incanted metal and out again through his mouth. He mustn’t react to them or fight them or try to examine them as they appeared. He was merely a conduit. A tool.
So what’s new? These days every time I turn around somebody’s trying to use me.
No, no, he had to stop thinking. This wouldn’t work if he couldn’t clear his mind. It might not work anyway- the other Monk had been dead for hours. For all they knew his memories had already escaped him like water seeping through a sieve. But Sir Alec said there was a chance-so he’d take the chance. He had to. He’d open his own mind and-and A burst of light. A rush of heat. And he fell face-first into someone else’s life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Monk. Monk? Monk, can you hear me?”
Groggily he opened his eyes and looked up at his sister. She was kneeling beside him, her face hovering above his, and he was-where was he? On the floor? Why was he on the floor? And whose floor was he on? God, nobody’s embarrassing, he hoped. Was he dressed? Please, God, please, let me be dressed. And then it all came rushing back. The other Monk. Sir Alec’s device. Sir Alec’s crazy plan…
“Bibbie, what are you doing? ” he demanded, trying to bat her away. “You’re not supposed to be talking to me! The device won’t work if you’re-Bibbie?” He blinked. “You’re crying. Why are you crying?”
“I am not crying,” said his sister, and smeared her sleeve across her wet eyes. “Witches don’t cry. I don’t cry. I’m a Markham. Besides, it’s unprofessional.”
His head was aching viciously. Someone had hammered a railroad spike through one ear and out the other. “All right. Have it your way. Then why are you not crying? Seriously, Bibs, Sir Alec’s going to have a fit if you don’t let me-”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Shut up and listen, Monk. You’ve done it. The device worked. You’ve been talking non-stop for nearly an hour.”
He had? Really? Oh. Well, that might explain why his throat felt like a gravel pit.
Except… “Are you sure? Because I don’t seem to-” He frowned. “Did I say anything useful?”
“I think so,” said Bibbie. “Monk, stop talking. You’re not looking very good. You’re all pasty. And a bit green around the edges.”
He wasn’t surprised to hear it. He was feeling green around the edges. A train was roaring along that damned railroad spike-and then there was the matter of his body’s other shrill complaints.
“Here,” said Melissande, abruptly appearing at his other side with a cup. “Drink this. Don’t gulp.”
Having tumbled off the bedroom chair, he used it to help him sit up. The room swooped around him and his mind swooped with it. He felt Bibbie grab his shoulder. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
She sniffed. “No, you’re not. Now be quiet and drink.”
Still dazed, he took the cup Mel handed him and swallowed a mouthful without looking first. Nearly spat it out again, gagging. “ Warm milk? Bloody hell, woman! Are you trying to poison me?”
Melissande’s eyes were watery and her nose was pink, sure signs that she’d been weeping too. He decided not to mention it.
“Stop moaning,” she said, her chin tilted. “And anyway, it’s got whiskey in it.”
He took another tiny mouthful, grimaced, then swallowed. “Thank you. I think,” he muttered. Sharp pain continued to pound through his temples. He looked down at his left hand, where the device sat quietly on his fingers, no sign of brightness or any thaumic activity at all. “All right. So if it worked does that mean I can take this bloody thing off now?”
Bibbie glanced around. “Sir Alec?”
“Give it to me,” said Sir Alec, coming forward with the lead-lined box.
Monk looked at Uncle Ralph’s friend closely. No, he hasn’t been crying. Well, of course he hasn’t. He’s Sir Alec. But something I said gave him a bloody nasty shock. He handed the cup back to Melissande, then unthreaded his fingers and passed over the device. To his unsettled surprise he felt a shock of loss, surrendering it.
“Here,” said Melissande, pushing the cup back at him. “Finish your milk.”
Grudgingly sipping, he watched Sir Alec return the device to its lead-lined container, hex the small box impenetrably closed then slip it back into its felt bag. Finally, that done, Sir Alec put the thing on Gerald’s dresser and gave him a small nod.
“Good work, Mr. Markham.”
A compliment? From Sir Alec? We must be in worse trouble than I thought. “Thank you, sir.”
“There,” said Melissande, plucking the emptied cup from his fingers. “At least you’ve got a bit of color in your face now. How are you feeling?”
“I told you. I’m fine.” But that wasn’t quite true. The pain in his head had only eased, it wasn’t defeated. Likewise his other rowdy aches and pains. And he had a horrible, lurking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He might not remember what he’d learned through that device, but even so…
I don’t need Sir Alec’s face to tell me none of it was good.
The bedroom’s curtains had been opened. The window, too. Fresh cool air and barely-past-dawn light washed into the chamber. Puzzled, he looked around. Someone was missing…
“Wait a minute. Where’s Reg?”
“Stretching her wings,” said Melissande after a moment. She exchanged inscrutable glances with Sir Alec. “Some of the things you said. I’m afraid they were a bit… harrowing.”
He frowned. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“You really don’t remember any of it?” said Bibbie, sounding uncertain-and displeased. “But that’s not right. I thought-” She turned to Sir Alec. “You said he’d-does this mean it didn’t work? Or did something go wrong? You gave him the right instructions, didn’t you? How is he supposed to do any of this if-”
Sir Alec raised a hand. “Patience, Miss Markham,” he said quietly. “It can take a little time. Using the device is a confusing experience.”
Using the chair again Monk clambered to his feet, grunting. He’d had more than enough of sitting on the floor. From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the other Monk. Somebody thoughtful had recovered his corpse with the sheet.
And now somebody else-whose name rhymes with Sir Alec-is going to have to take him away. See him decently buried because we can’t risk taking him back to his own world. Will that mean I’ll have to make visits to the graveyard? No. No, I don’t think so. Even for me, that’s too macabre.
Resolutely turning his back on the sheet-covered body- my body, but I really, really don’t want to think about that — he folded his arms and looked at Sir Alec instead. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude but it’s my brain that’s buzzing, and not in a good way. And the rest of me feels like the football at the end of the game. So for once can you please give me a simple answer to a simple question? How long before what I just did pays us dividends? Because right now I’m a blank slate, Sir Alec. I don’t remember a bloody thing.”
Sir Alec sighed. “Mr. Markham, there is no simple answer. The device is idiosyncratic. All I can tell you with any degree of certainty is that it worked. You did retrieve memories from the late Monk Markham and they will manifest themselves in due course. But stamping your feet like a two-year-old in a tantrum isn’t going to make that happen any faster.”
“That’s uncalled for!” said Melissande hotly. “He’s not having a tantrum, he’s expressing a perfectly legitimate concern. You saw what he went through, using your precious device. If it turns out he’s suffered for nothing, Sir Alec, I’ll-I’ll-be very displeased.”
“And so will Reg,” added Bibbie. “And trust me, you do not want that. Because she’s got a long beak and you’ve got unmentionables.”
Sir Alec stared at the girls in silence, clearly regretting his decision to involve them… and possibly the fact they’d ever met.
“Oh, come on, girls,” he said, taking reluctant pity on Gerald’s beleagured boss. “It’s not his fault.”
Scowling, Bibbie opened her mouth to argue that-but instead stopped scowling and smiled. “We’re idiots, all of us. You don’t need to remember, Monk. You recorded the whole thing.” She reached for the book on Gerald’s nightstand. “See? All you have to do is-”
