Witches Incorporated Part 28

"And a good thing too," said Reg. "Or things might be a bit awkward."

They were standing in the rear court of Monk's Chatterly Crescent establishment. Once upon a time, before the invention of the thaumic engine, the rear court had been the stable yard. But the stables had been converted to woodwormed storage sheds and a single falling-down garage, which housed the battered jalopy that Great-uncle Throgmorton had left behind when he died. All the house's back lights were on, casting everything into varying shades of black and white. Reg sat on the jalopy's bug-eyed left headlight, feathers plumped against the night's chill.

Monk looked at Melissande, his gaze owlish with distraction. "Please, Mel, don't take me the wrong way. It's just that if anything happens to you my parents aren't going to come after me with a shotgun."

She smiled her very thinnest smile. "True. But my brother might well come after you with an army borrowed from his friendly next-door neighbour Sultan Zazoor. You remember him, don't you? He's the one with the very nice war camel and quite a lot of swords."

"I remember," Monk said darkly. "But Zazoor's half a world away. My parents are only two suburbs over."

He had a point. "Monk, we'll be fine."

"The famous last words of disaster victims through the ages," he said and tugged at his untidy hair. "Honestly, girls, I really think this is a bad idea."

"So you said, Monk," Bibbie replied. "But we didn't ask you what you thought, we asked you to lend us the jalopy and you said yes. And then you asked what for, but you know the rules. Once you say yes, you can't take it back."

"Nursery rules?" he said, incredulous. "Made up when we were five years old? Honestly, Bibs. You need to take this seriously. You're talented but you're not witching's answer to Gerald Dunwoody."

She shrugged. "I could be, one day. Or I could be a famous explorer and paddle a canoe single-handed down the great and mysterious Lanruvian River. Or I could try to solve the riddle of the singing forests of Fandawandi. I am Emmerabiblia Markham and I can do anything I want. Which tonight means I'm taking your rackety old jalopy and investigating a peculiar occurrence with my colleagues from Witches Inc. Because you said yes and now you can't take it back."

Melissande exchanged an eye-rolling look with Reg then patted Monk on the arm. "Truly, you mustn't worry. I'll make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."

"Will you?" he said, his expression so woebegone. "Really? Because I wasn't joking about the shotgun, you know. Ma and Pa dote on her, Saint Snodgra.s.s knows why. I know I don't when she's in this mood."

"Oh, pooh," said Bibbie. "And likewise fiddlesticks and furthermore pishwash." She marched to the jalopy and flung open the driver's side door. "Are we going or are we standing around here watching Monk be a wet hen?"

"Oy," said Reg crossly. "How many times do I have to-"

"And you can stop being a wet hen too," said Bibbie. "Are you going to come with us or fly? Make up your mind."

Reg sniffed. "I'll go with you. But you'd best leave a window down in case I need to make a fast getaway."

And she flapped herself into the jalopy's back seat as Bibbie slid behind the wheel and patted it, like a pet.

Now Monk was chewing the side of his thumb. "Oh blimey," he muttered. "This is what comes of giving girls an education. And the vote. And familial emanc.i.p.ation."

"I beg your pardon?" said Melissande, and instead of kissing his cheek punched him hard on the shoulder. "Would you like to withdraw those gormless, brainless, mannerless remarks?"

"No," he said sulkily. "And what's more I'm starting to regret ever introducing you to Bibbie."

"What? You're saying she's my fault?"

"I'm saying that ever since you three started up Witches Inc. she's-she's-Mel, she could get hurt."

Outrage surrendered to his genuine concern. Melissande, offended and touched at the same time, patted the shoulder she'd just punched. "Monk, honestly, stop fussing. We're not trying to be Gerald. We're just keeping an eye on a silly old biddy who agreed to go traipsing about the streets of Ott late at night for her very dear friend Permelia Wycliffe, when Permelia Wycliffe appears to be perfectly capable of doing her own traipsing... yet doesn't want to."

"Yes, but why?" wailed Monk. "I thought you were working for Permelia Wycliffe, not investigating her!"

It was another excellent point.

"Yes, we are."

"You are what? Doing both?"

She sighed. "I know it looks like that at the moment. But Monk, something's not right. There's too much of the peculiar going on at Wycliffe's. Raised voices. Mysterious meetings. Even more mysterious crystal ball conversations. And now Permelia's got that dotty Eudora Telford running secret errands for her. It's just very odd, Monk, and I don't like odd. I like things neat and tidy and properly explained-and if possible filed alphabetically and correctly taxed. Besides. Eudora Telford's such a scatty old thing she really does need a few guardian angels making sure she's safe."

"Well, yes, I suppose so," said Monk, still unhappy. "But why do you three have to take on the job?"

"Because n.o.body else was available at such short notice."

"You know," he said, sounding desperate, "I could stop you. I could whammy the engine. Swallow the ignition key."

Bibbie tugged down the driver's window. "You could certainly try. Tell me, Monk, would you prefer one black eye or a matched pair?"

"Bibbie-"

She shrugged. "It's only polite to offer you a choice."

"Then please, please, at least let me come with you!"

Melissande sighed, and this time did reach up to kiss Monk's cheek. "No. Now stop worrying, Monk. I'm a princess, remember, and an ex-prime minister. I'm perfectly capable of driving around the city for an evening. Reg is in no danger at all, and as for Bibbie... you mustn't let her youth and extravagant beauty fool you. Your sister is as tough as nails. A match for anyone and anything."

His shoulders slumped. "I'm really not talking you out of this, am I?"

"No, Monk, you're not," said Bibbie. "You're just making us cross."

"Reg and I will take good care of her," Melissande promised. "Our royal word of honour."

Monk kissed her cheek, a little closer to her lips than was entirely proper. "I'll hold you to that."

She felt herself blush. "Yes. Well," she said, fl.u.s.tered. How embarra.s.sing. "We should get going or we'll be late. Don't wait up. We'll bring the jalopy back to you first thing in the morning."

Leaving him adrift in the middle of the old stable yard, she squashed herself into the elderly car beside Bibbie and banged shut the pa.s.senger door.

"Right," she said, as Bibbie closed her window. "You two do realise that we're mad as hatters, attempting this?"

"Certainly," said Bibbie.

"Stark staring bonkers," said Reg.

"If Permelia Wycliffe finds out we were spying on her friend instead of trying to find her biscuit thief, she'll sack us and make it her life's work to see us ruined."

"Of course she will," said Bibbie.

"And she'd do a good job of it, too," said Reg.

"So perhaps we should follow Monk's suggestion, and stay home toasting crumpets?"

"I don't think so," said Bibbie, and started the engine.

"Wash your mouth out," said Reg. "That's a shameful suggestion."

She sat back, feeling enormously pleased. "My sentiments exactly, gels. All right, then. Let's get this done. Witches Inc. ho!"

An hour later they were still sitting in the jalopy, which they'd parked in the street outside Eudora Telford's fussily neat little bungalow. It was located on the outskirts of North Ott, which wasn't the richest part of the city, really it was rather shabby-genteel, but at least it wasn't insalubrious. The low, steady thaumic lighting threw odd shadows over the world.

Melissande wriggled in her saggy-springed pa.s.senger seat, trying to find a comfortable way of squis.h.i.+ng too much of herself into not enough s.p.a.ce. "I don't know, Reg. I do wish you'd managed to overhear a bit more of Permelia's conversation with Eudora. I'd rather like to know if she's a victim or a villain."

"No, would you really?" said Reg. "I wouldn't have cottoned onto that if you hadn't already mentioned it forty-seven times."

"Oh, come on, girls," said Bibbie, sighing. "Enough squabbling. Let's look on the bright side for once. At least we know for certain now that I can charm pertinent information out of government officials if I have to. That's two young men at the Births, Deaths and Marriages Bureau who couldn't have been more helpful."

"Well, yes," said Melissande. "Only I'm starting to have second thoughts about that."

Bibbie stared at her. "About what?"

"You using your feminine wiles on unsuspecting file clerks."

"I didn't do anything unseemly!" Bibbie protested. "I just batted my eyelashes a bit and acted helpless, that's all."

"All?" she echoed, letting her scepticism show.

"Well..." Bibbie's lips twitched in a small smile. "Maybe I shed a few heartbreaking tears as well, and told an affecting tale of my ailing auntie whose address I'd misplaced. But honestly, Mel, how is it my fault if these clerks are so stupid they fall for that kind of nonsense?"

"Mmm," said Melissande, and decided to let the subject drop. Mainly because she had a nasty sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't feel so critical if she possessed the kind of wiles that would work on unsuspecting file clerks. "It's just a shame you couldn't learn anything useful about the office staff. Especially since n.o.body's triggered those hexes. I wonder if our thief realises we're onto her?"

"I suppose it's possible," said Bibbie. "But let's worry about that later." She rubbed her gauntleted hands together. "Reg, are you sure Permelia told Eudora not to run this errand until after eight o'clock?"

Reg sighed. "Yes."

"And you're absolutely certain that's the only piece of useful information you discovered? I mean, you were hanging upside down on the other side of a window with a curtain in front of it. And you're not as young as you used to be. Maybe your memory's playing tricks or-"

"And maybe you'd like to put a sock in it!" Reg retorted. "I heard what I heard and I know what I heard and I've told you everything I heard. It's not my fault if three-quarters of the conversation was done with by the time I got there!"

"No, no, of course it's not," Melissande soothed, and shot Bibbie an annoyed look. "You did wonderfully well to hear what you did and make sense of it. But I do have to agree with Bibbie. I'd much rather be waiting for Eudora Telford at her destination than here outside her home. I mean, we're not exactly what you'd call experienced at following people, are we?"

Reg sniffed. "Speak for yourself, ducky. I'm very good at it."

"Yes, well, you've got what they call a natural advantage, haven't you? But we're stuck in this jalopy and-ow! What?"

Bibbie let go of her arm and pointed down the street. "Look. There's a cab coming."

"And here comes that wet hen Eudora Telford," said Reg, staring at the bungalow. "We're in business, girls."

Melissande and Bibbie stared at her.

"What? I'm allowed to say wet hen," said Reg. "I'm a bird."

"Ha," Bibbie muttered. "Only when it suits you."

"Oh hush up, the pair of you," said Melissande. "And get down, quick. We don't want her to see us."

As one they hunched down in their seats to watch Eudora Telford lock her front door behind her and hurry out to the waiting cab. She was wearing a dark coat over a plain dark dress and carrying a small reticule.

"Right," said Reg, bobbing up as the cab pulled away with Eudora Telford inside it. "Follow that wet hen!"

There was a slight delay as an excited Bibbie momentarily forgot everything she'd ever been taught about driving a car. But after a fraught few moments filled with unladylike exclamations, the jalopy fired up and Bibbie steered it in Eudora Telford's wake.

"Not too close!" said Reg. "You don't want to put the wind up that cab driver. He might come over all chivalrous and try to do us a mischief. And not too far back either. There's not a lot of traffic but we don't want to lose them."

Bibbie flung an exasperated look over her shoulder. "Would you like to drive, Reg?"

"Love to," Reg said promptly. "I'd be very good at it, you mark my words. If you could've seen me with my coach-and-four..."

Melissande saw the words Four what? flit across Bibbie's face, ready to be disastrously uttered. "Don't say it, Bibbie!" she snapped. "Just pay attention to what you're doing."

They followed Eudora Telford out of the shabby-gentility of North Ott, around the edge of West Ott then over the Ott Bridge and onto the main Ott road. That led them eventually into the outskirts of South Ott, where a great many people of limited means were anonymously crowded into a definitely insalubrious stretch of towns.h.i.+p squashed between a looping bend in the Ott River and the huddled conglomeration of thaumic distilleries on the edge of the noisome Ott marshes.

"Hmm," said Melissande, starting to feel ever so slightly uncomfortable. "This isn't what you'd call a desirable locale, is it? What was Permelia thinking, sending Eudora all the way out here?"

"Nothing good, I'll bet you," said Reg. "And as for Eudora Telford, she's the kind of silly, clinging woman who'd do anything for a friend. The trouble with her sort is they think they're being needed but they're only being used."

In this part of town the cobbled streets were narrow and poorly lit. From the looks of things the people of this sad, grimy district still relied on gas lighting, and many of the lamps had gone out. The night was moonless dark and empty of people. Eerily quiet.

"Hang back a bit more, Bibbie," said Melissande. "We really do stick out like a sore thumb."

Bibbie slowed until the jalopy threatened to stop altogether. Up ahead, Eudora Telford's cab turned into a side street.

"Quick! Quick!" said Melissande. "Don't lose her!"

Bibbie ground her teeth. "Melissande Cadwallader, make up your mind!"

They crawled a bit faster towards the side street, then had to slam on the brakes as the cab appeared again. It pulled out of the side street and drove away.

"What? What? Did they make a wrong turn?" said Bibbie. "Was Eudora Telford still in the back? I couldn't see! What-"

"Someone open a window," said Reg. "I'll go and look."

Melissande pulled her pa.s.senger window down and Reg took off like a rocket.

"Well," said Bibbie, after a moment. "This is exciting."

"I suppose," said Melissande, sticking her head as far out of the jalopy as she could manage without decapitating herself. "Drat these broken street-lamps, I can't see Reg at all! And if Eudora Telford's not in that cab then she's getting away in another direction altogether. If we lose sight of her then this was all for nothing." She pulled her head back inside and gave Bibbie her sternest, most prime ministerly look. "Right. New plan. You stay here and wait for Reg. Whatever you do, don't get out of this jalopy. The last thing we need is for it to get nicked."

Bibbie gave her a look. "It won't get nicked, Mel, not with the kind of don't-steal-me hexes I-"

"Then don't get out because I said don't get out!" she snapped. "If anything happens to you it'll be me your parents come after with a shotgun-and Monk'll be right behind them carrying the spare ammunition! Please, Bibbie. Stay put."

Without giving Monk's appalling sister a chance to draw breath for her next objection, she shoved out of the jalopy, eked the door closed and hurried towards the side street where she hoped she'd be able to see Eudora Telford.