Rook

go,” Thomas had said. “I’m almost done going over this. Once I’m finished, I’ll give it the okay and the Rook’s Messenger will courier the hard copy right over to Number Ten. And then I’ll just go up to the residence and sleep there. You’ve canceled my car, right?” Ingrid smiled and nodded.
    “Have a good night then, Rook Thomas,” Ingrid said. “And do try to get some rest over the weekend.”
    “Hmm?” said Thomas, already re-engrossed in the report. “Oh, yes. You too, Ingrid. Have fun with your family.” As Ingrid watched, the Rook turned her complete attention back to the paper in front of her, absently brushing her hair away from her face. The executive assistant shook her head, knowing that much of her boss’s weekend would be spent in the office. She felt a stab of pity but left with a spring in her step. Most of the staff had already gone for the day, and she enjoyed the dim quiet of the hallways.
    On the way down, she’d passed the publications department and seen that there were still lights blazing and several heads bent over papers, reading frantically. Now, as she walked briskly back to her office to get Amy’s gift, everyone was packing up and leaving. Clearly Rook Thomas had approved the report and it had been sent off, safe in the protective gullet of Toby, that evening’s Rook’s Messenger.
    If that woman hasn’t already gone up to the residence,
thought Ingrid,
if I find her reading over something new, I am going to confiscate her highlighters and send her to bed.
There was no light coming from under the door, which probably meant that Rook Thomas had retired to the residence, where, in all likelihood, she was still working. “Well, at least she’s out of the office,” Ingrid murmured to herself, but she was brought up short by a sudden, unexpected sound. Movement where there should have been none.
    Ingrid was an executive assistant who had entered the Checquy, not after years of rigorous training at the Estate, but after sixteen years in the civil
service. She possessed no inhuman powers apart from an abundance of common sense and an ability to keep things organized. But a decade in the Checquy had taught her how unpredictable life was. This sound could be anything. Ingrid stepped carefully to her office, listening intently for further sounds before opening the door warily.
    “Rook Thomas?” Ingrid whispered. The lights in the office were off, and when she fumbled at the switch and turned them on, she was half relieved to see that there was no one there. She peeked guiltily into her boss’s office, but it was similarly empty, and the portrait door leading to the residence was shut. Sighing, Ingrid tried to think of what to do. Had she been certain about the sound? Was it worth bothering Rook Thomas?
    A noise from the Rook’s private bathroom drew Ingrid away from her dilemma. She moved carefully to the portrait door that featured a past Rook with a large powdered wig and compound eyes. It crossed her mind to do something sensible. She could leave the office and lock the door behind her. She could call security or find a powered member of the Checquy to help her. The only problem was that when you worked for the Checquy, you learned that conventionally sensible ideas often turned out to be unconventionally foolish. Like the story of that cleaning lady who opened the closet because she’d heard plaintive cries for help coming from within. Or Declan the accountant, who had thought it best to back away quietly and try to summon help when the escaped Portuguese land squid came squirming down the corridor. No doubt at the time the moves had seemed wise, but the cleaning lady had been rendered sterile and blind, while Declan’s whispered phone call had made the land squid feel threatened. As a result, the accountant had been permanently stained purple and obliged to learn how to operate a calculator with his tongue since he no longer had any arms.
    Now Ingrid could hear a pained whispering coming from inside the bathroom, and she immediately recognized the voice. She turned the knob and opened the door. Lying on the floor in front of the sink was Rook Thomas, curled up with her knees to her chest, her body shuddering uncontrollably. Ingrid stepped back in shock.
    Thomas’s eyes were wide, and her lips were blood-red. No, Ingrid corrected herself in horror, those frantically whispering lips weren’t just red butbloody and raw. It looked as if someone had given the