She spread her hands wide. “And behold me, Gerald, once again not caring.” She turned on her heel. “Now come on. I want this over with. Some of us have proper work to do.”
“It’s all right,” said Reg from her ram skull, as they marched into the main office. “All the teaspoons are accounted for. I haven’t took my eyes off him once.”
“Sir Alec,” said Gerald, very cautious, closing the office door. “Good morning.”
Sir Alec, neatly seated in the best client chair, nondescript as ever in his ordinary brown suit, slipped the notes he’d been reading back into his shabby leather briefcase.
“Good morning, Mr. Dunwoody. I wasn’t aware you kept bankers’ hours at Witches Inc.”
“No, no, that was me,” said Bibbie, her cheeks pinking. “My fault. Don’t blame him. Gerald’s always on time when I’m not around.”
“I see,” said Sir Alec. His cool gray eyes lost a little of their chill. “You and your brother. So much alike.”
“Thank you,” Bibbie said faintly. “I think.”
“Ah, Sir Alec, don’t take this the wrong way,” said Gerald, stiff and formal beside Bibbie’s desk, “but what are you doing here?”
“Have a seat, Mr. Dunwoody,” Sir Alec replied, as though these were his premises and he was in charge. “And I’ll explain. You too, Miss Cadwallader, and you, Miss Markham.
Surprised, Melissande looked at him. “You’re inviting us to stay?”
“Yes,” said Sir Alec, resigned. “Since I’m sure Mr. Dunwoody will only share with you what I tell him the moment I depart.”
Reg chattered her beak. “Saint Snodgrass’s bunions, you’re a sarky bugger, sunshine.”
“Really?” said Sir Alec, one pale brown eyebrow lifting. “Well, far be it from me to contradict such a renowned exponent of the art.”
Melissande choked back a laugh at the look on Reg’s face.
But Gerald wasn’t amused. A deep line was creased between his brows. “Sir Alec-”
“Relax, Mr. Dunwoody,” his formidable superior said, sounding bored. “When you cross the line you may believe I’ll tell you.”
“I’d rather you told us what’s going on,” said Bibbie, and dropped herself into the chair behind her desk. “This is all terribly mysterious, Sir Alec.” Elegant chin propped winsomely on her interlaced fingers, all her earlier distress carefully hidden, she fluttered her outrageously long eyelashes at him. “Have you a very special assignment for the team at Witches Inc.?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Sir Alec, spuriously apologetic. “But I do have a task for Mr. Dunwoody.”
Gerald was still standing at ramrod attention, more like a lance-corporal than a secret government agent. “A task, sir?”
“What kind of task?” said Melissande, and shifted sideways until she could rest her elbow on the top of the filing cabinet, where Reg brooded on her skull like a shag on a rock. Absolutely she wasn’t sitting down, on principle alone. “And how long will it take? Gerald’s got jobs booked, I’ll have you know. Secret government department front or not, Sir Alec, we do still operate as a legitimate business and I don’t take kindly to abruptly disappearing staff.”
Sir Alec raised that lethal eyebrow again. “I happen to know, Miss Cadwallader, that Mr. Dunwoody is not currently engaged on any jobs for this agency-but even if he were, my needs take precedence. Also, I feel compelled to note-in the interests of veracity-that since joining your intrepid band of investigators that this is the first time I’ve approached him on a matter of janitorial business, and so the term ‘abruptly disappearing staff’ does not in this case apply. At least, not to Mr. Dunwoody. Given the Markham family propensity for unauthorized thaumaturgics, I’m not prepared to speak for Miss Markham.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” said Bibbie, her cheeks becomingly flushed with temper. “Because I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself!”
“I’m sure you are, Miss Markham, but I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain,” said Sir Alec. “Just this once. So we can conclude our meeting in a timely fashion. I’m sure you don’t want to keep Mr. Frobisher waiting.”
As Reg muttered crossly under her breath, Melissande lifted her chin at Gerald’s aggravating superior. “And if someone does call expressly requesting Gerald’s services?”
Sir Alec shrugged “Then you’ll tell them, with regret, that he is otherwise engaged.”
“Doing what?” said Gerald. “Or can’t you say in mixed company?”
“I can’t say with complete abandon,” Sir Alec replied after a moment, “but I can assuage your colleagues’ curiosity this much, Mr. Dunwoody: you’ll be taking a short trip out of the country. Having a quiet word with someone who knows someone who knows something about something about which I would like to know.”
Melissande scowled. Honestly, all this ridiculous secret agent doublespeak. But Gerald was nodding as though Sir Alec’s gobbledegook made perfect sense. And perhaps it did, to him. He was the government agent, after all.
“Right, sir,” Gerald said, with a glint in his eye. “And you need me for this task because…?”
Up went Sir Alec’s eyebrow again. “I’m sorry. Am I required to justify myself to you, Mr. Dunwoody?”
“Oh, stop being so bloody starchy,” said Reg. “It’s a fair question and you know it. Want me to answer it? I’ll bet you five field mice I can.”
“Alas,” said Sir Alec, not even pretending to be sorry this time. “I’m bereft of field mice. But let that not stop us, Reg. By all means-answer the question. And if you get it wrong I’ll think of another forfeit.”
“Don’t, Reg,” said Bibbie, still rankled. “You don’t know what he’s got up his unfashionable sleeve.”
“Actually, I do,” said Reg. “A stringy white arm with not enough bicep on it.”
Sir Alec smiled, but his eyes didn’t lose any of their gray chill. “Stalling for time, Dulcetta?”
Reg stretched one wing above her head and yawned. “You’re sending Gerald because when he plays his cards right he’s no more of a head-turner than a genuine Ottish street sweeper and you don’t want him and your chatty friend getting themselves noticed while they’re chatting.”
“Exactly,” said Sir Alec, with a small nod, one fencer to another acknowledging a hit. “Even in our small world Mr. Dunwoody remains an unknown quantity. He’s the perfect candidate to slip in and out unobserved.”
Melissande drummed her short, blunt fingernails on the side of the filing cabinet. “In and out of where?”
“None of your business, Miss Cadwallader,” said Sir Alec.
Bloody secret government departments. With an effort she unclenched her jaw. “Fine. But I do need to know how long he’ll be gone. So that when prospective customers call wanting his help I can tell them how long they’ll have to wait for it.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea.”
“And how are we supposed to run a business when-”
Sir Alec stood, economically athletic. “That’s not my concern, Miss Cadwallader. My concern is with the security of this country. Our arrangement guarantees that Witches Inc. will remain solvent. I advise you to take comfort from that, and adjust your business ambitions accordingly.”
“Ha!” said Reg. “I’ll adjust your bloody ambitions, sunshine. In case you haven’t noticed I’ve got a long beak and I’m not afraid to use it!”
Gerald lifted his hand. “ Reg.”
“What?” Reg complained, her feathers ruffled. “He marches in here and starts bossing us around, says he’s dragging you off by the scruff of your neck without so much as a d’you mind, thanks ever so, and here’s us being left behind and-” With a timely gasp for air, she fixed Sir Alec with a gimlet gaze. “Mind you-”
“ No, Reg,” said Sir Alec. “Under no circumstances are you accompanying Mr. Dunwoody. And make no mistake-if you try I will have you restrained.”
“Fine,” Reg muttered sulkily. “Have it your way. But if anything happens to him because I wasn’t there…”
Gerald spared her an affectionate glance, then focused his attention on Sir Alec. Melissande, watching him, saw the chilling, subtle shift from sweet, thoughtful, slightly harassed Gerald to the terrifyingly powerful wizard who’d created two dragons and defeated mad, misguided Lional.
She felt her heart thud harder. In their daily Ottish life-at Chatterly Crescent, here at the agency, and on those days when they took a little time to have some fun-it was possible to forget that this darker Gerald even
