the New Ottosland Times, I interview the nine men who threw themselves into the Canal after Bibbie. There was so much hysteria and confusion at the time that there’s at least a score of wildly differing bystander accounts. We need to get the facts straight. And if those nine men were close enough to try and rescue Gladys, chances are that at least one of them was close enough to see what really happened just before she went over the hand rail.”
“Exactly,” Bibbie agreed. “But there’s something else to consider. What if one of those nine men is the man with the tainted thaumaturgics?”
“And he dived overboard after you to do what?” said Gerald. “Make sure you couldn’t tell anyone what you’d found out? And failed purely by chance? Wonderful.” He sat in the bedchamber’s other chair. “I knew bringing you two along was a mistake.”
Melissande felt a stab of fright. “Wait. Are you saying this means our villain knows he’s in danger of discovery? Does it mean your life is at risk now, Bibbie?”
Bibbie frowned. “Gladys. And I suppose it could be, only…”
“Only what?” she said, goaded. “What are you talking about? And how can you be so calm about this?”
“Why are you cross with me?” Bibbie demanded. “You’re the one who always says panic doesn’t solve anything!”
“Both of you settle down,” Gerald snapped. “And then you can tell us, Gladys, what you meant by only.”
“Well, at the risk of sounding self-serving,” said Bibbie, “if our villain does think I’ve unmasked him, that means I must’ve done something rather stupid to betray myself. And I don’t think I did. I may want to slap you silly now and then Algernon, but I’d never do anything to harm you or this mission.”
“Right then,” Melissande said, very briskly, because there was far too much emotion sloshing about her stateroom’s bedchamber. “So we’re all agreed it’s unlikely Miss Slack is in danger or that the mission’s been compromised.”
“Yes,” said Gerald, slowly. He was still looking at Bibbie, who was looking at him. “But we should be especially vigilant anyway. Just in case.”
Yes. Because the mission had to come first, so there could be no prudent running away. Melissande stared at the floor.
Only a madman would choose this life, surely.
She looked up. “Of course, and in the meantime I interview these nine men, you stand by taking notes, and with luck, if our villain is among them, you’ll know. All right?”
Gerald nodded. “That sounds reasonable.”
Well, praise the pigs for small mercies. “Then, Mister Rowbotham, I suggest we collect your writing case and start our interviews,” she said, still brisk. “I’m sure the New Ottosland Times’ subscribers will be thrilled to read all about the daring Canal rescue of Her Royal Highness Prince Melissande’s beautiful lady’s maid Gladys.” She pointed a finger at Bibbie. “Only this time, Miss Slack, you’re bloody well staying put. Show your face outside of this cabin before we get back and I swear by Saint Snodgrass, I’ll pitch you back into the Canal myself!”
They weren’t far from Little Grande Splotze by the time they’d finished interviewing all of Bibbie’s would-be rescuers.
“We might as well have saved our breaths,” said Melissande, as Bibbie helped her dress for dinner. “Because after nine hideously boastful accounts of today’s adventure, here’s what we can say happened for certain. While you were chatting with various minions on the promenade deck, you suddenly took ill and rushed back down to your cabin. Tragically, however, before you could reach it, you were overcome by your mystery ailment and knocked on someone’s door asking for help. Nine someones came dashing to your assistance, including Prince Ludwig but excluding-and I’m sure this will shock you-the Lanruvians, who it seems are allergic to heroics as well as crabs. But before our nine dashing heroes could clutch you to their stalwart, manly chests you’d had some kind of fit and tumbled into the Canal. Naturally, being men, they tumbled in after you, and were so busy fighting each other off for the chance of being the one to save you from a watery grave that they almost succeeded in drowning each other. So it was left up to me and Ratafia to haul you out of the drink. Which we did. The end.”
“Oh,” said Bibbie. “Well. That’s not much help. Whose door was I banging on? Because while I don’t remember, I’ll bet it’s important. I mean, I do know I wasn’t really sick. I was pretending. I’ll bet the man with the rotten thaumaturgics was behind that door and I was cunningly attempting to get a good look at him!”
Melissande fastened the clasp of her gold-and-sapphire bracelet. “That’s what Algernon thinks, too.” Except he didn’t say cunningly, he said stupidly. But you don’t need to know that. “Unfortunately, according to our sterling parade of witnesses, we have four doors to choose from, belonging to Peeder Glanzig, Hever Mistle, Grune Volker and Stani Hoffman.”
Bibbie stopped checking a silk stocking for pulled threads and stared. “Hever Mistle jumped into the Canal?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “Clearly he’s more athletic than he looks. Or more besotted.”
Putting down the first silk stocking, Bibbie took up the second and made a show of carefully unrolling it. “I can’t help noticing Algernon wasn’t one of the nine.”
Oh, Bibbie. “He wanted to dive in, but I wouldn’t let him. He needs to stay as inconspicuous as possible. You know that. Gladys…”
“Here you go,” said Bibbie, and handed over both stockings and their garters. “Do you want your gown next; or your shoes?”
“Gown,” she said, and began putting on her stockings. “Look. About Algernon. You do trust him, don’t you? I mean, you’re not afraid of him. Are you?”
Instead of answering, Bibbie made a fuss about slipping the dark green velvet evening gown from its hanger.
“Bibbie.”
“If Algernon hears you calling me that, Your Highness, he’ll go spare.”
“Bugger Algernon,” Melissande said, and caught hold of Bibbie’s hand. “Are you afraid of him?”
“No,” said Bibbie. “But I am worried for him, Melissande. He’s different.”
“Well, yes,” she said, puzzled, “and I agree, it is worrying. But we knew that before we came.”
Bibbie made a little sound of impatience. “No, I mean he’s more different. Don’t ask me to explain, because I can’t. I just know…” Sighing, she pulled free. “Oh, I don’t know what I know. I just know what I feel.”
“Worried,” said Melissande. Bugger. I do wish Reg was here. “Anyway, we asked those four if they recalled you banging on their cabin door for help but they all said no, or they’d not been in their cabin at the time.”
“One or more of them could be lying.”
“Well, yes, of course, but because everyone’s so excitable just now Algernon didn’t want to risk using thaumaturgics during the interviews,” she said. “He’s going to do what he can to get at the truth tonight, under cover of the festivities. I think he’s starting to fret, actually, because we leave the barge behind after breakfast tomorrow and he’ll never have a captive audience like this again.”
Through the closed cabin porthole drifted the sound of the barge’s bell, sweetly booming.
“He’s right,” said Bibbie, tightly. “The clock is running down. We’ll have to cross our fingers and toes that my memory comes back.”
Melissande bit her lip. “Gladys, are you absolutely sure you don’t dare let Algernon-”
“Yes,” said Bibbie. “Now come along, Your Highness. If we don’t get you into that gown we’re going to delay everyone for dinner, and Dowager Queen Erminium will complain Crown Prince Hartwig into a fit.”
The royal barge reached Little Grande Splotze just on sunset, and the wedding party was greeted in the town square by an enthusiastic throng of town officials and excited townsfolk, complete with streamers, rattles, whistles, a brief but charming display of fireworks, long wooden trestle tables bearing roast meats and baked potatoes and cherry pies and apple strudels and cinnamon cream, and a band that was very nearly playing in tune. Hartwig and Ludwig and their guests were offered fine wine and cherry liqueur to drink. The minions were shown to several barrels of cider.
Gerald resisted the urge to dive headfirst into the nearest one.
Sitting a little apart from the rest of the lackeys, picking at his rustic food and watching Gladys Slack flirt with her many male admirers and charm even the Borovnik handmaidens to smiles, he struggled to keep his mind on the job.
I can’t believe Bibbie risked herself like that. After everything I said. The bloody girl could’ve drowned. She could’ve been murdered, right under my nose. What would I have told Sir Alec? How could I have faced Monk?
