Rook

the team in very soon,” said Poppat hastily. “Lydia,” he said to the plump nerd, “check with Barghest FitzPatrick to see if the team is prepared.” The Pawn at the computer nodded, the light glinting off the foliage covering her head. “Lydia is our communications specialist,” Poppat quietly explained to Myfanwy and Shantay. “She’s very accomplished.”
    “She’d better be, with an attitude like that,” whispered Shantay to Myfanwy.
    “Pawn Poppat,” said Lydia. “FitzPatrick says the Barghest team is ready.”
    “Excellent. Switch the channel onto the speakers, please.” The room suddenly filled with the hushed sounds of professional soldiers. Controlled breathing, the quiet creak of body armor, somebody sucking his teeth. Then a man’s deep voice came over the speaker.
    “Barghest FitzPatrick awaiting the order.” There was a pause; Myfanwy and Shantay stared raptly at the monitors, which had suddenly blossomed with images from all the Barghests’ cameras. Then Myfanwy realized nothing was happening.
    “Rook Thomas, you’re the ranking officer,” said Poppat apologetically. “You give the word.”
    “Oh! Okay,” said Myfanwy, flushing with embarrassment, trying to ignore the snort that had come from Lydia. “Begin the operation.” The lights in the trailer dimmed, turning red like a submarine’s in battle mode. The nerds leaned intently over their workstations.
    “I copy that” came FitzPatrick’s voice. “Barghest team, let’s move.”
    The light in the trailer shifted as the pictures on the screens changed. The entire team was jogging outside, moving toward the house. It was disorienting, watching the multiple perspectives move around crazily. Myfanwy blinked, feeling a little nauseated. She tooka sip of coffee and found that it was terrible. That damned yodeling was building over the speakers. She looked back to the screens and saw that the team was entering the house. As the door opened, the sound grew stronger, and everyone in the trailer winced.
    “I’ll dial it down,” said Lydia. The sound grew less piercing, but it was still present, an irritating background.
    “Can you analyze this?” asked Shantay.
    “It’s being transmitted back to the Rookery labs,” said Lydia without looking over. “They’ll let us know if they come up with anything.”
    “Loza, you’re holding the door,” they heard FitzPatrick say.
    “Aye, sir.”
    The command center dimmed as the team moved into the house. There were no lights inside, and sheer sheets of something purple covered the windows, muting the sunlight. Myfanwy squinted, trying to discern meaning from the shapes.
    “I’m switchin’ the cameras to night vision,” said a nerd with a thick Cockney accent. The monitors slid into a green tint, and what had previously been nebulous outlines sharpened into a bizarre vista. From what Myfanwy could make out, it was as if someone had taken a normal sitting room fully furnished with lamps, squashy armchairs, and so on, and draped a carpet of scummy fuzz over the entire place. The material covered the walls and ceiling and spread through the doorways.
    “What can you tell us, FitzPatrick?” asked Poppat intently.
    “This stuff is purple, and rubbery underfoot. It smells like… what would you say, Turner?”
    “It’s fungal,” said a gravel-voiced Pawn. “Not unlike
Aspergillus fumigatus,
but with a few extra factors I don’t recognize. Not synthetics, though.”
    “Who is this Turner?” whispered Myfanwy to Poppat. One of the nerds tapped rapidly on his keyboard, and Turner’s file was up on a monitor. She looked automatically at the heading “Advantage” and saw that Turner had enhanced olfactory senses and an eidetic memory.
    “FitzPatrick, any sign of the previous teams?” asked Poppat.
    “No, sir, not here in the entryway.”
    “All right, proceed through the house, staggering your troops.” Poppat turned to Myfanwy and Shantay. “We’re placing them throughout the premises, each pair of sentries stationed within sight of the previous pair.”
    Myfanwy nodded. It made sense.
    The Pawns cautiously spread out over the ground floor, depositing sentries at strategic corners and doorways. The wires the soldiers were spooling out glistened against the fungus that covered everything. The rest of the rooms gave the same impression of a regular life hastily covered up with a thick cover of mold. There was even a vase of flowers on the kitchen table, each