Witches incorporated

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gerald watched her out of sight, missing her so much, then hurriedly unbarricaded the scullery door and shoved his trolley back out into the lab for yet another round of hunt-the-dirty-beaker.

He didn’t see Errol again, but he heard him inside the Mark VI lab, shouting at some unfortunate inferior or other. Even for Errol, the vitriol was vicious. Look after wary look was exchanged around the complex. Heads ducked lower, shoulders hunched. Even the other First Graders tried to make themselves inconspicuous, just in case Errol stormed out of his lab in search of fresh prey.

At length, Robert Methven came out of the Mark VI lab, looking alarmingly close to tears.

Gerald put his head down and got on with his beaker-hunting. Sir Alec had stirred the pot all right: Errol was as rattled as he’d ever seen him. In fact, he’d never seen Errol rattled like this. It certainly was… suggestive.

The work-day dragged to its eventual conclusion. One by one Wycliffe’s wizards began to go home. First Japhet Morgan and his two fellow Third Graders. Then Robert Methven, set-faced and silent, followed soon after by Wycliffe’s other three First Graders. The seven Second Graders weren’t long behind them. That just left Errol. And of course Ambrose Wycliffe, shut uncharacteristically late in his office.

Gerald was ready with an explanation if anyone asked why he was still working when the other Third Grade wizards had bolted. Making up for the time he took earlier, he intended to say. But nobody asked. Nobody gave a toss about Dunnywood or what he was up to. Not a single wizard was stupid enough to risk Errol’s wrath by showing any interest in a man their superior so openly despised.

When Ambrose Wycliffe finally emerged from his office into the complex, florid and preoccupied, Gerald ducked into one of the small labs so he wouldn’t be seen. He heard Ambrose exhort Errol not to kill himself on the Mark VI prototype. Things were looking up. The market would wait a little longer for the greatest airship in history. Errol’s reply wasn’t loud enough to be heard. Shortly after that, Ambrose bid Errol goodnight, dimmed the main lights to a mere glow and departed. Silence descended, full of unsolved mysteries.

Risking discovery, Gerald looked through the small lab’s almost-closed door. Where was Errol? What was he doing?

Please, please, let me catch him in a treacherous act. I want this bloody assignment to be over.

A moment later Errol stamped out of his own lab, swearing and muttering under his breath. In the subdued lighting his face was a portrait of furious indecision as he half-paced, half-dithered in the complex’s wide aisle. He looked like a man attached to invisible strings tugging him first this way, then that. The fingers of one elegant hand dragged through and through his disordered dark hair. His jaw was set hard, and shadowed with stubble. He was a far cry from the urbane, polished and sophisticated Errol Haythwaite who’d paraded himself for obsequious admiration at the Wizards’ Club and through the pages of newspapers and thaumaturgical publications alike.

“ Dammit,” Errol said at last, furious. “I’ll have to chance it. I’ll have to. Dammit.”

Spinning on his heel he headed back to his office, which was tucked between the Ambrose Mark VI lab and the complex’s outer wall. Breath hard-held, Gerald watched him go in-and couldn’t believe his luck. Errol left his office door open, which meant the thaumaturgic soundproofing wouldn’t work. It was a gift… and a hint. Time to spy. But with the lab complex so quiet and empty of all other wizards, there was a chance he’d be heard. And even if he wasn’t, Errol would undoubtedly sense his presence. Unless… unless…

What if he threw out an obfuscation hex to cover any inadvertent sound he might make and mask his thaumic signature completely? It was a neat solution, except I’d need to drop my shield. Will Errol feel it disengage? Will he feel me cast the hex? I may hate his guts but I can’t deny the truth: he is a phenomenal wizard. Dare I risk it? Is he upset enough to be sufficiently distracted?

Sadly, there was only one way to find out.

As softly and gently as he knew how, he switched off his shield-incant then held his breath again. Waited for Errol to storm out of his office, searching for the source of the strange surge in the ether.

No Errol. No storming. The lab remained as quiet as a tomb.

Not my tomb, please. I don’t feel like dying today.

Under his breath, Gerald whispered an obfuscation hex Reg had taught him years ago. Despite all of the new incants and hexes Sir Alec’s people had given him he hadn’t found one of theirs to beat it for flexibility. And he hadn’t shared it with them, either. It was important to keep safe some things from his old life.

Besides, as Reg liked to say, it never hurt to keep a trick or two stuffed down your knickers.

He crept out of the darkened lab, into the almost dark complex and along the aisle towards Errol’s office. Flattened himself against the wall beside the door and closed his eyes… hoping that would help him hear more clearly what was happening.

“-were right and I was wrong. See? I can admit it.”

Errol, sounding oddly subdued. Conciliatory. Almost… entreating. Speaking not on the telephone, but through a crystal ball. He could feel the connection vibrating the ether: yet another legacy of his roguish, barely-charted powers. If there was time, he could very likely trace that connection all the way back to its source, but there wasn’t.

Who the hell is he talking to? Please, let it be Rottlezinder. Come on, Errol, give yourself away.

The person on the other end of the conversation said something in reply. The crystal ball’s volume was turned down so low there was no hope of hearing it.

“Yes. And I’m sorry, Haf,” Errol replied. He actually sounded humble. Was he sickening for something? “I want to make it up to you, old friend. Please, can we meet? Tonight? We need to sort this out.”

Though he’d been hoping for it… expecting it… Gerald felt his muscles slacken with shock. Confirmation at last. Errol was in cahoots with Haf Rottlezinder. Even as a small, vindictive part of himself that he hated to admit even existed let out a glorious, gloating yell-he thought: damn.

Because Errol was one of Ottosland’s leading thaumaturgical lights. But to serve his own base ambitions he’d turned against his own people. Their blood was on his elegant hands. There was going to be such a scandal… and the people who tended to look sideways at wizards, who supported the nutty anti-thaumaturgical brigade, who eschewed lives that took advantage of thaumic advances… their blind prejudices would be reinforced and they’d end up with more converts to their short-sighted cause.

Dammit, Errol. How could you?

He realised Errol was talking again. “-know where that is, yes. It’s too early to risk coming now, so wait for me. If you don’t-please, Haf. Just make sure you’re there.”

There? Where was there? Damn, if only he’d been able to hear Rottlezinder’s half of the conversation, or had time to trace the etheretic connection between the crystal balls back to Errol’s partner in crime. Now he’d have to remain hidden here until Errol left the lab then follow him… a venture fraught with the very real chance of discovery and failure.

But never mind. At least we know Rottlezinder’s here in Ottosland. At least he’s within our reach, at last.

So, should he contact Sir Alec? Call for some more agents? No. That would only further complicate an already complicated situation. Besides, he’d had it drummed into him repeatedly during the last six months: nine times out of ten, janitors worked solo. They relied on themselves and nobody else. A janitor was a lone resourceful wolf.

Gerald slunk back to the shadows, prepared to wait for as long it took.

Lord. I wish Reg was here.

“You know, Bibbie,” said Monk, tucking his hands into his armpits. “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this.”

“Really?” said Bibbie brightly, wrapping a striped scarf around her neck. “I’m not.”

He stamped his feet. “Bibs, you’ve only had your driving certificate for five minutes.”

“Excuse me? It’s been almost three months, thank you.”

“Where you’re concerned that’s pretty much the same thing,” he retorted. “And it’s dark, Bibs. Worse, you don’t even know where you’re going! For all you know you could end up in a not-very-salubrious part of town. Truly, I think you need to reconsider.”

Bibbie pulled on a battered old pair of gauntlet-style driving gloves. “I don’t.”

“Then at least you should let me come with you.”

“ No.”

“I think it’s quite interesting,” said Melissande, “that you’re not showing the least bit of concern for my welfare.”

“Yes, well,” said Monk, harassed, “you’re not my sister.”

“And a good thing too,” said Reg. “Or things might be a bit awkward.”

They were standing in the rear court of Monk’s Chatterly Crescent establishment. Once upon a time, before the invention of the thaumic engine, the rear court had been the stable yard. But the stables had been converted to woodwormed storage sheds and a single falling-down garage, which housed the battered jalopy that Great-uncle Throgmorton had left behind when he died. All the house’s back lights were on, casting everything into varying shades of black and white. Reg sat on the jalopy’s bug-eyed left headlight, feathers plumped against the night’s chill.

Monk looked at Melissande, his gaze owlish with distraction. “Please, Mel, don’t take me the wrong way. It’s just that if anything happens to you my parents aren’t going to come after me with a shotgun.”

She smiled her very thinnest smile. “True. But my brother might well come after you with an army borrowed from his friendly next-door neighbour Sultan Zazoor. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the one with the very nice war camel and quite a lot of swords.”

“I remember,” Monk said darkly. “But Zazoor’s half a world away. My parents are only two suburbs over.”

He had a point. “Monk, we’ll be fine.”

“The famous last words of disaster victims through the ages,” he said and tugged at his untidy hair. “Honestly, girls, I really think this is a bad idea.”

“So you said, Monk,” Bibbie replied. “But we didn’t ask you what you thought, we asked you to lend us the jalopy and you said yes. And then you asked what for, but you know the rules. Once you say yes, you can’t take it back.”

“ Nursery rules?” he said, incredulous. “Made up when we were five years old? Honestly, Bibs. You need to take this seriously. You’re talented but you’re not witching’s answer to Gerald Dunwoody.”

She shrugged. “I could be, one day. Or I could be a famous explorer and paddle a canoe single-handed down the great and mysterious Lanruvian River. Or I could try to solve the riddle of the singing forests of Fandawandi. I am Emmerabiblia Markham and I can do anything I want. Which tonight means I’m taking your rackety old jalopy and investigating a peculiar occurrence with my colleagues from Witches Inc. Because you said yes and now you can’t take it back.”

Melissande exchanged an eye-rolling look with Reg then patted Monk on the arm. “Truly, you mustn’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Will you?” he said, his expression so woebegone. “Really? Because I wasn’t joking about the shotgun, you know. Ma and Pa dote on her, Saint Snodgrass knows why. I know I don’t when she’s in this mood.”

“Oh, pooh,” said Bibbie. “And likewise fiddlesticks and furthermore pishwash.” She marched to the jalopy and flung open the driver’s side door. “Are we going or are we standing around here watching Monk be a wet hen?”

“Oy,” said Reg crossly. “How many times do I have to-”

“And you can stop being a wet hen too,” said Bibbie. “Are you going to come with us or fly? Make up your mind.”

Reg sniffed. “I’ll go with you. But you’d best leave a window down in case I need to make a fast getaway.”

And she flapped herself into the jalopy’s back seat as Bibbie slid behind the wheel and patted it, like a pet.

Now Monk was chewing the side of his thumb. “Oh blimey,” he muttered. “This is what comes of giving girls an education. And the vote. And familial emancipation.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Melissande, and instead of kissing his cheek punched him hard on the shoulder. “Would you like to withdraw those gormless, brainless, mannerless remarks?”

“No,” he said sulkily. “And what’s more I’m starting to regret ever introducing you to Bibbie.”

“What? You’re saying she’s my fault?”

“I’m saying that ever since you three started up Witches Inc. she’s-she’s-Mel, she could get hurt.”

Outrage surrendered to his genuine concern. Melissande, offended and touched at the same time, patted the shoulder she’d just punched. “Monk, honestly, stop fussing. We’re not trying to be Gerald. We’re just keeping an eye on a silly old biddy who agreed to go traipsing about the streets of Ott late at night for her very dear friend Permelia Wycliffe, when Permelia Wycliffe appears to be perfectly capable of doing her own traipsing… yet doesn’t want to.”

“Yes, but why?” wailed Monk. “I thought you were working for Permelia Wycliffe, not investigating her!”

It was another excellent point.

“Yes, we are.”

“You are what? Doing both?”

She sighed. “I know it looks like that at the moment. But Monk, something’s not right. There’s too much of the peculiar going on at Wycliffe’s. Raised voices. Mysterious meetings. Even more mysterious crystal ball conversations. And now Permelia’s got that dotty Eudora Telford running secret errands for her. It’s just very odd, Monk, and I don’t like odd. I like things neat and tidy and properly explained-and if possible filed alphabetically and correctly taxed. Besides. Eudora Telford’s such a scatty old thing she really does need a few guardian angels making sure she’s safe.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” said Monk, still unhappy. “But why do you three have to take on the job?”

“Because nobody else was available at such short notice.”

“You know,” he said, sounding desperate, “I could stop you. I could whammy the engine. Swallow the ignition key.”

Bibbie tugged down the driver’s window. “You could certainly try. Tell me, Monk, would you prefer one black eye or a matched pair?”

“ Bibbie — ”

She shrugged. “It’s only polite to offer you a choice.”

“Then please, please, at least let me come with you!”

Melissande sighed, and this time did reach up to kiss Monk’s cheek. “No. Now stop worrying, Monk. I’m a princess, remember, and an ex-prime minister. I’m perfectly capable of driving around the city for an evening. Reg is in no danger at all, and as for Bibbie… you mustn’t let her youth and extravagant beauty fool you. Your sister is as tough as nails. A match for anyone and anything.”

His shoulders slumped. “I’m really not talking you out of this, am I?”

“No, Monk, you’re not,” said Bibbie. “You’re just making us cross.”

“Reg and I will take good care of her,” Melissande promised. “Our royal word of honour.”

Monk kissed her cheek, a little closer to her lips than was entirely proper. “I’ll hold you to that.”

She felt herself blush. “Yes. Well,” she said, flustered. How embarrassing. “We should get going or we’ll be late. Don’t wait up. We’ll bring the jalopy back to you first thing in the morning.”

Leaving him adrift in the middle of the old stable yard, she squashed herself into the elderly car beside Bibbie and banged shut the passenger door.

“Right,” she said, as Bibbie closed her window. “You two do realise that we’re mad as hatters, attempting this?”

“Certainly,” said Bibbie.

“Stark staring bonkers,” said Reg.

“If Permelia Wycliffe finds out we were spying on her friend instead of trying to find her biscuit thief, she’ll sack us and make it her life’s work to see us ruined.”

“Of course she will,” said Bibbie.

“And she’d do a good job of it, too,” said Reg.

“So perhaps we should follow Monk’s suggestion, and stay home toasting crumpets?”

“I don’t think so,” said Bibbie, and started the engine.

“Wash your mouth out,” said Reg. “That’s a shameful suggestion.”

She sat back, feeling enormously pleased. “My sentiments exactly, gels. All right, then. Let’s get this done. Witches Inc. ho!”

An hour later they were still sitting in the jalopy, which they’d parked in the street outside Eudora Telford’s fussily neat little bungalow. It was located on the outskirts of North Ott, which wasn’t the richest part of the city, really it was rather shabby-genteel, but at least it wasn’t insalubrious. The low, steady thaumic lighting threw odd shadows over the world.

Melissande wriggled in her saggy-springed passenger seat, trying to find a comfortable way of squishing too much of herself into not enough space. “I don’t know, Reg. I do wish you’d managed to overhear a bit more of Permelia’s conversation with Eudora. I’d rather like to know if she’s a victim or a villain.”

“No, would you really?” said Reg. “I wouldn’t have cottoned onto that if you hadn’t already mentioned it forty-seven times.”

“Oh, come on, girls,” said Bibbie, sighing. “Enough squabbling. Let’s look on the bright side for once. At least we know for certain now that I can charm pertinent information out of government officials if I have to. That’s two young men at the Births, Deaths and Marriages Bureau who couldn’t have been more helpful.”

“Well, yes,” said Melissande. “Only I’m starting to have second thoughts about that.”

Bibbie stared at her. “About what?”

“You using your feminine wiles on unsuspecting file clerks.”

“I didn’t do anything unseemly!” Bibbie protested. “I just batted my eyelashes a bit and acted helpless, that’s all.”

“ All?” she echoed, letting her scepticism show.

“Well…” Bibbie’s lips twitched in a small smile. “Maybe I shed a few heartbreaking tears as well, and told an affecting tale of my ailing auntie whose address I’d misplaced. But honestly, Mel, how is it my fault if these clerks are so stupid they fall for that kind of nonsense?”

“Mmm,” said Melissande, and decided to let the subject drop. Mainly because she had a nasty sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t feel so critical if she possessed the kind of wiles that would work on unsuspecting file clerks. “It’s just a shame you couldn’t learn anything useful about the office staff. Especially since nobody’s triggered those hexes. I wonder if our thief realises we’re onto her?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” said Bibbie. “But let’s worry about that later.” She rubbed her gauntleted hands together. “Reg, are you sure Permelia told Eudora not to run this errand until after eight o’clock?”

Reg sighed. “Yes.”

“And you’re absolutely certain that’s the only piece of useful information you discovered? I mean, you were hanging upside down on the other side of a window with a curtain in front of it. And you’re not as young as you used to be. Maybe your memory’s playing tricks or-”

“And maybe you’d like to put a sock in it!” Reg retorted. “I heard what I heard and I know what I heard and I’ve told you everything I heard. It’s not my fault if three-quarters of the conversation was done with by the time I got there!”

“No, no, of course it’s not,” Melissande soothed, and shot Bibbie an annoyed look. “You did wonderfully well to hear what you did and make sense of it. But I do have to agree with Bibbie. I’d much rather be waiting for Eudora Telford at her destination than here outside her home. I mean, we’re not exactly what you’d call experienced at following people, are we?”

Reg sniffed. “Speak for yourself, ducky. I’m very good at it.”

“Yes, well, you’ve got what they call a natural advantage, haven’t you? But we’re stuck in this jalopy and-ow! What?”

Bibbie let go of her arm and pointed down the street. “Look. There’s a cab coming.”

“And here comes that wet hen Eudora Telford,” said Reg, staring at the bungalow. “We’re in business, girls.”

Melissande and Bibbie stared at her.

“What? I’m allowed to say wet hen,” said Reg. “I’m a bird.”

“Ha,” Bibbie muttered. “Only when it suits you.”

“Oh hush up, the pair of you,” said Melissande. “And get down, quick. We don’t want her to see us.”

As one they hunched down in their seats to watch Eudora Telford lock her front door behind her and hurry out to the waiting cab. She was wearing a dark coat over a plain dark dress and carrying a small reticule.

“Right,” said Reg, bobbing up as the cab pulled away with Eudora Telford inside it. “Follow that wet hen!”

There was a slight delay as an excited Bibbie momentarily forgot everything she’d ever been taught about driving a car. But after a fraught few moments filled with unladylike exclamations, the jalopy fired up and Bibbie steered it in Eudora Telford’s wake.

“Not too close!” said Reg. “You don’t want to put the wind up that cab driver. He might come over all chivalrous and try to do us a mischief. And not too far back either. There’s not a lot of traffic but we don’t want to lose them.”

Bibbie flung an exasperated look over her shoulder. “Would you like to drive, Reg?”

“Love to,” Reg said promptly. “I’d be very good at it, you mark my words. If you could’ve seen me with my coach-and-four…”

Melissande saw the words Four what? flit across Bibbie’s face, ready to be disastrously uttered. “Don’t say it, Bibbie!” she snapped. “Just pay attention to what you’re doing.”

They followed Eudora Telford out of the shabby-gentility of North Ott, around the edge of West Ott then over the Ott Bridge and onto the main Ott road. That led them eventually into the outskirts of South Ott, where a great many people of limited means were anonymously crowded into a definitely insalubrious stretch of township squashed between a looping bend in the Ott River and the huddled conglomeration of thaumic distilleries on the edge of the noisome Ott marshes.

“Hmm,” said Melissande, starting to feel ever so slightly uncomfortable. “This isn’t what you’d call a desirable locale, is it? What was Permelia thinking, sending Eudora all the way out here?”

“Nothing good, I’ll bet you,” said Reg. “And as for Eudora Telford, she’s the kind of silly, clinging woman who’d do anything for a friend. The trouble with her sort is they think they’re being needed but they’re only being used.”

In this part of town the cobbled streets were narrow and poorly lit. From the looks of things the people of this sad, grimy district still relied on gas lighting, and many of the lamps had gone out. The night was moonless dark and empty of people. Eerily quiet.

“Hang back a bit more, Bibbie,” said Melissande. “We really do stick out like a sore thumb.”

Bibbie slowed until the jalopy threatened to stop altogether. Up ahead, Eudora Telford’s cab turned into a side street.

“Quick! Quick!” said Melissande. “Don’t lose her!”

Bibbie ground her teeth. “Melissande Cadwallader, make up your mind!”

They crawled a bit faster towards the side street, then had to slam on the brakes as the cab appeared again. It pulled out of the side street and drove away.

“What? What? Did they make a wrong turn?” said Bibbie. “Was Eudora Telford still in the back? I couldn’t see! What-”

“Someone open a window,” said Reg. “I’ll go and look.”

Melissande pulled her passenger window down and Reg took off like a rocket.

“Well,” said Bibbie, after a moment. “This is exciting.”

“I suppose,” said Melissande, sticking her head as far out of the jalopy as she could manage without decapitating herself. “Drat these broken street-lamps, I can’t see Reg at all! And if Eudora Telford’s not in that cab then she’s getting away in another direction altogether. If we lose sight of her then this was all for nothing.” She pulled her head back inside and gave Bibbie her sternest, most prime ministerly look. “Right. New plan. You stay here and wait for Reg. Whatever you do, don’t get out of this jalopy. The last thing we need is for it to get nicked.”

Bibbie gave her a look. “It won’t get nicked, Mel, not with the kind of don’t-steal-me hexes I — ”

“Then don’t get out because I said don’t get out!” she snapped. “If anything happens to you it’ll be me your parents come after with a shotgun-and Monk’ll be right behind them carrying the spare ammunition! Please, Bibbie. Stay put.”

Without giving Monk’s appalling sister a chance to draw breath for her next objection, she shoved out of the jalopy, eked the door closed and hurried towards the side street where she hoped she’d be able to see Eudora Telford.

Because if we’ve lost her… and something awful happens to the silly old biddy…

She made her way as quickly and quietly as she could over the uneven cobblestones. What a piece of luck she hadn’t bothered to change out of her hideous Wycliffe uniform-she was practically a shadow herself, slipping through the darkness like a real secret agent.

Reaching the corner of the side street she took a quick look behind her. Miracle of miracles, Bibbie was still inside the jalopy. She lifted her hand in a half wave, half you bloody well stay there gesture in the hope that Bibbie could see her clearly, then ducked clandestinely into the side street.

Tall, decrepit tenement houses squashed shoulder to shoulder, marching down both sides of the street as far as she could see. Smoke drifted above them, thick and stinking. A few doorways here and there were illuminated by gas lamps, shedding just enough light to be useful. More light from a street brazier, cheerfully burning. But where was Eudora Telford? The street was silent-deserted. She was nowhere in sight.

Melissande hugged herself, as close to dithering as she’d ever been in her life. What to do? What to do? How had Eudora managed to get so far ahead? Or had she been in that cab after all?

Oh, where was Reg? Surely the wretched bird had caught up with it by now? So should she push on to see if Eudora was in fact ahead of her or should she go back to Bibbie, who was probably fine all alone in the jalopy? She was a witch with incants to spare, after all, she was perfectly safe, of course she was, but “ Melissande?” said an astonished whispering voice behind her. “Melissande, what the hell are you doing here?”

Swallowing an undignified yelp, she swung around. “ Gerald?”

Bundled in a long dark coat, an impressive-looking First Grade staff in one hand, Gerald stared at her in dismay. “I don’t believe this. How can you possibly be here?”

“I could say the same thing of you,” she retorted. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re following a clue?”

“Not a clue. A person,” said Gerald.

“What a coincidence,” she replied. “So are we.”

His jaw dropped. “We? We? What do you mean we?” He looked around wildly. “Is Reg here?”

“Not at the moment, but she’s around. And Bibbie’s back that way-” She jerked a thumb. “Minding Monk’s jalopy.”

Gerald grabbed her arm. “Mind it somewhere else, Melissande. Go back. Now. All three of you. Get out of here, quickly!”

Honestly. Some people never learned, did they? “Save your breath, Gerald,” she said, pulling her arm free. “Witches Inc. is on a case and-”

“Hey ho,” said Reg, joining them in a rustle of feathers. “What are you doing here, Gerald? Don’t tell me Eudora Telford’s an international master criminal!”

“Who? Eudora who?” said Gerald, distracted. “What are you talking about? Who the hell is Eudora Telford?”

Melissande winced, just a little bit, as Reg settled onto her shoulder, claws pricking through her black blouse. “If you have to ask, Gerald,” the bird said, “then probably she isn’t an international master criminal. At least not the one you’re looking for.”

“Well, Reg?” said Melissande. “Was Eudora in the cab?”

Reg shook her head. “No.”

Rats. “That means she must’ve been dropped off somewhere along this street. Right then, we’d better push on. See where this thoroughfare leads, and if we can still find her.”

“What?” said Gerald. “No! You can’t do that. You have to get out of here, you two, and take Bibbie with you. Any second now the person I’m following is going to come out of the laneway over there and-”

“How do you know?” said Reg.

He looked at her. “I know.”

“Yes, but how do you know?” Reg persisted.

“I know because I’ve had a few tricks shoved down my kni-up my sleeve over the last six months,” he said, exasperated. “Which I don’t have time to explain right now. Please, will you just trust me? You have to-oh, damn.”

Further down the street, a tall figure wearing a long black coat emerged from a deeply shadowed laneway and turned right.

“Oy,” said Reg, flapping upwards to get a better line of sight. “ That’s Errol Haythwaite.”

Melissande peered around Gerald. “Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“These eyes don’t lie,” said Reg, still hovering. “So. He is up to something nefarious. And he’s about to get done for it.” Sniffing, she dropped back to her human perch. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer pillock.”

Gerald rounded on them. “He’s only going to get done for it if you two skedaddle.”

She sighed, irritated. “Gerald, are you sure turning into a rogue wizard hasn’t done something to your hearing as well as your eye? We are on a case. We are not skedaddling anywhere. ”

“Melissande-” He sounded like he wanted to shout. “Why are you following this Eudora Telford?”

“Because she’s a wet hen running some kind of errand for Permelia Wycliffe,” said Reg. “Why are you following Errol Haythwaite?”

“Good question,” said Melissande. “If he’s as upper crusty as you and Monk say, what’s he doing in crustless, mouldy South Ott?”

Gerald muttered something impolite under his breath. “He’s meeting with Haf Rottlezinder-which is why I don’t want you two anywhere in the vicinity.”

“Haf Rottlezinder?” Melissande looked at Reg. “You don’t suppose that’s who Eudora — no. That makes no sense. Why would Permelia need to-unless she’s the one-and we’ve accidentally crossed paths with-Reg, are you sure you didn’t hear anything else Permelia told Eudora?”

“ Yes,” said Reg, and chattered her beak crossly.

“Melissande, what are you talking about?” said Gerald.

She turned to him. “Earlier this morning I overhead bits and pieces of an argument between Permelia and Ambrose. They were fighting over something to do with the company. And not long after that Eudora turned up, and Reg overheard Permelia begging her for a favour. But surely she wouldn’t send Eudora to see-”

“She might,” said Reg, slowly. “If she wanted to keep a prudent distance between herself and a questionable character like Haf Rottlezinder.”

“But that would mean Permelia is behind the portal sabotage.”

“Who says she isn’t?” said Reg. “Or maybe she and Ambrose are in on it together.”

“But-but Gerald said Permelia and Ambrose were in the clear.”

Gerald pulled a face. “I might’ve been wrong about that. Obviously there’s more going on here than Sir Alec’s team managed to uncover.”

Reg chortled. “ We uncovered it all right, sunshine.”

“Yes, well, there’ll be plenty of time to gloat later,” he muttered. “And we both know you will.”

“But- Permelia?” said Melissande. “She’s so-so law-abiding. Such a stickler for the rules. Why hire us to find a biscuit thief if she’s merrily romping around Ottosland blowing up portals? It doesn’t make any sense. And where does Errol Haythwaite fit in? He and Permelia don’t have anything to do with each other.”

“Apart from the fact she’s his employer, once removed?” said Reg.

“ That’s what I’m trying to find out!” said Gerald. “But you two are making it very difficult!”

She opened her mouth to say something blighting, but was interrupted by a door opening further down the street. She and Gerald stepped back, flattening themselves against the wall behind them, as a well-wrapped figure emerged from the house.

It was Eudora Telford. “Thank you so much,” she said to someone standing in the open doorway. “Yes, I do feel much better now. And I understand perfectly where it is I need to go. I do appreciate you giving me such clear directions.”

A murmuring, as the person she was speaking to said something indistinct.

“Oh, no, no, I mustn’t put you to any more trouble,” said Eudora Telford. “I shall be quite all right. Thank you again.”

The door closed and Eudora Telford stepped back. In the dim gas lamp lighting she looked quite limp with fear.

“Oh, Permelia,” they heard her say. “Oh, this is dreadful. If you weren’t such a dear friend-if you didn’t need me…”

She turned and started walking away, following in Errol Haythwaite’s footsteps.

“Oh lord,” groaned Gerald. “Go after her, Melissande. Stop her. It might be nothing more than a bizarre coincidence that she’s here… but even if that’s so, this situation-this area-they’re far too dangerous for a woman like her. Please. Get her to safety.”

“And what are you going to do, sunshine?” said Reg.

“My job,” said Gerald. “Now go on. Get out of here. Hurry.”

“All right, ducky,” said Reg, with a rattle of tail feathers. “You heard the boy. Let’s go.”

Melissande looked at Gerald. In the flickering brazier-light his face was older and grimmer than she’d ever seen it. Very nearly the face of a stranger. “Um-did you know you’ve-ah-turned silver again?”

He touched his blind eye. “Oh.” On a deep breath he covered it with the palm of his hand and muttered something. The air shivered. And when he lowered his hand she saw that his silver eye had turned brown. How eerie. “Thanks.”

She nodded. “All right then.” She wanted to say, You be careful, Gerald. She wanted to say, Don’t get killed. But nothing she said could make any difference. He had a job to do, and so did she. “So, I suppose we’ll hear from you later?”

“Hopefully,” said Gerald, staring after Eudora Telford. “ Melissande — ”

“Yes, yes, we’re going!”

Reg leapt off her shoulder, flapping ahead. Melissande hitched up her horrible long black skirt and ran after her.

Oooh, Saint Snodgrass, don’t you let me go arse over teakettle on these stupid cobbles!

There was no sign of Errol Haythwaite when she and Reg caught up with Eudora, some ten doors down from where they’d last seen her. The silly woman shrieked and turned when she heard her name called.

“Gracious! Your Highness!” she squeaked, eyes popped wide with shock. “What are you doing here?”