Bibbie looked up from poking her fork through her spinach. Clearly she too was untrusting of her ghostly great-uncle. “Maybe he just didn’t want to tell you, Monk. You may be off probation with the Department but Uncle Ralph holds a grudge for years. He still hasn’t forgiven me for the time I turned his beard grass-green, and I was three.”
“True,” said Monk. “But I’m pretty sure he really doesn’t know. When he does know something and won’t tell, he gets this kind of smug twinkle in his eye. And when I saw him yesterday, he wasn’t twinkling.”
“Well, wherever Gerald is, he must be all right,” said Melissande. “We’d have heard if he wasn’t all right, wouldn’t we?”
“Probably,” said Monk, risking a mouthful of roast potato.
Reg looked up from dubiously inspecting her saucerful of minced raw beef. “Probably? What do you mean probably, sunshine? What kind of a Department are you people running? Wait, don’t tell me, I already know. You’re so busy impressing each other with your big bad secrets you let the little people fall through the cracks. Or worse yet, you treat them like cogs in the machine that can be replaced if they get broken! Well, my Gerald’s not a cog, young man, he’s my Gerald, and if you think you and your Sir Alec can-”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Monk protested, hands upraised. “For a start he’s not my Sir Alec. To be honest, I don’t think he’s anyone’s Sir Alec. As far as I can work out, Sir Alec calls his own tune and too bad if his masters don’t like it. Cards close to the chest, remember?”
“I don’t give a fat rat’s bum about tunes or cards or anything except Gerald!” said Reg, eyes flashing. “What’s more, I think it’s past time I checked up on that boy. Saint Snodgrass only knows the kind of trouble he’ll get himself into if I’m not around to steer him right. For all we know he’s been tossed arse over teakettle into his first assignment, and how’s he going to cope with it if I’m not there to-”
“Reg, don’t,” sighed Melissande. “You’ll give yourself indigestion. I’m sure Gerald’s fine. If he was in trouble someone would’ve told us. Anyway, it’s far too soon for them to send him out on assignment.” She turned. “Isn’t that right, Monk?”
“Mmm,” said Monk, hair flopping over his face, and attacked another roast potato.
Bibbie frowned. “ Mmm? What’s that supposed to mean? Is it too soon or isn’t it?”
“Good question,” said Reg. “Now answer it, sunshine, before I forget I’m a lady.”
Monk put down his knife and fork. “It means that given his… special talents… they put him on some kind of accelerated training program.”
“Accelerated training program?” Melissande exchanged an alarmed look with Reg. “What do you mean, accelerated training program? Are you saying they would send him off on assignment so soon?”
“I’m saying I don’t know,” said Monk. “Haven’t you been listening? Sir Alec is secretive. When I tried a little discreet question-asking I nearly got my head bitten off.”
“Well, that’s just not good enough!” Reg flapped her wings and rattled her tail feathers. “I’ve been patient, Saint Snodgrass knows I’ve been patient, but if Gerald’s out on his first assignment I want to know about it. So just you forget about finishing your dinner until you’ve found Gerald with a seeking incant so I can-”
“ Reg!” Monk pushed his plate to one side and leaned over the table, his expression a muddle of exasperation and earnestness. “Don’t you think I would if I could? Don’t you think I’m worried about him, too? He’s my best friend!”
Bibbie drummed her fingertips on the tablecloth. “You’ve already tried to find him, haven’t you, Monk? But you can’t.”
He took a deep, affronted breath, ready to bluster… then blew it out noisily. “They’ve got him muffled or screened or something,” he muttered. “I can’t pinpoint his location.”
“And if you can’t,” said Bibbie, deflating, “then nobody can.”
“Which means he could be in trouble!” said Reg. “Or even-even-”
“No, Reg, he’s not dead,” Monk said hastily. “I do know that much.”
“How can you be sure?” she demanded, chattering her beak. Her dark eyes were suspiciously bright.
Melissande rounded on her. “ Stop it, Reg. You’re being ridiculously melodramatic.”
“Melodramatic?” screeched Reg. “ Melodramatic? Have you developed spontaneous amnesia, madam? Who was it knew your deranged brother tried to kill Gerald in the woods? Me. And would anybody listen? No. And was I right? Yes. So if you don’t mind we’ll have a little less ‘You’re being melodramatic’ and a little more ‘Gracious Reg, you’re amazing, you can see trouble coming a hundred miles away with both eyes tied behind your back.’ I think we should kidnap that sneering Sir Alec and-”
“Reg, we’re not kidnapping anyone,” said Monk. “ Especially not Sir Alec. For the last time, Gerald’s not dead. I was able to get that much out of Uncle Ralph before he swatted me like a mosquito. Now can we please eat our dinner before it’s completely stone cold? If the plates go back to the kitchen untouched Cook will complain to Mother and I’ll never be allowed to borrow the servants again.”
So they ate dinner, Reg grumbling under her breath the whole time. When they were finished, Monk took them on a guided tour of the old house. It was long on dust, cobwebs and hidden passages, and short on pretty much everything else, including curtains and doorknobs.
“I’m afraid Great-uncle Throgmorton was a bit peculiar towards the end,” Monk explained, as he opened the door to the huge attic that occupied all the space beneath the roof.
“And does peculiar run in the family?” said Reg, perched on Melissande’s shoulder. “Because if it does, and you’re thinking of popping the question to madam here any time soon, you might want to think twice. There are the children to consider, after all.”
Melissande felt embarrassed heat wash through her. “ Reg!”
“Well, somebody’s got to say it,” said Reg, unrepentant. “We both know you’ll be thinking it.”
“No, Reg,” she said grimly. “Only you would think-or say-something like that.”
“ Anyway,” said Monk, pushing the attic door wide. “Here’s where I’m experimenting. See? Nothing sinister, nothing dangerous, nothing to worry the Department at all.”
“Provided they never get wind of it,” said his sister, peering in at the bubbling test tubes, the thaumic agitators, the etheretic quantifiers and the multidimensional wavelength gauges. “Honestly, Monk. No wonder you’re too skint to pay for servants and doorknobs. All this equipment! It must have cost you a fortune!”
Monk mumbled something and pulled the door shut. “So anyway, that’s the house,” he said, shepherding them back down the creaking stairs. “A bit decrepit, but with possibilities.”
“Provided you don’t blow the roof to matchsticks,” said Reg. “Because just between you, me and the cobwebs, sunshine, one of those thaumic agitators didn’t look entirely stable.”
“What?” He frowned. “Are you sure? Because I’ve realigned the wretched thing four times tonight! I don’t understand what’s going on, it won’t hold its settings, but I could’ve sworn I-”
Bibbie rolled her eyes. “Just check it again, Monk, or else you will blow the roof to matchsticks and we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Right,” said Monk, backing up the staircase. “Right. Yes. Ah-look-this might take a while. I’ll have Dodsworth drive you home, shall I? Yes. Just give him a shout, Bibs, and he’ll bring round the jalopy. Thanks for coming, girls. I’ll see you both soon.”
“On second thoughts, madam,” said Reg, as Monk disappeared round the first bend in the staircase, “at the rate you two are progressing there’s absolutely no need at all to worry about the children.”
Melissande, staring after him, swallowed a sigh. Not even a chaste little peck on the cheek. Trust Reg to notice that. Sometimes I wonder, I really do wonder, if he remembers I’m Bibbie’s friend and not her sister.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go home, shall we?”