2. His Situation
Illumi lightly sprinted to the door and shielded his eyes from the rapidly setting sun. Yes, she'd gone west, right into the sun, he sighed. He thought about returning inside, to get some binoculars and a look from one of the upper floors, but he doubted he had the time. Vaulting into a large tree, he climbed to very near the top and scanned the foliage that stretched before him. There was a stiff breeze this high in the canopy, but still he thought he could make out some movement of the smaller trees, which might indicate someone passing through, and more alarmingly, he could clearly make out the large movement of even mature trees rapidly approaching the other line at a right angle to it. Forget Milluki not being able to, he didn't know if he could make it in time.
Fluidly dropping from his elevated perch to the shadowed path below, Illumi began to dash in the direction the wandering visitor had apparently gone. Dark hair streaming behind him, Illumi would have appeared as a mere blur or shadow if anyone had been trying to watch his passing. All of the Zaoldyecks were fast. Perhaps a few years ago, Silva might have been the fastest, and no one really knew what the still incredible Zeno had been capable of in his prime, but even accounting for his natural modesty, Illumi would have to admit that he was likely, currently, the fastest Zaoldyeck alive. Years of rigorous conditioning insured that he could maintain this pace for hours if need be, and over much more difficult terrain, so his mind was free and could focus on other things, such as how this nettlesome situation had come about, and how he could, somehow, rectify it.
He had been a little surprised when Mother had asked him to get his brothers and bring them to that tower room. She almost never gathered her children together; and their father, who did so frequently, in order to go over and critique missions, assignments, or techniques and tools of the trade, would never have chosen that small, relatively comfortable room. He preferred to hold those long, often grueling sessions, in the Main Hall, usually positioning himself facing them, in front of one of the massive fireplace mantels, often seated on a large impressive chair that would be the only chair in the room.
Curiosity had been quickly satisfied when the VerHoffen daughter had entered the room. It did not require his keenly honed powers of observation and calculation to reason out that Mother, who always doted on this particular visitor, was currently unable to do so, and that he and his brothers were being offered as substitute hosts. After a brief, automatic assessment of identity (VerHoffen, Minister of the Interior, Padokia; daughter, Lucia), current appearance (173, three or four centimeters taller than eight months ago), and offensive and defensive threat potential (for all physical and Nen purposes, nil), he returned to his reading. He had had the foresight to bring one of his very favorite books with him, a volume that combined his mother's specialty, poisons, with his own burgeoning interest in the pathways and impulses of the nervous system. It was a rare treat to have some free time to revisit its well-worn pages.
At almost five years older, Illumi had never had to interact much with this guest, and he didn't expect to now either. He knew she was of particular interest to Milluki; and had even on occasion heard him mention her name, so he felt himself free of any obligation to socialize with her. She, however, appeared to have other ideas, proceeding to go around the room presumably to engage each of them in turn. When she reached Milluki, Illumi could not help but notice in her aura feelings of disgust and repulsion, laced with a little pity and maybe a dash of fear. She knows Milluki better than I thought, Illumi wickedly mused, and the corner of his mouth twitched up in a small smile. He was careful to keep his eyes firmly focused on the page before him though, as she was once again looking at him, and he had no desire to be interrupted and interrogated. Let her think he had read an amusing passage.
At last she skipped over him and proceeded to Killua, and Illumi was happily engrossed in his favorite chapter on the Brazilian Wandering Spider, when he noticed a distracting sound. Risking a lightning quick glance, he saw that their guest had abandoned the idea of accosting them each individually and was now pontificating to the room in general. Standing tall, smiling, with arms spread in graceful gesture, she was declaiming the most useless rubbish he had ever heard.
Now Illumi was meticulous in gathering information about targets and clients as well, but this information was completely pointless. He recognized all of the actual names given, and most of those persons alluded to in innuendo, but the information was vague and unsubstantiated, the sources uncorroborated or unidentified. And why bother to learn this now, as how would he know if these persons were likely to ever be targets or clients? And if and when they were, at that point this information would be hopelessly outdated.
He began to feel irritated…and resentful. He had almost no time he could call his own, to do with as he pleased. Why was this being denied to him? His eyes burned on the page, but he couldn't see the words anymore. He would treat this as a test. Her voice's timbre was not unpleasant; he just had to school himself to listen to the sound, and not the prattling words, and think of it as a kind of birdsong. This might have worked had not Illumi also been occasionally distracted by birdsong, feeling that it was like a beautiful language just beyond his ability to grasp. But after all, how long could she talk?
Apparently, being a politician's daughter, for quite some time… Killu finally brought it to an end with his well-practiced condescending look, and after she had left, the silence had felt so comfortingly familiar; Illumi hadn't wanted to break it. But he should have, and he knew it. Not only was it important that the Zaoldyecks be on good terms with the political power in Padokia to remain unmolested and maintain their virtually autonomous state on Kukuru Mountain, but in addition, her father was a customer. And not just an ordinary customer, no, he was the kind Grandfather Zeno lovingly referred to as: A Repeat Customer. Not only did Minister VerHoffen avail himself of their services often enough to receive a regular 25 percent discount, he had even earned their ultimate customer reward, a Free Removal, twice. And he wasn't likely to look favorably on the removal of his own daughter, especially since, after the man's wife's death several years back; she was apparently his only family.
No one had to tell Illumi the importance of Family. Family was the one thing in the world that counted and could be counted upon, the one thing that mattered. Your family knew you and you knew them, naked before them, as they were naked before you. It determined your place in the scheme of things. It defined who you were. Where you came from when you came into the world, it would be all that remained of you when you left it.
He knew he would be blamed, and he was to blame. He hadn't even moved to act before Killu called him on it. As the only adult in that room, and as the oldest sibling, he would be held responsible for all their actions and for any unfortunate outcome. He was confident he could endure whatever physical punishment would be meted out; but he stumbled slightly, breaking his gait, when he thought of the look Silva would give him. He knew that the looks Father gave Killua, the proud smiles, the way his piercing eyes shone and crinkled at the edges last week, after Killu had been dodging his knives in a training session, these Illumi knew were not for him, not ever. But Illumi could still hope for the clear-eyed gaze he sometimes received when he was given a schedule of tasks, or an assignment, a look that conferred confidence in his ability to complete it. That it was no longer of concern or interest because Illumi would handle it. He would rather be flayed alive than see a look of reproachful disappointment again directed at him.
These thoughts added a little extra push to his steps as he sped down the loamy path. He didn't hear anything violent yet, and that was a good sign, because Mike was a noisy eater. And after what they had been through that afternoon, he very much doubted that Miss VerHoffen would be a quiet meal.
