Page 19 of Enkindling

All of this dovetailed wonderfully well with my ambitions surrounding ending or limiting child labor. The issue was far more deeply ingrained and unwieldy than I had intentionally been given credit for. Working hours and conditions were horrible all around, not just for children but everyone else as well. Derrick fromThe Inquisitorwas as passionate about the problem as I was, and his work uncovering information was invaluable to me. Unfortunately, precious few people seemed to notice the problem or care. Most people were only concerned with eking out a living. Many seemed to harbor no hopes for improvement, and I fully understood why. It seemed there was red tape everywhere I looked, all the power being in the hands of the elite. They made formidable lobbyists in government, shutting out the workers, and the battle would need to be fought there at some point.

I read and wrote, discussed with colleagues and people in the town, came home and prepared to do it all again the next day and the next and the next... If I were to make my case successfully, I would need to do as much as I could to make it airtight. The extra funding I had earned would go a long way. It was the tenure that mattered most, however. If I could only achieve that, the fetters would fall off for me. I knew beforehand how touchy this topic was and gaining tenure would insulate me from many of the negative consequences of the prying and the standing up to powerful people I needed to do to make progress.

***

I was sitting in my office at the university one afternoon when a figure appeared at my doorway. Looking up from my notes, I was surprised to see the venerable visage of Professor Van Horn.

I jumped to my feet. “Professor! Yes, please come in!” I rushed to prepare him a seat.

The elderly man gave me a warm smile as he entered. “Good to see you, Kathy, my girl,” he said as he shook my hand. His grip was still strong. He took his seat.

“To what do I owe the honor, professor?” I asked. I was almost breathless. This man, respected far and wide among academics, was one of my greatest inspirations. I didn’t see him very often, but whenever I did, he always seemed very fond of me. I looked at him almost as my grandfather.

“No, no,” he objected. “The honor is mine. I’ve been reading your papers again. Quite a brain you’ve got inside that pretty little head of yours,” he remarked with a fond look. “If there are people like you around, old soldiers like me will soon be able to retire in peace.”

“Thank you, sir!” I exclaimed. “I am truly happy you approve. I was worried I might disappoint you, to be honest,” I admitted.

“Now, now,” he waved me off impatiently. “That doesn’t sound like the confident Kathy I know at all. You’re wasting your time worrying about things like that. I never doubted you for a second, child… By all means, have a seat, my dear.”

“Oh!” I remembered with a start that I hadn’t sat back down since his arrival. “Of course, sir. Did you come to discuss some of my findings?”

He chuckled. “Discuss her findings, she says! Bless you, child!” I wondered why he found that so amusing but watching the animated old man in such good spirits was a balm to my heart. He continued, “Indeed, there’s much to discuss about that paper, Kathy, my girl. For instance, the great lengths you went to provide such detail and the conclusions you drew. I seldom ever saw more thorough work.”

I blushed crimson.

His eyes narrowed. “But I’m afraid that’s not to be the topic of our discussion this time, Kathy.”

My good mood was immediately tempered. “What is it, professor?” I asked tentatively.

He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “I fear you may have run afoul of the esteemed Mr. Williams.” He said the last three words with audible disdain.

I froze. My mind went into overdrive.

“Watch out for that one,” he said with a sharp look. “Why the university keeps his sort around is beyond me. Well, no, not really.” He frowned and shook his head, staring at nothing in particular. “Money is quite the plague for the heart. What did the Good Book say? A gift perverts judgment?”

I swallowed. “Sir?” was all I managed.

He shook himself and focused on me again. “Oh, I was at a meeting recently where your application was being discussed. I couldn’t help but notice how the same Mr. Williams who so lately sang your praises suddenly seemed very cold toward you. That one has lots of influence – too much. But never mind that, child. I have an influence of my own. Gems like you need to be protected for the sake of the institution itself.” He began to rise. “All I am saying,” he concluded with another sharp look, “is that you should tread lightly around that one.”

I began to rise as well, but he waved me back impatiently.

“Now, now,” he declared. “I may be old, but I am certainly not cold yet. You get back to your business, Kathy, my girl. It’s more important work than all this. I can see myself out.”

As I watched the old man make his way out the door with proud steps, my overriding thought was of my tenure. Joseph Williams did have ridiculous amounts of influence, as Professor Van Horn had said. I had a sinking feeling in my gut.

***

The man entered the room hesitantly. He was late. The boss did not tolerate tardiness.

It was sundown, and the last vestiges of light were streaming feebly through the windows. A fitting analogy for his mood, he thought. Retreating light and creeping darkness perfectly summed up the situation he now found himself in. He had one job, and he had botched it horribly.

He was late, and he had failed. The boss did not tolerate failure.

But it wasn’t his fault. Surely, that must count for something? How was he to know that the handoff would have gone so horribly, horribly wrong? He had been lucky to escape with his life. It had been dumb luck too. He had been late to the site. By the time he arrived, blood was already being spilled. He had hidden and watched in terror while the assailant made short work of everyone there before a team of people arrived in his wake and made off with the entire supply. Oddly enough, tardiness had ensured he could come back alive as a witness. That meant something, did it not? It must. The boss valued information.

He took up his position in the center of the room, cleared his throat, and waited, his eyes fixed on the desk a few feet away and the massive throne-like chair behind it that was facing the wall.

The man in the chair spun around to face him. He was seated far enough back that the receding rays of sun did not reach him, and so his features were shrouded in darkness. He was smoking a cigar, however, as evidenced by the dim glow of red when he puffed.

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