Zachary Rawlins - The Anathema

He didn’t say anything. He seemed to be staring at the ground, so she gave him space. She almost missed it, when he patted the couch cushion beside him, her accustomed spot during their sessions. Her movements were slow and placid, designed not to startle him, but she needn’t have bothered. She sat down and he put his head on her shoulder and then started sobbing, and she threw her arms around him and held him close, until long after he had stopped, until she had gently made all right within his little world.

Rebecca always tried to stretch it out, the first time they cried with her. It was amazing, cathartic experience. Actually, she thought with a trace of bitterness, it was the closest thing to an orgasm she had experienced in months.

“We need to talk, Anastasia Martynova,” Gaul said firmly, approaching where she was currently holding court: on a picnic blanket, underneath a tree, near the creek and in view of the partially burnt roof of her home, already back in use despite the ongoing repairs. The dress she wore was dark blue to match the ribbon in her hair. “Right now.”

A number of people eyed him from the expansive, red-and-white pattered blanket. He had mixed feelings about all of them. Svetlana was mild and servile to the extent that she attracted his derision, which perhaps was unmerited, as she sat quiet and meek beneath a parasol. Renton Vidor was one of his least favorite students at the Academy, and not only because he was the only student to fail the final class so many times. Renton was much older than the savage looking youth he appeared to be, and his smile was oily and unpleasant. Timor Zharov’s eyes held a flat acknowledgement — one precognitive recognized another. In addition, he was a trained killer. For the Black Sun, and particularly, for Anastasia, from childhood. Another potential problem.

His sister, Katya Zharova, was something of an enigma to him. She’d done sessions with Rebecca, as all students were required to, and Rebecca reported her to be of above-average intelligence, with no learning disabilities or social defects. Yet she had failed enough to be held back twice already, ending up in her younger brother’s class. Moreover, his spies inside the Black Sun reported that she had similar issues in their private assassin camp, showing exceptional aptitude but no motivation. She had transferred back to the Academy from the Black Sun’s camp two years before, to avoid expulsion for a baffling series of incidents that had occurred there, culminating in an equally baffling assault and hostage taking. Since Katya’s return to the Academy, however, she had been agreeable and accommodating to the point of inviting suspicion, as long as he overlooked her habitual violations of the substance abuse policy. As with Renton and Timor, he suspected her actions to have been orchestrated by Anastasia Martynova, for her own inscrutable reasons.

“You heard him,” the object of his suspicions said cheerfully, dismissing her hangers-on with a wave. “Really, Director, it isn’t like you to make our affairs so public.”

Renton snickered and left, with Timor and a grinning and tipsy Katya trailing behind him. Svetlana gathered a few things hastily and then trotted after them. All the while Anastasia smiled benevolently at him, as beatific as a pope granting an audience, flanked by two black wolves, one of which whined as she scratched its exposed belly. He gritted his teeth and stood when she offered him the blanket to sit on with a gesture.

Her dress reminded him of the Tenniel illustrations from Alice in Wonderland, except her knee socks were black. The composure on her face was constantly at odds with its own immaturity. It was appalling. No child should have such self-assurance, such cold and calculating ambition.

“We are alone,” she observed. “My people will not observe or intrude. Please understand,” she said, taking up a china teacup in between her thin white fingers, “my time is at a premium at the moment. My cartel needs me. So, with that in mind, what can I do for you, Director?”

Gaul shelved his anger. When he spoke, he could hear the appropriate iciness in his words, and felt satisfied.

“There are a number of people facing a reckoning due to recent events. You are among them. I came here to give you the opportunity to try and make an accounting for yourself, and for your actions.”

“Surely you don’t mean to imply that I had some role in this attack?” she asked mildly, looking surprised. “Why, Director, my people suffered more than any others.”

“It seems that way, on the face of it,” Gaul said grimly. “But when I look closely at the data, the soldiers that the Black Sun lost were primarily affiliated with the old guard, with your father. The Black Sun members who died included many of those most inclined and capable to resist your future ascension.”

“I am not the heir,” Anastasia objected mildly. “I have an elder brother, Director. And I have no forces loyal to me. Just a few unwanted children that I look after, that’s all. If none died in the attack, then isn’t that for the best, since so many of them are your charges, Director? I would think that you would be pleased.”

“Do I look pleased? I am not. Moreover, do not pretend that your brother plans anything besides abdicating in your favor. You placed Katya Zharova with Alexander Warner, an assassin. That is most certainly not what I had in mind when I asked for an insurance policy with some combat training on the side. If killing the boy were a viable solution to the problem, I assure you, I would have done so the moment I met him.”

“Then be more specific when you want favors,” Anastasia said, shrugging. “And don’t diminish Katya, please, just because she can be erratic. Alex is in good hands — and if you don’t believe me, why, please, do go and tell everyone, if you find our covert dealings to be less than satisfactory. I am not afraid to make my part in this public, Director. Do you feel the same?”

“I have three questions. How you answer them decides your future, Miss Martynova,” Gaul said, cognizant that these words put him very deep indeed, if he didn’t like her answers. “I require honesty.”

“Ask away,” Anastasia said, eyes sparkling, leaning forward with interest.

He started with the worst and least likely possibility.

“Did you know Emily and Therese Muir had contacted the Anathema?”

“No,” Anastasia said, looking a bit humbled. “That was my failing in the matter. I thought I had them boxed in, so that they would be forced to turn to me for assistance. Obviously, it didn’t work out like that.”

The Inquisition Protocol he had downloaded proved as useless on Martynova as he had feared, but he was certain that she wasn’t lying to him all the same. He breathed an internal sigh of relief, and went on to his second question.

“Did you have anything to do with the death of Therese Muir?”

“I thought it was a tragic event,” Anastasia said honestly. “And, sadly, a necessity, to protect her family from further harm.”

Gaul knew that his question had been answered in the most careful manner possible, and exactly the way he’d expected. There was nothing more to be done about it at present, though, so he let the issue go, shelving it for another time, and moving on to the personal.

“Someone arranged for Eerie to be… removed. As an obstacle to attaining Alexander Warner, I assume. Did you have anything at all to do with that?”

Anastasia must have been able to read the tension in his voice, because her smile faltered for a moment, and he knew that she was surprised at the depth of his anger. He was satisfied with that. She had no idea, after all, exactly how angry he would be if she had, in fact, had anything to do with an attempt to hurt Eerie.