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Issuing passports and not much else?”
    As usual, Adamanski hit a nerve, but Hanbury scarcely needed to reply since the questions launched a spontaneous, table-wide discussion. Energetically, sometimes heatedly, the priory members debated the preparedness – that is, the lack of it – with which they were sent abroad. They relived the disasters they endured for lack of training on local sensitivities before arriving in strange places. When the lunch broke up, Hanbury was relieved the discussion took this turn, for he would have had no answer had Adamanski persisted with his questions. The new consul didn’t really know what he would be doing in Berlin.
    Hanbury did have a session with the European Zealots, but it shed no light on his new role. He had flipped through some of their files on Berlin, but there was little in them apart from some amusing accounts of the dismantling of the Wall. One of the notes described Berliners hacking away at the communist concrete to stock up on souvenirs. A humorist had slipped the term
wallpeckers
into one paragraph. This word had prompted a crude, graffiti-like sketch in the margin – a small bird with a long beak rounded at the end resembling a phallus.
    After surveying the files, Hanbury spent a few minutes with Hilda Chambers. She had become a Zealot two years before withresponsibilities for Germany, immediately acquiring the nickname
Krauthilda
which she bore with humour. Krauthilda was small, her lips were painted fiery red, and she had oversized glasses sitting high on a pert little nose. Newspapers were piled up in her office, beside the telephone, on and under a small side table and in slanting columns on the floor. At her desk, surrounded by so much paper, Krauthilda radiated an image of being a no-nonsense woman.
    â€œThere isn’t a great deal to be said, Mr. Hanbury,” she answered in reply to his question about priorities in Berlin. “Central Europe has changed, sure, but I doubt it’ll affect you. Listen, I’ve only got a couple of minutes. Is there anything you think you really ought to know?” Hanbury sat still, carved in stone. The thin Berlin file on his lap was a sorry excuse for troubling the busy Krauthilda. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. Krauthilda looked him over. “I saw somewhere you’re from Indian Head,” she said. “I was born in Moose Jaw.”
    â€œMoose Jaw? That’s just three hours up the road.”
    â€œMy family left and came East when I was a baby. What did your father do? A farmer?”
    â€œA scientist.”
    â€œOn the prairies?”
    â€œSoil scientist, at a research station in Indian Head.”
    â€œThat’s freaky. Well, what do you want to know about Berlin?”
    Hanbury was still thinking. He recalled a magazine survey on Germany he’d read. He’d made some mental notes of the headlines and these came back “With Germany reunified” he said, “there could be a shortage of capital to put the East on its feet. Interest rates could go through the roof. Is that of concern? And what about Berlin and its new role as German capital? What are the long term geopolitical implications of that?”
    â€œThat’s several questions all at once, Mr. Hanbury. I’ll answerthem one by one. For interest rate developments, we use the
Financial Times
and the
Wall Street Journal
. Anything they don’t get around to reporting on we get from the IMF. Don’t try to compete with that. As for Berlin, it may be Germany’s capital, but that’s on paper only. As far as I can see, it sits out there all by itself in the middle of a former Communist rustbelt. Frankly, who cares? Listen. It’s important for you to remember your consular territory is East Germany. That was a whole country until not too long ago and you’re there by yourself. So my advice is, don’t extend yourself. Keep lots of flex in case some Canuck gets into