“Monk’s right, Mel,” Bibbie said in a small voice. “We can’t get Gerald into trouble. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Melissande’s lips trembled, just for a moment. Then she sat down again hard. “I liked it better when we were chasing stupid interdimensional sprites and blowing up sponge cakes,” she said, her voice unsteady again. “I think after this is over we should stick with frippery.”
Gerald perched on the edge of the armchair. “Can you see now why I don’t want you three anywhere near Wycliffe’s? If Sir Alec’s right and Errol is somehow involved with this portal business, things could get very ugly very fast. And I’d never forgive myself if any of you got hurt. You need to tell Permelia Wycliffe that you can’t find her biscuit thief and get the hell out of that place while the getting’s still good.”
“No,” said Melissande, and folded her arms, her momentary vulnerability squashed flat as a pancake. “We are Witches Incorporated. Once we take on a job we see it through to the bitter end. If we walk out on Permelia Wycliffe now all the good we achieved by unmasking that ridiculous Millicent Grimwade will be wasted. We might as well shut up shop and-and get married. We won’t be in your way, I promise. And who knows? There’s a chance we could help you and your precious Sir Alec save the day.”
Damn. He turned to Monk. “Come on. You have to help me here. This is your young lady we’re talking about.”
Monk grimaced. “Trust me, mate. If I try and stick a spoke in her wheel she won’t be my young lady any more.”
“Well-well-what about Bibbie? She’s your sister, your own flesh and blood! Are you going to let her put her life at risk? Or is it more important for you to cover your tracks over-what was it? Your whoopsie with the Mushtarkan diplomat’s cousin?”
“Hey!” Monk protested. “That’s not fair!”
“And Bibbie’s not at Wycliffe’s,” Melissande added. “She’s holding the fort back at the agency.”
“But even if I was undercover at Wycliffe’s,” said Bibbie, pink with crossness, “I wouldn’t leave either. What do you take me for, Gerald? Some lisping, chicken-hearted, lily-livered gel?”
“And what about your future?” he retorted. “I’m assuming you want one!”
Melissande rolled her eyes. “Oh, do stop trying to frighten us, Gerald. It won’t work. If you want to be useful, concentrate on rattling Errol Haythwaite and finding this dreadful Rottlezinder person.”
Sighing, he looked at conspicuously silent Reg. “What? You don’t have anything to add?”
“No,” she said, staring down her beak at him. “You’re still digging your own grave perfectly well without my assistance, Gerald.”
He felt his jaw clench. “Right. Fine. That’s very helpful. Thank you.”
Melissande stood again. “Excellent. And now that’s settled we’ll be on our way. It’s despicably late and we’ve got an early start.”
She headed for the closed parlour door, Bibbie on her heels, coat dangling from one hand. Monk jumped up. “I’ll see you out,” he said, and snatched Melissande’s coat from its hook.
“Fine,” Gerald called after them. “Good. This is wonderful, girls. I’m glad we got this all straightened out.”
Instead of following her colleagues, Reg flapped from the sofa to the arm of the chair. “Well,” she said, considering him with a bright eye. “I did say it was going to be interesting, didn’t I?”
Groaning, he slid into the chair properly and dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, Reg. I don’t mind interesting. It’s impossible I’m having a problem with.” He lifted his head again. “You look well. Are you well?”
She sniffed. “Much you care if I’m well or not, Gerald Dunwoody.”
“Oh, Reg…”
“I’m fine,” she said gruffly. “But you’re looking peaked. Don’t let that plonker Errol Haythwaite boss you about. Or that government stooge, Sir Alec. And don’t worry about madam. I’ll make sure she keeps her mouth shut.”
“Thanks, Reg,” he said, subdued. “I’d really appreciate it.” He hesitated then added, “I meant what I said in the garden, you know. I miss you. A lot.”
Monk stuck his head back in through the open parlour doorway. “Reg, they’re going.”
“I miss you too, sunshine,” said Reg, and flapped out of the room.
After she was gone, Gerald sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, his head pounding.
Oh, lord. Oh, Saint Snodgrass. Sir Alec is going to kill me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I think it’s time you stopped sulking, madam,” said Reg, with a rattle of tail feathers. “You can’t tell me you don’t understand about difficult choices. Every princess knows all about those. Well. Every princess worth her tiara, anyway.”
Melissande looked up from her horribly early breakfast of hard-boiled egg and glowered. “I am not sulking.”
“All right, then. Moping… with a snooty look on your face,” said Reg. “Same thing.”
She sprinkled more salt on her egg. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Look,” said Reg, hopping down from the bedpost onto the bed, and strutting back and forth like a teacher in front of her class. “What did you think was going to happen when Gerald agreed to work for that Sir Alec? Did you think he was going to be romping through alpen fields picking daisies? He’s in a dirty business now, ducky. He’s going to get grimy.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “If he wants to get grimy that’s his choice. But now there’s a chance his grime is going to rub off on me!”
Reg stopped strutting and fixed her with an angrily gleaming eye. “Like your grime rubbed off on him, do you mean? Back in New Ottosland?”
“That was different,” she muttered. “I didn’t know Lional was a raving lunatic.”
“Yes, well, I think we’ll leave what you did and didn’t know about Lional for another argument,” said Reg. “Let’s stick to this one for now, shall we?”
Shocked, Melissande stared at her. “I don’t-what are you-I resent that insinuation, Reg!”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” said Reg, looking down her beak. “Now as I was saying, it’s time you pulled yourself together, madam. Gerald risked everything by telling us why he’s at Wycliffe’s. And since it has nothing whatsoever to do with why we’re at Wycliffe’s we are going to leave him alone to get on with things. We’re still owed half our retainer, remember?”
“I don’t understand why you’re defending him,” she complained, ignoring that. “I thought you weren’t even talking to Gerald.”
“Ha!” said Reg. “Didn’t you know? I’m ambidextrous. I can be itching to kick his arse and yours at the same time.”
Abandoning her other egg, Melissande got off the bed and stalked over to the window. Gazing across the rooftops, she caught sight of something floating through the sky, flashing silver in the light of the rising sun. A Wycliffe airship.
Floating not on the air but on a river of innocent blood.
She turned. “I’m not just worried about me, you know. About how I’ll feel if there’s another portal incident and more people get hurt or-or even die. What about Gerald?”
“Gerald’s a big boy,” Reg said quietly. “He knew what he was getting into when he jumped in the boat and started rowing with that Sir Alec. There’s no such thing as a perfect solution, ducky. There’s the best you can do at any given moment on any given day and that’s all. Besides, we don’t know what else that Sir Alec knows. If we go wading into the middle of this now, throwing our weight about just because we’re royalty and we think we were born knowing better than everyone else, we could make things worse, not improve them. Is that what you want?”
“No, of course it’s not,” she said. “And I do not think I was born knowing better than everyone else!”
“No?” said Reg. “Oh well. If you say so.”
Melissande choked down the impulse to scream. Reg was the most impossible, infuriating, outrageous -
