from his friendly next-door neighbour Sultan Zazoor. You remember him, don’t you? He’s the one with the very nice war camel and quite a lot of swords.”
“I remember,” Monk said darkly. “But Zazoor’s half a world away. My parents are only two suburbs over.”
He had a point. “Monk, we’ll be fine.”
“The famous last words of disaster victims through the ages,” he said and tugged at his untidy hair. “Honestly, girls, I really think this is a bad idea.”
“So you said, Monk,” Bibbie replied. “But we didn’t ask you what you thought, we asked you to lend us the jalopy and you said yes. And then you asked what for, but you know the rules. Once you say yes, you can’t take it back.”
“ Nursery rules?” he said, incredulous. “Made up when we were five years old? Honestly, Bibs. You need to take this seriously. You’re talented but you’re not witching’s answer to Gerald Dunwoody.”
She shrugged. “I could be, one day. Or I could be a famous explorer and paddle a canoe single-handed down the great and mysterious Lanruvian River. Or I could try to solve the riddle of the singing forests of Fandawandi. I am Emmerabiblia Markham and I can do anything I want. Which tonight means I’m taking your rackety old jalopy and investigating a peculiar occurrence with my colleagues from Witches Inc. Because you said yes and now you can’t take it back.”
Melissande exchanged an eye-rolling look with Reg then patted Monk on the arm. “Truly, you mustn’t worry. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”
“Will you?” he said, his expression so woebegone. “Really? Because I wasn’t joking about the shotgun, you know. Ma and Pa dote on her, Saint Snodgrass knows why. I know I don’t when she’s in this mood.”
“Oh, pooh,” said Bibbie. “And likewise fiddlesticks and furthermore pishwash.” She marched to the jalopy and flung open the driver’s side door. “Are we going or are we standing around here watching Monk be a wet hen?”
“Oy,” said Reg crossly. “How many times do I have to-”
“And you can stop being a wet hen too,” said Bibbie. “Are you going to come with us or fly? Make up your mind.”
Reg sniffed. “I’ll go with you. But you’d best leave a window down in case I need to make a fast getaway.”
And she flapped herself into the jalopy’s back seat as Bibbie slid behind the wheel and patted it, like a pet.
Now Monk was chewing the side of his thumb. “Oh blimey,” he muttered. “This is what comes of giving girls an education. And the vote. And familial emancipation.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Melissande, and instead of kissing his cheek punched him hard on the shoulder. “Would you like to withdraw those gormless, brainless, mannerless remarks?”
“No,” he said sulkily. “And what’s more I’m starting to regret ever introducing you to Bibbie.”
“What? You’re saying she’s my fault?”
“I’m saying that ever since you three started up Witches Inc. she’s-she’s-Mel, she could get hurt.”
Outrage surrendered to his genuine concern. Melissande, offended and touched at the same time, patted the shoulder she’d just punched. “Monk, honestly, stop fussing. We’re not trying to be Gerald. We’re just keeping an eye on a silly old biddy who agreed to go traipsing about the streets of Ott late at night for her very dear friend Permelia Wycliffe, when Permelia Wycliffe appears to be perfectly capable of doing her own traipsing… yet doesn’t want to.”
“Yes, but why?” wailed Monk. “I thought you were working for Permelia Wycliffe, not investigating her!”
It was another excellent point.
“Yes, we are.”
“You are what? Doing both?”
She sighed. “I know it looks like that at the moment. But Monk, something’s not right. There’s too much of the peculiar going on at Wycliffe’s. Raised voices. Mysterious meetings. Even more mysterious crystal ball conversations. And now Permelia’s got that dotty Eudora Telford running secret errands for her. It’s just very odd, Monk, and I don’t like odd. I like things neat and tidy and properly explained-and if possible filed alphabetically and correctly taxed. Besides. Eudora Telford’s such a scatty old thing she really does need a few guardian angels making sure she’s safe.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so,” said Monk, still unhappy. “But why do you three have to take on the job?”
“Because nobody else was available at such short notice.”
“You know,” he said, sounding desperate, “I could stop you. I could whammy the engine. Swallow the ignition key.”
Bibbie tugged down the driver’s window. “You could certainly try. Tell me, Monk, would you prefer one black eye or a matched pair?”
“ Bibbie — ”
She shrugged. “It’s only polite to offer you a choice.”
“Then please, please, at least let me come with you!”
Melissande sighed, and this time did reach up to kiss Monk’s cheek. “No. Now stop worrying, Monk. I’m a princess, remember, and an ex-prime minister. I’m perfectly capable of driving around the city for an evening. Reg is in no danger at all, and as for Bibbie… you mustn’t let her youth and extravagant beauty fool you. Your sister is as tough as nails. A match for anyone and anything.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m really not talking you out of this, am I?”
“No, Monk, you’re not,” said Bibbie. “You’re just making us cross.”
“Reg and I will take good care of her,” Melissande promised. “Our royal word of honour.”
Monk kissed her cheek, a little closer to her lips than was entirely proper. “I’ll hold you to that.”
She felt herself blush. “Yes. Well,” she said, flustered. How embarrassing. “We should get going or we’ll be late. Don’t wait up. We’ll bring the jalopy back to you first thing in the morning.”
Leaving him adrift in the middle of the old stable yard, she squashed herself into the elderly car beside Bibbie and banged shut the passenger door.
“Right,” she said, as Bibbie closed her window. “You two do realise that we’re mad as hatters, attempting this?”
“Certainly,” said Bibbie.
“Stark staring bonkers,” said Reg.
“If Permelia Wycliffe finds out we were spying on her friend instead of trying to find her biscuit thief, she’ll sack us and make it her life’s work to see us ruined.”
“Of course she will,” said Bibbie.
“And she’d do a good job of it, too,” said Reg.
“So perhaps we should follow Monk’s suggestion, and stay home toasting crumpets?”
“I don’t think so,” said Bibbie, and started the engine.
“Wash your mouth out,” said Reg. “That’s a shameful suggestion.”
She sat back, feeling enormously pleased. “My sentiments exactly, gels. All right, then. Let’s get this done. Witches Inc. ho!”
An hour later they were still sitting in the jalopy, which they’d parked in the street outside Eudora Telford’s fussily neat little bungalow. It was located on the outskirts of North Ott, which wasn’t the richest part of the city, really it was rather shabby-genteel, but at least it wasn’t insalubrious. The low, steady thaumic lighting threw odd shadows over the world.
Melissande wriggled in her saggy-springed passenger seat, trying to find a comfortable way of squishing too much of herself into not enough space. “I don’t know, Reg. I do wish you’d managed to overhear a bit more of Permelia’s conversation with Eudora. I’d rather like to know if she’s a victim or a villain.”
“No, would you really?” said Reg. “I wouldn’t have cottoned onto that if you hadn’t already mentioned it forty-seven times.”
“Oh, come on, girls,” said Bibbie, sighing. “Enough squabbling. Let’s look on the bright side for once. At least we know for certain now that I can charm pertinent information out of government officials if I have to. That’s two young men at the Births, Deaths and Marriages Bureau who couldn’t have been more helpful.”
