Monk.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Monk sighed. “I know the drill. Stop being such an old mother hen, mate.”
Reg nipped him on the ear. “Oy. That’s enough disparaging of mature female birds, thank you. And anyway, what you did was daft and you know it.”
“Ow,” said Monk. “Fine. Sorry. The point is, Gerald, there’s no need to fuss. I learned my lesson. No more interdimensional portal opening for me.”
“Okay,” he said, relieved. Monk might be a raving nutter, but once he gave his word that was that. “Good.”
“And now,” said Melissande, “it’s your turn, Gerald. Why are you skulking at Wycliffe’s?”
Damn. “If I tell you on my honour, cross my heart and hope to get haemorrhoids that I’m not on the trail of a rascally biscuit thief, will you believe me and let it go? Please?”
Melissande looked at Reg, then Bibbie. “Sorry,” she said, stubborn to the last. “For all you know our biscuit thief could be-could be-”
“Diversifying,” said Bibbie brightly. “They’ve gone so long without being caught they’ve been emboldened, and now they’re-they’re-”
“Upping the ante,” said Reg.
He sighed. “No, girls. Trust me. They’re really not.”
“You don’t know that,” said Melissande, with another belligerent lift of her chin. “How can you know that?”
“Because it’s my job,” he said, striving for patience. “Secret government agent now, remember?”
“That just makes you badly paid,” said Bibbie. “Not infallible.”
“So, Gerald, what are you doing at Wycliffe’s?” said Melissande. “It’s the dullest place imaginable. And it’s well on the road to insolvency, if I’m any judge. And as a former prime minister of a practically bankrupt kingdom you’d best believe I am. These scooters and velocipedes and what-have-yous they’re trying to flog are rubbish.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t tell you.”
Reg rattled her tail feathers ominously. “Sauce for the goose, sunshine. If you don’t give us chapter and verse about what you’re up to, well, this Markham boy’s still got his interdimensional portal opener around here somewhere. Fancy a little jaunt to the twelfth dimension, do you? With an extra helping of sprites?”
Gerald stared at them, feeling his frustration churn. “Look, girls, I know you think I’m being a spoilsport but I’m only trying to protect you. In fact…” He took a deep breath. “For your own safety, I think you should tell Permelia Wycliffe you can’t solve the case and get out of there while you still can. Because if you keep on poking around in that place you might accidentally poke the person I’m after… and that could be dangerous.”
“Turn tail and run, you mean?” said Bibbie. “Absolutely not! We’re witches, not shrinking violets.”
Gerald shoved his hands in his pockets. “That’s not quite accurate. You’re a witch, Bibbie, but as for your colleagues… well, Melissande’s a born organiser and Reg is a bird. Trust me, that’s not enough this time. We’re not talking hexed cakes. We’re talking big trouble. And I don’t want you three anywhere near it.”
Now they were all glaring at him. “You-you-insufferable prig!” spluttered Melissande. “Is that what they taught you on your Department training course? How to be an insufferable prig?”
“Steady on, Mel,” Monk murmured. “He’s only-”
She snatched her hand free of his. “Don’t you dare defend him to me, Monk Markham! Patting me on the head and telling me to sit in the corner like a good little girl? After Lional?”
Monk pulled a face, hands raised. “Sorry, mate. You’re on your own.”
Wonderful. He couldn’t be handling this worse if he’d planned it. “Look, that’s not what I meant. I know you’re brave, Melissande. You’re ridiculously brave. You and Reg are the bravest women I’ve ever met. And Bibbie, you’d be just as brave if you had to be, I’m sure.”
Reg’s eyes were glinting dangerously. “That’s right, sunshine. Keep on digging. Graves are generally six feet deep.”
He stared at them, despairing. “Why won’t you trust me when I say you shouldn’t be there? I’m the one with the inside information. I’m the one working for the secret government Department that knows things. If anybody’s being priggish here it’s you, dismissing my expertise out of hand.”
The girls looked at each other. Then Bibbie shrugged. “I hate to admit it but he’s got a point.”
“Fine,” said Melissande, and folded her arms. “All right, Gerald. You tell us why it’s too dangerous for Witches Inc. to continue investigating at Wycliffe’s… and we’ll consider leaving.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gerald stared at her, silenced. Why me? “Melissande, aren’t you listening? I’m not allowed to tell you why.”
She sniffed. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we’re on different lunchbreaks, won’t we?”
“Don’t look at me, mate,” said Monk, reprehensibly grinning. “I want to know what’s going on as badly as they do.”
“Oh, thank you very much,” he said bitterly. “You’re a big help, you are.”
“Hey,” said Monk. “Whatever you tell us won’t go beyond these four walls.”
“I know that,” he said, close to shouting. “This isn’t about me not trusting you, it’s about the fact I’m working on something huge. If somehow I manage to mess things up by telling you about it, the consequences could be catastrophic.” He felt like tearing his hair out. “Damn, this is a bloody disaster. With the girls involved suddenly everything’s getting complicated — and you know what that means.”
“The girls are sitting right here, Gerald, in case you’ve suddenly gone blind in your other eye,” said Melissande. “And they don’t appreciate being treated like three pieces of furniture.”
“I don’t care! I wish you were three pieces of furniture!” he retorted. “Because then I could put you under lock and key and not have to worry about you getting in the way!”
She leapt to her feet. “ Gerald Dunwoody — I am not a foot stool! Who the hell do you think you are, to stand there telling me what I can and can’t-”
“Oh, put a sock in it, ducky,” said Reg, with a sigh. “You won’t get anywhere browbeating him. And all your shouting is giving me a headache.”
Surprised, Gerald blinked at her. “Thanks, Reg. It’s nice to know I’m forgiven.”
Reg looked down her beak at him. “Did I say you were forgiven? Trust me, you’re not.”
Of course he wasn’t. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. He frowned at the threadbare carpet, marshalling his thoughts. Trying to work out how much he could tell them… what was safe… what wasn’t… and came to a depressing conclusion. He either told them everything or nothing at all. And if he decided to tell them nothing, if he turned around and walked out of Monk’s house right now, Melissande and Bibbie and Reg might end up paying the ultimate price. Because they wouldn’t give up investigating at Wycliffe’s. They wouldn’t back down. They didn’t know how.
Of course I could always just tip this into Sir Alec’s lap. Leave him to deal with it. Sure, I could do that… and lose their friendship forever.
Because Sir Alec really would put Witches Inc. under lock and key-most likely metaphorically but possibly in a literal sense. Either way they’d be shoved to one side. Treated like gels. Even though Reg hadn’t been a gel for centuries, and Melissande… well, Melissande had never been a gel. But Sir Alec would make no allowances for that, despite knowing the kind of women they were. Knowing they’d already proven beyond doubt they could be trusted.
And then there was Bibbie. She wasn’t like Melissande and Reg. Hell, she might well be a genius, like Monk, but she was practically a slip of a girl. Not part of the New Ottosland mess, she’d never had to face the things that slithered beneath the world’s stones, and feasted.
And I don’t want her to face them. At least not while she’s still so young. So innocent. Bibbie’s why I’m doing this. Aren’t I supposed to keep her-and everyone like her-safe?
But Reg would say that wasn’t his decision. Reg would say it was Bibbie’s choice, her right to risk herself if
