“She might,” said Reg, slowly. “If she wanted to keep a prudent distance between herself and a questionable character like Haf Rottlezinder.”
“But that would mean Permelia
is
behind the portal sabotage.”
“Who says she isn’t?” said Reg. “Or maybe she and Ambrose are in on it together.”
“But—but Gerald said Permelia and Ambrose were in the clear.”
Gerald pulled a face. “I might’ve been wrong about that. Obviously there’s more going on here than Sir Alec’s team managed to uncover.”
Reg chortled. “
We
uncovered it all right, sunshine.”
“Yes, well, there’ll be plenty of time to gloat later,” he muttered. “And we both know you will.”
“But—
Permelia
?” said Melissande. “She’s so—so law-abiding. Such a stickler for the rules. Why hire us to find a biscuit thief if she’s merrily romping around Ottosland blowing up portals? It doesn’t make any sense. And where does Errol Haythwaite fit in? He and Permelia don’t have anything to do with each other.”
“Apart from the fact she’s his employer, once removed?” said Reg.
“
That’s
what I’m trying to find out!” said Gerald. “But you two are making it
very difficult
!”
She opened her mouth to say something blighting, but was interrupted by a door opening further down the street. She and Gerald stepped back, flattening themselves against the wall behind them, as a well-wrapped figure emerged from the house.
It was Eudora Telford. “Thank you so much,” she said to someone standing in the open doorway. “Yes, I do feel much better now. And I understand perfectly where it is I need to go. I do appreciate you giving me such clear directions.”
A murmuring, as the person she was speaking to said something indistinct.
“Oh, no, no, I mustn’t put you to any more trouble,” said Eudora Telford. “I shall be quite all right. Thank you again.”
The door closed and Eudora Telford stepped back. In the dim gas lamp lighting she looked quite limp with fear.
“Oh, Permelia,” they heard her say. “Oh, this is dreadful. If you weren’t such a dear friend—if you didn’t
need
me…”
She turned and started walking away, following in Errol Haythwaite’s footsteps.
“Oh lord,” groaned Gerald. “Go after her, Melissande.
Stop
her. It might be nothing more than a bizarre coincidence that she’s here… but even if that’s so, this situation—this area—they’re far too dangerous for a woman like her. Please. Get her to safety.”
“And what are you going to do, sunshine?” said Reg.
“My job,” said Gerald. “Now go on. Get out of here.
Hurry
.”
“All right, ducky,” said Reg, with a rattle of tail feathers. “You heard the boy. Let’s go.”
Melissande looked at Gerald. In the flickering brazier-light his face was older and grimmer than she’d ever seen it. Very nearly the face of a stranger. “Um—did you know you’ve—ah—turned silver again?”
He touched his blind eye. “Oh.” On a deep breath he covered it with the palm of his hand and muttered something. The air shivered. And when he lowered his hand she saw that his silver eye had turned brown. How eerie. “Thanks.”
She nodded. “All right then.” She wanted to say,
You be careful, Gerald
. She wanted to say,
Don’t get killed
. But nothing she said could make any difference. He had a job to do, and so did she. “So, I suppose we’ll hear from you later?”
“Hopefully,” said Gerald, staring after Eudora Telford. “
Melissande
—”
“Yes, yes, we’re going!”
Reg leapt off her shoulder, flapping ahead. Melissande hitched up her horrible long black skirt and ran after her.
Oooh, Saint Snodgrass, don’t you let me go arse over teakettle on these stupid cobbles!
There was no sign of Errol Haythwaite when she and Reg caught up with Eudora, some ten doors down from where they’d last seen her. The silly woman shrieked and turned when she heard her name called.
“Gracious! Your Highness!” she squeaked, eyes popped wide with shock. “What are
you
doing here?”
R
eg had settled on top of a defunct lamp post, sufficiently shadowed for Eudora Telford not to see her. Melissande flicked her a glance, hoping she’d get the message to stay put. From the corner of her eye she saw a running shadow—Gerald—sprinting down the other side of the street as he chased after Errol Haythwaite.
“What am I doing here, Miss Telford?” she said, wrenching her attention back to Eudora, and then realised she had no idea what to say next.
Obviously she couldn’t tell the silly woman the truth.
Spying on you and Permelia
wouldn’t help matters at all. She could say Permelia had changed her mind, but then Eudora Telford would go back to Permelia Wycliffe and, lo, see the cat making a meal of the pigeons.
“Um—” she said, knowing she now looked exceedingly silly herself… not to mention suspicious.
Eudora Telford. Eudora Telford. What do I know about Eudora Telford…“
Ah—well—His Majesty sent me.”
Eudora Telford stared. “His Majesty? You mean—”
“Yes, Miss Telford. My brother. King Rupert the First of New Ottosland.”
“But—but
why
?”
Oh, what a very good question. On top of the lamp post, Reg was shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Well, Miss Telford, the thing is, Rupert—I mean, His Majesty—has—has a sweet tooth,” she said, frantically wracking her imagination. “Yes. He’s very fond of his cakes and pastries. And I—um—well, I mentioned to him that I knew you, a luminary of the internationally renowned Ottosland Baking and Pastry Guild—and he’s very anxious to meet you himself.”
“
Me
?” said Eudora Telford faintly. “Not Permelia? Your Highness, are you sure?”
Ignoring the pangs of guilt—
I’m only lying to save her
—she nodded. “Quite sure, Miss Telford. His Majesty is hoping you might—ah—make a visit to New Ottosland so you can teach the royal kitchen staff how to—to—create a better jam roll.”
Now Reg was hanging upside down off the lamp post, wings waving as she whooped with silent hilarity. Melissande risked glaring at her, but the wretched bird took no notice.
Eudora Telford was trembling. “Oh, Your Highness, I don’t know what to say! Except—however did you find me all the way out here in South Ott?”
Melissande looked around the grim, poorly-lit street. “Yes, it is rather an odd place for you to visit, Miss Telford. Do you mind if I ask what’s brought you so far from home?”
Eudora Telford clutched her reticule more tightly. “Nothing important, Your Highness. A favour for a friend. Nothing for you to worry about. You—you were going to tell me how you found me.”
I was? Oh. “
Yes, well, His Majesty is a wonderful man, Miss Telford, but when he gets a bee in his bonnet he does rather want things to get
done
. No delay. And he’s so very excited about the thought of you visiting New Ottosland that he instructed me to—to—”
Oh, Rupert, I’m sorry about this…“
—to extend his invitation to you immediately. Nothing would satisfy him but that I rush out this very evening and see you on his behalf. But when I reached your charming little bungalow I saw you leaving in a cab, so I followed you. I’m sorry. It’s just—I didn’t want to disappoint the king.”
“Oh,” said Eudora Telford, and looked down at her tightly clutched purse. “Well. That’s perfectly understandable, Your Highness. Disappointing people is awful, isn’t it? One—one is prepared to brave anything, no matter how frightening it might be, if that means not letting down the person who’s relying on you.”
Despite the good news about Rupert, the poor silly woman was still trembling. Still pale. Melissande lightly touched her cold hands. “Yes, Miss Telford,” she said gently. “One is.”
She risked another glance at Reg. The horrible bird had recovered her composure and was sitting on top of the lamp post again, rolling her eyes.
“And now,” she added, “I think we should return to North Ott so we can discuss the particulars of your visit to His Majesty’s court. I have a car standing by, which should be here any moment.”
Looking at Reg again, she waggled her eyebrows in what she hoped was a clear hint to go and fetch Bibbie. But instead of flying off, Reg turned to look along the street in the direction Gerald had run.
Drat. “Yes,
any moment
now my car should arrive.”
“That’s very kind of you, Your Highness,” Eudora Telford murmured. “Only, you see, there is the small matter of this errand, this favour…”
“I’m sure your friend would understand that you had to delay,” said Melissande, and looked again at Reg. “Friends know that sometimes you have to
make a choice
. And being friends they don’t hold it against you.”
“Yes, yes,” said Eudora Telford. She didn’t look convinced. Reg didn’t look convinced either but she flew off, away from Gerald, back towards the mouth of the side street and Bibbie.
“Honestly, Miss Telford,” said Melissande earnestly, tucking a hand in the crook of Eudora’s arm. “What true friend would deny you such a splendid opportunity?” With a little tug and a smile, she started the woman walking back along the street. “Did I mention His Majesty has heard of your light touch with sweet pastry?”
Eudora Telford gasped. “King Rupert’s heard of my pastry? Your
Highness
!”
Melissande felt another stab of guilt. It was awful, playing on Eudora’s pathetic sensibilities like this, but what other choice did she have?
I’ll make it up to her somehow. Even if I have to armwrestle Rupert into extending her a real invitation. She is the Guild’s secretary, after all. How bad could her jam rolls be?
Loud in the night-time silence, the wheezing chug-chug of Monk’s approaching jalopy. “And here’s the car,” she said, waving at Bibby as two bug-eyed headlights cut through the gloom.
“Your Highness, Miss Telford,” said Bibbie through the open driver’s window. “All set to go?”
“Oh,” said Eudora Telford, taken aback. “Miss Markham. You—you
drive
?”
Bibbie’s perfect teeth gleamed. “Certainly, Miss Telford. Would you expect anything less from the great-niece of Antigone Markham?” Leaving the jalopy to idle, she got out and held the rear passenger door wide. “Please. Do have a seat.”
But Eudora Telford hesitated. “Oh. Yes. D’you know, I’m just wondering, since you have this—this interesting vehicle, Your Highness, whether it would be possible for us to—to just drive a little further along so I can do this important favour for—for my friend. You know, before we discuss my visit to New Ottosland. The thing is—you see—that if I don’t do what I promised, my—my friend will be dreadfully… disappointed.”
Melissande looked at Eudora’s white and frightened face. Drat that Permelia Wycliffe. She really had this rabbit browbeaten.
“Oh, we can’t,” said Bibbie quickly. “I’m so sorry, Miss Telford. There’s been a gas leak in the area, and we really should leave. You can come back in the morning. I’ll bring you myself.”
“Gas leak?” said Eudora Telford, bewildered. “I didn’t hear anything about a—”
“The car has a wireless in it,” said Bibbie, with another dazzling smile. “I just heard the announcement.” She began to usher Eudora Telford into the jalopy. “Come along. No time to waste. That’s it, upsadaisy—”
“Go on, ducky,” said Reg, from the shadows. “Get that silly woman out of here. I’m going back to help Gerald.”
Of course she was.
“You’re quite sure we can come back in the morning?” said Eudora Telford, settled in the back seat.
“Yes,” said Melissande, stepping forward. “Of course. Because helping friends is always important. Come along, Miss Telford. I can’t wait to tell you all about New Ottosland.”
Reaching the far end of the street at last, Gerald ducked into the final darkened doorway and pulled the tracer crystal from his pocket. Good. The activation was still holding. He’d attached the other half of the tracer to Errol’s black cashmere overcoat, while Errol was in his lab killing time by working on the new Ambrose Mark VI prototype.
Please, Errol, whatever you do, don’t take it off.
The crystal pulsed a medium bright green, which meant Errol was about three hundred yards ahead, still moving. He’d have to be careful not to get too close. He’d had to keep his etheretic shield deactivated, and Errol would almost certainly notice something amiss in the ether now.
He slipped out of the doorway and started walking again, throwing a glance down the street behind him. Thankfully there was neither sight nor sound of Melissande or that dratted Eudora Telford, best friend of Ambrose’s sister Permelia. Who was, apparently, upset about something going on in the company. Something a bit more disturbing than petty biscuit pilfering.
There’s definitely a connection here. I don’t know what, but there is one. Another problem I need to sort out…
A familiar rustling sound… a stirring in the air…
“Right,” said Reg, landing hard on his shoulder. “Care to tell me what’s really going on?”