“All right,” said Felicity.
“You will be acting as a bodyguard to that girl. It is a real responsibility. You will keep her safe. You will be discreet — people will ask you about her, but you won’t talk about her personal life to anyone... except me. And, most important, you do not take any action against any of the Grafter delegation without my word.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If you do anything unauthorized, it could mean war.”
“I understand.”
“But if I give the order, you will need to kill Odette Leliefeld.”
*
That should have been it, but it then transpired that Felicity’s car had been towed from the Rookery parking lot the day before, when they thought she was dead. It was not clear where her wallet with her credit cards, money, and Oyster card was — she had left it with the support team when she entered the row of houses. The Rook did not have any money on her for a cab and was not certain where her EA kept the petty cash.
“Well, we’ll get you home tomorrow,” said Thomas. “For tonight, we’ll just put you up in the Barghest watch barracks.”
At this, Felicity’s heart jumped in her chest, and she made a little gasp. She watched, tense with excitement, as the Rook called the watch manager, Pawn O’Brien, a broad man with a crew cut, who appeared and took custody of Felicity. The two women shook hands, and then Pawn O’Brien guided Felicity through the warren of corridors and to a lift that took them down to the fourth floor.
“Have you ever been to the barracks?” asked O’Brien. The Barghest sections were pretty much off-limits to regular Checquy staff, mainly because the special operations teams were obliged to spend so much time there that it was considered polite to afford them some privacy.
“No,” said Felicity, “but I’ve been working toward joining the Barghests, so I’m very interested.”
“Well, they’re right in the center of the building,” he told her. “Equal distance from the parking garage or the roof if they’re taking a helicopter.” Felicity nodded. Despite her exhaustion, she couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at the thought that she’d be sleeping in the same dormitory as actual Barghests.
The Barghests were the Checquy’s elite soldiers. A combination of SWAT, knights, ninjas, and Swiss army knives, they carried a dizzying array of weaponry (some of it decidedly unorthodox) and were trained in various esoteric martial arts that were tailored to their specific inhuman abilities. These were the warriors called in when something disastrous occurred and when at least one of the regular assault teams (who were themselves no slouches) had been unable to subdue the threat. They were soldiers of mass destruction. They were the best.
Every child on the Estate grew up on stories of the heroism and badassitude of the Barghests. Every child on the Estate wanted to be a Barghest, until they found out that most of the coffins at Barghest funerals didn’t contain bodies. Instead, they contained parts of bodies, jars of puree, bits of rubble, or, in one memorable and bewildering case, the shattered remnants of a Louis XIV chair.
Felicity was one of the few who wasn’t put off by the stories of proud warriors being dismembered, ground into a pulp, turned to stone, or transmuted into valuable antique furniture by malevolent forces. In fact, ever since she had learned about them, she had desperately wanted to join the Barghests, to be one of the real guardians of last resort. There was a mystique about them; they were defending Britain from the very worst dangers.
There were several Barghest squads scattered around the globe, and they could be activated only by a member of the Court. Nevertheless, there was always a team on call at the Rookery. And I’m going to actually hang out in their actual barracks! thought Felicity. Maybe she’d get to shoot some pool with them, ask questions, and make a good impression.
Instead, it turned out that they were all asleep. Pawn O’Brien led her through their barracks, which were equipped with a weight room, a sprung-floor movement studio, a sprung-ceiling movement studio, an indoor shooting range, a sauna, a steam room, a fog room, a small cinema, a large lounge, and a medium-size woman who stood up from a desk to greet them.
“Major Somerset, this is Pawn Felicity Clements. She’ll be under your care for the night. Someone will collect her in the morning,” said O’Brien, and he departed. Major Somerset was a motherly looking woman, and Felicity knew from her title that she was a Retainer, rather than a Pawn, and that she had been recruited from the military. The attendant guided Felicity through heavy frosted-glass doors to the actual dormitory, which was dimly lit. There were two rows of beds, and slumbering forms were curled up in all but one of them. Wow, she thought in awe. Actual sleeping Barghests. By each bed was a pair of large combat boots, ready to be stepped into.
“No armor?” whispered Felicity. “I always thought they had armor standing ready for them.”
“The suits of armor are in the van downstairs and in the helicopter on the roof,” said Major Somerset. “They get armored up on the way — saves time.” She gestured toward the one empty bed, which was already made. “You’ll be sleeping there.”
“Whose bed is that?”
“Oh,” Somerset said quietly, shaking her head. “That’s Pawn Verrall’s bunk.”
“What happened to Pawn Verrall?” Felicity asked warily.
“Her Labrador started whelping, so she got the night off.”
“Ah,” said Felicity. “Okay.”
“We still have a full complement of troops,” the attendant assured her. “There’s always an understudy on call.” She supplied Felicity with official Barghest pajamas (navy blue, with no emblems whatsoever) and an official Barghest toothbrush (in no way distinguishable from a normal toothbrush). “Would you like a hot-water bottle?” she asked.
“Thank you,” said Felicity gratefully. By the time she fell into bed, the chill had been taken off the sheets, and she nestled down comfortably. As she drifted off, her mind was filled with delight that she was so close to her heroes, mingled with sorrow that her team could not share her excitement.
*
Thirty minutes later, she was jolted out of her sleep by a torrent of noise. It sounded like someone was cramming a metric ton of live weasels into a phone box, and it was coming from a spot only a few centimeters from her face. With no time for thought, she launched herself out of bed before she was even properly awake, flailing away at whatever was attacking her. The sound seemed to be coming from everywhere, and shapes were moving about in the dim light. Then the sound cut out, and the lights in the room flared into brilliance, blinding her. She stumbled back with her hands pressed against her eyes and bounced off a Barghest of indeterminate gender who was lacing up its boots.
“Watch out!” said the Barghest. All around them, people were rushing about madly. Bewildered, Felicity fell back on her bed and watched as all of the soldiers ran out of the room. The lights assumed a more normal intensity, and Major Somerset came in, accompanied by two men who began making the beds.
“Oh, darling, I’m very sorry about that,” said the attendant. “They got the call, you see. Had to bolt off to Neath. Something about a computer that’s eating the Internet. Good riddance, I say — it’s all smut and people whining. But we can’t choose our assignments, I suppose.”
“But what in God’s name was that noise?” said Felicity weakly.
“The Rookery has been experimenting with different sounds to rouse the troops,” said Somerset. “I believe that one is a recording of baboons fighting over a Mars bar.” She gestured toward Felicity’s bed. “See the speakers in the headboard? Gets them awake immediately.”