Rook

stories they told us at the Estate.”
    “Yes,” agreed Myfanwy solemnly, without any idea what Gestalt was talking about.
    “I, um, spoke to Crisp, and he’s agreed that nothing more needs to be said about the incident,” continued Tidy Twin, staring at her meaningfully. After a pause, Myfanwy agreed.
Who are these Grafters that can freak out Gestalt so much it
strangles
someone?
The twins were looking relieved as they stood up. “Thank you very much, Rook Thomas—the, uh, the shock, you know. I must say, you’re taking this very well. Much better than I would have expected,” said Tidy Twin. And with that, the twins left the room.
    Myfanwy noted down
Grafters,
and Ingrid came in.
    L ady Linda Farrier shifted uneasily in her sleep, her face twisting briefly in anxiety. Her eyelids moved faintly, and she bit her lower lipin concentration. The tall thin woman was lying on a Roman-style couch, facedown, one arm under her head, and the other thrust out and down so that her fingertips grazed the floor. Periodically, a ladylike snore would issue forth.
    The room was circular and dimly lit. There were no windows, and the walls reached up to a viewing gallery that stretched all the way around the room. On this gallery stood several men, all of them heavily armed. They were still, like gargoyles dressed in purple.
    Then she opened her eyes and rolled over, blinking. A massive yawn split her features, and she sat up. A small man in purple who had been sitting by the door stood up and walked over.
    “Harrison, please inform the Foreign and Colonial Office that the ambassador to China will have to be replaced immediately. He craves money too strongly to resist temptation. Also, there is a young gentleman in the town of Milton Keynes who is rapidly becoming murderously insane. I couldn’t get his name, but he lives in a white house, number fifty-seven, on some lane. It has a blue mailbox, and a willow on the front lawn. He has red hair and is uncircumcised.” Her secretary nodded obediently and took notes on an electronic organizer.
    “My Lady, the Rooks have called an emergency meeting of the Court. They’ve requested that the executive meeting be brought forward from Friday.”
    “
Both
of them?” she asked in surprise.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Interesting. So when is this emergency meeting?” she asked, straightening her coat.
    “Fifteen minutes after sundown tonight” was the diffident answer.
    “Oh, of course. We have to take that into account, don’t we?” She sighed in exasperation.
    “Indeed, ma’am.”
    “All right. Let Rook Thomas’s office know that I would still like to dine with her, and move our reservation up.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Harrison replied.
    “I’m going back to sleep,” she said, lying back down. “I shall see if there’s anyone interesting asleep in America.”
    “That seems rather like a contradiction in terms, ma’am.”
    “God, you’re such a snob.”
    C hevalier Heretic Gubbins (Harry to his friends) was staring in vexation at his computer. The damn thing had frozen with twelve unsaved pages of directives on the screen, and he was trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to reboot the computer without losing everything he had written. He licked his teeth thoughtfully, evaluating the possibilities. Finally, he gave the thing a good slap.
    Nothing.
    “You piece of crap!” he exclaimed. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Deep breath in. Slowly breathe out. Then he gave the thing another good slap.
    Nothing.
    “Unbelievable!” His secretary came in. “Fetch somebody from technical support or that woman who claims she can negotiate with computers and have this fixed.” He turned his attention back to the computer, and then looked up again. “What?”
    “You’re balancing on one hand again, sir,” the secretary replied. “And you’re getting footmarks on the ceiling. The cleaning staff has been complaining.”
    “Oh. Fine.” Gubbins flipped himself up the right way, and his secretary rolled her eyes.
    “In any case, sir, the Court meeting has been moved up. It’s now today right after sunset—emergency.”
    “Okay,” Gubbins sighed, and he took one leg off the ground. Then he lifted himself up onto one toe. “Piece-of-shit computer!”
    A nd
that,
Minister, is why you may not go to Australia!” snapped Conrad Grantchester. “You will die, and it will be in a very public, messy, media-filled environment.” He clicked a button,