Rook

who his guest is?” he asked over his shoulder to the retinue.
    “No, sir,” said his secretary.
    “How long has it been since a prime minister came to the Rookery—hell, since they visited any Checquy installation?” Gestalt wondered.
    “Thatcher came once, at the beginning of her career,” I remembered.
    “And royalty?”
    “Well, only the ruling monarch and the first in line are aware of our existence,” I said. “But the last two monarchs haven’t come more than the once required after they’ve been crowned. I’m certain of that.”
    “And they give us five minutes to prepare.” Gestalt seethed. He calmed himself as we arrived at the reception area, which was actually very nice for all that it was in the garage. There was a carpeted area for people to be disgorged onto from their cars, sliding stained-glass doors that led to the elevators, and Ingrid had assembled some impressively tall honor guards to line the area and greet the arriving guests. Gestalt and I bustled past the guards and hit our marks just as the garage door was opening and Wattleman’s car was pulling in. My attention was caught by several people shouting angrily by the car.
    “What the hell is that?” demanded Gestalt.
    Anthony rumbled some syllables in an indeterminate language.
    I nodded sagely. “What?”
    “We have protesters outside the building,” said Gestalt’s bodyguard with a musical chime of her lip piercings.
    “When did they start?” I asked as the car slowly drew closer to us.
    “Half an hour ago,” said Ingrid.
    “What ridiculous thing are they protesting?” asked Gestalt, clearly vexed by the inconvenience. “Are they complaining about the bank?”
    “No, they’re protesting the covert government operations being run out of this office,” said the bodyguard.
    “What?” Gestalt and I exclaimed in horror.
    “I’m arranging a meeting with Security Chief Clovis,” said Ingrid calmly. “He’s said not to worry.”
    “It’s not going to look good,” I murmured as the car drew up in front of us. “Thank God the windows are tinted. Oh, and egg-proof.” The door opened and Sir Henry got out. All of us made the proper welcoming gestures while craning to see who the other person in the back of the car was.
    “Ah, I see you are all eager to meet our visitor,” said Sir Henry jovially. “And of course, it is a great honor for us all that he has deigned to visit us on this historic day. Roo—Miss Myfanwy Thomas, Mr….” He paused, obviously trying to figure out which first name belonged to which Gestalt sibling. I took pity on him and whispered it. “Ah, yes, Mr. Theodore”—he winked broadly—“Gestalt, may I present Rupert Henderson.”
    “Huh?” said Gestalt, and I would have snickered except that I was also trying to figure out who this person was. He was dressed in some sort of hessian muumuu, and his hair looked as if it could do with some styling by Gestalt. I was pretty sure he was neither the person who sat on the British throne nor the Prime Minister.
    “You may not know him by sight, but I am sure that his reputation has preceded him,” said Sir Henry proudly.
    “Absolutely,” said Ingrid smoothly while Gestalt and I tried to recover our poise.
    “Sir Henry, Mr. Hessian—I mean Henderson!” I began.
    “What?” barked Mr. Henderson loudly. “Speak up, girl!” I faltered and could feel my eyes filling. I ducked my head and blinked furiously.
    “You mustn’t shout at our Myfanwy, Master Henderson,” said Wattleman genially. “She’s got a soft voice”—patting me on the shoulder—“but she’s marvelous behind the desk.” As Gestalt led us to the lifts, I could hear Wattleman talking in what he thought was an undertone to Mr. Henderson. “Terribly shy girl. We try not to upset her—she goes to pieces.”
    “Always has,” added Gestalt quietly. Walking right behind them, I could feel my cheeks burning, and I sniffed surreptitiously. Ingrid discreetly handed me a handkerchief.
    Once we were settled in the reception room, we waited for the rest of the Court to arrive, which took a remarkably short time. Apparently, the other members had received the same vague message Gestalt and I had gotten,because each one appeared looking expectant and quickly tidied, only to find to their confusion that they were meeting a strange man dressed like the prophet of the god of compost.
    The others made small talk and I stood there awkwardly silent. When we were finally