“I cannot take this risk. The Checquy must not be divided against itself, Rook Thomas. The nation cannot afford that. And it cannot afford to have an enemy that is willing to use unnatural weaponry against the public. The clouds of gas were plausible — just. But Sir Henry advises me that the extremists are escalating. They are angry and they are reckless. The next attack might be impossible to explain away. It would change the world forever.”
“I don’t believe they would do that, sir,” said Rook Thomas.
“Oh?” said Bishop Attariwala. “Why not?” His eyes narrowed. “After all, from what we’ve heard of these ‘Antagonists,’ they could have unleashed monsters like at the Isle of Wight, or worse. Why are they being so discreet?” He pursed his mouth sourly when he realized that he had described the suffering and mutilation of hundreds of innocents as discreet.
“The same thing that keeps the Checquy discreet,” said Myfanwy simply. “Upbringing.”
“What?” asked the Prime Minister, bewildered.
“It’s the Estella principle,” she said. “If you take a child and teach it to hate and fear something from before it can understand language, it will be supremely difficult for the child to overcome that. Like graduates of the Estate, these Antagonists have been brought up to keep themselves secret at all costs.
“The Broederschap taught them to be afraid of more than just the Checquy,” continued the Rook. “The Antagonists will be frightened of revealing too much in public, in case they draw the attention of other predators.”
“Marvelous, so they just reserve the patchwork thugs for attacks on Court members,” said Sir Henry.
“They don’t hate the public,” said Myfanwy. “They just hate us.”
“This all sounds very speculative, Thomas,” said the Prime Minister dubiously. “I was not elected to take chances with the well-being of this nation. And you were not appointed to your position to do so either.”
“No, sir.”
“Any more attacks of this sort, and drastic steps will have to be taken. It is not essential that the Checquy merge with this brotherhood, but it is essential that this problem be solved.”
“I understand, Prime Minister.”
“Two days, Miss Thomas. That is all I can give you.”
“Sir.”
“Sir Henry, Raushan, is this acceptable to you two?”
“Very reasonable, Prime Minister,” said Bishop Attariwala. The Lord of the Checquy nodded.
“Forty-eight hours from now, then,” said the Prime Minister. “If the problem isn’t solved one way, you solve it the other. Quickly and quietly. It is now” — he looked at his watch — “ten past nine. At eleven past nine on Sunday, the Grafters will no longer be a problem.”
“I’ll begin making the arrangements,” said Rook Thomas quietly.
“I expect we’d better get back to the party, then,” said Bishop Attariwala finally. “Myfanwy, you and I will have a little chat later.”
“Yes,” said Thomas. She rose as the men left and then placed a telephone call. “Ingrid, can you please come to the Reading Room, and bring Security Chief Clovis.” She sat down again, brooding in the shadows.
Two days. The Prime Minister has given me two days. But that presupposes that the Antagonists won’t do anything in the meantime. If there is another attack, then all bets are off.
Why are they delaying? Is it to build up tensions in the Checquy? If that was their goal, then it was certainly succeeding. When the Prime Minister had revealed the true nature of the Antagonists to the guests at the reception, there had been a moment when she had genuinely feared the Checquy would turn on the Grafters present.
What would I have done then? she wondered. Would I have used my powers against my own people? To protect a peace they don’t want? Or would I have stood aside and let them kill our guests in front of civilians? And what was she to do now? The tension would only heighten as word of the Antagonists coursed through the ranks.
It would take so little, even now, Myfanwy thought. A simple strike, a simple wound, placed precisely, and this peace will be smashed forever.
She wondered if the Antagonists had agents within the Checquy who were feeding them information. The Grafters had possessed such spies, after all, although Ernst had finally turned over the names. They knew when we’d be leaving Hill Hall, she mused. They had attackers waiting for me on the road.
Suddenly, ridiculously, she wished she could speak with Thomas — the first Myfanwy Thomas, the woman who’d worn this body before she herself came into existence. Thomas had been shy and meek, but she’d possessed years of experience and training. She would have given good advice, or at least been someone Myfanwy could confess her fears to, could show weakness to.
I have to ensure that nothing happens in the next two days. How can I make the Antagonists wait? And then the revelation came to her.
Odette! They won’t strike without retrieving her. Christ, look at the effort they went to before. Thank God Clements was prevented from killing her when I gave the order or we’d have no leverage at all!
I need to place her somewhere beyond their control, somewhere they cannot access but that raises no questions. I can’t simply put a hundred bodyguards around her — Ernst and the Broederschap would know there was a problem, that the Checquy does not trust them. And I can’t send her overseas, or the Antagonists will feel free to strike on British soil. Myfanwy turned the problem over and over in her mind, certain there was a solution.
There was a knock on the door, and her EA entered, followed by Security Chief Clovis. Myfanwy explained the situation quickly, and they both looked horrified.
“So, Rook Thomas,” said Ingrid. “The Prime Minister...”
“Yes?”
“He’s given you two days to eliminate the Antagonists.”
“Yes,” said the Rook.
“And if you don’t, he means to shut down the negotiations?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Which would mean war,” said Clovis grimly.
“Maybe,” said the Rook. “Although if I manage to make all the arrangements I need to, it might simply mean a quick, discreet one-sided slaughter.”
As they emerged from the Reading Room and made their way back to the reception hall, Myfanwy kept turning the problem of Odette over in her head. There must be a way, she thought. But if there isn’t, I need to prepare for every other eventuality.
“Ingrid, I’ll need to talk to the team leaders of the Barghests immediately,” she said. “All of the domestic ones.” I’ll need them ready if Sunday comes and we have to eliminate Ernst and the Broederschap.
When they came to the assembly room, she looked about automatically for Odette. I’m going to feel really bad if she’s still standing alone with no one to talk to except her kid brother and Clements.
The room still seemed to be somewhat subdued and there wasn’t much cross-pollination between groups. Finally, she saw the Grafter girl talking to a tall man in his late twenties. Judging by their postures and hands, it seemed to be quite a civil conversation. At least, no one was getting slapped or stabbed.
“Who is that?” she wondered aloud.
“He’s a Pawn,” said Ingrid. “Louis Something. He works in Analysis and Assessment.” As they watched, the Pawn stepped out on the dance floor and extended a hand to Odette. She took it, and even from a distance they could see that she was both nervous and delighted. The two began to waltz, easily and beautifully.
“Did you tell him to do that?” asked Myfanwy.
“No, I didn’t,” said Ingrid. “I don’t think anybody ordered him to do that.” She was smiling as she watched the two dancers. “So maybe there’s hope for us all yet.”
Yes, maybe, thought Myfanwy grimly, the ultimatum she’d just received replaying in her head. But not much.
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