Rook

had been when the Belgians were at the height of their power.
    Naturally, the organization had to be informed. The Grafters—one of the most dire threats that the Checquy, indeed the nation, had ever known—were active. Still, the heads of this project were wary of coming to the Court with nothing but assertions based on corpses that were, admittedly, in advanced stages of decay. After all, they were men of science. They decided to gather more information.
    Two Pawns were quietly dispatched to the front to investigate. One, Thomas Ryan, was a proficient soldier who possessed telescopic vision and could see through human skin. The other, Charlotte Taylor, could cook a human being from the inside. They traveled discreetly and made their way to Ypres, where those suspicious bodies had been gathered.
    Ryan sent back regular dispatches, keeping the project leaders abreast of all developments. He reported on the stories the soldiers in the trenches recounted. The boys told of things that were out there in the wasteland, that lollopped among the craters and breathed in the mud and the blood. They spoke about the unnatural men they’d glimpsed in the night, walking silently among the bodies and slipping over the barbed wire with inhuman grace. A face might be seen for a moment laughingly gulping in poisonous gas before it moved back into the roiling fog. Bullets might be fired, but no body would be found.
    Ryan and Taylor had great respect for the soldiers around them—young men who would almost certainly die. Fear was always present in the trenches, and they did not want to add to it. Nevertheless, the Checquy operatives coaxed out as many details as they could, and they resolved that they would have to “go over the top.”
    On a night of storms, the Pawns carefully climbed out of the trench and made their way into no-man’s-land. The rain pelted down, drowning the soil and turning the terrain into a devastated expanse of mud. Lightning forked across the skies, augmented by explosions and flares. Thunder roared and machine guns screamed. I can’t imagine how they negotiated the territory, but I know that they had to step over the bodies of their countrymen and slog through thigh-deep mire. The files do not record how far they walked, but somewhere in that territory, they found what they were looking for.
    They found nightmares.
    Taylor’s only dispatch was brief and to the point:
    Have lost my boots to the mud, Ryan to an explosion, and an eye to the claws of something unnatural. The evidence you desired has been collected and is en route.
    The samples Taylor brought back were enough to provide firm evidence that the Grafters were continuing their work. The Court panicked, convinced that the Grafters were poised to sweep down on them, and more Pawns were dispatched to the front. But though they ventured out into the most dismal and dubious areas, after months of observations, they found nothing.
    The war ended, and there were still no developments regarding the Grafters. There was no hint of them during the Second World War, and the Checquy allowed themselves to relax a little. Although they knew their enemies were out there, no hostile moves had been made. Perhaps, the Court members toldthemselves, the Grafters have no interest in settling old scores. Perhaps they are devoting themselves exclusively to their obscure, if disturbing, studies. Perhaps we can afford not to think about them.
    Perhaps.
    For decades, there has been no reason to be concerned. Through conflict and peace, the Grafters have not surfaced. A lingering doubt remains, but with so much to divert its attention, the Checquy strives to remain focused on its responsibilities. The Court agreed that the memory of the Grafter invasion still holds too much terror among the Checquy rank and file for the evidence of their existence to be widely shared. The students at the Estate tell stories about the Grafters to scare one another.
    For the Checquy, the Grafters remain one of the most frightening foes we’ve ever faced. Should they surface in force, it will be a disaster.
     
    A mazing,
thought Myfanwy, shaking her head in disbelief. Thomas had included some photocopies of old sketches, and though they were rough and blurry, those details that could be made out were enough to turn her stomach. Glittering carapaces, jagged barbs.
How big were these things supposed to be?
She looked at the description.
In 1677 they were breeding horses the size of Humvees?