“Am I really?”
“Yes.”
“About what, exactly?”
“Tonight, of course.”
Propping herself up on her elbows, Bibbie squinted. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Oh, Bibs, don’t you see?” Melissande said, exasperated. “While I’m upstairs, dodging Hartwig and putting faces to names on the wedding guest list, you’ll be downstairs, won’t you? With Gerald. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to show him first-hand that you’re not a gel in need of his manly protection. In short, this evening gives you the best chance you’ve ever had to dazzle Gerald on his own turf.”
“Oh, yes?” said Bibbie, still squinting. “And how am I s’posed to investigate an international-crime-in-the- making surrounded by bootboys and scullery maids?”
Melissande heaved another sigh. “Honestly, Bibs, don’t be so obtuse. The Servants’ Ball will be crawling with wedding guest minions, and minions always know who’s doing what with whom and how often. But Gerald can’t talk to so many people by himself, can he?”
“True,” said Bibbie. Puffing, she wriggled herself upright and cross-legged on the billowy bed. “Go on.”
Encouraged, Melissande waved her hands enthusiastically. “Well, then, Abel Bestwick’s been here for years. He might be a janitor, but he’d hardly be human if he hasn’t made at least one friend. You can make it your mission to find out who that is and what he or she knows. Gerald’s success here could depend upon it. Imagine how impressed he’ll be if you end up saving the day!”
Bibbie nibbled a fingernail, pondering the possibilities. “Yes,” she said at last. “Except this mysterious friend- assuming he or she exists-might not know anything. I don’t think it’s likely Abel Bestwick would’ve blabbed janitor business, even to a friend. Can you see Sir Alec leaving an agent here alone for so long if he didn’t know how to hold his tongue?”
No. Not at all. Stymied, Melissande slumped-then snapped up straight as fresh inspiration struck. “But he or she might not know that they know something important! And even if they don’t, or even if there isn’t a friend, someone has to have been the last person to see Bestwick in the palace before he bolted home to warn Sir Alec about the wedding. And that’s your other job, Bibbie. Finding out who that is and getting him or her to confide in you.”
“Confide in me?” said Bibbie, nonplussed. “Why the devil would some complete stranger want to pour out their secrets into my ear? I mean, yes, I s’pose I could encourage them a bit, I do know a rather effective little tittle-tattle hex, only Sir Alec did say-”
“And Sir Alec was right!” Melissande raised a warning finger. “Don’t you dare try hexing people. You’ll get us sent home in disgrace. Or worse, you could ruin things for Gerald.”
“Which wouldn’t endear me to him at all,” Bibbie agreed. “Fine. No hexing. Only how am I meant to-”
She grinned. “Easily. The only thing royal servants enjoy more than a good gossip is having a good whinge about all the dreadful things we do to make their lives impossible.”
“Ah,” said Bibbie, impish again. “So all I have to do is start whinging about you and I’ll have more confiding friends than I know what to do with?”
“Something like that,” she said, beginning to wonder if this was a good idea after all. “But don’t get carried away. Just start the ball rolling with some good, vigorous complaints and then throw in a few leading questions. Gently steer the conversation round to Abel Bestwick, and see what happens.”
“Yes,” said Bibbie, of a sudden looking uncertain. “But Mel, this is only going to work to my advantage if Gerald’s there to see my brilliance in action. What if he insists on being upstairs with you? What if he invokes the wrath of Sir Alec if he’s banished to the Servant’s Ball with me and the other miniony riff-raff?”
“He won’t,” she said. “He can’t. Algernon Rowbotham’s no more invited to the State Dinner than Gladys Slack is. Gerald might want to go, but in the end he has to do what I say.”
Bibbie’s lingering frown scrunched into a scowl. “In that case, you can tell him to stop trying to protect me for my own good!”
Oh, lord. Best to squash such a dangerous thought here and now. “I’m sorry, Bibbie, I can’t,” she said firmly. “Whatever’s going to happen between you and Gerald will happen without me.” She held up a hand, forestalling Bibbie’s protest. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be happy. I do. But no good ever comes from friends meddling with friends in affairs of the heart.”
“Really?” said Bibbie, plaintive again. “Are you sure?”
She folded her arms. “Positive.”
“Yes… well…” said Bibbie. “I s’pose so.”
Praise Saint Snodgrass. Another crisis averted. “Good. Now, come along, Miss Slack. The day is fast running away from us. Time for you to shake out my gown then run me a bath. Be sure you put lots of rose oil into it. If memory serves, Hartwig’s allergic to roses. That might be my only hope.”
“Blimey,” said Bibbie, groaning, and flailed her way off the vast bed.
“That’s Blimey, Your Highness, if you don’t mind,” said Melissande, very prim, and laughed as Bibbie made another rude noise.
Though she loved them dearly, the emerald earrings weren’t going to suit. So while Bibbie excavated the wardrobe, Melissande fished around a bit more in her jewellery box. In the end she chose her great-grandmother’s chandelier rubies. They were a nightmare to wear, all heavy gold and large-cut blood red stones, but they were the best fit with the gown she’d brought for the State Dinner. And what was a little pain, in the service of one’s adopted country?
She put the earrings aside, ready for polishing, and turned to see Bibbie brandishing a dress at her. “It’s this one, Mel, isn’t it?”
This one was the blue-and-gold dinner gown that a lifetime ago she’d worn to Lional’s coronation banquet. It was the only flattering gown she’d dared let herself possess, then, and she hadn’t worn it since. Nearly threw it away, after-after everything changed-only it had cost a small fortune and since New Ottosland taxes paid for it, she couldn’t bring herself to commit such waste.
“Yes, that’s right, only please don’t wave it about like a damp tea towel!”
“Sorry,” said Bibbie, rolling her eyes. She shook out the folds of heavy silk, then laid the elaborately bead- and-crystal sewn dress over a plushly padded chair. “It’s rather gorgeous, this. What a shame Monk’s not here to see you in it.”
Yes, wasn’t it? The dress really was very becoming… but instead of a chance to bask in Monk’s admiration, she was facing an evening of being boggled at by Hartwig. Bibbie was right. This janitoring business was turning out to be no fun at all.
“There,” Bibbie said, and gave the expensive dress one last smoothing pat. “And now I’ll go and stink up the place with oil of roses.”
But instead of retreating to the guest suite’s private bathroom, she wandered to the nearest window and peered down into the palace gardens far below.
“I wonder where Gerald’s got to? He’s been gone for ages. Don’t you think he should be back by now?”
Yes, she did. “Perhaps he got lost,” she said, trying to ignore a treacherous sizzle of nerves. “Grande Splotze is a bit of a sprawl, you know.”
“Lost? Gerald?” Bibbie drummed her fingers on the windowsill. “You don’t think he could’ve run into trouble, do you?”
Precisely because she did think it, because when it came to trouble Gerald was more attractive than honey to flies, she made a scornful tutting sound.
“No, of course I don’t, Bibbie. After all, he’s a rogue wizard. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s fine.”
Dizzy with nausea, Gerald bent double over the nearest bit of refuse-clogged gutter and heaved up another burning mouthful of bile. It seemed that not even his newly enhanced potentia could protect him from the persistently lingering savagery of blood magic.
Head pounding, guts aching, he pressed his fists to his knees and slowly straightened. Where the devil was he? A long way from Abel Bestwick’s wrecked half-house, that much he knew for sure. Otherwise…
Am I lost? Hell, don’t let me be lost. I’ll never hear the end of it if I am.
Splashed on the cracked cobblestones at his feet, more of Abel Bestwick’s blood. The splotchy crimson trail had enticed him out of his fellow janitor’s living room and into the alley behind the run-down lodging. Bludgeoned by
