Rook

best suited for—he has an excellent understanding of others’ strengths and weaknesses. I suppose it’s a corporate thing. Anyway, he’s made several unorthodox promotions that many people questioned and that later turned out to be genius. His experiences in business also taught him how to be an effective headhunter. He brings in exceptionally skilled people from outside the Checquy.
    He oversaw the design and reconstruction of the Rookery, which gives extra insight into the kind of mind he has: respectable on the outside and sneaky on the inside. Grantchester likes to be prepared, with all contingencies covered and everything organized into nice, methodical systems. He’s not much of a combat person, although he has no problem with ordering assassinations—but he does that only when all other negotiations have failed.
    After eight years as a Rook, Grantchester made the jump to Bishop, giving him oversight of the entire organization. He examined the greater financial structure, which proved to be even more convoluted and leaky than the domestic ops. Grantchester rolled up his sleeves and made us profitable.
    Personally, I respect the hell out of him. His administrative innovations revolutionized the organization, and he’s brilliantly businesslike about everything. I inherited his position and his bachelor pad (he wasn’t a bachelor when he built and decorated it, by the way). He is a shoo-in to lead the Checquy when Wattleman or Farrier shuffles off this coil (if they ever do), so I imagine I’ll be working under him for quite a while.
    And did I mention how handsome he is?
    In addition, it’s worth noting that he doesn’t limit his amorous activities to outside stakeholders and has slept with quite a few female Checquy employees. Not me, I hasten to add, which I have rather mixed feelings about. His conquests have always been very discreet, but I’ve uncovered a few liaisons in the course of my research that form the basis of my blackmail material. There have been no illegitimate children, but one girl, a very popular member of the Checquy, killed herself when he broke it off. Her suicide rocked the organization, but only I and Grantchester know that he was the reason.
     

15
     
    R ook Thomas?” Ingrid carefully made her way into the office. Myfanwy looked up, startled, from the reports she was reading.
Amazing,
she thought,
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her really freaked out before.
The secretary was actually perspiring.
    “Ingrid, are you all right? You look quite flushed. It’s not…” She trailed off in embarrassment. After all, Ingrid
was
of a certain age.
    “No, it’s not that!” snapped Ingrid. “I just received notification that the Americans are coming!”
    “All of them?” asked Myfanwy.
    “You know, it’s not wise to be sarcastic with your executive assistant,” remarked Ingrid tightly. “And it isn’t the American people, it’s the American Bishops.”
    There are American Bishops?
wondered Myfanwy.
There’s an American Checquy?
This was probably explained somewhere in the purple binder, but over the past two days, she’d gotten so caught up in the work at hand that she hadn’t had much time to consult it. Overseeing all the details and making sure everything tied together well was absorbing. And whatever talent had resided in Thomas’s brain appeared to have stayed. Once or twice she’d forgotten that she wasn’t the same Myfanwy Thomas everyone assumed she was. She was no longer worried that each thing she said or did would clash with everyone’s mental image of what Rook Thomas would say or do. And she’d learned that betraying a bit of ignorance wouldn’t automatically reveal her secret. She was finally coming to appreciate the power that came with being a member of the Court.
    “Okay, so the American Bishops are coming,” Myfanwy said.“I’m guessing they’re here to bother Conrad and Alrich. All the old diplomats getting together for snifters of brandy, sitting ’round the fireplace, wheeling and dealing and deciding the fate of nations over nibbles, eh?” She cocked an eyebrow at Ingrid.
    “No, Rook Thomas,” said Ingrid. “They’re here to see you.”
    “Me?” she asked incredulously.
    “You,” said Ingrid with finality. They stared at each other.
    “Is this because I was sarcastic about the Americans coming over?” Myfanwy asked at last.
    “No,” said Ingrid. “Although it certainly makes up for it.”
    “Well, when are they