The Rook: A Novel

by O'Malley, Daniel

  On the outside, the place looks as if they’re expecting the English to turn up and demand that the inhabitants turn over all the virgins and any cattle and coins they might have hanging around. But on the inside it’s super-sophisticated, with all the very latest in security cameras and lead manacles.

  It’s where we store enemies we can’t kill.

  “I miss Anthony.” Ingrid sighed wistfully. Myfanwy looked up in surprise. It was most unlike her secretary to show such emotion.

  “He was a good man,” agreed Myfanwy. I only met him the once, but he seemed nice. And Thomas seemed to approve of him. Plus, now that we’re in Scotland I could have found someone to tell me what the hell he was saying.

  “Security Chief Clovis is looking for a replacement,” said Ingrid. “I asked him if we could have another incomprehensible bodyguard. It made the car trips so soothing.” Is she drunk? wondered Myfanwy before deciding it was just the mournful countryside and lack of sleep that had brought out the maudlin in her secretary. Ingrid shook her head. “Anyway, we’ll soon be at Gallows Keep.”

  “Yes,” sighed Myfanwy. “This should be a pleasant little interview. All I have to do is put on my scary face.”

  “You have a scary face?” Ingrid sounded skeptical.

  “Yes,” said Myfanwy indignantly. “I have a very scary face.”

  Ingrid surveyed her for a moment.

  “You may wish to take off the cardigan then, Rook Thomas,” she advised tactfully. “The flowers on the pockets detract somewhat from your menace.”

  Rook Thomas,” said Gestalt. The past thirty-six hours had clearly been very bad ones for the Gestalt bodies the Checquy had managed to hold on to. Myfanwy was in the room where the formerly tidy and now somewhat rumpled twin was imprisoned, and a pair of cold blue eyes regarded her with hate. She’d ordered her two bodyguards to stay outside the room and they’d agreed only because the door was made of glass and they could see exactly what was going on. One of them was holding her cardigan, which she’d taken off at the last minute, putting on a blazer that was much more official-looking but also much less comfortable. Restricted as she was to the secure Rookery residence, Myfanwy had had a Checquy courier fetch it from the guest room wardrobe in her house before they left for Scotland. Now she found that it had some sort of corset sewn into it, so she was standing very straight. Hopefully that would also help her appear a bit more intimidating.

  “Gestalt, you’re looking well,” Myfanwy said. “I mean, as well as anyone could look in that delightful apparatus. Which is to say, you look like utter shit.” Gestalt was pinioned in stocks, his hands and head poking out through the holes. The stocks themselves were affixed to the wall with thick iron bars. A sphere of chicken wire encircled his head, looking like an attempt to keep out extremely fat bees. “My goodness,” she said cheerfully, “but they’re certainly not taking any chances with you, are they? All you need to complete this picture is a big iron ball shackled to your ankle and a hockey mask.”

  “Frankly,” replied Gestalt, “I don’t know why they bother.”

  “You mean since you have so many other bodies running about?” Myfanwy asked.

  “Exactly” came the flat answer.

  “Still, you’ve lost access to half of them, haven’t you? I mean, three days ago there were four siblings walking around, free to do as they pleased, and now there are only two. We’ve got the Teddy body here, and the Robert body in the next room. Bit of a comedown, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’ve still got twice as many bodies as you have,” said Gestalt snidely.

  “And you think I feel the lack?” asked Myfanwy. “I assure you that the rest of us do not go about wishing we had a couple of extra bodies. No one is suffering from body envy. But that’s not the reason I came to talk to you.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so. Are you going to ask me where my other bodies are?”

  “No, of course not,” Myfanwy assured him. “At least, not yet. Dr. Crisp wanted to be flown in immediately to interrogate you. He’s never quite forgiven you for attempting to strangle him. And he feels that your unique physiology would offer a marvelous challenge. But we still need him in America. And anyway, we have a nice buffet of torturers to choose from right here in this facility.”

  “Torture!” scoffed Gestalt. “You realize that I could abandon this body, don’t you? I could simply slide out of it and into a different one.”

  “Oh, yes, I know that. After all, you vacated yourself entirely the other night, didn’t you? All four siblings, and not a brain between them. Not that there was much there to begin with,” Myfanwy added sweetly.

  “So then why are you here?” asked Gestalt.

  “I wanted to see if there was anything you wanted to tell me of your own free will,” Myfanwy said.

  “You must be joking!” the body said. “If I wouldn’t tell you anything under torture, why on earth would I tell you anything of my own free will?”

  “There are worse things than torture,” said Myfanwy with a small smile. She’d spent the ride up from London thinking about this, and her creativity had surprised her. “After all, you may have four bodies, but I’m fairly certain you’re emotionally attached to all of them. Now, you can choose of your own free will to answer my questions, or you can choose of your own free will to have various limbs chainsawed off.”

  Gestalt was staring at her fixedly.

  “You’ve never had fewer than four bodies to work with, have you? So I’ll bet that having only two is driving you nuts. But at least our two are as yet unharmed.” She paused for dramatic effect. “How would you like to slide into a body with no eyes, or ears, or limbs?

  “Now, of course you wouldn’t be present for the actual procedure—you wouldn’t feel the pain, so it’s technically not torture—but I’m betting just the knowledge that we’re abusing your body would hurt you. It may be one body of many, but it’s still your body. We wouldn’t have to mutilate both of them. In fact, maybe we could rig it up so that you could watch it going on. See yourself get ruined.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” screamed Gestalt. “You touch me and I’ll kill you!”

  “I’ll kill you first,” promised Myfanwy in a cold voice. “I’ll kill you twice if I feel like it.”

  “I hate you! I hate you!” the body screamed until she reached out and shut it up.

  “You need to be quiet for a moment,” she said. For a minute, she worried that Gestalt would leave, unable to tolerate her manipulation of its body, but the blue eyes still glared at her. “Now, let’s think.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully.

  “I wonder how many people are involved in this little mutiny of yours. I know it wasn’t just the Retainers at the reception the other night. After all, I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Goblet the other day. So why don’t you tell me a little more about your operation in Bath?” Myfanwy unzipped Gestalt’s mouth and was treated to a string of obscenities.

  She shut him up again. “Charming. And then there’s the alarming evidence that you’ve been fraternizing with the Grafters. Given the punishments for Checquy officers committing treason, do you want to talk about that?”

  Apparently he didn’t, but at least this time there was no swearing. Gestalt did look a bit nauseated, but Myfanwy couldn’t blame him. She’d read up on the penalties for treason and for fraternizing with the Grafters and felt a bit ill just thinking of them. They actually made her threats seem a trifle merciful. No wonder Gestalt almost strangled Crisp when we caught that first infiltrator, she thought. He must have been terrified that the Grafters were about to be exposed.

  “Perhaps,” she mused, “there is the possibility of leniency. If you talk, that is. The Court does not want to see one of its own tortured, let alone undergo the agonies for consorting with the Broederschap. But there cannot be any secrets held back, Gestalt. For instance, where did you go for that moment last night?” she wondered. “Some little spiritual bolt-hole? A psychic holiday home? It was foolish of you to
do it, because now we know that there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “I’m not the only one with a secret,” snapped Gestalt. “Do you think no one noticed that you were affecting people all the way across the room? As I recall, we all thought you had to be touching someone to make them do what you wanted. Not that you were ever supposed to have the guts to do so. That was one of the reasons we worked so hard to get you into the Court!”

  Ah, thought Myfanwy. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Yes!” crowed Gestalt triumphantly. “Now they know about your powers, and they’ll find out all your secrets when they cut you open!”

  “You wanted me in the Court?” asked Myfanwy.

  “A weak, sniveling little girl who could never look beyond the figures? Of course we wanted you in there. And it wasn’t easy either.”

  “Well, thank heavens you worked so hard,” said Myfanwy. “Now I’m here, and you’re… Well, you’re wearing something that looks like a guinea pig hutch mated with a bear trap.”

  “Not for long. We’ll change places, and then it’ll be you who needs to worry about chain saws. And you’ve only got the one body!”

  “I’m trembling,” sneered Myfanwy with contempt. “Look, I’ve gone all fetal. Only not.”

  “Remember, I am in here, but I’m also out there,” Gestalt said. “Walking free. I could come to your house and have all sorts of fun.” Myfanwy kept her face calm, but inside she felt a stab of fear. Despite all of her predecessor’s warnings, she still kept thinking of Gestalt’s bodies as separate people.

  “It may be that you harbor some dream about overthrowing the Checquy,” said Myfanwy coldly. “Getting your bodies back. Whatever.” There was a sudden hunger in Gestalt’s eyes. “Let me assure you that at the first sign of trouble, I will have these two bodies shot. I’ll do it myself. The only way that Teddy and Robert will see the sky ever again is if you work with me. We’ll talk again. When you’ve had some time to think it over.

  “But,” she cautioned, “think fast, Gestalt. The torturers are putting together their agenda, and they’re aiming to start tomorrow. Time is running out.” She made a little buzz-saw sound and mimed slicing off her own hand at the wrist, raising her eyebrows at Gestalt. At that, fury overtook the twin, and he hurled himself about frantically in his bonds. His eyes locked on Myfanwy’s, and she seized the opportunity to seize him.

  Through one set of eyes, she looked intently at a computer in a darkened room. Her cheek ached dully, and her knuckle smarted. There was a glass of gin in her hand, and a plate of cheese lay on the desk.

  “Get…”

  Through another set of eyes, she slept. An electric blanket soothed her muscles, and soft sheets caressed her skin.

  “… out…”

  Through the third set of eyes, she stared at herself, and felt cold iron around her neck and wrists.

  “… you…”

  Through the fourth set of eyes, she saw a door. She sat on a hard bed, with her knees pulled up to her chest. The lights overhead were dim, and the strip of light under the door burned the eyes.

  “… fucking…”

  Through the last set of eyes, she watched television. The room was bright and comfortable, with windows looking out over a river. She ate a carrot and glanced up when a tall woman with piercing blue eyes walked into the room.

  “… bitch!”

  Contact was broken, and Myfanwy took a faltering step backward. She felt like she’d run several miles. She was sweating profusely, her heart was pounding, and her knees were weak. Instinctively, she’d bent over, and the prongs of her corseted blazer dug into her ribs. She drew in a gasping breath and forced herself to stand up straight. She and Gestalt stared at each other, both panting slightly. Neither said anything, and then Myfanwy backed warily out of the room. Gestalt’s eyes were locked on her, smoldering with rage.

  26

  Did you get anything out of him?” asked Ingrid over a bowl of soup. The warden had insisted on providing them with a dining room for lunch and had diffidently excused himself after Myfanwy asked him for a bit of privacy. Outside the door stood the toxic Pawn and the two honor guards, and three of the bodyguards hung outside the windows, suspended by climbing ropes. On Myfanwy’s insistence, they were facing out.

  “Maybe,” said Myfanwy.

  “Did he get anything out of you?”

  “I like to think not.”

  “Did he figure out that you lost your memory?” asked Ingrid casually. Myfanwy looked up at her, shocked. She slammed her mind down around Ingrid’s body, cutting off everything but voice, sight, and hearing.

  “I suppose I should have expected that,” said Ingrid. “The word around the office is that you can now seize control of people without touching them.”

  “You didn’t see it yourself?” said Myfanwy. “I did make a man stab himself with a knife in front of the whole Court.” She put a little steel in her voice, hoping to get across the idea that if she so desired, she could make Ingrid do the same thing. Admittedly, Ingrid was currently holding a soupspoon, but Myfanwy felt sure she could improvise.

  “Well, keep in mind that I was choking and flailing around in the cloud that Bishop Grantchester had produced,” pointed out Ingrid.

  “Of course.” Myfanwy nodded.

  A pause ensued, during which Myfanwy felt uncomfortable and Ingrid seemed quite content with herself, despite the fact that her muscles were frozen.

  “So, anyway, about that little item you brought up…”

  “Your amnesia,” said Ingrid helpfully.

  “Yes, that,” said Myfanwy. “Although I prefer not to think of it that way.”

  “You prefer not to think of your total lack of memory as amnesia?”

  “Does that sound unreasonable?”

  “I’m only striving for accuracy, Rook Thomas,” said Ingrid.

  “And yet you call me Rook Thomas,” said Myfanwy.

  “You call yourself Rook Thomas,” Ingrid clarified.

  “Let’s not get caught up in minor details,” said Myfanwy. “How long have you known?”

  “Since the evening when I came into my office and found Rook Myfanwy Thomas curled up on the floor, weeping and muttering about how she could feel her memories evaporating.” Myfanwy gaped at her. “This was the other Myfanwy Thomas, of course,” added Ingrid helpfully. “The one that was you before you were you.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Myfanwy.

  Ingrid looked at her levelly and heaved as much of a sigh as her body would allow her.

  “Very well,” said Ingrid. “This is what happened.”

  It was late, and Ingrid was not pleased to be in the lift of the Rookery. Her eldest daughter, Amy, was coming in on the train from York—back from university for the weekend—and Ingrid was eager to get home. It was only when she’d pulled out of the underground parking lot and swerved around a late-night protester that she realized she’d left her daughter’s gift in the desk drawer. Just one last irritation in what had been an exceptionally long and irritating day.

  First, there’d been the frantic covering up of an escaped harpy in downtown Stoke-on-Trent. Then, there’d been the last-minute discovery that a report due to the Prime Minister that day contained several major errors and would have to be rechecked in minute detail. Ingrid had felt guilty leaving Thomas alone in the office, since the little Rook was still scanning the final version of the report, but her boss had known about Amy’s arrival and urged her to leave.

  “Honestly, Ingrid, go,” Thomas had said. “I’m almost done going over this. Once I’m finished, I’ll give it the okay and the Rook’s Messenger will courier the hard copy right over to Number Ten. And then I’ll just go up to the residence and sleep there. You’ve canceled my car, right?” Ingrid smiled and nodded.

  “Have a good night then, Rook Thomas,” Ingrid said. “And do try to get some rest over the weekend.”

  “Hmm?” said Thomas, already re-engrossed in the report. “Oh, yes. You too,
Ingrid. Have fun with your family.” As Ingrid watched, the Rook turned her complete attention back to the paper in front of her, absently brushing her hair away from her face. The executive assistant shook her head, knowing that much of her boss’s weekend would be spent in the office. She felt a stab of pity but left with a spring in her step. Most of the staff had already gone for the day, and she enjoyed the dim quiet of the hallways.

  On the way down, she’d passed the publications department and seen that there were still lights blazing and several heads bent over papers, reading frantically. Now, as she walked briskly back to her office to get Amy’s gift, everyone was packing up and leaving. Clearly Rook Thomas had approved the report and it had been sent off, safe in the protective gullet of Toby, that evening’s Rook’s Messenger.

  If that woman hasn’t already gone up to the residence, thought Ingrid, if I find her reading over something new, I am going to confiscate her highlighters and send her to bed. There was no light coming from under the door, which probably meant that Rook Thomas had retired to the residence, where, in all likelihood, she was still working. “Well, at least she’s out of the office,” Ingrid murmured to herself, but she was brought up short by a sudden, unexpected sound. Movement where there should have been none.

  Ingrid was an executive assistant who had entered the Checquy, not after years of rigorous training at the Estate, but after sixteen years in the civil service. She possessed no inhuman powers apart from an abundance of common sense and an ability to keep things organized. But a decade in the Checquy had taught her how unpredictable life was. This sound could be anything. Ingrid stepped carefully to her office, listening intently for further sounds before opening the door warily.