Nijinsky didn’t answer. So Plath did. “He’s been ensuring my loyalty. Isn’t that it, Jin?”
“Nothing that wasn’t already there,” Nijinsky said. “I …strengthened your existing attachments. You would have felt it all eventually. We don’t have time for eventually.”
“Attachments?” Keats whispered menacingly. “To?”
Nijinsky’s recovered, belligerent look said it all.
“You bastard,” Keats said. “You made her care for me.”
It was Burnofsky who said, “Soldiers don’t fight for king and country. They fight for each other. They fight for the poor deluded, trapped bastard in the next foxhole.”
Nijinsky didn’t argue. He just said, “Vincent was out. Lear laid it on me to be the right man. He laid it on me.”
“Vincent swore to me he would never wire me or any of us,” Plath said. “He said if we ever discovered it, it would destroy our trust in him and he’d be worth nothing as a leader after that.”
Nijinsky moved back a step, almost like he’d been shoved.
; “And you know what, Jin? He was right.”
“Yeah, well I’m what you’ve got for a leader,” Nijinsky snapped. “I may not be the right person, but I’m it.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Wilkes said. “I don’t think so. I like you, Jin, but dude, I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”
There followed a long silence. Finally, almost sobbing with something that seemed strangely like relief, like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders, Nijinsky said, “Yeah? Well, who else then?”
Wilkes jerked her thumb. “The rich bitch, here.”
Plath felt the blood drain from her face. “What?”
Keats said, “She’s right, Sadie. You know she’s right.”
“You’re a better twitcher than I am,” Plath pleaded.
“Yeah. But I saw the way you handled Thrum and Jellicoe. I saw how you called out Caligula. I also, by the way, saw you slip a note to Stern. You have the money; you have your own private army. More important, you’re a natural. Like I am down in the meat you are up in the macro. Until Vincent gets all the way back to us, you’re it.”
“Yeah, what pretty boy blue eyes said,” Wilkes said.
“But I’m too young for this,” Plath pleaded.
“So was Alexander the Great.” To everyone’s surprise, this came from Anya, who had walked Vincent over to join them. Vincent was calm and quiet, but he was still not with them. “So was Joan of Arc.”
“David killed Goliath and cut off his head when he was just a kid,” Wilkes said. “What? Why the looks? I’ve read the Bible. It’s mostly slaying and screwing.”
Plath felt like someone was squeezing her heart inside her chest.
Nijinsky breathed in like he was taking his first breath in five minutes. “Huh,” he said. And then, a smile spread across his face, showing perfect teeth, and he laughed. “Lear was right. I’m the wrong person.”
“What’s your vote, Burnofsky?” Wilkes asked him. “Who worries you more? Handsome Jin or Freckles McMoneybags here?”
Burnofsky said nothing.
“I’m sorry, Sadie, but you’re it,” Keats said.
Was there a part of Plath that was flattered? Yes. Was there a larger part that was horrified? That, too.
“Okay,” Plath said. “Until Vincent is back. Only until then. And I hope that’s soon.”