Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons alive or dead is coincidental. The venue is fictional and any resemblance to actual bases and/or locations, is coincidental, and needed more for literary license than anything else.
This story takes place in 1976 Canada and reflects the mores, traditions, customs, etc., of the times. I urge all of those who read this story to remember that what is "politically correct" today, was not thought of back then.
As this work contains scenes of explicit sexual acts of a homosexual nature, if such erotica offends you, please move on to a tamer site. If your mainstay in life is Bible-thumping cant, please move on. If you are not of legal age to read, possess or download writings of an erotic nature, or if possession, reading, etc., is illegal where you live, please move on.
This story is written in an age without worry, and as such unprotected sex is practiced exclusively. I urge all of you to NEVER engage in sexual acts without proper protection. The life you save will be your own.
In order to understand who is who and what is what should read the first two books in the series, "The Phantom of Aurora" and "The Boys of Aurora". There is a cast of characters included in The Boys, and while not all of them are included in this newest book, the main characters are.
I always enjoy hearing from readers, new or old. I will respond to all e-mails (except flames).
As always I express my gratitude to Peter, my editor, who takes time out of his busy schedule to edit my scribbles. He has done yeoman service this time around in that I have suffered a major computer failure! My system is FRIED! So I am making do with what I can get my hands on!
I am having trouble accessing my primary e-mail address to clean the thing out of all the spam and crap. Please bear with me on this. If you want to respond to any of my work please use my alternate address: paradegi@hotmail.com
I attended three Remembrance Day Services on the 11th. At two, I laid a wreath on behalf of all our Brothers with the RCN, the RN, the RAN, the RNZN and the USN. The card was signed: The Grand Master and Council of The Order of Saint John of the Cross of Acre.
What follows is based on events that actually occurred in Mount Cashel, an orphanage in St John's, Newfoundland. The boys were abused, physically and sexually for years until a young lad ran away and told his story to the police. There was a cover up and "Brothers" were transferred away to avoid a scandal. Happily the whole lot was cleared out and the Irish Christian Brothers are on the hook for millions of dollars of compensation. The government of Newfoundland has just settled 10 million on the victims for its part in the scandal.
Aurora Tapestry - Chapter 3b
Joseph Hobbes sat in the lounge of his suite in Regina's Radisson Plaza Hotel drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of the overstuffed chair that flanked the fireplace. Through the open windows of the darkened room came the soft swish of tires on pavement, the noise of early morning traffic along Victoria Avenue.
Emotionally and physically exhausted, Joe had not bothered to push aside the curtains to look at what the Manager had called the most magnificent view in the province. Joe did not need to look. He knew that in the far distance the dome of the Legislature Building was lit by floodlights, that Wascana Centre and the grounds of Douglas Park would be twinkling with lights. Joe had no interest in Regina other than the man he was waiting for, a man who was, by Joe's Timex, an hour late for their appointment. Or should he call it their assignation?
Rising, Joe reached for the bottle of Laphroaig, a single West Isle Malt that stood on a bottle laden drinks table. He poured himself a healthy shot and downed it in one gulp, a disservice to the 25-year-old liquor, and heresy to any connoisseur of Scotch whisky. Joe barely tasted the smoothness of the smoky liquor as he swallowed. He wanted to sleep, but he could not. He wanted to rid his mind of the horrible images that plagued his dreams. He wanted to hold the man he loved in his arms. But he could not. Tonight they would say goodbye. His beloved would go his own way and Joe would return, for a little while to home, to Comox.
Thinking of Comox, Joe frowned. Today his youngest brother, a red-haired imp, but damned cute, would be part of the Passing Out Parade in HMCS AURORA, the Sea Cadet base on the other side of the harbour from the town of Comox. Joe had always attended any special parade that Calvin participated in, always telling his brother that he wanted to be around in the unlikely event that he won something. Calvin had always laughed, given him a hug, and told Joe that his just being there was all the award he needed.
Once again Joe looked at his watch. Damn and hell, he thought angrily, there are things to be done! He could not waste any time! The game was afoot and tomorrow the opening salvo of a war that would destroy two of the three enemies of the Order would begin. The war against the third enemy would not be fought with guns, or stock markets' buy and sell orders. The ammunition, in the form of a three boxes of purloined state documents and witness statements were already in Vancouver, no doubt being examined by Louis Arundel, Joe's patron and Liege.
Louis Leveson-Arundel, the younger brother of Albert Leveson-Arundel, was Professor of Forensic Accounting at the University of British Columbia, holding the Douglass Chair of Forensic Sciences. He was also a Professed Knight of Honour and Devotion of the Sovereign and Noble Order of Saint John of the Cross of Acre. Six months ago the Order, in the person of Michael Chan, then Chancellor, had called for Louis' services. Louis, a tall, thin, spare man who never appeared outside of his bedroom without being properly dressed in a suit, starched white shirt and tie, called upon two of his protégés, Joseph Hobbes and Gabriel Izard.
Joe, who had been Louis' Page of Honour, had been an easy choice. He had graduated Summa cum laude with a Baccalaureate from the University of Victoria. He had taken his Masters at Harvard Business School, as had Gabriel Izard, another of Louis' special students.
To Joe, Gabe, as Gabriel preferred to be called, was an enigma. He was one of several boys that the Order marked for better things. While not quite marked in the cradle, these boys were from broken homes, orphans, sometimes abused, sometimes not, but always possessing a superior intelligence and almost always homosexual.
Gabe had been abandoned by his mother and left to the not so tender mercies of the Sisters of the Convent of Souer Reparatrice. As the convent only cared for babies and pre-pubescent children, at the age of nine Gabe had been given over to the care of the Irish Christian Brothers, and taken up residence in Mount St. Patrick Home for Boys. As Gabe was being led to the car that would carry him to the Home by one of the sisters, Mother Mary George had whispered to Brother Liam that the boy was evil, having been discovered with one of the disreputable urchins who infested the neighbourhood, in the coal shed, without their clothes on! Mother Mary George could not bring herself to relate what the two boys had been doing. The boy Gabriel, so obviously misnamed, was beaten and should, in Mother Mary George's opinion, continue to be beaten until all the sinful thoughts were driven from his dark eyes and evil mind!
Brother Liam had merely smiled.
That night Gabe had been taken from his bed in the dormitory where he slept with a dozen other young boys to Brother Liam's room and violently raped. Brother Liam, oblivious to the small boy's screams and pleas to stop, had continued his assault into the small hours of the morning. As he pushed the ravaged boy from his room, Brother Liam told Gabe that in future he would come to him every night. He was Brother Liam's boy, now.
Three weeks after entering Mount St. Patrick's, Gabe found a long-forgotten gate in the wall surrounding the home and ran away. It was winter and the winter rain, mixed with snow, sleeted down, covering Vancouver with an icy rime. For two nights Gabe had hidden in the woods of Stanley Park until the cold, and hunger, drove him toward a small cluster of lights. He did not know it at the time, but Fate, in the person of Louis Leveson-Arundel, was about to intervene and change Gabe's life forever.
Louis Arundel, resplendent in his mess kit, and with all his medals up, was basking in the afterglow of a splendid evening with old shipmates, full of Black Angus Beef and vintage port. He had attended the annual reunion of his old ship's company of HMCS PERTH, regaling his fellow veterans with tales of the old corvette when they were lads, fighting the Battle of the Atlantic, and charming the lady wives of his shipmates. The reunion and dinner was held, as it always was, in the Wardroom of HMCS DISCOVERY, the Vancouver Naval Reserve Division.
As the ancient Packard town car negotiated the winding road that led out of the park and into the city, Louis had been jolted from his reverie and thrown forward. He slammed into the front seat and snarled a sailor's oath at MacReady, his chauffer and one-time Coxswain.
"Jesus, it's a kid!" exclaimed MacReady.
Leaving the car the two men had run to the small bundle lying in the middle of the road. Louis picked up the spent, thin little boy and cradled him in his arms. "To the hospital, and quickly," he had ordered.
For eight days Gabe had lain in a coma, exhausted, a broken reed of a boy. Louis, taken by the young boy's beauty and seeming innocence, had visited every day, spending long hours at Gabe's bedside. He refused to allow the doctors to abandon the lad, and had called in specialists from Montreal and Toronto. As he later told Joe, it had cost a packet, but the boy had lived.
For weeks afterward, while the boy had beamed every time Louis came to visit him, he refused to tell why he had been in Stanley Park, or where he had come from. Other than his name, Gabe would not tell Louis anything. The doctors had confirmed that the boy had been sexually abused, very badly abused. Gabe had been traumatized and drew away when any male came near him. Louis had called for a consultation with the Senior Psychiatrist on staff. Nothing! Gabe refused to talk to him, remaining silent and staring blankly at the bare wall of the examining room.
Nothing Louis or the doctors did broke Gabe's silence. Louis, childless, felt an affinity and tenderness toward Gabe that he had never felt before. He refused to allow Gabe to retreat into depression and, at Christmas, piled Gabe's room with wrapped presents. On Christmas Eve a huge, decorated tree miraculously appeared.
On Christmas Day, Louis came to call, laden with more presents. He made no attempt to pry information from Gabe, concentrating on making the boy as warm, and comfortable as possible. Since Gabe had been given so may presents Louis had suggested that Gabe might want to visit the other children on the ward, and share. With a generosity that would mark him all of his life, Gabe quickly agreed. He had never been in a position to give anyone anything.
They had left Gabe's room pushing a wheelchair piled high with festive packages, and visited each room in turn. At the end of the long hallway was the entrance leading to the Paediatric ICU. Ordinarily, no one was allowed entry but Gabe, being only 9, ignored the signs and pushed open the door. There was only one patient in the room, boy of Gabe's age. Sitting beside his bed was a wan, worried woman, who smiled as she saw Gabe hesitating at the doorway. She motioned for him to enter. Gabe looked at the boy, whose head was swathed in bandages, and then the forest of tubes that seemed to protrude from every limb and orifice. A monitor of some kind beeped rhythmically, and a mechanical respirator hissed noisily.
Smiling shyly, Gabe picked up one of the packages and offered it to the woman. "Can I give him a present, for Christmas?" he asked, whispering his words.
"Of course you may," replied the woman. She took the present and led Gabe to the bedside. "This is my son," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "He is ten and his name is Darren."
"Is he very sick?" asked Gabe, his eyes soft. He reached out and with the back of his hand stroked the sleeping boy's cheek. "Will he get better?"
The woman looked sorrowfully at Louis, who was on the verge of tears himself. She rubbed Gabe's shoulder gently. "The doctors . . . they say he should." Her eyes betrayed her. "We must just be patient."
Gabe raised his eyes and looked at the woman. He saw the pain, and the heartache. "My Uncle Louis will help."
Louis had started, his eyes wide in surprise. Until now the boy had never called him by name, although he knew it, and had never referred to him as his uncle. It was also the first time that Gabe had shown any outward sign of affection. "Of course," he murmured. "If there is anything I can do . . ."
The woman shook her head. "Darren is in God's hands. All we can do is hope, and pray."
"Then Uncle Louis will help me say a prayer." Gabe walked to where Louis was standing and hugged him. "You will, won't you?" he asked.
"Certainly." Louis returned Gabe's hug and nodded toward the hallway. "We should go back."
Nodding, Gabe released Louis and returned to the bedside. He leaned down and kissed Darren's cheek. "You'll be all right," he whispered. "Uncle Louis will fix it. He can fix anything."
Back in the room Louis gave Gabe his evening meds and tucked him into bed. He kissed Gabe's forehead and told him that he would sit a while until he fell asleep. Gabe announced that he wasn't tired, and wanted to go pee. While Gabe was in the bathroom Louis went to the Nurses Station and asked after Darren. The Charge Nurse, a kindly, elder woman, told Louis what she could. "Your nephew is very kind, Mr. Arundel. An angel," she finished.
"Yes, he is," replied Louis, his heart all but bursting with pride.
Finished peeing, Gabe returned to his bed and lay on his side. He looked at Louis, who was sitting in the chair beside the bed, for a long time. The boy's eyes were alternately dark with fear, and sparkling with trust. He was struggling inwardly, wanting to trust this strange man who had shown him so much love and kindness. Finally, his mind made up, Gabe asked quietly, "Did a bad man hurt Darren, too?"
Louis had very little experience in dealing with abused children. In fact he had none at all. He did have enough sense not to push, not rush, not to press the issue. He had noted the boy's use of "too". So, he thought pensively, the doctors were correct. He debated briefly questioning Gabe, but decided against it. "No, Gabe. Darren was in a motor accident. His father was killed."
"Is he going to die?"
Louis had not thought that a boy as young as Gabe knew the concept of life, or death. Most children gave no thought to dying, and more often than not thought that everybody they knew and loved would live forever. Louis knew how badly injured Darren was. "With God's help, no," he replied sincerely.
Gabe suddenly moved from his bed and crawled onto Louis' lap. His arms snaked around Louis's neck and he snuggled close. "There is no God, Uncle Louis. You'll help Darren, not God."
"Of course. As soon as you go to sleep," said Louis presently, his mind whirling with questions. Still, he kept quiet.
Gabe rubbed his face against Louis' chest. He sighed happily and for a moment Louis thought that the boy was content to fall asleep where he was. Louis had no objections and rocked the boy gently. He listened to the boy's soft breathing, felt his warmth, and was prepared to spend the night in this chair, with Gabe in his arms, if that was what Gabe wanted.
Suddenly Gabe blurted out, "A bad man hurt me, Uncle Louis. He did bad things to me."
As the tears burst from his eyes, Louis responded with some heat. "No one will ever hurt you again," he growled. "I promise you."
Gabe raised his head and smiled softly. "Don't cry, Uncle Louis. I know you won't let Brother Liam get me!"
Louis' heart skipped a beat. Brother Liam? Where . . .? Then he realized that Gabe was talking about someone religious. He wanted desperately to probe deeper, but dared not stir memories. "Did brother Liam hurt you?" He felt Gabe nod slowly. "Well, he won't ever hurt you again. When you're well, and fit to leave this place, you can come and live at my house. I have lots of nephews, including some newborn twin boys. Would you like to go and see them? You can tickle them. Babies like to be tickled."
Gabe giggled. "The Sisters wouldn't let us near the babies. They said we would hurt them. I would never hurt a baby, Uncle Louis."
"I know you wouldn't," replied Louis kindly, thinking that another small piece of the puzzle that was Gabe had been revealed. It was obvious that Gabe had spent some time in a religious institution, and from the mention of "Sisters" and "Brother Liam" Louis knew that it had to be a Catholic institution. He knew that the Catholic Church did good work with orphans of all ages. He dared a question. "Was this man, this . . ." Louis almost gagged on the name, " . . . Brother Liam in the same place as the Sisters?"
Gabe shook his head. "The Sisters, they looked after babies and little kids. Big kids like me, we were sent to . . . another place."
Once again Louis decided that discretion was the better part of valour. He did not reply. Gabe would, when he was ready, tell everything. Until then, there were certain things that could be looked at. As Gabe's breathing slowed and he drifted off into a serene, calm sleep, Louis nodded to himself. And he knew just where to start looking.
As the next day was Boxing Day, Louis went to visit his brother after seeing to Gabe. His brother, Albert, was a well-respected Barrister, with many connections in the police department. Louis thought that if anybody could help, it would be Albert.
After dinner, and after Albert had coddled and cooed outrageously over his twin sons, Toddy and Cory, who were all of seven months old, changed their diapers, cooed and coddled them again, much to their mother's amusement, the two men retired to the Library where they sat in front of a warm fire, sipping a very good Comet Year Brandy.
"You seem pensive," said Bertie presently. "That waif you've adopted is unwell?"
Louis smiled. "He's fine, and as full of piss and vinegar as any nine-year-old can be." He regarded his brother. "He's coping with what was done to him. He is also worrying about a new friend he found."
"A new friend?" asked Bertie as he poured them both another drink. "I suppose, though, being in hospital children do tend to bond closer." He offered the snifter of brandy to Louis and smiled softly. "This Gabriel means a great deal to you, doesn't he?"
Nodding, Louis replied with fervent honesty, "He's stolen my heart!" A lump rose in Louis' throat as he murmured, his eyes misty, "The boy has taken to calling me 'Uncle Louis', and ever since I found him he has looked upon me as some sort of Guardian Angel, with extraordinary powers!" He sipped his brandy and chuckled ruefully. "Would that I were."
Bertie gazed at his brother with a fondness that he reserved for Louis alone. Of all his brothers, Louis was the closest. "How may I help?"
"There is a boy, about Gabe's age, in the ICU. He is not doing well," said Louis. He looked beseechingly at his brother. "Gabe thinks that somehow I will help the boy, whose name is Darren. Darren was in a motorcar accident - his father was killed - and is in a coma. His mother keeps a vigil at his bedside and Gabe has been visiting him. The doctors do not hold out much hope. I have the impression that they think that Darren's injuries are such that even if he did survive he would be little more than a vegetable."
"Who's his surgeon?" asked Bertie. Louis named the doctor and Bertie nodded. "A good man." He left his chair and went to his desk, found a piece of paper and wrote a name. "There is a man in London. He specializes in difficult and seemingly hopeless cases involving children. You might cable Cousin Victor. He knows the man."
Louis looked at the name and a small bell rang. "I've heard of him."
"Then ring Cousin Victor," replied Bertie. "He'll be at Sandringham with the Queen as it's his turn to be Equerry. Or cable him. He gave his brother's shoulder a pat and then resumed his seat. He looked at Louis and asked, "Now then, tell me what is really bothering you."
Louis was not all that surprised at Bertie's insight. His brother had not become the foremost Barrister, and Crown Attorney, by sitting on his bum waiting for cases to come to him, or accepting meekly whatever evidence was presented to him. Bertie did his homework.
Once again Louis' eyes watered. He had spoken with Gabe's doctors and the damage done to the boy was extensive. Gabe had been raped, repeatedly, and further surgery was needed. Gabe did not know this yet, and Louis hesitated to tell him. He did not want to bring back any more memories of the horror the boy had suffered in that damnable orphanage, did not want him to relive the pain and terror at the hands of the despicable Brother Liam, did not want . . . "Bertie, what do you know about Catholic orphanages?" he asked suddenly.
Bertie, wondering what Louis was leading up to. The Arundels were High Church, not Catholic, and while Bertie had had some dealings with the Archdiocese, he really knew very little of the inner workings of the church, or of what institutions the church supported. "Haven't a clue," he said. "However, I know where we can find out."
With Louis trailing, Bertie walked into the office he kept on the main floor of his house and held up a large volume. "The telephone book," he said with a grin. He began leafing rapidly through the thin pages of the book. He paused from time to time and then pointed. "And here we are. There is a listing for the Good Shepherd Home for Children, and one for Mount St. Patrick. I believe that is a home for older boys."
Big kids like me, we were sent to . . . another place. Gabe's soft words were seared into Louis brain. "Can you find out if there is a child missing from Mount St. Patrick's," he asked quietly.
Bertie's left eyebrow rose slowly. "Do you think Gabe was there?"
Louis nodded. "From what he told me, yes. He mentioned that boys such as he were sent to another place. He didn't mention the name of the place. He did mention a 'Brother Liam'."
Closing the telephone book Bertie gave his brother an intense look. "Mount St. Patrick is staffed by Irish Christian Brothers. The place is a home for older boys."
"Can you find out if there is a boy missing, run away from the place?" asked Louis, clearly worried about something. Bertie looked quizzically at his brother, but said nothing. He did wonder what was going on with Louis and the boy, but would not ask questions. When Louis was ready to talk, he would talk.
For a moment Bertie debated making a call to certain people in a certain organization. Then he dismissed the thought. This was 1959, after all, and the Grand Master was more interested in maintaining the status quo, and was not about to use the Order's scarce resources. As for the other members of the Council, they were only interested in parading around in bejewelled collars and spending what little money the Keeper of the Common Treasure claimed they had, at formal dinners where they could tell each other what good fellows they were! The days when the Grand Master raised the Standard of War and a hundred knights donned armour and mounted their warhorses to do battle with an enemy were long gone. In the event, the Order did not have the human resources needed to look into the workings of a Church institution. But Bertie did.
"I do have a friend," Bertie said. He reached for the telephone and as he dialled Louis could not help but notice the large, oval, table cut ruby set in a massive gold and enamel ring that Bertie wore on the ring finger of his right hand, sparkling in the light of the desk lamp. Louis' ears perked up when he heard his brother speak into the handset of the telephone, asking to speak with Superintendent Massie.
Louis' face registered his very real surprise. He knew that Bertie maintained close and cordial relations with many members of the Police Department. Bertie had constant dealings with the Loft and Safe Squad, the Homicide Squad and the Fraud Squad of the Vancouver Police Department. That Bertie had sufficient influence to call Superintendent Ted Massie, who was the Chief of Detectives of the VPD, on Boxing Day, was stunning and not a little mind-boggling. Louis' face fell as he listened as Bertie explained what he wanted and then, just before hanging up the telephone, thanked the Superintendent and called him, of all things, "Frater."
Scratching his chin, Bertie sat down and took a sip of his brandy. He looked at Louis and shook his head. "The boy has been reported as missing from the orphanage. According to Ted Massie the brothers are frantic."
"I don't wonder why," returned Louis, his eyes flaming with anger. "One of them, or all of them, is raping little boys out there!"
Bertie held up his hand. "Let us not jump to conclusions. As a scientist you know, as well as I do not to render a verdict until you know all the facts."
"Damn it, Bertie!" Louis slammed the flat of his hand on Bertie's desk. "You didn't see that boy! You did not see what was done to him! I have and I have spoken to the doctors! If I had my hands on that 'Brother Liam' I would without hesitation emasculate him!"
"You will do nothing of the kind!" returned Bertie scathingly. "You are a gentleman and a Christian." His tone softened. "Let us first see what the police uncover. Ted is very efficient, and he is a Knight so . . ."
"A what?" Louis' face betrayed his confusion. "What the devil are you talking about?"
"I will explain shortly," replied Bertie calmly. "You will listen, and remain calm. You will do nothing until all the facts are in. Then, and only then will we act."
"I want the boy! I want to be sure that he is safe and sound! I will not compromise, Bertie. I will not send him back to that damned den of pedophiles!"
Bertie could understand his brother's reaction. He would have to meet this young boy. "He has touched you, then?"
Louis nodded. "Very much. If I could, I'd adopt him tomorrow!"
Sighing, Bertie shook his head. "Well, you can't. The law does not allow single men to adopt children. Still . . ." He smiled slyly at Louis. "We could, with the right judge, and the proper signatures, arrange a guardianship."
Louis snorted. "That I would like to see!"
"Stranger things have happened," replied Bertie serenely. He spun the ruby ring on his finger and asked gently, "Louis, are you homosexual?"
Two days after New Year's Ted Massie made his report to his brother in knighthood. He trembled with indignation as he related the salient details to Bertie Arundel.
"According to the good Sisters, the minor child named Gabriel Tradd Izard was left in their chapel nine years ago. He was, at the time about six months old, clean, wrapped in a frayed robe. There is no record of his birth in the Provincial Registry save for the Record of Birth filed by the Sisters. As he was found on St. Gabriel's feast day, he was named for the saint. His middle name comes from one of the Sisters, in memory of her brother, who had died in an MVA. His last name came from the Mother Superior, who was reading a book on the history of the Church in the American South."
"There is no record of the mother, or a father?"
Ted shook his head. "None. We believe he was born at home, probably here in the city. According to the Sisters he'd obviously been well cared for, and been taken to a doctor at least once." He grinned and made a scissoring motion with his hand. "He's a clean cut, All Canadian boy!"
Bertie smiled at Ted's weak joke. "I hope he did not howl as loudly as my two lads did when Doctor Reynolds paid them a visit!" His face sobered. "We now move on to Mount St. Patrick."
Ted frowned. "We paid them a visit, a most frustrating, and in many ways, intriguing visit!"
"Intriguing?"
"After we spoke with your brother, we spoke with the doctors at Vancouver General." He pulled a closely typed piece of paper from the file he had presented to Bertie. "The medical report is quite damning. The boy was anally penetrated with resulting tears and bruises. It is the medical opinion of the doctors that Gabe was raped violently, and more than once."
Bertie felt ill. "He told Louis that a 'bad man' had hurt him."
Ted snorted loudly. "A very bad man." A look of utter frustration crossed his face. "We went to Mount St. Patrick's and spoke to the Administrator. He talked a lot, but said nothing. He confirmed that Gabe was a ward of the Church, was missing, and denied any assault. He pointed out at least ten times that we were talking about men of the cloth who had devoted their lives to caring for orphan boys."
"Devoted their lives to satisfying their pedophilia, if you want my opinion," snarled Bertie.
"Which I share," returned Ted calmly. "We tried to speak to the boys but without a warrant the Brothers refused. The man I sent out there, Tubby McCallum, did manage to speak with one of the older boys. The kid was scared shitless and wouldn't say a thing. As he told Tubby, he had to live there and life was bad enough. He didn't need any more trouble. He did tell Tubby that Brother Liam had been transferred to St. John's, Newfoundland."
"Newfoundland?" Bertie scowled. "Surely not to another orphanage!"
"The Christian Brothers administer an orphanage in St. John's," replied Ted. "It's called Mount Cashel. They also have in their charge several other institutions, including a day school and a home for the elderly." He shrugged. "According to my source, when a brother is transferred in, the Provincial Brother assigns him where needed." Another shrug and more consultation and Ted supplied, "Our information is that Brother Liam left for Newfoundland the day after Gabe ran away."
"How convenient," Bertie sneered.
"Too convenient," agreed Ted. "There is something going on. I can feel it! I know it and I can't find out anything. Nobody's talking and everybody is denying. I contacted Child Services and the woman I spoke to told me after I promised not to name her that any and all complaints go to the Ministry of Social Services. The Ministry provides a lot of funding for the orphanage. The Director of the Child Welfare Section is a devout Catholic and went to school with one Monsignor Terrence Xavier Finnerty, who just happens to be the Chancellor of the Archdiocese of Vancouver."
"The fix is in!" exclaimed Bertie.
"So it would seem," replied Ted unhappily. "But I intend to keep on digging!" He slammed Bertie's desk in angry frustration. The problem with the kids is they won't talk! If I could only get one of them away from those fucking so-called brothers, and get him to talk to me I could make a case of child abuse go through that den of perverts with a fine tooth comb!"
Bertie shook his head. "Ted, you're dealing with kids who are so afraid of what they did, so ashamed of what they did, they will never talk. They want desperately to be loved by the only authority figures they have, and giving in to the brothers' perversions is a child's way of attaining, in his mind, that love. There is also the unhappy fact that the boys are turned loose once they turn 16. Until that day comes they have a bed to sleep in, clothes on their backs, food, and a measure of schooling. They will not say or do anything that will deprive them of that small measure of security that they have.
Ted scowled. "Well I am going to try to find one of those boys who've been sent out into the world. Sooner or later I'll find one, and sooner or later someone will talk, and when they do, I'll be waiting." He closed the file of papers and shook his head. "The church authorities want the boy returned to the orphanage as soon as he's released from hospital. I'm sorry."
"Poor Louis," murmured Bertie.
"Pardon?"
"Louis wants guardianship over Gabe," replied Bertie with a frown.
"That is impossible!" exclaimed Ted. "The Church will never agree to it. Louis is a Protestant. Gabe was baptized a Roman Catholic practically before the nuns changed his nappy!"
"Still, we will try," replied Bertie confidently.
Terrence Xavier Finnerty, a tall, grey-haired bespectacled Monsignor, prodded the dossier on his desk with his fountain pen, as if contemplating a distastefully overflowing chamber pot. His heavy jowls quivered with mock indignation. There was no way on God's earth that he would acknowledge that most, if not all of the contents of the dossier, were true.
Clearing his throat, Monsignor Finnerty looked at Bertie Arundel, and then at Louis. Finnerty knew what had to be done. He had not spent 30 years kissing the right rings, and bending his knee to the right cardinal, to screw things up now. The appointment as Auxiliary Bishop of Kelowna would become vacant as soon as the old fool who now held the post gave up the ghost and for once in his sorry life did something useful, like dying.
At the same time the Church did not need to antagonize two sons of one of the foremost families in the Province, a family that had influence in Victoria, in Ottawa and, Finnerty suspected, in Rome. He knew that the English branch of the family, while not Catholic, enjoyed great prestige at the Court of Saint James and that the Cardinal Archbishop of Westminster was a frequent and welcome visitor at Arundel House in Cadogan Square. No, it would not do to antagonize the Arundels.
Smiling the smile of a practised sycophant and courtier, Terry Finnerty regard the two brothers. "As much as I would like to help, your petition cannot be accepted. Canon Law specifically states that . . ."
"I am not interested in Canon Law!" Louis Arundel stood up and pointed a well-manicured finger at the Monsignor. "I want guardianship!"
"Which you shall not have!" thundered the Monsignor. "The boy is a Catholic and the Church has a moral duty to protect his immortal soul!"
"Protect his immortal soul be damned," yelled Louis. He was quivering with rage. "A fat lot of good you did to protect his mortal body! You allowed him to be abused, to be raped!"
"I will thank you to mind your manners, and moderate your tone." He tried to temporize. He looked at Bertie. "My hands are tied. Church law is very clear in matters involving Catholic children and Protestants wishing to adopt them." He smiled slyly. "Of course, if you . . ." he nodded at Louis, "were to convert to . . ."
Louis would do anything to gain guardianship of Gabe. "If I have to. If I agree to convert to your church would the Archbishop give his imprimatur?"
Monsignor Finnerty shrugged indifferently. "A conversion must be sincere," he said blandly. "And under normal circumstances takes at least a year."
"Would the child be given into Louis' care while he is in the process of conversion?" asked Bertie, determined to know exactly where he and his brother stood in the matter.
"No."
"He will be returned to the orphanage?" Bertie began drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, a sure sign that he was losing his temper.
Monsignor Finnerty's expression did not change. "He would. And I must emphasize that allowing a single man to adopt a male child is somewhat, shall we say, ambiguous."
"In other words no matter what Louis does he will not be allowed to become the boy's guardian?" demanded Bertie, barely controlling his temper. "There is always hope," returned the Monsignor airily. "While I am sure His Excellency would view a petition of guardianship with some degree of seriousness, particularly from a gentleman of your stature, I must point out that Canon Law is very clear."
"Then from a gentleman of stature to a representative of the Roman Catholic Church, tell me, yes or no, will my petition be approved?" exploded Louis, his patience at an end.
Bertie placed a calming hand on his brother's arm, waiting for the Monsignor's answer.
Finnerty steepled his fingers and looked impassively at the brothers. He wondered if a bishopric was worth all this trouble. He sighed inwardly. The Arundels were important people, to be sure, but they were Protestants at the end of the day, and there were other factors that could not be allowed to see the light of day. There was must be no scandal, no hint of scandal and therefore I'm . . . "The Archbishop will not approve your brother's petition."
Bertie's face betrayed no emotion. Like his brother, he was seething inside, wanting to leap across the desk and throttle this reptilian excuse for a clergyman. "Is the Archbishop aware of the contents of this dossier?" he asked, tapping the file folder.
"He is aware," Finnerty admitted uneasily. "He is very concerned at some of the allegations that have been made concerning the Brothers of Mount St. Patrick."
"He should be," growled Louis. "Or are you going to tell me that you, and the Archbishop, are ignorant of the very real fact that young boys are being buggered nightly in one of your orphanages?"
Monsignor Finnerty paled, but recovered quickly. Sadly, he and the Archbishop were aware of what was going on. "There is no proof of such heinous conduct!" he declared soundly. "As for this file, well, it is nothing more than unsubstantiated allegations, supposition and innuendo. His Excellency has read the police report, and your file. He will . . ."
"Do nothing," finished Bertie icily. "He has already removed the brother named to another jurisdiction. His skirts are clean!"
"Brother Liam's transfer was planned long before these . . . allegations . . . were made," replied Monsignor Finnerty, lying through his dentures. "He was needed . . . elsewhere."
"Bah!" snarled Louis. "He was transferred as soon as you, or the Archbishop found out that he was diddling the boys! And not for the first time, is my guess!"
If you only knew, thought the Monsignor. Brother Liam had seen service in every institution administered by the Christian Brothers and had been sent packing from all of them! The Chancellor was very aware of the Brother's reputation. Still, there must be no public outcry, no scandal. "The Christian Brothers have facilities all over the New World," he said smoothly. "Brothers are transferred quite often. It is merely routine, I can assure you."
Bertie bit his tongue. He had heard the rumours, and seen the documents that were passed around the Justice Building in Victoria. He also knew what Ted Massie had told him. He shuddered inwardly. He wanted to help his brother but to put it crudely the Church was too powerful, with too many powerful friends. Finnerty had Louis, and him, by the short and curlies. And Finnerty knew it.
"You refuse my brief?" Bertie asked calmly.
"As Brother Liam is no longer within the jurisdiction of the See of Vancouver, His Excellency has asked that you withdraw your brief." Finnerty fingered the purple piping of his vest. "He also wishes you to know that if Brother Liam has suffered a moral lapse, appropriate steps will be taken."
Louis growled. His fists were clenched, his knuckles white. "Counselled, prayed over, and set loose again to prey on innocent boys!"
"He will receive appropriate medical assistance," countered Finnerty. "With God's help, and faith, he will be a useful member of his Order."
"And our petition for guardianship will be refused?"
"Your petition HAS been refused," replied Finnerty smugly. "The Archbishop's imprimatur has been denied."
"I'm sorry, Louis," Bertie said as the brothers left the Chancellery. "I thought that Finnerty would at least be less obdurate. If only Gabe would tell the police, or you, what was done to him."
Louis shook his head. "I will not allow him to relive that experience! He's traumatized enough as it is! Can you imagine the emotional damage if he was forced to tell all?"
Nodding his understanding, Bertie continued. "If it is any comfort, Ted Massie and his people will keep an eye on Gabe once he is released from hospital."
"Which isn't going to happen soon," sobbed Louis. "His . . . his . . ." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fine linen handkerchief. He wiped his eyes. "Gabe will need surgery to correct the damage," he said, weeping. He could not bring himself to describe the procedure, not even to his brother.
Bertie had a fairly good idea of what damage Gabe had suffered. "Come on, I need a drink, and so do you." He gestured toward the building that stood on the corner opposite the Archbishop's Palace. "The food is good, if you care for Chinese."
Louis was not hungry, but he could use a drink. "Lead on, brother," he said disconsolately as they crossed the street and entered the Jade Palace Restaurant, principal place of business of "Uncle" Henry Chan, the Emperor of Chinatown.
Uncle Henry Chan was seated in his usual booth at the rear of the restaurant. He was not conducting business today. He was alternately entertaining and instructing his chosen heir and nephew in the intricacies of his business.
As the undisputed Emperor of Chinatown, Uncle Henry's very glance would cause strong men to quake and urinate in their trousers. It was common knowledge that Uncle Henry, while outwardly a benign despot, could be cruel beyond measure to those who crossed him, or tried to cheat him. His enemies were legion, his friends few. He controlled the Council of Elders, the leaders of the 12 regional "Societies" that represented the varied interests of old, established Chinese families from the mainland, and new immigrants, primarily from Hong Kong. He balanced his "business interests" in the importation of heroin, illegal gambling dens and Maj Jong parlours, loan-sharking, control of numerous sweat shops and restaurants with acts of benevolence and charity. No one came to his table and went away hungry or left empty handed. His influence extended to Hong Kong and the mainland cities of Shanghai and Canton. He had special friends in Taiwan and, while he personally despised him, was on speaking terms with the Generalissimo, Chiang Kai-shek. Both knew the value of a discretely presented casket of uncut diamonds, or a large box of gold coins.
Uncle Henry controlled his family with as firm a hand as he controlled his business interests. There was one, small obdurate fly in the ointment. Beside Uncle Henry sat said fly, a tall, slim, black-haired boy named Michael. Michael was the only nephew that Uncle Henry accepted as his heir. His other nephews, 30 or so at last count, were given sinecures, jobs, a place to conduct business, but the 12-year-old boy who sat reading a thick tome beside Uncle Henry was the anointed one. When the time came, Michael would be the Emperor, the Tai Pan.
Unfortunately, Michael flatly refused to acknowledge in any way his Chinese heritage. He was, he had announced, a Canadian boy. That he was handsome, that he was possessed of fine, clean features, resembling more a European than an Asian, lent credence to his assertions. Michael would be Canadian, and if Uncle Henry, his father, his mother, the 30 male cousins, or the tribe of uncles, aunts and assorted cousins, didn't like, too bad.
Uncle Henry tried to project the disarming façade of a humble restaurant owner. He came every day to this less than four star establishment, sat in the same booth, conducting business and watching the doors. He never spoke on the telephone, never put anything in writing. When conducting business he spoke Mandarin, the language of his ancestors, Cantonese, the lingua Franca of Chinatown, or, if negotiations were particularly important and delicate, or if he were angry beyond measure, Hakka. Young Michael spoke the same languages. When speaking Mandarin his voice was modulated and formal. He could have been a prince addressing the Court of the Forbidden City. When speaking Cantonese, he was the complete Chinese, loud, brisk, clipped. When speaking Hakka, which he detested, Michael became a dockyard coolie. Except that refused to acknowledge any verbal communication expressed in those languages. He would fix the speaker with his warm, brown eyes and say nothing. If the speaker persisted, young Michael's eyes grew cold. He might have his grandfather's features, but he had Uncle Henry's eyes.
From his seat Uncle Henry could not miss the two well-dressed white men who came into his restaurant and sat at the bar. He recognized one of the men, Albert Arundel, QC, Barrister and Solicitor, and Chief Crown of the Court of Queen's Bench. The other man Henry did not know. The presence of such a man as Mr. Arundel in his restaurant demanded acknowledgement. Uncle Henry, forgetting himself, told his nephew, in Mandarin, to find his Cousin Tommy who would take him into the kitchens for his lunch.
Young Michael's irritation was demonstrated by a barely perceptible rising of one eyebrow. He made no sound, and did not acknowledge his uncle's instructions. Uncle Henry muttered a very swart Chinese oath under his breath and repeated his request, in English.
"I would rather have a hamburger, thank you," replied his nephew politely.
Defeated, Uncle Henry spoke, "Then tell Tommy to take you to the hamburger place on Douglas Street."
Young Michael rose and left the booth. Before turning to the doors that led to the kitchens he bowed formally - there was no point in further aggravating his uncle, and said, "Thank you, Uncle. May I bring you back something?"
Smiling, Uncle Henry waved away the boy's offer. Michael might deny his Chinese blood, but his gestures betrayed him. He had offended an elder, and was making amends in a way that would allow both of them to keep "face", honour.
As the boy passed into the kitchens Uncle Henry struggled to leave his throne. He lumbered down the length of the restaurant, a beaming smile on his face. He would meet with the two white men. What he did not know, what the two white men did not know, was that the chance meeting would have repercussions that would influence the lives of many young men many years into the future.
Bertie Arundel saw Uncle Henry coming toward the bar. He could hardly do otherwise. Unlike so many of his countrymen, Uncle Henry stood 6 feet, 3 inches tall and weighed 300 pounds if he weighed an ounce. He was a roly-poly giant of a man who resembled the many representations of a smiling Buddha that seemed to adorn every Chinese business. He was, in fact, behind his back, referred to in whispers, as "The Buddha of Vancouver." He was bald, which was not uncommon. What was uncommon was that he sported a long, snow white, wispy moustache and chin whiskers. He dressed well, patronizing the finest Bond Street tailors, shirt makers and boot makers and managed to look as if he were a venerable scholar of the court, instead of an international gang lord.
Bertie knew about Uncle Henry, and his business interests. Had he known Uncle Henry frequented this establishment, Bertie would have gone elsewhere. Uncle Henry was always under investigation by some law enforcement agency or other, from the RCMP (for alleged importation of controlled substances); Immigration Canada (for suspected smuggling of illegal aliens); Customs and Excise (sale of re-imported cigarettes on which no duty or taxes had been paid); Revenue Canada (taxes, or rather the non-payment of same); and finally to, but by no means least, the Vancouver PD (promoting prostitution, distribution of illegal substances, loan sharking, bootlegging and making book). Bertie made a careful note of the time, cautioned Louis to keep quiet, and rose to meet the man who was determined to be his host.
"Ah, gentlemen, welcome to my humble eating establishment," said Uncle Henry. His tone was firm, that of a man who knew who he was, and what he was in charge on. "How may I serve you?"
Bertie left his bar stool and walked a few steps to meet Uncle Henry. He held out his hand, one gentleman greeting another gentleman. "Thank you, sir, but we just came in for a drink." His tone said I am prepared to be polite, but I know who, and what you are.
Recognizing a man of substance and power, Uncle Henry gestured toward his booth. "Please, join me. As you can see, the place is empty and there is no point in being uncomfortable."
Bertie looked at Louis, who returned a "What the hell, why not?" look. He smiled at Uncle Henry and nodded. "I would deem it a privilege." Not for nothing had Bertie been schooled in that most difficult of posts: Buckingham Palace where he had served a short term as Honourary Equerry to HM King George VI.
Uncle Henry, before conducting his guests to his booth noticed the whisky they'd been drinking. He snapped a question in Cantonese at the barman. Just as he suspected, they had been given the slop reserved for tourists. A flurry of outraged Cantonese sent the barman into the back, where Uncle Henry's special supplies were kept. The barman returned with crystal glasses and a bottle of Glenugie Single Malt, a vintage year Scotch whisky, a liquor that whisky connoisseurs salivated after.
Once settled in the booth Uncle Henry poured each of them a proper drink, toasted his guests, and said, "It is not often that we are honoured with the presence of so prominent a barrister." He nodded his head toward the front of the restaurant. "Unless, of course, they are versed in Canon Law and arguing a case before the Marriage Tribunal." He made a small face. "It has been my experience that the priests can be inflexible, and stone-hearted, when they put their minds to it. They present a unified front of morality to the world. All too often the opposite holds true."
"They have their ways," agreed Bertie mildly.
"You sound like a man who has been handed a great disappointment," murmured Uncle Henry.
Bertie shrugged. "Life is a disappointment," he said enigmatically.
"To many." Uncle Henry shrugged. "But then, I am used to disappointment."
"How so?" asked Louis, for the first time joining the conversation. His face was a mask of grief and sadness.
Uncle Henry wondered what had brought on the funereal look on Louis' face. He regarded Bertie. "You have run up against a brick wall across the street. My brick wall is farther away."
"Oh?" Bertie wondered where the talk was going.
Uncle Henry regarded the amber liquid in his glass and smiled ruefully. "You were disappointed by the Romans. The Anglicans, on the other hand, have disappointed me."
"The Anglicans?" Bertie's face showed his confusion.
Nodding, Uncle Henry continued. "My dearest nephew, Michael, is of an age when he should be attending a proper school." He leaned forward and spoke confidentially. "A public school is unacceptable. They are snake pits, filled with horrible lower class children, and not fit to educate even them!"
Bertie nodded. The public school system did leave much to be desired. "Have you thought of sending him to a private school? There are many good ones and I am sure that any one of them would be more than happy to accept him."
Shaking his head, no, Uncle Henry sighed almost theatrically. "The boy is handsome, intelligent, and would bring honour and prestige to his house and family. Nothing but the best will do for him. Unfortunately, the best looks upon him, his family, and his fellow countrymen as second class citizens."
Louis nodded. "It is a shame, really. The Chinese have given much to this country, and contributed to its wealth."
That there was much prejudice and bigotry against the Chinese was well known to Bertie. Uncle Henry had a legitimate complaint. The Chinese were second-class citizens. Bertie also felt that Uncle Henry was leading up to something. "Did you have a particular school in mind?" he asked.
"You are familiar with St. George's College?"
Both Bertie and Louis started. They were both very familiar with the College as it was founded with Arundel money on Leveson land. In fact the old Leveson mansion, which stood directly opposite the buildings of the University of British Columbia, had been the home of their maternal grandmother, who had bequeathed the house to the college upon her death. Leveson House was still in use as a residence for the "Sacred Sixty-Six", the Senior Fifth Form boarders and the Head Prefect, who enjoyed for his own use a two-room suite with bath.
A school for boys (known as gentlemen scholars) in the Anglican tradition, St. George's was considered to be the best school of its kind in the western provinces. Both Bertie and Louis had attended, as day students. Both had been elected to the highest position, that of Head Prefect, a position of great responsibility. Where the other gentlemen scholars wore the school uniform of wine-coloured blazer, grey trousers, a black waistcoat and a straight black tie, the Prefects (of which there were 12) wore a cutaway coat, black trousers, a wing-collared shirt, with a white bow tie, and a buff waistcoat. The Head Prefect wore a pale yellow, embroidered waistcoat, the gaudier the better. Bertie, who had been Head Prefect, kept his waistcoat; embroidered with white and red roses, in a camphor box, in the hopes that one of his twin sons might wear it one day.
"Was the boy denied entry because he was unable to sit the entrance examination, or was he denied entry because of his ancestry?" asked Louis, who then gave Bertie a piercing look.
"He was not allowed to sit the examination," complained Uncle Henry. "My brother was told that there were no places available and that while Michael's name would be added to their waiting list, the list is long."
Bertie snorted. There was no waiting list. He looked at Louis, who nodded and then, with a generosity that would mark him all his life, Bertie pulled out his card case. On the back of one of his vellum visiting cards he wrote the words, "The boy, Michael Chan, is to be accepted." He signed his name and handed the card to Uncle Henry. He handed his pen to Louis, who had found one of his cards.
Uncle Henry looked at the two visiting cards, and then at the Arundel brothers. "This is very generous. You hardly know me."
"I know enough to see a man who loves his nephew very much," replied Bertie, speaking for himself and his brother. "Louis and I are members of the Board of Visitors. Take the boy to St. George's and have him sit the examination. If he succeeds, he will be accepted. I shall ring the Registrar and the Head Master this evening."
"No boy should be denied an opportunity because of his ancestry," said Louis. He glanced at his watch and looked at Bertie. "I really should be going. Gabe will be wondering where I am. He likes for me to have dinner with him." He laughed quietly. "The food is abominable, but Gabe gobbles it down." His look to Uncle Louis said with an invisible shrug, "Boys! They will eat anything."
Uncle Henry, the cards firmly in his jacket pocket, nodded. "Whenever Michael visits I see that week's profit being consumed." His face became calm. "I am in your debt."
"Nonsense," replied Bertie. "Just make sure that Michael does you proud."
With that the Arundels made their goodbyes and left the restaurant.
Uncle Henry retrieved the visiting cards from his pocket and ran his finger over the richly engraved names. In his world generosity was a sign of weakness, except when given as charity. In his world, a favour of this magnitude would demand repayment. While he knew that Bertie and Louis Arundel had no thought of ever asking for repayment, Uncle Henry was determined to show his gratitude.
His thoughts were broken when Michael, and Tommy Chan, a tall, thin, quite handsome Chinese, and Henry's eldest nephew returned. Uncle Henry looked at Michael and smiled kindly. "You will have your wish, little one," he said as he reached out and ran the back of his hand down Michael's face.
Wide-eyed, Michael asked, "St. George's?"
"It is arranged," replied Uncle Henry. He turned to Tommy. "You saw the two gentlemen who just left?"
Tommy nodded. "I know one is a lawyer. The other one, he's a professor at the university. I used to see him around the quad when I went there."
Uncle Henry began speaking in Mandarin, which he always did when imparting what he considered to be matters of the highest import. Michael stared as the words flowed. "The college professor left to visit someone named Gabe. I believe that this Gabe is the reason the Arundels were visiting the Romans. Find out everything you can. When you have learned all you can, report back to me."
Several weeks later Uncle Henry knew everything. They met in Uncle Henry's booth in the restaurant. Michael was as usual seated opposite Uncle Henry, studying a thick book, "Wheelock's Latin Primer". St. George's College emphasized the Classics and Sciences. Every boy was required to study Latin and Ancient Greek as a matter of course.
Tommy sat beside Michael, who smiled at him, and then returned to mentally conjugating his Latin verbs. Quite forgetting that Michael understood Hakka as well, or better, as he did, Tommy began making his report. Michael understood the import of what Tommy was saying, but gave no sign of understanding. Uncle Henry, blank faced, listened as Tommy reported. When Tommy finished, Uncle Henry shook his head and asked, in English, "The boy, he is well?"
Tommy nodded, but replied in Hakka. "The doctors did a good job on him. The orderly I spoke to told me that the bastard who raped him did a real number on his . . . on him."
A string of Hakka oaths spewed from Uncle Henry. Tommy drew back. Uncle Henry only spoke Hakka when angry beyond comprehension. When he was finished, Uncle Henry returned to speaking Mandarin. "Have Tsang Tsu Sheng attend me."
Tommy paled. "You're bringing in the Tsangs? Uncle, with respect, you know as well as I do that . . ."
"Have Tsang Tsu Sheng attend me," repeated Uncle Henry. "As soon as possible. And make sure that your affairs are in order. You will be the minder."
When Tommy left the restaurant Uncle Henry turned to see his young nephew staring at him. There was a strange look in Michael's, a look of almost . . . approval? Uncle Henry then realized that Michael at understood every word he had spoken to Tommy. "You know what I am going to do, then?" he asked carefully. He did not want to push the boy along too quickly, but Michael had to understand that when the day came he would have to make harsh decisions.
Michael, stoic, nodded imperceptivity. "You are about to send a message to a very powerful man, a man with much influence with the Westerners. The man thinks that he is all-powerful, and not subject to the rule of law. You wish to make him understand that there are forces much more powerful than he who will remind him of his true station in life."
"It does not bother you that the Tsangs will be involved?"
Shaking his head, no, Michael spoke softly. "The Tsangs are necessary for our business. There are men who do not understand a message unless it is delivered by people such as the Tsangs." Michael reached across the Formica table and held his uncle's pudgy hand. "I understand why you are doing this thing. A friend has done you a service and you wish to repay. That is our way. The powerful man you are sending the message to has the means, and the power to grant your friends' wish. He has been reasoned with, has refused to see reason, and now a different method must be used."
"Yes," replied Uncle Henry. "There are other things as well . . ."
Michael rose from the table and said, "A child has been harmed. He is not much younger than I am. I have had a happy childhood and all children should be as happy as I have been. A man who would hurt a child is not worthy of life." He nodded toward the kitchen. "I am hungry, uncle. I will bring us something special to eat."
When Michael disappeared into the kitchen Uncle Henry nodded his head and smiled widely. He had chosen well. This skinny, handsome, black-haired boy would be The Emperor, and an Emperor the likes of which had not been seen in fifteen hundred years!
Visibly shaken, Tommy Chan went to convey Uncle Henry's message to Tsang Tsu Sheng, the elder of the Tsang clan. The members of the clan were Uncle Henry's personal retainers, and when the occasion warranted it, his personal enforcers and executioners.
Tommy knew the history of the clan. They were throwbacks, Neanderthals, illiterates who produced hulking males and ugly females. They had never progressed beyond the 16th Century, and gave total, complete obedience to the Chans because back in that century a Chan warlord had been stupid enough to spare the life of the last living male of the clan. Loyalty ran deep, and had a long memory. The clan was reborn, and always gave allegiance to the Chans.
As he approached the decrepit and crumbling apartment block that housed the clan Tommy noticed the absence of any stray dogs or cats. He could very well believe where the strays had ended up and vowed never to partake of Tsang hospitality.
Passing through the gateless archway that led to the inner courtyard of the building, Tommy cringed. The noise level was enough to burst a man's eardrums! The Tsangs, thousands of them it seemed to Tommy, all lived together. The huge building was overrun by relatives of every degree, aunts, cousins, grandmothers and grandfathers, ancient crones and naked babies, all screaming, fighting, copulating, sharing space with each other and sundry chickens and, Tommy suspected from a new smell, a litter of pigs.
As he entered the dismal flat that housed Sheng, Tommy tripped over a small shrine and cursed, in English, under his breath. The whole fucking place was littered with shrines! The Tsangs kept the old ways and worshiped at inconveniently placed shrines, big ones little ones, and every size in between, each one dedicated to one of the seemingly innumerable gods and goddesses the Chinese pantheon. If that wasn't bad enough, each dwelling unit had an additional shrine dedicated to the Feng Shui, vicious, ill-tempered creatures that brought disharmony to a house if they were offended, which was apparently an easy thing to do.
Why Uncle Henry had not ordered the whole damned lot of them to convert to something easy, like Judaism, or Catholicism, Tommy didn't know. Or save a whole lot of trouble by shipping them all back to China!
Tommy conveyed the message and left the compound, dodging children and chickens. Whatever Uncle Henry had in mind would be conveyed to Tsang Tsu Sheng alone. Tommy would be along for the ride to make sure that whichever idiotic son, or sons, was sent to do whatever it was Uncle Henry wanted done didn't get into serious trouble. Knowing the Tsangs that was the only role that Tommy wanted to play.
On the day before Gabriel Izard was to be released from hospital and returned to the orphanage Monsignor Terrance Xavier Finnerty, Chancellor of the Archdiocese of Vancouver, paid a Diocesan Visit to the parish and church of Our Lady of Mount Carmel, the only Catholic church in Chinatown. He said mass, baptized babies, and inspected the school and the convent that housed the nuns - all Chinese immigrants who had fled their native country when the Communists took over. He shook hands, inspected the rectory and examined the parish books and Baptismal Registry, thinking that it was no wonder that Chinatown was bulging at the seams! The newly arrived Chinese bred like fruit flies! But then, on a kinder note, Finnerty mentally argued that they were all Catholics and welcome in the arms of the Church.
Terrance Finnerty could afford to be in an expansive mood. It was May, the Month of Mary, and he was away from the oppressive atmosphere of the Bishop's Palace and the backbiting of the Chancellery. When the Archbishop suggested this pastoral visit Finnerty knew exactly what it meant. His appointment as Bishop of Kelowna was assured and had immediately ordered his Episcopal Amethyst from Birk's Jewellers.
As the morning passed, Finnerty walked amongst the faithful, dispensing plenary indulgences and smiling broadly. All too soon it seemed it was time to wind up the visit. He gamely ate a very suspicious lunch in the parish hall, dispensed his final blessings over the bowed heads of the congregation and after a restorative drink in the rectory, and a promise to persuade His Excellency to give his blessing to the building of new chapel dedicated to the Chinese Martyrs, the Monsignor prepared to return reluctantly to the Chancellery. He was about to step into his limousine when Tommy Chan walked up, shook the Monsignor's hand, and said in a low voice, "I have a gift for you, your Grace."
"A gift?" asked the Monsignor as Tommy handed him a small wooden box.
"A gift," echoed Tommy. He smiled cruelly. "It appears that Brother Liam did not respond to treatment for his moral lapse," he said with a laugh as he walked away.
In the car Monsignor Finnerty examined the box. It was made of rosewood, quite handsome and richly carved. The young Chinese man's words bothered him, however. Whatever could he mean? Brother Liam was in Newfoundland, hopefully working in a home for the elderly and nowhere near children. He had counselled the Archbishop about Liam, and had supported the decision to get the man as far away from Vancouver, and young boys, as possible. What else could they do with him?
When he opened the box Monsignor Finnerty found a small, wrapped package on top of which rested a newspaper clipping. It appeared that one Brother Liam Docherty, a member of the Order of Irish Christian Brothers, had disappeared. The Royal Newfoundland Constabulary was searching for him diligently.
Bishop Finnerty opened the package carefully. One never quite trusted the Heathen Chinee, after all. What he saw caused him to shriek uncontrollably and then vomit all over the velvet upholstery of the Archbishop's car.
The screaming caused Paddy Noonan, the driver, to all but ram into a city bus. He pulled to the side of the roadway and looked back to see the Monsignor, chalk-faced and glassy-eyed, pointing at the severed, pale, death-wrinkled penis and testicles of Brother Liam Docherty, who had not responded to treatment for his moral lapse.
That same evening Louis Arundel sat in his cluttered library, morosely drinking. He had tried everything he could to gain guardianship of Gabe, to no avail. He had even called the Premier's Office, in Victoria. The spineless wonder would not take on the church. No one, it seemed, would take on the church.
The only good thing that had happened in his life to date had been a cable he had received in response to a telephone call he had made to one of his cousins in London. Louis would keep his promise to Gabe and help his young friend, Darren, who was still in a coma. Louis fingered the cable that announced the arrival tomorrow afternoon of Sir Joel Vincent, MD (Lond), FRCS, Professor of Neurosurgery at the University College, London, Gower Street, WC1. Sir Joel's medical expertise was astounding and if he could help Darren, Gabe would be ecstatically happy.
Depressed, Louis drank deeply, and often. In the pocket of his waistcoat was a small key that opened the door to the main building of the family's hunting lodge. The place, which stood on the shores of François Lake near the small town of Tatalrose hadn't been used in years. It would be a long slog, driving north at this time of the year but he and Gabe could hide out there until Bertie made the necessary arrangements.
Bertie would help. He might not like it, but he would help. Bertie knew people, people who could provide, for a fee, the necessary documents. Money was not a problem. Louis had already been to the bank and the wall safe hidden behind his father's portrait was stuffed with Canadian bank notes and large denomination United States dollars. They could not stay at the lodge or in Canada for any great length of time. Bertie would have to find them a haven where Canadian Law was impotent and United States dollars accepted without question.
He could do it, Louis reasoned. He would go to the hospital tomorrow morning early. The nurses and orderlies were used to seeing him. He could take Gabe out for a bit air, and then . . . The harsh ringing of the doorbell disturbed Louis' plotting to kidnap Gabe.
Staggering a bit, Louis opened the door to see a young priest. The young man handed Louis a large, cream-coloured bond envelope and said, "His Excellency the Archbishop has directed that this envelope be delivered to you."
Louis, his eyes clouded with drink, nodded unhappily. "Must keep the paperwork correct, eh?" he asked. It was so like the bureaucratic Church to record on rich bond and vellum its final decision on all matters.
The priest shrugged.
The young priest had no idea what was in the envelope. All he knew was that the Archbishop had raged at Monsignor Finnerty (who was confined to his bed), and then called for his secretary, Father Dennis Bradley-Smyth, a slightly effeminate young priest, who was in his bed enjoying the very satisfying afterglow of a personal "moral lapse" - he'd been lapsing twice and sometimes, thrice, a day since he was 13 and a bit.
The Archbishop had realised, as Monsignor Finnerty had not, that a message had been sent, through the medium of a young Chinese male. And that meant Uncle Henry! The Archbishop was not a fool and had no desire to incur the wrath and enmity of the most powerful man in Vancouver, and other points, if the contents of the pretty carved wooden box were any indication! What angered the Archbishop to near coronary occlusion was that he had listened to that self-seeking fool, Finnerty! There was nothing to worry about, Finnerty had told him. The offending brother had been sent packing. Mount St. Patrick had been cleared of the nest of perverts and child molesters and the police would be told to back away. Nothing could be proven anyway. And who cared about some orphan brat?
"Someone cared!" The Archbishop's tongue flayed Finnerty in flawless Latin. The nuns who tended the Archbishop fled in terror and scampered into the chapel to pray that His Excellency's temper tantrum did not lead to a stroke, or to his murdering Monsignor Finnerty with his crosier.
In the end The Archbishop calmed down, issued some orders to Father Bradley-Smyth and, with a most uncharacteristic speed of light, an Archdiocesan Bull had been issued.
"I'm just the messenger," said the young priest. Mr. Arundel's agitation was obvious. "Please don't shoot me."
Smiling at the young man's little joke Louis promised not to shoot anybody and returned to his library. With trembling hands he carefully opened the envelope and the large beribboned and sealed sheet of paper. He stared at the Latin words, stared again and then burst into tears for at the bottom of the page, written above the signature of the Archbishop of the See of Vancouver, was an IMPRIMATUR.
His Excellency, the Archbishop, was most graciously pleased to grant the petition of Louis David Henry Arundel, of the City of Vancouver, in the matter of guardianship of one Gabriel Tradd Izard, a Ward of the Church, in which there was no impediment.