The Rook (The Checquy Files, #1)

by Daniel O'Malley

The woman was maybe five years older than her, and lovely. She was black, slim, and tall tall tall. She was dressed in something that might have been either horrendously expensive or distressingly cheap, and it looked absolutely glorious on her. Please let her have slept her way to the top, thought Myfanwy. No one deserves to be this beautiful and clever too.

Miffy v1 and v2 are misogynistic

Would you like a steaming beverage of some sort?”

Who asks if someone wants a hot drink like this?

“Well, she might have been freaked out by the three albinos who were following her” came the answer. “But they were pretty discreet. Seriously, she just popped without any provocation.”

K

“If he can’t, we have a woman who’s pretty good with the dead,” said Shantay. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but didn’t Dr. Crisp kill the last person he interrogated?” Myfanwy paused. “No, Dr. Crisp didn’t kill Van Syoc. The Grafters did.” She explained everything Dr. Crisp had told her. “Christ!” said Shantay. “So the woman we have in custody… they could order her to self-destruct?” “No one has to order anything,” said Myfanwy. “They can do it themselves.” “Even worse,” said Shantay. “I’ll get on the phone and see if they can put her somewhere that’s signal-proof.” “Good idea. But don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work out. We had Van Syoc stored five stories beneath street level. I’ll ask Dr. Crisp to talk to them; he may have some ideas.” For

Took reading this twice to still be confused. The grafters can cause themselves to destruct or the overseeing grafters can do it remotely?

Most of the information is available through our in-house computer system. It’s a closed network, so no computer that contains any reference to Checquy material is connected to the World Wide Web. E-mails from one Checquy office to another go through one of our satellites, so there’s no chance some obnoxious American teen with too much time on his hands can hack into our system. There are no crossovers, and if you think setting up that sort of thing is expensive, you have no idea.

Ok

Some things, however, aren’t available online or in the Rookery, and if they’re in one of our other London facilities, I go over on the weekend and prowl through the stacks of the Annexe or Apex House. If the records are somewhere else, I have them shipped over, and battered folders that Ingrid has to sign for show up on my desk, shrink-wrapped

Seems risky having Ingrid sign for things considering you didn't say if she was trustworthy. Probably should‘ve mentioned it in the "this is now to get to my office bit of the binder you forgot to include

sunshine. “Shantay’s an interesting name. Is it short for something?” “Not so far as I know,” said Shantay. “Why, is yours short for something?” “Myfanwy? What could it be short for?” “God alone knows, but people’s names are weird. Especially those made-up names.” “Is your name made up?” Myfanwy asked curiously. “No,” said Shantay. “So what kind of name is it?” “Uh, Shantay comes from French,” said Shantay, accepting a glass of wine from an obsequious waiter. “And what’s the Petoskey part? You don’t look Polish.” “It’s Chippewa, means ‘the Rising Sun.’ Don’t feel bad, it always confuses people.”

Where are you from... America... No but, where are you from originally? America... Ok, but, where are you from?... I'm a descendant of slaves.. Ok, cool.

When Myfanwy and Shantay turned up, one carrying a credit card that appeared to be made out of actual gold and the other looking like a Nubian goddess, they had quickly been placed in the favored spot, seated ahead of a group of shrill movie stars who had apparently been waiting for ten minutes.

Nubian goddess? Couldn't think of a non-racist way of describing her? Like, the other exuding power and elegance?

“I think I’ve heard of it,” said Myfanwy. “Wasn’t there a unicorn running around there last year?”

How would you know this? Or have you just not explained to the reader that youre bullshitting?

“Bronwyn, you must give me all your contact details. Your address and so on,” Myfanwy said. “And I’ll give you mine, and we’ll make a plan to meet.” She let go of Bronwyn’s hand reluctantly and looked down. She has the same hands as me, she thought giddily. Christ, and I didn’t even take off my gloves when I held her hand! She winced. “You can come to my house, and we’ll learn about each other,” she said in a rush. Even as she spoke, though, she was already aware of the hundreds of complications spooling out from this development. They traded details and made arrangements for that evening. Myfanwy said that she would call later to set a time. There was an awkward good-bye, and she let Shantay lead her into the Rookery.

WTF? You know there are two extremely dangerous groups out there. The one who wiped your memory and the grafters. But go ahead and give you address to this woman claiming to be your sister... Especially after being told someone - googled you -

If this Bronwyn really was her sister, then Myfanwy was determined to know her.

Why?

Bronwyn Laura Thomas did not live in Australia. She was living in London, in a flat near Marble Arch. She was enrolled at the University of the Arts London. No criminal record. She’d never left the country to go anywhere, let alone Belgium. Her Internet use was orthodox—almost painfully so. No e-mails to anyone in Belgium, or anyone dubious. There wasn’t time for them to check every person she’d e-mailed in the past six months, but a random selection had shown nothing suspicious. The number for her mobile phone was the one Myfanwy had been given that afternoon. The person in the photos they accessed was identical to the one they had spoken to. “Well, it all looks okay,” Shantay had said. “It could actually be her.” “I think it’s her,” said Myfanwy. “I really do.”

Quick google... She's legit!

The prospect of meeting—of having—a sister was delightful. She was tired of being an orphan. She wanted a family.

Friday night to Tuesday afternoon is such a long time to have no family

She’d dialed the home number, and gotten a Bronwyn Thomas who had been expecting her call.

No "how did you get my landline?"

She’d found a battery-powered item in the drawer of the bedside table but was somewhat wary of using it. Admittedly, it is mine. And it’s only ever been used on my body. But not by me. This is an aspect of amnesia that people don’t normally talk about.

I ….ummm…ok

was sweating like a goldfish in a wok.

What?

It turned out that a sizable portion of the funds was being blown on training fees and surgical facilities.

Uk version of grifter facility?

“Val is cooking waffles, so

Cooking waffles? Not making waffles?

Professional woman calling the enemy captive a “chick”

It was the sort of question you learned to ask automatically when you worked with the Checquy.

Ever the expert on day 3

She’d spent a great deal of time reading through the purple binder and the Checquy records, but this didn’t ring any bells.

Even though yesterday didn't have much time?

“We’ll have to take the waters,” said Shantay, who was leafing through a guidebook that had been left in the car.

Why is there a guidebook in an official car?

“All right, Pawn Poppat,” said Myfanwy, prompting a muffled guffaw from Shantay. “Please fill us in on the situation.” He nodded, looking a little perturbed, and gestured toward the many monitors.

What am I missing?