many ways are there to open a door between dimensions?”
He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Well, could you travel between worlds using a regular portal?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “It’d be bloody tricky trying it with one of those big commercial portals but the basic thaumaturgics are the same.”
“And what about trying it with a small, unregistered portal?”
Like one of Sir Alec’s? “Sure,” he said, nodding. “You could jigger one of those if you had some serious thaumaturgic juice.”
Melissande looked at him, her green eyes somber. “Serious as in rogue wizard? Monk, are you saying Gerald isn’t missing at all? That he left?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Of course not. But we’ve got more than one rogue wizard in play, haven’t we? And we all heard what the other me said about him. I’ll bet you anything you like he’s the one behind our Gerald’s disappearance.”
“Ha! I don’t give a fat rat’s ass what that other Markham boy blathered!” said truculent Reg. “I’m telling you, sunshine, I know my Gerald. And I don’t care which version we’re talking about, he would never stoop to kidnap or-”
“Or shadbolts?” he said, frowning into his cooling mug of tea. “Enough, Reg. Face facts. Somewhere out there is a wizard wearing Gerald’s face, possessing his rogue thaumaturgic abilities but none of his conscience or decency. A wizard who’s souped himself up on so much dark magic there’s a pretty good chance he’s not strictly human any more.”
“Don’t you say that!” Reg shrieked, all her feathers sleeking and her tail ferociously rattling. “Say that again, Monk Markham, and I swear I will poke out your eyeballs and-”
“ Hey! ” He shoved his mug away so hard that it tipped over, flooding the old, scarred kitchen table in a tidal wave of tea. “You think I want to say it, Reg? Or even think it? But I was inside that other Monk’s head. I felt what his Gerald did to him. Only someone who’s completely lost their humanity could do that. And if you think I want to think that about my best friend you’re mad!”
Melissande, who’d leapt up from the table and fetched a cloth to stem the tide of tea, paused in her mopping. “Don’t, Monk. She’s upset.”
“And I’m not?” Glaring, he sat back and folded his arms. “Melissande-”
“Oh, shut up, Monk,” said Bibbie. “Reg is upset, you’re upset-we’re all of us upset. This isn’t about who can boo-hoo the hardest, it’s about getting our Gerald back from wherever he’s been snatched to.”
“And finding out what’s going on,” Melissande added, carrying the tea-sopping cloth over to the sink. “I mean, don’t you think this is all a bit odd? If this other Gerald’s so amazingly powerful, what does he want with ours?”
“I don’t know, do I?” he said, dangerously close to snapping. At Mel. “How am I supposed to know? The other Monk didn’t say and I’m not a bloody mind reader. The only thing we can bet on is that it won’t be anything good.”
“Exactly!” said Reg. “Which means for once in her frivolous life your scatterbrained sister is talking sense. Enough of this sitting around on our asses. We’ve got to nip over to the world-next-door and drag our Gerald back here by the scruff of his neck!”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” said Melissande over her shoulder as she wrung out the cloth. “Wish on a star and hope for the best?”
“What d’you mean how?” Reg demanded, staring. “The answer’s right under your silly freckled nose, ducky. We’ve got that other Monk’s jiggered-up portal opener, haven’t we? That’s as good as a battering ram, that is.”
Monk cleared his throat. “Except we haven’t got it any more.”
“ What? ” Reg rattled her tail feathers. “D’you mean to tell me you let that manky Sir Alec get his sticky fingers on it? Monk Markham, how could you be so stupid?”
“Sorry,” he said, shrugging. “Maybe I should’ve asked you to swallow it, Reg.”
“You’ll be swallowing your own eyeballs if you’re not bloody careful!” she snapped. “Our one advantage and you let that sneaky government stooge run off with it? What were you thinking? Were you trying to save your own hide at the expense of-”
“No, Reg, he wasn’t!” said Melissande, whipping around. “How can you even suggest it? Of course he gave the other Monk’s portal opener to Sir Alec. He didn’t have a choice. And anyway, since we’re the ones who got Sir Alec involved in the first place it’d be pretty stupid of us to hide crucial evidence from him, don’t you think?”
She and Reg glared at each other, then Reg looked away. “I’m telling you, ducky, the man’s not to be trusted. He’ll use that other Monk’s portal opener as a paperweight, you mark my words.”
Rolling her eyes, Bibbie crunched a piece of her cold toast. “Yes, yes, Reg, I’m sure that’s terribly likely. What about your jigged-up portal opener, Monk? Will that get the job done?”
“No,” he said, and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Because Sir Alec’s confiscated it too and anyway, I have no idea how to double-jig it to open a door into a parallel world. Any parallel world, let alone the right one.”
“You don’t know now,” said Bibbie. “But if you had some time I’ll bet you could work it out. And what do you mean, Sir Alec’s confiscated your portable portal opener too?”
Feeling like a little boy again, he scowled at the toast crumbs she was scattering on the table. “While you and Mel were-were making the other Monk tidy,” he muttered. “He asked for it, so I gave it to him.”
Now Melissande was staring. “Just like that? Monk-I’m starting to think Reg has a point. It’s one thing to hand over the opener the other Monk used to get here, but why would you give up the only advantage we have?”
“Well, I could hardly say no, could I?” he retorted, not liking the way they were all looking at him. As though he were the village idiot’s even dimmer cousin. “Not after I told him about it. Not after he came rushing out here to help because I contacted him using the super secret password I’m not even meant to know exists.”
Bibbie tossed her half-eaten piece of toast back on its plate, her eyes lit up with a dangerous gleam. “And is he going to give it back? Because Monk, that’s your invention. It’s your intellectual property. He’s got no right-”
“And you think that’s going to stop him, ducky?” said Reg, rousing out of her funk. “That superior secret government stooge? That stuck-up, autocratic, officious pen-pusher? That-”
“Reg,” Melissande said gently, and perched on the table-edge beside her. “Don’t. You’re not angry with Sir Alec. You’re angry with Gerald for disappearing without a trace. You’re angry with that other Monk for putting the cat among the pigeons. And you’re furious because he died in such a horrible way.”
Silence. Reg sank her head into her shoulders and grieved. Bibbie, the tears still sluicing her cheeks, dabbed up her toast crumbs with the tip of one unsteady finger. Monk, looking at Melissande as she gazed out of the window, thought he’d never loved her more. Say it. Say it. But he couldn’t. This wasn’t the time. On the wall beside the window the kitchen clock quietly ticked. It felt like the ageing night was holding its breath.
“What are we going to do with him?” Bibbie whispered at last. “I’ll want to bury him, won’t I? I mean, his sister will. Even if she’s-” her breath caught, “-different? She’ll want to say goodbye.”
Leaning forward, he touched his fingers to her wrist. “We’ll work something out, Bibs. We’ll get Sir Alec to help us.”
She looked at the closed kitchen door. “What’s he doing, do you think? Is he even still here?”
“Of course he’s still here,” said Melissande, wearily. “He wouldn’t leave without telling us.” She bit her lip. “Would he, Monk?”
There wasn’t much point asking him. Sir Alec was mostly Gerald’s problem. The few times he’d crossed paths with Uncle Ralph’s mysterious colleague everything had been strictly business. Whatever Gerald’s boss was or wasn’t likely to do he didn’t know him well enough to hazard a guess.
But the girls were waiting for an answer, touchingly certain he had one. At least, Mel and Bibbie seemed touchingly certain. The glint in Reg’s eyes suggested she was happily waiting for him to fall on his face. Or better yet his ass.
“I don’t think so,” he said at last. “I expect he’s around here somewhere.”
“Yes, all right, but what is he doing?” Bibbie persisted. “Why isn’t he in here with us, making plans?”
