"Why should the world be over-wise
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask."
-Paul Laurence Dunbar


It was the quiet that distressed Fordo most. He wasn't worried about battle; he was armed and well-trained and if he managed to get lost in the swirling arcs of Iaido, Hiroko would be right there to get him back on track or stab the peon in the appropriate place, whichever she fancied. He wasn't particularly frazzled about guards or mazes or being spotted by Moscoe and found out. But the quiet of the Centre, the complete absence of everything he'd prepared for, that was terrifying.

Guiness had made contact with the caterers Moscoe had hired and Hiroko and Fordo were made-up to their finest and loaded into the back of a large blue van. Moscoe wouldn't take mind to the new employees of his favourite dining service and Hiro and Fordo would be able to sneak into the lower levels of the Centre once everyone had taken their seats for dinner. They would have to find the storerooms by fuzzy print-offs Moscoe had sketched during his Oxford days, but Basil had assured them that he wasn't one to change his mind. From there they needed to find any and all files pertaining to Fordo, Basil or the C.U.P. and destroy them. Then Home to bed and a nice spot of tea. They never found plans to be fool-proof, but this one certainly wasn't difficult.

The lot along the side of the Uracil Centre was lined with struggling saplings and filled with such metal beasts as to stun the eye. Row after row of automobiles filed into the spaces like cattle, humming then stopping then going dark and spilling their charges onto the cold, dark pavement. A procession of parents to make Nietzsche proud headed steadily to the open door, dressed to the teeth and chatting happy gossip with those that they were well-acquainted.

"There must be a hundred of them."

"More, I'd suspect."

"And all here to hear that ruddy git."

"Not all of 'em." He shook his head, refusing to feel any of it. "Some are comin' for their children, strange enough."

She nodded, pretending not to understand. "Not that they'll see them."

"No." His gaze returned to the hoard entering the building. "Not that they will."

He noticed then, out of the corner of his eye, the couple walking past their hiding place: a pretty woman--with glass-green eyes and long, flowing hair that ran down her back--who held the arm of a man--with calloused hands and premature laugh-lines, his grey eyes seeming slightly scared at their location. Fordo couldn't move.

"Lissi Ilúvatar..."

"What, Fordo-san?" She studied the passers-by, noticing something strangely familiar about the pair. "...That woman. Who is she?"

He swallowed, blinking a few times. "...She's my mother."

Hiroko's eyes grew wide; she couldn't stop watching them. "Your mum? So that's..."

"Me da." The knot in his stomach had grown angry and frightened and he knew that something was going horribly wrong.

"No." She shook her head, refusing it all. "He didn't. He couldn't've. Could he? We've been so careful..."

He pulled Hiro towards him, holding her tight until she calmed. "'E knows, Hiro. 'E knows we're comin' an' 'e's tryin' to scare us."

"No..."

"Y'know it's true, Oko." He watched his family leave him there once again and he stored it away. He had to go on. "We've got to keep goin'. It's too late to back out. 'Sides, tha's what 'e wants."

"But what if something happens?"

He sighed. "Let's get to tha' later, all-right?"

"Yeah," laughed Hiroko. "Later."

*

The room was packed, as heavily populated as the parking lot from whence such a mob was birthed. They sat in circles throughout the hall, looking snobbish and continuing to gossip about everything and nothing and something in between. Moscoe himself--the man of the hour, the Jack-of-all-trades, the bloodsucker that he was--moved among them as a shepard through his fold and kissed the knuckles of every lady and shook the hand of every man. And they laughed at his jokes and praised his charity. And Fordo peeked out the kitchen window and damned his helplessness.

"Look at 'im! Look at 'ow 'e's treatin' 'em! An' with their children upstairs dyin' of 'is lies!"

"A delivery for table nineteen!"

"I'll take it!" Hiroko turned back to Fordo, smacking his hand away from the curtain. "Stop that! It's easy enough to get caught without you pissing yourself."

"Table twenty!"

"I'm sorry, Hiro. Really, I am."

"You, lad! Can you take this to table twenty?" The young man Guiness had conned into this mess handed Hiroko a fruit platter, waving another at Fordo.

"Oh! Yes, sure." They took their loads and headed into the hall. You got us covered?

If you don't distract me, yes.

Oh! Right. Sorry.

Tables nineteen and twenty were nowhere near each other. In theory, this was to keep the customers amazed at how wonderful the service was. In actuality, this was a mistake that the administration had been too lazy to remedy. The tables themselves weren't labelled, but the set-up was always the same. Fordo had memorised the map on their drive here and headed to his destination with ease, coming up behind a woman with long, wavy hair and turning the towards her jovially.

"Fruit plate, ma'am?" She turned and smiled and his heart stopped beating.

"Oh! Thank you, young man!" Theresia Summers moverd her napkin aside and allowed her son to serve her. He willed the shaking to leave his hands and set down the bowl before her. "Oh, this looks delicious. John, don't you want some?"

John Summers eyed his son warily, along with the fruit he carried. "What's in it?"

Don't think that, Da. I'd never hurt you... "Eh..." Fordo played the charming waiter, swishing his tray down to study the contents. "pineapple, sir. Kiwi, strawb'rries. Sort of a tropical blend. Not that strawb'rries are tropical, mind, but close enough. Would you care for some?" The look he received was enough to break him in half.

"John, love, don't give him a hard time. It's quite good..."

John Summers had never been able to deny his wife, Fordo knew that well enough. Part of him was touched by the older man's wariness, another part ashamed. "All-right." He cleared his throat. "Uh, yes. Please."

Fordo forced a grin. "Y'won't regret it, sir." He set down a second bowl. "Know the chef personally. Real gentleman, 'e is." Flopping his tray vertical, Fordo bowed. "Enjoy." Theresia smiled warmly at him; he had to leave quickly to refrain from embracing her and giving himself away. Though he didn't move fast enough.

"He seems like a nice boy..."

The kitchen was hotter than it had been, louder, less comforting. "Hiro!" Every face blended into another, every voice sounded the same. "Hiro!"

"I'm right here! You don't have to shout."

"I got me parents!"

"What?"

"Table twenty is Mum 'n' Da."

Her eyes went wide again and it looked to Fordo as though she might just hurl. "The sooner this bloody party is over, the better."

"Nineteen! Twenty!"

"What'm I gonna do??" he squeaked.

"Did they recognise you?" A pause.

"...I don't think so."

"Nineteen and twenty?"

"Yes! Here!" Her attentions returned. "Just play the part. We're stuck in this now and I, for one, refuse to get the lecture of the century just because the great Fordo Summers got cold feet."

*

"May I have your attention, please?" The chatter died down and the last of the sorbet was delivered. Every face turned expectantly to the front podium and the man on it. "I'd like to thank all of you for coming to our little house and sharing in this most excellent moment of charity, patronage and family."

All-right, love. It's time. Fordo loosened his tie and followed Hiro to the kitchen door.

"I consider you all to be family of sorts. After all, you've entrusted your children--or grandchildren, in Madame Caldwell's case--into our care. And what is more precious to this world than children?"

D'we 'ave everythin'? The room broke into applause then: polite little golf claps accompanied by a few photographic flashes. A frailing woman near the door wiped her eyes and leaned close to the man beside her to whisper something secret and maternal.

"I cannot tell you what a joy it is to work with all of these children. Each one is so special, so fresh and vibrant. Each one has as much to teach me as I have to teach them."

I hope so. Nods of affirmation from all of those present; a silent cheer from a large gentleman in the back. Come on, before he lays it on too thick. They met the now-deserted kitchen and found the back staircase, taking them two at a time and shedding dress clothes into the rucksacks at the bottom of the well.

"We are doing all that we can to help your children lead fuller, happier lives. And with that comes certain responsibilities that I, for one, am honoured to accept."

Hiroko pulled on her bag and pressed a tiny device into her ear. "...Guiness?"

"And one of these responsibilities is the constant protection of your children from harm, both mental and physical."

The reply crackled through after a moment's delay. "Yes, love?"

"Ladies and Gentlemen, there are forces at work which would harm your children if we did not protect them."

"We're in."

"And one of them is here."

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