Rook

wrong kind of genitals. As a result, during the 1920s, the organization was inflicted with the uncomfortable tenure of Lady Richard Constable, a large bearded man who once bit the head off a possessed Irish wolfhound. He succeeded Lady Claire Goldsworthy and out of sheer bloody-mindedness declined to change his title. Even when the then-Lord died, Constable refused to switch positions.
    Although, as we’ve seen, the Checquy has occasionally departed from the chess theme, there is still adherence to the idea that there should be two of each rank. (Well, technically, there should be four of each rank, but that’s a whole other story.) We share responsibility for our bailiwicks with our counterparts, and the boundaries are not at all clearly defined. It’s a nightmare for logistics and responsibilities. It is implied that the Rooks, for instance, will consult and cooperate on all domestic affairs. In some cases, this works out all right. Rook Gestalt and I complement each other, insofar as I do all the paperwork and Gestalt does all the fieldwork. However, there have been less successful partnerships. On one memorable occasion in 1967, the Rooks accidentally led simultaneous but completely separate strikes on the same nest of gorgons, simply because they had refused to talk to each other.
    The Bishops are not actually members of the clergy. Not anymore.
    The Chevaliers have not necessarily been knighted.
    Our titles cannot be used in front of civilians, which periodically makes for awkward situations.
    Some people feel that the title Pawn has unpleasant connotations. We are brought up knowing that we may be sacrificed at any time for the greater good, but the implication that we may be sacrificed easily and without any thought is sometimes disheartening.
    Not everyone in the organization gets a chess title. If you have no unusual powers, then you’re not a Pawn, you’re a Retainer. Setting a large portion of our staff apart from everyone else doesn’t do a great deal for corporate morale.
    Occasionally, someone will point out these flaws and attempt to institute a change, but that person is slapped down. The reasons for this down-slappage are:
    If you’re in the Court, you have an impressive title, and you don’t want to change it for something generic.
Tradition.
It’s supposed to remind us of the importance of strategy and of rank.
It’s cool.
     
    Still, here are the members of the Court, reduced to the barest bones—their names and offices. There are also flash cards in the top drawer of your office desk.
Rooks (responsible for domestic operations; based at the Rookery)
     
The Gestalt siblings (Alex, Teddy, Robert, and Eliza)
Myfanwy Thomas (that’s you)
     
     
    Yes, thanks for that,
she thought in irritation.
     
Chevaliers (responsible for foreign operations; based at the Annexe)
     
Major Joshua Eckhart
Heretic Gubbins
     
Bishops (supervisors of the Checquy, aides to the heads; based at Apex House)
     
Alrich
Conrad Grantchester
     
Lord and Lady (heads of the Checquy; based at Apex House)
     
The Right Honorable Linda Viscountess Farrier
Sir Henry Wattleman
     
     
    Unfortunately, there were no photographs or even sketches.
I suppose I’ll just have to wing it,
Myfanwy thought.
I’m getting pretty good atthat.
She looked up when the car stopped. Up close, the building reeked of old money and discreet authority. The fattest man she’d ever seen, dressed all in purple like a pampered plum, opened the car door.
    “Good evening, Rook Thomas. May I carry that to the boardroom for you?” he asked, gesturing toward her purple binder and briefcase.
    “No, thank you,” she said absently, staring at the grand pillars that marked the entrance of the Apex.
    “Actually!” she exclaimed, reconsidering.
Seeing as how I have no idea where I’m supposed to be going…
“If you could, that would be wonderful.”
    She followed the man as he waddled to the lift and then through vast hallways. She took the opportunity to read his system. Compared to the radically altered Van Syoc, the biology of a normal human being was harmonious, elegant. She concentrated, tracing the impulses and connections of every movement. It was fascinating, the play of muscles and neurons, the complexity that went into taking a step, turning one’s head. She reached out a tentative thought, and his hand opened, dropping her briefcase to the floor.
    “Terribly sorry, Rook Thomas,” said the Retainer, looking surprised as he bent