“Does anybody have any ingenious suggestions?” the Robert body asked, suddenly calm. The twins had turned and were walking away to the lift. Dr. Crisp was gasping on the floor, and all the men were looking at Myfanwy expectantly. Presumably they thought Gestalt was less likely to throttle her. “Well, Rook Thomas, what would you suggest?”
“There are a couple of things,” she said slowly, stalling for more thinking time. She opened her notebook and flipped through the pages, her brow furrowed as though she were looking for some obscure piece of information. Then she remembered something. “I’m curious about what Van Syoc shrieked at the end. Dr. Crisp, would you agree that our subject was compelled to answer you?” The doctor was still on the floor, gasping for breath, but he managed to nod his head.
“Yes, Rook Thomas,” he said hoarsely. “Whatever he was trying to say, he was not lying. I would have known.”
“In that case—” she began, but she was cut off by Perry, who was looking entirely too skeptical for her liking.
“Ahem. While I am certain that we all appreciate Myfanwy’s little suggestions, it is dangerous to place too much emphasis on this idea. After all, it is clear to anyone who has experience in operations that this man”—he gestured toward the window and the slumped body of Van Syoc—“was simply reacting to the crude pain he was feeling. I understand why it would frighten you,” he said to Myfanwy, patting her on the shoulder, “but you can rest assured, it’s all very normal in these circumstances.” Perry’s patronizing tone set Myfanwy’s teeth on edge.
“Indeed,” Myfanwy answered, staring at Perry fixedly. “Thank heavens we have you here to tell us when your superiors should be listened to and when they should be ignored.” She could see the lines of his mind traced out around his body and resisted the urge to cut his legs out from under him. Instead, she watched his cheeks flush and his eyes bulge. “I must confess, Perry, I don’t recall that particular responsibility listed as part of your office, but perhaps it is just a service you provide to the community for free.” The room’s focus was him now, and he was so red he would have stopped traffic.
“In any case”—she waved a hand absently—“have someone figure out what this man Van Syoc was attempting to say.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the butler turn to a Pawn and send him hustling away, presumably in search of some sort of expert. How satisfying, she thought to herself, and took a long sip of coffee.
“Also, I should like to know why there is smoke coming out of his body. Dr. Crisp, why did you snatch your fingers away?” she asked, doing her best to ignore the open mouths of the men around her. By this time, Crisp had managed to lever himself up and was edging himself away from Gestalt.
“Well, ma’am, it felt as if I’d been bitten, as if something had snapped at my fingers,” he said apologetically.
“Let me see your hands, please,” Myfanwy said, and he held them out. Crisp was still wearing the latex gloves, and she turned his hands over to examine them closely. His fingers were unusually long, with massive knuckles and joints. “Dr. Crisp, there are small burn marks on the fingertips of your gloves. Take them off, please.” He peeled them off and presented his fingers for inspection. They looked like pink bamboo. Myfanwy reached out, and he flinched away.
“Don’t be foolish, I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured him, gently taking his hands in hers. His hands were soft and were lightly dusted with powder from the gloves. Nevertheless, she could see tiny pinpoints of soot on his fingers. “Fascinating. We’ll want to have both the gloves and your hands analyzed. And of course, the late Mr. Van Syoc will also need to be examined. Thoroughly.” She looked around and saw that nobody was doing anything. All of them were too busy watching her incredulously. She snapped her fingers several times, and they all startled. “All right, people, now! Start thinking some thoughts, and let the Rooks know when you’ve come up with anything. Ingrid, shall we adjourn?” Her secretary stood up beside her, and they walked to the lift.
Well!” Myfanwy burst out in frustration as soon as the lift doors had shut. “What the hell was that about?”
“Perhaps—” began Ingrid, but she was cut off by Myfanwy’s rant.
“I mean, that prat Perry comes barreling toward me as if I’m walking in a no-crossing zone and then sprays his spit in my face!” she said, wiping again at her cheek, this time with her sleeve. “And that bloody patronizing Gestalt! ‘Oh, here’s your little girlie paper bag to have a nice little girlie vomit if you feel the need,’ while the entire time he’s looking at me hoping I’ll lose it.”
“Although to be—” Ingrid attempted to interject, but Myfanwy was going full throttle now, and barring a chop to her throat, there was little to no chance of stopping her.
“Perhaps I should have let them do nothing because they proved so capable of that when Gestalt was strangling the staff.” Myfanwy waved her hands in the air, shaking her head so violently that her hair tumbled out of its clip. Ingrid reached out and removed the dangling clip from her hair.
“Those obnoxious twits! Thanks, Ingrid. Who do they think they are?” Myfanwy ended.
“Well, they thought they were the Rookery section leaders, the elite, the most trusted and powerful of the executives,” said Ingrid dryly. “But you’ve probably disabused them of that notion.”
“Whatever,” said Myfanwy. Her spleen now completely vented, she put a hand out against the wall and leaned forward, panting, her head bowed. There was a reflective pause.
“Of course, it’s not entirely unexpected,” Ingrid said quietly. Myfanwy looked up from her leaning position.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked. The older woman was looking straight ahead, deliberately not making eye contact.
“Rook Thomas, you know I have never commented on the way you conduct yourself,” Ingrid began.
“Oh… um, yes. I’ve always appreciated that,” said Myfanwy, trying to conceal the fact that she had no idea if it was true.
“And of course you know that I hold your professional abilities in the highest regard. So please don’t be offended…” Ingrid paused, and Myfanwy waited. “Please don’t be offended when I say that you have never taken a dominant role in commanding the Checquy.”
“Oh, that’s it? Gosh, I’m totally not offended by that,” Myfanwy said dismissively as the lift doors opened.
“Are you certain?” Ingrid asked. What does she think I’m going to do, go fetal on the floor? Myfanwy wondered.
“Yeah, no problem. Now, what’s the rest of the day look like?” Suddenly she was ready and raring to go. She felt as if she’d drunk six cups of coffee. Ingrid was looking at her strangely. “What? Come on! Meetings, et cetera. Didn’t I have some sort of meeting with the security… boss… guy?”
“Not until three,” said Ingrid. “Did you still want to go out to lunch? I had to cancel your reservation, but I could see if they have an opening.”
“No, I loaded up on cheese and strawberries at the interrogation. What are you doing right now?”
“Me?” Ingrid asked, looking startled.
“Yes, I want to hear your thoughts on what we just saw,” Myfanwy said enthusiastically. “Did you think I brought you along for kicks? That was a classic date, with snacks and a show, and now I expect you to deliver the goods. We’ll order some afternoon tea, and you’ll give me your critique.” And hopefully I’ll find out what in God’s name that poor guy choked out, the thing that made everybody else gasp as if he’d revealed he was the heir to the throne in disguise.
“Well, that would be very pleasant,” said Ingrid. “Give me a few minutes to get it all arranged.”
“Fine,” said Myfanwy as they entered the office. “I have a couple of things I need to take care of as well.” There were a number of readings she wanted to look over, and unless she was mistaken, her brief look in the desk cupboard had revealed a mini-refrigerator. I hope Thomas had the good sense to keep the minibar stocked.
Twenty minutes later, Myfanwy had taken a brea
k from reading and was cheerfully contemplating a Toblerone when Ingrid entered, looking apologetic.
“Rook Gestalt is here to see you, ma’am,” said Ingrid.
“Oh. Goody. Well, wait one second,” Myfanwy said, somewhat dispirited. She composed herself, flipped her hair back out of her face, and straightened her coat. “Do I look all right? Professional?” Ingrid nodded dubiously and turned to welcome Gestalt. Myfanwy fixed a look of calm on her face and then quickly snatched the chocolate off the desk. The twins filed in and took their seats on what, judging from the way they kept shifting awkwardly, Myfanwy could only conclude were her deliberately uncomfortable chairs.
“Gestalt. Hello.” There was another one of those long expectant pauses. “Toblerone?” she offered finally.
7
Dear You,
So, I told you how Farrier and Wattleman acquired me from my parents. They had just ushered a very shaken Mr. Thomas out of the building and were now faced with the prospect of a little girl who was smeared liberally with both tears and chocolate. Morning tea was finished, and Farrier and Wattleman had a talk with me about how important they were, why I should do my very best to make them proud and happy, and how I would be going off to a sort of boarding school. Thrown as I was by the events of the previous hour, I just nodded in a stunned manner and consented to be led out of the building and put into the back of the car, in which I was driven for many miles, far away from London.
It seemed like the journey was endless. I remember looking around helplessly. Everything I knew was gone, and I was being driven away into the wilderness. I was alone in the back of a limousine. I sniveled and then did a bit more weeping before the driver took pity on me and brought me up front with him. I ended up falling asleep stretched awkwardly across the gear stick, my head on the driver’s knee, my face welded to his uniform trousers by an unholy combination of chocolate, drool, and the products of a runny nose.
When the car finally arrived at the Estate, I was prodded awake and greeted by a large woman with a strange accent who was horrified by my traveling circumstances. Eventually, when she had finished denouncing the carelessness of her superiors, she introduced herself to me as Frau Blümen, the headmistress of my new school.
Frau Blümen was jolly and gentle, good with children, and looked tremendously comfortable to fall asleep on. But I was horribly wary of everybody now. As soon as I was out of the car, the driver on whom I had napped drove away without so much as a good-bye. It seemed as if no one could be relied on, no one could be trusted.
That belief would remain with me for a very long time.
Frau Blümen sent me straight off to bed, where I passed out immediately, exhausted by the day’s events.
The next morning, I woke up in a new life, a different person than I’d been the previous day. It’s a little odd to think that you’re experiencing the same sort of thing—how many people do that ever, let alone in the same body? I wonder, will you remember every moment of your first new day? I know I certainly do.
It was the most disorienting, exhausting day of my life.
I had been awakened by the sound of a rooster crowing. It was dark out, but people were stirring in the room, and the lights were slowly turning themselves on. It was clear that I had no option but to get out of bed, especially when I felt someone poking me hesitantly in the shin. When I finally managed to crack my eyes open, I saw a Chinese girl my own age looking at me expectantly.
“Good morning!” she chirped. “I’m Mary, and I’m supposed to show you around! It’s time to get up!” Everything she said came out in a cheerful exclamation, and she proved to be one of those people who are always in a good mood.
Still, it seemed unnatural to me, even at that age, that anyone could just spring out of bed and be alert. What I didn’t know was that all the students at the Estate received extensive training and indoctrination that was designed to make them as efficient as humanly possible. This included becoming “a morning person.” To make matters worse, all the students in my year had been at the Estate since they were infants. There’s no set time when people’s powers manifest, it can happen at any point in their lives, but it usually happens before adolescence, which is convenient for the Checquy, because people are much easier to indoctrinate then. I was the only person of my age group whose powers hadn’t been detected in the womb. Everyone else had spent practically every minute of the past eight years together, so that in addition to already being fitter than most professional athletes and possessing more self-discipline than the samurai, the children had formed themselves into a tight, cohesive group of friends.
Into this was plunged little Myfanwy Thomas, who was still absorbing the knowledge that she’d never go home again and was laboring under the vague but pressing injunction to make Lady Farrier and Sir Henry proud. And there was something else nagging at me, something that made this whole scenario all the more distressing. It was the first night in months that I hadn’t been visited in my dreams by Farrier. No discussions, no explanations—she’d simply abandoned me.
When I got up, I was dressed in a navy blue uniform, my hands were slathered in moisturizer and covered in latex gloves, and then I was made to go out to the quadrangle, where we warmed up before embarking on a series of high-impact aerobics classes and then a type of yoga that was designed to improve contortion skills.
The five minutes at the end of our session during which we were allowed to lie on our backs and pretend to be dead was the sweetest period of that day. The two-mile jog we had to run afterward was the worst.
Throughout the entire ordeal, I was encouraged by Mary, but I could tell that she was keen to rejoin the rest of the group, who had finished the run almost as soon as they began. In the time it took me to complete this little expedition (which took us up a steep hill, over a stretch of sand, and through a creek), we were passed by five higher age groups that had been released at appropriately staggered intervals. This was followed by a long warm-down period, which involved having your limbs pulled on by enthusiastic peers and then putting on a swimsuit and marching in a queue under a long line of showers whose temperatures were calculated to change in exactly the right way to ensure that your muscles didn’t explode.
After that was chapel, for a mercifully brisk sermon on duty and patriotism, and then we adjourned for breakfast, or at least, breakfast for everyone else. Mary apologetically (but cheerfully) explained that the doctors were going to do some tests on me. As a result, I wasn’t allowed to eat anything yet. Thus, I got to watch as a dining hall full of people wolfed down food that had been specially designed to supply maximum energy, promote healthy growth, provide all the valuable nutrients, produce glossy hair, and ensure good digestion. To make things worse, it looked and smelled delicious. I sat in the middle of a group of girls and boys who chatted nonstop, making references to things I had never heard of and laughing at jokes I didn’t understand (which was unsurprising, considering they were reading at a level five years higher than me and were expected to be fluent in two foreign languages). They tried to draw me into the conversation, but I was exhausted, bewildered, and starving.
At the end of breakfast, the sun was just beginning to rise. I found out later that the rooster crowing that woke us was a recording, presumably of some rooster whose crow had been identified as the most archetypal and whose voice would strike a primitive part of our brains and kick-start them just as it would have our ancestors’.
That’s the way it was at the Estate. Every aspect of our lives had been carefully designed and coordinated to be as efficient as it could possibly be. And so had we.
From breakfast we moved to the classroom, where the subjects included the classics, chemistry, and field-stripping three different kinds of assault rifle. Lunch was delicious-looking, but instead of that I was given some pills that I was told would help “flush me out” in preparation for my tests. I had no idea what this involved until the middle of the next class, when I was obliged to leave the room abruptly
in the middle of a lecture on observation techniques. I also had to leave the room during my introductory French class (which I was quite relieved to do, since I was surrounded by three-year-olds). And during judo class. And computer skills class. By the end of choir, I was feeling drained—emotionally and intestinally.
Finally, when everyone else went out to the ranges to work on his or her powers, I was directed to the sanatorium, where a battery of medical staff wearing unthreatening yellow lab coats and latex gloves embarked on a series of tests and examinations that left no part of me unscanned, unscraped, unprobed, or unanalyzed. I was photographed, x-rayed, and interviewed. They took a sample of every fluid in my body, as well as some of its solids. I was fingerprinted, toeprinted, palmprinted, eye-scanned, and voice-scanned, and the content of my exhalations was recorded. I received a new haircut (hair down to shoulders was not acceptable for our “adventures”), had a cavity filled, was given glasses, was scheduled for laser eye surgery and braces as soon as I was old enough, and was assigned a special weightlifting regimen designed to bring me up to the standards of my age group as soon as possible.
They checked for allergies, and found one for bees. They checked for phobias, and found some for enclosed spaces, the dark, open spaces, snakes, spiders, and speaking in public. I was assigned a psychiatrist and a course of therapy. When I came out of the san, they had enough details on my physical, mental, and spiritual condition to fill a filing cabinet. And that was only the beginning.
The Rook Page 10