The Rook: A Novel

by O'Malley, Daniel

  Ingrid sighed. “Val tells me that it’s in the wardrobe in your guest room, along with all those other clothes the Greek made you buy and that you never wear. I’ll send over the instructions on how to put it on.”

  “Christ,” said Myfanwy, who’d been paying only partial attention but was now jolted away from her perusal of the administrivia. “I thought it was going to be an intimate gathering.”

  “Well, it is just the Court members and their entourages,” said Ingrid. “And the envoys from the Croatoan and their entourages.”

  “Hold on a sec,” said Myfanwy, turning to Shantay, who was busily checking her e-mail. “Shan, do you have an entourage?”

  “Uh, yes,” said Shantay in a tone that suggested she was also in possession of a spine, a nose, and various other things that were usually taken for granted.

  “So where are they?” asked Myfanwy. “Why aren’t they hanging around you? And don’t take this personally, but why aren’t they entertaining you so that you don’t have to come along to manifestations?”

  “They had to fly in, so they’re still settling in at the hotel.”

  “Oh,” said Myfanwy. “Ingrid, is… my entourage going to be ready?” she said hesitantly. Since the day she’d assumed this life, she hadn’t been aware of having any specific entourage, as such. Maybe Thomas had elected not to have any.

  “I’ll be going to the hairdresser in an hour,” said Ingrid, “and I’ve e-mailed them the instructions for your hair, so they will be ready for you when you arrive. Now, will Anthony be an acceptable bodyguard?”

  “Yeah, sounds great,” said Myfanwy. So Ingrid and Anthony are my entourage.

  “Excellent, then we shall come to your house a half hour before sunset.”

  “Sure,” said Myfanwy. It sounds like I’m going to the high school formal.

  I can’t wear this!” Myfanwy exclaimed in horror.

  Val came trotting into the guest room and stopped short when she saw the dress Myfanwy was holding up.

  “You can’t wear that!” the housekeeper exclaimed.

  “Yes, I know,” said Myfanwy, who was shivering in her underwear but much preferred it to the alternative.

  “It’s like all the material that’s supposed to be on top migrated to the bottom,” said Val.

  “Yes, I know,” said Myfanwy, who thoughtfully eyed her own chest and wondered how the thing was supposed to stay up. How could Thomas describe herself as shy and unassuming while owning a garment that would embarrass a Venetian courtesan? It wasn’t that it was indecent so much as that it implied a great deal of self-confidence. It was extraordinary and undeniably unorthodox. It would have been striking on anyone, but on Thomas it would be downright shocking.

  In fact, all of the outfits in the guest room wardrobe represented a drastic schism in Thomas’s apparent fashion sensibilities. Myfanwy had opened the doors and then actually taken a few steps backward, stunned by the clothes she’d found there. Inside, a garden of colors blossomed. A full range of dresses, gowns, and outfits awaited, all beautifully made, and all crying out for attention.

  “What kind of party are you going to?” Val asked.

  “It’s for work,” said Myfanwy helplessly.

  “Formal?”

  “To a certain degree.”

  “Obviously. You don’t see a lot of trains nowadays, not outside weddings.” Any wedding in which this dress appeared on the bride would have to be pretty damn open-minded, thought Myfanwy. And might well incorporate the honeymoon on the altar.

  “We’re meeting with the Americans,” Myfanwy explained.

  “Oh!” said Val, obviously doing some mental rearranging.

  “Do you think I can pull it off?”

  “I should think any passerby could pull it off if he tugged on this bit right here,” said Val grimly. “Still, your hair is lovely, and with a bit of jewelry you’ll look very special.”

  Upon learning that this was an international event, Val had clearly filed it in the same category as the Oscars, or possibly World War II. She began fussing around as if Myfanwy were her daughter going off to prom. Obviously more familiar with certain aspects of the house than Myfanwy was, Val produced a jewelry box and drew out a large metal necklace to take the place of whatever material was missing from the top of the dress. In a pinch, it could also be used to bludgeon someone to death over the canapés.

  Somehow, together, they figured out how Myfanwy was supposed to fit into the gown and where each strap and fastening was supposed to go. When Myfanwy finally stood in front of the mirror, their breath was taken away.

  “Well,” said Val. “Well.”

  It was glorious, in an alien sort of way. Myfanwy looked as if she had bathed in the blood of ten fashion designers. The artists at the salon had known exactly how to do her hair and makeup to complement the dress, which had clearly been made for her. Everything was covered that was supposed to be covered. It held her tightly and swirled around her, and although Myfanwy hated to admit this, it made her look amazing. It was a dress designed to draw attention.

  “You look like Cinderella,” said Val in awe.

  “Yeah, if she’d been into bondage and had Christian Dior for a godmother.”

  “If only you had a man to walk you in,” said Val sadly, reverting to concerned-mother mode.

  “I’m just grateful there’s no metal or leather in this thing,” said Myfanwy. Or spikes. They stared at the dress some more and were woken from their reverie only by the sound of the doorbell.

  “There! That’s your car,” said Val. “Now, do you have everything you need?”

  “Except for Kevlar and a gun,” said Myfanwy, who in the flurry of getting ready had temporarily forgotten about the revelations regarding Gestalt’s treachery.

  “What?”

  “Just kidding.”

  24

  Apex House looked like a fairy-tale palace, the spotlights painting its front pillars vivid colors as the night closed in. Dusk was just departing as Myfanwy’s car drew up to the front. Her bodyguard for the night, Anthony, had turned out to be a massively fat Japanese man who spoke with a thick Scottish accent and was dressed in traditional Scottish garb. His kilt could have been used as a tartan slipcover for a settee, and his sporran looked as if it could use some friends to back it up. Still, she’d had the presence of mind to compliment him on his appearance.

  An incomprehensible stream of syllables had flowed out of his lips. Myfanwy was unable to tell if it was Japanese, Gaelic, or a bastard hybridization of both. Still, she’d smiled politely in reply.

  There’d been a pause at the front while Ingrid had fussed over Myfanwy’s costume, ensuring that nothing was crumpled. Ingrid wasn’t looking too shabby herself in her purple dress, although she was nowhere near as exotic as Myfanwy.

  “I’m so glad you got that dress, Rook Thomas. It’s a real departure for you, but it suits you.”

  “You think?”

  “Absolutely. It will certainly turn some heads.”

  “Oh… goody.”

  They moved through the hallways, and everywhere Pawns and Retainers stepped aside, bowing slightly. Was it Myfanwy’s imagination or were the male employees taking the opportunity to get a look at the top half of her dress? Judging by the reactions of the female employees, the news of her attire would make its way through the Checquy gossip highways quickly. Combined with her escapades in Bath, this meant her corporate image was in for a major change. Behind Myfanwy to her right sailed Ingrid with a look of calm efficiency on her face. On her left, Anthony hulked along. They entered the reception room, and the Bishops and the Chevaliers were already there, with their Retainers, all looking suitably classy and powerful.

  Bishop Grantchester was dressed in a tailored tuxedo, with strands of inky mist coiling themselves artistically around his arms and shoulders. They trailed behind him as he moved about the room. Chevalier Eckhart was in military uniform. Chevalier Gubbins wore a tuxedo also, although his was rather rumpled.
He appeared to be doing his best not to contort into any undignified poses.

  It was Bishop Alrich, however, who made Myfanwy’s jaw drop. He was dressed in a kimono of black silk intricately embroidered with threads of a deep metallic crimson. It was so long that it trailed the floor behind him, although not quite as much as Myfanwy’s dress did. Massive vanes sprouted from his shoulders, arcing back and up like blades. It was an outfit of bizarre and decadent elegance. His hair was plaited down his back in a loose tail of auburn. He caught Myfanwy’s eye and gave her a small smile as he scanned every aspect of her outfit. Apparently he approved, because his smile grew larger.

  Gestalt arrived, all four bodies walking liquidly in step. Much as Myfanwy hated to admit it, they looked impressive. The mind behind them had decided to take advantage of the bodies’ striking similarity and had dressed them identically in a livery of dark blue. Myfanwy studied Eliza, the female and the only one she hadn’t yet seen. She was lovely, with her hair coiled intricately at the back of her head. When the four siblings turned their heads to look at her, Myfanwy tensed, but nothing happened.

  The Lord and Lady arrived and were honored, he resplendent in military uniform and sporting so many medals that they practically constituted body armor, she dressed in a classic evening gown. Everyone chatted politely, and no one stared at Myfanwy’s dress to an extent that could be considered rude. The Retainers moved around carefully, wary of bumping into anybody who might accidentally destroy them. Alrich’s and Myfanwy’s costumes in particular posed difficulties, since they projected out in unexpected ways. Finally, the Croatoan envoys were announced.

  Bishop Morales entered first, flanked by two men, both of whom appeared to be bodybuilders. A little old woman of Mexican descent, she walked with a cane and was dressed in something black and expensive. Myfanwy was called upon to present the Bishop to the heads of the organization. Farrier and Wattleman greeted her formally, and the rest of the Court introduced themselves. Then Shantay entered, looking as marvelous as might be expected, considering she had access to all the boutiques of Rodeo Drive and the kind of figure that, according to some of the Checquy histories, people actually had sold their souls to possess.

  Pleasantries were exchanged, and waiters wove through the crowd. Myfanwy had been a little concerned that the ballroom would be decorated as blandly as that hideous boardroom. But it was an enormous space with glittering chandeliers, beautifully sculpted columns, and large arrangements of flowers. The perfect place for a party.

  “We’ll be moving in for dinner in about fifteen minutes, Rook Thomas,” Ingrid whispered to her. Myfanwy nodded her thanks and went back to paying some attention to what one of Eckhart’s Retainers was saying. From there she was sucked into a conversation with Shantay, Gubbins, Wattleman, and Robert Gestalt. The chitchat was painfully polite, with all the participants avoiding any mention of the Grafters and instead making cocktail chatter that she could easily coast her way through. Discussion of the Grafter threat would occur the next day, with a formal agenda and minutes taken. And so Myfanwy spent most of her time eyeing the Gestalt brother warily and wondering what would be the best way to expose Gestalt’s treachery. She’d just decided to have Ingrid make her an appointment with Farrier and Wattleman the next morning when Gubbins suddenly started chirping about the day’s activities.

  “So, Bishop Petoskey, I understand you had quite the adventure today, accompanying Rook Thomas out to one of our manifestation sites.” Shantay caught Myfanwy’s eye and looked a trifle wary, as if she wasn’t entirely sure how much she should say. “Of course, it was all perfectly legal, Sir Henry,” Gubbins assured the Lord. “Under the terms of the Sororitas Pact, our American cousins are allowed to attend manifestations.”

  “Indeed,” said Wattleman, not looking particularly pleased at the information. “And whereabouts did you go, Bishop Petoskey?”

  “Oh,” fumbled Shantay, who was the only person besides Myfanwy aware of Gestalt’s apparent betrayal of the Checquy. “Well, it was, um…”

  “Bath, wasn’t it?” prompted Gubbins helpfully.

  “What?” said Gestalt suddenly, looking at Shantay and Myfanwy with narrowed eyes.

  “Oh, yes,” continued Gubbins, cheerfully oblivious to the tension in the air. “Something about a house full of people generating a fungus, wasn’t it? I like to listen in on the transmissions whenever the Barghests go out.”

  Gestalt had gone rigid and then slowly slid one of his hands into his coat. Myfanwy mentally reached out, gently reading his sensations, and realized that the Rook was holding a gun. She took a deep breath and went for it.

  “Rook Gestalt, I accuse you of treason against the Checquy and the United Kingdom of the British Isles!”

  The entire place fell silent, the conversations dying away as heads whipped around. With lightning reflexes, the Gestalt in front of her drew his gun and pointed it at her face. She saw the murder in his eyes and felt a moment of pure satisfaction when he found, much to his bewilderment, that he wasn’t able to pull the trigger.

  Oh, yes, that would be me doing that.

  She raised her eyebrows at him then focused and made him throw the gun away, into a distant corner of the room.

  Then, as an afterthought, she made him throw himself in the opposite direction, straight into one of the large floral displays.

  For a moment, everyone in the room was frozen—even Gestalt’s other bodies stared in astonishment. Then the place seemed to explode into action. Across the room there was a shriek as a Gestalt twin backhanded Lady Farrier and shoved one of her Retainers into a waiter. A tray of hors d’oeuvres went flying. The other two siblings pulled out guns and a couple of alarming-looking combat knives, and the sister fired a round into a woman pouring drinks. All three siblings opened their mouths and barked out sharp commands. Myfanwy was too distracted by the sight of the waitress falling dead to the floor to catch all the words, although she did hear uprising and take them.

  In response, several of the Retainers who were scattered about the room produced weapons and began to move menacingly toward the members of the Court. Three of them darted at Conrad Grantchester. That corner of the room was abruptly engulfed in darkness as the Bishop poured a torrent of inky smoke out of his pores. Ingrid and Anthony were swallowed up in the fog, and Myfanwy caught a glimpse of them being attacked by two other people in purple. She heard coughing, people crashing into one another, and the unmistakable swearing of Joshua Eckhart, confirming that he’d retained all the vocabulary he’d picked up from his deplorable parents. There was the wild slamming sound of gunfire, and everyone ducked.

  Bishop Morales took the hands of her two Retainers and was gone with an abruptness that actually hurt Myfanwy’s eyes.

  The Gestalt brother whom Myfanwy had directed into a large vase of flowers was getting to his knees, dripping water, decorative ferns falling from his shoulders. Oh, no, thought Myfanwy, you’re not getting involved. She slammed her thoughts down on him and sent him sprawling. Then she pinned his body with her mind, freezing every joint.

  Shantay’s Retainers were down, shot in quick succession by the Gestalt twins, and Myfanwy saw, to her horror, that some Checquy Retainers had actually turned on their Court members. One of Gubbins’s secretaries dragged a wire garrote over his master’s head and set about throttling him. Farrier’s bodyguard had kicked Farrier in the ribs and was now looming over the older lady with a knife. The room was filled with people trying to kill one another. Luckily, no one had made any moves toward Myfanwy yet, and she drew back a little.

  Eliza Gestalt was bringing her pistol to bear on Wattleman, and Myfanwy immediately released her hold on Robert, mentally seized the female Gestalt, and froze her as she was taking aim. Behind Myfanwy, the brother got up and started fighting with one of Wattleman’s bodyguards. Myfanwy could feel Gestalt wriggling against her mind, and she clenched her thoughts around the traitorous Rook. Her vision lurched as she looked out of Eliza’s eyes.

  For a fe
w seconds, she could read Eliza’s body. She felt taut muscles, hands callused in unfamiliar ways, and the uncomfortable sensation of her period. Then she drank in even more information. Her legs had been waxed recently, and there were fragments of hors d’oeuvres in the crevices of a back tooth. She could feel the remnants of the injuries the body had picked up over the years: white lines on the knuckles and the backs of the hands, one along her stomach, and the slight ache of scars that had come from claws raked across her back.

  Myfanwy held tight until one of Grantchester’s Retainers kicked her behind her knees, knocking her to the floor and shaking her grip on Eliza. The Retainer stamped on her ankles and she shrieked and involuntarily released Gestalt.

  Eliza blinked her eyes a few times and then turned to the gaping Wattleman and shot him in the head. The old man crumpled, falling into the startled Shantay’s arms. A few meters away, Gubbins was struggling against the garrote clutched in the hands of his Retainer. Myfanwy looked back at the man who’d knocked her down and saw him drawing a long knife from inside his coat. She reached out through the pain that was throbbing in her legs, entered his mind, and forced him to stab himself in the thigh and then turn the blade.

  Behind her, Alrich was in the process of tearing the limbs off one of his secretaries.

  It was anarchy, with Court members and Retainers attacking one another left and right. Gubbins dislocated his neck backward, simultaneously slipping out of the garrote and smashing his attacker in the nose.

  Eliza had gone after Shantay and was firing frantically at the American Bishop and the old man she held in her arms. Unfortunately for Gestalt, Shantay had grown a skin of glittering armor and was curled over Wattleman, shielding him. Bullets were ricocheting off her in a flurry of sparks. When the ammunition ran out, Eliza looked at the metallic woman in front of her and apparently decided to find a target that could actually be hurt by a combat knife—also a target that couldn’t fold her in half. She turned and went after a loyal Retainer who was defending Lady Farrier.