Gazo, Clive, Abraham, Jemima, and Niobe. Cadel surveyed them all, committing their faces to memory, before turning his attention to the remaining students clustered around the door of lecture-room one. There were only two: a man and a woman. The woman was fat and middle-aged. She wore a black T-shirt over drab tracksuit pants. Her face was puffy and sullen beneath stray locks of fine, lank hair. This, Cadel decided, must be Doris Deauville, the only other woman in Cadel's year.
"A poisoner," Thaddeus had recounted. "Another fee-paying student. She's had a bit of success poisoning individuals in the past, and now she's interested in doing it on a wider scale. That's why she wants to study contagion, with Carla."
Cadel had frowned.
"Will I—will I have to talk to her much?" he'd queried, whereupon Thaddeus had shaken his head.
"I doubt it. She's a fairly solitary sort of person. Just make sure you don't eat anything she's baked." And he had laughed.
Looking at Doris, Cadel didn't feel like laughing. On the contrary, his heart sank. Gazo and the twins interested him. Abraham was someone he almost felt sorry for. Clive was obviously of no account. But Doris? There was something creepy about Doris. Perhaps it was the faintly damp smell that hung about her. Perhaps it was the dullness of her small, gray eyes, which were as expressionless as river pebbles.
Whatever it was, she repelled him.
The last of the year's intake—the person standing beside Doris—was a Japanese man who spoke hardly any English. Another fee-paying student, he was enrolled in the School of Destruction and would be boarding at the institute. Mis name was Kunio Sumita. He wore some kind of military uniform.
"
All right, people!
" Thaddeus's sharp tones sliced through the air like a knife, just as Clive was about to say something else about the need for a new name. "
Let's have a hit of quiet!
Thank you."
Thaddeus had emerged from his office, which was just down the hall. He was dressed in his usual baggy trousers and tweedy jacket, with spectacles perched on the end of his nose, but his lofty stature and piercing gaze managed to impress everyone. Even the twins shut up.
"Good morning," he said. "Most of you know me. For those who don't, I'm Professor Thaddeus Roth, and I pretty much fill the role of chancellor around here. Which is to say, I'm in charge." Students fell back as he headed for the door of lecture-room one. Upon reaching it, he removed a bunch of keys from his pocket and proceeded to use them, one by one, until every lock on the door had been released. Then he pushed open the door and stepped aside.
"In you go," he commanded, smiling to expose his long canine teeth. "Time to make a difference."
"As you already know," Thaddeus announced when everyone was seated inside the lecture room, "this institute was founded by Dr. Phineas Darkkon, five years ago, because he had a vision. He wanted to train an army of people with special skills and powers who could transform the world. Now, we all know that the world doesn't work. In fact, some of you are only too aware of this fact." Thaddeus glanced at Gazo for a moment, then at Cadel. "The power structures we see around us are entrenched," he continued, "and they are full of narrow-minded people with unremarkable genes. As a result, the human race is heading down a path that will almost certainly lead to its extinction, unless something is done pretty quickly. It is Dr. Darkkon's belief that if we harness and nurture mankind's more hidden talents, then we might save ourselves. In the process, we might also find ourselves with a two-tier society of genetically superior overlords and a genetically inferior underclass. If so, then it's the price we'll have to pay for survival. Let me just give you some statistics, in case you're in any doubt about the state of the world right now."
There was a pause as Thaddeus adjusted his glasses. Cadel, who had heard all this several times before, was more interested in the reaction of those around him. Gazo's face was hard to see through his mask, but his posture was attentive. Doris's expression was blank. Clive was frowning, and Abraham was doodling. Jem and Ni—the only students who were actually sitting together—fidgeted uncontrollably. They were using a pair of very silly pens, with multicolored spirals and tufts of feathers and bits that lit up when pressure was applied to the nibs.
All at once the door opened, and everyone—including Thaddeus—looked over to see who was coming in.
"Ah," said Thaddeus. He nodded at the newcomer, a short, sleek, plump man in a pin-striped suit, who wore a gold ring on the little finger of his left hand. "Max. Good. Come in."
"Thaddeus," Max replied. "Mind if I bring my boys?"
"Not at all."
Max swiveled and jerked his head. In response, two more men entered the room. They were very large. Though they were also dressed in suits, they would have looked more comfortable in leather jackets and studded belts. Both had huge hands, menacing glowers, and scars all over their shaven heads.
They positioned themselves behind the lectern, one on either side. Cadel decided that they must be bodyguards.
"Some of you," Thaddeus informed the class, "might have difficulty with these new concepts I've mentioned. Your minds will have been programmed in certain ways, and you may find it hard to reconfigure them. To help you, let me introduce a man we like to call the Maestro, who has made it his specialty to examine that loaded word
evil.
But before he does, I want to point out one thing. It's quite simple. You've heard it before:
No pain, no gain.
" Thaddeus's gaze swept the room. "No pain, no gain," he repeated. "It's something we've learned throughout history. It's something we know in our gut. Read the Bible—Book of Revelations. Before the coming of Christ, we're supposed to be getting war, famine, disease, and death. Read Karl Marx. Before the new world order will come the revolution. There can be no gain without pain. So if you're having any niggling doubts, just remember that. You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs. Okay." He stepped down from the lectern, suddenly. "Over to you, Maestro."
Max inclined his head. He had large, dark, melancholy eyes and slicked-back hair. As Thaddeus seated himself on one of the wooden benches, Max began to address the class in a rather high voice that was stamped with a New Jersey accent.
"Tank you, Dr. Roth," he said, and put on a pair of reading glasses before removing a small stack of cards from his breast pocket. These he placed on the lectern in front of him, referring to them occasionally during his speech. "I won't beat around de bush, ladies and gents. Next time I see you, we'll have more time to concentrate on aspects of morality, but right now I wanna talk about an old saying, namely: Hell is udder people."
He paused for an instant. Niobe tittered. The two bodyguards shifted from foot to foot.
"If hell is udder people," the Maestro went on, "den so is evil. I'm convinced of dis fact. If you look up
evil
in any dictionary, you'll find it means everyting you'd expect it to mean: harmful, wrong, malicious—you name it. And of course it's a woid used by just about everyone when describing udder people. You never hear nobody call
himself
evil. Oh, no. Misguided, maybe. Mistaken. Lazy. Stoopid. Even cruel. But not evil. So what if you toss a cigarette butt out of a car window during a fire ban? It might make you careless, but it don't make you
evil.
So what if you kill a nest fulla ants? Does it make you evil? Society don't tink so. It don't call you evil if you kill a million fish wid an oil leak from a tanker. Greedy, but not evil. If you went and shot fifty-horses in a stable,
den
maybe you'd be evil. Because society loves horses, and it couldn't care less about ants or krill."
The Maestro cleared his throat.
"
Evil
is just a woid," he declared, "used by society to condemn de actions of people it don't like. Evil is the opposite of what
society
calls good. Some people might call bullfights evil, but de Spanish don't. Some people call war evil, but you don't see it going outta fashion. De concept of evil is as flexible as a hunka clay. You can fashion it into practically any shape you want. So while some people might call dis institution evil, if dey ever found out about it"—he flashed a closed-mouth smile at Thaddeus, a smile that didn't reach his eyes—"let's not forget what de real problem is. People like dat are using de woid because dey're scared. Because Dr. Darkkon's ideas will rob 'em of any power. What dose people call evil is a respected philosophy of life known as survival of the fittest."
At this point, the door opened again. Alerted by a cool gust of air, as well as by the movement of heads and the creaking of seats, Max peered over his shoulder. In the doorway stood a middle-aged man with long, gray hair tied back in a ponytail. He had a seamed face, a casual slouch, and an earring in one ear. He wore very old clothes. t
One of the bodyguards, Cadel noticed, had stuck his hand into his jacket. But he withdrew it when the Maestro frowned at him.
"Come in, Luther," said Thaddeus.
Luther closed the door. He slipped into a seat near Thaddeus, while the Maestro waited, watching him with mournful eyes that contained not one spark of animation or enthusiasm. Not until Luther was properly settled did the Maestro proceed.
"I want you to tink about dis woid, dis concept,
evil,
" he said. "I want you to reflect on de idea of right and wrong. How much is
really
wrong? Is it
wrong
to lie, or cheat, or steal? Society says it is. But what if a lie does no harm? What if a cheater is a successful and benevolent businessman? What if a diamond-studded collar on some guy's dog is stolen by a starving street kid? My friends, it will be my job, over de next few months, to try and answer dese questions—or at least to get you to ask 'em."
Cadel, who had certainly never asked them, wondered why not. It was probably because of Thaddeus. Thaddeus had never left him any room for doubt. Thaddeus was the one who always asked—and answered—such questions for him. Thaddeus had always known what was right for Cadel.
As the Maestro wound up his speech, Cadel's attention wandered. He became interested in one of the bodyguards. Was he wearing false teeth?
"You need to free up your minds," Max finished. "You need to remember your goals. And if you do, the woild will be a better place. At least in de long run." He dipped his chin, and looked out at his audience over the top of his glasses. "We'll be reexamining dat loaded term
better,
too," he added, and Thaddeus chuckled.
"Thank you, Maestro," he said, rising. The two bodyguards stepped forward to join Max, who surrendered the lectern to Luther with an abrupt nod. Thaddeus lifted a hand as the Maestro made his way out, one bodyguard behind him, one in front. They seemed to cast a pall over the whole room. Only when they had vanished, and the door had banged shut, did the atmosphere lighten.
People began to move again, stretching and whispering. One of the twins giggled. Thaddeus faced the class.
"I hope that was clear enough," he said. "Anyone still in trouble can sort things out with the Maestro during the series of lectures he plans to give you. And now, to finish off, let me introduce Luther Lasco, professor of the School of Destruction. He's going to give you his first talk on the consequences that you might expect if you're stupid enough to blab about Axis. Professor?"
Luther acknowledged Thaddeus's words with a twitch of his lips. His face and body were oddly mismatched. While he had a shambling gait, and limbs that appeared almost jointless, and clothes that sagged and flopped, his face was as stiff and hard as flint. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. His accent was difficult to place. Was it a New Zealand accent? Cadel wondered. Canadian? Irish?
Luther didn't bother to mount the lectern. He simply stood up and swung around to confront the class, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
"This institution has been in existence for five years," he rasped. "It survives because its true purpose remains a secret. You were all given precise instructions about what you should say to anyone not involved with Axis. Should you fail to carry out those instructions, the penalties will be harsh.
Very
harsh. And if you think they don't apply to you, think again. They apply to
everybody.
"
He spoke almost carelessly, as if reciting something that was a bit of a bore, and the effect was chilling. All movement in the room ceased.
"We've had people over the years who have thought they could get away with breaking the rules," Luther pointed out. "Over the next few weeks, I'm going to tell you about them, and about what happened to them. Case studies. My first case study involves a guy called Titus."
Cadel didn't really want to hear about Titus. While Luther described how Titus had been caught boasting about the institute to one of his former gang buddies—and had become a "missing person," as a consequence—Cadel watched the other people in the room. The twins were looking sulky. Abraham Coggins had sunk low into his seat, as if trying to make himself small. Kunio was nodding. The Bludgeon was chewing gum, very slowly, like a cow.
Thaddeus appeared to be examining his fingernails.
"...because to make a problem go away, you have to be well organized," Luther continued. "Planning is the essence of all success. Without planning, you create more problems than you solve. Any questions?"
Cadel blinked. He could feel the surprise of those around him.
"Well?" said Luther, impatiently. "Are there any questions?"
Silence. People tried not to catch his eye.
"All right, then. Since you haven't got any questions for me, I've got one for you," Luther growled, folding his arms. "What happened to Titus? Can anyone tell me?
Anyone?
"
There was a pause. It was at least ten seconds before the Bludgeon raised his hand and replied.
"Uh—you made him disappear?"
"Wrong," snapped Luther, and the Bludgeon turned red.
"But you just told us!" he spluttered.