The Rook: A Novel

by O'Malley, Daniel

  “It’s only through the sheerest of luck that you survived, Rook Thomas,” said Motha gently. “To be honest, much longer and the acid would have started to do some real damage. If you hadn’t destroyed the cube from inside, well…” The young Pawn trailed off in awed silence.

  Well, Christ, it’s not like it was easy, thought Myfanwy. I was on the very brink of getting broken down for spare parts. She didn’t feel any real triumph over her survival, just a melancholy over the deaths of all those people, people whose memories she had experienced.

  Then another, insidious thought occurred to her. Who knew if the women in this room were all loyal to the Checquy? Even Ingrid had not yet been examined for Grafter implants. This was a crucial development. If it was communicated to the Grafters that Myfanwy could destroy their weapons, they would waste no time in terminating her. They wouldn’t need to risk using their own biological weapons on her. A perfectly mundane bullet from a perfectly mundane gun would do the job. Regardless of the skinless psycho’s threats against Bronwyn, she would need to communicate to the Court the truth about the Grafters’ involvement in these two attacks. But first she needed to know whom she could trust.

  “Ingrid, how far have the medical tests of the Court progressed?”

  “Let me check,” said Ingrid, and she turned away with her mobile phone. While she checked up on the details back in London, Myfanwy had another thought.

  “Pawn Motha, you saw the internals of the cube—can you tell me how much of the civilians’ brains were left? I remember your saying that some parts had been excised.” The Pawn closed her eyes, remembering what she had seen.

  “Well, they’d been truncated, obviously,” said the Pawn. “As far as I could tell, there’d been some selective lobotomizing—designed to remove the parts of the brain that deal with initiative. I’m thinking the idea was to leave the central brain with all the storage capacity without having to deal with individual impulses. The crew back at the site are examining the remains, but the acid is hampering any meaningful study.”

  “But you’re saying that most likely the personalities of the civilians were erased or destroyed before I got reeled in, right?” said Myfanwy intently.

  “I don’t know for sure,” confessed Motha. “But that would make sense.”

  That’s definitely the kind of thing I would expect from the Grafters, thought Myfanwy. Especially that skinless bastard. But I like to think it means I didn’t kill those people. And if there was still some part of them in that thing, then I hope they are at peace now.

  “Rook Thomas,” said Ingrid, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “Security Chief Clovis is on the line. He says that Chevalier Eckhart has been tested and came through with flying colors. He won’t tell me who’s being tested now.”

  “Give me the phone, please. Clovis, this is Rook Thomas,” Myfanwy said impatiently.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am” came Clovis’s voice.

  “Yeah, hi. Now, what’s this about not telling us who will be tested next?”

  “I’m sorry, Rook Thomas. In order for this to work, everything must be kept completely random. And secret.”

  “Fine,” said Myfanwy. “Has anyone other than Eckhart and me been tested yet?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “Will they be done tonight?”

  “No,” said Clovis. “The end of the weekend.”

  “That’s great, but at this rate, we’ll have to be leaving instructions for our descendants.”

  “There are four more Court members to test,” said Clovis reasonably. “We’re working as quickly as we can.”

  “Fine,” said Myfanwy. “Thank you.” She hung up and handed the phone back. “Ingrid, set up a meeting of the Court for tomorrow evening.” By that time, the entire Court will have been screened for Grafter implants.

  Gestalt didn’t have any Grafter implants, part of her brain reminded her. At least not in either of the bodies we have in custody.

  “When can I leave for London?” she asked the nurse.

  “An hour?” said the nurse hesitantly.

  “Fine,” Myfanwy said, crossing her arms. “In the meantime, somebody see about getting me some clothes that have a back to them.”

  The drive to the helicopter field was silent. Everyone was painfully aware that one of the large bodyguards, whose name turned out to have been Ronald, had been replaced. The new bodyguard, Emily, was knitting placidly. Traffic was not good, and the limousine crawled along. Myfanwy eyed the wet bar and ruefully came to the conclusion that although she certainly deserved a stiff drink, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea. There was still too much to do. Meanwhile, Li’l Pawn Alan was looking at her with the kind of awe that young guys reserve for powerful women whose bottoms they have seen.

  I should probably call Bronwyn, Myfanwy thought. Just to make sure she’s okay. And should I arrange for her to receive some sort of discreet bodyguards? That skinless tool has proven he can’t be trusted. But she quickly realized that any guard she placed on Bronwyn might be secretly working for the Grafters. I don’t know what to do next, she thought. All I can do is try to track down this missing Grafter, and that’s going to have to wait until I get back to the Rookery.

  You know, I’m just going to call her. She reached automatically for her new mobile and then realized that it had probably been eaten by the cube, along with her comfortable shoes. The fact that she was now swathed in a camouflage jumpsuit and combat boots that were too big did little to improve her humor. She looked over at Ingrid, who was talking on her mobile, and thought about borrowing it before remembering that she didn’t know Bronwyn’s number, and wasn’t keen to call directory assistance in front of all these people. Myfanwy leaned back and shut her eyes wearily. Ingrid finished her call and shut her phone with a snap.

  “The meeting has been set up, Rook Thomas,” she said.

  “Thanks, Ingrid,” Myfanwy replied, kicking off the boots. She didn’t bother opening her eyes when the phone rang. Ingrid’s voice was soothing when one didn’t actually listen to what she was saying.

  “Rook Thomas? It’s the head of the communications department.” Myfanwy opened her eyes and took the mobile, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

  “Hello?”

  “Good evening, Rook Thomas. This is Carruthers” came a diffident voice.

  “What’s happened?” she asked urgently.

  “We still haven’t been able to trace the phone call,” he said apologetically.

  “Keep trying. I have utter confidence in you,” she said.

  “Thank you, Rook Thomas. However, we have succeeded in tracking down the origin of the fax,” he said, jolting her out of her disappointment.

  “Are you serious?” she exclaimed. Everyone in the car jumped. “Where did it come from? Do you have an exact address?”

  “Uh, yes, Rook Thomas. It’s in London.”

  “Hold on a moment,” Myfanwy said; she put the phone down and lowered the privacy barrier that separated them from the driver. “Excuse me, but how far are we from the helicopter?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry, Rook Thomas, but the traffic is bad,” said the driver, gesturing helplessly at the mass of cars in front of him.

  “Do we have some sort of siren or flashy lights?” she asked.

  “Sorry, no.”

  Myfanwy nodded reluctantly and raised the barrier.

  “Rook Thomas?” said Ingrid.

  “They’ve traced that fax,” said Myfanwy. “It’s in London and needs to be attended to now, but as you can see, we’re stuck here. So I’ll have to delegate. Who else has a phone?” As it turned out, everyone did. “Fine. Someone get me Chevalier Eckhart.” She turned her attention back to Carruthers, who was waiting on the line. “All right, what can you tell me about—what?”

  “Rook Thomas, mine is the only phone that has Chevalier Eckhart’s number, and that’s the one you’re talking into,” said Ingrid.

  “Fine. Carruthers, call your new boy
Alan,” said Myfanwy testily before tossing the phone over to Ingrid. “Get Eckhart now.” A phone rang, and Alan handed it to her. “Carruthers, tell me the address. Wait a second, is it ringing?” she asked Ingrid. Her assistant nodded. “Give it to me. Carruthers, give the address to Ingrid.” She passed one mobile over and held the other to her ear.

  “Eckhart residence” came a female voice.

  Shit, what is his wife called? wondered Myfanwy. She remembered Thomas writing about that Christmas party, but couldn’t remember the name.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Eckhart. It’s Myfanwy Thomas.”

  “Myfanwy! Darling, it’s lovely to hear from you. Joshua’s asleep after all those dreadful medical tests. Did you have to do them too?”

  “Early this morning,” said Myfanwy, flustered. “Um, there’s an emergency—can you wake Joshua up, please?”

  “Of course, I’ll get him right away!” There was a pause, and Myfanwy looked over at Ingrid, who had finished taking the address from Carruthers.

  “Is he still on the line?”

  “Yes, Rook Thomas.”

  “Great, keep him there. Alan,” she said, looking around at the Pawn, “get hold of the watch office in the Rookery. I want the status of the Barghests that aren’t in Reading. Now!”

  “Rook Thomas, Mrs. Woodhouse has my phone,” said the Li’l Pawn.

  “Use mine,” said Emily hastily, shoving it into his hands. Myfanwy nodded her approval. There was sound coming from the other phone, and she put it back to her ear.

  “Thomas, what’s the situation?” came Eckhart’s voice. She had to give it to the man: he’d only just woken up, but he sounded ready to go into action.

  “Eckhart, it’s the Grafters,” she said, ignoring the sudden squeak from Emily. “One of the leaders is in England, and he faxed me a threat. We’ve traced it, and the source is in London. I’m stuck in Reading, so you’ll need to oversee the strike team.”

  “Very well,” he said. “Have you activated them?”

  “Just a second,” she said. “Ingrid, let me talk to Carruthers.” The assistant passed over the phone. “Carruthers, there’s no reason we can’t strike at the source of the fax now, right? This isn’t going to turn out to be the basement of a boarding school or the Belgian embassy, is it?”

  “No, it’s a private residence, Rook Thomas” came the reply. Myfanwy looked at Li’l Pawn Alan, who had called the Rookery. The Pawn nodded and held out the phone.

  “This is Rook Thomas. What’s the ready status of the London Barghests?” she asked.

  “Team two is still mopping up in Reading; team one is on standby here at the Rookery” came the answer.

  “Activate team one. They’ll be working under Chevalier Eckhart. We’ll need to be discreet—we’re staging an attack in a residential area. Carruthers in the comms department will contact you with the address in a moment.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She hung up.

  “Eckhart, the strike team is ready. I figure that even if any members of the Barghests are traitors, they won’t be able to take you. Call me if you need anything further.”

  “Nicely done, Myfanwy” came the reply. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you, Joshua. One more thing: not a word to any other member of the Court. Only you and I have been cleared of Grafter implants. I have reason to believe that at least one more member is a traitor and we can’t afford to have the Grafters tipped off about this strike.”

  “Agreed. But won’t any mention of the Grafters have been communicated automatically to the Bishops and the Lord and Lady?”

  “Only you and the people with me now know that the strike is against the Grafters.”

  “Then I’ll keep you abreast of any developments,” said Eckhart. “Good-bye.”

  “Good luck.” Myfanwy closed the phone and sat back with a sigh. I’m a general, she thought to herself. I have to send others into battle. Then she thought of something else.

  “Ingrid, we canceled the summons for Harp Callahan, right?”

  “Yes, Rook Thomas, right after you melted the cube,” said Ingrid. “He was able to return to his cricket match.”

  “Oh, well, that is good.” I suppose. Now, just one more thing. “Emily,” she said to the bodyguard. “Of course I don’t need to tell you that everything you hear is to be kept absolutely confidential. But this is really, really important…”

  38

  Myfanwy woke up twice: once when they arrived at the helicopter, and again when they landed. They all squashed into the Rookery lift, then made their way to the main lobby. Everyone was exhausted except for Pawn Alan, who looked to be having the time of his life.

  “Ingrid, I’m going to go get changed,” said Myfanwy as they entered the assistant’s office. “See if there’ve been any developments, please, and can we get some food sent up? The rest of you please wait outside my office,” she said to Emily, Li’l Pawn Alan, and the remaining large bodyguard. Her hand was on the door when Ingrid called to her.

  “Rook Thomas, Chevalier Eckhart is on the line.”

  Myfanwy rushed over to the desk.

  “It’s me. What’s happening?” she asked intently.

  “Thomas, we’re about to go in” came Eckhart’s hushed voice. “Any last things we should be aware of?”

  “We’re dealing with the Grafters, so don’t take any chances. If anybody starts to swell alarmingly, then kill them thoroughly—the last guy ended up eating me. And don’t try and preserve anything for sampling.”

  “All right,” he said, sounding surprised.

  “I’m not kidding here, Joshua. Destroy them utterly, except for that prick with no skin. See if you can’t bring him back.”

  “Man with no skin; I’ll pass the word.”

  “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Good luck.”

  “Thank you.” And then he was gone.

  Myfanwy put the phone down, hoping that Eckhart would come out of it okay. She entered her office, swung open the portrait that led to the stairs, and wearily thought of the climb up to her flat. Suddenly, the big squashy chair behind her desk looked like a much better proposition. Just for a few minutes, she thought, stepping out of the combat boots and padding across the room. She stumbled in her oversize coveralls and bumped against the desk, knocking over one of the teetering stacks of documents. It sent an avalanche of paper across her blotter. Great, she thought, settling into her chair.

  She leaned back and put her feet up on the desk. If they don’t get the flayed Grafter, then what the hell am I going to do? How on earth am I supposed to track down this Ernst von Suchtlen? Suddenly irritated, she shoved with her feet, pushing all the stacks of documents off the desk.

  “Rook Thomas, are you all right?” came the hesitant voice of the large bodyguard.

  “Yeah, I’m just doing some filing,” she called back.

  “Well, the food’s here. They’ve laid it out in the reception area.”

  “Okay, I’m coming,” she said, standing up with a sigh. Her glance fell to the floor and the overturned stationery.

  Myfanwy got down on her knees and scooped up the pile. These were not the secret dossiers Thomas had left behind, but personnel records. Her eyes grew huge as she stared at a piece of paper, then she scrabbled through the files frantically.

  In Ingrid’s office, Emily and the large bodyguard looked at each other. High-pitched squeaks were coming through the door, and they could hear a large number of papers being shifted. Emily nodded toward the door and raised her eyebrows. The large bodyguard shook his head tightly and pointed at her with his chin. The silent debate continued and might have gone on for much longer, but then the doors burst open and Myfanwy walked out, her face cold and set. Behind her, the office was littered with papers she had flung about in a fit of rage. Ingrid looked up in surprise, and Li’l Pawn Alan squeaked in his chair.

  “Convene the Court, right now,” she said to Ingrid.

  “Rook Thomas? I—yes, right away. What
about Chevalier Eckhart? He’s at that assault.”

  “Don’t pull him off it,” said Myfanwy. “That needs to be taken care of. But everyone else. Keep it quiet, though. This can’t be like every other meeting, where their entire staff knows, and then the entire Checquy knows. There can’t even be a call log for someone to see.”

  “If you’re really worried about no records,” said Li’l Pawn Alan, “you should use the secure command suite in the basement. The phones there are encrypted and aren’t connected to the regular switchboard. And there’s an armed guard on the door at all times.” Everybody looked at him.

  “What?” he said. “I’m in communications. I just got the big orientation lecture about it this morning.”

  “Well, that sounds good,” said Myfanwy. “Frankly, I like the idea of you two being in a secure place. Head down there and make the calls. But first, please get a car ready for us right away. You two are coming with me,” she said to the bodyguards.

  “Yes, Rook Thomas,” Ingrid said, “but you may want to put some shoes on.”

  “Shoes?” repeated Myfanwy incredulously, her wrath momentarily subdued. “Right.”

  “And a jacket. It’s chilly tonight.”

  “Okay, fine.”

  “Rook Thomas, what…?” Ingrid trailed off helplessly.

  “You remember what we talked about in Scotland?” asked Myfanwy quietly. Ingrid looked blank. “The infiltrator in the Court?” The blood rushed from Ingrid’s face as she nodded. “I’ve figured it out.” She looked hesitantly at Pawn Alan, Emily, and the large bodyguard, and then leaned close to her assistant’s ear and whispered a name. Ingrid cringed at the news as Myfanwy spun on her heel and walked away, with Emily and the large bodyguard following her closely.

  Myfanwy was sitting in the car, lost in thought, as the garage door rolled up. Emily and the large bodyguard watched her with wide eyes as she kneaded her temples with her hands and ran through her accusations.

  This person is a traitor to the Checquy and the country.

  This person embezzled massive funds, and in conjunction with the Scientific Brotherhood of Scientists started a private army within the Checquy and abducted non-powered British children to be troops.