Whatever was being said to Errol by his mystery caller, one thing was clear: he didn’t like it. Not at all. Now he was pacing his small, tidy office, hands fisted on his hips, and as he strode in and out of view Melissande saw his face was contracted in a scowl. But even angry and upset he was still shockingly handsome.
Just like Lional. Don’t let his looks fool you…
With Errol moving around so much it was far more likely he’d catch sight of her at his window. Time to go… especially since according to her watch it was nearly a quarter to eight and she still had to make her way back to the office.
She met up with Gerald on the way.
“Melissande!” he said, looking suitably Third Grade in a worn brown suit, a limp white shirt and slightly threadbare blue tie. His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “What have you been doing?”
Trust him to notice. “Doing, Gerald? I don’t know what you mean.”
With a quick look around to make sure no-one was coming, he took her elbow and tugged her against the hedge. “You know perfectly well what I mean. The only thing at the end of this driveway is the R amp;D lab. Melissande, please, stay out of my case. I know you’re only trying to help, but you can’t.”
“No?” she said, tugging her elbow free.
“No.”
“Does that mean you’re not interested in what I just saw?”
A riot of emotions chased over his face. “ Melissande…”
She patted his cheek. “I’ll tell you if you’d like to know. I’ll even waive my regular fee as a professional courtesy.”
He closed his eyes. “Yes. I’d like to know.”
“Say please.”
“ Please.”
Two more wizards were walking down the driveway. As much as she enjoyed teasing Gerald, she’d have to make this fast. “Someone contacted Errol,” she said quickly. “Through his crystal ball. Whoever it was made him very angry.”
Gerald took her arm again, his eyes intent, his grip veering towards painful. “Who was it? What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I couldn’t hear, I could only see. Gerald-”
Abruptly aware of himself, he let go of her arm. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Of course you couldn’t hear him, Errol’s got his office thaumaturgically sound-proofed. But did you see anything else?”
“No,” she said, resisting the urge to rub where his fingers had gripped her. “Well… except I don’t think he was just angry. I think he was afraid, too.”
Gerald laughed, unamused. “Errol? Afraid? That doesn’t seem likely.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not, but he was.”
The other wizards were much closer now, their shoes scrunching the driveway’s loose gravel. Gerald glanced over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t be seen together. Melissande-” He shook his head. “Thank you. That might be important. But please, I’m begging you-stay out of my way. If anything happened to you, or Reg, or Bibbie…”
This was only the third time she’d seen him since New Ottosland, and Lional. Even so-she could tell that he’d changed. That tentative, sweet man she’d met his first day in the palace was gone. Vanished, as though he’d never lived. And in his place stood this quietly haunted man, with one good eye that showed her dreadful things.
I wonder what he can see that’s different in me.
“ You mustn’t worry,” she said gently. “Nothing’s going to happen. Have a good day, Gerald. I expect we’ll talk again quite soon.”
With a nod and a smile she walked away, heading back to the employee garden so she could retrieve her reticule. She could feel Gerald stare after her, his gaze heavy between her shoulder-blades.
When she was clear of the two approaching wizards she broke into an unladylike jog. If she wasn’t careful she was going to be late… and getting fired was the last thing she needed.
“Here you go, Gerald,” said Japhet Morgan, fellow Third Grade menial, wheeling yet another trolley-load of thaumaturgically-stained beakers and test tubes and etheretic containers into R amp;D’s industrialsized scullery. “Compliments of Mister Haythwaite.”
Gerald looked round, and managed-just-to keep his face blank. That made five trolley-loads washed and six waiting for his attention. He’d been at this for nearly four hours now with no sign of a reprieve. So much for spying on Errol. And with what Melissande had told him this morning, he really, really needed to spy.
“Fine, Japh,” he sighed. “Just leave them with the others.”
Japhet parked the trolley, then lingered. “So. It was really you who blew up Stuttley’s?”
Was there any point in yet again protesting his innocence? No. People believed what they wanted to believe. Especially when someone like Errol was telling the tale.
“Yes, Japh,” he said wearily. “It was really me.”
Japhet, young and pimpled and easily awed, whistled soundlessly. “Gosh. No wonder Mister Haythwaite hates your guts. He says that staff of his you ruined cost thousands.”
“Does he?” He reached for another manky beaker. “Then I guess it did.”
“He says everywhere you go, disaster follows. He says you probably got a king killed. You didn’t, did you?”
What? He put down the scrubbing brush and turned to face Japhet. “No. I didn’t. And you should know better than to listen to gossip, Mister Morgan.”
Japhet flushed. “It’s not gossip. It’s what Mister Haythwaite says.”
Gerald turned back to the sink. “Yes, well, Mister Haythwaite’s going to say a lot more than that if he catches you in here idling. So you’d best leave me to my scrubbing and get back to work.”
“Right. Yes,” said Japhet, suitably cowed. “Sorry, Gerald. It’s only what Mister Haythwaite says.”
Alone again, Gerald rinsed the beaker and stacked it with the other twelve on the draining board. Outrage at Errol tangled with his ongoing remorse for blabbing to Monk and the girls about his true purpose here at Wycliffe’s. Reaching for yet another beaker, plunging it into the sink’s scalding, soapy water, he throttled the urgent desire to run out to the lab and beat Errol about the head with his brand new First Grade staff.
Stupid, stupid, mingy pillock. He’s trying to turn everyone here against me. He’s trying to get me fired. Does he know I’ve got my eye on him? Has he guessed? Did I give myself away somehow? He said he could sense there was something different about me. What if he really can? What if that wasn’t just bluster? Oh lord. If he gets me fired Sir Alec will be furious.
He scrubbed and scrubbed at the dirty beaker, feeling his shoulders ache. Feeling the heat of the scalding water. Even wearing rubber gloves he was developing dishpan hands. He could feel his fingers shrivelling; a few more hours of this and he’d have no fingers left.
But I’d better get used to it. If I let Errol get me fired this’ll be my first and last field assignment. Of course it’ll be my first and last field assignment anyway if Sir Alec finds out I spilled the beans on the investigation…
He wouldn’t feel so bad about it if he’d managed to convince the girls to give up working for Permelia Wycliffe. But he’d been mad to think he could talk them out of it by telling them the truth.
If anything, he’d actually made things worse. Melissande spying on Errol? The stupid girl had lost her mind. Maybe if he put a call through to Rupert…
I can’t. Melissande would never forgive me. Besides, Rupert would tell Sir Alec and that’d be that.
He’d just have to trust that, between them, Melissande and Reg would be able to find their biscuit thief. Maybe he could help them. Solving their stupid case would get them out of the way and he could breathe easily again. Focus on finding the link between Errol and Haf Rottlezinder.
Assuming there is one. I really want there to be one. I suppose that makes me a bad person. But he’s telling people I killed a king! All right, I did. But that’s not the point! And anyway, he was a bad king. The point is His disjointed train of thought was derailed by a commotion beyond the scullery’s open door. As he turned, half- cleaned beaker in hand, Japhet Morgan rushed back in.
“You’ll never guess!” he panted. “There’s been another portal accident! It’s all over the wireless. Quick, come and listen!”
