And now it was time to tread very lightly indeed. Gerald Dunwoody might well be the best weapon in his arsenal, but carelessly handled weapons had a tendency to go off at the most inopportune moments.
“I’d have thought the distinction would be obvious, Mister Dunwoody. While Miss Cadwallader and Miss Markham can be useful allies, clearly they are not amenable to your control. On the other hand, with every hour that passes, that remaining grimoire magic is becoming more and more an inextricable part of you-which means it is something you can control.”
Dunwoody’s face had gone blank. “You hope. Sir.”
“I am confident in your abilities, Mister Dunwoody. But if you find the notion disturbing, you can take heart from the fact that whatever hexes do remain might well help you to prevent a catastrophe in Splotze.”
“So you’re saying I should look on their acquisition as a happy accident?”
“I am saying, Mister Dunwoody-and not for the first time-that when life hands us lemons it is only prudent to make lemonade.”
Very slowly, Gerald Dunwoody nodded. “Prudent. Right. Any more useful advice, Sir Alec?”
Not even Frank Dalby had ever tried that tone on him. It was a tone to invite serious censure, if not outright dismissal. But Frank Dalby wasn’t a rogue wizard whose formidable powers had been augmented in ways that were, at the end of the day, unspeakable. Because of that, Gerald Dunwoody had to be permitted a little… leeway.
He offered his difficult agent a thin smile. “Use your best judgement. Be careful. Succeed. Thousands of lives are depending on you, Mister Dunwoody.”
Dunwoody raised an eyebrow. “And what would you like me to take care of in my spare time?”
“Your attitude!” he said sharply, because there were limits. And on that warning note, he disconnected the vibration and sat back in his chair.
Silence shrouded his office. It was late. Even Frank had gone home. Aside from two duty officers, he was alone in the building. Of course, if he went home he’d be alone there, too. But then it seemed more and more often, these days, that he felt alone in the middle of a crowd.
After a while, he slid from his chair, drifted to his office window and stared into the streetlamp-pricked darkness that was Nettleworth asleep. He’d seen too much, and done too much, to harbour any illusions or even much hope that the simple religious teachings of his childhood could ever stand against the evil he confronted every day of his adult life. But even so, he found himself harking back to that kinder, simpler time.
Gerald Dunwoody’s a good man, faced with a hard task. If there is a God in this sorry world of ours, He’d do well to keep that young man safe.
With a rattling chug-chug-chug the jalopy coasted to a halt in the deep kerbside shadows between lamp posts along the hushed, exclusive suburban Ott street. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Monk turned off the engine then squinted through the open driver’s side window. Please, please, let him have found the right place. Dodsworth had given him copious directions, but even so, having never been to the Blonkken embassy in broad daylight, let alone in the practically pitch dark, a mistake was entirely possible. And he couldn’t afford any mistakes.
Tickling at the edge of his potentia, a tug of familiar thaumaturgics. It felt like the hex he’d given Dodsworth to leave behind so he could get into the embassy undetected. To make sure though, because it was late and he was knackered and couldn’t be certain his potentia wasn’t playing him tricks, he took his little box of special hexes from the jalopy’s glove department and held it lightly in his hand. After a moment’s concentration he had his answer. Yes, the thaumaturgical signatures matched. He was in the right place.
And now that his eyes were accustomed to the fitful gloom, he could see in the distance the embassy’s back garden, tree-fringed and barricaded behind a high brick wall. Beyond that, if he squinted even harder, he could just make out the ambassadorial residence. It was well past midnight, and from the lack of lamplit windows in the ambassadorial residence it seemed fair to assume the occupants were by now conveniently asleep.
Perched on the back of the passenger seat, Reg chattered her beak. “All right then, sunshine. I’ve been wonderfully patient, but now I think it’s time you told me where we are and what we’re doing here.”
Holding up a finger, Monk continued to squint into the darkness. According to Dodsworth, his expert consultant, the Blonkken embassy wasn’t a big building. Two storeys only. For his purposes, its modesty was both good and bad. Faster to get around in, but not so much space to act as a cushion between the offices and the bedrooms. Probably fewer handy hiding places, too, should things go pear-shaped. Still, with any luck “Oy!” said Reg, and thumped him with her wing. “Have you gone suddenly deaf, or what?”
He glared at her, rubbing his head. “I wish you wouldn’t do that! How am I supposed to hex my way in there if you give me a concussion?”
“Hex your way in where? Monk Markham, where are we lurking?”
He couldn’t delay the moment of truth any longer. If he could’ve left her behind altogether he would have, because he knew, he just knew, the bird was going to kick up a stink. Except if he’d tried to leave her out of this she’d only have followed him. Like it or not, for as long as Gerald was off janitoring in Splotze, he and Reg were stuck with each other.
“Outside the Blonkken embassy.”
“The Blonkken embassy? Why in the name of-” And then Reg’s dark eyes widened. “Monk Markham, do you actually think we’re going to break into the Blonkken embassy?”
“Yes,” he said, torn between apprehension and defensiveness. “Well, I am. But don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
“Don’t worry?” The bird spluttered. “When it comes to you and your antics, ducky, all I ever do is worry! We can’t go staggering about a foreign country’s embassy in the middle of the night! What about the guards? If your Blonkken are anything like mine, then they’re very big on guards. You can bet your last bottle of brandy they’re tramping over the garden beds right now, looking for someone illegal to clap in irons!”
“Reg, I told you, it’ll be fine.”
“I beg to differ,” Reg retorted. “Now just you drive this jalopy back to Chatterly Crescent quick smart, before someone marches out here with a flaming torch, a pointy pike and a lot of bloody awkward questions!”
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “But I can’t go home until I’ve had a good poke around in there. I need to see if I can find some incriminating documents that will prove they’re the ones up to no good in Splotze.”
Reg opened her beak to argue, had second thoughts, then tipped her head to one side. “And what makes you so sure Blonkken’s the villain here?”
“I’m not. In fact, I’d be shocked if it turned out Blonkken’s behind this wedding mayhem, but I need to keep an open mind.”
“Ha!” said Reg. “Your mind’s already open, sunshine. It’s so open I can hear the wind whistling between your ears!”
He glowered. “By all means, feel free to stay behind if you’re scared. But I’m afraid I have to-”
“Scared?” Reg chattered her beak again, furious. “I’m not scared, I’m dumbfounded. If this mad little expedition of yours goes arse over teakettle, and with you in charge of strategics that’s more than bloody likely, that mangy Sir Alec will personally string you up by your unmentionables!”
Monk winced. “Yes, well, we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, won’t we?”
“We? We?” Reg fluffed her feathers in fresh outrage. “Who said anything about we? You never asked my opinion of your mad plan, did you? You haven’t even see fit to tell me what it is!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think I had to. I assumed you’d jump on board, seeing as how I’m trying to get Gerald and the girls home again in one piece. But if I was wrong…”
Eyes gleaming, Reg rattled her tail so hard she nearly fell off the back of the passenger seat. “Forget it, my boy. That kind of soppy heartstring tugging might’ve worked on the other bird, but you are looking at a woman who let sentimentality fool her once, and won’t ever be fooled again. Got it?”