Rook

woman. Her hands blurred as she reached up and snatched the bullets out of theair. Myfanwy could hear the dull thwaps as the bullets thudded into the gauntlets. Van Syoc looked shocked, but he was a professional and stood up straighter. His body shook for a moment, and then the muscles in his arms began to grow and swell. Like bunches of grapes, nodules of strength popped up along his limbs. Was it Myfanwy’s imagination or did she actually
hear
Van Syoc’s flesh manipulating itself?
    Then his face began to change shape. His forehead swelled, and his brows plumped themselves; the skin around his eyes grew out to protect them. His neck expanded until it was as wide as his head, then wider. It was as if his body simply tapered off at the top. Van Syoc’s nose hinged itself up and shrank back, leaving two small teardrop slits in his face.
    Myfanwy was appalled by the transformation; she stared as Van Syoc’s hair retracted back into his scalp. She bit her lower lip hard and looked over at Alrich, whose eyes were fixed on the screen.
    “You don’t have a paper bag, do you?” she asked quietly. He looked at her and then gave his head a minute, apologetic shake. Fortunately, by that time the transformation appeared complete. Another Pawn came into the room, a middle-aged man dressed like a history professor, leather-patched elbows and all, and carrying a backpack. Van Syoc launched himself at the woman, who flung off her gauntlets and reached forward with that same dizzying speed. She slapped him around the neck and shoulders, striking at specific pressure points. Her hands bounced off the neck, which seemed to be composed of a springy, spongy material. Van Syoc grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her forcefully against the wall. Her hands blurred about his face, but he continued on stolidly, literally pushing her through the plaster into the hallway.
    The professor Pawn was staring, horrified, and obviously wondering what he should do. It was clear that he lacked the strength to take Van Syoc out. He reached into the backpack and, with a brisk movement of his hands, drew out a long, delicate whip. The Pawn snapped it up around Van Syoc’s torso and hauled with all his weight, tugging Van Syoc off balance. The behemoth in the recently createddoorway turned awkwardly, and in the deep recesses of his skull, his eyes narrowed. He absently flung the woman down the hall and took a step back into the room, putting his hand firmly on the whip. The Pawn, recognizing that this was a tug-of-war he was unlikely to win, dropped the whip, reached back into the pack with both hands, and drew out two more.
    “How many of those things does he feel compelled to carry about?” asked Eckhart around his cigarette. They all watched as the Pawn deftly entangled Van Syoc’s legs and yanked them out from under him. Another brisk snap of his wrists and the whips were stretched up and around the enemy’s neck. The woman Pawn reappeared behind Van Syoc, looking rather the worse for wear after her trip through the wall, and reached down with her quick hands, hog-tying the Grafter so that his head was pulled down between his ankles. Still, his massive arms flailed around, bashing at everything within reach. Two more whips were produced, and the Pawns pinned and immobilized his arms, wrapping him in lengths of thick, braided cable. Then the woman produced an enormous hypodermic from her bandolier and injected him carefully behind the ear. For a little while, Van Syoc continued to struggle, but his thrashings slowed to twitching, and eventually he lay still. His muscles shrank, and the man and woman tightened the knots. Van Syoc’s body slumped into unconsciousness.
    “I need a drink,” said the woman tiredly, checking for pulses on the dead soldiers.
    “I need a Band-Aid,” said the man, examining his hand. Suddenly, Van Syoc began to writhe against his bonds. “Jesus Christ! I thought that stuff was supposed to be able to knock out an elephant.”
    “It
is
used to knock out elephants. It’s elephant tranquilizer,” snapped the woman, putting a hand to her ear. “We’ve got him secured for now, but send in Pawn Depuy.” She looked down, saw that Van Syoc was straining against the whips, and sighed. “Is he going to break those?” The professor (as Myfanwy had mentally christened him) eyed the writhing killer on the floor and nodded in resignation. He pulled out several more cords from the backpack andbegan to add more to