Rook

haven’t been called upon more often since Gestalt was exposed last week. Speaking of Gestalt, are you allowed to tell me what the situation is?”
    “Well, apparently, there’s not going to be a trial or anything. Gestalt has never argued its innocence, and trying to kill everyone at that party was proof enough of its guilt. But I spoke to Sir Henry and Lady Linda, and they agreed that it was inappropriate for me to supervise the interrogation, since we were the same rank. So we’ve turned that responsibility over to the Bishops. I gave them my ideas for ensuring Gestalt’s cooperation, and now I just have to wait and see if they come up with anything good.” Alrich had been absently licking his lips when he’d accepted the responsibility. She shuddered slightly at the memory and had another drink of amber liquor.
    “Waiting for the phone trace, waiting for the torturers,” mused Myfanwy, scratching at a place where blood had been taken with an alarming-looking triple-pronged needle wielded by a midget on a stepladder. “I really hate waiting. Is there anything I can do in the meantime? Anyone for me to talk to?” she asked plaintively. “No section heads or project leaders?”
    “It’s the weekend, Rook Thomas,” Ingrid reminded her gently.
    “Of course,” said Myfanwy testily. “And people shouldn’t be at work on the weekend, because that would be ridiculous.”
    “Well, the twenty-four-hour office is functioning,” clarified Ingrid, “and the Grafter situation means that the watch office is open. And of course, the medical staff is here conducting tests. A strike team and two pilots are on call. The security guards are here, and the cleaning staff, and—”
    “Fine,” said Myfanwy. “I will just squint at all these documents with my laser-scanned eyes and sign everything with my well-licked fingers.”
    “Now, Rook Thomas,” said Ingrid reprovingly, “you know theyapologized. Apparently, your touch numbed their tongues and they had to try all your digits.”
    They looked up when a young man clutching a piece of paper ran into Ingrid’s office. He caught sight of Myfanwy and Ingrid through the door, colored, and then rushed toward them. One of the massive guards stationed at the door thrust out an arm, and Ingrid and Myfanwy were treated to a glimpse of the soles of the young man’s shoes as his body rotated in the air around the axis of the guard’s forearm.
    “Ooh!” Myfanwy and Ingrid flinched at the same time. The other massive guard stepped into the room, nodded to the two women, and placed his foot delicately on the young man’s throat. The supine man was gasping and desperately waving the piece of paper around.
    “Don’t kill him!” exclaimed Ingrid. “Rook Thomas, this is Pawn Summerhill from the communications section.” Myfanwy nodded to the guard, who reluctantly lifted his boot, letting Summerhill sit up.
    “Rook Thomas, Mrs. Woodhouse…”
    “What is it, Alan?” asked Ingrid. “Have you traced the call?”
    “Not yet,” he said. “We’re still working on it, but this fax came through. It’s addressed to Rook Thomas.” Myfanwy took the paper from Summerhill’s hand, and he put his head between his knees. The fax paper was covered in ornate copperplate, and she had to squint at it to see past the curlicues and flourishes to the message.
    Rook Thomas of the Checquy,
    I have unleashed a small horror in Reading, simply to demonstrate our capabilities. Unless you hurry, there may not be much left of John Perry’s home. I look forward to seeing Graaf Ernst von Suchtlen on Tuesday.
    Regards,
    Graaf Gerd de Leeuwen
     
    Myfanwy read the words in disbelief, and then they all jumped as the lights flickered overhead and angry chimes sounded. The phone started ringing frantically on Ingrid’s desk, accompanied by a red light flashing.
    “What the hell is that?” asked Myfanwy with a sinking feeling.
    “Incident,” said Ingrid grimly, heading to the phone. Myfanwy, the two hulking guards, and the wheezing kid from the communications department watched as Ingrid answered the call. “Right. Right. All right. Yes, she’ll be there. How long? Fine. Thanks, Jennifer.” She hung up. “Well, Rook Thomas, I’m afraid there’s been an outbreak in—”
    “Reading,” said Myfanwy tiredly.
    “Yes,” said Ingrid, raising her brows in surprise.
    “The Grafters,” hissed Myfanwy, and realized that the guards and the kid were staring at her in horror. “None