She had already suspected the name “Carpenter” to be an alias, for he did not look at all like an Englishman, and his voice confirmed her suspicion beyond doubt. His accent was guttural and languorous at the same time, thick and rich and chalky. She had never heard anything like it before. “What do you build?” she asked.
The men all glanced at each other. “Well,” Kent said, “for instance.” He drew her over to what should have been the dining table, motioning Gavin and Mr. Carpenter to follow. “All right, you lot, find something else to do,” he added to the others, and the kitchen emptied of men. Brenda blinked. “Show her your wares, Carpenter.”
“These,” Carpenter said, running his hand down a pile of long poles laid on the tabletop, “are signal rockets. They rise up into the air, hundred
