connections with the Reds, too, and not seeing it plain. Bliss glared at him with those disconcerting eyes, as a coon dog might look at a raccoon it had treed in a crowded part of the woods, suddenly realizing the quarry might escape from tree to tree. The secret policeman looked intent. Cincinnatus didn’t like his expression. He’d come up with something nasty.
Before he could ask it, the door to the room in which he was questioning Cincinnatus opened. Bliss whirled angrily. “Dammit, I said I wasn’t to be disturbed in here,” he said.
“Sir,” said the man who’d bearded him in his den, “the president is outside, and he wants to talk with you.”
Bliss’ pale brown eyes widened. Before he could say anything, Theodore Roosevelt strode into the interrogation chamber. That made Cincinnatus’ eyes go wide, too. “I don’t have time for shilly-shallying and foolishness, Bliss,” Roosevelt snapped. “We need to purge this state of Rebs.”
“Get the trains, Mr. President,” Bliss answered. “Get the trains and ship about two people out of three somewhere else, because that’s the only way you’re going to purge Kentucky. If we’re lucky, we can keep most of the Rebs from raising too much Cain behind our lines till we’ve won the war. I think I can do that much. The other? Go talk to a preacher, because I’m not in the miracles game.”
Cincinnatus knew a certain reluctant respect for Luther Bliss. Telling Teddy Roosevelt he couldn’t have all he wanted seemed much the same as telling a tornado it couldn’t go where it wanted. The president of the United States glared at Bliss, who looked back imperturbably.
Roosevelt seemed to respect him, too. “It will have to do,” he said, “though I hate half measures.” He paid attention to Cincinnatus for the first time. “What’s this Negro here gone and done?”
Cincinnatus spoke for himself: “I haven’t done anything, sir.” Where he’d wanted to impress Bliss as being ignorant and shiftless, he wanted Roosevelt to see him as a bright, intelligent innocent wronged.
The only trouble with that stratagem was Bliss’ noticing his shifting style. The secret policeman’s hunting-dog eyes widened, just for a moment. To Roosevelt, he said, “Hard to say, your Excellency. Fugitive Confederate underground man named Kennedy got his head blown off on this boy’s front porch. Cincinnatus here drove for Kennedy before the war. Been a fair number of suspicious fires clustered around him, too.”
Thinking fast, Cincinnatus said, “Mr. President, sir, one of these suspicious fires he’s talking about was to Conroy’s general store. Mr. Bliss told me Conroy was one of Mr. Kennedy’s friends. If I was workin’ for Mr. Kennedy, why would I burn out one of his friends?”
“That strikes me as a fair question,” Roosevelt said. “How about it, Bliss?”
Bliss had not an ounce of retreat in him. “Mr. President, we’re also looking at his connections with the Reds.”
“Have you found any?” Roosevelt demanded.
“Not yet,” the secret policeman said stolidly.
“And I’m not a bit surprised, either,” Roosevelt said. “How in the blue blazes do you expect a man to be simultaneously aiding the Confederate resistance and the Marxist resistance, when the Marxists came as close to overthrowing the CSA as we’ve managed ourselves?”
“Sir, this is Kentucky,” Bliss said. “Everything’s topsy-turvy here.”
“Poppycock!” Roosevelt snorted. “Drivel! Things either make logical sense or they don’t, and that’s as true in Kentucky as it is in New Hampshire. If you’re trying to make out that this Negro is a Reb and a Red at the same time, and if you haven’t got any solid evidence he’s either one, I suggest-no, I don’t suggest, I order-that you let him go on about his lawful occasions.”
It wasn’t poppycock. It wasn’t drivel. Cincinnatus knew it wasn’t poppycock or drivel. So did Luther Bliss, who, being a Kentuckian, understood his home state better than Theodore Roosevelt could ever hope to do. But the president of the United States had just given Bliss a direct order. With a sigh, he said, “All right, Cincinnatus, you are free to go. You keep your nose clean and you won’t have any more trouble from me.”