wrong.”
Oh, it had. Because the Gerald who’d prisoned the other Monk in his shadbolt-that Gerald stank of filthy magics. If that Gerald walked into the parlor right now, chances were he wouldn’t recognize him. Not on the inside. Not where it counted. And even though nothing in the world next door had anything to do with him he was suddenly scalded by a terrible, angry grief.
What did you do, Gerald? What the bloody hell did you do?
“Rats,” said Melissande, her chin coming up. “I’ve just had a thought. What if we’re looking at this round the wrong way?”
With an effort Monk shook himself free of grief and made himself pay attention to the girls.
“How d’you mean?” said Bibbie.
“Well…” Mel snuck a look at the other Monk. “Aren’t we making a few assumptions here? And don’t we all know what happens when one assumes?”
“Yes,” said Reg. “One makes an ass out of you and anyone who doesn’t happen to be me. My assumptions always turn out to be right.”
“Yes, Reg, of course they do,” said Mel, with admirable restraint. “ Blimey. But see, the thing is, because that’s Monk-sort of-passed out on the sofa, we’re all assuming he’s telling the truth. But what if Reg’s stupid joke is true? What if this Monk really is like an evil twin and he’s come here with some dastardly plan to destroy us? Don’t ask me why. Or-or maybe he’s an escaped convict. You did say shadbolts were used on criminals.”
“Madam could be right,” said Reg, unflatteringly surprised. “This other Monk Markham could be a rotter. It would certainly explain why his Gerald had to restrain him.”
“Monk?” said Bibbie, anxious. He couldn’t remember seeing her anxious before. He hated it. “What do you think?”
“You’re right,” he said cautiously. “It’s a theory.” But not one he was terribly willing to embrace.
And why’s that? Because I can’t see myself as an escaped criminal on the run? Because I can’t be the villain, I can only be the hero?
No. It wasn’t that. According to Uncle Ralph he was already a perishing villain. It was the oppressive, metallic after-taste of the other Gerald’s thaumic signature that revealed the horrible truth. And he’d tell the girls that. He would. As soon as he was sure he could get the words out without heaving up his supper…
“The problem is,” said Bibbie, grimmer and older than he’d ever seen her, “we could keep dreaming up theories until the cows come home-which would get us exactly nowhere. So we don’t have a choice. We have to get that shadbolt off him. It’s the only way to find out for sure what’s going on.”
Reg rattled her tail feathers. “True, ducky. But taking off a shadbolt’s not like wriggling out of a corset, now is it?”
Monk gave her a look. “You’re asking me?”
“Trust me, sunshine, the last man in the world I’d ask about corsets-on or off-is you,” Reg said coldly. “Now shadbolts, on the other hand…”
The trouble with any kind of conversation involving Reg was that it was far too easy to get distracted by the insults. She seemed to shed them effortlessly, like lice. How Gerald lived with it he would never understand.
Bibbie cleared her throat, not looking at the bird or Melissande. “Ah-Monk? Perhaps we should-”
“I know,” he muttered. “Bloody hell.”
“Bloody hell?” echoed Melissande, instantly suspicious. “What d’you mean bloody hell? What’s going on? Why is it that every time someone mentions shadbolts the pair of you turn green and nearly jump through the roof?” Arms folded, toes tapping, she treated them to her best prime ministerly glare. And then she blinked. “Wait a minute. Emmerabiblia Markham, does this have anything to do with why you were looking as sick as a goose when you finally turned up at the office this morning?”
Bibbie tried to smile. “Ah-would you believe the breakfast milk was off?”
The look Melissande gave her could’ve shriveled rock. “ No. Monk, you were here last night. I don’t suppose anything of a shadboltish nature happened after Reg and I went home?”
He swallowed. Bugger. “Mel, honestly, it’s not as bad as-”
“Reg,” said Melissande, her all-too-knowing gaze not leaving his face, “about these shadbolts. Exactly how tricky are they to remove?”
“If you don’t have the incant designed to unravel ’em?” said Reg. “Hmm. Ever dropped a watermelon off a very tall tower?”
Melissande shuddered. “No, actually. And now I’m pretty sure I never will. Tell me, can they be removed without a specifically designed unlocking hex?”
“Depends,” said Reg, her eyes gleaming.
“On what, pray tell? As if I didn’t know.”
“On whether you’ve got someone a bit thaumaturgically special hanging about with nothing better to do.”
“I see,” said Melissande. Her toes were tapping again. “And when you say special, you mean you’d have to be a Monk Markham.”
Reg shrugged one wing. “Or a Gerald. You know. Someone like that.”
“Yes,” said Melissande. “I rather thought that’s what you meant. So. Monk. Here’s my last question-did you by any chance put a shadbolt on Bibbie last night?”
Damn. “Look, Mel-”
“Melissande, don’t,” said Bibbie. “The shadbolt was my idea, not Monk’s.”
Melissande looked like she wanted to say every last appalling word she’d ever heard in her life. “Emmerabiblia Markham!”
Reg sniggered. “How’s your blood pressure doing now, ducky? Hmm?”
Seizing Bibbie’s shoulders, Melissande shook her with outraged despair. “Bibbie- Bibbie — what were you thinking?” She flung out an accusing, pointing finger. “Surely you realized you could’ve ended up like him?”
Bibbie pulled free. “Well, yes, I knew it was risky, but Monk needed my help.”
“Oh, I see,” said Melissande, rounding on him. “In other words it was her idea but you went along with it! Monk, how could you?”
She was furious with him. Melissande Cadwallader, the love of his life, the woman who’d proven love at first sight did exist. He was having some trouble catching his breath.
Please, Mel. Don’t be mad.
Turning back to Bibs, Melissande grabbed her hands. If anyone ever doubted she’d come to love Bibbie like a sister… “Are you all right, Bibbie? Have you seen a physician? You really did look awful this morning. Have you-”
“I’m fine, Mel,” Bibbie insisted. “I promise.”
Mel let go. “I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. “You’d say anything to keep Monk out of trouble.” Turning again, she stabbed him with her most accusing glare. “And clearly you’d do anything to prove a thaumaturgical point.”
“That’s not fair!” said Bibbie. “I told you, the shadbolt was my idea. And it had nothing to do with one of Monk’s experiments.”
“Then what was it about?”
Bibbie looked at him. “Tell her, Monk.”
“Bibs-”
“Monk, you tell her or I will.”
He swallowed a mouthful of his own bad words. So this was how Gerald felt, eh? Backed into a corner, badgered into revealing his secrets…
“Fine,” he sighed, and told her.
“Blimey,” said Reg, when he was finished. For once the bird actually sounded impressed. “Not bad, Mr. Clever Clogs. Not bad at all.”
“ What? ” said Melissande, as close to a shriek as he’d ever heard. “Don’t tell me you approve of this madness?”
Another decisive tail-rattle. “Don’t be a noddycock. Of course I do. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
