“It was about four times the first year, and don’t even ask me how much fuss that caused when he started popping up in the hospital bed with no explanation. For a while, people thought he was being kidnapped.” She draped a tactful towel over Felicity’s lap, and then started rubbing her shoulders and back dry. “Although I don’t know what kind of kidnapper would keep delivering a child back to the one place,” the nurse sniffed. “Especially since no one ever saw him being brought into the building. One patient woke up to find the baby crying in her lap.
“But then I saw him arrive here. He just appeared back in the bed where he was born, wriggling out of nowhere.” She smiled and shook her head. “I didn’t know what to do — no one was going to believe me. They might even think I was the kidnapper. The police had already asked me some questions because I kept finding him. Thank the good Lord another girl once found him when I was away on holiday.” She draped another towel around Felicity’s shoulders, then undid her braids and began vigorously toweling her hair. Felicity was reminded of being a child and having her hair dried by an Estate nurse after a bath. It was that same brisk, comforting intimacy.
“So, a hospital administrator sat me down, asked me what happened, and I was so tired of being interrogated that I told him the truth about what I’d seen,” said the nurse. “A couple of days later, I heard that the little baby had died. And word came down that room four was not going to be used anymore.
“Then I was called up to the office of the chief of the hospital. He welcomed me and then he left the room. Two ladies came in, dressed very smart. They explained that the baby was not dead, that he was in the care of the government, and that there would be some more duties for me here at the hospital. If I took on those duties and kept it all secret, then I would receive a good deal of money and the gratitude of the nation. If I didn’t — well, they never actually said what would happen. But I understood it wouldn’t be nearly as nice.”
“So you agreed,” said Felicity, fascinated. The children of the Estate were rarely told how they had come to the Checquy. “And you... never talked to the parents about it?”
“No, that would have led to the ingratitude of the nation,” said the nurse flatly. “Anyway, that night, men moved the furniture out of room four and put in a sports mat and the electrical eyes.” Felicity looked around and saw the little red blinking lights in the corners of the room. “Those let us know when he’s arrived. Otherwise, this room is kept empty. And you wouldn’t believe how inconvenient that is — it’s right in the middle of the hallway.
“Still, it’s added something interesting to the job,” Cedella said. “For the first few years they’d call us when he’d be coming through. I expect they found him missing and knew he was on his way. Me or one of the other girls would go in with a blanket and a bottle of hot milk for the baby and wait for him. He’d arrive, we’d warm him up and care for him for a bit, and then someone would come along and take him off in a car.
“Then, when he got a little older and could talk, they’d send us schedules for when he’d be coming. It was clear they were training him to do it on command. The little lad would pop in a couple of times a week, we’d put some pajamas on him, make a note of his vitals, and they’d come and get him.
“Sometimes he’d appear without any warning,” she remembered. “I think he’d come if he got in trouble or wanted some company. Middle of the night, the bell would ring, and I’d go in to see him sitting there, shivering, wiping the ice off his arms. I’d call them, let them know we had him, and he and I would have a chat. I’d give him a bit of advice about school, or girls, or whatever was bothering him.
“Now that he’s grown, he doesn’t show up as much. And it’s never easy when he does. He’ll come through with wounds, and that makes it much worse. We’ve had to defibrillate him a couple of times. And the journey here isn’t good for injuries either. But he’s never brought anyone else through with him.”
“The journey,” said Felicity, trying to remember. “We were... somewhere else. He took us away from the fire, and there was a place.” It all seemed like a dream that was fading away even as she thought about it. “A dark place. And cold.”
“Sounds like it,” the nurse said with a shrug. “Never been there myself and certainly don’t want to go. He always comes out of there freezing cold and stripped of everything that isn’t him. Clothes, deodorant, dirt, it’s all gone.” She finished drying Felicity. “On the bright side, though, your hair will never be cleaner.”
Well, that’s something, thought Felicity. She hadn’t been looking forward to trying to get all the refuse-based camouflage out of her hair.
“What time did you go in there?” asked the nurse. “They like us to keep records.”
“About four o’clock?” hazarded Felicity. She’d lost track of time, but she vaguely recalled they’d entered the house late in the day.
“In the morning?”
“No, the afternoon.”
“Oh, my,” said the nurse. “Eighteen hours. That’s his longest journey ever. Poor boy.” She patted the sleeping Pawn Chopra gently.
“Eighteen hours?” repeated Felicity incredulously. “You mean it’s Wednesday?”
The nurse nodded. “Wednesday morning,” she said, fetching Felicity a soft robe. “Now, do you fancy a cup of tea?”
*
“And so, Rook Thomas, it appears that the man was strangled to death by his own beard.”
“By or with?” asked Myfanwy, frowning.
“By.”
“Well, that definitely sounds worthy of some attention,” she said, jotting down a note to get her hair cut. “Initiate a short investigation, and if anything serious emerges, we can up the priority.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The voice came from a speakerphone in the middle of the boardroom table.
“If that’s all you need at the moment, then I’ll hang up,” she said. “I’ll be here at Apex House for the rest of the morning, and then, once we’ve finished the formal greetings, I’ll come back to the Rookery. Call me or Mrs. Woodhouse if anything comes up.” A chorus of agreement came out of the speaker, and then the call finished. “Ingrid, can you book me in for a haircut, please?”
“Certainly, Rook Thomas. And a coffee?”
“Only if you want to live out the hour,” said Myfanwy. The previous night had gone far later than she had expected, and she’d had to be up early in order to reach the Apex before the morning traffic congealed. Now she was ensconced in the boardroom with a stack of papers, a pen, and a firm intention to get some work done.
She opened the folder that contained the overnight notifications. As always, she was amazed at the things that happened in the world. Every day, every hour, stories of the bizarre flowed into the Checquy. Reports came from a variety of sources — law enforcement, medical bodies, religious institutions, government departments, universities. All through the British Isles, people in authority were constantly confronted with unusual situations. Sometimes they saw things they couldn’t explain, things that made no sense. Or a subordinate would go to the boss, confused or frightened by an occurrence he could describe only as “unnatural.” At that point, the superior would remember the vague but disturbing briefings from the government and would dial the number officials had given out — a number that connected to the Rookery.