"Hey, Walker, what are you doing?" Link asked.
"Oh, hey," Allen said, pausing from his perusal of the back of the common room television set. People were studying, but the Black Order students took priority when it came to things like this. "Road's performing tonight."
"What?" Link asked.
"Road," Allen said, coming up with a cable.
That was interesting. "How do you know?"
"She told me," Allen said, hitting the on button on the television.
Curiouser and curiouser. "Mind if I watch?" Link asked.
"No, sit down."
Link sat on the other side of the couch from Lavi.
"So what is this again?" Lavi asked.
"A charity thing," Allen said, messing with his computer.
"And she told you about it because…?" Lavi asked.
Allen sighed as he hooked his laptop into the television, then adjusted the volume. "Because she apparently wants to make damned sure I'm prepared for every possible contingency in Paris. If I could have gotten to England for it, she was going to give me tickets."
"Seriously?" Lavi asked.
"Yeah," Allen said.
"Holy shit!" Lavi said, elbowing Allen. "She really does like you."
"She really does not," Allen said heatedly.
"She was giving you free tickets," Lavi said.
"I don't think that means what you think it means," Allen said.
"What do you think it means?" Lavi asked.
"That she's completely mad," Allen said.
"But you're in contact with her," Link said.
"More like she's in contact with me," Allen said.
"You must have given her your number," Link said, but Rouvellier would want details.
Allen made a face. "She got my e-mail from the Black Order website."
"Nobody ever uses those," Lavi said.
"Road does," Allen said, making adjustments to the display settings until they had a full-sized picture.
"…one of England's most talented young dancers," one of the announcers said.
"The entire Campbell family is full of talented dancers," said the other, a man Link recognized as a danseur from a famous London company, currently retired. "The Earl himself did his turn on the stage as a young man, and Timothy Campbell is considered one of the finest Flamenco dancers in the country."
Link bit his lips together, but that was what he was up against, and he wasn't even placing.
"Still, young Rhoda is truly remarkable, even by Campbell standards," the first announcer said, "and that the family has allowed her to perform for us tonight makes it an extraordinary event indeed. Oh, look! There goes the curtain." His voice dropped to a murmur. "Let's see what she has planned for us this evening."
Link listened as a synthesizer warble filled the room. Others who were studying looked up to see what was happening as the spotlight came up on the tiny figure onstage.
She was dressed in a man's tailcoat and trousers, scaled down to fit without necessarily flattering. Her make-up was simple, neither emphasizing her femininity nor attempting to hide it, and her hair had been tamed into a style that could flatter a man or a woman before being tucked under a top hat. All around her were shadows, but Link couldn't tell exactly what they were. She stood perfectly still, the camera slowly zooming in on her face, until the singer came in and she began to dance.
Link blew out a long breath, but it was unlike anything she'd done for the Holy War. She was dancing on a chessboard, complete with pieces set up as if a game was in progress. The squares under her feet lit up white or purple as she stepped on them, and even though she was physically smaller than everything but the pawns, there was an unmistakable air of authority in how she moved.
"What the hell is this?" Lavi asked softly, even as the words scrolled past under the stage: The Arbiter, by Benny Anderson, Björn Ulvaeus and Tim Rice, performed by Björn Skiffs.
Road ran her hands over a pawn, a gesture remarkably lacking in sensuality given her performance in China, then she abruptly shoved it over, letting it roll away as she turned her back on it. Interestingly, it didn't activate the lights in the chessboard. It must be something in her shoes, Link thought, not pressure.
"I am so glad she's hot for you, not me!" Lavi said, blowing out a long breath.
"She's not hot for me," Allen said, his eyes glued to the screen, but she was his only real rival in the competition, and this was an entirely new approach for her.
"She's scary," Lavi said.
Link silently agreed, but even in his dreams he couldn't dance like that. She moved with a precision that matched the song, a body that should have looked small and soft disciplined to a sternness he would have found difficult to match. Her elfin face was set in an expression so implacable that the close-ups made Link wince. One by one, chess pieces fell, kicked free if they failed to roll clear on their own. The board belonged to her, not the pieces or the players, and she would have no mercy for anyone who failed to follow her rules. There would be no explanations, and no excuses.
It was unnervingly like his own life, and Link shifted in his seat as she took down piece after piece, working her way from pawns to knights to bishops to rooks to queens. Finally, all that was left was the kings, and four minutes into the song, he knew she must be nearly finished. He expected her to knock them over and evict them, as she had the others, but instead she lifted the white king over her head and threw it at black.
It hit with a crash that made Link wonder what they were made of, and the entire board lit up in response. She stood still, both hands raised over her head, then she turned and bowed as the song's final chord faded.
The crowd broke into wild applause as Road bowed again, and Allen fiddled with his computer, probably shutting off a program that had recorded the show. "Wow!" he said over the announcers' conversation. "If she screwed up, I didn't see it. Lavi? Link?"
Both shook their heads. "Do you think she was trying to rattle you?" Lavi asked.
"I don't know what she was trying to do," Allen said.
"How long have you been talking to her?" Link asked, hoping it would be taken for simple curiosity.
"Since Barcelona," Allen answered guilelessly. "She e-mailed me afterward."
"That long ago?" Lavi asked. "Why didn't you tell someone?"
Link wanted to know the same thing.
"Why should I?" Allen said. "It's nothing to worry about. She's in England. It's not like she can poison me or anything." He threw an elbow into Lavi's ribs. "Or mess with my stuff, eh?"
"Dude, she likes you!" Lavi said, jostling him back.
This time, Allen didn't bristle. "That's not the vibe I get."
"What sort of vibe are you getting?" Lavi asked.
"She's curious," Allen said, "and I think she's bored. She expected an uncontested field, and she seems to think I can challenge her if I work hard enough."
If anyone could, he could, Link thought. Allen was good enough so that ordinarily, Link wouldn't have resented being the understudy as much as he did. The only reason it was a problem was because it made him that much more replaceable to the Rouvelliers.
"She wants you to challenge her?" Lavi asked, both eyebrows raised.
"She seems to," Allen said. "I'm not sure what kind of ulterior motive she can have here."
"Depends on their penalties for losing," Lavi said.
"If they have any," Link said.
"It's not like they lose much anyway," Lavi agreed.
They fell silent, listening to the commentary, which consisted mostly of two grown men gushing like fanboys over a teenaged girl. "An unusual choice for a girl her age," the retired danseur said. "I would have expected Ellie Goulding or Taylor Swift, something more contemporary and poppy, and instead we get a concept album for Cold War musical."
"Well, the Campbells are a musical family as well as a dancing one," the other said, "and they undoubtedly have an extensive collection for her to choose from. I understand her competition pieces are just as unusual."
"It certainly helps keep her performances unique," said the danseur. "Of course the novelty keeps the judges focused more closely on her, so she has to be flawless, but if tonight's exhibition is any indication, she is. I'm not sure when I've seen that level of virtuosity in a dancer so young. James?"
"I was just thinking about that," said the one apparently called James. "Back in the 90s, there was…"
Allen's phone chirped, and they watched as he pulled it out of his pocket, thumbed past his lock screen, and burst out laughing.
"What?" Lavi said, trying to look over his shoulder.
"Speak of the devil," Allen said. "It's Road."
Link did some craning of his own, as discreetly as possible.
"What did she say?" Lavi asked.
"She wants to know how she did," Allen said.
"Seriously?" Lavi asked. "After that? She's getting all insecure?"
"Or something," Allen said.
"What are you going to tell her?" Lavi asked.
"What else can I tell her?" Allen asked as he swiped his way through a few words. "She did great. There's no other answer."
"Dude, this here is a girlfriend vibe," Lavi said, grinning. "She wants your approval."
"I doubt that," Allen said. "She doesn't need it. She knows how she did."
"So why's she asking?" Lavi said.
Allen nodded to himself as his phone chirped. "To be sure I was watching. She doesn't care what I thought. She just cares that I was watching."
"Why, though?" Lavi asked.
"No idea," Allen said. "I don't know why she does anything. I don't know if she even knows."
"What do you mean?" Lavi asked.
"She's clever as hell, but she's really intense and…"
Lavi made a gesture near his head.
"I don't know," Allen said. "Maybe she has a reason, but she's not sharing it with me." His thumbs skittered over his screen.
"What are you telling her?" Lavi asked, craning over Allen's shoulder again.
"She wanted to know what I thought of the kings," he said. "See? I told you she's just making sure I watched. It's not personal."
"Sounds personal to me," Lavi said, leering.
"Oh, shut up!" Allen said. "She's too young."
"Aren't there Romeo and Juliet laws for that?" Lavi asked.
"You're disgusting, mate," Allen said.
Link was inclined to agree with Lavi, but he couldn't see any other reason why a girl that age would be so aggressive about talking to a boy.
Unless Allen had something else she wanted, but she was a Campbell. If she wanted something, all she had to do was ask Daddy.
"Can you beat her in Paris?" Lavi asked, sobering, but that was the important question.
Allen shook his head. "No idea. I'd like to think I can, but…"
He would have to be perfect, Link thought, and so far, that hadn't happened.
Link waited until he was alone in his room to compose his e-mail to Rouvellier.
Allen's in touch with Rhoda Campbell, via e-mail and Google Hangouts at least, and has been since Barcelona. She initiated contact.
The reply came back five minutes later: There was no evidence of it in his previous phone.
I just watched him chat with her, Link typed.
I'll need proof. Have you found that partition on his computer?
No.
Do it ASAP.
Shit! Link stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He would have to get in touch with Kiredori. Hopefully, Madareo wouldn't throw a fit.
Truth was, Link was getting curious himself. Of all of the Order members, Allen seemed to have the least to hide, and yet at the same time, he was the largest cipher. Nobody knew anything about him. Link had spent considerable time searching the web for anything, anything at all, but it was as if the guy didn't exist until they fished him out of the ocean.
To reiterate the obvious, and keep my notes consistent, Road dances to The Arbiter, by Benny Anderson, Björn Ulvaeus and Tim Rice, performed by Björn Skiffs