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“Ah, Rook Thomas. Such an amateur in fieldwork! You’re angling for some information about the plan.” Goblet smirked, baring a set of saw-edged teeth. “Shall I give you all the details, like a Bond villain, right before your wristwatch turns out to be some sort of buzz saw?”
It was a ridiculous, archaic statement, but it made everything nice and legal and officially shifted responsibility for the entire operation onto her head. Only the Rooks, the Bishops, and the Lord and Lady of the Checquy could authorize the use on British soil of an agent classified as a Force of Physical Obliteration.
