Chapter 2: Lelouch

O ingenia magis acria quam matura

--Lamperouge Family Motto

Clovis's office, which seemed awe-inspiring on camera, was cheap and shoddy in person. The shining hardwood floors were gouged with camera tracks, a miniature makeup department took up an entire corner of the room, and even the walls had cutaways placed just beyond the cameras' vision. The whole thing had the feel of a movie set. I had no idea how anyone could work in those conditions.

Clovis's glittering entourage of young retainers hovered behind his desk, clustered around a golden statue of the Britannian lion. In their sapphire-encrusted uniforms, they called to mind bluebottle flies. I looked more closely at the lion and realized that it was made of pasteboard.

On the far side of the room, a scowling man in a pony tail watched the proceedings with poorly disguised contempt. Ried, his name was. I'd done a bit of checking on him. He was a promising journalist with a flair for propaganda who'd had the misfortune of falling under Clovis's patronage early in his career. Clovis had many talents, but a knack for hands-off management wasn't one of them. Clovis had long ago forgotten—if indeed he'd ever learned—that giving a man a post and then micromanaging him cancels the original benefit and leaves him resentful.

It wasn't a mistake that I intended to repeat.

"Lelouch! So glad you could join me."

"Anything for the Viceroy of Area Eleven."

Clovis flashed a winning smile—as fake as they come, but I appreciated the effort—and motioned for me to sit down. I half-expected an attendant to creep up behind me and start powdering my nose. Instead, Clovis ordered his flunkies to wait outside—Ried included. The latter left in a foul temper.

True to form, Clovis kicked off proceedings with the combination of political chitchat and family gossip that my relatives find so intriguing.

"They say that President Maroczy's resigned," he said.

"Oh?"

"Apparently, he's announced to the EU's press corps that he wants a quiet retirement."

We exchanged a look—one of the patented "I know that you know that we both know" looks that our family is famous for. Without needing to say a thing, each of us knew the other's opinion of Maroczy's pronouncement: bullshit of the highest order. Nobody leaves politics voluntarily for the quiet life. I only know of three things that will drive a politician from his post: disgrace, blackmail, or a bullet.

"Any openings on the horizon?" I asked.

"Eh?"

"For a political comeback."

"Hopefully not. Maroczy was an incompetent. His replacement will be a far tougher opponent for Schniezel."

I spouted a little more mindless small talk while I considered the implications of that statement. Clovis was the Third Prince of Britannia—close enough to the throne that the succession seemed an attainable target. He was old enough now that direct political competition with Schniezel was possible. Apparently, he didn't intend to step aside lightly.

More intriguing, he'd told me about it. My family is notoriously close-lipped about affairs of state, and Clovis was no exception. During his very, VERY rare father-son moments, Dad taught us that even the smallest details should be hidden—if only to maintain an air of mystery to keep your subjects guessing. Clovis's revelation was huge.

"You and Schniezel always got along pretty well, didn't you?" Clovis asked.

So there it was: an invitation to choose between the two camps. Camps whose existence I'd discovered about a minute and a half ago. The offer was pretty blatant, too…at least by Royal Family standards.

"All of us did," I said. "Remember when the three of us had chess tournaments?"

Translation: I don't want to choose between you yet. I like you both.

Actually, I didn't like either of them, but feigning brotherly affection was a good way to get out of the dilemma.

"You usually won our games," Clovis replied.

Translation: Don't play dumb. Love us or not, you know how Britannian politics is played. Make your choice.

I smirked.

"If I recall correctly, Brother Clovis, I won all of them. But Schniezel clobbered me most of the time."

Translation: I'm a minor league player. Give me time to think about it; I may be valuable to you, but Schniezel is unlikely to recruit me because he's brighter than both of us.

Clovis leaned back in his chair and draped his impeccably dressed legs across the tabletop. He traced whimsical circles in the air with his foot.

"It's too bad you never applied that intelligence of yours to political work," he said.

Translation: You'd better not have any thoughts of the throne yourself, you little bastard.

"Real politics are more complicated than chess, Clovis. Chess has rules."

Translation: Calm down. No threat here. Nope. None at all.

Clovis's feigned relaxation changed into genuine relief, and I congratulated myself at dodging my third bullet of the day. Becoming the close confidante of someone as powerful as Clovis is doubly dangerous. When you know their secrets, they get suspicious of you, and if they fall from grace….well, nobody likes a tyrant's confidantes, do they?

More to the point, Clovis wouldn't stand a chance against Schniezel.

"You didn't call me in here to reminisce," I said.

"No…but first, some tea."

Clovis leaned forward and pressed the secretary's "call" button, knocking papers onto the floor as he did so. He barely noticed—such is the self-assurance of a Britannian prince who's spent his whole life with other people to clean up after him.

The tea was awful.

I checked my watch. By this time, Lucy would be hiding on a subway car en route to the New Yorkshire Regiment. Crouching amid the rows of oiled, brand-new Sutherlands, she would be watching her victims as they laughed and chatted about Eleven girls and took long drags on their cigarettes. Doubtless she would be smiling in anticipation of the kill.

She would wring their necks—gently, so as not to arouse suspicion when the coroners found them. A roomful of severed heads would be a dead giveaway--no pun intended. And then, after she'd draped the crew across the floor like an obscene carpet and carried the Sutherlands into the old disused subway station we'd agreed upon, she'd come back for something far more valuable. Information.

Clovis sat across from me, clearly readying himself for a long harangue. Now was the best time to ask for a small favor. The large ones could come later.

"Clovis, I have something to ask you before you begin."

He deflated a little at that. It's disorienting to get interrupted when ninety percent of your conversations involve reading from a teleprompter.

"What is it?"

I looked at the ceiling and affected an embarrassed grin.

"I have…ahem…I'm keeping an Eleven mistress in my cabin outside of the city. I wondered—"

"FINALLY!" Clovis shouted.

He jumped up from his chair and gave me a hearty slap on the back that might have briefly jarred my eyeballs from their sockets.

"Why Lelouch, this is simply wonderful! We were beginning to think you were..."

"What?"

"Oh, you know…"

"No, I…What?! How can you even think that I was…Wait…'we'?!"

Clovis winked and patted me on the back.

"Now, now Lelouch…that's all behind us now. I'll just tell them that we were wrong …"

"I'm just theatrical!"

"I'm sure you are," he replied soothingly.

"When did I ever give the impression—"

"Well quite frankly, we always wondered about that Suzaku kid…"

"Kururugi's a prime minister's son. I befriended him for political reasons."

Clovis ruffled my hair and gave me a brotherly punch on the shoulder. I dug my nails into the chair's leather upholstery.

"It's your own business as long as you produce heirs to keep Dad's geneticists happy."

Then he chuckled.

"What?"

"This is really going to screw up the betting pool."

"Clovis, it is quite possible that I'm going to kill you right now."

He made a warding gesture with his hands.

"Hey, don't blame me," he said. "It was Euphie's idea."

"You know what? I'm just going to forget that this conversation ever happened."

"That would be best," he agreed.

"Er, ahem....Back to business, then. You need to keep your secret service goons away from her. No surveillance of the house, no background traces. Nothing.""

He stroked his chin. Not suspicious yet, fortunately…but curious.

"I'm not going to be sticking with her long-term, and I don't want her fellow Elevens to find out that she's collaborating," I explained.

"That's very noble of you," he said.

"Noble nothing. She's useless to me if her cover is blown. Remember what Dad always said about native mistresses?"

"'The best way to keep tabs on what's going on beneath the surface of a society'," he recited. "Point taken. I'll leave her alone."

"Good."

"Now that that's settled, I expect your first recommendations for a counterterrorism campaign within a few days."

"You can have them now, if you like. I warn you, though: they're a little extreme."

He mulled this over for a bit. I, on the other hand, was counting down the seconds on the wall clock behind him.

Five.

Four.

Three…

"Lelouch, I think you should know something."

Two…

"Oh? Do tell."

One…

"The Elevens are fairly docile at the moment. I'm not interested in cures that are worse than the disease—"

RRRRIIIINNNNGG!

Zero.

Clovis let a rare scowl slip past his guard. The phone clattered as he yanked it from its setting and demanded to know what was wrong. Apparently, Military Train #6 had gone silent.

"And why, exactly, do you need to inform me of technical glitches?"

Clovis's face turned ashen at the reply. He removed the phone from his ear and slowly hung up.

"Trouble?" I asked.

The train, it seems, had exploded directly underneath the Tokyo armory. Months' worth of weapons production went up in smoke in less time than it took to call him about it.

What an unfortunate coincidence.

"It seems that you're in need of an exterminator," I said.

Clovis just stared ahead. If the court painter was there, he probably would have commented on the interesting juxtaposition of Clovis's long, girlish hair and the terrified grimace on his face. I could easily guess the question running through his mind: What will I tell Father?

Far be it from me to pass up an opportunity like that.

"Dad's going to be furious unless we can fix this quickly," I said.

Clovis grabbed at the lifeline like a drowning man.

"We? You said we? You mean you'll--?"

"I'll do it, but you need to give me a wide scope of authority. And complete secrecy about my involvement."

"Secrecy?" he asked.

"I want to keep a low profile. If this campaign works out, I expect credit where credit is due. In the meantime, I don't want anybody asking awkward questions about me. As far as the Japanese and the rest of the family are concerned, I'm a noncombatant. Got it?"

He stammered his agreement. Thank heaven Clovis doesn't bargain well when he's rattled. You might think that he'd gladly ignore his promise later on and claim the credit himself. That was a possibility, but one which went against an odd truism in politics: even among a group of backstabbers like us, it's usually prudent to keep your word.

"There's more," I said.

He had the good grace to suppress a groan.

"What do you want, Lelouch?"

"Not much. Unrestricted access to your intel databases, along with enough security software to protect my browsing habits from prying eyes…including yours, by the way. I also want to be let into every meeting that deals with the terrorist problem. Oh, and the contact information for everybody who's involved in this operation."

He sighed and drew up a seat.

"Give me your assessment of the situation," he said.

I put my hands behind my back and paced a couple times. Mostly for dramatic effect.

"You're trying to hunt rats with a tank, Clovis. You've assembled an overwhelming superiority in men and materiel, but you're not fighting the right kind of war. You're trying to draw the terrorists into a pitched battle. That's ridiculous."

"Oh?"

"Think about it. You can't hit them with conventional forces unless they choose to show themselves. Under those circumstances, there's only one reason they would come into the open."

"When I'm threatening their home base?"

I wondered how a man as politically talented as Clovis could be so brainless militarily.

"When they know that they'll win. Bases can be abandoned and rebuilt. The only battles you'll be able to fight with them are the ones that you're sure to lose."

Clovis's jaw tightened. He wasn't accustomed to being frustrated, and it showed.

"Then I'll attack the bastards in their homes! I'll renew the destruction of the Shinjuku ghetto! I'll…"

I rolled my eyes.

"You'll do nothing of the sort. Tokyo can't run without Elevens. Besides, that would only disperse them. Right now, you've got a single nest. Do you really want twenty or thirty smaller hives?"

Clovis leaned back in his chair again and started rapidly clicking a ballpoint pen.

"Twenty or thirty small hives wouldn't be able to pull off what the terrorists did yesterday," he replied.

"They wouldn't need to," I said. "As long as they remain alive, the population believes that the terrorists are invincible and you're powerless."

Clovis jerked back as if I'd struck him. "Powerless" is a taboo word in the Britannian royal family. (Unless you're talking about underlings, of course. We like powerless underlings as much as the next man).

"You seem to have all the answers. So talk."

I took a deep breath to give the impression that I was recommending this course of action only because worst had come to worst.

"Major-General Lord Barclay."

"No."

Clovis got up, paced behind his desk a few times, and slammed his hands into the wood.

"No," he said again.

"I know that he's difficult…"

He laughed harshly.

"Difficult? Difficult? The man's Colonel Blimp and General Jubilation P. Cornpone rolled into one right-wing xenophobic package. He makes the Purists look like integrationists."

"He's not as bad as all that—"

Clovis stopped me with a raised hand.

"No, Lelouch. He's worse than that. The man built a rogue Buddhist militia in Thailand after the Sino-Britannian Accords ended the fighting there."

"To be fair, his irregulars technically weren't party to that treaty."

"He didn't support Dad during the Succession War."

"So? He didn't support Uncle Frederick either, may he rest in peace."

"Do you have any idea how many riots I'd have on my hands if I let this guy loose? We can't turn Area Eleven into another Brazil."

"Oh come off it, Clovis. We both know you're not squeamish. Why not come clean with your real objection to the man?"

Clovis drew himself up to his full height and sneered.

"Very well then. The man is a peasant. A parvenu.It's disgusting to see him wave the lordship Father gave him in the face of polite society. I refuse to deal with such a person."

Just as I suspected. In my experience, there are two levels of stupidity: basic, and snobbery-enhanced.

"Yeah? And what did he do to earn that title? Remember?"

That shut Clovis up for a while. Finally, he slumped in his chair and gave a feeble little wave with his hand.

"Brazil was much worse than Japan," he said.

"So far," I replied.

It only took a few more minutes of cajoling before he gave up the ghost. He was pretty deflated by the time I left him to his next visitor—a serious-looking Eleven policeman.

Bando something-or-other.

I spent the rest of the evening testing the Geass power to work the bugs out. In the process, I learned two very useful things. First, Geass only seemed to work once—a fact that would seriously limit its usefulness. It was a fortunate discovery, and I could have gotten myself into a lot of hot water if I hadn't known that ahead of time. Second, Geass didn't work on nonhumans—or at least none of the nonhumans that I ran across during my trip to the zoo. No prizes for guessing what that implied about Lucy.

Interestingly, my cherry-haired little psychopath didn't show up on Clovis's database. That could imply several things, but the most likely explanation was that Clovis had been experimenting on her without Dad's permission. That would explain his rush to destroy the Shinjuku ghetto when he'd found out that she'd escaped.

"Penny for your thoughts, Brother."

I only just managed to close my laptop in time.

"Taken any stealth lessons from Sayoko recently?" I said.

Nunnally graced me with a beatific smile and flopped onto the couch.

"I'm certainly better at concealing my secrets than you are," she said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you didn't approve of secrecy."

"Nope, I just keep my secretiveness secret. My friends would get annoyed otherwise."

She batted her eyelashes and did her best impression of a femme fatale's smirk. We spent the next couple seconds trying not to laugh.

I wonder, though…

"All right, Lelouch," she said at last. "I won't ask you what you were looking at. Could you at least tell me what's been on your mind all evening?"

"Clovis is an idiot," I said.

"Oh…Well, it's a good thing he's not around to hear you say that," she said.

"He wanted to level the Shinjuku ghetto, Nunnally."

She sat up and crossed her legs. 'Barbarian sitting', the Elevens call it.

"I'm not surprised. Clovis never cared much about subject peoples," she said.

"But it's so stupid!" I said. "If he thinks that his television playacting is going to compensate for leveling part of Tokyo…"

She raised her hand and gently put it to my lips.

"Lelouch, you're a brilliant guy—even by our family's standards—but I think you see things too much like a game of chess. No, please don't argue yet. Hear me out…I'm not a political wizard like you and Cornelia and Schniezel, but I know something that all of you sometimes forget. Princes and princesses don't always choose the most rational course. Even Britannian princes. Even you. They choose the course that matches their disposition."

Then she removed her hand and skipped off to the kitchen to get us some more tea. It was a far cry from the brown sludge Clovis had given me, and I decided to turn my mind off for the evening and talk about lighter stuff. We had a wonderful time.

But I never forgot that conversation. It's been some of the best advice I've ever received—in politics or life—and that's why I've decided to include it in these memoirs.

Karen Stadtfeld, née Kallen Kozuki. Half Japanese on her mother's side. Born March 29, 2000 a.t.b. Seventeen years old. Possibly a terrorist.

Clovis's database was missing that last crucial piece of information. Therefore, so was I. I needed to be certain, and to do that I needed to get close enough to her to use a Geass command. Fortunately, it's very bad manners to refuse a prince when he's offered to help you with your homework—even a low-ranking one like me.

"So again: what are the main causes of the fall of the Bonaparte dynasty?"

"Do you want the textbook answer or the real one?" I asked.

Kallen clenched her jaw. This was the third hour of our little review session, and her meek, sickly mask seemed to be cracking a little. It didn't help that I spent the time being deliberately evasive.

She caught herself just in time and wrenched her mouth into a smile.

"Why not give me the textbook answer first?"

"The textbook answer is that the dynasty lost its luster after the rise of large-scale factories and the proletariat. It was a late-Enlightenment dictatorship caught in the middle of rapid modernization."

"Sounds good enough for me," she said. She looked down and rapidly scribbled notes in the most appalling handwriting I'd ever seen. And she was a girl, too.

"Yeah, I guess it's an OK answer," I said. "…If you want to be boring and wrong, that is."

From under the table, I heard the loud snap of wood fiber and graphite.

"Okay, then what's the real answer, Prince Lelouch?"

"Just 'Lelouch' is fine. 'Lulu' if you're feeling flippant."

I could almost hear her teeth grinding. I wondered what sort of Geass she would have received if she'd been the one to meet C.C. instead of me, and concluded that 'Death Glare' was a good bet.

"Er…anyway…the right answer is that the Bonaparte dynasty pinned its hopes on popular government. See, Napoleon Junior forgot that daddy's regime only pretended to be democratic. It was actually a lot more like Britannia—it relied on the support of a pretty small sector of the population. As soon as he allowed the poor to start holding office, he pissed off the landowners, Marshals, and the middle classes. Cue right-wing backlash. Cue left-wing revolution. Endgame."

"You talk about these guys as if you're on speaking terms with them," she said.

"Technically, I'm a distant relative."

I grinned. She didn't reciprocate.

"Makes you wonder what would have happened if the Britannian Emperor had been as short-sighted as Napoleon II two hundred years ago," she said.

"Probably nothing," I said. "Just like most 'what if' questions."

By now, the library was finally empty.

Showtime.

"Answer all of my questions."

Bright red rings appeared around her pupils as soon as I activated the Geass. Her body stiffened like a board.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she said.

"Okay, I'll be blunt: Are you a terrorist?"

"Yes."

"Were you the Glasgow pilot in Shinjuku?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh…Well, you're pretty good at it."

It occurred to me that it was pretty pointless to compliment a soon-to-be-amnesiac girl under mind control. Oh well.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"You're welcome. Now then…"

I swiveled my laptop around until it was facing her.

"I want you to type the names of all of your associates, along with any other information that might help me find them. Phone numbers, addresses, personality quirks, and their positions in your organization. And while you're doing that, I want to know if you find me attractive."

I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. Please understand that this was purely business. I didn't need the complications of a real relationship.

"I don't know," she said. "You're pretty good looking, but you're also arrogant, obnoxious, and snarky. Oh, and your bangs are much too long. Kinda girly, actually."

Involuntarily, my hands shot to my well-coiffured hair. All things considered, I was glad that she'd forget this in a few minutes.

"Good enough to go on a date with?" I asked.

"I guess if I was desperate, sure."

Ack.

"If it was part of a mission?"

I swear she hesitated for a moment.

"Yes."

"Good. Let's assume that I wanted to get your attention. Romantically. What would be the best way to go about it?"

"Show an interest in the plight of the Japanese people. And stop calling us Elevens."

Excellent.

I flicked the laptop shut as soon as she entered the last keystroke.

A few hours later, I found Lucy curled up in front of the kitchen sink, crying. The food processer roared and grated nothing in particular. I'd heard it when I was fifty feet from the cabin, so it must have been on for a while.

"What's wrong?"

A mustard jar that had been floating in midair before I spoke crashed to the floor.

"Lelouch?"

That deadened voice again.

"I'm here. What is it?"

I suppressed the urge to hug her. Too much affection too soon would probably spoil her—and make her suspicious. Instead, I put my hand on her shoulder like I had at the pet store.

You slimy bastard, you're probably thinking. To which I retort: If she'd been a normal girl, I would have been as carelessly affectionate as she liked…but she wasn't. Telekinetic powers change the dynamics a little.

Please, please don't turn out to be high-maintenance.

"What's wrong, Lucy?"

"I…I don't deserve you."

This to a guy who ordered her to kill a trainload of people on the first day she met him.

"That's not true. Look, I'm not exactly an angel either, OK? Whatever you've done in the past…"

She started sobbing. In the living room, the TV blared the credits of a soap opera.

"I can't accept this charity from you," she said. "Not after what I've done."

And just what DID you do?! I wanted to scream. Still keeping my hand on her shoulder, I picked up the dustpan and started brushing up the glass shards.

"Look, let's be reasonable," I said. "You don't have anywhere to else to go, and it's not as if you're freeloading or anything. I want you to stay."

A tearful eye looked up at me from beneath her dyed bangs.

"Really?"

"Really."

"I could always go back to the facility. They would…punish…me, but I think—"

"You will not," I snapped. Mostly because she obviously wanted me to...which is not to say that her offer was insincere.

"Look, enough of this. Do you want to go on a walk?" I asked.

"I didn't think you liked walks." Was that the ghost of a smile on her lips?

I smiled and bowed my head a little to acknowledge the point.

"You know," I said, "when I was a kid, I helped out in an antiterrorist campaign in Brazil. Not much. Little stuff. Staff jobs, that kind of thing."

She was still kneeling on the floor with her hands crossed over her lap, like a third grader during storytime. To this day, I've never met a better listener than Lucy.

"Ahem...Anyway, I had the opportunity to interview a lot of captured terrorists. They wouldn't reveal much about their leaders, but the less intelligent ones loved to talk about how they operated. And you know what they all agreed was a useful skill to have?"

"Walking?"

"Right."

"That's…fascinating."

And you know something? She actually meant it.

Sweet girl.

"Lucy, did I ever tell you about how Napoleon II lost his throne?"