“How shocking!” said Bibbie, shooting Melissande and Reg a repressive look. “Please, Miss Wycliffe, allow me to apologise again, this time on behalf of my misguided fellow-thaumaturgical practitioners. Clearly they have failed to grasp the gravity of your situation. Why, thanks to Millicent Grimwade the Guild’s integrity now hangs by the proverbial thread. The lustre of the Golden Whisk is about to be irretrievably tarnished!”
Permelia Wycliffe’s clasped hands tightened. “The Guild be praised. You really do understand!”
“Of course she does, Permelia,” said Eudora Telford, fresh tears trembling on her lashes. “Is she not the great-niece of Antigone Markham?”
“I am,” said Bibbie. “And I promise you, in my great-aunt’s illustrious name, we will unmask this dastardly Millicent Grimwade. The final bake-off’s tomorrow, isn’t it? In the Town Hall?”
“That’s correct,” said Permelia Wycliffe. “Commencing at eleven o’clock sharp. I take it we can count on you to be there in time?”
“Have no fear, Miss Wycliffe,” said Bibbie grandly. “My colleagues and I will be there in plenty of time to prevent a grave miscarriage of culinary justice… and see that Millicent Grimwade receives her comeuppance.”
Incredibly, it seemed that Permelia Wycliffe was on the brink of losing her intimidating composure. “Please, Miss Markham. Call me Permelia.”
“Of course, Permelia… if you’ll agree to calling me Emmerabiblia.”
“It would be an honour,” said Permelia Wycliffe, very nearly smiling. She extended her gloved hand. “Until tomorrow, Emmerabiblia.”
Bibbie shook the woman’s hand. “Until tomorrow, Permelia,” she said gravely.
“Come, Eudora,” said Permelia Wycliffe. “We still have the bake-off’s preparations to oversee.”
Eudora bobbed a curtsey to Melissande, and nearly to Bibbie. “Your Highness-Miss Markham-so pleased-so gratified-”
“Come along, Eudora!”
“Coming, Permelia, coming!”
With a last frosty nod at Melissande, and a thoughtful glance at the apparently empty birdcage on the desk, Permelia Wycliffe sailed towards the door with Eudora bobbing in her wake like a dinghy. But at the doorway, she hesitated then turned back. “I’m sorry. Did I hear you say your colleagues- plural — would be at the Town Hall tomorrow?”
Bibbie nodded. “That’s right.”
Permelia’s gaze shifted to Reg. “Do you mean to say you’ll be bringing…”
“Reg?” Bibbie grinned cheerfully. “Of course. She feels left out if we don’t bring her along. Especially since she’s the National Bird of New Ottosland and figures prominently on the kingdom’s coat of arms. Doesn’t she, Miss Cadwallader?”
Melissande scorched her with a look. “If you say so, Miss Markham.”
“I see,” said Permelia Wycliffe, after a precarious moment. “Well, I’m sure the great-niece of Antigone Markham knows best.”
And on that note, the door closed emphatically behind the two women from the Baking and Pastry Guild.
“ Gosh!” said Bibbie, and sagged on the desk. “Wasn’t that a stroke of luck, the president of the Baking and Pastry Guild needing our help! And to think I never thought batty old Great-aunt Antigone would ever come in handy.”
“Luck? Luck?” said Melissande, free to stamp about the office in an excess of temper. “Luck’s not the first word that comes to my mind, you raving nutter!”
“ Why?” said Bibbie, amazed. “What have I done wrong now?”
“You know perfectly well what you’ve done wrong!” she retorted. “Promising those two nitwits we could solve this ridiculous case? And all that guff about Rupert! Reg on the royal coat of arms! Honestly, Bibbie, you know I hate using that royalty claptrap to impress strangers. It’s crude and it’s common and it’s-”
“Going to help us pay the bills!” said Bibbie. “Just like me being related to the saintly Antigone Markham saved us from your stupid insistence on wearing those ghastly tweed trousers! The least you could do is wear velvet, Melissande, at least velvet’s got some class! But no, you have to-”
“ Shut up!” roared Reg, rattling her tail feathers so hard she nearly fell off the ram skull. “The pair of you!”
Shocked silent, they looked at her.
“Mad Miss Markham’s right,” Reg continued severely. “We can’t afford to tiptoe on our principles. Not if we want to avoid landing on our penniless arses in the alley.” She bestowed upon Bibbie an approving nod. “Nice work spotting the Guild pins, ducky.”
Bibbie dropped an ironical curtsey. “Thank you, Reg.”
“But don’t you see?” said Melissande, despairing. “That dreadful Eudora Telford’s going to run around telling everyone I’ve got a tiara stuffed up my blouse!”
Reg snorted. “Down the back of your trousers, more like it.”
As Melissande advanced, Bibbie leapt between her and Reg’s ram skull. “Ignore her, Mel. You know she only does it to get a reaction.”
“And anyway, madam here didn’t flap the Times under that silly woman’s nose!” Reg added, hopping from the ram skull to Bibbie’s shoulder. “That was you, ducky.”
“Look, Mel, you need to focus on the big picture,” said Bibbie, impatient. “Which is that the Baking and Pastry Guild is a really, really big deal. I’m talking about an upper-crust sisterhood full of women of affluence and influence. Women with excellent connections-and money. Once we’ve solved the mystery of Millicent Grimwade’s cheating, trust me: we’ll have more work coming in than we know what to do with.”
Melissande stared at her. “ Once we’ve solved — Bibbie, are you saying you think that dreadful Wycliffe woman’s got a case against this Millicent Grimwade?”
“Of course.”
“Emmerabiblia Markham, are you telling me that a grown woman would stoop to dishonesty-if not downright illegality-just to win some cheap statue of a cooking utensil?”
“Mel, Mel, Mel,” sighed Bibbie, shaking her head. “Don’t you have a Baking and Pastry Guild in New Ottosland?”
“Probably,” she said. “I know I used to get served up some pretty awful jam rolls when I was out and about on official duty. But I was never a member. I had better things to do!”
“Don’t you let Permelia Wycliffe hear you say that,” said Bibbie. “And stop being such a snob. I’ll have you know the internecine warfare of the Baking and Pastry Guild makes international politics look like a kiddie’s afternoon tea party. Trust me. Millicent Grimwade is up to no good.”
“Why? Because she’s won a few cooking contests?”
Bibbie wagged a finger. “Not a few, Mel. All of them. And all of them over the reigning Guild president. Trust me, it’s just not possible. Not without some unorthodox assistance.”
Melissande blinked. It sounded utterly potty. But Bibbie seemed convinced, and she was the one with the presidential great-aunt.
I suppose I’d be mad to discount her expertise and experience. It just all sounds so dreadfully silly…
“Fine,” she sighed. “So there’s a legitimate case. But Bibbie, even if Millicent Grimwade is cheating, how are we supposed to prove it? I mean if a tribe of other witches and wizards have failed to uncover even the tiniest hint of thaumaturgic interference, what makes you think we’ll fare any better?”
“ Because,” said Bibbie, eyes shining, “Witches Inc. has a secret weapon!”
With a flourish she reactivated the sprite trap’s etheretic field. In its small cage, the newly visible sprite buzzed and hummed.
Melissande stared at it, then at Bibbie, with a dawning horror. “Oh, no. Emmerabiblia Markham, you cannot be serious!”
Bibbie picked up the cage and made coochiecoochie faces at the sprite, which sparkled and buzzed back at her.
“I can, you know,” she said. “I’ve never been more serious. We’ve already established that this thing disrupts thaumaturgic vibrations. All we have to do is smuggle it into the bake-off tomorrow morning and let interdimensional nature take its course!”
“But what about Monk?”