Witches Incorporated Part 44

"And you, Mister Dunwoody," Sir Alec added, still ice-cold, "will under no circ.u.mstances make contact with him. That is an absolute directive-the ignoring of which will, I promise you, lead to a severe lack of future."

Chilled to the marrow, Gerald nodded. "Understood, Sir Alec. But what if he and I-"

"Rest a.s.sured, Mister Dunwoody," said Sir Alec. "Your paths are unlikely to cross again."

And if that didn't sound sinister, he had no idea what did.

Abruptly, Sir Alec stood. "Go home, Mister Dun-woody."

"I'm sorry-what-" He stared. "Go home?"

"Yes," said Sir Alec. "You are suspended, Mister Dunwoody. Pending further investigation into this case. Since you have contributed more than enough mayhem to the situation, your continued a.s.sistance will not be required."

Feeling numb, Gerald pushed to his feet. "Suspended," he murmured. "For how long?"

"Until I tell you otherwise, of course." Sir Alec raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. Did you think because the case was solved in our favour that there would be no repercussions? How terribly naive of you. I will tell you a third time, but not for a fourth. Go home, Mister Dunwoody, and wait for my call."

Gerald nodded. "Yes, Sir Alec. Oh-my staff-"

"Is quite safe," said Sir Alec. "I think it can remain here, for the time being."

In other words, they didn't trust him with it. But it's mine. Not theirs. Resentment curdled through his sluggish blood. "I'm sorry, I don't think-"

Sir Alec's expression altered... and he changed his mind about arguing any more.

"Right," he muttered. "Go home, Gerald."

But at the interrogation room's door he hesitated, and turned back.

Sir Alec's glare was blighting. "Yes, Mister Dun-woody? What is it now?"

"I was just wondering, Sir Alec-do we know anything about the black market wizard Permelia Wycliffe went to? Has she given him up? Because that hexed hairpin she used to kill her brother... that was a very nasty incant. The mind that dreamt it up-it has to be pretty b.l.o.o.d.y twisted."

Shadows shifted deep in Sir Alec's guarded eyes. "The matter is under investigation."

He nodded. "It's a problem, isn't it? Black market thaumaturgy. First that business with Millicent Grimwade-and now this. I didn't realise..."

"Yes. It's a problem," said Sir Alec curtly. "But not your problem, Mister Dunwoody."

In other words, b.u.g.g.e.r off. Get lost. You're not wanted around here.

"No, Sir Alec," he said, subdued, and escaped while he still could.

On his way out of the Department's nondescript Nettleworth headquarters, he saw Dalby in an office off the ground floor corridor, banging typewriter keys as he made out his report. He hesitated in the open doorway, wanting to say something-say thank you- -but the look Dalby gave him was so furiously unfriendly that he hurriedly retreated before the senior janitor surrendered to temptation and hexed him.

It wasn't until he stood outside the Department's headquarters, under a fading sky, that he realised he had no idea how he was going to get home.

And then he heard a honking car horn... and saw Monk in his jalopy, parked a little way down the grey, dreary street.

So weary he felt like he was floating, he wandered along the pavement and got into the car. "Oh, lord," he said, looking at his friend. "Not you too?"

"Yeah," said Monk, his grin so sharkish and anarchic. "Me too. Again."

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. "I'm sorry," he said, contrition choking his voice. "I'm so sorry, Monk. I never meant-"

"I know you didn't," said Monk, and fired up the jalopy. "And anyway, it's not your fault. You didn't twist my arm, did you? You didn't threaten to turn me into a toad if I wouldn't help you. I did what I did with my eyes wide open, mate."

"Well, yes, I know," he said unhappily. "But still, Monk, I-"

"Hey," said Monk, and pulled into the street. "It could be worse, Gerald. At least they don't know about my interdimensional portal opener!" And he laughed, the crazy b.u.g.g.e.r, as though he didn't have a care in the world. "So," he added. "The girls are back at my place. What do you say we pick up some Yok Tok take-away and have ourselves a b.l.o.o.d.y feast?"

Gerald laughed. He couldn't help it. "Yeah. Okay. Why not?"

"Only you're paying, right?" said Monk. "Because I've changed my mind. All of this is your b.l.o.o.d.y fault, Dunnywood!"

The knock on his closed office door came late, when all sane men were at home in bed. Of course, some would say that sanity was vastly overrated. Or at least not a requirement in his line of work. Perhaps it could even be considered a ("hindrance").

Certainly there are days, like this one, when insanity helps.

Sighing, he put down his pen and said, "Come."

"Alec," said Ralph, and closed the door behind him. "Burning the midnight oil, I see."

"While you're out and about for a healthy const.i.tutional?" he countered.

Ralph shrugged out of his overcoat, slung it over a low bookcase then dropped into the chair on the other side of the desk. "What else?" he enquired, his hooded eyes sardonic.

"In Nettleworth?" He pushed away from his desk, crossed to his discreet drinks cabinet and poured them each a modest finger of malt whiskey. Then, after placing one gla.s.s in Ralph's outstretched hand, he shifted to his office's uncurtained window and rested his shoulder against the wall. Beyond the dusty gla.s.s, the night was clear and cold and p.r.i.c.ked with distant stars. "You must be desperate."

"No more desperate than you," said Ralph, eyeing his emptied gla.s.s appreciatively. "You only break out the good stuff when you're feeling particularly pressed."

"Control that b.l.o.o.d.y nephew of yours, Ralph, and I promise my nerves will be markedly less agitated."

"If only I could control him, Alec," said Ralph, with a sigh. "But alas, it's years too late for that. I blame my brother, of course. Wolfgang has encouraged Monk's waywardness from the moment of his birth. I tried to tell him, but he never listens to me. Thank your lucky stars you're an only child, old boy. I promise you it makes for a far less complicated life."

True. "And is Wolfgang also responsible for your gifted, wayward niece?"

Ralph groaned. "It's a tragedy we've done away with convents, that's all I can say. In the good old days I could've locked her behind high stone walls, comforted by the knowledge the world would remain safe from the gel. But instead..."

Despite his weariness, and the burdens that made his neck ache, he smiled. "Don't be too hard on Emmerabiblia, Ralph. Or on Monk." He returned to his chair and sat down again, bones creaking. "Without their a.s.sistance we might be having a very different conversation altogether."

"Yes, well," Ralph muttered. "Be that as it may... I'm still appalled that you've tripped over Monk again. And now his sister, too. You're more forgiving than I am, Alec."

"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 gla.s.s 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-aggrandis.e.m.e.nt'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 succ.u.mb 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... rea.s.signed... 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 a.s.signment mandate but I'm not entirely displeased with him, nevertheless. As first a.s.signments 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 sc.r.a.pheap, 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 G.o.ds 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 G.o.ds on his behalf. That old Shugat's probably past it, deaf as a post, I'll bet, and as an honorary ex-G.o.d myself I'm sure I could-"

"No!" everyone said loudly. "Don't you even b.l.o.o.d.y 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 antic.i.p.ate that for most of the time, you shall be occupied with the kind of work you antic.i.p.ated 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 cla.s.sified government investigation?"

"Interfering?" said Reg. "You cheeky b.u.g.g.e.r! We saved your Department's hide and you b.l.o.o.d.y 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 t.i.tle go to your heads."

Her heart-stopping face framed in the open window, golden hair gleaming in the sun, blue eyes bright with unholy amus.e.m.e.nt, Bibbie bounced on her dustbin lid and laughed.