Rook

missing from the top of the dress. In a pinch, it could also be used to bludgeon someone to death over the canapés.
    Somehow, together, they figured out how Myfanwy was supposed to fit into the gown and where each strap and fastening was supposed to go. When Myfanwy finally stood in front of the mirror, their breath was taken away.
    “Well,” said Val. “Well.”
    It was glorious, in an alien sort of way. Myfanwy looked as if she had bathed in the blood of ten fashion designers. The artists at the salon had known exactly how to do her hair and makeup to complement the dress, which had clearly been made for her. Everything was covered that was supposed to be covered. It held her tightly and swirled around her, and although Myfanwy hated to admit this, it made her look amazing. It was a dress designed to draw attention.
    “You look like Cinderella,” said Val in awe.
    “Yeah, if she’d been into bondage and had Christian Dior for a godmother.”
    “If only you had a man to walk you in,” said Val sadly, reverting to concerned-mother mode.
    “I’m just grateful there’s no metal or leather in this thing,” said Myfanwy.
Or spikes.
They stared at the dress some more and were woken from their reverie only by the sound of the doorbell.
    “There! That’s your car,” said Val. “Now, do you have everything you need?”
    “Except for Kevlar and a gun,” said Myfanwy, who in the flurry of getting ready had temporarily forgotten about the revelations regarding Gestalt’s treachery.
    “What?”
    “Just kidding.”

24
     
    A pex House looked like a fairy-tale palace, the spotlights painting its front pillars vivid colors as the night closed in. Dusk was just departing as Myfanwy’s car drew up to the front. Her bodyguard for the night, Anthony, had turned out to be a massively fat Japanese man who spoke with a thick Scottish accent and was dressed in traditional Scottish garb. His kilt could have been used as a tartan slipcover for a settee, and his sporran looked as if it could use some friends to back it up. Still, she’d had the presence of mind to compliment him on his appearance.
    An incomprehensible stream of syllables had flowed out of his lips. Myfanwy was unable to tell if it was Japanese, Gaelic, or a bastard hybridization of both. Still, she’d smiled politely in reply.
    There’d been a pause at the front while Ingrid had fussed over Myfanwy’s costume, ensuring that nothing was crumpled. Ingrid wasn’t looking too shabby herself in her purple dress, although she was nowhere near as exotic as Myfanwy.
    “I’m so glad you got that dress, Rook Thomas. It’s a real departure for you, but it suits you.”
    “You think?”
    “Absolutely. It will certainly turn some heads.”
    “Oh… goody.”
    They moved through the hallways, and everywhere Pawns and Retainers stepped aside, bowing slightly. Was it Myfanwy’s imagination or were the male employees taking the opportunity to get a look at the top half of her dress? Judging by the reactions of the female employees, the news of her attire would make its way through theChecquy gossip highways quickly. Combined with her escapades in Bath, this meant her corporate image was in for a major change. Behind Myfanwy to her right sailed Ingrid with a look of calm efficiency on her face. On her left, Anthony hulked along. They entered the reception room, and the Bishops and the Chevaliers were already there, with their Retainers, all looking suitably classy and powerful.
    Bishop Grantchester was dressed in a tailored tuxedo, with strands of inky mist coiling themselves artistically around his arms and shoulders. They trailed behind him as he moved about the room. Chevalier Eckhart was in military uniform. Chevalier Gubbins wore a tuxedo also, although his was rather rumpled. He appeared to be doing his best not to contort into any undignified poses.
    It was Bishop Alrich, however, who made Myfanwy’s jaw drop. He was dressed in a kimono of black silk intricately embroidered with threads of a deep metallic crimson. It was so long that it trailed the floor behind him, although not quite as much as Myfanwy’s dress did. Massive vanes sprouted from his shoulders, arcing back and up like blades. It was an outfit of bizarre and decadent elegance. His hair was plaited down his back in a loose tail of auburn. He caught Myfanwy’s eye and gave her a small smile as he scanned every aspect of her outfit. Apparently he approved, because his smile grew