and Lional have-have-that somehow they’ve managed to destroy the whole place?”
“That’s-unlikely,” said Sir Alec. “But something has definitely occurred, something-”
“If you say catastrophic one more time,” she said crossly, “I will give you such a smack.”
He blinked at her, once. “Something we are currently unable to quantify,” he said at last, “beyond the fact that the event is unprecedented.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means Gerald’s in even more trouble than he was when we left,” said Monk, furious. “I’m a blithering idiot. I never should have let him-”
“Please, Mr. Markham,” said Rupert, “let’s not. I’m sure once the dust has settled there’ll be plenty of blame to go around. Now. This unprecedented thaumaturgical event. It seems obvious to me that either Gerald or my unfortunate brother Lional is behind it. If it’s Gerald then I venture we have cause for optimism. But if it’s Lional — ”
Melissande flinched. Found herself wishing quite desperately that she could take hold of Monk Markham’s hand. “Please don’t say that, Rupes. I don’t think I could bear it if-” She couldn’t even bring herself to say the words out loud. “Sir Alec, can’t you tell who’s behind what’s happened?”
Sir Alec shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rupert, very clipped. “But I find that hard to believe. It’s my understanding Ottosland’s Department of Thaumaturgy prides itself on being the most comprehensive establishment of its kind in the world. And yet there you sit claiming you can’t tell who has triggered this unprecedented thaumaturgic event?”
As the three men at the table exchanged inscrutable looks, Monk cleared his throat. “Actually, Your Highness, it’s true. We can’t. Our international monitoring stations aren’t calibrated that way. Not for individual thaumic signatures. Sorry.”
Rupert stared at Monk, and Monk stared at Rupert. Then Rupes nodded, apparently satisfied.
Struck again by how different her brother was, Melissande touched Monk’s sleeve. “Can’t you work out what’s happened? I mean, you were able to find Bondaningo’s thaumic signature in the hex Lional put on my doors and… well… Gerald’s your best friend. If anyone can work out if he’s the one behind this thaumaturgical event, surely it’s you.”
Painful shadows shifted in Monk’s eyes. “Melissande-Your Highness-I would if I could, believe me. But it doesn’t work like that. I don’t think anyone’s been able to read a thaumaturgic event long-distance. At least not this kind of long-distance.”
“True,” said Sir Alec, suspiciously mild. “But to my knowledge, Mr. Markham, nobody has ever invented a portable portal before, either. So perhaps Her Highness’s suggestion isn’t-”
“Now you wait a moment, Alec,” said Monk’s uncle. “That’s my reprobate of a nephew you’re enticing into yet more unsanctioned, unpalatable and patently unsafe thaumaturgic shenanigans and I don’t appreciate you meddling in my family’s-”
“Thank you, Sir Ralph,” Lord Attaby snapped. “Your sentiments are understandable but irrelevant. This is a crisis and in a crisis it’s a case of all hands on deck. Mr. Markham-”
Monk jumped, then yelped as Reg dug all her claws through his coat to stop herself from falling off his shoulder. “My lord?”
“Can you do it?” said Lord Attaby, leaning across the polished oak conference table toward him. “Are you able to ascertain which wizard is behind this unprecedented thaumaturgic event?”
“Um,” said Monk, his voice strangled. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“How, Monk?” said his uncle, incredulous. “You’ve no reference points, no thaumic signature on record for comparisons, no-”
“Oh dear,” said Lord Attaby, all his teeth on show in a deeply unamused smile. “And would that be guilt plastered across your face, Mr. Markham?” He looked at Sir Ralph. “I think there’s something your enterprising nephew has neglected to tell us, Sir Ralph.”
Sir Ralph covered his face with one hand. “When this is over, I am going to kill him.”
“Certainly that would be one way of solving the problem,” Lord Attaby agreed. “But if we could for the moment stay focused on our more immediate concerns?” Sitting back, he laced his fingers across his middle. “Come now, Mr. Markham. Those of a religious persuasion tell us confession is good for the soul. If I were you I’d start confessing, for I suspect your soul needs all the help it can get.”
Melissande tightened her fingers on Monk’s arm. “Please? You might be New Ottosland’s only hope. And whatever trouble you get into afterwards, Rupert and I will help you out of it. My promise as a princess and a prime minister and an almost-queen.”
With a groan, his face milky pale, Monk nodded. Then he looked at his three superiors, grimly entrenched behind the oak conference table. “I covered up for Gerald when he transmogged King Lional’s cat into a lion.”
“I’m sorry?” said Lord Attaby, after a moment. His ferocious smile had vanished behind a frown. “Did I hear you aright? You falsified official Department records?”
“No!” said Monk, alarmed. “No, of course not, Lord Attaby. I just-I turned off the monitoring alarm before anyone else heard it and reset the etheretic calibrators. The information should still be there. All I did was… gloss over it.”
“All you did,” his appalled uncle moaned. “Nephew, I swear-”
“So what you’re saying,” said Sir Alec, before Monk’s uncle made good on his murderous threat, “is that we have a captured sample of Mr. Dunwoody’s enhanced thaumic signature?”
Monk nodded. “Provided nobody’s accidentally purged the records, yes.”
“And you’re confident you can use this sample to establish the cause of our monitoring meltdown?”
“Confident, sir?” Monk swallowed. “Well, I don’t know about confident but I’ll give it my best shot.”
Lord Attaby pushed his heavy oak chair back from the table and stood. “Then I suggest we waste no more time on recriminations and expostulations and instead get on down to Priority Monitoring. Your Majesty, I’ll have you and your-er-your prime minister escorted to a more comfortable chamber where you can-”
Melissande gave him a look worthy of Lional. “Oh no, you won’t. This is our kingdom you’re talking about, my lord. We’re coming down to Priority Monitoring with you. Aren’t we, Rupert?”
“Why yes, Melissande,” Rupert drawled. “I rather think we are.”
For the briefest moment she thought Lord Attaby might argue the point-but then he gave up. Smart man. “Very well,” he sighed. “Upon the understanding, Your Majesty, that you will be under the strictest code of confidentiality. Whatever you see or hear cannot be discussed with anyone not currently in this chamber. And frankly, after today, I’d rather it were never discussed again. Do I have your word on that?”
“You do, Lord Attaby,” said Rupert, with the most regal nod. “Mine and my sister’s.”
Lord Attaby heaved another sigh. “Fine. Mr. Markham, find somewhere to put that ridiculous bird, will you? This is the Ottosland Department of Thaumaturgy, not a zoological garden. And if you can’t procure a cage you can stuff it in a cupboard!”
“I beg your bloody pardon?” said Reg, tail feathers rattling. “Stuff yourself in a cupboard, you silly old goat!”
A paralyzed silence. And then Monk plucked Reg off his shoulder and held her up to his face, nose-to-beak. “You had to do it, didn’t you?” he said, sounding desperate. “You had to mouth off and make everything worse. You couldn’t just-just sit in a cage for an hour until I worked out how to help Gerald, could you?”
“Oh, please!” Reg retorted. “As if Gerald’s getting out of this pickle without my help! This pickle you landed him in, sunshine, when you showed him madam’s stupid Position Vacant advertisement without waiting to consult me on whether-”
“Oh for the love of Saint Snodgrass, would the pair of you shut up?” Melissande shouted, and fetched Monk a resounding clout on the back of his head. “What’s wrong with you? Carping and bickering while Gerald’s in trouble!”
“Hey!” said Monk, turning on her. “D’you mind? That hurt!”
“Really?” she retorted. “I find that hard to believe, seeing as how your head’s a solid block of wood!”
Reg rattled her tail even harder than before. “Ha! You tell him, ducky!”
“Shut up, Reg, or I’ll clout you too,” she said, glaring. “Monk’s right, ducky. You should’ve kept your beak shut. I was just about to tell Lord Attaby that you had to come with us because you’re a beloved childhood pet but now — ”
