“—but I’m sure he can see you soon,” the unfortunate clerk gasped out, voice going squeaky. “If you’ll just come with me?”
He led them down a hallway and into an office that reveled in its messiness. Paperwork covered every inch of Dockett’s desk, even under his telephone. Files that apparently couldn’t fit in the metal cabinets behind the desk were stacked directly on the floor. And boxes packed to bursting lined the walls.
“Sit the way you plan to sit,” she whispered to Blackwell.
She found two boxes that looked sturdy enough, pushed them a few feet to the left and lifted one onto the other. On top of this makeshift tripod she laid the camera, but before she could do anything with it—before she could even determine whether it was faced the right way—someone came rapidly down the hallway. She felt around with invisible fingers on the invisible contraption, invisible heart trying to beat its way up her invisible throat, and had just managed to get the lens angled toward the back of Blackwell’s head when Dockett burst in.
She fumbled for the on switch.
“Now what?” Dockett said, the words coming out like minor explosions.
Wherewasit?
“Twice in one day—is this really necessary?” he added, rounding his desk. “Oh—you’re ... you’re not the same guy. Are you?”
The switch flipped. As best as she could tell, anyway—this would be the death of her.
“No,” Blackwell said. He’d pitched his voice lower, which made him sound less like himself. More threatening.
Dockett puffed out his chest, reminding her of a tomcat she’d once startled in the forest, but when Blackwell said nothing else, he deflated and sat. “Well ... why are you here?”
“There is someconcernyou might not handle the situation properly.”
“Is there?” The man’s thin face reddened. “What do you all take me for, a complete idiot?”
Blackwell said nothing. She imagined him raising an eyebrow.
“You wizards are all the same,” Dockett grumbled. “Think you’re so much better than the rest of us peons.”
“A Women’s League for the Prohibition of Magic supporter, are you?”
Dockett issued a bark of a laugh. “Not hardly. Those dried-up harpies get on my last nerve. You don’t have to worry that I’m going to wake up tomorrow with a burning desire to have a hundred of ’em fouling up my hotel.”
That wasn’t a confession, but oh, it was close.Please be filming this. Please, please.
“That’s not the nature of our concern,” Blackwell said. “What will you do if reporters start asking questions?”
“I’ll show ’em the contract, of course.”
“Whichcontract?”
She held her breath. But Dockett merely grinned.
“Why, the one for the 17th and 18th. What other contract is there?”
Blast.
“You’re saying you’re absolutely certain there’s no danger of the original making an inopportune appearance?” Blackwell said.
Dockett frowned. He looked—there was no mistaking it—suspicious. “What are you talking about?”
Beatrix stared at the back of her employer’s head. Would he take this as proof that Dockett, though badgered by wizards, had done nothing to the League beyond preparing a contract with the wrong dates that they had foolishly signed?
Blackwell rose from his chair. Her heart stopped inching up her throat and sank into her stomach.
Then she saw the leaf in his right hand.
“Becuman feohgehat!”he called out.
