Witches Incorporated (31 page)

Surprised, Gerald blinked at her. “Thanks, Reg. It’s nice to know I’m forgiven.”

Reg looked down her beak at him. “Did I say you were forgiven? Trust me, you’re not.”

Of course he wasn’t. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. He frowned at the threadbare carpet, marshalling his thoughts. Trying to work out how much he could tell them… what was safe… what wasn’t… and came to a depressing conclusion. He either told them everything or nothing at all. And if he decided to tell them nothing, if he turned around and walked out of Monk’s house right now, Melissande and Bibbie and Reg might end up paying the ultimate price. Because they wouldn’t give up investigating at Wycliffe’s. They wouldn’t back down. They didn’t know how.

Of course I could always just tip this into Sir Alec’s lap. Leave him to deal with it. Sure, I could do that… and lose their friendship forever.

Because Sir Alec really would put Witches Inc. under lock and key—most likely metaphorically but possibly in a literal sense. Either way they’d be shoved to one side. Treated like
gels
. Even though Reg hadn’t been a
gel
for centuries, and Melissande… well, Melissande had
never
been a
gel
. But Sir Alec would make no allowances for that, despite knowing the kind of women they were. Knowing they’d already proven beyond doubt they could be trusted.

And then there was Bibbie. She wasn’t like Melissande and Reg. Hell, she might well be a genius, like Monk, but she was practically a slip of a girl. Not part of the New Ottosland mess, she’d never had to face the things that slithered beneath the world’s stones, and feasted.

And I don’t want her to face them. At least not while she’s still so young. So innocent. Bibbie’s why I’m doing this. Aren’t I supposed to keep her—and everyone like her—safe?

But Reg would say that wasn’t his decision. Reg would say it was Bibbie’s choice, her right to risk herself if she wanted to. Hell, Monk would say the same thing and he was her brother. And what did that mean? That he was indifferent? Or that he cared so much for Bibbie that he was prepared to treat her exactly as he treated himself, and let her take the risks
he
took without a second thought?

Gerald sighed and looked at his friends. He could protect them or he could lose them… but he couldn’t do both. Rightly or wrongly they weren’t going to let him. And rightly or wrongly he wasn’t prepared to give them up.

Oh lord. Sir Alec is going to kill me…

“
Well,” he said slowly, “it all started with the portal accidents.”

As Melissande sank back onto the sofa, Monk pulled a face. “They weren’t accidents.”

Sometimes I don’t know why I bother
. “How do you know that? Have you been listening at the wrong keyholes again?”

“No,” said Monk, suspiciously self-righteous. “I worked it out, that’s all. Well, me and Macklewhite and Barkett worked it out. We were just tossing ideas around. Speculating, after the second incident, that maybe someone was messing with the portal matrixes. We even set up a couple of experiments to see if we could do it. You know. In our spare time.”

Fascinated, Gerald stared at him. “In your spare time,” he murmured.
I wonder if Sir Alec has any idea… “
And?”

“Oh, we managed it,” Monk said cheerfully. “Wasn’t easy, mind you. They’ve built about forty levels of security and redundancy and failsafes into the portal system, Gerald. Not only would you have to be bloody good, you’d have to bloody lucky to actually splotz one.”

“Well, someone was both,” he said. “More’s the pity.”

“But—but that’s just
wicked
,” said Bibbie, eyes wide. “I mean, people have been hurt.
Badly
hurt. Why would someone do an awful thing like that?”

“Ha,” said Reg, still perched on the back of the sofa. “That’s easy. First question any good investigator asks is
Who benefits
?”

“Or,” said Gerald, his brain newly stuffed with all that training, “
Who loses?
”

“You mean who’s been hurt by the growing popularity of portal travel?” said Melissande.

“Smart girl I’ve got here,” said Monk, and kissed her hand. Melissande blushed: seemingly Monk wasn’t the only one smitten.

Gerald nodded. “Yes. In the three years since it was introduced, portal travel’s become commonplace and very popular. It’s had a major impact on the way people get around.”

“Fewer cars and carriages,” said Bibbie. “Reduced rail services. And—”

“Hardly any airships,” said Reg. “There was a time I couldn’t fly a mile without bumping into one. Mind you, they did come in useful when I felt like resting my wings. Except of course then I could never find one going my way. Typical. I remember once—”

“Reg,” said Gerald, and pulled an apologetic face. “If we could just stick to the topic…?”

She sniffed. “Yes. Well. What I was
about
to say is I’m guessing that once the public realised they wouldn’t go up in a puff of smoke if they used a portal, the bottom fell out of the airship business. Am I right? Of course I’m right. And while fashions change, people don’t. I remember when steerable hot-air balloons first came in—all the carriage and wagon-makers went into a decline. There were riots, you know.” Another sniff. “Bit before your time, of course.”

“Just a bit, yes,” he said, grinning. “But the point’s sound. Three years ago Wycliffe’s was Ottosland’s premier airship company, having put the other two out of business. People who know about these things fully expected them to make it to world number one within a couple of years. And then came the major breakthrough in portal thaumaturgics, our government patented the incants and sold them internationally… and overnight, everything changed.”

“Permelia Wycliffe said they’d endured some crushing disappointments,” said Melissande, frowning. “I suppose this is what she was talking about. The collapse of their domestic
and
foreign markets.”

“So what you’re saying is, Gerald, someone at Wycliffe’s is trying to scare people away from using the portal system?” Monk chewed his lip. “By unravelling the matrixes? That’s a bit bloody drastic, don’t you think?”

Very drastic. But—“Desperate people do desperate things, Monk.”

“Well, yeah, obviously, but why now? Like you said, public portals have been around for three years.”

“Maybe whoever’s doing this thought portals would be a passing fad,” said Bibbie. “Maybe they thought there
would
be accidents and then people would go back to using airships. Maybe they kept hoping they wouldn’t have to do something so awful as wrecking portals and hurting people. And they kept putting it off, and putting it off, and hoping things would go back to the way they were. And they didn’t.”

She really was a very sweet girl. Mad as a hatter, just like her brother, but sweet. Gerald smiled at her. “I suppose that’s as good an explanation as any.”

“Wait a minute,” said Melissande, sitting up. “Orville Wycliffe, the company’s founder, died a year ago.”

Gerald nodded. “And his son Ambrose took over the firm. We know.”

“
Huh
,” said Melissande, scowling. “
Ambrose
. I tell you, Gerald, he’s bloody lucky I’m not Bibbie or I’d have fried him where he stood today. “
Gels interfere with the thaumaturgical ether
.” I’ll give him ether, the insulting old frog.”

He had to smile. “Yes, well, Ambrose is a bit old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned
and
incompetent,” she said. “Ever since he got control of the company he’s tried to diversify it, with spectacularly unimpressive results. From what I can tell its scooters and velocipedes and jalopies are
hopeless
. They practically fall apart if you sneeze on them. If Ambrose thought he was going to save the business that way he was sadly mistaken.”

“Then it’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Monk. “Ambrose Wycliffe’s your villain. He’s trying to get his company back in the air by sabotaging the portal network.”

Gerald shook his head. “I wish it was that straightforward, but it’s not. We looked at Wycliffe’s financials and, yes, they are shaky, but business incompetence isn’t proof of a crime. We also looked at Ambrose himself, very hard, but he’s squeaky clean. There’s not a shred of evidence connecting him to the portal accidents. If there was then trust me, we’d have found it.”

Melissande cleared her throat. “What about Permelia?”

“
Permelia
?” Gerald stared. “No. It’s not her, either. And yes, we
did
look into the possibility,” he added as she opened her mouth to argue. “The Department is perfectly aware that women can be criminals too. But she’s as squeaky clean as her fiscally inept brother.”

“So really,” said Monk, “all you’ve got against Wycliffe’s is a suspicious-looking coincidence. As far as you and Sir Alec know the portals are being sabotaged by some anti-thaumaturgic nutter out to save the world from the dangers of meddling with etheretic particles. And that’s even if it
is
sabotage. I mean, me and Macklewhite and Barkett could’ve been wrong.”

“No, you’re not wrong,” Gerald sighed. “There were some trace thaumic signatures left after the last incident that can’t be explained away by the existing portal matrixes or as a by-product of the random thaumic fluctuations caused by normal portal operations. It looks like some very powerful hexes were used to pull the portals apart.”

“In that case,” said Bibbie, “can’t Monk also be right about who’s responsible? Everyone knows what those anti-thaumaturgical people are like. Quite dotty, the lot of them. Or jealous because they can’t hex themselves out of a wet paper bag.”

“I wish he was right,” he said. “Because then this would be over. But we know for a fact that nobody in the anti-thaumic movement is behind the portal sabotage.”

“Ah,” said Monk. “You’ve got agents on the inside?”

He pulled a face. “All I can tell you is there’s only a handful of wizards worldwide capable of using the kind of thaumaturgy we’re dealing with… and shady enough to try.”

“And none of them belongs to an anti-thaumic group?”

“No,” said Gerald. “That’s another dead end, I’m afraid.”

Monk drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “This shady wizard. You’ve got a name, haven’t you?”

“There’s someone we’re looking at, yes,” he admitted.

Monk’s eyes widened. “
Errol
?”

Bibbie sat up. “Really?
Really
Errol?” She clapped her hands. “Oh, that would be too perfect!”

“Who’s Errol?” said Melissande.

Bibbie made a rude noise. “Errol Haythwaite. Tall, dark and handsome, yes, but
such
a plonker.”

“Did you say Haythwaite?” said Melissande. “I know that name. Gerald, does she mean that horrible wizard today who—”

He nodded. “Yes. Him.”

“You’ve met Errol?” said Bibbie, surprised.

“No. At least, we’ve not been introduced,” said Melissande, with fastidious distaste. “But I caught him in action at Wycliffe’s this afternoon. As you say, Bibbie, the man’s an utter plonker.”

“Worse,” said Bibbie. “He’s the kind of First Grade wizard who thinks Third Graders should be rounded up and set adrift on barges in the middle of the nearest ocean. Rich, of course. His sort always are.” She wrinkled her nose. “Whenever we meet at swanky parties he always tries to look down my dress. I think he thinks I should be swooning all over him. I
know
he’d like to marry me because of the important people Father knows.”

Monk was staring at her, his mouth open. “What? He tries to look down your
dress
? How come you never—”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of squashing a bug like Errol Haythwaite without assistance,” said Bibbie airily. “Besides, he and Aylesbury are chummy and you know what Aylesbury’s like. Honestly, Monk,” she added, seeing he was still upset. “Errol knows better than to push his luck with me.”

“All right, Bibs. If you say so.” He turned. “But Gerald—look, fine, so Errol’s a plonker. You’ll get no argument from me about that. But it doesn’t mean he’s behind the sabotaged portals.”

Gerald shrugged. “We think he’s connected. Through another wizard, whose thaumic signature has a few things in common with the one we found at the last accident site. He’s already raised a few eyebrows in the past. Nothing’s been proven, it’s just… suspicions, but smoke and fire. You know how it goes. Given what’s at stake we can’t afford to ignore the possibility. So Sir Alec put me into Wycliffe’s on a watching brief.”

“And have you seen anything?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“What about this eyebrow-raising wizard? Has he got a name?”

“Haf Rottlezinder.”

Monk’s jaw dropped again. “
Rottlezinder
? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Blimey,” Monk muttered. “I knew a Haf Rottlezinder. Third year at university. He came over from West Uphantica as an exchange student. He was generally touted as a thaumaturgical prodigy. Stayed with—”

“Yes. We know, Monk,” said Gerald, meeting his friend’s gaze steadily. “With Errol. And from what we’ve been able to learn, he and Haf got to be very good friends.”

“And that’s your connection?” said Monk, incredulous. “I got to be friendly with Rottlezinder too. Does that mean you’re looking sideways at
me
?”