On a howl of rage and in a flurry of feathers Reg dived from the ceiling like a bird possessed, all reaching talons and sharp, gaping beak.
“ Get your bloody hands off him, you harpy!”
Startled, Permelia Wycliffe cried out and let go of Gerald and the hairpin to fling her hands desperately over her head. Reg set to with a vengeance, long beak stabbing, wings flailing and beating Permelia Wycliffe to her knees. When the woman was down, prone on the lab floor and crying for mercy, Reg spun in midair, her eyes alight with the flame of battle.
“Well don’t just stand there gawping, you plonkers! Someone bloody sit on her before she tries to get up!”
Bibbie landed on Permelia so hard she nearly broke the woman’s back.
“Gerald!” said Melissande and rushed to his side, dropping to her knees and trying to see the wound in his throat. “Are you all right? Oh, you are an idiot! I told you to hex the bloody woman from a distance!”
Huffing and puffing, Reg landed on her shoulder. “But he didn’t listen, did he?” She shook her head and rattled her tail feathers. “I don’t know, sunshine. How many times do I have to tell you? Never underestimate a woman.”
Sitting up, Gerald accepted the hanky Melissande thrust into his hand and pressed it to the tiny dribbling puncture wound in his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “Especially a woman with feathers.” He kissed her beak. “Thanks for that, Reg.”
“You’re welcome,” she sniffed. “Though perhaps after this you’ll listen to me in the future.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Melissande said anxiously. “You’re not going to turn black and green like an overripe banana?”
He reached for Permelia’s discarded hairpin. “No. This one’s not hexed,” he said, inspecting it closely. “She was bluffing. But whatever you do don’t touch the one buried in Ambrose’s throat. That was hexed all right…” He shuddered. “I’ve never come across anything like it. Whoever it is supplying her-he’s a devil.”
Bibbie shifted a little, making flattened Permelia groan. Staring at gruesomely dead Ambrose, she shrugged. “That’ll teach him to call his sister a gel.”
Gerald half-laughed. “I’ll be sure to remind Monk of that, next time I see him.” But his amusement didn’t last long. “Are you all right, Bibbie? That was a dreadful thing, how Ambrose died.”
“Oh. Yes,” said Bibbie, turning a pretty pink. “Of course. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” he said, sounding anxious. “It’s all right if you’re not, Bibbie, truly.”
Melissande swallowed a sigh. Ask me if I’m all right, why don’t you? But he wouldn’t. Of if he did, it’d only be an afterthought. Hadn’t she already proven herself equal to any amount of ghastliness and bloodshed? She was Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande, and she didn’t do soppy.
And anyway, Gerald’s sweet on her. Anyone can see that.
“ Hello,” said Reg, swivelling her head towards the lab door. “Who’s this come to spoil the party, then?”
They all looked to the doorway, where four newcomers were entering the lab complex.
“Damn,” said Gerald, and sighed. “Reg, you’d better scarper. Quick. We don’t want any awkward questions.”
Surprisingly, Reg didn’t argue. Instead she took one look at Gerald’s face then flapped her way out of the lab, through an open window at its far end.
Melissande stared at him. “Friends of yours?”
He grimaced. “Not… exactly. But they are from the Department.”
Around the laboratory complex the R amp;D wizards of Wycliffe’s Airship Company were sheepishly getting back on their feet, or coming out of hiding from the labs, or generally pretending they hadn’t all run about like hens in a thunderstorm at the height of the crisis.
As three of the four men from Gerald’s mysterious Department started rounding up the witnesses, the fourth picked his way through the mayhem to join them. He was oldish and tired-looking, encased in a rumpled blue suit. His deep-set hazel eyes were unimpressed.
The first thing he did was check on Ambrose Wycliffe.
“He’s dead,” said Bibbie, helpfully. “In case you were wondering.”
Ignoring her, the man stared at Gerald. Gerald nodded. “Dalby.”
Dalby’s eyes narrowed. “Nettleworth. Now. There’s a car outside waiting.”
Melissande stiffened. “Now hold on just a minute, Mister Dalby-or whoever you really are. I don’t think I like your tone. I don’t think you-”
“Don’t, Mel,” said Gerald. “It’s all right. I’ll be in touch, as soon as I can.” With a stifled groan he levered himself to his feet. “Thanks, for everything.”
She watched him go, a tousled, lonely figure with a hanky pressed against the small wound in his neck. Then she turned on Mister Dalby from the Department.
“Look here, you,” she said, “it’s possible you don’t know who I am, because I never talk about who I am, at least, not to say to people, ‘Do you know who I am?’, but in this case I’m going to make an exception, because-”
“I know perfectly well who you are, Your Highness,” said Mister Dalby from the Department. “Sir Alec’s warned me all about you.” He flicked a glance at Bibbie, who’d clambered off Permelia and was straightening her skirt. “ And you, Miss Markham.”
“Oh,” said Bibbie, and gave him her best smile. “Did he? That’s nice.”
But Mister Dalby from the Department was impervious to Bibbie’s smile. He scowled. “Nice? No. Not really. Have a seat, ladies. This could take a while.”
“Do you know,” said Bibbie, watching him walk away, “I’m not entirely sure I like that man.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” said Melissande. “I’m positive I don’t like him.” She heaved a sigh. “Are you really all right, Bibs? Gerald said it-that was a horrible thing to see.”
Bibbie looked away for a moment; there was the tiniest tremble in her bottom lip. Then she took a deep breath and nodded. “Honestly, Mel, I’m fine,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “Nobody said this job would be a bed of roses.”
True. But-“Even so, Bibs,” she said gently. “If you’re not fine, that’s-that’s all right.”
“Melissande, I am not a shrinking violet,” Bibbie snapped. “So you can stop fussing, thank you. Honestly, you sound just like Monk.”
Oh, lord. Monk. He’s going to be so upset. “Perhaps you should let me tell him about this, Bibs. You know- sort of soften the blow a bit before you regale him with all the gory details?”
Bibbie rolled her eyes. “All right. Fine. If you think that’ll help. But really, Mel, I’m not about to indulge in a fit of the vapours.”
No, clearly she wasn’t. Clearly the redoubtable Antigone Markham’s great-niece was made of the same stern stuff.
“Anyway, how are you?” added Bibbie. “Speaking of incipient vapours…”
Melissande sighed, and looked down at Permelia’s unfortunate brother. “Well, I confess I’m a little rattled,” she said. “But I’m better than Ambrose.”
“Or Permelia,” said Bibbie, and nudged the half-conscious woman with the toe of her shoe. “Blimey. You know, I knew it was a mistake to get mixed up with the Baking and Pastry Guild. Didn’t I tell you it was a mistake to get mixed up with the Baking and Pastry Guild?”
Melissande wrestled with the urge to punch her. “No, Emmerabiblia. On the contrary, you did everything in your power to make sure we got mixed up with the Baking and Pastry Guild.”
Bibbie pulled a face. “Oh yes. So I did. Well, let this be a lesson to you, Miss Cadwallader. Never get mixed up with the Ottosland Baking and Pastry Guild.”
Mister Dalby from the Department kept them waiting for nearly an hour while he and his… associates… talked to the Wycliffe R amp;D wizards, and did various thaumaturgical things with recording evidence at the scene, and saw that Ambrose Wycliffe was decently taken away, and that Permelia Wycliffe was also taken away, less decently. Eventually, though, he rejoined them at the lab bench where they were sitting.
“Right. That’s it, then. You ladies can go.”
Melissande exchanged a look with Bibbie then frowned at him. “I beg your pardon? We can what?”
“Go,” said Dalby. “Depart. Leave. Be on your way.”
