Rook

fill out. Had there been anything about its harming the boy? She couldn’t remember.
    “He might die?” she asked faintly. Cyrus looked at her soberly.
    “Rook Thomas, take into account all the information you shared with me. As a Rook of the Checquy, think of your responsibility to the people of the United Kingdom,” he said in a hushed, flat voice. “You do not have time to mull this over.”
    “Quite right,” said Myfanwy, calling the formulaic sentences to memory. Thomas’s instructions had insisted that she memorize them.
    “I, Myfanwy Alice Thomas, Rook of the Checquy, Hidden Sword of the Crown, First Raven of Scotland, Herald for Eire, and General of Britain’s Secret Army, do hereby invoke the presence of Harper Callahan, ward of the Estate, to serve the unknowing populace of the United Kingdom with all his strength and capabilities, that our islands might endure.”
    It was a ridiculous, archaic statement, but it made everything nice and legal and officially shifted responsibility for the entire operation onto her head. Only the Rooks, the Bishops, and the Lord and Lady of the Checquy could authorize the use on British soil of an agent classified as a Force of Physical Obliteration. Fortunately, there were only three individuals at that power level in the UK. In fact, one of them was maintained in a vault in the Shetland Islands. Utilizing them required that the Prime Minister, the Minister of Defense, theruler of the country, and all members of the Checquy Court be informed. Even as Myfanwy finished speaking, she could hear the fingers of the crew dialing phones to communicate the information and call forth the student from the Estate.
    This has to be done,
she reminded herself.
And if that little boy gets killed, well, that will be one of many terrible things I’ve set in motion since opening safe-deposit box 1011-B.
    And if anyone demands to know why I unleashed a child who could possibly turn this entire town into a slick of molten rock, then I’ll be obliged to tell them that my powers indicated the cube was a Grafter weapon. Which it happens to be.
    “The cube is moving!” came Carmine’s excited voice.
    “Peripheral guards ready,” barked Cyrus. Little monitors lit up all over the room, and Myfanwy squinted in the sudden brightness. She stared at the pictures and realized that they were from all the little cameras that were slung under the guns of the Checquy troops around the building. “What’s happening inside, Jasmine?” Cyrus asked.
    Motha’s voice came through, surprised. “Those coils of muscle are flexing, and bones are being shifted around.”
    “How?” asked Watson.
    “I don’t know, but it’s not being done for reinforcement. I’m seeing holes open up in the cage, like shutters being drawn back.”
    “There’s a split in the epidermis!” exclaimed Carmine. “It opened for a second. It’s on the side facing the front of the building.”
    Where we are,
thought Myfanwy grimly.
    “This doesn’t bode well, sir,” said Watson to Cyrus. “If something comes out, we’re right in the way.”
    “But we’re armored,” pointed out the little computer nerd Pawn.
    “And we have soldiers on our roof,” said Cyrus.
    “Some of the bones are being driven down through the floor,” reported Motha.
    “Why?” asked Watson, her brow furrowed.
    “Anchoring,” said one of the large bodyguards, and everyone looked at him.
    “Anchoring for wh—?” began Watson before the trailer wasrocked by a sudden blow. “Fuck!” Those lucky enough to be sitting down were thrown back in their ergonomic chairs while those standing found themselves lying abruptly and painfully on the floor.
    “Status?” barked Cyrus as the trailer trembled again.
    “Several muscle tentacles just whipped out of the cube, went through the police station wall, and have latched onto the incident trailer!” came the horrified report from Pawn Motha.
    “It’s actually pulling you toward the building!” exclaimed Carmine, his panicked voice over the radio almost lost to static. Another massive jerk sent those who had hesitantly gotten up on their hands and knees tumbling back down onto their supine companions.
    “Yes, thanks, we can feel it,” snapped Myfanwy. “Let’s get the hell out of here! Everyone out! Checquy troops, open fire on those tentacles! Where’s Steele with his chain saws? Get him on them!”
    They were all staring at her. “Now!” she shouted, and she galvanized them