Not someone. Lional. Blinking rapidly, she stared at Markham. 'That is nothing more than wild speculation.'
'No,' said Gerald's annoying friend. His engaging grin was entirely absent. Now he looked angry and a whole lot older, it's not speculation. And I can prove it. All I need is something bearing the thaumaturgical signature of one of the missing wizards.'
'Well, ducky?' said Reg, not unkindly. 'Can you help him or would you rather go on sticking your head in the sand? Because all three of us know who's behind this trouble.'
She returned to the bedroom. Snatched up the brown painted tin horse from its special place on her dressing table and took it back to the foyer. i had a birthday a while ago,' she said, stroking the toy with one finger. 'Bondaningo Greenfeather — Lional's wizard before Gerald — gave me this. When you say a special word it — it — canters in little circles, neighing. Or it did. Now it can barely trot, I'm afraid I ran the magic down playing with it. Silly. It's not like I'm a child.'
Markham took the horse from her and lightly held it. 'Yes. Yes, Greenfeather's fingerprint is still quite clear,' he murmured, it's a clever incantation.' He reached out his other hand and pressed it to the door. Moments later his face twisted and his breathing harshened. He pulled his hand away. 'Blimey, that's disgusting!
'Never mind disgusting!' Reg said sharply. 'Did you recognise Greenfeather's signature?' Reluctantly, Markham nodded.'Yes. It's in there.' 'But not Gerald's?' 'No.' 'You're quite sure?' Reg persisted.
'I'm sure,' said Markham. 'Wherever he is Gerald's still got his potential
Reg fluffed up all her draggled feathers. 'Well, praise Saint Snodgrass for that.'
Hardly paying them any attention, Melissande took the toy from his unresisting fingers. Whispered 'tallyho' into its ear then put it on the foyer floor. All her insides felt hollowed out, scoured bare with sorrow. As they watched, the little tin horse lifted its head, flicked its tail and pranced in a slow jerky circle, neighing.
It wasn't till Reg said, in a strangled voice, 'There, there, ducky. Markham, give her a hanky' that she realised she was crying. Lional. Lional. Wlxat have you done?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
'What I don't understand,' said Markham, 'is how Lional managed this in the first place. If he's not a wizard…'
Reg let out a thoughtful sigh. 'Well, magical ability usually runs in families and madam, there, is studying witchcraft. Inadequately, but she's studying it. So maybe he had just enough juice to get the ball rolling. And after that…' Another sigh. 'Well, Melissande? Did he?'
It was the first time Gerald's appalling feathered companion had ever addressed her by her actual name. Slumped in a chair, still clutching Markham's damp hanky, she looked up.'Did he what?'
'Aren't you listening: Did your miserable brother have a spark of magic in him? Sufficient, as it were, to get the engine started? Saint Snodgrass preserve me,' she added to Markham. 'From the look on her face you'd think I was talking Babishkian!'
'Don't be so hard, Reg,' said Markham, disapproving.'She's had a bad shock.'
'And she's going to get another one if she doesn't buck up! Royalty doesn't sit around glooming, it rallies, it rebounds, it seeks revenge! Look at me!'
Trying to sniff discreetly, Melissande watched as Markham ignored the damned bird, crossed to her chair and dropped to a crouch beside it. With flagrant disregard for protocol he took her hand in his; ridiculously, she felt comforted.
'Your Highness — Melissande — I'm sorry about this,' he said with surprising gentleness. 'I really am. I've got a brother. We can't stand each other but even so… I think I know how you feel. I mean, if I found out Aylesbury was a mass murderer…'
She pulled her hand free. 'Stop calling Lional a murderer. You don't know those other wizards are dead.'
'Melissande…' Markham's thin face was full of compassion. 'It's impossible to take a wizard's magicali potentia without killing him. Magic is in the blood, literally. It'd be like having your bones ripped out. Not even a First Grade wizard could survive it.'
She wasn't Lional's sister for nothing. 'I don't believe you. Show me five corpses and then I might accept what you're saying, but until you do, I — '
'Melissande! said Markham. His hand took hers again. 'The wizards are dead!
'And if you bleat "no, no, Lional isn't a murderer" one more time when you know damn well he is,' said Reg, without any compassion, i swear on my phoney grave, ducky, I'll poke out your eyeballs like olives and feed them to your precious Boris.'
She tried not to think of dear Bondaningo, ripped apart from the inside out. 'Fine,' she said sullenly. Hating Markham. Hating the bird. Most of all, hating Lional.'Have it your way.They're dead.'
Markham chewed on a fingernail. 'Blimey, Reg. We've got a real problem. How are we supposed to stand up to a man with the potentias ot five First Grade wizards?' His expression changed, abruptly. 'Especially when one of them had access to texts from the Internationally Proscribed Index! He let go of her hand and unfolded to his feet, looking stricken. 'Damn. Pomodoro Uffitzi held a doctorate in Theoretical Applications of Reverse Thaumatics.' in Ottish please?' said Melissande, feeling waspish.
'Black magic,' he said, distracted. 'Uffitzi spent eleven years researching his thesis in several countries renowned for their past dabblings in unsavoury practices. Who knows what grimoires he managed to find in that time?'
'And ever so carefully forgot to declare to the authorities?' said Reg.'Saint Snodgrass preserve us!' if I'm right, I have to notify the Department.'
'Yes, but after we've found Gerald,' said Reg. She chattered her beak, thinking hard. 'He must be around here somewhere.'
Very carefully Melissande laid Markham's damp handkerchief over the arm of her chair.'Lional said he was in private retreat, meditating.' Reg snorted. 'Meditating my feathered arse. He's being held prisoner.' 'Maybe he's run away'
'Stop being deliberately provocative. I'll bet you a nice pair of high-heeled pumps, ducky, Gerald's "accident" in the forest was Lional not being able to steal his potentia. That means our mad king needs him to do his dirty work for him — whatever that is.Trust me, he won't be far away'
'But he will be somewhere with a decent amount of space,' added Markham. 'We know the dirty work involved a Level Twelve transmog that makes the cat-into-lion trick look puny. Melissande, do you have any idea what Lional wanted Gerald to make?'
She glared at him. 'Of course not! Who do you think I am, his evil sidekick? I don't have the first idea what — ' And then she turned to Reg.
'Hell's bells,' Reg whispered, as they stared at each other in sudden, appalled comprehension. 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking, madam? The Kallarapi gods. Tavistock as Lalchak… me as Vorsluk…'
Melissande shot out of the chair.' Grimthak] Oh my God, Reg! Gerald's made a bloody dragonV
Reg turned, her dark eyes blazing. 'Markham, get us out ofhereV
He flung himself at the foyer doors. Spread his fingers flat to the polished oak surface and pressed his cheek between them. After a moment he began to hum off-key. A moment after that, alarmingly, his unruly dark hair developed a life of its own, weaving and unweaving itself around his head in a series of bizarre patterns.
'Ah — wouldn't the window have been easier?' she asked. 'Don't distract him!' hissed Reg.
As she watched, holding her breath, Markham's face began to twist with pain. The humming became a groan and a bloody sweat broke out on his forehead. Moments later there was an explosion of light and sound and a billow of foul green smoke. Markham, shouting, flew across the foyer, struck the far wall and slid moaning to the floor.