Rook

protection details for high-ranking figures in America, and while she’d been joking about the capital of Belgium, a great many security arrangements had been put into place on both sides of the Atlantic. Myfanwy was painfully aware of this, since she’d had to sign off on several measures.
    A number of public figures had received discreet Checquy protectors, border security had been upped, and there was a heightened terrorism alert, presumably to the bewilderment of all human terrorists. Even as Myfanwy was driving to Scotland, Farrier and Grantchester were meeting with a secret council that included the Prime Minister, the Home Secretary, the Minister of Defense, the heads of MI5 and MI6, the ruler of the country, and the first in line to the throne. Myfanwy didn’t envy them the task of explaining the problem.
    She opened up the big purple binder and flipped through the pages to the entry on Gallows Keep Prison.
     
Gallows Keep
    Was the ancestral manse of some obscure Scottish noble family who managed to piss off the king. Treason or something. So they were stripped of their lands and chattels and sold into slavery, and the place was handed over to the Checquy. They ignored it for a few decades until it was pointed out that they should probably do something with the king’s gift.
    It’s a dour-looking castle in the middle of nowhere, which makes it the perfect place for the Checquy to store some of its undesirables. Actually, the perfect place would be an island on a different planet. But this was a pretty good second choice.
    The reason it’s called Gallows Keep is that, prior to the establishment of the current facility, human-shaped enemies of the Checquy were usually stored at the end of a rope. As it is, we still stage a fair number of hangings. And beheadings. And stakings. And burnings. And immersions in vats of distillate of eel. Whatever means of execution are necessary, really. Gallows Keep is more of a temporary holding facility that’s used until the Checquy decides that the subject cannot be redeemed.
    On the outside, the place looks as if they’re expecting the English to turn up and demand that the inhabitants turn over all the virgins and any cattle and coins they might have hanging around. But on the inside it’s super-sophisticated, with all the very latest in security cameras and lead manacles.
    It’s where we store enemies we can’t kill.
     
    “I miss Anthony.” Ingrid sighed wistfully. Myfanwy looked up in surprise. It was most unlike her secretary to show such emotion.
    “He was a good man,” agreed Myfanwy.
I only met him the once, but he seemed nice. And Thomas seemed to approve of him. Plus, now that we’re in Scotland I could have found someone to tell me what the hell he was saying.
    “Security Chief Clovis is looking for a replacement,” said Ingrid. “I asked him if we could have another incomprehensible bodyguard. It made the car trips so soothing.”
Is she drunk?
wondered Myfanwy before deciding it was just the mournful countryside and lack of sleep that had brought out the maudlin in her secretary. Ingrid shook her head. “Anyway, we’ll soon be at Gallows Keep.”
    “Yes,” sighed Myfanwy. “This should be a pleasant little interview. All I have to do is put on my scary face.”
    “You have a scary face?” Ingrid sounded skeptical.
    “Yes,” said Myfanwy indignantly. “I have a very scary face.”
    Ingrid surveyed her for a moment.
    “You may wish to take off the cardigan then, Rook Thomas,” she advised tactfully. “The flowers on the pockets detract somewhat from your menace.”
    R ook Thomas,” said Gestalt. The past thirty-six hours had clearly been very bad ones for the Gestalt bodies the Checquy had managed to hold on to. Myfanwy was in the room where the formerly tidy and now somewhat rumpled twin was imprisoned, and a pair of cold blue eyes regarded her with hate. She’d ordered her two bodyguards to stay outside the room and they’d agreed only because the door was made of glass and they could see exactly what was going on. One of them was holding her cardigan, which she’d taken off at the last minute, putting on a blazer that was much more official-looking but also much less comfortable. Restricted as she was to the secure Rookery residence, Myfanwy had had a Checquy courier fetch it from the guest room wardrobe in her house before they left for Scotland. Now she found that it had some sort of corset sewn into it, so she was