eavesdropping that tad more difficult.
I hope Reg is hanging upside down outside the window again.
“ — dereliction of duty that is quite insupportable in a Wycliffe gel!” said Miss Petterly. “ You, Miss Carstairs, represent everything that is wrong with the young women of today! Flighty! Thoughtless! Concerned with nothing but your own pleasures! If you knew the vicissitudes faced by the women who came before you, Miss Carstairs! Women like myself who had to fight tooth and nail for the right to employment outside the domestic sphere! We battled and we struggled and we-”
Yes, I’m sure it was a trial. Try fighting tooth and nail with a dragon some time, you ridiculous woman.
And then, as Miss Petterly continued to rant, she felt a twist of guilt. Actually, that wasn’t fair. Even in modern Ottosland there were barriers to break down. Prejudices to overcome. Women like Miss Petterly-as unpleasant as she was-had helped to make it possible for her and Bibbie to open Witches Inc., live outside the confines of the family, drive a car, wear trousers…
Well. Get stared at while wearing trousers, but also not get arrested. That’s progress-of a sort.
With difficulty she tuned out Miss Petterly’s scolding and tried to focus on Permelia and Ambrose.
“-don’t know what you’re talking about,” he was saying. “That old biddy? Why would I-”
Old biddy? Were they talking about Eudora Telford?
“-to call me, or come and see me, and she’s vanished!” shouted Permelia. “ Vanished, Ambrose! After going to see that dreadful wizard you — ”
“ Miss Carstairs!” said Miss Petterly, and banged her fist on the desk. “Are you paying attention to me?”
Oh, how much did she want to say no. But instead she nodded, hoping her expression was suitably chastened. “Oh yes, Miss Petterly. I’ve heard every word, Miss Petterly.”
“I find that hard to believe, Miss Carstairs!” retorted Miss Petterly. “You have a singularly vacant look upon your face!”
Inside Permelia’s office, the telephone rang. Permelia whirled away from her brother and snatched up the receiver. “ What?”
“Miss Carstairs!” gasped Miss Petterly. “How dare you? How dare you stand there and ignore me, gel!”
Melissande shot her an impatient look, abruptly tired of the charade. “Oh do shut up, you wittering old bat! I’m trying to hear what’s going on with Permelia and Ambrose!”
Especially since Permelia’s busy incriminating the pair of them. So kind of her. I must remember to say thanks.
From the office’s grim grey cubicles came loud, astonished gasps at her outright rebellion. And then the muffled sound of much merriment, repressed.
Miss Petterly looked like she was about faint. “I beg-I beg-I beg your pardon?”
“Too late,” said Melissande, and stared through the office blinds. Now Ambrose was on the phone and he didn’t look happy. He growled something into the receiver and slammed it back in its cradle, then marched to the office door and flung it open.
“My mind is made up, Permelia!” he snarled, pausing to glare back at his sister. “I wanted to sack him last night but you overruled me. Well I’m tired of you overruling me, you interfering scold. I am the head of this family and this company, and I will decide who remains in its employ. This time Gerald Dunwoody stays sacked! And furthermore-I’m having him arrested!”
As he thudded his way past Miss Petterly’s desk and through the outer office towards the door, Permelia- looking anything but self-controlled and haughty-tottered out after him.
“Ambrose, no! Ambrose, wait! Ambrose, please, listen, you don’t know what you’re doing!” Ignoring the astonished Miss Petterly she hurried after her enraged brother, pausing only to add, “Miss Cadwallader? Your services have proven most unsatisfactory. Consider your contract summarily terminated. I expect my retainer to be refunded immediately. Ambrose!”
And she continued after her brother, hurling epithets and pleas.
Blimey.
Melissande looked into Permelia’s office, saw that Reg was indeed hanging upside down outside the window and in fact appeared to be in a spot of bother. So she shoved past Miss Petterly and into the office, rescued Reg, plonked the gasping bird on her shoulder and ran out again in pursuit of the battling Wycliffes.
Every gel in the office was on her feet and staring.
“Miss Carstairs! Miss Carstairs!” Miss Petterly screamed.
“Not Carstairs! Cadwallader!” Melissande shouted back, then looked around the office. “Of Witches Inc., Ottosland’s premier witching locum agency. No task too small, discretion guaranteed. And if I were you, gels, I’d start looking for different employment! Wycliffe’s is about to go down in flames!”
Leaving a hubbub behind her she ran down the stairs and out to reception, where Bibbie-who’d insisted on coming to Wycliffe’s with her in the dubious guise of a young gel looking for work-was failing spectacularly to look plain and rustic and eminently employable.
“What’s going on?” she said, leaping to her feet.
Ignoring shocked Miss Fisher, Melissande grabbed her by one blue muslin sleeve and tugged her towards the door. “I don’t know, exactly, but it sounds like Gerald’s in trouble. Come on, we’ve got to get to him, quickly, before this whole case goes kablooey in our faces.”
They hustled out of the administration building and onto the path leading to the Research and Development block. Reg immediately launched herself into the air and flapped ahead.
The main door to the laboratory complex stood uncharacteristically open. Inside, Ambrose Wycliffe was shouting. As Reg glided into the building, staying high to avoid detection, Melissande grabbed Bibbie’s arm again then pressed a finger to her lips.
“Not a sound, all right?” she breathed. “Tiptoe and hold your breath! With any luck they won’t notice us. Especially if Ambrose keeps on bellowing like that.”
Bibbie nodded vigorously, and they crept their way into the Wycliffe Airship Company’s raging thaumic heart.
All of Ambrose’s wizards were gathered in a nervous, ragged circle, as though they had a wild animal trapped and weren’t precisely sure what to do with it. Gerald, very tense, was staring at Ambrose Wycliffe, who stood inside the ragged circle with him. And Ambrose Wycliffe, scarlet-faced and practically frothing at the mouth, very nearly demented with fury, looked in danger of having a stroke. Permelia hovered behind her brother, her panicked gaze darting from Ambrose to Gerald and back again.
“-since you got here, Dunwoody!” Ambrose’s meaty hands were clenched to fists. He looked like he wanted to pummel Gerald to a bloody pulp. “At first I thought it was just Truscott’s, slipping up, but do you know what I think now, sir? I think you’re an imposter. I think you’re a spy! I think you’ve been sent here to destroy my company!”
“Ah-no, Mister Wycliffe, that’s not true,” said Gerald, as an ugly murmuring ran through the circle of wizards. “I was sent here by Truscott’s, remember? You were short a Third Grade wizard, I’m a Third Grade wizard, so they-”
“Poppycock!” shouted Ambrose. “You’re a spy, I know it. Who sent you? Was it Boswell? Is Boswell trying to resurrect his business again? Well, you can tell him from me he’s an idiot! Wycliffe’s buried Boswell once and we’ll bury him again. We’ll dance on his inferior company’s grave a second time. A third time! As many times as it takes, I can promise you that!”
Gerald raised placating hands. Melissande couldn’t tell if he’d noticed her and Bibbie, still as mice inside the laboratory complex door, or Reg, perched high above the spectacle on one of the light-fittings… but if he had, he gave absolutely no sign of it.
Oh, Saint Snodgrass preserve us. Please don’t let this go kablooey.
“Mister Wycliffe,” he said, his voice so meek and subservient, sounding nothing like the man who’d defeated a dragon, “I’m terribly sorry, but I think there’s been a dreadful mistake.”
Ambrose took a threatening step forward. “My oath there’s been a mistake! You set foot in my lab, Dunwoody, that was a mistake. Your first mistake. And then you started sabotaging my airships. Well, Mister Incompetent Third Grade wizard, we don’t take too kindly to sabotage around here. Especially sabotage that lands our head designer in hospital and puts our brand-new flagship Ambrose Mark VI prototype on the scrap heap- twice.”
