“I don’t know, either. There might be something. It’s hard to say.” The frown twisted into a sarcastic grimace. “I don’t like to cry wolf.”
Bibbie shook her head. “I take that back, Mister Rowbotham. You cry wolf as many times as you like.”
He was almost sure he couldn’t feel any rank thaumaturgics. But she was Monk’s sister. He’d be mad not to take her unease seriously.
Damn. And now I really wish Reg was here.
What he wouldn’t give to have her flying up there for a good stickybeak around. She’d become his second set of eyes, and he’d hardly noticed. Just taken her for granted.
I won’t do that again.
“Look,” said Melissande, “I don’t like to nag, but are we in trouble or aren’t we? Because if we are, I think someone has to tell Hartwig what’s going on.”
“Really?” said Bibbie. “You want to confess you’ve been lying to him since you got here? I don’t see how that’ll help.”
“No, it’ll be awful,” Melissande said, her expression dogged. “But that’s beside the point. I won’t sit here saying nothing if Ratafia and-”
“Stop it,” Gerald said. “Nobody’s saying anything, not unless I-”
Shooting bolts of pain obliterated coherent thought. As he slid boneless off his seat and onto the carriage floor, he heard Bibbie cry out, echoing his distress.
“Algernon! Gladys!” cried Melissande. “Coachman, coachman, stop! Something’s terribly wrong!”
Splotze’s ether had turned whiplike, lashing him in fury. The stench of grimoire thaumaturgics smothered his potentia, clogged his senses. He could barely breathe. He heard Bibbie’s harsh sobbing breaths, felt her fingers groping for his hand. He caught hold of her, a lifeline.
Another whipcrack of tainted magic, much closer this time. Coming from one of the other carriages? He thought so, but which one? The writhing ether was a blanket, blotting out sight.
Then Melissande gasped. “Oh, no! Look!”
Fighting pain and confusion, Gerald opened his eyes. Saw Bibbie, and tried to smile. And then he heard a deep, ominous grinding, rock against rock. The ether twisted tighter, convulsing. Horses whinnied in fear. Raised voices, coachmen shouting. Their carriage slewed to a halt, hard behind Hartwig’s carriage, nearly sliding off the road.
Melissande was on her feet, gaping in alarm. Gerald hauled himself to his knees, hauling Bibbie with him. Dazed by grimoire magic he looked at the bridge-just in time to see the first of three huge rocks plunge down the side of the steep hill and strike it. Timber shattered. Splinters flew. Water plumed as the hexed rocks smashed into the river below.
“Ratafia!” cried Melissande. “And Ludwig!”
Their carriage was a mere stone’s throw from the ruined bridge. Its horses reared and whinnied, terrified. The coachman was doing his best to control them, but he was losing the fight.
Shouts from Hartwig’s carriage. Then more shouts from behind, as the other guests panicked. Another stony, grinding rumble. Gerald choked on fresh pain, feeling Bibbie’s fingers close vise-like on his hand. He turned to see two more enormous boulders ponderously skipping down the hill, dragging with them a horde of smaller rocks, raising a dirt cloud, knocking stubby trees aside like skittles. The rocks struck the road, blocking it, scant feet from the rear of the last carriage containing Lord Babcock of Ottosland and his secretary, Hever Mistle. Its horses rose onto their hind legs, their terror leaping to the team pulling the Lanruvians’ carriage, directly in front.
There was nowhere to run. The wedding tour party was trapped.
Yet another deafening rumble and a shower of small stones. More rocks were sliding towards the road, towards the bridge. All the horses were fear-blinded now, rearing dangerously high and waving their forelegs, threatening to hurt themselves and each other. It was Putzi Gorge all over again, only a hundred times worse. The air was full of dust and shredded leaves and terror.
“Gerald, do something!” said Melissande, close to tears. “Those rocks are going to hit Ratafia’s carriage!”
He smeared his vision clear. Dammit, she was right. More rocks were sliding fast, half the hillside sliding with them. Where were Ratafia and Ludwig? Damn, they were still in the carriage, too frightened to leap out. Or maybe they were hurt. Either way…
He turned to Bibbie. “Hide me, Bibs. Now. Like you did in the gorge.”
A flash of her smile, still hers though she was Gladys. Burning within her, the wild, reckless courage that would not be denied. She flung her potentia around him… and he threw away his shield. Familiar light and strange darkness, bound within him as one. His grimoire potentia, twisted like the ether, shuddering to break free. If he let it loose, would he be safe? And could he find himself again? No choice. He had to risk it. If he got lost, Bibbie would find him.
Trusting her, he let go.
And nearly fell over with shock, because the Lanruvians, his prime suspects, were using their powers to avert disaster. Or trying to. Only they were failing. The men from Lanruvia weren’t the right kind of wizards.
But I am. Bloody hell.
Bibbie’s potentia was on fire, swirling around him like living flame. He was hiding in her inferno. He was running out of time. He let blind instinct guide him. Let the blocking and binding incants pour out of him in an almost silent stream and focused his will on preventing bloody death.
Come on, Dunnywood! Time to earn your damned keep!
The swiftly sliding rocks had been hexed to tumble and kill. A small part of his mind was screaming How? Who? But investigation had to wait. Drenched in sweat, his muscles shaking, he over-rode the filthy, murderous incants and bent the rocks to his will. Slowed them
… and slowed them… and told them to crack. He could hear Bibbie gasping as she kept him from sight, could hear Melissande’s whispered encouragement. Come on, come on, come on. And then Melissande shouted, gladly, and he shouted too, as the rocks shattered into shards that struck the road and the carriages and the unfortunate horses, drawing blood, gouging splinters… but not taking life.
With a strangled groan he collapsed in a heap on the floor of their carriage. Half a heartbeat later, Bibbie collapsed beside him. Her shroud of flames fell with her, leaving him exposed. But that didn’t matter, because he was his changed self again, his grimoire potentia under control. He wasn’t lost. He was safe. Not caring who could see him, he reached for Bibbie’s hand. Pulled her close and kissed her.
The world and its terrible troubles went away.
A hundred years later he opened his eyes and let her go. He could feel his silly Rowbotham face stretched wide in a smile. Gladys Slack was smiling too, but behind her face was Bibbie. His Bibbie. His heart.
Somewhere close by there was a lot of shouting and chaos. Horses whinnying. Dust settling. There was weeping, he could hear it. He looked up. It wasn’t Melissande. He’d have been very surprised if it was.
Still. She did look shaken, down to her bones. He clambered upright and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You’re all right, Mel? We’re all right. It’s over now, I think.”
She was staring at the wedding party’s first two carriages, their horses finally tamed, and at Hartwig and Erminium and Leopold Gertz and Ludwig and Ratafia, standing on the rock-strewn road clutching at each other in desperate relief.
“Well, they seem fine, Saint Snodgrass be praised,” she said, with only the faintest tremor in her voice. Then she turned, revealing her eyes stark with what might have been. Nearly was. “Well done, you two. Oh, bloody well done.”
Their coachman was seeing to the horses, and from the hubbub of the other guests, a babbling of so many different tongues the party sounded like a debate at the United Magical Nations, it seemed that not a soul was paying them any attention.
“It was wizardry, wasn’t it?” she added, her voice safely lowered. “This time, it was wizardry.”
Bibbie sat up. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Melissande’s lips trembled, then firmed. “Well, then. At least now we know for sure.” Her chin lifted. “And do we know who’s behind it?”
Gerald shook his head, feeling his elation collapse. “Sorry.”
“The hexes on those rocks felt the same as the thaumaturgics on the barge,” Bibbie said, sounding grim. “I
