Maybe I can get Monk to-to fiddle a First Grader down to Third Grade size somehow. A sort of stealth staff. That might come in handy.
He was standing opposite a narrow, vacant lot that sat between two run-down buildings. It looked a bit like a missing tooth in a rotten smile. In the faint illumination from the gas lamps on the buildings behind it he saw that the lot was overrun with weeds. A rustle. A snarling hiss. A panicked squeak, silenced. Two large yellow eyes gleamed briefly then disappeared.
He shivered again. That’s me. Slinking through the weeds in the dark, hunting. My father was a tailor. How did I get to be this?
The world around him looked slightly… flattened. With only one good eye he’d lost his depth perception. He hardly ever noticed the difference any more. Only at times like this, with so little light around, and so much danger. That was when he remembered that while he’d gained a lot, he’d lost something too.
He frowned into the distance, trying to see Reg. Oh, lord, Reg. How was he going to explain her to Sir Alec? Her and the girls. Because he couldn’t not include them in his final report. Lying to Sir Alec was out of the question. If his intimidating superior didn’t understand about their serendipitous involvement-about how hard it was to stop Reg sticking her beak in to save him at every opportunity…
Exactly how influential was Sir Alec? Could he take reprisals against Witches Inc.? Have Melissande recalled to New Ottosland? See Bibbie stripped of her thaumaturgical licence? Make Monk pay for his irrepressible sister? And what about Reg? All right, probably he couldn’t do anything to her. If nothing else, she could outfly him. But what if he made things so difficult she had to leave Ottosland? Where would she go? Back to New Ottosland, probably, with Melissande…
But I don’t want her to! Why does everything have to be so bloody difficult?
“Right,” said Reg, gliding out of the gloom. “I’ve got him spotted.” She landed on his shoulder again. “He’s outside an old boot factory, five hundred yards down on the left. Looks like that Rottlezinder’s up on the top floor. You can just see a crack of light shining between the closed shutters. We’d better get hopping, sunshine, we don’t want to miss what’s going on.”
Letting his staff drop, Gerald plucked her off his shoulder and kissed her beak. “There’s no we, Reg. Not this time. You’ve been marvellous but now you have to go.”
“Gerald-”
“ No. You can’t be here, Reg. Please.”
She rattled her tail feathers. “If there was time I’d argue with you, but there’s not. Gerald, that place is hexed into the middle of next week. It was like flying into a brick wall, just about knocked me eyeballs over toenails. I’d say that’s why Errol’s waiting on the footpath-so his nasty little friend can let him in. You’d better not try taking that fancy staff of yours anywhere near it-you’ll probably start fireworks.”
He kissed her again. “I won’t. Goodbye!”
As she flapped away he slid his gold-filigreed staff into the undergrowth on the vacant lot and obscured it with a hex. Then, because Errol was so close, he reactivated his shield-incant and broke into a soft-footed jog down the empty street towards Errol, and Haf Rottlezinder.
The warding hexes Rottlezinder had put on the boot factory struck him while he was still some fifty feet from its partially boarded-up entrance. The criminal wizard’s thaumic signature stank of power, and malice. Dropping back to a stealthy walk he slunk from shadow to shadow, inching his way closer… and closer…
Yes, there was Errol, still standing on the footpath, impatiently waiting. A single working lamppost a little further down the street washed him with a faint light. He looked ill. Angry. Uncertain.
Then Gerald felt the ether shiver. Saw a ripple in the air, gentle at first and then more forceful. Errol’s hair ruffled, as though blown by a breeze, and detritus in the shallow gutter-some old leaves, a few sheets of torn, tattered newspaper-picked itself up and danced, coquettish. Hazing smoke from the looming factories eddied, sharpening the ambient stink.
Rottlezinder was opening the front door.
Gerald bit his lip. He needed access to his full range of potentia now. Trying to spy on Errol and Rottlezinder muffled by his shield would be a waste of time… and dangerous. So he held his breath, and at the height of the warding hexes’ deactivation switched his shield off. Trusting, hoping, that any disturbance it caused would be lost in the already agitated ether, he stood still and mute in the deepest shadow he could find, and waited.
It worked.
With the oddest sensation-like the soundless snapping of a taut elastic-the warding hexes around Rottlezinder’s hideout collapsed. Gasping, Errol rocked a little on his heels. A moment later the partially-boarded factory entrance shifted sideways, and an indistinct figure stepped onto the broken-bricked path to the door.
“Haythwaite,” it said, the accent heavily West Uphantican, guttural and grating.
“Haf,” said Errol curtly. “It’s safe to approach?”
“The hexes, they are down,” said Rottlezinder. He sounded bleakly amused. “If it is safe, that is up to you. You’re alone?”
Errol nodded. “Of course. I don’t want trouble.”
“Mmm-hmm,” said Rottlezinder. “Such a funny fellow. You think I have not heard that before?”
Mist clouded as Errol breathed out, hard. “Not from me, you haven’t. Can we go inside? I don’t care to discuss this in the street, like some beggar.”
“But you are a beggar, Errol,” said Rottlezinder, amused. “You asked to see me, remember?”
Gerald saw Errol’s lips pinch bloodless. Saw his hands clench into fists. No, no, no, Errol, don’t you bloody dare! How am I supposed to get to the bottom of this if you kill each other before I’ve got you dead to rights!
“Yes, I asked to see you,” said Errol, mastering himself. “But you approached me first. You got me involved. Please, Haf. We need to talk.”
Frowning, Rottlezinder looked past Errol to the street beyond. “No, you want to talk. There is a difference.”
“What are you looking for?” said Errol, turning. “I told you, Haf, I came alone.”
“You saw no-one else in the street?”
“Not a soul,” said Errol. “Why? Are you expecting more visitors?”
Rottlezinder’s face stilled, then he shook his head. “No. I’m not one for company, Errol. You know that.”
Gerald, watching, thought that was a lie. I’ll bet he’s waiting for Eudora Telford. But why? This is getting more complicated by the minute. Lord, how much do I hate complications?
“Yes,” said Errol. “And this won’t take long. Please, can we go inside?”
The suggestion of a careless shrug. “Sure,” said Rottlezinder. “In you come.”
Errol walked up the uneven brick path, treading carefully, his head tipped back a little as though braced for a blow. Rottlezinder didn’t shift aside when Errol reached him. Instead he made Errol squeeze past him. Errol stepped off the broken brick path and into a slimy puddle of something. The gluggy splash, and his exclamation of disgust, made Rottlezinder laugh again.
“Haf,” said Errol, his voice low. “There’s no need for this to be unpleasant.”
“No?” said Rottlezinder, then pulled aside the entrance’s boarding. “You first, old friend.”
As Errol shoved his way into the abandoned factory, Rottlezinder wandered a little way down the path and frowned out into the night. With the very edge of the street lamp’s murky light touching him, Gerald saw that he was of middling height, very broad and blocky. Built more like a brawler than a wizard, one might think. His face was bony, his pale hair clipped very close to his skull, and he was dressed in black from head to toe. Around his right wrist a gold bracelet set with rubies winked and leered.