Gerald looked. “That’s the other Monk?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“Bury him discreetly, with honor,” said Sir Alec, after a moment. “An unmarked grave, of course.”
“Of course,” said Gerald. Then he looked at Monk. “You ready?”
Monk shook his head, as though suddenly events were moving far too fast. “Well, yes, but-”
“Good,” said Gerald. “Now be quiet. And get rid of-you can’t hold-”
“Oh,” said Monk. “Um-”
Melissande held out her hands. They were shaking. She wanted to weep. “I’ll take her.”
Another silence fell. With trembling fingers she untied the ribbon around Reg’s-the bird’s-familiar beak. She-Reg-the bird nodded but didn’t say anything. Good lord, she was so thin.
Gerald had one hand on Monk’s head and the other on his left shoulder. Eyes closed, breathing deeply, he seemed to sink into a trance. Nothing. Nothing. Just silence. Still nothing.
And then a flash of bluish white light, like a lightning strike. Monk shouted in pain and dropped to the floor.
“Monk!” cried Bibbie, rushing to him.
Melissande held the bird.
“He’ll be all right,” Gerald said to Sir Alec, as Bibbie helped Monk to his feet. “Headaches for a few days. After we’ve jiggered his expander he should steer clear of thaumaturgics for a while. A week, at least.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that,” said Sir Alec. “Mr. Dunwoody-”
Gerald silenced him with a look. “You’ll get your report. Just… not right now. If you don’t mind.”
“Tomorrow,” said Sir Alec, nodding. “No later. We need this put to bed.”
“Buried, you mean,” said Gerald. “Like that poor bastard under the sheet.”
Monk cleared his throat. “Gerald-”
“I’m fine,” said Gerald. But looking at him, Melissande could see he wasn’t. Oh, he wasn’t. Monk wasn’t either. And neither am I. “If you’re ready,” Gerald added, “let’s get up to the attic and bloody finish this, shall we?”
“Yeah,” said Monk, sighing. “Yeah. We can do that. Sir Alec?”
As Monk followed Gerald out of the bedroom, Sir Alec raised an eyebrow. “It might be best if you ladies… sit this one out. I’m sure these thaumaturgics won’t take long. And then I’ll be on my way.”
For once, Bibbie didn’t argue about being treated like a girl. Melissande nodded. “Yes. Of course. We’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”
Sir Alec went after the boys, leaving silence in his wake. She stared at Bibbie, and Bibbie stared back. And then the bird in her arms… the bird who was Reg… and wasn’t… feebly stirred and tried to rattle her tail.
“Blimey bloody Charlie,” she croaked. “Madam, I’m starving. Where do you keep the minced beef around here?”
It took him and Monk not quite an hour to rejig the multi-dimensional etheretic wavelength expander and turn it into a wavelength inhibitor that, once activated, would prevent the opening of portals between their dimension and the next. Well. For the time being, anyway. For the short term, at least. Until Monk could look at inventing a larger and more permanent solution.
And he will. Because he’s Monk Markham and that’s what he does. It’s his job.
With that done, Sir Alec suggested they adjourn to the kitchen and fortify themselves while he… explained a few things. Melissande, being Melissande, made tea and cooked them scrambled eggs.
Oh, God.
It took every scrap of will power he had to eat them. The bird sat on a cushion on a spare bit of kitchen bench. He managed not to look at her once.
“The problem is,” Sir Alec said, in his quiet, nondescript way, “that as far as I can see, revealing what’s happened here can only cause more trouble. Obviously the notion that you’ve turned metaphysical theory into fact is… significant. But the thaumaturgical, social and geopolitical consequences could be grave. Perhaps even catastrophic.”
“In other words,” said Melissande, eyes narrowed, “you want us to keep on keeping our mouths shut.”
Monk snorted. “You realize you’re hatching the greatest conspiracy of modern times?”
“Mr. Markham, I’d hazard it’s the greatest conspiracy in history,” Sir Alec retorted. “Make no bones about it: this is irregular in the extreme. But after careful consideration I don’t see that we have another choice. At least, not for the time being. Besides…” He smiled his small, chilly smile. “You’re going to be far too busy inventing new locks for interdimensional doors to be dallying with gossip.”
“That’s true,” said Monk. With that bloody shadbolt gone, and tea and eggs inside him, he was looking a little better. But the fingerprints of their adventure were on him… and chances were they’d never quite leave.
We’ll have to talk about it. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen. We can’t pretend I wasn’t about to kill him.
Only not today. And not tomorrow. That conversation would have to wait.
“But you know, Sir Alec,” Monk added, pretending that everything was fine, just fine, nothing to see here, move along, “if I am going to keep the inhibitor running here in the meantime-”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Markham,” said Sir Alec. Not fooled, because he was never fooled, but prepared to pretend. For now. “You’ll have enough thaumaturgic energy at your disposal… and no questions asked.”
“Does that go for me, too?” said Bibbie, glancing up. “Only I’m working on this ethergenics thing and-”
Sir Alec sighed. “Yes, Miss Markham. I’ll see what I can do.” He looked at them one by one. “So… do I take it you’re agreeing to my unorthodox proposal?”
Monk scrubbed a hand across his stubbled face. “Sure. Why not? I mean, what’ve we got to lose?”
Gerald looked at Sir Alec. For God’s sake, don’t tell them.
Sir Alec nodded. “Thank you. Please don’t talk about these events beyond the confines of this house. Of course it would be better if you didn’t discuss them at all-but I’m not entirely stupid. I’m prepared to take what I can get.” Pushing his chair back, he stood. “And now I’ll bid you good day. Mr. Dunwoody-kindly walk me to my car.”
It was a pretty morning. Lots of sunshine. Butterflies in the garden and birds on the wing. Sir Alec, holding the driver’s door open, looked him up and down with a jaundiced eye. “I’m not going to like what I read in your report, am I?”
“Sir Alec…” He sighed. “Come on. You’re going to hate it.”
But not as much as I will.
“You’re taking a bloody big risk, keeping all this secret.”
Sir Alec shrugged. “I’m not a stranger to secrets, Mr. Dunwoody.” Then he hesitated, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the bird. I know how fond you were of her. And I wonder if it was wise of you, to bring the other one back.”
He pulled a face. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
Abruptly, Sir Alec slapped the roof of his car. “A damned unfortunate mess all around, Mr. Dunwoody. You did well. Again. Take tomorrow off. But I’ll want you in my office the day after, with that report. You and I have a lot to discuss. And then, of course, there’s the matter of that grimoire magic.”
Which sat inside him, black and waiting, like a wolf.
“I meant what I said, you know,” he said, letting Sir Alec see behind his own mask. “I want the filthy bloody stuff gone. ”
In return, Sir Alec showed him nothing. “I know you meant it, Mr. Dunwoody. And we’ll see what we can do.” Halfway into the car he stopped, and looked back. “I’ll send Mr. Dalby for the other Monk’s body. No need for you to be involved.”
He supposed he should say thank you, but he wasn’t in the mood.
Uneasy, he watched Sir Alec drive out of sight, then turned to go back inside the house. The bird was behind him. She’d slipped out the open front door and was perched on the big flower pot at the top of the steps. Seeing him see her, and hesitate, she fluffed out her feathers. Tipped her head to one side, her familiar-her unknown-dark eyes sardonically gleaming.
“Hello, Gerald.”
