Rook

her arms—and lashed out with her boot. Her heel connected with Goblet’s bequilled jaw, and for that one moment, it was totally worth it.
    But then Myfanwy went into convulsions, and in the process of shaking about, she slammed her head back into Shantay’s face.
    “Ow! God dabbit,” she yelled, clutching at her nose and dropping Myfanwy on the floor.
    The chanting got louder and more frantic, and Shantay failed to notice that there was a light dusting of fungus along her forearms.

22
     
    Dear You,
    Well, this was a day and a half. I’m currently in a limousine on the way back from Whitby, along with Chevalier Gubbins. Bishop Alrich and Sir Henry are flying back in a helicopter, since Checquy policy dictates that no more than two Court members can be on the same aircraft, and I felt that, after today’s money- (and staff-) eating fiasco, springing for another helicopter would be extravagant.
    It started out early, which is exactly how I don’t like my Saturdays to begin. I like to sleep in a bit, have my breakfast cooked for me, sit by a blazing fire, maybe do a little shopping, and then go into the office. But this Saturday I had to wake up at four in the morning so as to get ready to be picked up at quarter to five. My bodyguard for today, Anthony, was waiting at my door when I walked out, and I wondered guiltily how long he’d been standing in the freezing winter wind. He carried my briefcase, garment bag, and satchel to the limo, making sure I was comfortably settled before heaving his ponderous bulk into the front passenger seat. Once I was in the car, I fell asleep, and I only woke up when we picked up Gubbins, who was abominably cheerful.
    “Morning, Myfanwy,” Gubbins exclaimed as he bounded into the car, jolting me awake. I had been drooling copiously on the armrest. “Gad, but it’s freezing out. Still, this is fairly jolly, eh?” His bodyguard, an anorexic-looking black man, sat silently next to him.
    “Oh, yeah,” I said. Quite jolly when you weren’t the one who had to plan all of this.
    “I have to admit, I’m not entirely certain of the details—I was in Brasília when the notification came out.”
    “It’s an egg hatching.”
    “Of course it is,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Whenever there’s a supernatural event, there’s always an egg.”
    “Eggs are big in our business,” I said through a yawn. “Anyway, there’s this seventeen-year-old student at the Estate. Noel something, I’ve got the details written down somewhere. He’s not much in the special-abilities department—gets along with animals or some such—but he’s enthusiastic about history and research.”
    “Smart kid?” asked Gubbins.
    “They don’t give them the option of not being smart,” I said. “You think Frau Blümen would let her standards slip?”
    “No chance,” he said with a snort.
    “Anyway, this kid is allowed special access to the archives, and he was digging through some manuscripts when he came across mention of something particularly interesting.” I rummaged in my bag and produced a thermos of coffee; I offered it to Gubbins, who shook his head politely.
    “So, what was the interesting thing?”
    “You won’t believe me,” I warned.
    “I’m in the Checquy,” he said. “I’m paid to believe things no one else believes.”
    “A dragon,” I said wearily.
    “You’re bullshitting me,” he said.
    “I told you. I didn’t believe it either. I mean, there’s been no confirmed sighting of a dragon for centuries, and even back then, they were spotted only in places that were cold beyond reason. The beginning of the Little Ice Age was the last time they were here.” I was trying not to watch as Gubbins did some strange little isometric exercises. The man was like a yogi on acid. I poured myself some coffee and kept my eyes firmly on my hands.
    “Anyway, it seems that some particularly fecund female dragon decided to lay her egg in North Yorkshire. Apparently the area was very popular with dragons.”
    “Oh?” said Gubbins.
    “Yeah, dragons and pterodactyls. For millions of years, something about the place has been very attractive to flying reptiles. People have found entire pterodactyl skeletons, and some bits of dragon skeletons that they thoughtwere a subspecies of pterodactyl. One of our operatives, Yves Tyerman, witnessed and recorded the egg laying. His report was accepted by the Court in London and filed away, not to be seen again for hundreds of