Wizard Undercover

CHAPTER FOUR

Still wrapped in her pink flannel dressing gown, because it was early and she was alone-well, except for Boris and he didn’t count-Melissande sat at her desk in the office and worked her way through Witches Incorporated’s neatly kept account book.

“Y’know,” she remarked to the sleepily attentive cat, “I’m starting to think we might not sink like the proverbial lead balloon after all.”

Curled up on Bibbie’s desk, green eyes slitted, Boris twitched his tail.

“Yes, really. I mean, all right, we’d have probably sunk already without Sir Alec’s totally self-serving assistance, but leaving that aside…”-which she was more than happy to do-“… there’s no getting away from the facts. Nearly three-quarters of our clients last month came from legitimate, non — Sir Alec sources. Word of mouth, mostly. And that’s the kind of advertising money can’t buy.”

Saint Snodgrass be praised. Because they didn’t have the money to buy any kind of advertising, beyond a tiny entry each month in the Wizarding Times. And they could only afford that by going without their sticky buns every other week.

Bibbie was getting very scathing about that.

“Which is a problem, Boris,” Melissande added, “because without Bibbie we would be sunk. She might be scattier than a flock of deranged hens, but it’s her thaumaturgical genius that keeps people coming back.”

Boris flicked his whiskers, agreeing.

“If only Gerald didn’t have to go on pretending he’s nothing more than a Third Grade wizard,” she said crossly, double-checking her addition of the figures in column three of the ledger. “I tell you, Boris, we’d be using gold bars for paperweights if that wretched Sir Alec would just let him off his leash once in a while. I mean, honestly, how much could it hurt?”

But that was never going to happen. Not so long as Gerald remained a janitor. And despite the awfulness of what had transpired in that mysterious other Ottosland, she couldn’t imagine Gerald ever abandoning the Department. Or the Department letting itself be abandoned, for that matter.

“So I suppose we’ll just have to keep muddling along, relying on Bibbie’s formidable talents,” she sighed. “But if Bibbie decides she’s bored with Witches Inc., or if her Uncle Ralph gets it into his head she’d be an asset to the government even though she’s not a man, or if she gives up the notion of living happily ever after in wedded bliss with Gerald-which, let’s face it, might not be a bad idea-and decides to go adventuring abroad to mend her broken heart, then honestly, Boris… I don’t know what I’ll do!”

You could always marry Monk and live happily ever after in wedded bliss yourself, her treacherous inner Melissande slyly suggested.

The thought made her blush, then slap the office ledger closed.

“He has to ask me first,” she pointed out to the cat, putting the cap back on her fountain pen. “And Monk’s been a bit preoccupied lately.”

“Not to mention slow off the mark,” said an almost familiar voice from the open office window. “Ducky, you do know what they say about women who sit about in empty rooms talking to themselves, don’t you?”

Reg. Sort of. Melissande snatched up the pen cloth and wiped a smudge of ink from her fingers. “I wasn’t talking to myself, thank you. I was talking to Boris.”

With a hoot, Reg flapped from the windowsill to the ram skull on the battered filing cabinet. “If you think that makes it better, madam, you’d best think again.”

Drat the bird. Some things really were exactly the same.

“Where have you been, anyway?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you come home last night?”

Reg’s sharp brown gaze shifted, evasive. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?”

“None of your beeswax,” said Reg, and rattled her tail feathers. “Do I ask how you pass your evenings? No, I don’t. Though I might, if you ever did anything but sit in here fretting over the agency and talking to that moth-eaten excuse for a feline.”

“Fretting over the agency is part of the job description,” she retorted. “And anyway, I do plenty of other things with my evenings, which you’d know if you’d been here for longer than five minutes!”

Ghastly silence.

Melissande watched her fingers clench. Damn. “Oh, Reg. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean-”

But before she could stumble her way through the rest of her difficult, apologetic explanation, somebody rapped sharply on the office’s outer door.

“Oh, yes,” said Reg, feathers fluffing, sounding distant. “That’s what I came in to tell you. Your manky Sir Alec’s here. And he’s brought a friend.”

She leapt up. “Sir Alec? Here? Now? Why? It’s practically the crack of dawn!”

Another rap on the door.

“Reg, there’s something going on, isn’t there? Something to do with Gerald.”

“No,” said Reg, after a moment.

A rush of cold apprehension. In more ways than not, this was still Reg. “That’s a fib. Reg, tell me the truth right now or I’ll-”

“Miss Cadwallader? Miss Cadwallader! Kindly open the door. It’s important that we speak.”

Sir Alec, sounding briskly impatient. Nothing new there. On principle, she ignored him. Give the Sir Alecs of the world an inch and the next thing you knew, they were merrily galloping over the horizon.

“Reg, please. I know something’s going on. Gerald’s been so awfully secretive ever since… well, you know. And there’s a look in his eye that-frankly, it frightens me. Please, you have to-”

Rattle rattle went Reg’s long tail. “I don’t have to anything, ducky. Now just you give that boy some breathing room. I know you mean well, but he doesn’t need you or anyone else poking-”

“I say, Melly, do stop faffing about,” another voice called through the locked office door. “Because if you really must know, I need to use the conveniences.”

Melissande turned so fast she nearly fell over. “Rupert?”

But before she could open the door to her only living brother and the agency’s dubious, double-edged government benefactor, it swung wide of its own accord.

“Excuse me!” she snapped at Sir Alec, who led the way inside. “That was incredibly rude!”

Sir Alec considered her as he put in his pocket the key he wasn’t meant to possess. “Whereas leaving visitors to bellow on the doorstep is the height of good manners?”

“Not when they’re invited, no,” she retorted, tugging her shabby flannel dressing gown a little tighter to her ribs. “But since I didn’t invite you-” She held out a hand. “- or give you that key, don’t expect me to repine over my dearth of social polish.”

“I say, Melly, steady on,” said Rupert. “No need to bite off poor Sir Alec’s nose.”

“Trust me, sunshine, it’s better than biting off other bits,” said Reg, from her ram skull. “Which I’m more than happy to do.” She jerked her beak sideways. “Lavatory’s through there, incidentally.”

“Ah,” said Rupert, with a pained smile. “Yes. Actually, I only said that so Melly would open the door.”

Though she was worried and cross, Melissande laughed. Then she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Rupes. It’s lovely to see you. But why are you smothered in that ridiculous cloak and hat?”

“I’m in disguise,” said Rupert, hugging back. “We don’t want anyone to know I’m here, which is why we’re bothering you so early.”

Leaning away from her brother, she stared into his lean, much-missed face. “Yes, and why are you here? Zazoor hasn’t decided to invade, has he?”

“No, of course not,” said Rupert, removing the hat. “You’d go a long way to find a more reasonable man than Kallarap’s mighty sultan. Besides, I paid the final installment of our in-arrears tariffs last month.”

“Oh,” she said, and looked past Rupert to Gerald’s aggravating superior. “So that means this is your doing, Sir Alec. I might’ve known. What’s gone wrong now?”

Probably no other subordinate, or dependent, or whatever she was, dared speak to Sir Alec Oldman in that particular tone of voice-which was why she made a point of doing it. Men like Sir Alec grew so used to ordering people about, risking their lives and their sanity, that they very quickly became unbearable if they weren’t put firmly in their place every so often.

He might even come to thank me for it, one of these days.

But not today, apparently. “Do sit down, Miss Cadwallader,” he said, with a sharp, dangerous courtesy. “And allow me to explain.”

“No, why don’t you sit down, Sir Alec? I’m going to get dressed. And by all means feel free to leave that key on my desk while you’re waiting.”

Sir Alec, in his habitually sober grey three-piece suit, neatly shaved with every short mousey brown hair in place, favoured her with one of his most acidic smiles.

“I’m afraid I can’t oblige you there, Miss Cadwallader. The key is mine, you see. Just as the building is mine. In a manner of speaking. Though perhaps it’s more accurate to call me its custodian.”

She blinked. “Are you telling me the government has bought this entire building?”

“Yes,” said Sir Alec, irritatingly calm.

Good lord. Her heart was thumping, not calm at all. “When?”

“Recently.”

“How recently?”

“Very,” said Sir Alec, with a careless little shrug. “I believe the ink has just dried on the deeds of transfer.”

“Does Gerald know? What does he think?”

Sir Alec raised an eyebrow in that aggravatingly supercilious way of his. “Are you suggesting I base my decisions upon the opinion of a junior subordinate?”

“I’m suggesting it might’ve been nice if you’d warned us!” she said, fuming. “A change of landlord has an impact on a business, you know.”

Another acidic smile. “Don’t worry, Miss Cadwallader. I wasn’t intending to raise the rent. Yet.”

She narrowed her eyes. Was he joking or serious? As usual, it was impossible to tell. “How generous.”

“Not at all,” he said smoothly. “Now, please, Miss Cadwallader, do go and get dressed. My business is somewhat urgent.”

Yes, well, wasn’t it always? Biting her tongue, Melissande flicked Rupert a warning look then withdrew to her tiny bedsit in the office’s second room, where she hauled on the first clean and ironed day dress that came to hand, found stockings with no holes, or at least none that would show in the respectable gap between hem and ankle, buttoned on her shoes then hastily brushed, plaited and pinned up her hair. Sometimes she flirted with the idea of getting the rusty red mass of it chopped off in a daring crop. Except her long, thick hair was almost her only genuinely glorious attribute. It seemed silly to discard it.

Besides. Monk said he liked her hair the way it was.

When she returned to the office, she found Sir Alec pensive by the window, Rupert seated in the client armchair, Reg eyeing the pair of them suspiciously from her vantage point on the ram skull, and her desk alarmingly empty of cat.

“Where’s Boris?”

“Threw himself headfirst out of the window,” said Reg. “But he landed on his feet, worse luck.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I thought for a moment you actually meant that…”

“Ha,” said Reg, and fluffed out her feathers. “How would you know what I do or don’t mean, ducky? Seeing as I’ve only been here five minutes.”

Uncomfortably aware of Sir Alec’s sudden, pinpoint scrutiny, Melissande feigned an attack of deafness. “Does anyone want tea?”

“No,” said Sir Alec. “Miss Cadwallader, word has reached me that there is a credible threat to the Splotze-Borovnik wedding. Without going into details, let me just say that the Ottosland government has good reason to fear the consequences, should anything go wrong during the upcoming nuptials. Therefore it falls to me and my Department to nip this threat in the bud.”

“And to me, it seems.”

Reluctantly, Sir Alec nodded. “Yes. And to you. Indeed, without your assistance I fail to see a solution to the problem.”

Oh. Feeling cornered, Melissande looked at her brother. “And Rupert? What has any of this to do with him?”

“His Majesty is here because-”

“Thank you, Sir Alec,” said Rupert, with the merest hint of a bite. “Best you let me handle this.” He smiled, but his washy blue eyes were serious. “Melly, darling, do sit down and I’ll explain.”

Heart sinking, she perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, Rupes, don’t tell me he’s got you tangled up in his dreadful janitoring business too.”

“Only very slightly around the edges, I promise.” Leaning forward, Rupert braced his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers. “Insofar as he needs me to ask you to attend the Splotze-Borovnik wedding as New Ottosland’s representative.”

“Rupes…” Melissande shook her head. “You’ve already asked me, remember? It was thanks but no thanks then, and it’s thanks but no thanks now.”

“Yes, well, the thing is, you see, Melly, now Sir Alec needs you to say yes, please.”

“But why?” she said, resisting the urge to glare at Sir Alec. “I mean, what possible use is it for me to attend the wedding? It’s not as though I can go romping about Splotze pretending to be a janitor.”

Rupert shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. “No, indeed, Melly, you certainly can’t.”

“Under any circumstances,” said Sir Alec. “Let me make that perfectly clear. No. One of my agents will accompany you.”

“I see,” she said, willing herself not to snap at his highhanded attitude. “And I take it you expect me to slide him into the wedding party without any awkward questions being asked?”

“Precisely.”

So, she was to be a stalking horse. How glamorous. “And when you say one of my agents, d’you mean the agent already stationed in Splotze? I take it there is one.”

Sir Alec’s grey gaze was cool and watchful. “Yes. But he is currently… unavailable.”

The hint of tension in his voice had her skin crawling. Oh, damn. There’s trouble. And now I know where this is going. “You’re sending Gerald.”

“I assume you have no objection.”

Reg broke her silence to rattle her tail feathers, ominously. “Well if she doesn’t, I do. If I were you, Mister Smarty Pants, I’d be thinking twice about sending my Gerald anywhere. Given the givens of recent events.”

“I agree,” Melissande said, nodding. “It’s too soon to send him off janitoring again.”

Sir Alec stared at her, his gaze abruptly glacial. “In your opinion.”

“Melly,” said Rupert, sounding uneasy, “perhaps it’s not your place to question how Sir Alec conducts the affairs of his Department.”

“It’s all right, Your Majesty,” said Sir Alec. “Your sister is simply expressing her concern for a friend.”

“A concern I’d have thought you’d share, Sir Alec,” she pointed out. “Gerald might be a rogue wizard, but that doesn’t make him indestructible.”

“No. It makes him unique,” Sir Alec said, very clipped. “And under the circumstances, Miss Cadwallader, unique is what I require. Like it or not, and largely thanks to your connection to both him and the Crown Prince of Splotze, Mister Dunwoody is the most suitable agent for this assignment.” His cool grey gaze flicked to Reg. “Various givens notwithstanding.”

Melissande felt a fresh warning prickle on the back of her neck. Something was going on here between Reg and Sir Alec and Gerald was in the middle of it, of that she had no doubt. It was why the bird had stayed out all night, and why she was now giving Sir Alec a look fit to turn a lesser man to wilted compost.

“Besides, Reg,” Sir Alec added, undaunted, “I can’t think of anyone who appreciates more completely than you do, the need for good men and women to stand against evil. And considering present company, that’s saying something. Don’t you agree?”

Reg looked down her beak at him. “I don’t recall saying you shouldn’t make a stand, sunshine. But you can’t ask me to believe Gerald’s the only man you know with legs.”

“Mister Dunwoody is not a child,” Sir Alec said sharply. “And I very much doubt he’d want you treating him like one.” He turned. “Or you, Miss Cadwallader.”

Well, he was right about that much at least. Drat the man. Melissande shifted her accusing stare to Rupert. “And you’re prepared to go along with this, are you?”

Rupert shrugged. “I’m here.”

Ha. And to think she’d been happy to see him. Resentful, she glowered at Sir Alec. “So… assuming I do this, how would it work? I attend the wedding in my official capacity as Princess Melissande of New Ottosland, representing His Majesty King Rupert, and Gerald tags along as-what, exactly?”

“Some kind of minion, I’d have thought,” said Sir Alec, eyebrow lifted again. “Royalty is always breaking out in minions, isn’t it?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Well, I suppose at a pinch I could call him my secretary. Although why I’d need to take a secretary to a wedding, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“You’re forgetting, Mel,” said Rupert. “It’s not just the wedding. There’s the wedding tour beforehand.”

Oh, lord. Of course. “But-but the tour is slated to last for days!” she protested. “I can’t possibly leave the agency to fend for itself. Not for days. Not with just Bibbie to sail the ship. She’d capsize it before lunch.”

Reg snorted. “Not to mention no princess worth her tiara is going to travel anywhere with nothing but an unattached young man as her escort. You try pulling a stunt like that, ducky, and they’ll turf you out of the international princess club faster than you can say Oy, you there, how about a curtsey, then?”

“Actually, Sir Alec, that’s perfectly true,” said Rupert, disconcerted. “What Melissande gets up to here in the Old Country as plain Miss Cadwallader is rather winked at back home. Out of sight, out of mind, y’know. But if she’s going to Splotze as Her Royal Highness, well, she simply cannot flout tradition. There would be… repercussions.”

“Lord Billingsley and his decrepit cronies?” Melissande pulled a face. “Honestly, Rupert, it really is past time you pensioned them off.”

Sir Alec cleared his throat, lightly. “Perhaps Miss Markham might care to play the role of royal lady’s maid in this particular production?”

“What?” She slid off the edge of her desk. “Sir Alec, are you stark raving bonkers? Bibbie as a lady’s maid? Bibbie to walk three steps behind me, curtseying every time I hiccup? Emmerabiblia Markham? Tell me, have you met her?”

“Miss Cadwallader, I-”

“And anyway, if you rope me and Bibbie into this nonsense, along with Gerald, that means there is no more Witches Inc. I’d have to close the doors. And I won’t do that, I’ve worked- we’ve worked-too hard for too long and-”

“Miss Cadwallader!”

She couldn’t help it. She flinched. Even Rupert, who’d been king for quite a while now and was finally used to putting his foot down without scaring himself silly that he was turning into Lional, looked alarmed.

Perched on her ram skull, Reg tipped her head to one side and waited.

“You need not fear for Witches Incorporated,” Sir Alec continued, in a far more conciliatory tone. “I shall see that its doors remain open while you are in Splotze.”

Melissande stared at the faded carpet. If he said he would, then he would. She knew that much about him. But on principle, she didn’t like to capitulate too easily. She looked up.

“And what about Boris?”

“Your cat will also be cared for.”

Slowly, she lowered herself back to the edge of her desk. “You don’t even know if Bibbie will do it.”

“Ha!” said Reg, with another rattle of tail feathers. “That scatterbrained flibbertigibbet turn down the chance to romp around on foreign soil being a secret government agent? Don’t be daft, madam. You try keeping her out of this and she’ll do you a bloody mischief, mark my words.”

Drat. The bird was right. Sighing, Melissande looked at Sir Alec. “I suppose it has to be Bibbie?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Sir Alec, markedly unenthusiastic. “Since there are no female janitors. It’s a case of making the best of a bad situation.”

Oooh, he could be a sarky bugger when he felt like it. “Well, fine, only Monk’s not going to like this idea. And what about their parents? Bibbie’s still under age. Not by much, but still. You can’t send her off janitoring without first asking them.”

“Mister Markham’s preferences do not largely figure in my decision-making, Miss Cadwallader,” Sir Alec said, very chilly. “As for his parents’ position, I’m sure you’re aware that the Markhams have a long and illustrious history of serving their country in whatever capacity their country requires. I don’t anticipate any difficulty.”

And if he was wrong it was more than likely that Sir Ralph, so important and influential and as dedicated as Sir Alec, would allay his brother and sister-in-law’s concerns for their daughter with whatever flummery he could think of. As a career politician, he could probably do it in his sleep.

Melissande felt her insides jump with nerves. “You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?”

“No, Miss Cadwallader,” Sir Alec said quietly. “If I did, this conversation would not be necessary.”

Bugger the man for a boat-load of monkeys. She was not going to feel sorry for the horrible position he was in.

“And now that the situation has been thoroughly explained,” Sir Alec continued, “I must have your answer. Will you attend the Splotze-Borovnik wedding in your capacity as New Ottosland’s princess, thus providing Mister Dunwoody with the cover he needs to undertake a mission that might well prevent the outbreak of war?”

Oh, well, yes, fine, if he was going to put it like that.

“Sir Alec,” said Rupert, before she could reply, “I feel bound to point out that when you asked me to assist you in this matter, you did not phrase your request in quite those terms. In fact you entirely failed to mention that if she attended this wedding my sister might well be in danger.”

The look Sir Alec gave him was daunting. “Your Majesty, given the nature of my work, to which you were long ago made privy, I rather thought the question of danger was a given.”

Rupert stood, slowly. The sunshine pouring through the open office window woke his silvering blond hair to golden fire, caught a glitter in his eyes, and traced the edge of his sharply tightened jaw. Melissande, watching him, was suddenly very much reminded of Lional.

She leapt between the two men. “Right. Be quiet, both of you. In case it’s slipped your notice, I’m no more a child than Gerald is.” She rested her hand on Rupert’s iron-tense arm. “Yes, Rupes. It’ll be dangerous. But what Sir Alec’s asking of me is no less than he’s spent his whole life asking of himself. So it’s not like he’s being a hypocrite.” She tightened her fingers. “The thing is, if this weren’t desperately important Sir Alec would never ask for my help. He loathes the fact that civilians are mixed up in his precious Department business. And because it’s important, I have to say yes. Even if it means braving Crown Prince Hartwig of Splotze.”

“I’m sorry?” said Rupert. “What are you-”

“Oh, you know,” she said, and shook his arm a little. “Hartwig at New Ottosland’s last centennial celebrations. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, remember? And Hartwig being Hartwig, I very much doubt if anything’s changed. It doesn’t matter that he’s married, either. He was married when I was sixteen. But you don’t need to worry. I’m pretty sure I can keep him at bay and still avoid an unfortunate international incident.”

Rupert was neither amused nor appeased. “I’m not talking about a trifling matter of wandering hands, Melissande! What Sir Alec is asking-”

“Trifling?” She smacked him. “Honestly, Rupert, if you’d ever had Hartwig’s hands slipping below your equator you wouldn’t be using words like trifling.”

And that made her brother smile, as she’d intended. She smiled back, then turned.

“As for you, Sir Alec? I’ll thank you to remember that Rupert isn’t one of your subordinates, he’s the crowned sovereign of a nation. I don’t ever want to see you raise an eyebrow at him, or hear you speak to him in that snooty tone of voice, ever again. Understood?”

After a moment of silent consideration, Sir Alec offered her a slight bow. “Understood… Your Highness.”

“Good.”

“I take it this means you’re agreeing to my proposal?”

“Under protest,” she muttered. “I still think you’re wrong sending Gerald. But since it’s clear I can’t talk you out of it…”

“No, I’m afraid you can’t.”

She sighed. “Well, that still leaves Bibbie. Will you allow me to tell her she’s needed? If she is coming, I’m going to have to educate her in the protocols of royal lady’s maidship anyway, so you might as well.” She sniffed. “After all, it’s not like I can tell her any dire government secrets, is it, since you’ve been very careful not to reveal any.”

Another slight bow. “By all means.”

On the ram skull, Reg chattered her beak. “Oy. If you don’t mind. What about me?”

“Yes?” said Sir Alec. “What about you?”

“Well, you’re not leaving me behind!”

“D’you know, Reg,” said Sir Alec, dangerously bland, “I rather think I am. I’ll ask you to bear in mind your-” A glance at Rupert, who didn’t know everything about what his sister and her friends got up to. “Unusual circumstances.”

Reg’s feathers trembled from beak to tail. “What? You’re going to use that as an excuse to keep me here while you send my Gerald gallivanting off to an international war-in-waiting? In his condition?”

“Reg…” Sir Alec’s steady gaze was more unforgiving than honed steel. “You’re forgetting that Mister Dunwoody isn’t your Gerald. He might well be, one day, in the fullness of time. And I’m sure I hope that will be the case. But today, you and he are very little better than strangers. Moreover, you would be a distraction that he can ill afford. He is burdened enough at the moment, don’t you agree? Surely, if you do care for him, you’ll not add to the weight.”

Tears pricking, Melissande held her breath. Sir Alec, in his cool, detached, totally unsentimental way, was right. Drat him again. And oddly, because he was so coolly detached, she thought she’d never seen him so deeply moved.

As for Rupert, he was looking confused. She shook her head, just a bit, and let her eyes plead for his silence.

With a sad little sigh, Reg deflated her feathers. She’d gained some much-needed weight over the past week or so, but she was still too thin. Forlorn on the ram skull, she hunched her head to her chest.

“Fine,” she snapped. “You win. But I’m warning you, sunshine. If anything happens to Gerald I’ll-I’ll-I’ll poke you in your bloody unmentionables. Just you see if I don’t!”