“Hey!” Bibbie called from beyond the closed door. “Is anybody here?”
She marched to the bedsit door and flung it open. “Of course,” she said, stamping into the office. “Where else would we be?”
“All right, calm down. There’s no need to bite my head off,” said Bibbie, perching on the edge of her desk.
“Well?” she said, ignoring that. “Did you bring the hexes?”
Bibbie rolled her eyes. “No. I just slaved through the night finishing the last of them, and making sure they worked, and then left them behind at the boarding house for Mistress Mossop to find. She snoops, you know. I’m starting to think I might have to take Monk up on his house-sharing offer after all.”
“Good idea,” said Reg, gliding in from the bedsit to land on her ram skull. “Then you can play chaperone and we can move in with you. I’d very much appreciate a bedroom of my own. Madam here snores like a combine harvester.”
Melissande gasped. “I do not!”
“No?” said Reg. “Then get Mad Miss Markham to leave a recording incant on in the bedroom and prove me a liar.”
“I don’t care if Mel snores so loudly all the roof tiles fall off,” snapped Bibbie. “Why would I want to share a house with two people who can’t be bothered to say thank you after someone’s slaved through the night on their behalf!”
Oh dear. Melissande exchanged a guilty glance with Reg and cleared her throat. “Sorry, Bibbie. Did you really slave through the night?”
Bibbie stifled a yawn. “I slaved through two nights,” she said, waspish. “Because as you very well know my days have been spent slaving in here!”
“Yes, I do know,” she said in a small voice. “And I appreciate it. We both appreciate it, don’t we, Reg?”
“I’d appreciate a good night’s sleep more,” said Reg.
“Oh well,” said Bibbie, with another of her lightning-swift mood shifts. “I suppose it could be worse. I could be impersonating a Wycliffe gel.” She tipped her head, consideringly. “Because honestly, Mel, that awful blouse- and-skirt ensemble doesn’t get any more attractive with the passage of time.”
Melissande looked down at her black-clad self and sighed. “It doesn’t, does it?”
“And you being such a fashion plate I’m sure it’s breaking your heart,” said Reg. “But you need to glue the pieces back together again, ducky, because if you don’t leave in the next five minutes you’re not going to get into Wycliffe’s early enough to set our trap. So haul out those hexes, Emmerabiblia, and let’s get cracking.”
The single most irritating thing about Reg was that too often she was right. “Yes, Bibbie,” she said. “Quickly, explain what I’m supposed to do with them.”
Bibbie reached into the carpetbag she’d dumped on her desk and pulled out a smoked-glass jar with its lid screwed on. “All right. So what you do is put a hex on any item you think is at risk of being stolen. Things that generally speaking stay put in the office, that don’t have any business being taken out of it? Yes?”
Melissande pulled a face. “That’s easier said than done. You’re talking about practically everything in the place.”
“Then choose the thief’s favourite targets,” said Bibbie. “Like Permelia’s special biscuits. One hex for each item, and whatever you do be careful. Anyone who touches a hexed item with bare skin is sort of painted with a detectable thaumic signature, so whatever you do don’t handle the hexes or the items you’re marking without wearing gloves. Otherwise we’ll be wasting a lot of time chasing you instead of our mystery pilferer.” She held out the jar. “I made a hundred. Please don’t tell me you’ll need more than that.”
“A hundred?” she said, cautiously taking the jar. “Bibbie, that must have cost a fortune. We may be getting more clients now but we can’t afford-”
“Yes, well,” said Bibbie, beautifully blushing. “You forget I’m a Markham, which means I’m not exactly poor.”
Ambushed by sudden emotion, Melissande blinked hard then cleared her throat. “Oh, Bibbie. You used your own money? You shouldn’t have done that.”
“What are you talking about?” said Reg. “Of course she should. We each do what we can, ducky. You wave your tiara about, Little Miss Markham here empties her piggy bank and I–I-”
“Remind us of things we keep forgetting,” said Melissande. “Especially when we don’t want to remember them.”
As her eyes met Reg’s she managed a very small smile. Reg sniffed, pretending not to understand, but her feathers ruffled ever so slightly.
“Anyway,” said Bibbie, and pulled a stoppered test tube out of the carpetbag. “Once you’ve marked all the at-risk items, put one of these hexes on all the doors and windows. Gloves again or there’ll be hell to pay. The two hexes react antithetically, you see. They’re a lot like dogs and cats, they start snarling and spitting when they get too close to each other.” She grinned. “Just like Monk and Aylesbury, actually. Probably that’s what gave me the idea. Well. When that happens-” She handed over the stoppered test tube and pulled out a small blue crystal. “- this hex detector will light up. It’s different from the first one we tried. Much more powerful, and operating on a different etheretic vibration.”
Melissande shook her head. “That’s marvellous, Bibbie.” And it was. Her inventiveness was amazing. “Except-what happens if the thief triggers the hex detector when I’m not around to see it?”
“Well, if you’re not on the premises then we’re out of luck,” said Bibbie. “But if you are-even if you’re at lunch in the garden-the hex detector will still react. Its range is good enough, I made sure of that.”
“And if it does go off while I’m at lunch?”
“Then you’ll have to find a way to sort of-wave it past everybody,” said Bibbie, shrugging. “It’ll go off again when it detects the presence of the triggered hex-marker on the guilty party.”
“Excellent,” said Melissande. She retrieved her own carpetbag from the bedsit, stowed the smoked-glass jar, the stoppered test tube and the blue crystal hex detector inside, and straightened. “Is that it?”
“Not quite,” said Bibbie, and fished again in her own carpetbag. “This is a confounder,” she added, handing over a small perfume spritzer. “For the picking of locks both large and small. One tiny squirt in the keyhole will get you into Permelia’s office, and anywhere else you need.”
“A confounder,” she repeated. “I see. Ah-something tells me this is a gift horse I shouldn’t look in the mouth.”
Bibbie grinned. “And something tells me you’re right. Illegal doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“So is it one of Monk’s little-”
“Monk?” said Bibbie. She sounded annoyed. “Why do you assume Monk had something to do with it? Honestly, Mel, if you let being sweet on my brother turn your brains to slush I’m going to be very disappointed in you.”
“Sorry, sorry,” she said hastily. “I wasn’t thinking. So- you made it?”
Mollified, Bibbie tapped a finger to her nose. “Gift horse, remember? No peeking allowed. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone catch you with it. Since it’s a liquid hex, at a pinch you really can pretend it’s perfume but I don’t recommend more than a single short spritz. Now shoo. So many hexes to distribute, not very much time.”
Melissande looked at Bibbie’s inventive and illegal gift then closed her fingers around it. Saint Snodgrass give me strength. “Fine. I’m shooing. But are you sure you’ll be all right here on your own again? Maybe Reg should stay in the office today.”
“No, maybe Reg shouldn’t,” said Bibbie, sharply. “Do you mind? It’s bad enough when Gerald and Monk get all patriarchal on me. Don’t you start or I’ll have an apoplexy. Besides, that chap in Births, Deaths and Marriages I sweet-talked is letting me have a peek at some personal information about Permelia Wycliffe’s gels today, remember?”
Oh. “Well, yes, but-”
“So probably, Mel, you should just wobble on your way, yes?” said Bibbie, with a dangerous smile.
“Yes,” said Reg. “She should. And so should I. There’s a tree in that employee garden with my name on it, unfortunately. But I’m telling both of you, duckies, I’m giving you fair warning: if that constipated male pigeon living in the roof of the R amp;D building tries one more time to look up my feathers those gels really will have a dead
