Hevlaska was grateful for her paranoia, because the inevitable moment came when the routines it created became useful. Naturally, her eminent brother appeared when she was adding to Allen's various files, without any warning at all except for the delay between the buzzer and his arrival. By the time that happened, every piece of paper was hidden away.
Unlike Malcolm, he wasn't an imposing man. He was on the low end of medium height, blond, and with thick glasses, the only indication of his rank his clerical collar. Even out of his vestments, though, he moved like a man accustomed to being bowed to, smiling with the kind of geniality that implied that even the continued physical integrity of those around him was contingent upon his good will
"Hello, Hevlaska," he said. "What do you have for me?"
"Nothing you can use," she said.
He smiled. "Oh come now, Hevlaska. Are you really saying that Marian Cross's student is clean?"
The interesting thing, Hevlaska thought, was that as far as she could tell, he was. Not squeaky-clean, not quite. No one could escape public school with vitiligo and a heart condition squeaky-clean, never mind three years with Marian, but she'd found nothing he could be blackmailed with.
Still, it didn't mean there was nothing to hide, and she had no way of knowing how much this brother, the more intelligent, perceptive brother, had already guessed. "Yes," she said. "I realize you and Malcolm have been getting your hopes up, but Marian sent you a dud."
"I don't believe that," he said mildly.
"Why not? Marian doesn't like you. Why should he give you anything you want?"
"'Give me a boy until he is seven, and I will give you the man.' Marian is ours."
"Is he?" Hevlaska said. "Just because you keep saying that doesn't make it true."
"I've rarely seen it proven false."
"Well, in this case, it may prove true after all. Allen belonged to the English foster system until he was five, and Mana Walker until he was twelve. That hardly lends itself to creating the kind of man you want."
"I don't know," the cardinal said. "Tell me about Mana Walker?"
Hevlaska deeply regretted the cigarette she'd taken from Marian, because now she wanted one even more. Not only did nicotine sound like heaven, it would give her something to fidget with, a reason to stall long enough to gather her thoughts. Without it, she had only the space of a breath. "Mana had a head injury, and he never quite recovered. His working memory was impaired for the rest of his life, and he never regained any memory of his past, nothing reliable anyway."
"Sounds like guilt," the cardinal said.
"About what?"
"The accident. Normally, memory lost after a head injury recovers over time. So why didn't Mana's?"
"How should I know?"
"Perhaps he caused the accident? Killed someone in the process? Driving drunk?"
"He wasn't driving," Hevlaska said, "drunk or otherwise."
"Staggered out in front of the driver then?"
"He was a passenger, and sober. There was never any question of guilt."
"So how did he end up with Allen? He's not exactly a model foster home."
"After the ICD was put in, they had trouble finding any home for Allen at all. Once it was established that Mana was willing and able to take care of Allen, Marian made the arrangements."
"How did Mana and Allen meet?"
"Mana was hired to entertain children at the hospital. When he found out that Allen had nowhere to go, he started spending extra time with him, and they hit it off."
"Very heartwarming," the cardinal said blandly.
"I told you there was nothing."
"Except now Mana Walker is dead. How did that happen?"
"According to the police report, it was burglary gone wrong," Hevlaska said. "Allen lost his eye, and Mana was killed."
"Any suspects?"
"No."
"Maybe it some of Allen's friends," the cardinal said. "Boys that age are vicious little animals."
Hevlaska laughed. "I doubt Allen had any friends."
"Why not? Most such animals roam in packs."
"Allen is a dancer, who couldn't participate in any of the normal sports. The boys he went to school with probably thought he was gay."
"Overcompensation then. Impossible to prove, but has Malcolm pressed the issue?"
"Ask him," Hevlaska said.
"I intend to. According to Malcolm, the child is defiant and intractable. Quite frankly, I find this bizarre. I don't understand what Marian was thinking. He knows our requirements."
"Allen is closing the gap between himself and Rhoda Campbell," Hevlaska said.
"And he could walk away at any time. I dislike unreliability."
"Other companies don't have a problem keeping good dancers."
"Yes, they do. Dancers are perpetual children, petulant, ungrateful, unrepentant children. They need a firm hand to guide them."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Don't you? Or do you still not recognize yourself in that description?"
"Should I? Or do you think our father's hand was somehow not firm enough?"
"Not as applied to you, no," the cardinal said. "He spoiled you, and damaged you irreparably in the process."
Hevlaska's memories of her father involved very little spoiling, unless by spoiling one meant punishing practice schedules, and long, specific lists of what she could and couldn't wear, eat, watch, read or play with. "What were you saying about giving someone a child until they are seven?" she asked.
"A boy," the cardinal said. "Girls are another matter entirely. They must be kept in hand their entire lives. They cannot be convinced that their flights of fancy aren't really thoughts."
He sat back, waiting for her to take the bait, and for a long time, she had. It had taken far too many years for her to realize that there was no argument that would vindicate her in any way. "It's good to know I'm not so malleable as a man, that such a brief influence sets my path for life."
"Yes, well it makes your path to hell that much more direct. A boy can be taught when he's young. A girl cannot, so when a woman refuses guidance, she is all but condemned to eternal torture by that very act alone."
"Maybe when I was a girl, the thought of hell could scare me," Hevlaska said, "but it doesn't anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because I no longer believe in God."
"Don't you think that's a little ungrateful?" the cardinal asked. "Look around you." He gestured for emphasis. "All of these blessings you enjoy, and you can't even give your Benefactor the most basic courtesy of belief?"
As far as Hevlaska was concerned, her lot in life had nothing to do with supernatural forces. "I have been very fortunate," she said. "Perhaps some sacrifices would be appropriate. Wasn't there a temple recently uncovered in Rome that would do?"
"Very witty," he said. "I still have no explanation for your new-found atheism."
There were a lot of reasons. The loss of her childhood faith wasn't the result of an epiphany, more a product of erosion that had exposed an underlying bedrock of helpless anger. Once men like her brothers were in power, there was nothing anyone could do to stop them. This was so thoroughly true that it was taken for granted that all anyone could do to protect themselves was let them have whatever they wanted, so that they wouldn't do even greater harm for being defied.
She knew this, knew that the man in front of her was untouchable, but she still wanted to land a blow he might feel. "Because in all these years, He still hasn't smitten you dead."
The cardinal gave her his usual bland smile. "And that tells you nothing about what He approves or disapproves of? I'd be careful if I were you, Hevlaska. His hand is still at work in this world."
"His hand, or yours?" she asked.
"In my case, they amount to the same thing." He stood. "I'm not going to argue with you when you're in this mood. You're incapable of making sense. I'll be back soon, and I'll expect to see Allen's complete files. I'm sure there's something in there that you've overlooked."
She was suddenly, irrationally glad that the most important piece of information was in her head, where he couldn't reach it.
The cardinal's line beginning "Give me a boy until he is seven..." is a misquote of a statement attributed to St. Francis Xavier. The line normally reads: "Give me a child until he is seven and I will give you the man".