He inspires loyalty and affection and seems like a genuinely good man. I can’t help wishing that he’d been at the Estate when I was there. It might have made all the difference.
Myfanwy was startled by a knock on the door and looked up. She glanced at her watch and put down her binder.
“Rook Thomas? It’s your driver,” the man called diffidently.
“Right, just one second,” she replied. She gathered up her things and said good-bye to Wolfgang.
Morning, Ingrid. Has anything frightfully bizarre happened?”
“No more so than usual, Rook Thomas,” replied her secretary. “Dr. Crisp is waiting in your office, and then your morning will probably be entirely taken up with this meeting of the Rooks and the Chevs. I’ve rescheduled the other appointments. Your afternoon is going to consist primarily of seeing those people who expected to see you in the morning.” She handed Myfanwy a cup of coffee and a large folder. “And here are the latest reports from around the Isles.”
“Thanks. How long until the meeting? Oh, and are we holding it here?” Myfanwy asked, absentmindedly paging through the reports.
“Yes, it’s here. You have half an hour.”
Myfanwy nodded and wandered into her office, where Dr. Crisp was sitting awkwardly on one of the deliberately uncomfortable chairs.
“Good morning, Dr. Crisp,” she said brightly.
“Rook Thomas, I’m going to have to retract my apology,” he said firmly.
“Huh?” she replied. She sounded like a complete twit, but Crisp was so focused on what he had to say that she could have had a seizure and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry for retracting your apology?” she asked bemusedly.
“I didn’t kill Van Syoc,” said Crisp.
“Okay,” said Myfanwy. She’d felt a little guilty interfering with the interrogation, but there was no way she was going to let someone be tortured in front of her. She suddenly wondered, with a twist in her stomach, whether she’d caused Van Syoc’s death by shoving her abilities into the mix.
“Rook Thomas, I appreciate the confidence you have in me. Your intervention with Rook Gestalt after the interrogation meant the world to me, but I myself was doubtful. I thought I had made a mistake, inadvertently done something I hadn’t intended, but…” And here he paused, before saying the sweetest words Myfanwy had yet heard in her short life. “But that man’s death came from within himself. No external force could have killed him like that.”
“What?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Rook Thomas, I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the details of what I do,” said Crisp carefully.
“Dr. Crisp, I am sorry to admit I know practically nothing of what you do,” said Myfanwy. “But I can honestly say that right now I would really like you to explain it to me.”
“Oh!” he said, looking a little flustered. “Well, to begin with, I don’t inflict pain.”
“Yes, you do,” she contradicted.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” she insisted. “I saw it.”
“Oh, you mean the reactions?” he asked. “The teeth rattling, and those eruptions on his torso? No, no, that wasn’t me. No. I would never do something like that.” He shuddered. “No, those were his Grafter implants.”
“But Dr. Crisp, I saw the pain. I saw it washing through him,” she said. “With my powers.”
“Good Lord, really?” he asked, fascinated. “How remarkable. But, if you’ll forgive me, Rook Thomas, what you saw was not pain. It was compulsion.”
“What?”
“I compel. Under my fingers, they want to talk. They want to answer. That’s what I do. Their bodies and their minds are not harmed.”
“Then what happened?”
“To begin with, the Grafters chose a remarkable man as their agent. I have never encountered anyone who resisted the compulsion so effectively.”
“And this compulsion doesn’t hurt them?” asked Myfanwy. This was a point on which she wanted to be very certain.
“They just desire it. There is no physical pain, none at all. They just want to answer, to tell the truth. Van Syoc must have been a model of self-discipline not to speak sooner. He wanted to. He looked forward to telling.”
“But then what happened? Why did he die?”
“The Grafters have come very far, Rook Thomas,” said Crisp. “Their skills are amazing. Van Syoc’s body was laced through with fibers, with devices. What I and my team have found, however, is that he was not in total control of his augmentations.” Myfanwy was silent, thinking of herself. Was she in total control of her powers? But Dr. Crisp was still speaking, and she brought her attention back to him.
“I am afraid that it was not only Van Syoc looking out through those eyes in that interrogation room.”
“The Grafters,” she breathed in horror.
“Yes. When it looked as if Van Syoc might speak, his implants were set to work against him. And when he finally did speak, Van Syoc’s masters ordered his body to destroy him. His brain was forced to crash. Several of his organs contracted and ruptured themselves, and controlled electricity coursed through his system.”
“That was why your fingers were burned,” Myfanwy realized.
“Yes.”
“Dr. Crisp, I have to apologize to you. And I must confess something. I interfered with your interrogation.”
His brow wrinkled for a moment and then he listened, fascinated, as she explained the details.
Gentlemen, Van Syoc’s enhancements are high-tech with an old-world charm,” Myfanwy announced, looking around at the three men in the room. This morning, Gestalt was just the Tidy Twin, whom Myfanwy could now identify as Teddy. Gubbins was bending his fingers back to touch his wrist, and Eckhart was smoking intensely. For a moment, her eyes lingered thoughtfully on Eckhart. Out of curiosity, she’d pulled his file up on her computer and seen the pictures of him as a little boy. A pathetic, malnourished child when he’d been taken into custody, Eckhart had a photographic history that showed his recovery and growth into a healthy young man. Now, in middle age, he appeared to have settled into a hardy combination of soldier and executive. She couldn’t help smiling at him, and he smiled back around his cigarette.
She turned to her notes again. “The implants proved to be far more extensive than we originally believed. To begin with, his spine had been thoroughly coated with a sort of silica.”
“To what end?” asked Gubbins.
“Armor?” suggested Eckhart.
“Dr. Crisp and his team are still investigating,” said Myfanwy carefully, watching Gestalt for some reaction. His eyes had narrowed speculatively when she began the presentation; he was obviously aware that she’d received information he hadn’t. Myfanwy was fairly sure that she would need to attend to this little intradepartmental problem. “However, it’s a little delicate for armor. The MRI actually showed the brush marks from when the Grafters applied the material to the bone. They suspect it may be some sort of antenna. It has some interesting piezoelectric properties and is tied into Van Syoc’s brain.”
“So the man was a walking mobile phone,” said Gubbins, twirling his mustache. “Fascinating.”
“And a digital camera,” added Myfanwy. “Van Syoc would have been capable of transmitting pretty much anything he wanted.”
“So why the computer?” asked Eckhart.
“Huh?” said Myfanwy intelligently.
“There was a laptop in his room,” Eckhart reminded her. “Hooked up to the Internet. Why bother if you’ve got a mobile phone that goes wherever you go?”
“There could be any number of reasons. Maybe it’s a dedicated line,” suggested Gubbins. “Or it’s a one-time-use thing.”
“We didn’t find anything particularly revealing,” said Myfanwy. “The lads in the computer department are crawling all over his laptop, but as far as they can determine, he was just e-mailing his family.” She took
a breath and went back to her summary. “That appears to have been the only modification to his skeleton. Now, as to his musculature, that’s quite a different story. You probably noticed that he’s had some work done.”
“Well, the massive inflation of his head and shoulders kind of gave it away,” said Gubbins.
“My guess is that was designed to shield his eyes and nose,” she said. “And to boost his strength so he could punch through walls. Always useful.”
“This is all very interesting, but we are all well aware of the Grafters’ capabilities,” said Gestalt icily. His fingers were drumming frantically on the table.
“Yes, Rook Gestalt, but the details are important because they represent a drastic shift in the Grafters’ methods,” Myfanwy replied just as icily. “Traditionally, they have gone for complicated alterations. Van Syoc is sadly lacking in any number of potential augmentations. There are no weapons concealed in his frame. No truly impressive modifications. The last time a Grafter set foot on British soil, it was the size of a draft horse and looked like its mother was some sort of sea urchin. They have never been known for their subtlety, and the restraint they’ve shown with this man’s modifications is rather disturbing.”
“I agree,” said Eckhart. “Although, Rook Thomas, I put it to you that they may simply be trying a different tack. It makes much more sense to send discreet spies to scout out the land.”
“Do you think there are more of them out there, then?” Gubbins asked. “Other Belgians with bulging heads who will be taking snapshots with their eyes, and mailing them back to Brussels through their vertebrae?”
“I don’t know,” Myfanwy replied. “Van Syoc was immediately marked at the airport by our people in Customs. It seems unlikely that any other spies could have slipped through.”
“I have trouble believing that they will really try and invade us,” Eckhart continued. “Last time they had the resources of an entire country behind them, and all they tried to take was one island. Now they have nothing, and we’re worried that they’re trying to take over the entire country? It makes no sense!” Eckhart stopped short when Gubbins cracked his knuckles. Then his wrists. Then his elbows. Then his shoulders.
“Sorry,” Gubbins said, under their collective gaze.
“We are making too many assumptions,” said Myfanwy. “We don’t know anything for certain.” She risked a glance at Gestalt. Teddy had slumped back in his chair but was looking a little calmer. “Heretic, have you and Joshua heard of any recent developments that might be linked to this?” They shook their heads. “Nothing? No unusual deaths or disappearances?”
“None that are any more unusual than usual,” said Gubbins wryly. “If we’d had even the slightest inkling about the Grafters, we would have informed the entire Court.”
“Then what?” Myfanwy asked in frustration. “I’ll accept the possibility that there’s a secret supernatural group that wields power in the affairs of men without revealing its work. I have to, because we’re in one. But there are limits to how big a secret can be successfully concealed. Just think how large and strong they would need to be to conquer us. Joshua, do you think there could be an army preparing to invade? A force that could subdue this entire country?” Eckhart was playing with a coin. As Myfanwy watched, he flipped it over his knuckles and the metal melted and trickled between his fingers. He opened his hand to reveal a solid coin.
“No,” Eckhart said finally. “We would know. There is no army. There can’t be.”
“Then it’s something else,” said Gubbins. “Something we do not see.”
The rest of the meeting produced little of value except resolutions on the part of all to send out all the feelers they could and to meet regularly. Eckhart and Gubbins would direct specific teams of their operatives overseas. Gestalt unenthusiastically offered to spearhead the domestic investigation. “If, Rook Thomas, you would be willing to oversee normal domestic operations.”
Myfanwy may have had a choice, but if she did, she didn’t know it. As far as she could tell, this was standard operating procedure.
“Yes, that would be fine, Gestalt.”
“I realize that you don’t normally take such a direct role in fieldwork and aren’t generally keen on being called out to situations,” said Teddy, “but I’m sure you’ll muster up some sort of enthusiasm.”
Or perhaps I’ll take away your bladder control, she thought about saying. I could probably figure out how to do that. But she restrained herself and gave him a smile that showed many more teeth than normal.
“Someone will need to present to the Bishops,” pointed out Gubbins. “And I can’t do it, because there’s a situation in China.”
“Yes, a situation that requires the attention of both Chevaliers,” said Eckhart hurriedly. Subtle, boys. Real subtle, thought Myfanwy. Before Gestalt could come up with some sort of lame excuse, she stepped forward.
“I’ll do it, but I expect all sorts of guilty concessions from all of you.” I can’t believe these are the people entrusted with the security of the nation. She watched them file out and thought glumly about another evening spent under the disconcerting gaze of the Bishops.
“… and those are our findings, gentlemen,” she concluded. She couldn’t help but be a little distracted by the two Bishops, who were seated across from her. Although both were attractive, they couldn’t have been more different. It wasn’t just that Alrich looked as if he was five years younger than her while Grantchester was in his fifties. Everything about them represented two different extremes.
There was something alien and hypnotic about Bishop Alrich’s beauty. His features seemed almost delicate. His lips were very red and glistened in the lamplight. His eyes met and held hers. In that deep, glorious gaze Myfanwy caught a glimpse of something that was both mesmerizing and frightening.
With an effort she dragged her eyes away from his and looked at Conrad Grantchester, who was taking rapid notes on his electronic organizer. Whereas Alrich was asexual, this man was definitely masculine. He gave the impression of sophistication blended equally with lust, and there was something intriguing about his sardonic manner.
It was like speaking to a sculpture and a sculptor.
The silence dragged on for at least a minute, and Alrich didn’t blink once. She tried looking down at her notepad and then sneaking a glance at him, only to find that he was still staring at her. Distracted by the two handsome Bishops, she kept losing her place in her notes and thinking of inappropriate scenarios.
“I propose, then, that we put select members of the Apex assessment staff onto the task of running up a high-priority strategic risk analysis,” said Grantchester, looking up from his stylus and PDA. “Such an analysis would help us identify potential targets and allow the proper security measures to be put into place.
“Rook Thomas, all new information that arises regarding the Grafters, whether it comes from the examination of this Van Syoc person or the investigations of the Chevs and Rook Gestalt, will need to go through to the Bishops so that the analysis can be as well informed as possible,” continued Grantchester. Myfanwy nodded and made a note.
“Then, for the time being,” said the Bishop calmly, “we shall simply allow things to unfold. All visitors entering the country will pass through stringent examination. We have both Chevs and Rook Gestalt’s bodies seeking out additional intelligence. I am confident that we have nothing to be concerned about. Not yet, anyway.” It sounded as if he were rehearsing for his presentation to the Lord and Lady. “Thank you, Rook Thomas.”
Grantchester stood up and left. Myfanwy turned to look at Alrich and saw with a start that he was gone. Spooky. And apparently she was dismissed. She looked at her watch; it was a bit past eight. Well, this had taken less time than she had expected. Maybe she would be able to watch some reality television that night.
14
Bishop Conrad Grantchester
If Gestalt rose to the Court on the strength of its abilities as a soldier and Eckhart be
cause of his genius as a tactician, then Grantchester rose to power based on his skills as a financier and diplomat. After all, the Checquy Group is not just an army, a school, a prison, or a research facility—it is all of these things, and more. Someone has to keep track of everything, make sure it’s all working right and that the bills are paid.
That’s where people like Grantchester and me come in.
Conrad Grantchester did not join the Checquy until he was well into his thirties. He was born to an upper-middle-class family in London and attended Eton before going on to the University of Geneva. He was popular, although he did not take part in any extracurricular activities other than cutting a rather broad swath through his female peers. At university, he distinguished himself in his studies of law and finance.
After he graduated, various intelligence agencies (including the Checquy) tried to recruit him into their service, but Grantchester was not interested. All reports agreed that he was quite ambitious but did not hold any political ideologies to which anyone could appeal. Instead, Grantchester entered the world of money and profit.
His work with an investment firm proved that when he wasn’t shagging girls with long hair and short skirts, Grantchester had picked up a very good education. His employers sent him all over the world, where he made large amounts of money and lots of useful contacts. He was focused and driven, and worth several million by the time he was thirty. Though he was still popular with the ladies, at age thirty-two he married Caroline Marsh, who came from a very good family and moved in all the right circles.
At the age of thirty-three, Grantchester began experiencing stinging sensations at specific points on his skin. Naturally, he went to the best doctors in the country, whose thorough examination of him yielded some very interesting findings, which were passed along to us.
Conrad is able to manufacture a variety of chemical compounds inside his body and then vent them through his pores in the form of a fine mist. The properties of these compounds range from a deadly toxin to a nonlethal lachrymatory (tear gas) to a spray that has no effect at all. All of these gases, however, emerge as a dark cloud that blacks out the area it covers.