we ended up staying for cakes and tea. Mel snooped in Eudora’s purse and found a fortune in sparkly stones. And a note in Permelia Wycliffe’s handwriting, directing Eudora to Haf Rottlezinder in the old boot factory that you blew up.”
“Actually,” he said, “for the record? I didn’t blow it up. Rottlezinder did. I was just… there.”
“Oh, who cares?” said Reg, fluffing out her feathers. “It was abandoned. No-one was using it.”
“No-one except Haf Rottlezinder,” he said quietly.
“Yes, well, he was a rotter and he blew himself to smithereens so good riddance to him,” said Reg. “What matters, Gerald, is we’ve solved your case.”
He considered her blankly. “No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, we have,” said Melissande. “ Gerald, we caught Permelia red-handed, paying off the wizard who blew up the portals!”
Monk cleared his throat. “Except that you didn’t, Mel. Permelia Wycliffe was nowhere near South Ott last night.”
“But-”
“Melissande,” said Gerald, as kindly as he could. “Look. I know you’re trying to help, but Monk’s right. Have you got the gemstones? Have you got this note you think was written by Permelia? Have you got anything connecting her to Haf Rottlezinder?”
“I told you,” said Melissande, rolling her eyes. “I overheard Permelia and Ambrose arguing about saving the company, and Reg overhead Permelia asking Eudora for a favour and-”
“In other words, no. You’ve got no proof at all.”
Reg, Melissande and Bibbie looked at each other. Then Bibbie shrugged. “Well… we’ve got Eudora Telford.”
“What?” said Monk, alarmed. “What do you mean you’ve got Eudora Telford? Do you mean you’ve actually got her? Are you telling me there’s some old bat trussed up and-and stuffed in the boot of my jalopy?”
“No, Monk, you idiot,” said Melissande, throwing a cushion at him. “ Honestly. She’s at her place, waiting for me and Bibbie to pick her up and take her out to South Ott so she can honour her promise to Permelia Wycliffe and deliver the gemstones to Haf Rottlezinder.”
“Which of course she can’t do now, because he’s blown himself to smithereens,” said Bibbie. She pulled a thoughtful face. “It’s a funny word that, isn’t it? Smithereens. How big is a smithereen, do you suppose? Do you think it’s smaller than a-”
“One more word out of you, ducky,” said Reg, “and I’ll blow you to smithereens myself and you can investigate the mystery personally.”
Bibbie stared at her. “What did I say?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Monk, and threw the cushion at his offended sister.
“What Bibbie means,” said Melissande, with teeth-gritted restraint, “is that we’ve established quite a cosy little rapport with Eudora Telford. She-ah-she thinks she’s got an invitation to visit Rupert and cook pastries for him.”
Gerald raised an eyebrow. “Really? And whatever gave her that idea?”
“Ah,” said Melissande, her freckles disappearing in a tide of pink. “Well. I might have… you know… um…”
“Told her a big fat lie? Got her to trust you under false pretences?” He had to grin, even though he was so tired. “Oh, Melissande. Can this Telford woman even cook?”
“Only very, very badly,” she said. “But I’m trying hard not to think about that.”
“Good idea,” said Reg. “So-forgetting New Ottosland’s Butterfly King and his future digestive dilemmas for a moment-let’s agree, shall we, that Mad Miss Markham’s right for once and Eudora Telford’s our gold-plated key. Because with that pillock Errol Haythwaite ruled out of the guilty picture it’s obvious that Permelia and her brother are-are-” She chattered her beak. “ Gerald…?”
“What?” said Melissande. “Reg, what’s wrong?”
Feeling Reg’s narrowed gaze on him, Gerald closed his eyes. How had he forgotten that she, like Monk, could read him like a book written in crayon with very big letters?
Damn. I’m even more tired than I thought.
“What’s wrong,” Reg said snippily, “is that we’ve not been told the whole story, ducky. Come on, Gerald. I know that look. What have you ever-so-slightly neglected to mention?”
He sighed. “Nothing that has anything to do with Permelia.”
“How would you know?” Reg retorted. “You lot wrote Permelia off as pure as the driven snow. You’re just lucky we’re around, sunshine, or there’d be egg all over your face about now.”
Regrettably, he couldn’t argue with that.
“Tell them, Gerald,” said Monk, reprehensibly amused. “You’ll get no peace until you do.”
And he couldn’t argue with that, either. “Something else has come up,” he muttered. “A question of treason. Errol’s in Department custody, helping Sir Alec with his enquiries. And it looks like I’m the only person who still thinks he’s innocent.”
“Blimey,” said Reg. “You’re defending that plonker now? Cor.” She let loose a cackle of laughter. “That has to be giving you piles.”
“Right now the only thing I’ve got is a headache,” he said, “and that’s because people keep on interrupting.”
“Someone’s been passing Errol’s airship designs to the Jandrians,” said Monk. “The Department thinks that someone is Errol.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” said Reg. “The Jandrians are building military airships under the bed.” She shook her head. “Those buggers. Twisty as a corkscrew, the bloody lot of ’em. Always have been, for as long as I can remember.”
“But-but-they can’t do that,” said Bibbie. “The treaty of 1846 expressly forbids them from rebuilding their military capabilities. Their airship fleet is limited to five civilian carriers, and the routes are restricted and monitored.”
Melissande blinked at her. “How do you know these things?”
“Uncle Ralph was a junior clerk during the post-war tribunals,” said Bibbie, shrugging. “Every time he’s had one whiskey too many he bangs on about how he was present at the making of history. Silly old turtle. It was boring the first time he told the story.”
Melissande looked at Monk. “What isn’t your family connected to in this country?”
Monk and Bibbie exchanged resigned looks. “Not much,” he said. “Sorry.”
“So if Errol’s not selling us out, who is?” said Reg. “And how are you going to find this villain?”
Gerald sighed. Good question. “I’m not. Sir Alec’s looking into that. Officially I’m still assigned to the portal sabotage case. Which I have to crack, fast, because there’s the risk that once our mystery villain realises Rottlezinder’s dead, he’ll find himself another bent wizard and keep on attacking the portal network.”
“In that case, Gerald,” said Melissande, standing, “you’ll have to come with us to see Eudora Telford and help us to convince her it’s her patriotic duty to sell Permelia down the river. Once we’ve got the gemstones and Permelia’s handwritten note, the rest of this crazy jigsaw should fall into place.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. There was only one small problem. “Melissande, nobody’s supposed to know that I work for the government.”
Melissande smiled, and behind her glasses her eyes sparkled wickedly. “Don’t worry. Eudora won’t have the first idea.”
Before he could explore that alarming answer further, completely not trusting the gleam in her eyes, Bibbie scrambled out of her own chair. “I think that’s an excellent plan, Mel.” She turned to her brother. “Monk, Mel, Reg and I need to-”
“No,” said Monk, and folded his arms. “Absolutely not. I am never lending you my jalopy again. If you want to go somewhere I’ll drive you, but I’m not letting you loose on the streets of Ott unsupervised. Not after last night. Not until you’ve turned fifty. Or possibly sixty. Ott’s not a perfect city, not by a long shot, but it hasn’t done anything bad enough to deserve you.”
Bibbie flushed pink with temper. “Monk Debinger Aloysius Markham, don’t you dare try to boss me around like you’re Father!”
