Witches incorporated

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I beg your pardon?” Permelia gasped. “How dare you take that tone with me?”

Melissande bared her teeth in a fierce smile. “I’ll be the pot if you’ll be the kettle, Permelia. How dare you steal Errol Haythwaite’s airship designs and sell them to a foreign power?”

The spectating circle of wizards gasped. Ambrose Wycliffe made a choked, strangled sound. Permelia stepped back a pace, her face drained dead white, her eyes glittering with terror.

“You’re mad, you silly woman. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, ducky,” she retorted, scathing. “Give up the act. It’s not like you’re fooling anyone, you know.”

“Permelia,” croaked Ambrose Wycliffe. His florid face had paled to pink, and his extravagant ginger whiskers trembled. “Permelia, what is this gel talking about?”

“Oh, do listen for once in your life, Ambrose!” snapped Permelia. “I have no idea. The woman is deranged. Call the police. I want to see her thrown in prison.”

Melissande turned on him. “Yes, that’s a good idea, Ambrose. Call the police. I’m sure they’ll be very interested to hear all about your sister’s treason.”

“You-you hussy!” Permelia hissed. “Just you hold your meddlesome tongue. Nobody’s interested in what you have to say.”

“I am,” said Ambrose, some of the florid colour flooding back to his face. “I’m very interested. How do you know she’s been stealing Errol’s designs? What do you have to do with any of this? Who sent you here, Miss-Miss- gel?”

Gel? Again? Melissande gritted her teeth. I wonder what the legal fine print says about justifiable grievous bodily harm? “ Who sent me here, Ambrose? If you really want to know, Errol Haythwaite sent me. In-in a strange, serendipitous coincidence, just as your sister hired me to unmask her office thief, Errol Haythwaite approached my agency to-to-help him discover who was stealing his work. He knew it had to be somebody at Wycliffe’s, for only somebody at Wycliffe’s had access to his office. And so I began my clandestine investigation and it led me down many a torturous path… right to your sister’s door, Ambrose. She’s been stealing my client’s airship designs for months and passing them along to-to-” Out of the corner of her eye she caught Gerald’s tiny shake of his head. Oh. So no spilling the beans on who the foreign power was. “To someone I am not at liberty to reveal,” she finished grandly.

“It’s a lie!” cried Permelia. “Not a word of it is true. I haven’t stolen anything. Go to Mister Haythwaite’s office, check through his designs. See if any are missing! I have no doubt every last one of them is there!”

Melissande flicked Gerald another glance. He rubbed his nose, disguising a nod.

Bugger. So if Permelia had stolen the designs-but they were still in Errol’s office “Ah-yes-” she said. “Well. I can explain that.”

“Then explain it,” said Ambrose, his voice a dangerous growl. “Or I will have you and this buffoon thrown off the premises! And then thrown into prison for good measure!”

Oh. Dear. Bugger. Um…

“ She can’t explain it!” cried Permelia, triumphant. “Her outrageous claim is a tissue of lies from beginning to end, a deliberate attempt to smear me because she couldn’t succeed in finding one tawdry biscuit thief! She can’t explain it, I tell you, and so-”

“Maybe Miss Cadwallader can’t,” said Bibbie, strolling into the centre of the circle. She was holding a large, rolled-up sheet of paper. “But I can, Miss Wycliffe. Or should I say, Permelia?”

Melissande stared, horrified. Bibbie, what are you doing? She looked at Gerald, who raised an eyebrow, the closest he dared come to a shrug.

Oh, how wonderful. We’re at the mercy of Mad Miss Markham.

All the Wycliffe wizards were gaping at Bibbie as though she were a celestial vision. And, really, since it was Bibbie, they weren’t too far off the mark. She was looking particularly beautiful this morning, wearing a shade of blue that exactly matched her sparkling eyes. Danger and mayhem appeared to agree with her.

A pity they’re so smitten they can’t see she’s actually a beautiful sword.

Ambrose Wycliffe cleared his throat, his chest swelling. A leering light gleamed in his eyes. “Well. Good gracious. And who might this charming young gel be, eh? Got a name, have you, m’dear? Come, come, don’t be shy.”

Melissande swallowed a groan. Oh, lord. Any second now he’s going to try and pinch her cheek… and she’s going to pitch him through the nearest window.

Bibbie looked Ambrose up and down with distaste, as though he were something unfortunate Boris had dragged in and left on the privy carpet.

“I am Miss Cadwallader’s associate,” she said coldly. “My name’s not important. What’s important, Ambrose — ” She unrolled the rolled-up paper with a snap. “-is that this is one of our client Mister Haythwaite’s airship designs, and it’s positively stinking of black market thaumaturgy.”

The leering light in Ambrose’s eyes died. “And how would you know?” he demanded. “You’re a gel.”

“Not quite, Ambrose,” said mercurial Bibbie, this time with a dazzling smile. Several of the watching wizards loosened their ties. “I’m sorry, did I forget to mention I’m a witch?”

Ambrose’s expression congealed. “Oh. I see. But still. A gel.”

Sighing, Bibbie turned her back on Ambrose and held out the unrolled airship blueprint to one of the wide-eyed, watching wizards. “You. You’re a moderately powerful First Grader, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

“Methven, Miss,” the wizard said huskily. “Robert Methven.”

Bibbie nearly knocked him unconscious with another smile. “Well then, Robert, take a look at this. I think it’s been tampered with.” She wrinkled her nose, delightfully. “ Robert. Isn’t that just a lovely name? Robert, I think someone’s used a black market thaumaturgical device to take a copy of this drawing. I can still feel its thaumaturgical vibrations on the paper. Can’t you?”

Dazed, Robert Methven took the outstretched plan and inspected it. A shadow of doubt raced across his stunned face. “Yes. Yes, I can.”

“And funnily enough,” said Bibbie, reaching into the reticule dangling from her left wrist, “the vibration matches- exactly, I might add-the thaumic vibrations that can be felt in these.”

And she held up the black leather pouch full of fake gemstones.

Melissande looked at Permelia, whose drawn face now glistened with sweat. Then she let her gaze slide over to Gerald. He dropped one eyelid in a brief, reassuring wink, and let his lips twitch once in what might’ve been a sort of smile.

“Robert,” said Bibbie, and tossed him the pouch. “What do you think? Am I right? By the way, be careful with that. In my line of work we call it evidence.”

Robert Methven was clearly now Bibbie’s adoring slave. The other wizards were glaring at him, pettishly jealous. He tucked the airship blueprint under his arm and carefully tipped the contents of the pouch into his hand. His watching colleagues gasped as the glittering stream of fake gemstones poured from the leather bag in an intoxicating stream of false promises and lies.

Robert Methven closed his fingers round them, closed his eyes and concentrated. After a moment he looked at Bibbie, surprise and respect mingled.

“Yes, yes you’re right again. It’s the same thaumic signature.” He frowned. “But I’m awfully sorry, I don’t know whose it is.”

“Of course you don’t, Robert,” said Bibbie, gently chiding. “You’re not a vile criminal. How could anyone expect you to know? But I’ll bet Permelia knows.” She turned. “ Don’t you, Permelia? ”

“Permelia?” said Ambrose, his voice almost unrecognisable. “Permelia, what’s the meaning of this? How can that gel have those gemstones? You said they were for Haf. To pay him off and make him go away. I didn’t want to but you said-”

“Oh, Haf’s gone away all right, Ambrose,” said Melissande, stepping forward. Time to wrap this up, while Permelia and Ambrose are still off-balance. “ Not to put too fine a point on it, he’s dead. Got himself blown up last night. Didn’t you listen to the wireless this morning? There was a big explosion in South Ott. An old, abandoned boot factory got blown to tiny bits-and Haf blew up with it.”

“What?” Permelia whispered. She sounded as awful as Ambrose. “But-but-” Her gaze fell on the pouch of gemstones, still in Robert Methven’s hand. “I don’t understand. How did you come by those?”

“Well,” she said, perfectly prepared to twist the knife in horrible Permelia, just for a moment, “it’s possible I took them from Eudora Telford’s lifeless hand after she got blown up along with Haf Rottlezinder.”

Permelia gasped, staggering. “No-no-”

“No?” Melissande smiled. “Then perhaps I took them from her cold, lifeless hand after a brutal, cowardly thief assaulted her on the dark streets of South Ott.”

“I don’t believe you,” whispered Permelia, her voice ragged. “Eudora’s not dead. She can’t be dead.”

“Oh please, Permelia,” she said, and gave her scorn free rein. “Do you honestly expect us to believe you care two hoots what happens to Eudora Telford? If you cared you never would’ve sent her out to do your dirty work, would you? You used that poor silly woman, Permelia, and now she’s paid a heavy price.”

Oblivious to the wizards staring at her with shock and dawning disgust, ignoring Ambrose’s rising ire, Permelia took one unbalanced step forward. “No. No. I won’t believe you,” she said, a thread of hysteria sounding in her voice. “Eudora’s not dead. This is a trick. You’re trying to trick me.”

“If there’s any tricking going on here, Permelia, you’re the one doing it!” shouted Ambrose. “And now look what’s happened! You’ve ruined everything!”

“ I’ve ruined everything? I have?” shrieked Permelia, rounding on him. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”

“Easily!” he snapped. “If you’d done a better job of running the office you wouldn’t have hired a petty thief and you’d not have had to invite this-this interfering Cadwallader gel into our midst! And if you’d minded your own business and let me worry about the company we’d be back on the road to solvency by now!”

“The company is my business!” said Permelia, hands clenched into unladylike fists. The stern, haughty president of the Baking and Pastry Guild was nowhere to be seen. “I’m its last hope of survival, Ambrose!”

He laughed. “ You?”

“Yes, me!” Permelia panted. “Am I the one who’s run Wycliffe’s practically into receivership? Am I the one who’s virtually bankrupted Father’s legacy by insisting on all those ridiculous scooters and velocipedes and cut-rate cars that can’t drive three miles without falling apart? Was that me? Were those my ideas, Ambrose?”

“No, they were mine!” he retorted, spittled with fury. “And they were good ideas, Permelia, ideas that would have tided us over, but you’d never get behind them, you’d never let me spend the kind of money I needed to spend to make them work properly! Always bossing me, always throwing your weight around, just because you’re two years older than me!”

“Ambrose, I am a hundred years older than you,” snarled Permelia. “At least if we were counting time by common sense. Those stupid inferior vehicles were never going to work properly! Nor should they have. We do not truck with such inferior modes of transportation, you fool. This is the Wycliffe Airship Company! We sail through the skies, we don’t grub along on the ground.”

“Yes! Yes! I know!” Ambrose retorted. “You’re not the only one who loves airships, Permelia! The cars and the velocipedes were to be a stopgap. Just a stopgap. I was doing everything in my power to save the company-and what were you doing? Getting in my way and-and-bleating about your stupid Golden Whisk and how to bake the perfect pumpkin scone!”

Permelia Wycliffe clutched at her ruthlessly styled hair, dislodging several jet-tipped hairpins. To Melissande it was clear that she and her brother were suddenly oblivious to their surroundings, oblivious to herself and Bibbie, and Gerald, to all the gaping, incredulous wizards. Were tumbled instead into some poisonous sibling nightmare where the rest of the world had simply… ceased to exist.

The ragged circle of wizards was broken apart now. They were too stunned to do anything but watch their employer and his sister with dropped jaws and wide eyes. Bibbie and Reg were watching too, the pair of them reprehensibly entertained, and Gerald-Gerald Melissande saw that he’d ever-so-unobtrusively eased himself out of the way, to stand just far enough back so he might be nondescriptly overlooked.

Lurching forward, Permelia slapped her brother’s face. “I was not bleating, Ambrose, I was taking care of Father’s legacy.”

“And so was I!” Ambrose shouted, clutching at his red-blotched cheek. “A damned sight better than you ever have, my gel!”

“ How, you fat buffoon?” Permelia taunted with shrivelling contempt. “By digging through Father’s old papers and finding the very worst possible wizard he’d ever refused to hire and then hiring him yourself? By paying him to wreck the portal system? Because nobody in the Government would notice? And you have the nerve to say you possess superior judgement, Ambrose? You don’t possess the judgement of a flea!”

“Oh? Oh?” choked Ambrose Wycliffe. “And I suppose your decision to pass company secrets to a foreign power demonstrates your superior reasoning skills?”

Permelia shoved him hard in the chest. “I had to, Ambrose! You gave me no choice! It was only a matter of time before someone died in one of those portal accidents, you blithering dunderhead! I had to save the company from your imbecilic solution. It was my duty to Father!”

“But you haven’t saved it, have you?” Ambrose demanded. “Instead you’ve managed to get a man killed and implicate us in high treason to boot! They’ll throw us in prison for the rest of our lives, Permelia. We’ll never breathe free air again.” Seizing his sister’s shoulders, he hauled her nose-to-nose with him. “Was it worth it, sister? How much did your foreign friends pay you, eh? How much money will you never have the chance to spend?”

“ Fool,” she spat at him. “I didn’t do it for money. I did it for the chance to take control of the company. The company that always should’ve been mine, that would’ve been mine, if Father hadn’t been so stupidly short-sighted about gels. You’re just like him, Ambrose. Narrow-minded and bigoted, puffed up with self-conceit. I had to stop you any way I could. And Manawa was only too happy to help me. She understands about women and power. We hatched the whole scheme between us. Let Wycliffe’s go out of business, just another casualty of the thaumaturgic revolution, and in return for a few stupid airship drawings she’d arrange to buy the company-through a third party, of course-and then you’d be thrown out on the scrapheap where you belong and I would be installed as the new company director. I would see Wycliffe’s attain its true potential! A task for which you are eminently unsuited!”

Ambrose let go of her and fell back, his mouth opening and closing with outraged disbelief. “You’re-you’re raving, Permelia. You’re utterly deranged! You stupid-stupid gel! If somehow you escape arrest I’m going to have you committed to an asylum! You stole Wycliffe’s best airship designs and gave them to the wife of the-”

“ Don’t say it!” shouted Melissande, as Gerald’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “In fact, don’t either of you say another word! I think you’ve both said quite enough already!”

“I want her taken into custody!” cried Ambrose Wycliffe, spinning round. “She’s mad, I tell you, utterly mad! She should be locked away. I’ll have her locked away. Just don’t blame me, I had nothing to do with this! I had nothing to do with anything! I’m an innocent man. This is all Permelia, the stupid gel. Father was right-women aren’t to be trusted. I’m the victim here, I tell you!”

“Innocent, Ambrose? Innocent?” Permelia laughed wildly, a horrible, howling cackle. “The only thing you’re innocent of is having the smallest amount of entrepreneurial vision! You’re a moron, an idiot, and you always have been! Put me in an asylum? I’ll see you dead first!”

And then everything went horribly wrong.

With an infuriated roar, Ambrose whirled and grabbed Permelia around the throat and started choking, his already florid face suffused tomato-red. They overbalanced and fell sideways across the nearest laboratory bench. As Permelia coughed and gasped, and the watching wizards dithered like hens in a thunderstorm, Melissande turned to Bibbie.

“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 amp;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 amp;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-”

“Now you’re talking, Reg,” said Bibbie, with a wink. “Come on. I’ll tell you all about Mister Dalby while we’re waiting for Mel. Hey-” They started off down the path. “I don’t suppose you know any good martial thaumaturgy…”

So weary she could drop, Melissande defiantly undid the top two buttons of her hideous black Wycliffe blouse then made her way back to the administration block. Reception was deserted. Miss Fisher, sensible woman, must’ve read the writing on the wall. She climbed the stairs, pushed open the door into the office… and saw that the gels, and Pip the office boy, had wisely taken her advice and scarpered.

Either that, or one of Mister Dalby’s associates had stopped by to send them all home.

She took a moment to look around the deserted office. At the horrible grey cubicles and the narrow aisles and the never-ending piles of paperwork. And even though she’d been part of Gerald’s investigation, an important part, even though she and Bibbie and Reg had helped avert not one, but two, major disasters, she was aware of a definite sense of melancholy. Because despite all that, she hadn’t managed to solve the case she came here for in the first place: the Case of the Mystery Biscuit Pilferer.

Oh well. I don’t suppose we can win them all.

She heard a sound, then, coming from Permelia Wycliffe’s office. So someone was still here? As she moved forward to investigate she saw an enormous pile of cartons wearing a skirt walk out of the office-just as her own skirt pocket began to buzz.

What?

She clapped her hand to her side and felt the shape of Bibbie’s thief-detector crystal. Felt its vibrations running through her fingers. She snatched the crystal out of her pocket, stared at it, then looked up.

“Hey! You! You there! Thief! Stop!”

With a startled cry the red-handed pilferer dropped the enormous pile of biscuit boxes.

Melissande gaped. “Miss Petterly? It’s you?”

Miss Petterly went white, then flushed bright red. “What? What’s me? What are you talking about? What are you doing here, Miss Carstairs-Cadwallader-whatever your name is? You’ve been terminated. I heard Miss Wycliffe say so herself.”

Melissande, shaking her head, sauntered across the office floor. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “Miss Petterly, how could you?” Reaching the silent, mortified woman, she ran Bibbie’s thief-detecting crystal over the woman from head to toe. The crystal flashed so fast it looked like it might explode.

She shoved it back in her skirt pocket, just to be on the safe side.

“How could I what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miss Petterly blustered, her hunted gaze darting left and right. “You shouldn’t be in here. You’re not wanted in here. You never belonged here. You were never a true Wycliffe gel.”

Melissande looked at the scattered cartons of biscuits. “Well, no, Miss Petterly,” she said. “I wasn’t. Thank God. And clearly you aren’t either. Not if being a true Wycliffe gel means you’re also a thief.” She shook her head. “You should know, Miss Petterly, that my name is Miss Cadwallader. I’m part of an agency called Witches Inc. We… investigate things, I suppose you could say. We solve mysteries. We uncover crimes. Miss Wycliffe hired us to discover the identity of the Wycliffe Airship Company pilferer. I will say this: I never once suspected you.” Then she sighed. “At least not for long, and not for want of wanting it to be you. You did a very good job of hiding your tracks.”

“Of course I did,” Miss Petterly sneered. “I am an extremely competent woman, Miss Car-Cadwallader.”

She shrugged. “An extremely competent con- woman, I’ll grant you. Permelia didn’t suspect you for a heartbeat.”

Incredibly, Miss Petterly preened herself a little. “Yes, well, Miss Wycliffe trusted me implicitly.”

Horrible cow. “Which was a big mistake, it seems,” she said. “I don’t understand, Miss Petterly. Why would you do this?”

Miss Petterly’s pebbly eyes flushed pink around the rims, then slowly filled with tears. Her chin wobbled, and her lips. She said something, incoherently, her voice clogged with emotion.

“What?” said Melissande. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said,” Miss Petterly gulped, “she wouldn’t approve my membership of the Baking and Pastry Guild. Permelia. Miss Wycliffe. She said-she said-she said my apple-and-walnut log wasn’t-wasn’t up to snuff. She let that-that ridiculous Eudora Telford join, kept her as a secretary, let her run around with her everywhere, but she wouldn’t let me in. Eudora Telford. That-that- bean. Have you tasted her cooking? Her date scones sink ducks! I’ve seen it! They’re a disgrace. She ought to be had up for cruelty to water fowl!”

That was sadly true. “So, what-you decided to exact revenge by stealing Permelia’s biscuits?”

“Not just biscuits,” said Miss Petterly, with a touch of watery pride. “I took everything. The pencils, the pens and the erasers. And I always had three lumps of sugar in my tea when we’re only supposed to have one.” Her chin wobbled again. “And now I suppose you’re going to arrest me.”

“Actually, I don’t have the power of arrest,” said Melissande. “My job was to tell Miss Wycliffe who the thief was and let her handle it from there. But that could prove to be a bit difficult now.”

“Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” said Miss Petterly.

“Yes. You could say that.”

Miss Petterly frowned. “So… what now, Miss Car-Cadwallader?”

Melissande looked around the horrible office. “Now, Miss Petterly, if I were you, I’d take those cartons of biscuits and make myself scarce. I doubt very much if Miss Wycliffe will notice… and all in all-after four endless days in this place-I’d say you earned them. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to call myself a cab.”

And leaving Miss Petterly to stare at her, dumb-founded, she marched into Permelia Wycliffe’s office to use the telephone.