I was? Oh. “ Yes, well, His Majesty is a wonderful man, Miss Telford, but when he gets a bee in his bonnet he does rather want things to get done. No delay. And he’s so very excited about the thought of you visiting New Ottosland that he instructed me to-to-” Oh, Rupert, I’m sorry about this…“ — to extend his invitation to you immediately. Nothing would satisfy him but that I rush out this very evening and see you on his behalf. But when I reached your charming little bungalow I saw you leaving in a cab, so I followed you. I’m sorry. It’s just-I didn’t want to disappoint the king.”
“Oh,” said Eudora Telford, and looked down at her tightly clutched purse. “Well. That’s perfectly understandable, Your Highness. Disappointing people is awful, isn’t it? One-one is prepared to brave anything, no matter how frightening it might be, if that means not letting down the person who’s relying on you.”
Despite the good news about Rupert, the poor silly woman was still trembling. Still pale. Melissande lightly touched her cold hands. “Yes, Miss Telford,” she said gently. “One is.”
She risked another glance at Reg. The horrible bird had recovered her composure and was sitting on top of the lamp post again, rolling her eyes.
“And now,” she added, “I think we should return to North Ott so we can discuss the particulars of your visit to His Majesty’s court. I have a car standing by, which should be here any moment.”
Looking at Reg again, she waggled her eyebrows in what she hoped was a clear hint to go and fetch Bibbie. But instead of flying off, Reg turned to look along the street in the direction Gerald had run.
Drat. “Yes, any moment now my car should arrive.”
“That’s very kind of you, Your Highness,” Eudora Telford murmured. “Only, you see, there is the small matter of this errand, this favour…”
“I’m sure your friend would understand that you had to delay,” said Melissande, and looked again at Reg. “Friends know that sometimes you have to make a choice. And being friends they don’t hold it against you.”
“Yes, yes,” said Eudora Telford. She didn’t look convinced. Reg didn’t look convinced either but she flew off, away from Gerald, back towards the mouth of the side street and Bibbie.
“Honestly, Miss Telford,” said Melissande earnestly, tucking a hand in the crook of Eudora’s arm. “What true friend would deny you such a splendid opportunity?” With a little tug and a smile, she started the woman walking back along the street. “Did I mention His Majesty has heard of your light touch with sweet pastry?”
Eudora Telford gasped. “King Rupert’s heard of my pastry? Your Highness!”
Melissande felt another stab of guilt. It was awful, playing on Eudora’s pathetic sensibilities like this, but what other choice did she have?
I’ll make it up to her somehow. Even if I have to armwrestle Rupert into extending her a real invitation. She is the Guild’s secretary, after all. How bad could her jam rolls be?
Loud in the night-time silence, the wheezing chug-chug of Monk’s approaching jalopy. “And here’s the car,” she said, waving at Bibby as two bug-eyed headlights cut through the gloom.
“Your Highness, Miss Telford,” said Bibbie through the open driver’s window. “All set to go?”
“Oh,” said Eudora Telford, taken aback. “Miss Markham. You-you drive?”
Bibbie’s perfect teeth gleamed. “Certainly, Miss Telford. Would you expect anything less from the great-niece of Antigone Markham?” Leaving the jalopy to idle, she got out and held the rear passenger door wide. “Please. Do have a seat.”
But Eudora Telford hesitated. “Oh. Yes. D’you know, I’m just wondering, since you have this-this interesting vehicle, Your Highness, whether it would be possible for us to-to just drive a little further along so I can do this important favour for-for my friend. You know, before we discuss my visit to New Ottosland. The thing is-you see-that if I don’t do what I promised, my-my friend will be dreadfully… disappointed.”
Melissande looked at Eudora’s white and frightened face. Drat that Permelia Wycliffe. She really had this rabbit browbeaten.
“Oh, we can’t,” said Bibbie quickly. “I’m so sorry, Miss Telford. There’s been a gas leak in the area, and we really should leave. You can come back in the morning. I’ll bring you myself.”
“Gas leak?” said Eudora Telford, bewildered. “I didn’t hear anything about a-”
“The car has a wireless in it,” said Bibbie, with another dazzling smile. “I just heard the announcement.” She began to usher Eudora Telford into the jalopy. “Come along. No time to waste. That’s it, upsadaisy-”
“Go on, ducky,” said Reg, from the shadows. “Get that silly woman out of here. I’m going back to help Gerald.”
Of course she was.
“You’re quite sure we can come back in the morning?” said Eudora Telford, settled in the back seat.
“Yes,” said Melissande, stepping forward. “Of course. Because helping friends is always important. Come along, Miss Telford. I can’t wait to tell you all about New Ottosland.”
Reaching the far end of the street at last, Gerald ducked into the final darkened doorway and pulled the tracer crystal from his pocket. Good. The activation was still holding. He’d attached the other half of the tracer to Errol’s black cashmere overcoat, while Errol was in his lab killing time by working on the new Ambrose Mark VI prototype.
Please, Errol, whatever you do, don’t take it off.
The crystal pulsed a medium bright green, which meant Errol was about three hundred yards ahead, still moving. He’d have to be careful not to get too close. He’d had to keep his etheretic shield deactivated, and Errol would almost certainly notice something amiss in the ether now.
He slipped out of the doorway and started walking again, throwing a glance down the street behind him. Thankfully there was neither sight nor sound of Melissande or that dratted Eudora Telford, best friend of Ambrose’s sister Permelia. Who was, apparently, upset about something going on in the company. Something a bit more disturbing than petty biscuit pilfering.
There’s definitely a connection here. I don’t know what, but there is one. Another problem I need to sort out…
A familiar rustling sound… a stirring in the air…
“Right,” said Reg, landing hard on his shoulder. “Care to tell me what’s really going on?”
He’d been expecting her, of course. “I already did,” he said, resigned… but not displeased. “Errol’s leading me to Haf Rottlezinder.”
“And you’re convinced, are you, that Errol’s a villain?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “What I heard was… incriminating.”
He’d left the poor residential neighbourhood behind. Now the surrounding buildings looked like warehouses. Abandoned. Dilapidated. Old businesses gone to rack and ruin. The industrial smoke was thicker here, gritty and tainted with a thaumic tang. Under that was the stench of sour water, spoiled with the effluvium from some factory or other. The darkness was oppressive, the silence a shroud. It even felt like he was breathing too loudly.
Reg cleared her throat. “So how did you get here from Wycliffe’s?”
“The scooter.”
“Then why are we walking? It can’t be too safe walking around here.”
“I’m just following Errol’s lead,” he said. “He drove from Wycliffe’s to the other end of that laneway back there and parked. If he’s walking now it’s because Haf Rottlezinder told him to.”
“And where is our pretty plonker?”
“Up ahead somewhere.” He checked the tracer crystal. As he watched, the green pulse slowed… slowed… stopped. “All right. Either he’s lost or he’s reached his destination.”
“The Errol Haythwaites of this world don’t get lost, sunshine,” said Reg. “Right. Stay here. I’ll see what’s what and come right back.”
“No-Reg-”
But she was gone, her wings whispering through the menacing night.
Shivering, he hunched a little deeper into his own cheap coat and shoved the tracer in one pocket. Shrugged his left shoulder up and down against the slowly building ache. He was starting to regret bringing his First Grade staff with him. It had seemed like a good idea when he left Wycliffe’s, but now it was getting heavier with every step. At times like this he missed his lowly Third Grade cherrywood staff, which had fitted so neatly inside his coat.