“It turns out Great-uncle Throgmorton owned a lot of very naughty books.” And then she shrugged. “Besides. I’m a Markham. And a Thackeray. And they hurt Gerald. Now, would you mind handing me my reticule? Make sure you take the crystal ball out first.”
As Melissande, still stunned silent, did as she was asked, Reg chattered her beak. “Not that I’m sorry those buggers are dead, you understand,” she said. “But I feel bound to point out that they might have been useful.”
Bibbie shook her head. “No. They’d never have spoken willingly and besides, Dermit was about to use one of these filthy things. Thank you, Mel.” Grimacing, she tipped the hexes she’d collected into her reticule. “And we wouldn’t have survived.”
“So you saved our lives,” said Melissande. “And I’m sure we’re grateful. But Bibbie… ”
The look on Melissande’s face told her what she was supposed to be feeling. Faint. Shocked. Remorseful. Guilty. But she was pretty sure she didn’t feel any of those things.
Mostly, it seemed, she felt pleased.
“Here,” she said to Reg, and held out the two other items she’d taken from Bern Dermit. “I’m thinking one of these vials is tincture of dirit — and the other one is what a smart man carries with him when he’s carrying tincture of dirit. You’d better tell me which is which. I wouldn’t like to make a mistake.”
Gerald had been battling the poison for so long that it took nearly twenty minutes for the antidote to take effect. When at last he stirred, and opened his eyes, Reg leapt onto his chest and burst into sobs.
Sitting on the cold pavement beside him, Bibbie smiled and touched his hand. Algernon Rowbotham disappeared. Rolling his head, Gerald looked at her. Smile fading, she looked back. They had so much to talk about. There was so much to say. But for now, right now, it was enough that they sit beside each other in silence on the cold damp cobbled pavement, while the bloody bird wept and scolded and Melissande, whose eyes weren’t dry, fretted aloud about how they’d get home.
“Don’t worry, Mel,” she said, and looked at the crystal ball cradled in her hand. “The ether really is starting to clear. Give it a few more minutes and I’ll be able to get a call through to Monk. Then he’ll call Sir Alec, and everything will be fine.”
Epilogue
“Bloody hell, Alec. Bloody, bloody hell! Do you have any notion of what you’ve done?”
Sir Alec finished signing his name, neatly placed his pen on the desk, set aside his monthly expense report and then looked up.
“By all means, Ralph, come in. Take a seat. But be so kind as to shut the door after you first.”
Shutting his office door was of paramount importance. It might be late-these kinds of conversations were always conducted in the dead of night-but Nettleworth was never entirely deserted.
Ralph slammed the door and started pacing. “I told you, Alec. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say this damned mission would end in tears?”
Sitting back in his chair, Sir Alec swallowed a sigh. “Surely it’s to be expected. Weddings are, I’m told, emotional affairs.”
Ralph’s glare was hot enough to combust a forest. “I’m not talking about the bloody wedding! I could care less about the Splotze-Borovnik wedding! Damnit, Alec! What the devil are we to do with this-thiscreature you’ve created? That bloody dirit should’ve killed him stone dead in heartbeats. And thanks to those grimoire incants and his rogue potentia, it didn’t! What have you to say about that? About any of it? The things he did-he’s unprecedented, Alec! And it’s all your fault!”
Creature. Resisting the urge to swear, Sir Alec kept his expression impassive. “Calm down, Ralph, before you burst a blood vessel.”
“Trust me, Alec, this is bloody calm!”
Ah. “Would you care for a drink?”
“No, Alec, what I’d care for is an explanation!” Ralph retorted. “What I’d care for is knowing how you intend to stuff this bloody genie back in its bottle!”
It would be far easier to answer Ralph’s ire if he weren’t, in his own way, feeling equally alarmed. “Ralph, you are borrowing trouble. There’s no need. Mister Jennings tells me-”
Ralph waved a furiously dismissive hand in passing. “To the devil with Jennings, Alec! He’s as clueless as the rest of us. Admit it. You don’t know what Gerald Dunwoody’s turned into and you’ve no more idea of how to control him than I have!”
“What I know, Ralph,” he said, very carefully, because his own temper was starting to stir, “is that Gerald Dunwoody saved the day for us. Again.”
“With a lot of help from my niece!” said Ralph, still glaring. “And that’s another thing, Alec. Emmerabiblia! D’you know she’s started dropping hints the size of carthorses about gels in the Department?”
Because he was more than a little irritated with Ralph, he smiled. “Indeed? Well, she certainly proved her mettle in Splotze.”
Ralph leapt to the desk and banged both his fists on it, hard. “Don’t you dare, Alec. I’m warning you. Don’t you bloody dare. I won’t have Bibbie dragged into our world. Not again. This Splotze business will never be repeated, do I make myself clear?”
He stared at Ralph’s fists until they were removed, then looked up at his sometime friend, sometime foe, and shrugged. Emmerabiblia Markham. What a surprise that young lady had turned out be. The various mission reports had proven to be… interesting… reading.
“Quite clear, Ralph. Only I expect, at the end of the day, it won’t be up to me. Or, dare I say it, you.”
“Perhaps not,” said Ralph, close to snarling. “But it won’t be up to her, either.”
He wasn’t sure about that, but neither was there any point in arguing. Young Bibbie was Ralph’s niece. Let her be Ralph’s problem, at least for the time being. He gestured at the chair on the other side of the desk.
“I understand. Now, please, Ralph, do sit down. There’s no reason that we can’t discuss this like sensible men.”
Ralph stepped back. The mingled despair and contempt in his eyes were a sharp reproof. “There’s nothing to discuss. Clearly you’re not interested in entertaining any suggestion that Gerald Dunwoody might now be more than even you can handle.”
He dropped his gaze to the desk. Dammit. He’d never seen Ralph so angry, at least not at him. The situation was untenable. Ralph Markham was an indispensible ally. If he let pride destroy their complicated relationship…
“I’m sorry,” he said, resting his clasped hands before him. “If I gave you the impression that I feel your concerns are trivial, Ralph, I apologise.”
Which neatly took the wind out of Ralph’s bellicose sails. He sat. “You did.”
“Then I was clumsy.”
“You were.”
“I am sorry.”
“Yes. So you’ve said.” Ralph drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “But let’s not get maudlin. What matters now is how we’re going to deal with your precious Mister Dunwoody.” A shiver. “Who makes my skin crawl, Alec. I’ll not pussyfoot around it. These changes in his potentia? They make my skin crawl.”
Jennings had said the same thing, in a slightly more technical manner. And as for his own skin…
Dunwoody’s more unsettling than ever. I can’t deny that. But unsettling isn’t evil. Gerald Dunwoody isn’t evil.
“Something’s got to be done, Alec,” Ralph said, more kindly. “I know you’re fond of the lad, but-”
Fond. A ridiculous word. “I agree,” he said briskly. “Mister Dunwoody’s situation cannot be left unaddressed. For any of our sakes. But I’m not prepared to let fear propel me into a decision I might later regret.”
Ralph was bristling. “Fear? Who said anything about fear?”
You did, my friend, and we both know it. “A poor choice of words,” he said smoothly. “My point is that we can’t unring a bell, Ralph. What we need is a little breathing space, so we can think the matter through calmly, and decide what to do next.”
