Rook

mustache and a goatee.
    “How dare you? You are a hack! A filthy liar!”
    “My talents are indisputable!” shrieked Crisp, spitting all over the glass in his rage. Unfortunately, he was unable to see through it, and he had chosen to stand right in front of Myfanwy, his eyes fixed on some imaginary point.
    “I dispute them!” Perry yelled back. “You scarred my daughter with your slanderous stories. What kind of swine drools all over a young girl’s hand at a Christmas party and then lies to her about her future?”
    “To begin with,
you
told her to consult me. And I said nothing that wouldn’t have been perfectly obvious to every hapless fool she spoke to! She has all the personality of a drink coaster!” They were both pounding on the glass now, and their shouts devolved into an incomprehensible roar of insults.
This is unbelievable,
thought Myfanwy. Everyone else was watching in rapt fascination, and so it apparently fell to her to do something.
I’m the Rook, after all. And Gestalt doesn’t appear to be stepping in
. She snuck a glance at her counterpart, who was looking on in amusement.
    “Gentlemen,” Myfanwy said calmly but to no avail because all the other men in the room had risen and were adding to the clamor. “Gentlemen,” she repeated, raising her voice a little. Still no response.
Right, that does it,
she thought in exasperation. Her patience had run out.
    “Gentlemen!”
she finally shouted, and her voice cut through the noise like a scythe through a poodle. There was dead silence, and everyone stared at her, stunned. “You all need to shut up and stay focused on the task at hand. Dr. Crisp, if you will turn your eyes back toward the interrogation, I wonder if you could revive the subject and question him.” All eyes swiveled back to the man in the chair, and there was some embarrassed clearing of throats. Everybody sat down abruptly, except Dr. Crisp, who pulled his surgical mask up again and strode back to the chair.
    A nurse had entered, carrying a polished steel tray on which lay a syringe filled with indigo fluid. Crisp took the syringe carefully, nodded his thanks to the nurse, and injected it into the subject’s arm. The man’s eyelids flickered, and Crisp took the opportunity to change his gloves. Finally, the prisoner came awake, looking around him with confusion.
    “Good morning,” said Dr. Crisp, attempting to sound calm and collected.
    “It’s afternoon,” corrected Perry dryly.
    “Shut up!” exclaimed Crisp, flashing the glass a dirty look. “Now,” he said, turning back to the subject. “I am going to ask you some questions, and you will answer truthfully. If you lie, I will know, and it will not be good for you.” The man stared at him, unblinking. “I’m sure you understand.” He gently laid his hand on the man’s wrist, placing his fingers on the pulse point. “Let us begin.”
    Myfanwy felt uneasy as she stared through the glass. She had relaxed a little earlier, when Crisp had read the lines on the subject’s hands. The physical examination had been passive, noninvasive. But now she could tell there would be pain and violence. She sat still, aware of Gestalt’s eyes on her. Her heart began to pound.
    “What is your name?” Crisp asked.
    “Peter Van Syoc,” the subject replied. His Dutch accent was thick, and although he spoke calmly, his eyes were wide open, staring at the glass. Myfanwy knew he could not see through, but she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
    “True,” said Crisp. “Now, for whom do you work?”
    “Zeekoning Fishing Company,” Van Syoc answered. There was a pause.
    “That is, at best, a partial truth,” said Crisp finally. “Now that you can see I know a lie from the truth, I will ask you, for whom do you work?”
    “I told you, Zeekoning Fishing Company!” Van Syoc exclaimed. There was a little sound as Crisp sucked his teeth regretfully behind his mask. He kept one hand on Van Syoc’s wrist and placed his other hand on the subject’s fingertips. He carefully positioned each finger in a specific place, and Myfanwy saw his arms tense for a moment. Van Syoc flinched and drew a sharp breath tinged with shock.
    “For whom do you work?” All he received in answer was a terrified stare. Crisp sighed and pressed again. Van Syoc cried out, and this time it was words. Myfanwy listened closely; to her it seemed simply a collection of random syllables, but all the men in the room gasped. She twisted around, startled.