Chapter 7
Hawthorne was occupied when we arrived.
That surprised me.
Not staff.
Children.
Two boys, ages nine and twelve.
Both relatives of capos involved in a dispute.
They had been there eleven days.
My blood went cold.
I looked at Anthony.
“You told me the house was inactive.”
He stared at the floor.
“It was inactive for your branch.”
There.
Technical truth.
The favorite tool of cowards.
“Who sent them?”
Samuel answered.
Their fathers.
Voluntarily, according to the old system.
Guarantees.
If either man betrayed the settlement, the other side knew his child was safely in Ravelli custody.
Safely.
There was that word again.
I walked into the common room.
The boys stood immediately when they saw me.
Perfect posture.
No eye contact until spoken to.
I hated it.
“Sit.”
They did.
I asked:
“Do you want to be here?”
The older boy looked toward the caretaker.
I noticed.
“No.”
He whispered it.
The younger one started crying.
That was enough.
I turned toward the adults.
“Call their parents.”
Anthony objected.
“You’ll destabilize the settlement.”
“Then the settlement was built wrong.”
“Malcolm—”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Adults negotiate with adults.”
Pause.
“Children stop being collateral tonight.”
The caretaker, Mrs. Avery, looked almost relieved.
Interesting.
“You disagree with this place?”
She hesitated.
“I thought it was better than what used to happen.”
“What used to happen?”
Silence.
Hostages kept in locked rooms.
Hawthorne had been the humane reform.
Large bedrooms.
Tutors.
Gardens.
No chains.
No physical abuse.
So everyone congratulated themselves.
I understood how systems survive.
Improve cruelty enough and people stop asking whether the premise is wrong.
The boys left before midnight.
One hugged his father hard enough to nearly knock him over.
Nobody mentioned whether the settlement survived.
It did.
Of course.
Adults are more capable than traditions allow when forced to solve their own problems.
I walked through the upstairs hall.
At the end was a room freshly prepared.
Pink blanket.
Small dresses.
A stuffed rabbit.
Nina’s size.
My body went cold.
On the bedside table sat another brass dinner bell.
Not antique.
New.
I turned toward Beatrice.
She had planned not only to bring Nina here.
She had planned to continue the ritual.
A child isolated from her father.
May you like
Given a bell.
Allowed to call only the adults controlling whether he answered.
