Rook

approves their entry into the ranks, reviews their files, and takes care of their maintenance. Considering all the training they receive and the enormous amount of money we spend on them, I think it’s safe to assume that they should be able to handle anything that comes up.
     
    When Shantay and Myfanwy arrived at the airport, there was a car waiting for them, and they were whisked through the city by a diffident purple-clad driver.
    “We’ll have to take the waters,” said Shantay, who was leafing through a guidebook that had been left in the car.
    “Hmm?” asked Myfanwy, who had moved on to the purple binder’s section on Bath. According to Thomas, the city had once been a veritable hotbed of manifestations, with every sorcerer, bunyip, golem, goblin, pict, pixie, demon, thylacine, gorgon, moron, cult, scum, mummy, rummy, groke, sphinx, minx, muse, flagellant, diva, reaver, weaver, reaper, scabbarder, scabmettler, dwarf, midget, little person, leprechaun, marshwiggle, totem, soothsayer, truthsayer, hatter, hattifattener, imp, panwere, mothman, shaman, flukeman, warlock, morlock, poltergeist, zeitgeist, elemental, banshee, manshee, lycanthrope, lichenthrope, sprite, wight, aufwader, harpy, silkie, kelpie, klepto, specter, mutant, cyborg, balrog, troll, ogre, cat in shoes, dog in a hat, psychic, and psychotic seemingly having decided that
this
was the hot spot to visit.
    In fact, Thomas had found evidence suggesting that Bath was the place where the Checquy had been founded, a reaction to the continuous torrent of bizarre happenings. According to old reports, it had been practically impossible to wander down a dark alley in Bath without tripping over something that had more limbs than it was supposed to. For centuries, Bath was the greatest source of Checquy operatives in the country. Then, about twenty-two years ago, the incidence of weirdness began to diminish noticeably. The local office, which was the largest in the United Kingdom other than the London installations, shrank until it maintained only a token force. It was now the place where new Pawns were sent to get used to things, and where the unsuccessful remained.
    So, this manifestation was remarkably remarkable.
    “We’ll have to take the waters,” repeated Shantay.
    “Is this some American thing I missed when I was watching sitcoms?” asked Myfanwy distractedly. “Or just a weird euphemism?”
    “No, apparently it’s an English thing,” said Shantay. “After this manifestation gets taken care of, we should go have high tea and take the waters. There are these natural springs that have been fashionable for centuries.”
    “Sounds delightful. You’re really being a tourist.”
    “Well, I want to have the whole English experience. High tea, supervising manifestations, taking the waters, going to Harrods, discussing possible international conspiracies.”
    When the car arrived at its destination, the door was opened by a nervous-looking gentleman of Indian ancestry who was dressed in camouflage fatigues.
    “Rook Thomas, it’s very nice to see you again. It’s been a few years.” He was about the same age as Myfanwy. She dithered for a moment, trying to figure out how to treat him. Expecting to be patronized, she’d been rallying the icy regality that had served her so well with the twerps at the interrogation. But this poor sod was so nervous that it seemed unnecessary—perhaps even unkind—to bully him.
    “Mahesh, it’s lovely to see you!” she exclaimed with a broad smile, accepting the hand he offered and stepping out of the car. “How long has it been?” she asked.
    “I don’t think we’ve seen each other since we graduated from the Estate,” said Poppat.
    “Ah, yes, the Estate. Good times,” said Myfanwy in a tone that suggested that those times, although good, were not a topic for current conversation. As Shantay stepped out of the car, Myfanwy turned. “Mahesh, this is Bishop Petoskey from the Croatoan. She is here to observe.” If anything, this terrified the Pawn further. “Bishop Petoskey, this is Pawn Poppat.”
    “Pawn Poppat. It’s a particular pleasure,” Shantay said. Myfanwy shot her a reproving look.
    “An honor, ma’am,” said Poppat with a nervous little bow. Myfanwy looked around. They were on a perfectly normal-looking street with tidy and respectable row houses, but there was an atmosphere of unnatural stillness, as if the houses couldn’t quite believe this whole thing was going on. At