“I am not the heir,” Anastasia objected mildly. “I have an elder brother, Director. And I have no forces loyal to me. Just a few unwanted children that I look after, that’s all. If none died in the attack, then isn’t that for the best, since so many of them are your charges, Director? I would think that you would be pleased.”
“Do I look pleased? I am not. Moreover, do not pretend that your brother plans anything besides abdicating in your favor. You placed Katya Zharova with Alexander Warner, an assassin. That is most certainly not what I had in mind when I asked for an insurance policy with some combat training on the side. If killing the boy were a viable solution to the problem, I assure you, I would have done so the moment I met him.”
“Then be more specific when you want favors,” Anastasia said, shrugging. “And don’t diminish Katya, please, just because she can be erratic. Alex is in good hands — and if you don’t believe me, why, please, do go and tell everyone, if you find our covert dealings to be less than satisfactory. I am not afraid to make my part in this public, Director. Do you feel the same?”
“I have three questions. How you answer them decides your future, Miss Martynova,” Gaul said, cognizant that these words put him very deep indeed, if he didn’t like her answers. “I require honesty.”
“Ask away,” Anastasia said, eyes sparkling, leaning forward with interest.
He started with the worst and least likely possibility.
“Did you know Emily and Therese Muir had contacted the Anathema?”
“No,” Anastasia said, looking a bit humbled. “That was my failing in the matter. I thought I had them boxed in, so that they would be forced to turn to me for assistance. Obviously, it didn’t work out like that.”
The Inquisition Protocol he had downloaded proved as useless on Martynova as he had feared, but he was certain that she wasn’t lying to him all the same. He breathed an internal sigh of relief, and went on to his second question.
“Did you have anything to do with the death of Therese Muir?”
“I thought it was a tragic event,” Anastasia said honestly. “And, sadly, a necessity, to protect her family from further harm.”
Gaul knew that his question had been answered in the most careful manner possible, and exactly the way he’d expected. There was nothing more to be done about it at present, though, so he let the issue go, shelving it for another time, and moving on to the personal.
“Someone arranged for Eerie to be… removed. As an obstacle to attaining Alexander Warner, I assume. Did you have anything at all to do with that?”
Anastasia must have been able to read the tension in his voice, because her smile faltered for a moment, and he knew that she was surprised at the depth of his anger. He was satisfied with that. She had no idea, after all, exactly how angry he would be if she had, in fact, had anything to do with an attempt to hurt Eerie.
“Again, no,” Anastasia said frankly. “I didn’t even know that was what happened to Steve Taylor and Charles Brant — it was them, right? — until right now. That kind of thing is beneath me, Director. I never imagined that Emily Muir would become that desperate.”
Gaul shrugged, but he kept his doubts to himself. John Parson had a way with people; specifically, he had a way with helping people to find places inside themselves that were far darker than they had believed possible.
31
He had put it off as long as was possible. Frankly, the funerals had been easier to deal with. Nevertheless, with break ending on Monday, and the last of the burials more than two weeks old, Rebecca would not tolerate any further delays. So Gaul was facing a crowd of benignly drunken faces, doing his best not to sound like he was delivering a lecture.
“I want to thank you all, both personally, and in my capacity as the Director of the Academy. Your services to our institution in its time of need may very well have prevented its destruction and dissolution, and the Academy is indebted to each of you for the role you played in its preservation.”
Gaul paused and took a sip of water. His mouth was still inexplicably dry. The faces arrayed before him were intimately familiar, cheerfully intoxicated, and worked by Rebecca into a state of enthusiastic complacency. In any other context, he would have invoked the fear of God in them. But not today. Not during the speech he had been dreading since the attack, since he called in the favors, since he realized it would be necessary. He’d tried to keep such events to an absolute minimum in the years he had been Director, instead turning a blind eye to Rebecca’s less official celebrations, but that could only go so far. Clearly, in this case, more was required, for the sake of morale, if nothing else. He’d let Rebecca pick, and to his relief, she had chosen a relatively inexpensive bar on the fringes of Central charmingly named The Toss Up. It had a couple of pool tables, a barbeque in the back, a small dance floor, and the kind of bar that only served cocktails that ended with ‘and coke’, so that was fine with him.
“It would be a mistake to think that, because we are survivors, that we did not sacrifice. Every one of you gave up something in order to see that your home was safe. Some of you may not even realize yet that you have lost anything. But you have. This night is not just a reward, though you have earned a reward. Nor is it merely a celebration of victory, though certainly, a celebration is called for. Rather, tonight is a celebration of our survival, the protection of our homes and the continuity of our values, the security of our families and the conviction of our beliefs. This party is a celebration of your excellence, in rising to the occasion, in doing what was demanded of you, when nothing less would have been sufficient. We celebrate, in short, that when it came time to stand or fall, we choose to stand.”
The speech was awful. He knew it. There was simply nothing he could do to make it any better. His position obligated him to make it. He had been careful to position himself so that he couldn’t see Rebecca rolling her eyes and laughing at him. Instead, he found himself looking at Anastasia’s polite smile, which was sort of like looking at the teeth of an elaborately coifed shark. Behind her, the rest of the Black Sun stood as a monolith, students, combat teams, and even the senior Martynova himself. Across from them, North stood at the head of a hierarchically organized group of Hegemonic soldiers. Caught in the crossfire of their muted hostility, he almost lost his place on the scrolling text he was reading on his head’s up display.
“So, please, all of you enjoy tonight. For the staff, I remind you that Monday is a workday. For those of you who are still students at the Academy, I remind you that permission to drink reasonably for the evening does not give you license to overindulge, and that Monday is a school day. The rest of you, I remind you that you are guests here, and to behave accordingly. Thank you. Good night.”
Scattered applause, louder when they saw he was walking away, relieved that the speech was over. Heading for the door, his various social obligations be damned. He could not imagine having to talk to North right now, even worse if the senior Martynova decided he wanted to chat. Rebecca headed him off smoothly, grabbing him by the elbow and steering him away from the exit and toward the bar.
“You know how to end a speech,” she said cheerfully, her cheeks flushed with drink.
“Shut up,” Gaul said tersely. “You know I hate this kind of thing.”
“I do know that,” she said gently, using his arm to hop up on her bar stool, still somehow vacant despite the crowd at the bar, all of whom gave them a respectable distance.
“And I know that you are manipulating me to calm me down and keep me here so I can chat with the important people,” Gaul continued.