The Rook

by Daniel O'Malley

  I can’t believe this is the second time I’ve walked into this hotel looking like an abused wife, Myfanwy mused as she walked up to the doormen. To her surprise and irritation, this time they did not leap to open the door for her.

  “Excuse me?” she said, blushing angrily.

  “Sorry, dear, but we don’t allow the homeless in here,” said one. He was apologetic about it, but also quite firm.

  “Homeless?” she squawked. “I am not homeless! I…” She frantically sought an explanation for her appearance. “I’m a rock musician.”

  They looked at her dubiously.

  “I have credit cards,” she said.

  They carried on looking at her.

  “I tip generously?” she hazarded

  “You’re going to need to move along, miss,” said one of them.

  “I don’t believe this!” she yelled. “Last time I walked in here I had two black eyes, bloody lips, and was sopping wet! And I had no problem getting a room. What kind of business are you people running? I have a car parked in your security garage right now, and I don’t want to get slime on it!”

  “Miss, it’s three in the morning, and if you don’t move along, we’re going to have to move you along.”

  “If you put one finger on me, you will regret it!” she said coldly.

  “No doubt,” said one. “These uniforms are dry-clean-only.” Myfanwy was stupefied. Since settling into her position as Rook, she’d grown used to people doing what she said. She briefly considered using her powers to hurl them out of the way, but realized that no power on earth could make a hotel clerk check her in if he didn’t want to. But what can I do? I can’t take Bronwyn home like this.

  “Fine, then I want my car from the garage,” she said angrily. “I have the stub here somewhere.” She tried to scrape some of the slime off her fingers and opened her handbag.

  “Clear off,” said one of the men forcefully. “Now.”

  Shooting the doormen a filthy look, Myfanwy walked down the footpath and got a perverse pleasure out of watching a couple of pedestrians jump out of her way.

  Okay, my mobile phone is coated in slime and no longer works. I can’t let Bronwyn see me like this, even if I could get back into the club, which I sincerely doubt. The slime was beginning to itch, and it was viscous enough that she couldn’t simply scrape it off. What the hell is this stuff? Then she had an idea, and abruptly turned a corner.

  Thank you, God, she thought. In a breach of security that would have had Clovis tearing out his hair, the rear entrance to the hotel had one person behind a desk, and that person was dozing. Apparently, it was the entrance for conventions and functions, and there were few of those taking place at three in the morning. The doors slid open and she stepped inside. In his sleep, the receptionist wrinkled his nose at Myfanwy’s appalling odor. She waved her hand at him and he settled into a deeper sleep. Taking a breath, she walked quietly past the desk.

  No outraged shouts stopped her. No irritating calls of “I say, excuse me!” The fact that she left a trail of evil on the floor as she padded down the hallway to the swimming pool prompted no threats to call the police. Myfanwy walked through the courtyard and looked around warily. The pool was steaming in the cold night air, and an electric light glowed under the water. Fortunately, there was no one in the courtyard, and the windows overlooking it were all curtained or dark. She laid her slime-covered handbag on a deck chair and gloomily regarded her filthy clothes. For a moment, she contemplated stripping right down, but then eyed the many balconies that looked down on the pool area. Probably not the best idea, she decided. Plus, if angry hotel staff appear, I don’t want to have to make a break for it while naked. Sighing, she walked down the steps into the water. She ducked her head under and felt a delightful warmth glide over her skin.

  Myfanwy kept her eyes clenched shut and scrubbed frantically at her body. Globules of muck sloughed off into the water, and an oily haze spread out from her. She raked her fingers through her hair and felt the sludge slide away. She kicked away from the mess and swam back toward the steps.

  Well, now I’m soaking wet, she thought grimly, but it’s a definite improvement. Fate had smiled upon her in the form of a towel left on a deck chair, and she took her shirt off to wring it out. There were some ominous-looking brown-black stains on her clothes, but her skin and hair were no longer caked with crud. She briskly toweled off her hair and arms and briefly considered taking off her jeans before noticing a man looking down at her from a balcony.

  “Oh… hi,” she said, a little self-conscious about wearing just a bra.

  “Evening,” he said. “Must have been a hell of a party.” She glanced back at the pool and saw that it looked as if someone had dumped toxic waste in the deep end.

  “Yes, indeed,” she said, suddenly ecstatic. She’d come safely through that manifestation in Bath and escaped relatively unharmed from the battle after she accused Gestalt of treachery. Hell, she’d even endured the interview with that Grafter thing. And now she was pleased with herself for sneaking into a snooty hotel and befouling their swimming pool. “It was quite an event.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d fancy a drink?” the man asked with a smile. “I could bring something down.”

  “It’s a delightful offer,” said Myfanwy, smiling back. “But I have to go find the rest of my party. That said, I don’t suppose you could lend me a shirt?” She gestured at the large stains on her top.

  “A shirt?” he asked. “Certainly.” He disappeared into his room and came back onto the balcony carrying a folded blue business shirt. “It may be a little big on you,” he cautioned as he dropped it down to her.

  “It’s infinitely better than the alternative.” She put the shirt on, noting with amusement that it reached down to just above her knees. “Well, I must away. Thanks for the shirt.”

  “I’d tell you to party responsibly, but I think it’s a little late,” said the man wryly.

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she said. “Have a good night.”

  “You too,” he said, watching as she walked out the way she had come.

  Myfanwy would never know whether the club would have let her back in covered in gunk, but it turned out they had no problem with a girl who was soaked from the waist down. The club seemed far more mundane after the events of the previous hour, and Myfanwy eyed it thoughtfully. How on earth did the Grafters find me here? she wondered. It’s the last place I would have expected to find myself, so how did they know?

  Maybe they tailed me from the garage, she thought doubtfully. Which would mean that they’ve been staking it out since before I knew it existed. That’s quite a while to wait.

  But Alrich knew I was here, she realized with a chill. Could he have tipped them off? Her speculations were cut off by her own enormous yawn, and she shrugged mentally. I’ll think it out in the morning. Across the dance floor, even Bronwyn and her friends were starting to look tired.

  “What happened to you?” Bronwyn asked incredulously. “That is definitely not the top I gave you, and—you’re soaking wet!” She picked anxiously at her sister’s clothes.

  “I got splashed by a passing car,” Myfanwy explained. “And a very nice man gave me his shirt.”

  “He just took it off?” Bronwyn asked.

  “Yeah,” said Myfanwy, inventing madly. “He didn’t seem to miss it.”

  “But where’s the shirt I gave you?”

  “It’s in my handbag,” said Myfanwy. “I’ll have it laundered and get it back to you.” If it’s salvageable, she thought. Who knows if you can get weird biological stains out?

  “And your work thing?”

  “It was a dire emergency, which I solved over the phone,” said Myfanwy. “At three in the morning. Are you ready to go?”

  “Are you good to drive?” asked Bronwyn.

  “Oh, sure. But I think you’ll need to be the one who gets the car out of the garage. The guys at that hotel don’t like me very much.”

  31
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  The phone in the flat was ringing, and Myfanwy was not inclined to answer it. She reached out fully intending to pick it up and hang up, but some sadist (probably her, but possibly Grantchester) had placed the phone on the other side of the room. She flailed at the bedside table, hoping to find a lamp, but instead managed to activate the device that set her round bed to rotating. By the time she had escaped the bed, wandered across the room, tripped over the sodden jeans she had jettisoned two hours earlier, cursed them to the depths of clothing hell, untangled herself, gotten up, and answered the phone, she was still not fully awake.

  “Yeah?”

  “Rook Thomas, it’s Ingrid.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s six thirty.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You have your medical examinations in half an hour.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, shall I have breakfast waiting for you in your dining room?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rook Thomas?”

  “Hmm?”

  Rook Thomas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s been fifteen minutes, and you haven’t come out yet.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you dressed?”

  “Nah.”

  “Are you naked?”

  “Nah.”

  “So I can send these large bodyguards into your room right now?”

  “Don’t you dare! I’ll be out in five minutes and there had better be coffee. And once I’m done, send someone up to figure out how to turn off my bed.”

  Who are they?” asked Myfanwy dully, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder at the two massive men flanking the door to her office.

  “Those are today’s large bodyguards,” said Ingrid brightly.

  “Where’s the coffee?”

  “Oh, there’s no coffee,” said Ingrid. “The doctors said it was best for you not to have anything to eat or drink until after the tests.”

  “But… but didn’t you say there would be breakfast when I got down?”

  “That was just to lure you out of bed,” said Ingrid. Myfanwy thought briefly of bursting into tears, but instead nodded a weary assent.

  “I’m going to need a replacement phone,” said Myfanwy flatly, dropping her slime-encrusted mobile on the desk. Ingrid eyed it silently as some of the vile liquid began to ooze onto her blotter. An infinite number of awkward questions hovered in the air, begging to be asked, and Myfanwy wondered how her executive assistant was going to address this.

  “Consider it done, Rook Thomas,” her secretary said finally. “Now, did you shower?”

  “Yeah, but someone had taken all my soap and shampoo,” said Myfanwy.

  “Yes, that’s because they’ll be comparing your scent to preserved ampoules of your sweat,” said Ingrid.

  “Groovy.” She glanced over as two bespectacled men came into the office, looking expectant.

  “Now, Rook Thomas, this is Dr. Burke and Dr. Leichhardt.” The two doctors both had mustaches and looked like photo negatives of each other. They bowed awkward little bows, which she acknowledged with a nod and a yawn.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. Now, I sincerely hope that I’m not going to have to do anything difficult this morning?” she asked, trying to open her eyes.

  “Pardon me, Rook Thomas?” asked Dr. Burke.

  “I won’t be, you know, running laps or anything, right?”

  “Oh, no, Rook Thomas,” said Dr. Leichhardt. “Our tests are quite passive on your part. Although I feel I should warn you, some of them are quite—”

  “Unpleasant, time-consuming, and highly intrusive, I know,” interrupted Myfanwy. She turned to Ingrid. “Didn’t I ask to have these done in the afternoon?” she said piteously.

  “Security Chief Clovis randomly reassigned the appointments,” said Ingrid as they walked to the lift. “He seemed to feel that randomness was the key to preventing the Grafters from evading our detection methods.”

  From what I’ve seen, thought Myfanwy, the Grafters are pretty comfortable with randomness, but she restrained herself from saying anything. “And is Security Chief Clovis awake and at work at this hour?” she asked bitterly.

  “Oh, no,” said Ingrid, pushing the button for the medical floor.

  The doors opened and the two doctors ushered Myfanwy, Ingrid, and the two large bodyguards into the medical center. “And weren’t there supposed to be three doctors? To ensure something?”

  “Yes, and here is Dr. Wills,” said Ingrid, introducing a tall icy blond woman, who was pulling on a pair of latex gloves that reached up to the elbow.

  “Good morning, Rook Thomas,” said Dr. Wills without a trace of a smile. “Please take off your pajamas and slippers, put on this paper gown, get on this bed, and put your feet in these stirrups.” Myfanwy nodded with a deep lack of enthusiasm and looked around for a place to change. The three doctors looked at her expectantly, and she had a grim realization. Ingrid at least had the decency to look away. The large bodyguards tactfully stepped outside to take up positions guarding the door. Maybe it’s better I didn’t get any coffee, she thought. This isn’t something I would want to be fully awake for. Someone would pay for this.

  “Well, gentlemen, shall we get started?” said Dr. Wills, “Ingrid, would you like some coffee?” Myfanwy narrowed her eyes.

  Someone was definitely going to pay.

  Ingrid, I need to know if—ow ow ow ow! What the hell are you doing down there?”

  “Sorry, Rook Thomas” came an unrepentant voice from between her legs. The two doctors flanking Dr. Wills smiled apologetically.

  “Not as much as you’re going to be,” she muttered to herself, and she beckoned Ingrid over to her. “Ingrid,” she said quietly, so none of the audience could hear, “could you check my schedule for the past six months? I need to know if I had any meetings with a Graaf Ernst von Suchtlen.”

  “Now, Rook Thomas?”

  “Please.” Ingrid nodded and turned away to scan through records on her tablet computer. Myfanwy yawned, and then gave a little shriek.

  “Sorry, Rook Thomas. Your body tenses when you yawn,” said Dr. Wills. Myfanwy looked down at her suspiciously and was blinded by a flash of light.

  “That didn’t come out of me, did it?” she asked.

  “Oh, no, we’re taking some digital photos.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, Rook Thomas,” said Dr. Burke. “It’s not like we’re going to post these on the Internet. They’re for the outside doctor.” There was another jab of exceptional discomfort.

  “That really is not pleasant,” said Myfanwy tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” said Dr. Wills, “it’s not normally so crowded in here.”

  “What?”

  “I mean crowded in the examination room,” said Dr. Wills.

  “Gentlemen,” snapped Myfanwy. “Please try not to jostle my interrogational gynecologist!”

  “We’ll be careful,” said Dr. Leichhardt soothingly. “Now, this may be uncomfortable in an unorthodox way, but whatever you do, don’t clench.” Myfanwy closed her eyes in horror and thought of England. She was just coming to the conclusion that England was totally not worth it when Dr. Wills snapped her gloves off. “Rook Thomas, we’re just about done here. Now, I know you haven’t been interested before, but perhaps we should take this opportunity to talk about whether you’d like to start on birth control?” Ingrid looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  Maybe I should lie and say that I’m a Grafter, she thought desperately. Or Satan. They’d probably stop this if I were Satan.

  Aaaand with that taken care of, we’ll be handing you off to the dentists,” said Dr. Leichhardt. “These are Doctors Weiss, Engel, and Olivier.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” said Myfanwy. “Can I put my pajamas back on?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Dr. Olivier apologetically, “but we do have a new paper gown for you.”

  “Oh, rapture.” Myfanwy sighed.

  “And if
you’d please get into this chair,” said Dr. Engel. “We have this thing we’d like to slide into your mouth. It will prevent you from closing your jaws.”

  “Isss theya an eshti-ate on how lung this iss gowingh tuh take?”

  “I’m sorry, no. Of course, Rook Thomas, we want to be as thorough as possible. Now, we’re just going to close these vises around your head, shoulders, and upper torso. Would you like a comfort bear?” asked Dr. Weiss. He held up a small tartan teddy bear.

  “Yesh, leesh.”

  “Rook Thomas?” came a new voice.

  “Yesh?”

  “It’s Ingrid.”

  “Sh’up?”

  “I checked through your appointment book for the past year, and there’s no record of that name.”

  “Shit. Ut alowt ennee un elsh?” Myfanwy asked.

  “I beg your pardon?” Ingrid’s brows knit. Myfanwy looked to Dr. Olivier imploringly. Apparently, he spoke fluent “can’t shut your jaws.”

  “She said, ‘What about anyone else?’ ” Myfanwy tried to nod her head in agreement but was limited to blinking emphatically.

  “I’m sorry, do you want me to check your schedule for anyone else’s name?” asked Ingrid, confused.

  “Oh!” said Myfanwy, shaking her comfort bear in impotent frustration. “Hngh!”

  “Rook Thomas,” said Dr. Engel reproachfully. “We have placed sharp blades inside your mouth. It might be best if you didn’t shake.” Myfanwy rolled her eyes.

  “You want me to check other people’s schedules?”

  “Esh.”

  “Very well, Rook Thomas.”

  “Rook Thomas,” said Dr. Weiss. “Do you know how you got these scars on your throat?”

  “Oshils?”

  “No, you still have your tonsils,” said Dr. Olivier. “Oh, and a cavity!”

  “Well,” said Dr. Engel. “As long as we’re in here, we might as well take care of that.”

  Did you get any sleep in the MRI?” asked Ingrid as they walked slowly down the hallways of the Rookery. The two large bodyguards marched behind them, filling the corridor and bumping the pictures on the walls. Midway through the examinations, Myfanwy had realized that they weren’t just there to protect her. They were also there to kill her, or at least secure her, if she turned out to be a Grafter plant.