Master of the Revels

by Nicole Galland

  Well, no worries, thought I, ’tis merely time for a booster shot, as they call it. And thus I set about to get him alone in an ODEC with me again. So I took myself up to his office and asked if himself would come down to the hall of ODECs to have a look at a particular something I was of a mind to show him.

  “What is it, Gráinne?” he asked, staring into that eejit computer screen of his, the unnatural light bouncing off his brow and making his hair the color of cream that’s gone off. “I’m busy.”

  “It’s to do with the comfort of your witches, sir,” said I. “Them that work so hard for you to be able to accomplish the important work of the agency. There’s a thing come up that must be seen to.”

  “Tell me what,” said he, staring at his screen and typing away.

  “Sure ’tisn’t a matter of telling but showing,” said I. A couple of months past, this would have had him down there in a trice, but now he was a wee grumpy fucker about it. “It’s a bit of a hurry we should be,” insisted myself. “Sure the witches are going to refuse to work if ’tisn’t seen to.”

  He huffed impatiently, like an annoyed goat. “And why isn’t this something that the technicians can fix?”

  “You’ll see,” said I, and I smiled like a pleased Stepford wife when finally he did stand up from his computer screen.

  I made sure to stay a step or two ahead of him, so that I could wiggle me bum for him along the way—I know how he likes that although he mustn’t say so because of some eejit harassment policy. We made our way down through the maze of corridors and antechambers and elevators (I do love the elevators!) until ’twas the very bottom floor we were at, where lurk the ODECs. It’s rare for the Blevins to show up in person there these days, and so his approach causes excitement, and those on the floor who know of military matters do some kind of fool salute and little two-step with their feet, but most of the laboratory assistants simply stood and looked respectfully towards us.

  “As you were,” said the Blevins, enjoying this display of sycophants. Folks relaxed a little bit, but sure none of them went back to whatever it was they had been doing before. Everyone was staring at him.

  “We need an ODEC,” said I to the technical people at the controls. “I assume they’re all up and running?”

  “Where are you Sending Dr. Blevins?” asked one of the women behind the desk, and surprised she sounded.

  “Not Sending him anywhere,” I promised. “But I need to show himself something inside that can only be seen when the door is closed.”

  I saw her begin to open her mouth again to query this claim, but Roger Blevins’s hair is so magnificently styled that it alone can cause underlings to lose the power of speech. She said nothing.

  The decontamination process was waived, as there would be no time travel involved (although wasn’t I tempted to Send him someplace far away and assume control more openly! Is right I was . . .).

  We approached the ODEC, which is just about the size of a confessional booth, if you’re counting space for both priest and sinner. “After you,” said the Blevins.

  I tipped my head very ladylike and stepped inside. He half entered, leaving one foot outside the ODEC and making it impossible to close the door, as I needed him to do so that I could work magic on him. “And what is it I need to see?” he asked in the tone of a scolding-yet-patient parent.

  “Well, it’s on the back of the door, so it is,” I said. “Step inside and I’ll show you.”

  “Gráinne,” he said, losing the patience. “What is on the back of the door?”

  “Well, nothing, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” said I. “Oftentimes when we are Sending someone, the person we Send is so disoriented as they are being Sent, they will kick out or thrust an arm, and we must dodge it. On more than one occasion I myself have had to wince away for safety and banged the back of my head against the door. Come in and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  He stared at me. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asked.

  “I’m thinking we need to redesign the interior of the ODEC, is all,” said I as breezily as I could. “And since whoever is responsible for it will have to send it up the chain of command to you, I am trying to cut out all the middling men by showing you directly what it is that needs doing, so as to save time and money. You always commend them who save you time and money. Now step inside so I may save you time and money, by showing you what I speak of.” And I gave him my most kittenish smile.

  He finally said, “Very well,” but then the devil take his very soul if he didn’t step outside the ODEC and call out to the woman at the control desk, “Power down this unit until we’re done in here.” As she moved to do so, he stepped back into the tiny, cramped chamber. “All right, show me the back of the door.”

  “Why did you need to power it down?” asked I, straining not to sound irritable. For if the machine is not operating, then neither am I. Now I was alone and closed in far too near to a man without a particle of attractiveness, excepting his very fine hairdo.

  “New safety procedure automatically records the heart rate and other biological indicators of anyone inside the ODECs,” he said. “For health purposes. If either of us was to, for any reason, evince notable physiological responses, it will be obvious from the monitors.”

  “So dashing it is when you use all that highfalutin terminology language!” I said. “But seems a bother to power it down for just that.”

  “There’s no reason for it to be on anyhow,” said the Blevins. “It’s not like you’re going to work magic on me right now, are you?” It seemed to me his voice was a wee bit peevish.

  So now that I’d gotten myself stuck in that stupid wee room with that eejit man, I needed to be giving him a reason for it.

  “I want to tell you something secret-like,” I said quietly. “And it is absolutely essential that no other soul on earth may know about it.”

  That got his attention! He stood a little taller, as if pleased with himself for deserving my trust. “What is it, then?” he asked, after a moment of trying to look dignified.

  I gave it a long pause, to torture him. “I’ve found a way to render our enemies powerless,” I said. “Meaning Tristan and his lot.”

  He blinked. “Explain that,” he said sharply.

  “When one is operating in the twenty-first century, one must obey the rules of the twenty-first century,” I said, and then continued with a coy smile: “But if one manages to lure a foe to, let us say, the fifteenth century, then the rules of the twenty-first century no longer apply.” I fluttered my lashes at him with exaggerated innocence.

  He understood at once, but he did not smile. “Gráinne, I am not authorising you to assassinate any of our former employees. In any time period.”

  “Of course not,” I said, and winked. “You needn’t authorise me.”

  His eyes nearly bugged out. “I am forbidding you,” he clarified. “Jesus, Gráinne, I can’t believe I have to spell it out for you. You cannot do that. We don’t even murder our nation’s official enemies, we just make things inconvenient for them.”

  Again the fluttered lashes, this time eyes downcast. “I thought you wanted Tristan and the others out of the way.”

  “I want them brought to justice,” said he. “Which certainly might include the death sentence, since they’ve almost certainly committed treason. But this is the twenty-first century and we are not barbarians.” A weighty pause, and then, with genuine alarm, he demanded, “Is that why you’ve been away so often? Are you trying to, what, knock them off in other time periods?”

  “Of course not!” I said, now eyes up and sparkly-innocent. “’Twas merely a notion I had that I thought would please you.”

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “That is the end of this conversation, and now we are returning to my office, where we will never speak of this again.” He opened the door, gestured me out, and said in an awkwardly loud voice, “Thank you for pointing out that design flaw, Gráinne. I will certainly do what I can
to have it improved. Let’s go back to my office and you can help me with the paperwork.”

  Now I feared I had lost even his attraction towards me, so I made sure to purr and coo at him all the way back up to his office, until mollified he seemed to be.

  “But while we are addressing things that need improvement, Gráinne,” he said in a meaningful tone, as he took his seat back at his desk, “for security reasons, we’re implementing a new protocol that will require all the MUONs”—that’s an eejit term to refer to witches like myself—“to clock in and out of both this building, which of course everyone does anyhow, and also the MUON Residential Facility. The witch work ethic is growing lax.”

  So do you see, Cara—’tis a veritable prison he’s putting your sister witches in now. To be held accountable and under surveillance even in our off-hours! I managed somehow not to growl at him.

  “Well, I can understand that for the average witch, but surely you don’t require me—” I began, but he raised a finger to argue with me. Just as I was trying to judge how much purring and cooing I’d need to employ now—for he does respond well to the purring and the cooing—there was a knock on the door and in walked none other than Chira, the DOer I handpicked for the Ascella DTAP (on account of her young siblings’ well-being is entirely dependent on her employment with DODO). She said she was here for the “private ceremony.”

  So I was saved by my own devices!

  For ’tis I who had convinced the Blevins to hold this “ceremony,” and so I played along now, with fervour. A few other folk had gathered just outside in the hall and came in on Chira’s heels. One of these was Dr. Constantine Rudge, who happened to be visiting from the nation’s capital city. He is an elegant gentleman I made to befriend early on, even if I don’t trust the man as far as I can kick him. You surely know him, as he’s the unofficial go-between of DODO and the Fuggers. I was pleased he responded to the invitation, for I wanted it to look to him as if the “ceremony” (and therefore the DEDE it celebrated) was the idea of Blevins, not of me. Also there was a minion from HR and a couple of the HOSMAs who’d helped Chira prepare for her DTAP. The Blevins, looking all ways to flustered, checked his calendar and then pretended that of course he knew what this was about, only it had slipped his mind. In truth, I had suggested it a few weeks back, but once he’d told his new secretary to put it into his calendar, he clean forgot about it. But he’s most committed to bullshitting, so he is. So he presented himself as a man who knew precisely what he was up to.

  Sure wasn’t it a sight to see him pinning some cheap tin medal to Chira’s maroon blouse (a knockoff she bought from the haberdashery called Marshalls, of which Erzsébet is quite besotted). He spluttered his way through some drivel on the topic of treasuring Chira’s very important work, and that (given Tristan, Melisande, and Felix have jumped ship) she is now the longest-serving DOer in the whole of DODO and how much he respects that. Chira looked awkward, which isn’t a thing she does much. As with the emperor having no clothes, none in the room actually knew whose idea this “ceremony” was, for none had ever attended one before, as it’s not a real thing . . . but nobody wanted to admit they were the only person who wasn’t in the loop. Even the man himself. So that bit all went very well.

  But I confess, a wee bit concerned I was about Dr. Rudge’s response. He stood behind the others and watched all of this without saying anything, and I didn’t much care for how often he seemed to be looking at me instead of at them. And a very thoughtful look it was.

  But at least I was still capable of confounding the Blevins that much. Still, I must make it a priority to somehow get him back into the ODEC—especially now that I have so misjudged him regarding executions. My peace of mind will be more tranquil, once I can reassure myself he is entirely in my thrall.

  I’ve a mind to try to lure Constantine Rudge into the ODEC as well. Simply because he seems to be capable of independent thought, and that’s a worry.

  To return briefly to the top of my tale: You see how I am in danger of losing my power over Blevins? Consider your own role and admit that you are in an unusual position to assist me. I beg you do so. All that is required for technology to prevail is for good witches to do nothing. I pray that when you read this, you will be moved to action.

  Email exchange between LTG Octavian K. Frink and Dr. Roger Blevins

  Day 2007 (26 January, Year 6)

  From LTG Octavian K. Frink:

  Blev,

  Your new assistant NMS has confused me a little. She invited me to a ceremony in your office, apparently not realizing I’m based in DC, although if she’s new she’s probably still learning the org chart. But I am unclear about the nature of the ceremony: she said you were promoting one of the DOers for an off-the-record DEDE. Can you give me some context for this?

  Yours in amused confusion,

  Okie

  Dear Okie,

  Nothing to worry about! The DOer in question, Chira Yasin Lajani, is the sole guardian for her two younger siblings, all refugees. I just wanted to make sure that if anything happens to her on her current DEDE, her siblings would be provided for. She joined DODO early enough that she was unofficially grandfathered in to certain benefit packages, but I wanted to make it official. There wasn’t really a need for it to be ceremonial, but Gráinne thought Chira would appreciate it. Constantine Rudge was there—said he happened to be in town—so he can back me up on how benign and symbolic the whole thing was.

  The other thing you might not have been aware of is that NMS is a virtual assistant. Rudge arranged it for interoffice communication, as an extra layer of security in light of Mortimer Shore’s abrupt departure. Shore might have rigged a way to eavesdrop on some of the ODIN channels before he left.

  Hope that clears things up. How’s the family? Looking forward to a spring thaw and a good game of golf.

  Cheers,

  Blev

  Blev,

  Thank you for that info, but it doesn’t clear up the mystery of the “off-the-record” DEDE that DOer Chira is on. Please explain?

  Thanks, pal.

  Okie

  Okie,

  NMS must have meant that the ceremony in my office was “off the record.” We don’t have any “off-the-record” DEDEs, as you know. Some are more sensitive than others, that’s all. To be honest, I don’t recall offhand the details of DOer Chira’s current DEDE, but it might be a sensitive one, and NMS misunderstood me. Probably just a technical glitch. Sorry for the concern.

  —Blev

  Actually, Blev, I just checked in myself on the DEDE assignment. It looks like DOer Chira is going to 1397 Tuscany, but other details are labeled “Classified.” The link that should lead to the restricted-access area must be corrupted somehow; I just get an error message. Please send me a functioning link, or better yet, fill me in on the purpose of her DEDE offline. Thanks.

  This will sound irregular, but I’m not sure of that myself. Gráinne came to me a few weeks ago with a concern about some developments she was hearing through the grapevine of KCWs. As you might be aware, Gráinne has pride of place here and as such is given the freedom to be Sent to any DTAP as duty requires, so that she can keep her network of witches in good form. She heard some chatter about a black-magic cabal starting up in late-fourteenth-century Florence and recommended this DEDE to counteract the issues. Since this is her wheelhouse, I put her in charge of it. She’s somewhat phobic about the entire ODIN system, so I’m not surprised she hasn’t been fastidious in her digitalized housekeeping. I’ll talk to her about it.

  —Blev

  Roger—

  That is indeed highly irregular. I would not have approved of it if I’d been in the loop, and I should have been in the loop. Not that I don’t trust you, of course, but I’m sure you will agree with me not to play it that way again. I have complete faith in Gráinne’s abilities and intentions, but as you’ve said: she can’t keep up with the computer work. That’s a liability in a project manager, so we need to keep an eye on
her. Maybe get somebody to shadow her.

  Glad to know DOer Chira isn’t doing anything that puts her in much danger. She was instrumental in shoring up the 1204 Constantinople DTAP, and I’ve had a soft spot for her ever since.

  OKF

  PS: “Black-magic cabal”? How come in five-plus years of doing this I’ve never heard of that before?

  Post by Rebecca East-Oda on “Gráinne/DODO Alert” GRIMNIR channel, marked URGENT

  DAY 2010 (29 JANUARY, YEAR 6)

  This is a report of a meeting the cohort (such as it presently is) just had. We know what Gráinne is angling for. It’s clumsy and alarming, both at once.

  Robin was on her third Strand of the 1606 London DTAP. The second time, her experience had been like the first: she’d met the Shakespeare brothers, been hired by the Master of the Revels, failed to convince him to change the lines back, and then gone in under cover of night and made the change herself, without event. (The plan had been that she was to remain in 1606 London until it was time to protect Tristan. But she had made the argument, which Erzsébet was eventually won over to and Mel approved of, that if DEDE #1—the verse switch—didn’t take, then chances are DEDE #2—saving Tristan—wouldn’t either. Therefore it made sense to be Homed after DEDE #1 to check on progress. In the second Strand, there had been no success, and so she had gone back for a third Strand.)

  This time she came tumbling out of the ODEC in a state. I heard her try to run up the basement steps without any decon procedures.

  “No, no,” I called down to her. “Shower and then come up. I don’t want one molecule of Jacobean London settling into the upholstery.”

  “This is urgent!” Robin shouted up from the stairwell.

  “Do you need a fresh towel?” I asked. No answer. “We’ll see you upstairs once you’ve decontaminated yourself.”