What? Poke around in the etheretic wrapping of a man wearing his face? And his shoes? Not to mention his coat. But that was the last thing he wanted to do.
“Well?” said Bibbie. “What are you waiting for?”
“It’s all right, Bibs-and-bobs,” the man on the sofa whispered. “I knew this was going to be difficult. He just needs some time. You all do.”
Bibbie dropped the hanky. “Bibs-and-bobs? Only Monk calls me that. And he hasn’t called me that in years. How could you possibly — ”
“Because I know you,” said the man on the sofa. “I know all of you. Sort of.”
“Bibbie,” said Monk, jerking his head. “A word? You too, Mel. And you, Reg.”
“But Monk-”
“He’s not going anywhere, Bibbie,” he said sharply. “Please?”
Reg hopped onto Melissande’s shoulder, Bibbie reluctantly retreated from the sofa, and the four of them huddled like conspirators on the other side of the room. Their unexpected and mysterious guest closed his eyes, his right hand folded protectively over his coat pocket.
“Mel?” Monk said, keeping his voice down. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She’d regained a little of her color, but still she was disturbingly unbossy. She nodded. “I’m fine. It’s just like-he-said… this is a shock.”
“I suppose we really are awake,” said Bibbie. Whatever she’d sensed, looking for the shadbolt, she had herself in hand again. “I mean, there’s no chance this is one of your stupid practical jokes, Monk? A dream-hex gone bonkers?”
“Cross my heart,” he said fervently, and swiped a finger twice across his chest. “No chance at all.”
“Fair enough,” said Bibbie, frowning. “But it could still be a hex, couldn’t it? Some kind of disguise incant, to make one person look like another? An alive person, I mean. Dead is easy.”
Monk chewed at his lip. “I doubt it. We’ve been trying to come up with one for over a year now and-what?” he said, when all three girls stared at him. “What?”
Bibbie was giving him her best gimlet glare. “You never said anything about working on that kind of project, Monk Markham. That kind of project’s a bit risky, isn’t it? Not to mention illegal.”
“Of course it’s risky,” he said, impatient. “But you can bet every government in the world has got someone like me working on it. And technically it’s not illegal if the government’s doing it. You know, as an anti-criminal preventive measure. Or something.”
Reg snorted. “Political hypocrisy. Got a lovely smell, hasn’t it?”
“Look, forget about this being any kind of doppler hex,” he said. “ And forget I mentioned I was working on one, would you? I’ve been sworn upside down and inside out to secrecy.”
Rolling her eyes, Bibbie sighed. “So in other words whoever this man is it’s unlikely he’s someone hexed to look like you.”
“Exactly. And anyway, a hex wouldn’t explain how he knows us,” said Melissande. “Or our nursery nicknames.”
He nodded. “Or how he’s wearing my coat and my shoes.”
“So him practically having a heart attack when I mentioned Gerald,” said Reg. “What do we think that was about?”
“You mentioned Sir Alec, too,” said Bibbie. “Maybe that’s what upset him. I mean, Reg, you practically have a brainstorm every time his name’s mentioned.” She snuck a quick look over her shoulder. “What if this is some dastardly plot against Monk, and Sir Alec’s a part of it?”
He blinked at her. “Dastardly plot? Bibbie, have you been reading Gerald’s awful cloak-and-dagger novels again?”
“It’s no secret you’ve got enemies,” she retorted. “So he could be one of them. Or-or-he could be some dreadful thaumaturgical experiment gone wrong! What if he’s been a prisoner somewhere in the Department of Thaumaturgy building-or maybe out at Nettleworth-and he’s escaped and come to us for help?”
Reg looked down her beak at her. “Forget the sensational novels, ducky. How much brandy have you had this evening?”
“Fine,” said Bibbie. “Then you explain him, Queen Smarty-pants.”
“Obviously none of us can explain him,” said Melissande. “The only person who can explain him is him. But first-” She folded her arms. “About this shadbolt he claims to have. Would someone care to explain what that is? Nothing so simple as an embarrassing skin condition, I suppose?”
“Sadly, no,” he said, and fought the urge to look at Bibbie. “It’s like a pair of thaumaturgical handcuffs, only it fits around your head. There are lots of different kinds, some more severe than others.”
“They bind a witch or wizard’s etheretic aura,” Bibbie added. “Shackle their potentia. Criminals often use them to stop themselves-or others-from talking if they get arrested and questioned.”
Melissande grimaced. “Sounds positively barbaric.”
“Um,” said Bibbie, staring at the carpet. “Yes. You could say that.”
“But useful,” added Reg. “And not just to the crims. With a little bit of tweaking you’d be surprised what information a shadbolt’ll get you out of the nasty little spy who’s been impersonating a diplomat.”
They stared at her.
“Oh, please,” she said. “You think being a queen in the olden days was easy? Try it sometime. You’ll be ordering shadbolts by the gross.”
“So, these shadbolts,” said Melissande, heroically ignoring her. “Why is it I’ve not heard of them?”
Monk shrugged. “They’re not common knowledge. Not beyond official circles-and the criminal classes, of course.”
“Really?” said Melissande, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Bibbie seems pretty well-informed.”
“One of the drawbacks of being a Markham,” Bibbie told her. “I grew up hearing things I wasn’t meant to know.”
He managed a smile for her. “Only because you used to listen at keyholes.”
“And only then when your eavesdropper hex stopped working.”
“Blimey,” said Reg. “Talk about the criminal classes.”
Bibbie poked her tongue out. “And you of course would be speaking from personal experience.”
“So these shadbolts,” Melissande murmured, frowning, one finger pointedly raised to keep Reg quiet. Amazingly, it worked. “You can feel them?”
“Yes,” said Bibbie, nodding. “They leave a distinct imprint in the etheretic aura of whoever’s wearing one.”
“But you couldn’t sense one shackling him?”
“No,” said Bibbie, after the briefest pause.
Monk looked at her closely. All right, Bibs, my girl. What is it you’re not telling us? But before he could ask, Melissande said, “Are you saying he’s lying?”
“About wearing a shadbolt? I don’t see why he would.”
“No, no, why would he lie?” said Reg, and chattered her beak. “Because there’s nothing the least bit hinky about any of this at all.”
“She’s got a point,” Monk said. “Much as I hate to admit it. Bibbie-”
“No, Monk, I wasn’t mistaken,” his sister snapped. “I should think if anyone knows what a shadbolt feels like, it’s me.”
Behind her perfectly polished spectacles, Melissande’s green eyes were narrowed again in a look that boded no good. “And if that wasn’t a loaded comment then I’m a giraffe. Shut up, Reg. Bibbie-”
Bibbie touched Melissande’s arm lightly. “Not now, Mel. This isn’t the time. We’ve got far more important things to worry about.”
“Don’t call me Mel.”
Bugger. She really was cross. “Bibbie’s right, Melissande,” he said, strategically apologetic. “It’s a conversation for another time, when there’s only one of me in the room.”
“Fine,” said Melissande, and belligerently folded her arms. “But don’t imagine that conversation won’t be taking place.”
Gosh. To think he’d thought his heart couldn’t sink any lower. Melissande on the warpath. Just what we
