uttered all around them. “ I don’t know, Mel! You’re the organised one, you think of something!”
Think of something? Think of what? What could she possibly think of that would save them from this horrendous debacle? This was all Bibbie’s fault, volunteering the agency’s aid without consultation, practically promising that awful Permelia Wycliffe they’d save her from Millicent Grimwade’s unhinged machinations.
I never should’ve agreed to this. I should’ve known it’d go arse over teakettle.
“ Blimey,” said Reg, rattling her tail feathers. “So it’s up to me to save the day again, is it? That’d be right. Fine, you two. Listen to me. As soon as I’ve got everyone’s attention, someone shove that bloody birdcage under Millicent Grimwade’s table, right? That should get our invisible friend close enough to trigger the hex in the cakes. If there’s a hex in the cakes, that is. And if there isn’t… run.”
Before Melissande could stop her Reg uttered a piercing shriek and launched herself off Bibbie’s shoulder to fly in manic circles beneath the chamber’s ceiling. Still shrieking, she flapped round and round at speed, eliciting ladylike cries of fear and alarm from the startled contestants and spectators below.
“Quick!” said Bibbie. “While the old cat’s not looking at us!”
With a helpful shove from Monk’s mad sister, Melissande ducked awkwardly under the scarlet cordon-rope, one hand tugging at the birdcage round her neck. The velvet choker gave way and she thrust the sprite beneath the long lace cloth covering Millicent Grimwade’s table.
Mission accomplished, she staggered back under the cordon-rope and looked up. “Done!” she shouted, hoping Reg could hear her over the increasingly agitated cries from the crowd.
With one last piercing shriek Reg stopped imitating a crazed falcon and instead dived through the nearest open window. Three determined strokes of her wings and she was gone from sight, lost among the city’s prosperous rooftops.
“Gosh,” said Bibbie, eyes wide with repressed hilarity. “She’s better than a circus, isn’t she?”
“Never mind Reg,” said Melissande, staring at Millicent Grimwade’s cakes. “Just cross your fingers that this actually works!”
Even as she spoke, the lace cloth rippled as though a breeze had sprung up beneath it. On the table’s top, the three cake-laden plates jittered. Millicent Grimwade leapt back with a startled cry.
The plates began to dance in earnest. Squeals of surprise and consternation went up as spectator after spectator noticed blobs of over-whipped cream fly into the air, primrose-yellow icing turn an embarrassed vermilion and all the chocolate smothering the chocolate log begin to curdle. One of the Invigilators marched along the row of staring, whispering contestants to investigate, wooden spoon at the ready.
“What is this?” she demanded, goggling at the metamorphosing cakes as they shimmied back and forth across the lace tablecloth. “Miss Grimwade, please explain!”
“I–I can’t!” said ashen-faced Millicent Grim-wade. “It’s a trick-it’s foul play-it’s-it’s-” Staring wildly about her, she caught sight of Permelia Wycliffe’s expression of undisguised triumph. “It’s sabotage!” she cried and pointed an unsteady finger. “ That woman has sabotaged me! She’s pea-green with envy because I’ve beaten her at every turn and now she’s trying to steal the grand prize. But the Golden Whisk is mine, I tell you! Mine!”
Uproar as Permelia advanced upon Millicent Grimwade with dreadful solemnity, Eudora Telford bleating loyally in her wake. The judges scattered like lawn bowls before her barely-restrained wrath. Helpless, because Permelia Wycliffe was Guild president and no-one in her right mind smacked the president with a wooden spoon, not if they wanted to keep their prestigious position, the Invigilators dithered on the fringes of the fray. And all around them the spectators gasped and wittered and repeated the dreadful accusations until the Town Hall chamber sounded like a henhouse routed by a fox.
Now the transformed cakes were leaping up and down as though they’d been imbued with unnatural, frantic life.
“Stop it! Stop it!” sobbed Millicent Grimwade. “Permelia Wycliffe, I demand that you stop this sabotage at once!”
“And I demand that you confess you’ve been cheating, Millicent Grimwade!” cried Permelia Wycliffe, majestic in her triumph. “You’ve hexed your cakes so they’ll win the Golden Whisk!”
Millicent Grimwade’s hatchet face flushed as vermilion as her pound cake. “How dare you? I have done no such thing! How could I? I’m not a witch.”
“Then you hired a witch to do it for you!” Permelia retorted. “Or a wizard. It’s plain for all to see, so don’t go trying to split hairs now you-you termagant!”
Highly entertained, Melissande felt a sharp elbow-nudge in her ribs and looked at Bibbie. “Don’t do that, this is just getting interesting.”
“I’ll say,” said Bibbie, her sharkish grin on full display, and unfolded her fingers. In the palm of her hand the green hex-detecting crystal pulsed a deep and vibrant black. “Looks like we’ve got her, Miss Cadwallader.”
“Indeed it does, Miss Markham,” she replied, feeling an equally sharkish smile spread across her own face. “Don’t look now, but I think that’s your cue.”
“I say that you have done this dreadful thing!” Permelia Wycliffe continued in her vindicated glory. “And not just today. You’ve been cheating all year! You, Millicent Grimwade, have single-handedly brought the Baking and Pastry Guild into dire disrepute! By the power vested in me as president I demand that you hand over your Guild badge at once! You are a disgrace to the chocolate eclair!”
“I’ll do no such thing!” cried Millicent Grimwade. She was practically panting. “You can’t prove I’ve cheated, Permelia Wycliffe. You can’t prove a thing!”
“ She might not be able to, Miss Grimwade,” said Bibbie, ducking under the scarlet cordon-rope. “But I can. And I will.” She held up the black crystal in full sight of the crowd. “Do you see this?” she demanded in a loud and carrying voice, brandishing the crystal overhead. The closest of the deliciously shocked spectators craned their necks for a closer look. “It’s a hexometer, ladies. Designed to register thaumaturgic activity. If there isn’t any in the immediate vicinity it’s a pleasant pale green. But if there is it turns black. And as you can see, this crystal is indeed black.” She spun round to face a shocked and gibbering Millicent Grimwade. “As black as the heart of a woman who’d stoop to illegal thaumaturgy to win the Golden Whisk!”
A fresh outcry, as the direness of Bibbie’s claims registered with every Guild member in the room.
Despite the desperately dancing plates on her table, which was starting an alarming shimmy in counterpoint, Millicent Grimwade managed to rally. “And who are you, pray tell? Some hussy Permelia’s dragged in off the street?”
“ Hussy?” said Bibbie, milking her moment. “How dare you, madam? I am Miss Emmerabiblia Markham, one third of Witches Incorporated, the new witching locum agency recently opened in town. No task too large or too small, reasonable rates, absolute discretion guaranteed. Unmasking thaumaturgical villainy is our business and you, Millicent Grimwade, may consider yourself unmasked!”
Still Millicent Grimwade stood her ground. “Poppycock!” she retorted. “Do you think we’re going to take one look at your silly little crystal and believe that a woman of my social stature would stoop to cheating? That my Guild sisters would take your word over mine, some upstart young person who dares to show her ankles in public? Do you?”
As Bibbie stared, momentarily silenced, Melissande shoved under the scarlet cordon-rope and ranged herself at Bibbie’s side.
“ Yes!” she said, in a loud, commanding voice. “Because those ankles belong to none other than the great- niece of former Guild President Antigone Markham!”
Outright chaos ensued. The judges shouted, the shrieking Invigilators waved their wooden spoons, Eudora Telford bleated her support, Permelia Wycliffe demanded Millicent Grimwade’s confession and Millicent Grimwade demanded her presidential resignation in return. Not a single woman in the chamber kept her opinion to herself. The noise was so loud the windows started to vibrate.
And at the height of the uproar… Millicent Grimwade’s hexed cakes exploded.
“Well,” said Bibbie into the ringing silence, flicking a blob of chocolate log off the end of her nose. “I suppose that’s one way of winning the argument.”
Everyone within twenty feet of Millicent’s table was now wearing a sticky souvenir from the most exciting Golden Whisk competition in the Baking and Pastry Guild’s long and chequered history.
“Urrrgghhh…” said Millicent Grimwade, dripping gooseberry sponge, and fainted theatrically onto the floor.
Which was a signal for the room to erupt into fresh cacophony. Ignoring the outcry, Permelia Wycliffe
