No one laughed at this. It wasn't meant to be a joke. Doris seemed bewildered but didn't ask for more details. So Alias moved on.
"Well, well," he said with a smile. "Mr. Darkkon. Or should I say
Miss
Darkkon? That's a very elegant little disguise. Simple. Simplicity is important. You can't always be carrying around a briefcase full of false eyelashes and prosthetic ears." He waved his own briefcase to illustrate the point. "But since I
am
carrying around just such a briefcase, we might begin our lesson now—and we'll have to do that in the bathrooms. Staff facilities, of course. We'll try the men's, I think, under the circumstances." He winked at Cadel and offered his arm to Doris. "Need help in those heels, Ms. Deauville? I know I would."
For an employee of the Axis Institute, Alias was surprisingly polite. Even Doris was disarmed by his placid, friendly style. Like the other three students, she followed him obediently to the closest staff bathrooms, which were quite luxurious. The mirrors above the two vanity sinks were ringed with blazing lightbulbs, and there was a lot of polished granite scattered about.
One of the mirrors had been cracked, however (it looked like a bullet hole), so Alias set up in front of the other one. For the next hour, he demonstrated various tricks of the makeup artist's trade, transforming Abraham into an old man and Doris into a young one. He also distributed a shopping list of basic "must-have" cosmetics, lectured the class on what distinguishes a bad wig from a good one, and gave them each a set of fake fingernails. These were split, yellowish, and diseased-looking.
"You don't have to pay for them," he advised, in his strangely unmemorable voice. "I just want to see you make good use of them. Except you, Gazo, obviously."
Gazo, who had been looking worried, immediately brightened. When the class was dismissed, he took the opportunity to thank Alias. Cadel didn't bother to wait for him, but headed straight to the library, head down. He was embarrassed about his disguise. For this reason, he had donned it in one of the more obscure bathrooms, by the elevator on the upper floor of the stacks. As far as he knew, no one ever used this bathroom. Cadel had discovered it on his second trip to the stacks, when he had been looking for a special text on white-collar crime. He had managed to find the text, but on his way back to the elevator had heard a strange sound. His immediate reaction had been to dart through the nearest door, which had opened into a dingy men's bathroom.
Nothing had pursued him. After waiting a few minutes, he had risked returning to the elevator. Thereafter, Cadel had sometimes used this same bathroom as a hiding place when he couldn't cope with Gazo anymore, or as a spot where he could squeeze the odd pimple in private. It was the perfect place to peel off his twin sister, without any offensive questions being asked. He always felt pretty safe there because no one else ever seemed to be in it.
Until now.
He was stationed in front of a mirror, opening his backpack, when he heard the noise. A scuffling sound. Looking up, he scanned the reflection of the stall doors behind him, noting that they were all closed. There was a sizeable gap between the bottom of each door and the concrete floor beneath it, but the room was so poorly lit that Cadel couldn't spot any ankles or feet framed in these gaps.
"Hello?" he faltered.
No reply. Cadel, however, decided not to wait around. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and was on his way out when a stall door banged open behind him. Something large rushed across the room. Cadel screamed and grabbed at the door handle but was jerked back. Lifted. He kicked and clawed and was pushed to the ground. A heavy weight fell on him.
"Make one more sound," a voice rasped, "and I'll throttle you."
"Help!" Cadel cried. He hadn't meant to call out; it hadn't been a conscious decision. The punch that landed on his jaw took him completely by surprise.
It seemed to rattle every tooth in his head. He actually saw stars. When he recovered his vision, he was on his back, staring into the blotched, sweaty face of Dr. Deal.
"What you have to understand, my dear," Dr. Deal panted, "is that you can't just walk into the men's lavatories and expect to get away with it—"
"I'm not!" Cadel struggled to rise, and was slapped down again. "
Stop it!"he
screeched.
And Dr. Deal stopped. Abruptly, he reared back, his weight tumbling off Cadel, his expression changing. He went white.
"
Cadel?" he
gasped.
Cadel and Dr. Deal stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Cadel put a hand to his throbbing cheek.
"Oh my god," said Dr. Deal. "Oh my god—are you all right? Are you hurt?"
"What were you
doing?
" Cadel was on the verge of tears but tried to blink them away. His voice shook. "Are you
crazy?
"
"No. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you." Dr. Deal stretched out a hand, which Cadel knocked aside. "You looked like a girl!" the lawyer burst out. "How was I supposed to know...? It was a mistake!"
Cadel scrambled to his feet. His knees were shaky; his lip was stinging. When he touched it, blood leaked onto his finger.
Dr. Deal began to pick up Cadel's scattered belongings, which he thrust into Cadel's backpack. "Ice," he said breathlessly. "I'll get you some ice."
"Go away," Cadel yelped. "Leave me alone."
"You don't want to swell up, Cadel. Christ!" Dr. Deal sounded scared. "It was an accident. You don't need to tell anyone. Here." Straightening, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. "Here. How much do you want? I've got—let's see—I've got six hundred and thirty-five dollars. Take it. It's yours."
Cadel narrowed his eyes at the wad of notes being thrust at him. Though still in shock, he was rapidly working out what must have happened. Dr. Deal had mistaken him for a girl. And so Dr. Deal had jumped on him.
No doubt the lawyer had jumped on a lot of girls. Cadel's father had mentioned Dr. Deal and female students in the same breath. Whether the lawyer simply liked to punch out girls, or whether he had other plans in mind for them, Cadel didn't know. He didn't
want
to know. He was disgusted—and furious. He was sure that one of his teeth was loose.
"Take it, Cadel, for god's sake!" Dr. Deal implored. "I tell you what—I'll give you a high distinction. You don't have to do another stroke of work for the rest of the year. I'll cover for you. I will. Just don't tell anyone."
Cadel regarded him somberly.
"Cadel, I'm
sorry!
" The lawyer was in tears now; Cadel wondered what it was that he had been threatened with, if he should ever lay a finger on Dr. Darkkon's son. Something pretty frightening, obviously.
Cadel turned to look at himself in the mirror. Blood was trickling down his chin. His cheek was red, turning purple.
"Here," said Dr. Deal, and ripped a paper towel from its dispenser. Cadel took it, wet it, and laid it on his lip.
Behind his own reflection he could see that of Dr. Deal, red and ruffled and bobbing about like a seagull on a choppy tide.
"Look," the lawyer continued, running his hands over his bald patch, "I'll draw up a contract. Free legal services for the rest of your life. Ironclad. We'll keep a copy in—"
"I'll think about it," Cadel interrupted. Whereupon the lawyer stopped moving.
"What?"
"I'll think about it." Cadel turned to face him. "I'll think about what I want."
Dr. Deal swallowed.
"And you won't tell?" he quavered.
"No."
It had occurred to Cadel that if his father was blackmailing Dr. Deal, there was no reason why he himself shouldn't do the same thing. The trouble was, he couldn't decide what to ask for. His head was still spinning.
Dr. Deal hesitated. He looked slightly calmer.
"You should put some ice on that," he said.
"I'm going home."
"Fine. Good idea." Dr. Deal dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. "I'll mark you present at class this afternoon, if you want me to. Do you need a lift?"
"I'll get a cab."
Cadel's skin crawled at the thought of entering Dr. Deal's car. Only a fool would do anything so stupid. For all Cadel knew, the lawyer intended to strangle him and dump his body rather than risk having Dr. Darkkon discover what had just happened.
"Don't do anything stupid," Cadel added, as he inched toward the door. "My dad has me under constant surveillance."
As far as Cadel knew, this was an empty threat, designed to throw Dr. Deal off balance. Only later, when he had escaped to another men's room and stripped off his disguise, did he begin to wonder: Could it be true? Could Dr. Darkkon actually be keeping an eye on him, using all the advanced technology at his disposal?
There was every chance, Cadel admitted to himself, that his computer phone had a location-tracking device embedded within it. Why not, after all? Dr. Darkkon had spent a great deal of time and money pursuing his son all the way to Australia. There was no reason why he should risk losing Cadel again, even for an hour. Not when the Axis Institute was probably crawling with fledgling kidnappers.
Cadel found the idea of being tracked a bit depressing. Sitting in a cab, nursing his sore cheek, he wondered if his father already knew about Dr. Deal's attack. What if that dingy men's room had been under video surveillance? Cadel hadn't noticed any cameras, but that didn't mean much. The level of technology available to Dr. Darkkon was such that he could have hidden a camera anywhere he wanted: in a hand dryer, a light fixture, a knothole.
Just in case he hadn't, however, Cadel ran through a list of possible excuses for skipping class. An upset stomach from the refectory food? An electric shock from a hot-wired doorknob? He definitely didn't want anyone to find out about the attack. For one thing, keeping a secret like that would allow him to blackmail Dr. Deal. For another, well, Cadel couldn't help feeling squeamish about what might happen should his father discover the truth. It was stupid—weak, even—but Cadel just didn't like the idea of assassination. Not even the assassination of Dr. Deal.
In the end, of course, Cadel didn't need an excuse for skipping class. If he hadn't been feeling so shaken—so muddleheaded and disinclined to think—he would have realized that the state of his face was all the excuse he needed. Despite all the ice that he applied to his bruises that afternoon, he walked into his five thirty appointment with Thaddeus looking badly knocked about.
Thaddeus rose. "What happened?" he said, his voice sharp. "Who did it?"
Cadel blinked.
"Oh, this?" he replied. "It was my fault."
"Who hit you?"
"No one."
"Don't be a fool!" snapped Thaddeus, and Cadel swallowed. Thaddeus was frightening when he wanted to be; his cold, chiseled face was enough to make anyone quail. Nonetheless, Cadel stood his ground.
"I was trying to break up a fight," he muttered.
"You
what?
"
"It was an accident. They weren't trying to hit me."
"Who wasn't?"
"It doesn't matter."
"It most certainly does."
"No. Really. I'm all right."
"Was it that Gazo creature? Your pet moron?"
"
No!
" Cadel was alarmed. While Gazo could be irritating, Cadel didn't want him smashed up in a faked car crash. Certainly not because Cadel had received a black eye. "It wasn't anyone in first year."
"Who, then?" Thaddeus demanded. "Why this misplaced sense of loyalty?"
"It's not that."
"No?" Thaddeus examined Cadel's head. He passed his fingers in front of Cadel's eyes, up and down, from side to side: "Can you see this? What about this? How many fingers? Three? And you didn't pass out at all? Good." Thaddeus looked very tall to Cadel—who, when he was finally released, sank onto the maroon couch. More and more, Cadel felt the need to hold back. Maybe this feeling had something to do with his earlier thoughts on surveillance. Maybe he just wanted to see what would happen.
He had never before concealed anything of importance from Thaddeus.
"It's a practical consideration," he said at last. Then he glanced up at the psychologist, who raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"
"Gratitude," Cadel went on slowly, "can be a great motivator." He took a deep breath. "
Choose your tools "he,
chanted. "Isn't that what Dad always says? I want to see how this pans out. I want to see if someone will work for me."
Thaddeus seemed to reflect for a moment, before dropping into the couch opposite Cadel. He sat with his hands pressed together.
"Gratitude," he drawled, "is a form of blackmail."
Cadel shrugged.
"Blackmail can backfire," Thaddeus went on. "Not if you're careful."
"Careful people take out insurance policies," Thaddeus remarked, with a glint in his eye. "Drop a name in my ear, Cadel, and I can assure you that nothing will happen to its bearer
unless
something further happens to you. No one will ever know."
Cadel shook his head—whereupon Thaddeus smiled a chilling smile.
"Don't you trust me, Cadel? Don't you trust me to keep my temper?"
"It's not that." Cadel hesitated. He remembered what Thaddeus had always told him:
Never trust anyone.
"It's more ... it's my dad. He might not be able to help himself. You know what I mean?"
There was a long pause. Finally Thaddeus said, "I take your point."
Cadel was surprised.
"He
is
very protective," Thaddeus conceded. "He also doesn't like it when people flout his rules."
"But it really was a mistake," Cadel insisted, sensing that he was beginning to convince Thaddeus. "They didn't do it deliberately. They were shattered."
"I should hope so."
"I can't let Dad see my face," Cadel went on. "Will you help me? Will you pretend you can't get a visual, or something?"
Thaddeus narrowed his eyes.
"You wouldn't be asking much, would you?" he said.
"
Please?
Please, Thaddeus, I can handle this myself. Really. How will I ever get a degree in world domination if I'm not allowed to handle something like this by myself?" Cadel marshalled his arguments. "This is my chance to start forming my own network! Recruiting my own people! I've got leverage now. Just like Dad did when he was starting the institute. Can't you give me a chance?"