Rook

They scan right over me, and they do it because I’m not… not what they expect a leader to be.
    I brought myself back to the conversation. Cahill was explaining the details of the facilities that had been installed. I listened and mentally ticked off all the expenditures I had authorized. Checquy archival crew with camera equipment. Scientists with sensory equipment. A huge mobile refrigeration unit for housing the dragon when it hatched. One of our satellites put into geosynchronous orbit above us. Accommodations for the excavation crew. A relatively plush command center. Catering. It had cost an astonishing amount of money, and still Bittner the wunderkind hadn’t been pleased. He’d wanted the egg and the entire shebang moved to Stonehenge. When that had been denied, he’d wanted a new Stonehenge created somewhere else. My observers at the site had reported he’d been outraged at some of the other things I’d denied him. If he knew what I
had
authorized, his outrage would have known no bounds.
    “… and if you’ll follow us over to the farmhouse, there’s breakfast waiting for you,” finished Cahill.
    “The farmhouse?” repeated Gubbins.
    “Yes, this land was a private farm,” she explained. “We acquired it for a handsome sum.” I listened silently but mentally added the qualifier that it had been I who vetoed the proposal that we pay the farmer a pittance and use government authority to “scare the living hell out of him,” as Bittner had suggested in one of his many memos. Remembering the appalling treatment of my father, I had opted for the kinder side of eminent domain. We had paid the farmer well and provided a cover story calculated to allay concerns and discourage interest.
    Pawn Cahill gently guided us through a complex of temporary structures to the farmhouse, where a gorgeous buffet had been set up. I may have scrimped in some areas, but one of the lessons my teachers at the Estate had drilled into me was that an army marches on its stomach. As a result, I always made sure there was a good catering staff at all long-term field operations.
    Gubbins, the bodyguards, and I gathered up platefuls of pastries and hot food and poured ourselves brimming cups of coffee, fueling up for a long day of finalizing details. We had all settled down when the door burst open witha bang. Anthony produced, seemingly out of his armpits, a pair of submachine guns, while Gubbins’s skeletal bodyguard (whose name was Jonas) turned out to have been hiding a sawed-off shotgun within his robes. (Did I mention he was wearing robes? Well, he was. Bright purple ones.)
    “Stop,” I said quietly to the bodyguards. The person who came into the room pointedly ignored them.
    “So, you’re Rook Thomas,” he said loudly. I had recognized him instantly as Noel Bittner—something about his overwhelmingly irritating arrogance and the fact that he was still unable to drink alcohol legally. And his glasses. “I have put up with your small-minded limiting of funds. I understand that not everyone can appreciate the astounding opportunities that exist here. The unique forces at work today allow a chance for majesty, pride, and magic to reenter these islands!” He paused for breath, and Gubbins murmured to me out of the side of his mouth, “Should we have them shoot him?”
    I shook my head. “Apparently he’s the one who needs to bond with the dragon,” I whispered back. Gubbins looked as if he wanted to reply, but Bittner had already commenced another rant, armed with more outrage.
    “I would expect that a Rook of the Checquy would have an understanding of the raptures surrounding this event and would not have denied the appropriate conditions for the dragon to emerge into this world. I had heard rumors about you, but I could not believe that you would be so inured to the wonder of this occasion. And now! Now I have just learned that you have allowed armed soldiers on this site, not to guard the hatchling, but to stand by to kill it.” Bittner leaned over the table, talking in my face. Instinctively, I shrank back, and noticed with disgust that he was spitting on my food.
    “I demand that you remove the troops! The dragon and I have already touched minds, and it may sense the horror I feel. I can’t promise that I will be able to soothe it, even with my innate empathy.” He glared at me. Behind me, Anthony was tensed, ready to crush the boy utterly, and I tried to take heart from his presence.
    “Noel,” I