by K. E. Mills
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, still nursing his own drink. “I’ve just had bigger fish to fry.”
Silence. Then Ralph let out a slow, heavy sigh. “So. What are we going to do about him, Alec? I’m not ashamed to confess it: he scares me half to death.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Only half, Ralph?”
Ralph put his emptied glass on the corner of the desk. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance Dunwoody was exaggerating, is there? About how he got through Rottlezinder’s wards?”
He shook his head, smiling gently. “No. Gerald’s failings are many, but self-aggrandisement’s not one of them. And if it’s any consolation, Ralph, I think he scares himself as much-if not more-than either of us.”
Ralph drummed restless fingers on one knee. “And you think we should be satisfied with that? Trust in that to save us? Bad enough he’s a rogue, Alec. But if he should go rogue-if he should succumb to the power of his potentia…” Ralph shivered. “Are you strong enough to stop him? I know I’m not.”
“And I know I’m not prepared to countenance drastic measures,” he replied. “Gerald’s young, and misguided, but there’s no malice in him, Ralph. He’s not a Lional of New Ottosland, or another Haf Rottlezinder. He’s not even an Errol Haythwaite. He’s the son of an honest hardworking tailor from an obscure rural backwater, and he’s doing his best to make sense of this gift. This curse. This power he never asked for.”
Eyes narrowed, speculating, Ralph stared at him gravely. “You like him, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “That’s hardly relevant.”
“It’s relevant if you’re wrong about him, Alec,” Ralph retorted, leaning over the desk. “It’s relevant if one day he decides the rules really don’t apply to him and we’ve let ourselves get so attached we’re not able to do what must be done for the greater good.”
He snorted. “You mean me, not we.”
“Yes. All right. You,” said Ralph, frowning, and sat back. “He is in your Department, after all.”
He and Ralph had known each other a very long time. They shared memories and secrets and bitter regrets. A few small triumphs, to offset the many losses. Ralph Markham wasn’t a… comfortable… man.
But then neither am I.
“ That’s right, Ralph,” he said quietly. “He is in my Department. And until such time as Dunwoody’s… reassigned… I’ll be the one who decides what’s done with him. All right?”
Ralph looked aside. “Fine. Have it your way. I just hope you know what you’re doing, Alec.”
So do I, Ralph. Believe me, so do I.
But he wasn’t about to admit any doubts. Not even to this man, who in an odd way was his friend. “There’s no question Gerald exceeded his assignment mandate but I’m not entirely displeased with him, nevertheless. As first assignments go, the outcome could’ve been far less satisfactory.”
“True,” said Ralph grudgingly. “But even so, we’ve got a mess on our hands, haven’t we?”
A mess. Well, that was one way of putting it. Monk Markham. His sister. Princess Melissande. That bloody bird. And unpredictable, potentially lethal Gerald Dunwoody’s stubborn friendship with all of them. The young wizard was right about one thing: together they’d solved this difficult case. Without Witches Inc., and Ralph’s uncontrollable nephew cheering on the sidelines and playing at chauffeur, the government could well be looking at more wrecked portals… or worse.
But even though Gerald’s entanglement with his unlikely friends had proven useful this time, it also promised to be problematic in the future. Unless it could be turned to the Department’s advantage, of course.
I could be wrong, but I have the sneaking suspicion that these friendships might be all that can keep Gerald on an even keel. Because if this portal business has taught us anything, it’s taught us that we’ve not begun to plumb the depths of his abilities… and we don’t know what in time he’ll become.
“ So,” said Ralph. “How are we going to clean the mess up, Alec?”
He smiled. “Funny you should ask me that. Ralph, I’ve been thinking. And I believe I have a workable plan…”
Suspension-exile-stretched out to ten days. Abandoning the dreadful bedsit, Gerald camped out with Monk. They amused themselves in Great-uncle Throgmorton’s attic, mucking about with various dubious experiments, and every day drove to the Witches Inc. agency to have lunch with the girls.
Really, it was almost like a holiday. Except he didn’t want a holiday, he wanted to get back to work.
“Don’t be in such a rush, mate,” said Monk. “Who knows when you’ll get some time off again, once Sir Alec’s put you back in harness?”
“ If he puts me back in harness,” he replied, morose. “Ten days and not a word either way, Monk. I just want to know what’s going on. That’s all.”
“Nothing’s going on. This is just his way of slapping your wrist,” said Monk. “You don’t really think they’ll throw you on the scrapheap, do you? Their very own tame rogue wizard?”
He supposed not. But knowing that didn’t make the waiting any easier.
Lunchtime on the tenth day rolled around, and found him and Monk at Witches Inc., again. Reg brooded on her ram skull, Melissande slumped at her desk, he sprawled in the client armchair, Monk perched on Bibbie’s desk, and Bibbie hovered outside the window on her flying dustbin lid. She and Monk were fighting a pitched battle with hexed paperclips.
According to Reg, the Witches Inc. phone hadn’t rung for a week.
Sighing, Melissande let the Times fall onto her knees. Curled up on her lap, Boris hissed a complaint.
“So I was talking to Rupert last night,” she said to no-one in particular. “He says Zazoor might have finally found himself a bride. Only Zazoor’s not quite sure, because apparently the gods are being coy about it.”
Gerald smiled, half-heartedly. “So what else is new?”
“Well, true… but Rupes seems to think Zazoor’s rather keen on this girl. And it is past time he settled down, after all.”
Reg stirred on her ram skull. “Tell him to tell Sultan Hoity-toity I’m happy to stop by and have a word with the gods on his behalf. That old Shugat’s probably past it, deaf as a post, I’ll bet, and as an honorary ex-god myself I’m sure I could-”
“ No!” everyone said loudly. “Don’t you even bloody think about it, Reg!”
Reg cracked open one eye. “Yes, well, it was only a suggestion. I’m sure there’s no need to deafen a woman. And anyway, why shouldn’t I go on a little jaunt to Kallarap? It’s not like anything’s happening here.”
“It’s not fair,” said Bibbie, as her paperclips fought to the death with Monk’s. “That bloody Eudora Telford. I mean, we save her life and this is how she repays us? By telling everyone in the Baking and Pastry Guild that we got Ambrose killed and sent Permelia insane?”
“Well…” He shrugged. “I suppose, when you think about it, she’s not entirely wrong.”
“And look on the bright side,” said Reg. “At least she’s not heading off to New Ottosland to poison Rupert.”
“True,” said Melissande. “Although-”
The agency door opened without warning, and Sir Alec walked in. If the sight of Bibbie bobbing outside the window on a dustbin lid perturbed him, he didn’t show it.
Gerald sat up. What’s he doing here? He exchanged a worried look with Monk, who’d turned pale.
“ So,” Sir Alec said briskly, hands clasped behind his back. “Listen carefully, ladies and gentlemen, as I explain to you how this arrangement is going to work. To all intents and purposes, Witches Inc. shall continue to operate as a legitimate thaumaturgical troubleshooting agency. In fact I anticipate that for most of the time, you shall be occupied with the kind of work you anticipated handling when you started the business. Of course, from this time forth most of that work will be filtered in to you from various avenues approved by my Department, and every job will be vetted for potential nefarious connections, but nevertheless
the agency will, for the most part, be what it claims to be. Although the entire operating budget will be provided by the government and any revenue you generate shall be laid against expenses.”
Melissande, shocked, was staring with her mouth open. “ What? I don’t think so, Sir Alec. At least not without the proper consultation. You can’t barge in here and-”
Sir Alec’s smile was particularly wintry, even for him. “Yes, I can, Your Highness. Or did you not realise you were interfering with an ongoing, highly classified government investigation?”
“ Interfering?” said Reg. “You cheeky bugger! We saved your Department’s hide and you bloody well know it!”
Sir Alec ignored her. “ You, Mister Dunwoody, shall be joining Witches Inc. as one of its employees. When not engaged on official Department business you’ll keep yourself busy with any Third Grade wizard work that might cross the agency’s desk. You, Mister Markham, will continue in your current position in Research and Development, but with secondment duties to my Department as and when I require your services. Miss Cadwallader, Miss Markham and Dulcetta-”
“I prefer Reg,” said Reg coldly. “If it’s all the same to you, sunshine.”
This time Sir Alec offered her a small bow. “Very well… Reg. The three of you shall be considered auxiliary Department personnel, subject to the same official government restrictions and conditions as restrain Mister Dunwoody and Mister Markham.” He frowned. “At least when it suits them to be restrained. In short, ladies, you are now honorary janitors, though I do strongly advise that you not let the title go to your heads.”
Her heart-stopping face framed in the open window, golden hair gleaming in the sun, blue eyes bright with unholy amusement, Bibbie bounced on her dustbin lid and laughed.
“How about that?” she crowed. “What a wonderful idea!”
“You think so?” Melissande demanded. “Well, I think it’s-it’s the most high-handed, autocratic, bossy — ”
“I know!” said Bibbie. “He sounds just like you-and Reg!”
As Melissande spluttered, Sir Alec continued. “These new arrangements will commence immediately. Mister Markham, Mister Dunwoody, you will report to Nettleworth at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Miss Cadwallader, Miss Markham and Reg, someone will be stopping by this office later today with papers for you to sign. Or, in your case, Reg, scratch. Then you too shall report to Nettleworth for further briefings.”
“Um,” said Gerald, not daring to look at Melissande. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to add, Sir Alec?”
Sir Alec frowned. “No. I don’t think so. I think I’ve been quite clear.”
“No, no, I think there was something else,” he said. “Something about-I don’t know-asking if we’re interested?”
“I’m sorry,” said Sir Alec, one pale brown eyebrow lifting. “Did you not hear what I said to Miss Cadwallader? This is-as you’d say-most definitely a done deal. Ladies and gentlemen, this is what happens when you solve a highly delicate and dangerous secret mission.” He smiled, unamused. “You get given another one.”
“But-but-” said Melissande. “Rupert-he’s not going to like me getting involved with-”
Sir Alec considered her. “Actually, Your Highness, His Majesty has already been informed. He asked me tell you, from him, ‘ Have fun ’.”
“Oh,” said Melissande faintly. Stunned, she patted Boris on the head. “I see. Well. Gosh. Did he really?”
“Yes,” said Sir Alec, then added, “Your family has also been informed, Miss Markham.”
“And did they give you a message for me?” asked Bibbie brightly.
“No,” said Sir Alec. “But I’ve got one. Get off that dustbin lid. It’s time to grow up.”
As the agency door clicked closed behind him they all looked at each other, lost for words.
Well. Almost lost for words.
Comfortable on her ram skull, Reg let out a sudden cackle. “Well, boys and girls, you know what they say. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Bloody hell! What’s next?”
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