“As soon as it goes off, we’ll steer the cart straight through.” “As soon as what goes off?” I look again at the little clay container. “The bomb.” She holds the container up, giving it a little shake like I should know what it is. “Did you make that?” I ask. “Of course,” she says flippantly. “My mother taught me.” “My mother taught me how to make bread.” The corner of her mouth turns up. “Well, that has its uses, too.”
