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from here. I will serve as a spiritual guide to those who dwell within the Nebraska Tandy."
    Tandy. A ripple of horror ran around the room at that dread word. Father Bonifant ignored it.
    "The Nebraska Tandy was the first disposal site in this country, and has become one of the biggest. My guess is that more than a hundred thousand people now live within the restricted area. Thus assignment to the Nebraska Tandy carries a great responsibility, and I choose to regard it as an equally great honor. But it is unlikely that I will return here, or that we will ever meet again."
    He took a long, stern look around him at the wide-eyed faces.
    "That is all I have to say, except to tell you again that I love you all very much. Now let us pray together; for each other, for our great country, and for its wonderful people."
    Mister Bones vanished from Cloak House that night. He never returned.
    * * *
    For Job, that was the second bad thing. The third bad thing was the arrival of Colonel della Porta, the new Chief Steward of Cloak House.
    At first the children thought he was a very good thing. He was a fat, comfortable-looking man, triple-chinned and always smiling, and he did not have Mister Bones's addiction to discipline. Lights-out became a random event, and people stayed up as long as they liked. Colonel della Porta also abandoned the weekly inspections of hair and teeth, which had been seen by the kids as nothing but a nuisance. Best of all, with his advent the food at Cloak House, always scarce under Mister Bones, became more plentiful. It sometimes tasted funny, and the colonel ate his own meals in his private suite of rooms rather than with the children, but who cared, if there was plenty for everyone?
    Only Laga was wary. "He smiles, even when there's nothing to smile at," she said to Job. "And he looks funny at some of the big girls."
    Job dismissed her comments. His own view of the dark side of the colonel did not come until the new chief had been running Cloak House for three weeks. One afternoon Job was called downstairs for a meeting. There had been no foraging expeditions since Father Bonifant left, so Job assumed that was the reason for the call.
    He was summoned at once into the big room, where Colonel della Porta and a visitor were sitting in new and plushy armchairs. After a nod to show that he had registered Job's arrival, the colonel went on with his business. Job was left standing for the next hour and a half, marvelling at the plates of fruit, cakes, and savories that covered the long sideboard.
    The long wait was designed to make Job uncomfortable, and it would have succeeded if the conversation between the two men had been in English, Spanish, Japanese, Mandarin, or chachara-calle. But della Porta and his visitor spoke a tongue new to Job, a smooth, liquid voice that often suggested Spanish but differed from it in both sounds and words. Job listened hard. By the time the visitor was given his marching orders and made ready to leave, Job was identifying cognates, picking up cadences and speech rhythms, and making guesses at some phrases. The two had been talking about food and cooking—no, food and food supplies , because they mentioned trucks and deliveries. Job wanted to hear more and learn more. He was disappointed more than worried when the man left, and he was at last alone with della Porta.
    "You know who I am?" The fat man eased himself up from the armchair and came to tower over Job.
    "Yes, sir."
    "You will call my assistants sir. I am to be addressed always as 'Colonel,' or as 'Colonel della Porta.'"
    "Yes, Colonel."
    "And you are Job Napoleon Salk, whom the others call Fish-face." The colonel walked slowly around the standing boy. "With good reason. What happened to your jaw, to make it recede like that?"
    "Nothing, sir—Colonel. I was born this way."
    "And you are the boy who has been described to me as Father Bonifant's favorite. Well, certainly not for the reason that I suspected. Tell me, Salk, is it