"Where is Marian!"
Hevlaska watched from the settee as her brother paced her study. "I have no idea," she said.
"That's what you would say if you knew," Malcolm said.
"So why are you asking me? You're wasting both our time. I suppose you already interrogated Allen."
"He claims he has no idea," Malcolm said.
"Shame you have nothing to threaten him with," Hevlaska said, her voice overflowing with sarcasm.
"I'll find something," Malcolm said. "There has to be something."
"What if there isn't?"
"Then why would Cross send him to us?"
"I don't know, but what if there's nothing?"
"That can't be, or if it's not him...did you look into that foster-father?"
Hevlaska had, in fact, looked very closely into Mana Walker. She'd hit a few dead-ends, but was doing what she could to work around them. "Head trauma victim," she said. "Worked as a clown when he could, children's birthday parties, summer festivals, things like that." There were some additional details, but if Malcolm wanted them, he could do his own research.
"Pedophile?"
"Not that anyone complained about."
"Maybe his victims weren't in a position to complain. Look into it."
"You're going to try it out on Allen, aren't you."
"Of course. It's an obvious approach."
"I don't think it will get the result you want," Hevlaska said.
"There has to be something." Malcolm stopped at her liquor cabinet and poured himself a few fingers of whiskey.
"Why?"
"There always is."
"Because you look for it," she said, "and you've looked for it for so long that it's all you can see now. You've probably passed over thousands of excellent dancers because they lacked a screw you could tighten."
"You're one to talk." Malcolm downed half the contents of his glass. "You did the same thing."
"Yes, and I learned better. I always thought that one of the few perks of age was wisdom." Otherwise, it had precious little to recommend it.
"Or cowardice. The whole thing is really your fault. You know what I think," he said as he leaned against the cabinet. "I think you're defective. You had one simple job, and you failed because you didn't even try. You disgust me."
There was a time when a comment like that would have hurt, but that time had passed long ago. "It really galls you, doesn't it, that you can't punish me," she said. "You were born at the top of a rubbish heap that's rotting out from under you, and all you can think to do is cling to the rot."
"If it's rubbish, then why does everyone want it so badly?" Malcolm asked. "Power is the world's common currency."
"And what's it getting you now? A failing studio?"
"Not failing. One or two more like Kanda, and I'll defeat the Earl once and for all."
"I wouldn't call Kanda a success story. You lose your hold on him, and you'll have another Marian on your hands."
"I got Marian's best years," he said smugly, 'and anyway, it looks like the prodigal son is returning."
"Don't underestimate him. He's a dangerous enemy, and you no longer have any weapons to use against him."
"Oh, yes I do!" Malcolm said, draining his glass. "I have Allen. Get everything you have on Allen and Mana Walker ready. He's coming, and he'll want to see it."
Hevlaska raised her eyebrows. "Did you really call him?"
"I didn't have to. As soon as he found out that Marian had a protege, he started making arrangements." Malcolm smiled. "We'll see if you're so quick to defy him."
Hevlaska's first response was to wonder if her connections were sufficient to suppress information. Then she realized that she was panicking. She herself could suppress some of it, at least for a while, which might buy her or Marian enough time to figure out how to deal with it.
Then she wondered what would happen if she simply turned it over. What would Malcolm do if he found out that the plane crash that orphaned Allen was the accident that disabled Mana Walker?
Did Allen know? Maybe he did, but what if he didn't? Malcolm would, of course, try to get maximum impact out of such a revelation, but it wouldn't give him the kind of leverage he was used to. He'd have a shocked, angry kid on his hands, not a cowed one.
Marian must have known.
Marian, she thought, had a lot to answer for. "I'm sorry," she said insincerely, "but I have nothing he'll find useful."
"There must be something," Malcolm insisted.
"There isn't." Hevlaska shifted in her seat. "Allen is an exceptional dancer, the kind any company would make sacrifices to keep. He was handed to us on a silver platter, and you just can't be content with that. You're obsessed with finding some kind of hold over him instead of making sure he's happy."
"He doesn't need to be happy to dance."
"No, but it would be a lot easier than trying to figure out how to blackmail him."
"And offer a lot fewer guarantees. Happiness is a whim. Fear, on the other hand, gets results."
Hevlaska thought about the threat implied in Kanda's performance in Barcelona. She spoke German, so she understood exactly what that song was about. "So it does. I just hope you're prepared for the kind of result you get in the end."
"I have no complaints."
"It isn't the end."