Allen had acquired a bodyguard.
It wasn't any one bodyguard, it was more that the monks suddenly had a million errands in the vicinity of the studio that just had to be run when Allen had rehearsal, and that mysteriously ended right about the time dinner at Jerry's wound down. Every time he left school grounds, he had an escort.
They were that worried about his safety. It was unnerving, the most decisive indicator, to Allen's mind, that Cross might really be dead.
Not just dead. Murdered.
The problem was that there were a million people who might want to murder Cross. Why assume they'd come after Allen next? He had no idea, and although Hevlaska might have answers and Father Tiedoll assured him that she would talk to him when he was ready, he wasn't ready. Paris was imminent, and taking up every bit of concentration he had. After that, he'd ask.
That was what he told himself, anyway, but the truth was, until he saw a body, he didn't think he could bring himself to believe that his teacher was really dead.
It didn't help that someone had tripped the watchdog program on his computer. Allen had written the app to send an alert via e-mail when someone tried to get root access. He knew to open it and turn it off when he needed that access, but someone else would be lucky to even find it, never mind know the keystroke sequence that would pacify it. By the time he got back to his room, everything looked perfectly normal, but the person he knew who was best at disappearing was his teacher.
It wouldn't be the first time Cross had tampered with Allen's laptop. He suspected Allen, quite rightly, of lying about how much money they had, but while he could try to break into Allen's records, he didn't dare confiscate the machine to sell it. Allen's computer was their livelihood, and Cross knew it. However, Allen's poker accounts, with their generous bankrolls, had always been Cross's favorite kind of forbidden fruit, and Allen had learned to keep one step ahead of his teacher.
On the other hand, someone else might have done it. Rouvellier would love to have something on Allen, and that something was on the computer. Allen put a few additional safeguards in place, including a locked cable that attached it to his desk and the software equivalent of a land mine that would blow his bot and baby neural network to unrecognizable smithereens, but he still wasn't happy about it. Just because he could clone the machine from off-site backup didn't mean he wanted to. It would be a nightmarishly expensive, time-consuming job.
He didn't let himself think about the fact that he was counting the days until Road got in touch until she did. It took about as long as it took the dance sites to figure out that the Marian Cross reported missing and presumed dead in local news sites was the Marian Cross.
I'm so sorry! she sent, along with a hug.
Thanks.
Are you okay.
Was he okay? Was he ever going to be okay? Yes.
Liar!
He smiled. What am I supposed to say?
How you are, of course. That's what I asked.
So she really meant it when she asked that. In shock, I think. I can't believe he's dead. They haven't found a body yet, and I don't think I'll really believe it until they do.
I'm so sorry, Allen. I know he was difficult, but he was also your teacher and your guardian, and we still love people who are difficult.
Did he love Cross? He was so angry at the man that he could hardly see straight, but would he be so angry if he didn't feel anything? Thanks, he said.
I can understand that you might not want to talk, she said, so I'm going to leave Hangouts on, just so you're not by yourself. If you want to talk, you can.
The sympathy brought tears to his eyes. Thank you.
Next time something really bad happens, you can tell me. I won't mind.
I didn't want to bother you. He'd learned over the years to make himself as unobtrusive as possible
You won't be bothering me. I might not respond right away, but I will as soon as I can.
Could he really rely on that? It didn't seem likely. Thanks. What are you doing? It was nearly 8:30 pm her time. Did she have homework? Or a show she liked to watch? Maybe a game she played?
Working on your unbirthday present.
You don't have to.
Too late. I'm almost done.
You shouldn't have.
Why not? It's fun. I like making things.
What kinds of things do you make? Creativity, Allen knew from experience, spread outward from dance into other parts of life. He coded, a more creative occupation than most people gave it credit for, Lavi was a decent guitarist and Lenalee always looked like she was heading for a fashion shoot, even in her dance clothes or school uniform.
That would be telling, Road said.
Allen laughed and wiped at his face, but before he could formulate a reply, he got an e-mail alert. Hang on, he typed.
Sure.
When Allen opened his e-mail, the hair on his arms rose. The sender was Marian Cross.
Did that mean he was alive? Allen opened the message.
So kid,
At the risk of sounding like a cliche, if you get this, I'm probably dead. It's set to send today if I don't interfere, and if you have it, it means I haven't been in a position to interfere.
I'm sure you've figured out by now that I sent you here for a reason. Here's your answer. I sent you to dance this piece during the Holy War. I don't know exactly what will happen if you do, but I guarantee that something will.
I know that you have felt very much at the mercy of other people, whether it was child services, me, or the Order. I want to let you know that that isn't true. We may have shown you the world you had to walk through, but we didn't create your path. A path is something you create as you walk it. The ground you've trodden on hardens, and that's what forms your path. Only you can create your path.
Which way you go from here is entirely up to you. All you have to do is keep walking.
-Marian Cross
Allen stared at the screen, torn between grief and rage. So Cross really was dead, and he knew it was coming. Why hadn't he gotten out of the way? Or fought back? Or done something to avoid it?
Then there was the attachment. It was a FLAC file, the type most commonly used by the Order, and the only title Allen could see was 14th Lullaby. There was no composer, no artist, nothing. Allen had never heard of it, so how was he supposed to perform it? Especially given how little time he had to prepare. The deadline for any changes to the program was tomorrow. Cross had given him less than twenty-four hours to decide.
He clicked on the song, waited for the audio player to come up, then gasped, tears flooding his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. He did know this song. Mana sang it to him on Christmas day, the first song Allen had really tried to dance to, the song he had in his head when he auditioned for Hevlaska, the song Mana used to sing to him when he had nightmares, the song he sang to himself when he woke gasping and drenched in sweat.
This wasn't a tinny, out of tune rendition played on aging upright or electric pianos. This was a studio version with full instrumentation, professionally arranged and recorded. The singer voice was left untouched by Autotune, breathy in places and straining a little on high notes, but still sweet, true and blessedly human. The lyrics were in Japanese, but they'd been translated into English for Allen when he was a child, and he'd learned them by heart, in both languages.
Allen put his hand over his mouth to smother a sob. This was, as far as he knew, Mana's song. How had Cross gotten hold of it? Where had this recording come from?
How did they know each other? Because they must have. Cross adopted Allen, then left him with Mana, and they both knew this song.
Why hadn't Cross told him anything?
It was too late now to ask.
Would Hevlaska know?
Did he want to ask her? Or would it only make things worse? Because all he really wanted was to be Mana Walker's son, and the more he knew about himself, the less that seemed to be true.
The song ended and he played it again, setting it to loop. It was even in the right key. Was this Mana on the piano? It didn't quite sound like him, but what did Mana sound like before the accident?
Who was he? Why had no one come for him?
No one but Cross, anyway, but why did Cross leave Allen with him and then disappear? Had Mana minded raising Allen? Or had he done it out of obligation?
The Hangouts alert cut through the music. Allen? Are you okay?
He knew he should reassure her, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to pretend to be stronger than he was. No.
Did something happen?
Kind of. Yes.
What?
I can't talk about it. He could barely stand to think about it.
I'm still here.
That was what he really wanted, to not feel so horribly alone. Thank you.