“Come on, Bibs, don’t just stand there! You’re the genius witch,
do
something, quick!”
“Like what?” Bibbie retorted. “I don’t do martial thaumaturgy! And if I try I could blow them both up!”
Oh, how ridiculous. And Gerald wasn’t any help either—
drat
his ludicrous Third Grade cover story! She rounded on Robert Methven. “Then
you
do something, Mister Methven. You’re a First Grade wizard, aren’t you?”
“What? What?” said Robert Methven, appalled. “
Me
do something? But I can’t! My specialty’s aerodynamics!”
Melissande leapt to him and grabbed hold of his lab coat lapels. “
Really
? How’s
this
then?
Thaumaturge those two apart or I’ll kick you into bloody orbit!
”
But before Robert Methven obeyed her—or Gerald broke his cover—Ambrose let out a blood-chilling scream. Melissande spun round, one hand reaching for Bibbie, to see that Permelia had plunged one of her jet-tipped hairpins deep in her brother’s throat. Even as she stared, horrified, Ambrose’s face began to turn black, his plump cheeks swelling and splitting and dribbling green gore. She felt the air stall in her lungs. Felt her stomach heave, rebelling.
Lional… Lional… his beauty destroyed by the dragon’s green venom…
“
Oh, Saint Snodgrass,” breathed Bibbie, on a sob. “She’s hexed him. That’s a killing hex. Oh,
Mel
.”
Ambrose was dying, slowly and in shrieking pain. The corrupted flesh was peeling from his skull, revealing teeth and tongue and lidless eyes. The lab erupted into chaos, wizards running and shouting and throwing themselves under benches or onto the floor. Melissande grabbed Bibbie and dragged her out of Permelia’s reach, then yelped as she felt a hand close on
her
arm.
“Relax, it’s me,” Gerald muttered. “You two stay here. I’ll grab Permelia and hex her docile while nobody’s looking.”
“No, no, Gerald, hex her from here,” she said. “She might—”
“Can’t,” he said briefly. “Someone will notice. Besides, Melissande, look at her. It’s over. She’s done.”
Ambrose sprawled on his back, a bloated, black-faced, green-smeared corpse. Silent now, his suffering mercifully ended. Permelia was weeping, terrible, tearing sobs, bent double and swaying, a heartbeat from collapse. Her iron-grey hair had fallen out of its bun, tumbling over her face in lank disarray.
But when Gerald reached her and put his arm around her shoulders she erupted with a piercing screech of rage. And the next thing Melissande knew he was on his knees, Permelia’s fingers tight in his hair, with his throat stretched taut and a jet-tipped hairpin sunk tip-deep in his flesh.
“Stay back!” said Permelia hoarsely. “Stay back or he dies!” Her fingers tightened on the hairpin, and a trickle of blood seeped down Gerald’s skin. “One little push and it’s all over. And if I see a single sign of thaumaturgy I will push, I will—”
On a howl of rage and in a flurry of feathers Reg dived from the ceiling like a bird possessed, all reaching talons and sharp, gaping beak.
“
Get your bloody hands off him, you harpy!”
Startled, Permelia Wycliffe cried out and let go of Gerald and the hairpin to fling her hands desperately over her head. Reg set to with a vengeance, long beak stabbing, wings flailing and beating Permelia Wycliffe to her knees. When the woman was down, prone on the lab floor and crying for mercy, Reg spun in midair, her eyes alight with the flame of battle.
“Well don’t just stand there gawping, you plonkers! Someone bloody sit on her before she tries to get up!”
Bibbie landed on Permelia so hard she nearly broke the woman’s back.
“Gerald!” said Melissande and rushed to his side, dropping to her knees and trying to see the wound in his throat. “Are you all right? Oh, you
are
an idiot! I
told
you to hex the bloody woman from a distance!”
Huffing and puffing, Reg landed on her shoulder. “But he didn’t listen, did he?” She shook her head and rattled her tail feathers. “I don’t know, sunshine. How many times do I have to tell you?
Never
underestimate a woman.”
Sitting up, Gerald accepted the hanky Melissande thrust into his hand and pressed it to the tiny dribbling puncture wound in his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “Especially a woman with feathers.” He kissed her beak. “Thanks for that, Reg.”
“You’re welcome,” she sniffed. “Though perhaps after this you’ll listen to me in the future.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Melissande said anxiously. “You’re not going to turn black and green like an overripe banana?”
He reached for Permelia’s discarded hairpin. “No. This one’s not hexed,” he said, inspecting it closely. “She was bluffing. But whatever you do don’t touch the one buried in Ambrose’s throat. That was hexed all right…” He shuddered. “I’ve never come across anything like it. Whoever it is supplying her—he’s a devil.”
Bibbie shifted a little, making flattened Permelia groan. Staring at gruesomely dead Ambrose, she shrugged. “That’ll teach him to call his sister a
gel
.”
Gerald half-laughed. “I’ll be sure to remind Monk of that, next time I see him.” But his amusement didn’t last long. “Are you all right, Bibbie? That was a dreadful thing, how Ambrose died.”
“Oh. Yes,” said Bibbie, turning a pretty pink. “Of course. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” he said, sounding anxious. “It’s all right if you’re not, Bibbie, truly.”
Melissande swallowed a sigh.
Ask me if I’m all right, why don’t you?
But he wouldn’t. Of if he did, it’d only be an afterthought. Hadn’t she already proven herself equal to any amount of ghastliness and bloodshed? She was Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande, and she didn’t do soppy.
And anyway, Gerald’s sweet on her. Anyone can see that.
“
Hello,” said Reg, swivelling her head towards the lab door. “Who’s this come to spoil the party, then?”
They all looked to the doorway, where four newcomers were entering the lab complex.
“Damn,” said Gerald, and sighed. “Reg, you’d better scarper. Quick. We don’t want any awkward questions.”
Surprisingly, Reg didn’t argue. Instead she took one look at Gerald’s face then flapped her way out of the lab, through an open window at its far end.
Melissande stared at him. “Friends of yours?”
He grimaced. “Not… exactly. But they are from the Department.”
Around the laboratory complex the R&D wizards of Wycliffe’s Airship Company were sheepishly getting back on their feet, or coming out of hiding from the labs, or generally pretending they
hadn’t
all run about like hens in a thunderstorm at the height of the crisis.
As three of the four men from Gerald’s mysterious Department started rounding up the witnesses, the fourth picked his way through the mayhem to join them. He was oldish and tired-looking, encased in a rumpled blue suit. His deep-set hazel eyes were unimpressed.
The first thing he did was check on Ambrose Wycliffe.
“He’s dead,” said Bibbie, helpfully. “In case you were wondering.”
Ignoring her, the man stared at Gerald. Gerald nodded. “Dalby.”
Dalby’s eyes narrowed. “Nettleworth. Now. There’s a car outside waiting.”
Melissande stiffened. “Now hold on just a minute, Mister Dalby—or whoever you really are. I don’t think I like your tone.
I
don’t think you—”
“Don’t, Mel,” said Gerald. “It’s all right. I’ll be in touch, as soon as I can.” With a stifled groan he levered himself to his feet. “Thanks, for everything.”
She watched him go, a tousled, lonely figure with a hanky pressed against the small wound in his neck. Then she turned on Mister Dalby from the Department.
“Look here, you,” she said, “it’s possible you don’t know who I am, because I
never
talk about who I am, at least, not to say to people, ‘Do you know who I am?’, but in this case I’m going to make an exception, because—”
“I know perfectly well who you are, Your Highness,” said Mister Dalby from the Department. “Sir Alec’s warned me all about you.” He flicked a glance at Bibbie, who’d clambered off Permelia and was straightening her skirt. “
And
you, Miss Markham.”
“Oh,” said Bibbie, and gave him her best smile. “Did he? That’s nice.”
But Mister Dalby from the Department was impervious to Bibbie’s smile. He scowled. “Nice? No. Not really. Have a seat, ladies. This could take a while.”
“Do you know,” said Bibbie, watching him walk away, “I’m not entirely sure I like that man.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” said Melissande. “I’m positive I don’t like him.” She heaved a sigh. “Are you really all right, Bibs? Gerald said it—that was a horrible thing to see.”
Bibbie looked away for a moment; there was the tiniest tremble in her bottom lip. Then she took a deep breath and nodded. “Honestly, Mel, I’m fine,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “Nobody said this job would be a bed of roses.”
True. But—“Even so, Bibs,” she said gently. “If you’re not fine, that’s—that’s all right.”
“Melissande, I am
not
a shrinking violet,” Bibbie snapped. “So you can stop fussing, thank you. Honestly, you sound just like Monk.”
Oh, lord. Monk.
He’s going to be so upset
. “Perhaps you should let me tell him about this, Bibs. You know—sort of soften the blow a bit before you regale him with all the gory details?”
Bibbie rolled her eyes. “All right. Fine. If you think that’ll help. But really, Mel, I’m not about to indulge in a fit of the vapours.”
No, clearly she wasn’t. Clearly the redoubtable Antigone Markham’s great-niece was made of the same stern stuff.
“Anyway, how are you?” added Bibbie. “Speaking of incipient vapours…”
Melissande sighed, and looked down at Permelia’s unfortunate brother. “Well, I confess I’m a little rattled,” she said. “But I’m better than Ambrose.”
“Or Permelia,” said Bibbie, and nudged the half-conscious woman with the toe of her shoe. “Blimey. You know, I knew it was a mistake to get mixed up with the Baking and Pastry Guild. Didn’t I tell you it was a mistake to get mixed up with the Baking and Pastry Guild?”
Melissande wrestled with the urge to punch her. “No, Emmerabiblia. On the contrary, you did everything in your power to make
sure
we got mixed up with the Baking and Pastry Guild.”
Bibbie pulled a face. “Oh yes. So I did. Well, let this be a lesson to you, Miss Cadwallader.
Never
get mixed up with the Ottosland Baking and Pastry Guild.”
Mister Dalby from the Department kept them waiting for nearly an hour while he and his… associates… talked to the Wycliffe R&D wizards, and did various thaumaturgical things with recording evidence at the scene, and saw that Ambrose Wycliffe was decently taken away, and that Permelia Wycliffe was also taken away, less decently. Eventually, though, he rejoined them at the lab bench where they were sitting.
“Right. That’s it, then. You ladies can go.”
Melissande exchanged a look with Bibbie then frowned at him. “I beg your pardon? We can what?”
“Go,” said Dalby. “Depart. Leave. Be on your way.”
“But—don’t you want to question us? I mean, we were here,” said Bibbie. “We saw everything. We were
part
of it.”
“Someone from the Department will be in contact, I’m sure,” said Dalby.
“But—”
“Never mind, Bibbie,” said Melissande, and patted her arm. “He’s not important enough to interview us.” She gave Mister Dalby from the Department her best regally glittering stare. “And what about Gerald? Mister Dunwoody?”
Blank-faced, Dalby looked at her. “Who?”
“Oh, don’t be stupid,” she sighed. “You know very well who. And if Sir Alec did tell you about us, you know that we know too.”
Mister Dalby smiled. “Sorry, ladies. You’re not important enough to ask about him.” He nodded. “Good day.”
They glared after him as he left. “D’you know,” said Bibbie, “I don’t care if it is illegal. I’m going to find someone to teach me martial thaumaturgy and I’m going to track that man down and then I’m going to—”
“No, you’re not,” said Melissande, suddenly exhausted.
“But—”
She raised a warning finger. “Trust me, Bibbie, you’re really
not
. Now come on. Let’s get out of here.”
As they stood outside the lab complex, taking a moment to appreciate the fresh air and sunshine, Reg flapped down from a nearby tree.
“Girls,” she said, landing on Melissande’s shoulder. “We have to rescue Gerald. That government stooge Sir Alec is going to make his life hell for this.”
Melissande heaved another sigh. “Yes. I know. Just let me go and fetch my reticule. It’s still in the administration office. I’ll call for a cab while I’m up there, and then we can go and straighten out this mess with Gerald. I’ll meet you outside the door to reception.” She pointed down the left-hand path. “That’s the fastest way.”
“Excuse me?” said Reg, hopping across to Bibbie’s shoulder. “Do I need you to tell me how to find my way? Me, with my bird’s-eye view of everything? No, I don’t think I do, madam. Incidentally, just who was that short streak of misery that turned up earlier? I didn’t like the look of him. Was he unkind to Gerald? I’ll pluck out his bloody eyeballs and wear them for earrings if that bugger was mean to—”