“Rats,” she said, under her breath. “If only I could follow him inside. Saint Snodgrass knows what he’s getting up to in there.”
On impulse she scuttled across the almost empty car park and over to the imposing laboratory complex. There were no windows along the front, but perhaps along the back? Hardly daring to breathe, she crept around the corner of the building and peered along its rear length. She was in luck. There was indeed a scattering of windows. None of them was open but not all were screened by curtains. And one of them, it turned out, belonged to Errol Haythwaite’s office.
Nose pressed against the narrow width of uncurtained glass, quaking in fear that he’d look up and see her, Melissande held her breath again and spied on Gerald’s nemesis and number one suspect.
Tall, lean and indisputably dazzling, Errol stood in front of a large drawing-desk, a series of blueprints spread out before him. Even though he was facing the window, he didn’t notice he was being stared at, so intently was he focused upon his work. He’d taken off his expensive suit-coat and hung it on the back of his closed office door. His white shirt shone with a definite silkish shimmer, and his tiepin looked like solid gold. Definitely he wasn’t short of dosh.
Melissande glared. Come on, you rich plonker, do something incriminating. You’re owed such a smacking for the way you spoke to Gerald.
Errol, unobliging, picked up a wax pen and began to scribble all over his blueprints. Every so often he paused and stood back to consider his handiwork. Sometimes he smiled, which made him even more handsome.
On the desk behind him, his crystal ball pulsed red. Irritated, Errol turned and glared at it. Almost ignored it… and then changed his mind. Tossing down the wax pen he answered his incoming call.
“Rats,” said Melissande. She could see his lips move, but she couldn’t hear a thing. “I wonder if Bibbie’s invented an eavesdropping-hex too…”
Whatever was being said to Errol by his mystery caller, one thing was clear: he didn’t like it. Not at all. Now he was pacing his small, tidy office, hands fisted on his hips, and as he strode in and out of view Melissande saw his face was contracted in a scowl. But even angry and upset he was still shockingly handsome.
Just like Lional. Don’t let his looks fool you…
With Errol moving around so much it was far more likely he’d catch sight of her at his window. Time to go… especially since according to her watch it was nearly a quarter to eight and she still had to make her way back to the office.
She met up with Gerald on the way.
“Melissande!” he said, looking suitably Third Grade in a worn brown suit, a limp white shirt and slightly threadbare blue tie. His gaze narrowed suspiciously. “What have you been doing?”
Trust him to notice. “Doing, Gerald? I don’t know what you mean.”
With a quick look around to make sure no-one was coming, he took her elbow and tugged her against the hedge. “You know perfectly well what I mean. The only thing at the end of this driveway is the R amp;D lab. Melissande, please, stay out of my case. I know you’re only trying to help, but you can’t.”
“No?” she said, tugging her elbow free.
“No.”
“Does that mean you’re not interested in what I just saw?”
A riot of emotions chased over his face. “ Melissande…”
She patted his cheek. “I’ll tell you if you’d like to know. I’ll even waive my regular fee as a professional courtesy.”
He closed his eyes. “Yes. I’d like to know.”
“Say please.”
“ Please.”
Two more wizards were walking down the driveway. As much as she enjoyed teasing Gerald, she’d have to make this fast. “Someone contacted Errol,” she said quickly. “Through his crystal ball. Whoever it was made him very angry.”
Gerald took her arm again, his eyes intent, his grip veering towards painful. “Who was it? What did they talk about?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I couldn’t hear, I could only see. Gerald-”
Abruptly aware of himself, he let go of her arm. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Of course you couldn’t hear him, Errol’s got his office thaumaturgically sound-proofed. But did you see anything else?”
“No,” she said, resisting the urge to rub where his fingers had gripped her. “Well… except I don’t think he was just angry. I think he was afraid, too.”
Gerald laughed, unamused. “Errol? Afraid? That doesn’t seem likely.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not, but he was.”
The other wizards were much closer now, their shoes scrunching the driveway’s loose gravel. Gerald glanced over his shoulder. “We shouldn’t be seen together. Melissande-” He shook his head. “Thank you. That might be important. But please, I’m begging you-stay out of my way. If anything happened to you, or Reg, or Bibbie…”
This was only the third time she’d seen him since New Ottosland, and Lional. Even so-she could tell that he’d changed. That tentative, sweet man she’d met his first day in the palace was gone. Vanished, as though he’d never lived. And in his place stood this quietly haunted man, with one good eye that showed her dreadful things.
I wonder what he can see that’s different in me.
“ You mustn’t worry,” she said gently. “Nothing’s going to happen. Have a good day, Gerald. I expect we’ll talk again quite soon.”
With a nod and a smile she walked away, heading back to the employee garden so she could retrieve her reticule. She could feel Gerald stare after her, his gaze heavy between her shoulder-blades.
When she was clear of the two approaching wizards she broke into an unladylike jog. If she wasn’t careful she was going to be late… and getting fired was the last thing she needed.
“Here you go, Gerald,” said Japhet Morgan, fellow Third Grade menial, wheeling yet another trolley-load of thaumaturgically-stained beakers and test tubes and etheretic containers into R amp;D’s industrialsized scullery. “Compliments of Mister Haythwaite.”
Gerald looked round, and managed-just-to keep his face blank. That made five trolley-loads washed and six waiting for his attention. He’d been at this for nearly four hours now with no sign of a reprieve. So much for spying on Errol. And with what Melissande had told him this morning, he really, really needed to spy.
“Fine, Japh,” he sighed. “Just leave them with the others.”
Japhet parked the trolley, then lingered. “So. It was really you who blew up Stuttley’s?”
Was there any point in yet again protesting his innocence? No. People believed what they wanted to believe. Especially when someone like Errol was telling the tale.
“Yes, Japh,” he said wearily. “It was really me.”
Japhet, young and pimpled and easily awed, whistled soundlessly. “Gosh. No wonder Mister Haythwaite hates your guts. He says that staff of his you ruined cost thousands.”
“Does he?” He reached for another manky beaker. “Then I guess it did.”
“He says everywhere you go, disaster follows. He says you probably got a king killed. You didn’t, did you?”
What? He put down the scrubbing brush and turned to face Japhet. “No. I didn’t. And you should know better than to listen to gossip, Mister Morgan.”
Japhet flushed. “It’s not gossip. It’s what Mister Haythwaite says.”
Gerald turned back to the sink. “Yes, well, Mister Haythwaite’s going to say a lot more than that if he catches you in here idling. So you’d best leave me to my scrubbing and get back to work.”
“Right. Yes,” said Japhet, suitably cowed. “Sorry, Gerald. It’s only what Mister Haythwaite says.”
Alone again, Gerald rinsed the beaker and stacked it with the other twelve on the draining board. Outrage at Errol tangled with his ongoing remorse for blabbing to Monk and the girls about his true purpose here at Wycliffe’s. Reaching for yet another beaker, plunging it into the sink’s scalding, soapy water, he throttled the urgent desire to run out to the lab and beat Errol about the head with his brand new First Grade staff.