“But how did you know that I was going to reveal you as the traitor?” Myfanwy asked in bewilderment.
“Your office and that of your assistant are bugged,” he replied carelessly. “I’ve had listening devices there ever since it was my office. You’d be astounded at the kinds of things people say while they’re waiting to meet with you. I actually hadn’t used them for years, but after recent events I’ve had someone listening constantly.” He smiled and took a sip of martini.
“So,” continued Grantchester, “when I heard you say that you knew who the other double agent in the Court was, I put a call in to one of my people in the Rookery. He was serving as the guard at the Rookery’s command suite, and I ordered him to stop your assistant and that young Pawn. Well, stop them and shoot them,” he corrected himself. Myfanwy felt a horrendous wrench of grief at his words, and blinked to keep the tears from forming.
“In fact,” said Grantchester, “all the troops who have guard duty at the command suite are mine. You’ve got to be strategic with your people, you know. Why were you dragging that young Pawn around anyway?” he asked curiously. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“He just got caught up in things,” said Myfanwy softly. “He heard me talking about the Grafters, and I didn’t want to risk his telling anyone else.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” said Grantchester. “After all, I couldn’t let you tell anyone else about my divided loyalties, could I? Which brings me to the same question. How did you know?” Myfanwy thought about providing him with some creative instructions on where he could go and what he could do with himself when he arrived, but she restrained herself.
Talk it out, she told herself. Buy yourself some time. Something may emerge, some opportunity. She took a deep breath.
“Well, you may remember that immediately after Gestalt was exposed as a traitor, I went up to see him at Gallows Keep,” she began.
“Yes, but he assured me that he hadn’t told you anything very useful,” said Grantchester, taking an easy sip. What? thought Myfanwy. Oh, right, the other bodies. Naturally he’s been in contact.
“Actually, he told me a few things that I found very interesting,” said Myfanwy. She felt a jolt of satisfaction as Grantchester’s face turned sour.
“Indeed?” said Grantchester. “What exactly?”
“Well, one of the little facts he let slip was that there was another traitor in the Court,” said Myfanwy. Maybe at the very least I can get Gestalt in trouble. “And I had no problem believing it,” she added, staring straight into his eyes.
“I’m not certain I understand.”
“I’d stumbled across a few things that didn’t make a lot of sense,” said Myfanwy, leaning back in her chair and counting points off on her fingers. “To begin with, there’s a secret training camp for a private army, established under Checquy auspices. Camp Caius.” At her mention of the name, she felt the scaly youth’s hand move on her neck, and the girl behind Grantchester shifted uneasily. “It’s down in Wales, a little remote and a little spartan, but it’s got some very nice medical facilities. And of course, it’s illegal as anything.
“Second, there is the painfully obvious fact that Gestalt could never work such a complicated piece of administrative flimflammery. Financial sleight of hand designed to drain substantial funds while evading all but the most meticulous of forensic accounting. Legal justifications to acquire children who had absolutely no unnatural abilities—children expressly outside the purview of the Checquy. Now, we both know Gestalt was elevated to the Court for his outstanding ability to kick ass, not his intellect.
“Then I had a little tête-à-tête with a high-up from the Broederschap. He tracked me down, despite the fact that I departed secretly from the Rookery through an underground passage. Someone must have tipped him off.
“And then, well, there’s the tiny little matter of the attack on me. Not the attack this afternoon, you understand, though that was a complete bitch too. The delightful incident in Bath was not particularly pleasant either. But I’m talking about the attack that ended with me standing in a park surrounded by the corpses of Retainers and with no memory of who I was.”
“And you were going to tell this to the entire Court?” Grantchester asked.
“Well, I was hoping to keep the memory issues to myself,” said Myfanwy. “But I was willing to disclose them if it meant bringing you down.” Grantchester was staring at her, his handsome face expressionless.
“Anyway, while Gestalt could not possibly have pulled the strings,” she continued, “you could have, easily. You were Rook for many years, with dominion over finances. You and I have both set up enough covert operations to know how it’s done. You could have established a little school and maintained it once you rose to the rank of Bishop. After all, you were responsible for revamping the finances of the whole organization. All sorts of things could have been concealed during that restructuring.”
Grantchester regarded her with level eyes, his hands forming a pyramid on his desk, but Myfanwy continued, undeterred.
“Gestalt also said that I was placed on the Court deliberately, that the Grafters wanted it. But I’ll bet you put the idea forward. You, with your reputation for making unorthodox promotions that prove to be brilliant. You, who can measure people’s strengths and weaknesses. You knew I would make an excellent Rook. That I’d keep the organization running smoothly. And that I’d compensate for Gestalt’s obvious lack of ability in that regard. That I’d be kept far too busy to investigate any inconvenient anomalies and that I was too reticent to stand in your way even if I did stumble across one.
“Now, when it came to the meeting between me and Graaf Gerd de Leeuwen, well, I’ll confess that I thought it was Bishop Alrich who had set me up. I mean, I was in a nightclub with some friends, and there he was, looking for a few hot bodies to drain. We ran into each other, and then immediately afterward I was surrounded by a bunch of large, uncoordinated Belgians. I figured Alrich had drained his date and then made a quick call to a Belgian mobile phone.
“It may also interest you, Conrad, to know that after I was attacked two weeks ago, I snuck through a passage that leads from my office to a private garage. And there, in the midst of whatever mental breakdown I was experiencing, I was ambushed. Only Rooks can access those tunnels. And all four of Gestalt’s bodies were out of town that night.
“I’m willing to bet you have a few private entrances, and maybe even some surveillance, which is how you got into the Rookery and had my memory violated. It’s also probably how you knew I was going out last week and arranged to have me tailed.”
“Now, that’s hardly conclusive,” said Grantchester. He sounded amused, which infuriated Myfanwy.
“No,” said Myfanwy. “And that’s why I didn’t say anything. But recently I had cause to sift through all the correspondence files—official and personal—and I came across the announcement that you and your wife sent out when you adopted your baby.” Myfanwy took a breath and calculated how she would continue. “I was particularly interested in the family portrait. You see, your wife looked familiar—and not just because she’s Mrs. Grantchester. During my interview with Gestalt, I had the opportunity to see through Gestalt’s eyes. All of Gestalt’s eyes,” she added darkly.
“It turns out that Gestalt has a fifth body—a smaller body—and that body was in the company of your wife, with her unforgettable blue eyes. So I did a little research and found that Eliza Gestalt took long service leave some time ago—and returned just before you adopted your baby. And there are other things. I know that she has a scar across her stomach and that she has been withdrawn of late. In short, I think your adopted child is Gestalt’s baby. I think your child is Gestalt.
“You work for the Grafters, don’t you, Conrad? No wonder you wanted every scrap of new information sent to the Apex for your strategic risk analysis. You wanted to be certain that you knew everything we knew.”
“Well, that’s very impressive,” s
aid Grantchester. He smiled in a way that made Myfanwy want to break his nose. “You’ve got it all listed very methodically. That’s some very good detective work.”
“You must have been amused,” she said coldly, “watching me scrabble about, trying to conceal my amnesia.”
“Well, in fact,” he said easily, “we weren’t at all sure how much of your memory was gone. It’s nice to know that it actually worked.”
Oh, he can’t be serious, thought Myfanwy. He didn’t even know?
“What actually worked?” she asked.
“Well, it’s a long story,” said Grantchester. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?” Myfanwy remained silent. “You needn’t glare at me, it’s just good manners to offer. Although really, I’m guilty of an appalling lapse in etiquette. Before we go any further, do allow me to introduce my protégés. This is Norman, whom you have met previously and seemingly do not remember.” Myfanwy shook her head. “Well, at least he did that much correctly. You see, Norman here is responsible for your current amnesia.” Myfanwy shot a look over her shoulder.
“Oh, yes,” Grantchester continued. “He accompanied me, along with a few Retainers, to the Rookery in order to seize you, excise your personality, and remove you from the premises.”
“For what?” asked Myfanwy.
“There were a number of possibilities,” said Grantchester. “I was actually a little spoiled for choice. You’d be astounded at how malleable a person with no memories can be. If you put them in the right situation, they can be very open to suggestion.”
“You were going to have me work for the Grafters?” she asked in horror.
“Or fulfill various recreational roles,” said Grantchester carelessly. Myfanwy felt a dreadful nausea open up in her stomach, and it must have showed in her face because Grantchester burst out laughing. “I’m joking,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. No, no, we were going to run a battery of tests on you, and then dissect you.”
“I see,” said Myfanwy, taking deep calming breaths.
“Or at least something along those lines—it was all a rather sudden decision.”
“And why did you suddenly decide to do this?” she asked. “Wasn’t it risky? Did you think no one would notice I was gone?”
“There would have been an investigation, of course,” said Grantchester. “The disappearance of a member of the Court would have been probed in depth. Why, a Bishop would even have volunteered to pursue it personally, accompanied by a handpicked team. And such an offer would have been gratefully endorsed by the remaining Rook. I can assure you, any evidence left after your hasty removal would have been swept under the rug.
“But it had to be hasty, because that evening it was brought to my attention that Rook Myfanwy Thomas had entered Camp Caius a few weeks earlier. One of the guards had been found having a seizure of some sort. All such events are examined closely for fear that one of the Caius subjects might be having unforeseen effects on those around them. Extensive blood work, CAT scans—you get the picture. Eventually they found evidence that you had controlled him—your psychic fingerprints, if you will. Remember all those years of testing you received at the Estate? Well, those results were shared, unofficially, with the staff at Caius, and one of the staff members recognized the hallmarks of your powers.
“I’ll admit, I was incredulous at first. Little Myfanwy Thomas’s nose was always in the books. She was far too deeply enmeshed in the day-to-day domestic operations of the Checquy to have time to do any extracurricular research. Or so we thought,” Grantchester added.
“And then, suddenly, it seemed we had been discovered. All that was keeping us from being completely destroyed was your inexplicable reticence. Fortunately”—and here he smirked with self-satisfaction—“I’ve always been quick in a crisis. One thing I learned in the field was that if someone has a knife against your throat, you don’t hesitate.
“I immediately mobilized a team. I keep several graduates from Camp Caius here at the Apex in a discreet bodyguard capacity, and we proceeded to the Rookery. As you guessed, there are several concealed entrances to that building known only to me. One of these leads to the private quarters of the Rooks. I waited for you to enter the residence and greeted you there.
“I will say this for you, Myfanwy, you were far calmer about the whole thing than I anticipated. I don’t believe I shall ever forget the look in your eyes. A girl who usually squeaked if someone spoke unexpectedly, who cringed when someone stood abruptly. Well, not that night. You walked in and saw me seated on the couch, with Norman at my shoulder. Your eyes widened, but otherwise there was no change in your expression.
“Then my other aides stepped in behind you and closed the door. You just walked across the room and stood facing me. You were absolutely still, and your eyes were so cold.” Grantchester broke off and shook his head with a bitter little smile.
“I wanted to ask you questions, to know how you’d found out about Camp Caius and why you hadn’t said anything. But you just stared at me, and I confess, I found myself a trifle unnerved. I started to speak to you, and you said, ‘Just shut up and do it, you filthy traitor.’ That’s what Myfanwy Thomas, the most pathetic Rook in the history of the Checquy, said to me.” His voice tightened with rage, but then he controlled himself.
“And so,” he said lightly, “I stood up, slapped you in the face, and then set my Retainers on you while you were still reeling.
“Priya and Mark had you by the shoulders, holding you still for Norman here to attend to you. They were wearing gloves, of course, and had you pinned, but I suppose a little of that old Estate training came back to you. You kicked out and managed to throw them off balance. You touched Mark on the cheek and he was suddenly blinded—it turned out that you’d made his pupils close themselves completely.
“Priya was even more unlucky. Using a level of power you’d never shown at the Estate, you somehow forced her facial muscles to turn against her. Apparently, they fractured her skull.” He stared intently at Myfanwy, and she shrugged. “Fortunately, by that time, Norman was able to get his hands on you.
“Norman is one of the products of Camp Caius, which you apparently know all about. It’s quite remarkable, really. A perfectly mundane infant can be radically enhanced—if you’re willing to crack open its skull and torso on a regular basis and do a little tinkering. And inject it daily with various cocktails of nastiness. And suture a new system of canals and reservoirs into the body. And graft some protective insulation onto its epidermis. And provide it with some new probative members.” Myfanwy shot a horrified look over her shoulder at the scaly youth, who stood there, unperturbed, as Grantchester listed the modifications that had been performed on him. Myfanwy shuddered and turned back to the Bishop.
“You have to take care of them, of course. They’re very delicate. Norman here doesn’t eat actual food anymore, do you, Norman?” Grantchester didn’t wait for an answer. “He just sleeps with seven intravenous drips plugged into him, trickling in various nutrients, hormones, and chemicals to make sure his system remains in balance. It’s a great deal of work.
“The result, however, is a soldier with highly specialized abilities. Not telepathy, unfortunately,” he said with a sigh, “but once he establishes physical contact, Norman gains a certain amount of control over the brain. It’s only very basic, of course—knocking people out, preventing them from activating their powers, that sort of thing. Once he has more intimate contact, however, he can work with a great deal more finesse. At that point, he can begin to affect memories.”
Myfanwy fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat at the thought of Norman’s probative members gaining intimate contact with her.
“Yes, Norman’s tricks have proven very useful in our little endeavor,” said Grantchester. “We would have been revealed several times if some selective editing had not taken place. Rarely anything on your scale, of course. If people had started popping up with amnesia all over the place, well, questions would hav
e been asked. But sometimes a person sees or hears something they shouldn’t, and you can’t just kill them. That’s when Norman steps in and erases a few incriminating memories. It’s a pity that the process of creating this sort of operative is so difficult or we could have had several instead of just the one. But Norman’s work has proven quite sufficient for our needs—with one notable exception.” Grantchester stopped, and looked at her piercingly.
“That evening, Norman was going about his duty—with relative ease, correct, Norman?” The gangly boy nodded his head. “He’d canceled your powers and was wiping out your personality. We felt that you’d be much less likely to strike out at anybody if you had no memories. He finished, and you were laid out on the sofa, with your eyes fluttering away (as they do in these circumstances), and we were tending to the shattered Retainers and getting ready to transport you to a laboratory facility when the most extraordinary thing happened.
“You sat up, shrieking.
“Generally, Myfanwy, those who have been subject to Norman’s manipulations are unable to do anything afterward. Especially in the case of complete erasure. The mind is too busy reacting to its forcible deletion to muster up an actual response. The personality is dissolving and continues to do so for an hour before a new, more pliable person emerges. So we were shocked at your actions. That screaming was, well, uncanny. But not so uncanny as the psychic assault that slammed down upon us. It was like a hammer smashing my head. When Norman and I roused ourselves, several minutes had passed, and you were gone—presumably shambling around the halls of the Rookery.
The Rook: A Novel Page 48
