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Thanks to the shopping excursion with Robert, I’m prepared when Myfanwy appears for her meeting with the King in that first gorgeous ensemble we saw, but this time with a more professional white button-up instead of the lacy tank. She’d picked up a rough-woven silk-tweed coat in avocado that hit just below her knees and brought out the copper in her hair. I smiled that she followed my suggestion for more green than blue in her new wardrobe. Even prepared, Teddy excused himself quickly, and Eliza also moved out into the hallway to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with her friend.
“Dressed for success with King Conrad today?” I ask as we stride toward his office. “Are you nervous?”
“I don’t think so, but he’s not really all that familiar to me, so I don’t feel as though I have to fit into a role.” She pauses and looks at the blonde woman’s outfit. “Should I have gone with a skirt?”
I pull the corners of Eliza’s lips down at the corners and shake her head. “I don’t see what that would change.” I hesitate for a moment and decide to push through. “He’s been different since assuming leadership, a little more reckless, some BDE that he never showed before. There are rumors of huge changes coming to the Checquy; if you find out anything interesting, I’d be interested…”
She looks right at me and twinkles her eyes – did she pick that up from Robert? – saying, “I see, I’m your mole now? Just chatting to fleece me for info?” Eliza’s eyes flick head to toe, and I make no effort to hide it.
“Well, that and being able to be seen with the new department fashion plate. Those two things, yes.” A small hint of a smile crosses her pale face. “I’d say good luck, but I’d prefer you go in there and take what you want. At full price.”
Myfanwy’s grin breaks across her face and she curls her pinky around Eliza’s. “Thanks. I’ll try.” The other woman turns and departs as Myf knocks on Grantchester’s door 90 seconds early. For once.
“Enter,” comes the summons from within. She walks through the door with her shoulders back, new look and entirely new attitude. A small rumble of unsettled travel’s across the King’s face, but he walks around his desk to greet her.
“Thomas, glad you decided to come in. Have you seen the model?” He gestures at his dream of a new building which everyone has been guided around if they’ve walked in his office.
“Not in-depth, sir, but I’ve heard about it.” She shows her first hint of nervousness. “I wasn’t sure it was still viable after the Danilov incident, sir?”
He lets out a deep sigh, derailed from the tour of minutiae he had prepared. “It was a mess, and it is still being cleaned up,” he looks up at her with some accusation, “but the fact that there was only one foreign casualty did help.” He looks down and jots something on a paper and slides it across the counter.
Thank you for getting her out, it reads. “It’s heartbreaking about Farrier, however,” he says, imperceptibly nodding toward the camera, “I know she was your mentor. How have you been holding up?”
Myfanwy realizes that it still hasn’t been disclosed that she lost her memories, so she visibly deflates. “It’s been difficult, sir, but I thank you for this time to recover physically and mentally. I’d like to honor her memory as I return to the Checquy – especially since I wasn’t able to attend her memorial.”
The King gestures to a seat facing his desk, and sits down behind it. “I wasn’t certain you’d be coming back, I’m pleased you’re not here to hand in your resignation.”
“Not entirely, sir.” His head jerks up at that, he’d been perusing some files from New Glengrove about Rook Thomas’ progress.
“Not entirely?” He cocks his head to the right and waits for her to respond.
“Sir, I can’t imagine…how far…behind…” she raises an eyebrow, indicating she’s speaking around her condition, “I will be when I return to my position. Considering that, and that I have received new supplemental training, I am here with a non-traditional proposal for you.”
Conrad’s desk phone lights up and he gestures for a pause. As he replaces the handset, he also hits a button under his desk and breathes out heavily. “Alex captured enough footage to loop and he cut the mics, so we can speak freely. Just what the hell do you mean, Thomas?”
“Well, sir, I’ve the details laid out here,” she pulls a folio out of her case and lays some budget sheets in front of him. “Using numbers from the files I’d saved before the bridge, I’ve plotted how to reallocate funds for a new position – somewhere between Rook and Knight – where I’m sent on diplomatic ops to help clean up the mess I’ve made. Ingrid gets a raise for taking over the majority of my paperwork, most of which I’m no longer qualified to perform, due to my…mishap… and since I can now protect myself, there will be less payroll spent on security detail. With that money we can give me a raise, and afford a lower-ranking assistant for Ingrid.” She pushes it over to him, “It’s all right there.”
Conrad’s face is cradled in his hand with his index finger along his jawline. He smirks and nods slowly. “I see your incident has done more than change your outfit. You’ve finally seemed to shed that anxiety which has been holding you back.” He stands and comes around the desk, sitting on the corner with one leg draped over. “And this is something I’ve always admired about you, Thomas – you have a shrewd political and analytical mind with an eye for effective allocation of resources. I’m sure this is impressive work, but more impressive is that you have the balls to come in here and present this as if you hadn’t considered that I would need a Queen.”
Myf’s mock-innocent face has gotten some polish, and Conrad considers whether or not he's actually surprised her. The hiring hunt for a Queen has been delayed because he’s yet to get used to his duties, but these weeks with the Bishop filling in have demonstrated that she is not the woman for the job. She’s extraordinary with the spin, but lacks the edge of a true...diplomat.
“It wouldn’t, sir, occur to me that someone with no recollection of Checquy policy and regulations would be qualified to serve as Queen.” She leans back and stares him in the eye, folding her hands in her lap.
“Indeed. And someone who had no recollections could be more susceptible to following orders that undermine the mission of our institution, which would be a grave risk. Rook Thomas, is it not true that you have developed some ideas which are antithetical to the way the Checquy has operated in the past? You think that some EVA’s would be better off not in our care?”
He looks down, attempting intimidation, but she straightens her posture and meet his gaze. “I think all humans have varying needs, sir, and almost none of them thrive while being detained against their will. I believe the Checquy exists to protect EVAs who would like to live secure lives, and to stand against organizations which would violate those human rights. I would like to serve the Checquy with that mission in mind, without regard for any EVA’s political advantageousness, because they are humans – not tools or weapons.” She is riled now, and stands up out of her chair. “If that does not align with any role within this organization, then I will ask to sign a settlement and an NDA and I will walk out of here without protection and live my life according to those tenets.”
She holds out her hand for the King to shake, jaw set, resolve in her eyes, and heart racing as a wild animal in her chest beating itself to death in an attempt to escape its cage.
He does not shake her hand. Pressing the button under his desk, he gives her a side glance and picks up the folio, pretending to flip through it. “Rook Thomas, please clean out your desk.” After a long, breathless pause, a gulp of air, and a nod, she steps backward to leave. “Tell maintenance and IT to begin transferring your belongings and files to my old office.” The silence in the room is total, as yet again, no breathing is being done. “That is all.” He says the last definitively and turns his back to Myfanwy.