Witches incorporated

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Gerald stared at her, silenced. Why me? “Melissande, aren’t you listening? I’m not allowed to tell you why.”

She sniffed. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we’re on different lunchbreaks, won’t we?”

“Don’t look at me, mate,” said Monk, reprehensibly grinning. “I want to know what’s going on as badly as they do.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” he said bitterly. “You’re a big help, you are.”

“Hey,” said Monk. “Whatever you tell us won’t go beyond these four walls.”

“I know that,” he said, close to shouting. “This isn’t about me not trusting you, it’s about the fact I’m working on something huge. If somehow I manage to mess things up by telling you about it, the consequences could be catastrophic.” He felt like tearing his hair out. “Damn, this is a bloody disaster. With the girls involved suddenly everything’s getting complicated — and you know what that means.”

“The girls are sitting right here, Gerald, in case you’ve suddenly gone blind in your other eye,” said Melissande. “And they don’t appreciate being treated like three pieces of furniture.”

“I don’t care! I wish you were three pieces of furniture!” he retorted. “Because then I could put you under lock and key and not have to worry about you getting in the way!”

She leapt to her feet. “ Gerald Dunwoody — I am not a foot stool! Who the hell do you think you are, to stand there telling me what I can and can’t-”

“Oh, put a sock in it, ducky,” said Reg, with a sigh. “You won’t get anywhere browbeating him. And all your shouting is giving me a headache.”

Surprised, Gerald blinked at her. “Thanks, Reg. It’s nice to know I’m forgiven.”

Reg looked down her beak at him. “Did I say you were forgiven? Trust me, you’re not.”

Of course he wasn’t. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. He frowned at the threadbare carpet, marshalling his thoughts. Trying to work out how much he could tell them… what was safe… what wasn’t… and came to a depressing conclusion. He either told them everything or nothing at all. And if he decided to tell them nothing, if he turned around and walked out of Monk’s house right now, Melissande and Bibbie and Reg might end up paying the ultimate price. Because they wouldn’t give up investigating at Wycliffe’s. They wouldn’t back down. They didn’t know how.

Of course I could always just tip this into Sir Alec’s lap. Leave him to deal with it. Sure, I could do that… and lose their friendship forever.

Because Sir Alec really would put Witches Inc. under lock and key-most likely metaphorically but possibly in a literal sense. Either way they’d be shoved to one side. Treated like gels. Even though Reg hadn’t been a gel for centuries, and Melissande… well, Melissande had never been a gel. But Sir Alec would make no allowances for that, despite knowing the kind of women they were. Knowing they’d already proven beyond doubt they could be trusted.

And then there was Bibbie. She wasn’t like Melissande and Reg. Hell, she might well be a genius, like Monk, but she was practically a slip of a girl. Not part of the New Ottosland mess, she’d never had to face the things that slithered beneath the world’s stones, and feasted.

And I don’t want her to face them. At least not while she’s still so young. So innocent. Bibbie’s why I’m doing this. Aren’t I supposed to keep her-and everyone like her-safe?

But Reg would say that wasn’t his decision. Reg would say it was Bibbie’s choice, her right to risk herself if she wanted to. Hell, Monk would say the same thing and he was her brother. And what did that mean? That he was indifferent? Or that he cared so much for Bibbie that he was prepared to treat her exactly as he treated himself, and let her take the risks he took without a second thought?

Gerald sighed and looked at his friends. He could protect them or he could lose them… but he couldn’t do both. Rightly or wrongly they weren’t going to let him. And rightly or wrongly he wasn’t prepared to give them up.

Oh lord. Sir Alec is going to kill me…

“ Well,” he said slowly, “it all started with the portal accidents.”

As Melissande sank back onto the sofa, Monk pulled a face. “They weren’t accidents.”

Sometimes I don’t know why I bother. “How do you know that? Have you been listening at the wrong keyholes again?”

“No,” said Monk, suspiciously self-righteous. “I worked it out, that’s all. Well, me and Macklewhite and Barkett worked it out. We were just tossing ideas around. Speculating, after the second incident, that maybe someone was messing with the portal matrixes. We even set up a couple of experiments to see if we could do it. You know. In our spare time.”

Fascinated, Gerald stared at him. “In your spare time,” he murmured. I wonder if Sir Alec has any idea… “ And?”

“Oh, we managed it,” Monk said cheerfully. “Wasn’t easy, mind you. They’ve built about forty levels of security and redundancy and failsafes into the portal system, Gerald. Not only would you have to be bloody good, you’d have to bloody lucky to actually splotz one.”

“Well, someone was both,” he said. “More’s the pity.”

“But-but that’s just wicked,” said Bibbie, eyes wide. “I mean, people have been hurt. Badly hurt. Why would someone do an awful thing like that?”

“Ha,” said Reg, still perched on the back of the sofa. “That’s easy. First question any good investigator asks is Who benefits?”

“Or,” said Gerald, his brain newly stuffed with all that training, “ Who loses? ”

“You mean who’s been hurt by the growing popularity of portal travel?” said Melissande.

“Smart girl I’ve got here,” said Monk, and kissed her hand. Melissande blushed: seemingly Monk wasn’t the only one smitten.

Gerald nodded. “Yes. In the three years since it was introduced, portal travel’s become commonplace and very popular. It’s had a major impact on the way people get around.”

“Fewer cars and carriages,” said Bibbie. “Reduced rail services. And-”

“Hardly any airships,” said Reg. “There was a time I couldn’t fly a mile without bumping into one. Mind you, they did come in useful when I felt like resting my wings. Except of course then I could never find one going my way. Typical. I remember once-”

“Reg,” said Gerald, and pulled an apologetic face. “If we could just stick to the topic…?”

She sniffed. “Yes. Well. What I was about to say is I’m guessing that once the public realised they wouldn’t go up in a puff of smoke if they used a portal, the bottom fell out of the airship business. Am I right? Of course I’m right. And while fashions change, people don’t. I remember when steerable hot-air balloons first came in-all the carriage and wagon-makers went into a decline. There were riots, you know.” Another sniff. “Bit before your time, of course.”

“Just a bit, yes,” he said, grinning. “But the point’s sound. Three years ago Wycliffe’s was Ottosland’s premier airship company, having put the other two out of business. People who know about these things fully expected them to make it to world number one within a couple of years. And then came the major breakthrough in portal thaumaturgics, our government patented the incants and sold them internationally… and overnight, everything changed.”

“Permelia Wycliffe said they’d endured some crushing disappointments,” said Melissande, frowning. “I suppose this is what she was talking about. The collapse of their domestic and foreign markets.”

“So what you’re saying is, Gerald, someone at Wycliffe’s is trying to scare people away from using the portal system?” Monk chewed his lip. “By unravelling the matrixes? That’s a bit bloody drastic, don’t you think?”

Very drastic. But-“Desperate people do desperate things, Monk.”

“Well, yeah, obviously, but why now? Like you said, public portals have been around for three years.”

“Maybe whoever’s doing this thought portals would be a passing fad,” said Bibbie. “Maybe they thought there would be accidents and then people would go back to using airships. Maybe they kept hoping they wouldn’t have to do something so awful as wrecking portals and hurting people. And they kept putting it off, and putting it off, and hoping things would go back to the way they were. And they didn’t.”

She really was a very sweet girl. Mad as a hatter, just like her brother, but sweet. Gerald smiled at her. “I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any.”

“Wait a minute,” said Melissande, sitting up. “Orville Wycliffe, the company’s founder, died a year ago.”

Gerald nodded. “And his son Ambrose took over the firm. We know.”

“ Huh,” said Melissande, scowling. “ Ambrose. I tell you, Gerald, he’s bloody lucky I’m not Bibbie or I’d have fried him where he stood today. “ Gels interfere with the thaumaturgical ether.” I’ll give him ether, the insulting old frog.”

He had to smile. “Yes, well, Ambrose is a bit old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned and incompetent,” she said. “Ever since he got control of the company he’s tried to diversify it, with spectacularly unimpressive results. From what I can tell its scooters and velocipedes and jalopies are hopeless. They practically fall apart if you sneeze on them. If Ambrose thought he was going to save the business that way he was sadly mistaken.”

“Then it’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Monk. “Ambrose Wycliffe’s your villain. He’s trying to get his company back in the air by sabotaging the portal network.”

Gerald shook his head. “I wish it was that straightforward, but it’s not. We looked at Wycliffe’s financials and, yes, they are shaky, but business incompetence isn’t proof of a crime. We also looked at Ambrose himself, very hard, but he’s squeaky clean. There’s not a shred of evidence connecting him to the portal accidents. If there was then trust me, we’d have found it.”

Melissande cleared her throat. “What about Permelia?”

“ Permelia?” Gerald stared. “No. It’s not her, either. And yes, we did look into the possibility,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “The Department is perfectly aware that women can be criminals too. But she’s as squeaky clean as her fiscally inept brother.”

“So really,” said Monk, “all you’ve got against Wycliffe’s is a suspicious-looking coincidence. As far as you and Sir Alec know the portals are being sabotaged by some anti-thaumaturgic nutter out to save the world from the dangers of meddling with etheretic particles. And that’s even if it is sabotage. I mean, me and Macklewhite and Barkett could’ve been wrong.”

“No, you’re not wrong,” Gerald sighed. “There were some trace thaumic signatures left after the last incident that can’t be explained away by the existing portal matrixes or as a by-product of the random thaumic fluctuations caused by normal portal operations. It looks like some very powerful hexes were used to pull the portals apart.”

“In that case,” said Bibbie, “can’t Monk also be right about who’s responsible? Everyone knows what those anti-thaumaturgical people are like. Quite dotty, the lot of them. Or jealous because they can’t hex themselves out of a wet paper bag.”

“I wish he was right,” he said. “Because then this would be over. But we know for a fact that nobody in the anti-thaumic movement is behind the portal sabotage.”

“Ah,” said Monk. “You’ve got agents on the inside?”

He pulled a face. “All I can tell you is there’s only a handful of wizards worldwide capable of using the kind of thaumaturgy we’re dealing with… and shady enough to try.”

“And none of them belongs to an anti-thaumic group?”

“No,” said Gerald. “That’s another dead end, I’m afraid.”

Monk drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “This shady wizard. You’ve got a name, haven’t you?”

“There’s someone we’re looking at, yes,” he admitted.

Monk’s eyes widened. “ Errol?”

Bibbie sat up. “Really? Really Errol?” She clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be too perfect!”

“Who’s Errol?” said Melissande.

Bibbie made a rude noise. “Errol Haythwaite. Tall, dark and handsome, yes, but such a plonker.”

“Did you say Haythwaite?” said Melissande. “I know that name. Gerald, does she mean that horrible wizard today who-”

He nodded. “Yes. Him.”

“You’ve met Errol?” said Bibbie, surprised.

“No. At least, we’ve not been introduced,” said Melissande, with fastidious distaste. “But I caught him in action at Wycliffe’s this afternoon. As you say, Bibbie, the man’s an utter plonker.”

“Worse,” said Bibbie. “He’s the kind of First Grade wizard who thinks Third Graders should be rounded up and set adrift on barges in the middle of the nearest ocean. Rich, of course. His sort always are.” She wrinkled her nose. “Whenever we meet at swanky parties he always tries to look down my dress. I think he thinks I should be swooning all over him. I know he’d like to marry me because of the important people Father knows.”

Monk was staring at her, his mouth open. “What? He tries to look down your dress? How come you never-”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of squashing a bug like Errol Haythwaite without assistance,” said Bibbie airily. “Besides, he and Aylesbury are chummy and you know what Aylesbury’s like. Honestly, Monk,” she added, seeing he was still upset. “Errol knows better than to push his luck with me.”

“All right, Bibs. If you say so.” He turned. “But Gerald-look, fine, so Errol’s a plonker. You’ll get no argument from me about that. But it doesn’t mean he’s behind the sabotaged portals.”

Gerald shrugged. “We think he’s connected. Through another wizard, whose thaumic signature has a few things in common with the one we found at the last accident site. He’s already raised a few eyebrows in the past. Nothing’s been proven, it’s just… suspicions, but smoke and fire. You know how it goes. Given what’s at stake we can’t afford to ignore the possibility. So Sir Alec put me into Wycliffe’s on a watching brief.”

“And have you seen anything?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“What about this eyebrow-raising wizard? Has he got a name?”

“Haf Rottlezinder.”

Monk’s jaw dropped again. “ Rottlezinder? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Blimey,” Monk muttered. “I knew a Haf Rottlezinder. Third year at university. He came over from West Uphantica as an exchange student. He was generally touted as a thaumaturgical prodigy. Stayed with-”

“Yes. We know, Monk,” said Gerald, meeting his friend’s gaze steadily. “With Errol. And from what we’ve been able to learn, he and Haf got to be very good friends.”

“And that’s your connection?” said Monk, incredulous. “I got to be friendly with Rottlezinder too. Does that mean you’re looking sideways at me?”

He tried to smile. “Come on, Monk. Sir Alec’s been looking sideways at you for years.”

But Monk ignored that. Beside him, Melissande tightened her hold on his hand. “Sorry, Gerald, it’s got to be a stupid coincidence. Errol’s a tick, but he’s not-not-”

“Not what, Monk? A saboteur? An attempted murderer? Or at the very least mixed up with one?” He felt his temper stir. “Why not? Because his family’s rich and influential and he’s a wizard Grand Master? Because even though you loathe him you went through university together and that means you belong to some kind of wizardly brotherhood? Because he’s one of us?”

“Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Monk retorted. “That’s got nothing to do with it. It’s just I know Errol and I’m telling you, Gerald, this isn’t his style. He’s got no reason to-”

“Actually, he does,” he replied. “Errol’s got a lot invested in Wycliffe’s. He’s head of Research and Development and this new project he’s working on, the Ambrose Mark VI, could put his name up in lights on the international stage. But only if the public loses confidence in portal travel, bringing back the age of the airship.”

“You have to admit, Monk,” Melissande said softly. “It does make sense.”

Monk tugged his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, Gerald. It sounds pretty far-fetched to me, Errol and Haf Rottlezinder in cahoots to bring down Ottosland’s portal system and return Wycliffe’s to its glory days. I mean, what’s in it for Haf?”

“Money,” he said. “Errol’s rich enough to make it more than worth Rottlezinder’s while.”

“True,” Monk admitted reluctantly. “All right then-where’s your evidence? Besides the fact they knew each other at university?”

Trust Monk to find the weak spots in the Department’s argument. “We haven’t found any yet. But that doesn’t mean we won’t.”

“I don’t understand,” said Melissande. “If you’re so sure this Haf Rottlezinder is behind the portal incidents, why don’t you bring him in for questioning?”

What a shame Melissande was no less astute than Monk. “We can’t.”

“Because he’s in West Uphantica? But I thought your Department had all kinds of international extradition arrangements?”

Abruptly tired of standing, Gerald dropped into the other armchair. “We do.”

“Hang on,” said Monk. “ Is Rottlezinder in West Uphantica?”

“He was.”

“But he’s not now? You mean you lost him?”

“Well done,” said Reg. “That’s the kind of competence we’re looking for in a secret government Department.”

“No, he’s not lost,” he said, giving Reg a look. “We just don’t have a definite location for him at the moment.”

“Gerald, that means you lost him,” said Bibbie. “How terribly careless of you.”

“So what happened?” said Monk. “I’m guessing nothing good.”

Gerald frowned at his interlaced fingers, remembering the look in Sir Alec’s eyes when he’d come to this part of the mission briefing. “One of our best men was sent in to extract Rottlezinder, quickly and quietly. It… didn’t work out. Rottlezinder had already gone-and he left a nasty little surprise behind him.”

“The fatal kind?” said Monk.

Looking up, he nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Now Monk gave Bibbie a vaguely disquieted glance. As though he were having sudden second thoughts about his little sister getting mixed up with this kind of ugliness.

“Forget it, Monk,” Bibbie snapped, glaring. “I’m staying. Try and push me aside and I’ll tell Uncle Ralph about the Mushtarkan diplomat’s cousin and the-”

“ Hey!” said Monk, sitting bolt upright. “You can’t do that! We had an agreement, remember?”

Gerald looked at Melissande. The Mushtarkan diplomat’s cousin and the what? She shrugged; either she didn’t know or she was protecting Monk.

“I remember everything,” said Bibbie, smiling dangerously now. “I especially remember how you promised you wouldn’t interfere in any of my cases.”

“But this isn’t your case,” he retorted. “It’s Gerald’s.”

“And Gerald is perfectly happy for me to stay.” She turned. “Aren’t you, Gerald?”

Oh, thank you so very much, Emmerabiblia. He looked at Monk, apologetic. “I think it’s a bit late to get cold feet now.”

Monk knew when he was beaten. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if you stub your toe, Bibbie, don’t come crying to me afterwards.”

“Look, I’m sure it’s very sad this agent died,” said Melissande, as the Markhams exchanged incendiary glares. “And I hope he didn’t have a family that’s grieving for him. But, Gerald, his death doesn’t actually prove what you’re saying, does it?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately not. And the incant Rottlezinder used to cover his tracks was comprehensive. All it left behind was a great big smoking hole in the ground. If there was evidence connecting him and Errol, it went up in flames along with everything else. And no. Crawford didn’t have a family. Just… us.”

It felt odd saying that. Those two words suddenly seemed to put him on the other side of a line. Them and us. You and us. He didn’t like it. It made him feel horribly… alone.

“Hey,” said Monk, noticing. “There’s more than one kind of us in the world, mate. Don’t you go forgetting that.”

Sometimes it was quite alarming, how well Monk could tell what he was thinking.

“I know,” he said, dredging up a smile. “Would I be telling you lot any of this if I didn’t?”

“Why’s your Department involved anyway?” said Monk, fingers drumming again. “It’s a domestic matter, isn’t it? Shouldn’t Mordy’s old outfit be handling the investigation?”

“Ah,” said Gerald, wincing. “That’s a bit of a sore spot actually. They looked at the first incident and ruled out any hanky-panky. Turned the case over to the Transport Department’s safety committee. But Sir Alec had a feeling so he reached out to an old chum who kept him apprised, and when Rottlezinder’s name came up he grabbed the case with both hands. Of course now the other mob’s screaming blue murder, accusing us of breaching jurisdiction.”

“Well, they would, wouldn’t they?” said Monk, derisive. “All that egg on their faces. Stupid bastards. As if jurisdiction matters when lives are at stake.”

“Yeah, well, try telling them that.”

“So,” said Monk. “Rottlezinder’s the saboteur, Errol’s the brains behind the scheme, and you’re at Wycliffe’s to find the evidence to prove it. Is that it?”

“That’s the theory,” he agreed.

Monk nodded slowly. “Well, it’s a reasonable working hypothesis, I suppose. If you accept Errol’s that far gone. But Gerald-why did Sir Alec pick you for the Wycliffe job? No offence, mate, but you’re so wet behind the ears you’re practically dripping. And given one agent’s been murdered already, wouldn’t they want an experienced man behind the wheel?”

He shrugged. “Sir Alec couldn’t get anyone else into Wycliffe’s at such short notice. There weren’t any vacancies for a First or Second Grader in the R amp;D lab. But Ambrose goes through Third Graders like shaving cream because the work’s so bloody stultifying… and Errol makes our lives hell.”

“Poor Gerald,” said Bibbie, scowling, and reached over to pat him on the arm. “Having to take orders from the likes of Errol Haythwaite when you can run rings around him as a wizard.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” he said. “And it’s not as if being treated like something you’d scrape off your shoe is a novel experience. Actually, being a Third Grader is coming in quite handy. I mean, it’s true I don’t get to work on any important projects but I do get to poke my nose in pretty well everywhere, even if it’s only to play canary in the coal mine and clean up after the important work gets done. And that gives me plenty of scope for snooping. It’s like being a housemaid. Nobody notices the poor bugger stuck cleaning out the test tubes.”

Despite all his concerns, Monk unleashed another of his anarchic grins. “Errol can’t be too happy about it. Having you peering over his shoulder must be getting right up his sinuses.”

He remembered the look on Errol’s face after the failure of the Mark VI’s experimental engine. Remembered the way Errol had gripped his arm, so furious. “You could say that.”

“Hmm,” said Monk, thoughtful. “Maybe that’s another reason why Sir Alec sent you in there. To rattle Errol.”

“Why would Sir Alec think that strategy could work?” said Melissande.

“Because what he doesn’t know about people isn’t worth knowing,” said Monk. “And he’ll use anything or anyone to get what he wants. I’ll bet he knows Errol used to like using Gerald as a verbal dartboard. And that Errol was furious about losing his precious custom-designed First Grade staff when Stuttley’s went up. I’ll bet he’s betting that if Gerald can throw Errol far enough off-stride he might make a mistake.”

“ If he’s in cahoots with this Haf Rottlezinder,” said Reg. “That’s not been proven. Your precious Sir Alec doesn’t even know where that bounder’s stashed himself.”

“No, but we’ll find him,” said Gerald. “We have to. The Department of Transport’s keeping things low-key, not blabbing to the press, but it seems the sabotage is working. People are going back to airships for domestic and international travel. Who knows? A few more ‘accidents’ and the public might lose all confidence in the portal network. It could easily collapse.”

“Which means Wycliffe’s would be saved,” said Melissande. “Which brings us back to who benefits?”

“And there’s no denying that’s Errol,” said Bibbie. “It all fits.”

They looked at each other as the clock on the mantel ticked slowly towards midnight and the logs in the fireplace collapsed into glowing coals.

“It’s a bit awful, really, isn’t it?” said Melissande eventually. “Because really, what would help you to catch this Errol Haythwaite-or whoever’s responsible-is another portal accident.”

Gerald nodded glumly. “I hate to say it, but… yes.”

“Except Monk’s right,” she added. “Catching your quarry’s not important. Not compared to the public’s safety. The Department of Transport should shut down the portal network until you find whoever’s behind this. What if there is another attack? What if people just aren’t hurt next time? What if they die?”

As if he hadn’t already thought of that. But what was it Sir Alec had said to him, back in New Ottosland?

In war there are always innocent casualties. It’s regrettable but unavoidable. The sooner you come to terms with that the better.

“The other agents Sir Alec’s got working on this are very good,” he said. “We’ll find Rottlezinder before anyone else gets hurt.”

Melissande snorted. “You mean you hope you will. But hope isn’t good enough, Gerald. Hope doesn’t save lives. Actions save lives. And lack of action costs them.”

She stared at him, so accusing, and he stared back. Crowding Monk’s parlour, the ghosts of those ninety-seven New Ottoslanders who’d perished because of Lional. Because of him.

Stabbed with guilt, he shoved out of his armchair. “Look. I’m as worried as you are that more innocent people might get caught up in this. But we need Rottlezinder and Errol-or whoever he’s working with-to think they’re safe. And we can’t afford to start a panic.”

“Who said anything about starting a panic?” she retorted. “You say it’s for an equipment review. That won’t worry people, it’ll reassure them.”

“Perhaps, but it would also be disruptive, causing a great deal of distress and delay… and almost certainly would send our villains back into the shadows to wait until the fuss died down so they could strike again.”

“Which means what, exactly? You’re going to do nothing?” she demanded, leaping up to face him. “Gerald, that’s-that’s wrong.”

“We’re not doing nothing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Things I can’t talk about,” he said, harassed. “You’ll just have to trust me, Melissande. We’re doing our very best to keep the public safe and catch whoever’s responsible.”

Melissande’s chin lifted again. Behind the prim glasses her eyes were glittering. “And what if your best’s not good enough, Gerald?”

Oh, lord. I know that look. “ Melissande, you can’t repeat a word of what I’ve said tonight. I’ve risked everything telling you this. I know it’s hard but you have to sit on it.”

“She will,” said Reg. “She’s got her knickers twisted right now but they’ll untwist when she’s had a moment to think this through.”

“Don’t you dare put words in my mouth!” snapped Melissande.

Tipping her head to one side, Reg chattered her beak. “What, so you are going to talk out of turn? See Gerald sent to prison? Help these villains get away with their dastardly plan?”

“Mel,” said Monk, very quietly, and reached for her hand. “You’re right. It’s a risk. But it has to be taken.”

“And you’re happy about taking it?” she asked, her voice unsteady.

“No,” said Monk, his gaze intent on her. As though they were the only two people in the world. “But we don’t have a choice. And let’s be fair… we’re the ones who pressured Gerald into telling us this stuff. He didn’t want to. We used our friendship as a lever. Are you going to beat him over the head with it too?”

“Monk’s right, Mel,” Bibbie said in a small voice. “We can’t get Gerald into trouble. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Melissande’s lips trembled, just for a moment. Then she sat down again hard. “I liked it better when we were chasing stupid interdimensional sprites and blowing up sponge cakes,” she said, her voice unsteady again. “I think after this is over we should stick with frippery.”

Gerald perched on the edge of the armchair. “Can you see now why I don’t want you three anywhere near Wycliffe’s? If Sir Alec’s right and Errol is somehow involved with this portal business, things could get very ugly very fast. And I’d never forgive myself if any of you got hurt. You need to tell Permelia Wycliffe that you can’t find her biscuit thief and get the hell out of that place while the getting’s still good.”

“No,” said Melissande, and folded her arms, her momentary vulnerability squashed flat as a pancake. “We are Witches Incorporated. Once we take on a job we see it through to the bitter end. If we walk out on Permelia Wycliffe now all the good we achieved by unmasking that ridiculous Millicent Grimwade will be wasted. We might as well shut up shop and-and get married. We won’t be in your way, I promise. And who knows? There’s a chance we could help you and your precious Sir Alec save the day.”

Damn. He turned to Monk. “Come on. You have to help me here. This is your young lady we’re talking about.”

Monk grimaced. “Trust me, mate. If I try and stick a spoke in her wheel she won’t be my young lady any more.”

“Well-well-what about Bibbie? She’s your sister, your own flesh and blood! Are you going to let her put her life at risk? Or is it more important for you to cover your tracks over-what was it? Your whoopsie with the Mushtarkan diplomat’s cousin?”

“Hey!” Monk protested. “That’s not fair!”

“And Bibbie’s not at Wycliffe’s,” Melissande added. “She’s holding the fort back at the agency.”

“But even if I was undercover at Wycliffe’s,” said Bibbie, pink with crossness, “I wouldn’t leave either. What do you take me for, Gerald? Some lisping, chicken-hearted, lily-livered gel?”

“And what about your future?” he retorted. “I’m assuming you want one!”

Melissande rolled her eyes. “Oh, do stop trying to frighten us, Gerald. It won’t work. If you want to be useful, concentrate on rattling Errol Haythwaite and finding this dreadful Rottlezinder person.”

Sighing, he looked at conspicuously silent Reg. “What? You don’t have anything to add?”

“No,” she said, staring down her beak at him. “You’re still digging your own grave perfectly well without my assistance, Gerald.”

He felt his jaw clench. “Right. Fine. That’s very helpful. Thank you.”

Melissande stood again. “Excellent. And now that’s settled we’ll be on our way. It’s despicably late and we’ve got an early start.”

She headed for the closed parlour door, Bibbie on her heels, coat dangling from one hand. Monk jumped up. “I’ll see you out,” he said, and snatched Melissande’s coat from its hook.

“Fine,” Gerald called after them. “Good. This is wonderful, girls. I’m glad we got this all straightened out.”

Instead of following her colleagues, Reg flapped from the sofa to the arm of the chair. “Well,” she said, considering him with a bright eye. “I did say it was going to be interesting, didn’t I?”

Groaning, he slid into the chair properly and dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, Reg. I don’t mind interesting. It’s impossible I’m having a problem with.” He lifted his head again. “You look well. Are you well?”

She sniffed. “Much you care if I’m well or not, Gerald Dunwoody.”

“Oh, Reg…”

“I’m fine,” she said gruffly. “But you’re looking peaked. Don’t let that plonker Errol Haythwaite boss you about. Or that government stooge, Sir Alec. And don’t worry about madam. I’ll make sure she keeps her mouth shut.”

“Thanks, Reg,” he said, subdued. “I’d really appreciate it.” He hesitated then added, “I meant what I said in the garden, you know. I miss you. A lot.”

Monk stuck his head back in through the open parlour doorway. “Reg, they’re going.”

“I miss you too, sunshine,” said Reg, and flapped out of the room.

After she was gone, Gerald sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, his head pounding.

Oh, lord. Oh, Saint Snodgrass. Sir Alec is going to kill me.