Rook

earned her an approving look from Wattleman and a flat stare from Farrier, who could detect Myfanwy’s amusement.
    They had only just gotten seated when another man walked in hurriedly, smoking a cigarette and talking speedily on a mobile phone. He nodded to each of them and continued to give directions into his phone.
    “No, no, no. You let her get off the plane, you let her walk to Customs. Then you claim there is a problem with her visa, and you have her escorted to the interview room we have set up.” There wasa pause. “She receives no food, she may go to the ladies’ room as long as she is accompanied, and you ensure that anything that comes out of her is collected. Keep her
away
from any pipes connected to the greater system. She may be given water. Don’t answer her questions.” He clicked off the phone and made his greetings. “Good evening, all. My apologies for being late. Am I the last? Of course not, we’re still waiting for Alrich, aren’t we?”
So he must be Eckhart,
she thought.
    He sat down across from Myfanwy and quickly lit a new cigarette off the old one. Myfanwy looked at him with interest. Joshua Eckhart had thinning blond hair and a hardened look about him. He was tanned in a way that suggested he’d spent a good deal of time in the sun doing actual work. His posture was military issue, and his eyes were alert. As he brought his cigarette up to his lips, Myfanwy noticed the many scars on his hands.
    Then Bishop Alrich entered, and Myfanwy caught her breath.
    Alrich was tall and had ivory skin dusted with light freckles. His features were angular, androgynous, and perfect. His blood-red hair flowed down straight to the small of his back, and he was dressed in an exquisitely cut navy blue suit.
    “I am sorry you had to wait for me. Working the night shift means this is my busiest time.” Alrich spoke with a husky, growling voice, which was a little jarring coming out of someone so smooth and polished. “Rook Thomas, you look different somehow.”
    “Well, I recently got the shit kicked out of me,” she said.
    “Ah, that would be it then,” Alrich replied, and he settled down into the chair next to her with a sinuous grace. “Now, what is the emergency that has necessitated this early meeting?”
    “The Grafters,” said Myfanwy calmly.
Gestalt is going to have to run this show, so I’d better get my licks in while I can.
She looked around at the various Court members as they took in the information. Reactions varied from a narrowing of the eyes on the part of Eckhart and Grantchester to Heretic Gubbins looking like he was going to throw up. She noted with passing interest that there was utterly no change in Alrich’s position or demeanor. “This morning, a Grafter operativenamed Peter Van Syoc was apprehended in a darling little bed-and-breakfast in Harrow. During the subsequent interrogation, we learned that he was sent here by the Belgians. Gestalt?” Tidy Twin looked up in surprise and then fumbled for his notes.
    “Uh, thank you, Rook Thomas. To begin with, we have just received the footage of the acquisition. Although neither I nor Rook Thomas have viewed it, I understand it serves as an effective demonstration.”
    The lights dimmed, and behind Myfanwy and Alrich a screen descended from the ceiling and then flickered on. Everyone turned to watch.
    It was a
very
nice bed-and-breakfast. Evidently, the Grafters had a good travel agent, because the bed looked comfortable, and the room was tastefully decorated. Certainly, Van Syoc seemed at ease there as he puttered about the room. It was a bit eerie to see the man moving about casually when earlier that day she had seen him bound to a chair and tortured. His body had been smoking then, but now she watched him check out the minibar and eat some peanuts.
    Myfanwy felt vaguely ridiculous as the secret powers in the land watched a video of a man sitting on his bed, slowly eating snacks before putting on his socks and shoes. The time seemed to drag on interminably as Van Syoc tied his tie and checked his hair in the mirror. Through it all, Joshua Eckhart smoked his endless cigarettes, and Heretic Gubbins contorted his body into upsettingly intricate shapes. They all shifted in their executive chairs, except for Alrich, who sat as still and perfect as a Donatello sculpture. Myfanwy was beginning to wish she had some popcorn or a novel when on the screen a woman wandered in from the bathroom, doing up the front of her