The Accidental sorcerer

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

As the mysterious Sir Alec entered and Rupert left, closing the bedroom door behind him, Reg erupted shrieking from under the blankets.

'Gerald Dunwoody! Just what do you think you're — ' She saw the stranger and stopped. 'Oh for the love of Saint Snodgrass. Not you again. I thought we'd ditched you back at the Department.'

Gerald could've wrung her neck. 'Would Polly like a cracker, then?' he said, teeth gritted. it's all right, Mr Dunwoody,' Sir Alec said calmly. 'Reg and I have met.'

'Yes we have, mores the pity,' said Reg, glowering. 'Gerald, pay no attention to him. He's nothing but a stooge.'

Ignoring Reg, he looked at Sir Alec. 'You work for the Ottosland Department ofThaumaturgy?' Sir Alec nodded, i do.'

Something about the man's beige blandness was getting on his nerves. Thinking of Monk and his undeserved disgrace; of himself, and how Scunthorpe's cowardice had started all this; and no longer caring about his career, he sneered. 'As a stooge?'

Sir Alec's expression underwent a slow alchemy. Grew older. Colder. The nondescript blandness melted like wax, revealing the true face beneath. Hard, with lines suggesting experiences beyond those found in an ordinary life.

Staring at the man with his one good eye Gerald felt an answering chill. Felt his own face remould and reveal, starkly, the fingerprints left behind by the last few weeks.

So long as he lived, he would never be bullied again.

Sir Alec nodded, a salute like the one fencing opponents gave each other before crossing swords, and the air around him crackled with a ferocious leashed power.

So. The man was a First Grade wizard. And a sneaky one to boot.

Well, 1 can be sneaky too, Sir Alec from the Department. I can do a lot of things. I think I might surprise you.

With a blink, Sir Alec calmed his thaumic aura. 'As I said, Mr Dunwoody, we need to talk. It won't take long, I do realise you're convalescent… and in any case I am needed elsewhere. You've kicked up some dust both at home and abroad; ruffled feathers require tactful soothing.'

Gerald considered him. 'Maybe they wouldn't if you lot had been doing your jobs. Five minutes after I made Lional his dragon you and your counterparts from the UMN should've been crawling all over New Ottosland. Why weren't you?'

Sir Alec's pale eyes were cold and calculating, the brain behind them summing him up…i'm sorry if you felt… abandoned, but I'm afraid politics both domestic and international raised their ugly heads at precisely the wrong moment. Valuable resources were… diverted. May I sit down?' if you must,' said Reg, before he could answer, and relocated to the bedrail behind the pillows. 'But don't get too comfy. Gerald's been through a terrible ordeal so talk fast and leave faster, sunshine, because — '

One hand raised, Sir Alec moved towards the bed, a thin smile curving his lips. 'Yes, yes, Reg. Or should I say: Your Majesty? Seeing as you are, beneath that quaint disguise, Queen Duketta of Lalapmda, born in the year 1216, only daughter of King Treve and Queen Amyrl, who ascended the Lalapindian throne in 1234, foolishly married the warlock Vertain in 1235 and apparently drowned soon thereafter. In reality Vertain ensorcelled you, trapping your soul in the body of a bird and dooming you to wander the world ever after… provided the enchantment placed upon you is not touched.' He cleared his throat. 'Did I leave anything out?'

Reg closed her gaping beak with a click. 'You nosey bugger! How did you find out?'

Another sardonic smile, it's part of my job description.'

'And what job is that?' said Gerald. He wasn't at all sure he liked where this was heading…

Sir Alec seated himself in the armchair by the bed. 'All in good time, Mister Dunwoody.'

So. Here was the other shoe dropping with a vengeance. Gerald scowled. 'That's Professor Dunwoody to you.'

Sir Alec nodded. 'Certainly. At least for the moment.'

'All right, all right,' said Reg, rallying. 'That's enough with the cut glass repartee, sunshine. Why are you here?'

'Why do you think, Reg? He wants to find out how I did it,' he said tiredly. 'How I made the dragons and all the rest of it.'

'On the contrary,' said Sir Alec. 'I know precisely how you did it.' 'So?'

'So the question is: what are we going to do with you as a result?'

He made himself meet Sir Alec's cold, grey gaze. Here we go. 'You're saying I'm dangerous.'

Sir Alec smiled. 'Everyone is dangerous, Mister Dunwoody. In their own way, in their own time. All it takes is the right catalyst, the right circumstances. The perfect confluence of events.'

He shook his head, rejecting the cynicism. 'No. Not — '

'Everyone, Mister Dunwoody' Sir Alec flicked a speck of dust from his knee. 'Shall I tell you how you're feeling, sir? Yes, I think I shall. You're feeling… betrayed. As though the world has betrayed you. And do you know why you feel like that? It's because you've lost your innocence. Like the vast majority of people, Mister Dunwoody, until New Ottosland came into your life, you bumped along happily enough. Oh, you had dreams that didn't seem likely to come true, but they were comforting and you dreamed them. You'd had career disappointments, yes, but you trusted they were temporary. Your faith was a little battered, perhaps, but you still believed. You looked upon the world with a benevolent eye. Oh yes, of course you knew there were scoundrels among us, certain gentlemen whose company you preferred to avoid, but on the whole you found the world good. And then you came here. With the best of intentions — eager and anxious and so terribly naive. Without ever meaning to, you kicked over the rock of New Ottosland… and from under it crawled Lional.'

Deep inside, Gerald felt himself shiver. 'You make me sound like a fool.'

'A fool?' said Sir Alec thoughtfully. 'Not at all. Before this… adventure… you were no more foolish than any other ordinary man. You saw the sunlight, not the shadows. The trouble is, Mister Dunwoody, the shadows exist. And if we're not very careful, very vigilant, they will swallow us. And our good world will be plunged into darkness.'

Gerald watched his fingers clench, his knuckles whiten. Sir Alec was right. And I hate it. I never, ever wanted to know this. 'All right. Say I agree with you. So what? What has any of that to do with me?'

Another flick of manicured fingers, banishing dust. 'In the time that's passed since the incident with the two dragons and the late King Lional,' said Sir Alec, 'certain of my colleagues have been conducting an exhaustive search into your ancestry. Also your medical, educational and various employment records, the results of your original Thaumaturgical Aptitude test and several eyewitness accounts of what happened at Stuttley's.' 'You really are a nosey bugger,' Reg grumbled.

Sir Alec rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, apparently quite at ease. But a dynamo of tension hummed inside him, thrumming the invisible air. 'The technical term for your condition is "thaumaturgical distillation". The slang term is "rogue". In metaphysical parlance, Mister Dunwoody, it means you're a sport. An anomaly. It means you are irregular.' He sniffed. 'Highly irregular, if you must know. And as I said, it's causing no end of a stir in certain circles.'

Gerald breathed out slowly. How did this happen? My dad's a tailor…'That sounds inconvenient.'

'Let's just say you've added a new level of complexity to my already complicated life,' said Sir Alec, his tone extremely dry.

'All right. So I'm thaumaturgically distilled. Is it fatal?' Sir Alec's smile was wintry.'Only to other people.' 'You miserable shitl' snapped Reg. 'That's not funny!'

Sir Alec considered her for an arctic moment then nodded. 'Point taken. Forgive me, Mister Dunwoody. A macabre sense of humour is an unfortunate side effect in my line of work.'

Ninety-seven dead. Twelve of them children. 'How does it happen?' said Gerald, when he could trust his voice again. 'This… distillation?'

Sir Alec shrugged. 'Nobody's certain. We believe it's the result of no wizards being born to a particular bloodline for three or more generations. In your case, however, it appears to be more like fifteen.'

Fifteen. That sounded… impressive. Or maybe inconvenient. 'Is the condition common?'

'Quite the contrary. Many experts consider it something of a myth. No rogue has been born in the modern era.'

'That you know of,' he pointed out. i mean I was tested, wasn't I, and classified Third Grade.'

Sir Alec frowned, it would appear the condition remains dormant until something triggers it.'

Ah. And that would be the sound of the third shoe dropping.'You mean something like Stuttley's?' 'Exactly'

Meanly, viciously, he felt vindicated. 'So if that prig Scunthorpe hadn't — '

'Mr Scunthorpe,' said Sir Alec repressively, 'is no longer your concern, Dunwoody. I'm here to discuss your aberrant potentia, not the decisions, prudent or otherwise, of your past supervisors.'

Aberrant. It was as good a word as any. Gerald thought about that for some time. About the implications of this aberrant, inconvenient condition. Its ramifications for himself and everyone who knew him.

At last he looked up. Sir Alec was watching him, still coiled inside like an overwound spring. 'All right, Sir Alec. We know what I am. But what does it mean?'

'Don't ask him,' Reg said sourly, as Sir Alec hesitated. 'He hasn't got a bloody clue. Accidents like you are so rare you're nothing more than a footnote in a mouldering textbook in the back room of the Department's basement library. Isn't that right, mate?'

Incredibly Sir Alec looked faintly discomfited. 'I'm afraid so.'

A footnote? He was a footnote? Practically a myth? 'Then… what's going to happen to me? Is there some way of switching off this — this — aberrant potentia? Can I go back to being a common or garden variety Third Grade wizard?'

The question appeared to take Sir Alec by surprise. 'You'd do that? Surrender all your power? Mister Dunwoody, do you know what you're saying? Do you have any idea how strong you are?'

I'm strong enough to make two dragons. Strong enough to survive the sympathetica. Strong enough to get ninety-seven innocent souls killed.

But not strong enough to stop any of it happening.

Sir Alec leaned forward. 'Princess Melissande tells me her brother tortured you for many days. With curses from texts listed on the Internationally Proscribed Index. One of them was Grummen's Lexicon which I'm pleased to say is now safely dismembered and under lock and key' Again, that grimness in Sir Alec's face. 'Mister Dunwoody, I'm not sure you understand. No other wizard I know — or have ever heard of- could have survived an ordeal like that. If the physical stresses of such brutality didn't prove fatal then prior evidence indicates the mind of the tortured wizard would simply… snap. But you didn't die and your mind appears intact. And then of course there's the matter of Lional being unable to steal your potentia. Don't you see? At the risk of sounding melodramatic… you are something of a miracle!

He made himself meet Sir Alec's gaze, i don't want to be a miracle.' Sir Alec snorted. 'What sane man would?' 'Then can't you — '

'No,' said Sir Alec. 'I'm afraid that's not possible. I'm aware of no incant or potion capable of undoing whatever the accident at Stuttley's did to you. You are what you've become, Professor, and will remain like that till the day you die. I am very sorry, but there's no going back.'

Was that pity in Sir Alec's grey eyes? If so he didn't want it. Above him on the bedrail he could feel Reg's consternation. She'd been unnaturally quiet through all of this; he wasn't sure what that meant.

'Then I'll stay here,' he said. 'As a private citizen. I'm sure King Rupert will have no objections. I'll dedicate the rest of my life to making up for the damage I did to his people.'

Sir Alec sighed. 'Again, I'm sorry, but no. That's not possible either.'

'You're not leaving him too many options, sunshine,' said Reg. 'There's wheels and wheels turning behind your eyes. What is it you're thinking? What have you got planned for Gerald?'

He lifted his hand to touch fingertips to her wing. 'I already know what he's thinking, Reg,' he said, not taking his gaze from Sir Alec's watchful waiting face. 'He's thinking I'm a problem. He's thinking how best to… resolve me. Aren't you, Sir Alec? Isn't that your plan?'

Reg let out a furious squawk. 'Resolve? You mean assassinate! Over my dead body, mate! Raise so much as an eyebrow to this boy and I'll be wearing your eyeballs for earrings! Gerald, we're leaving. All of a sudden the decor in here is getting right up my sinuses. When I give the word, you head for the door. I'll keep Sir Stooge here occupied while you — '

'Really, Dulcetta,' Sir Alec said, bored. 'Now who's being melodramatic? Mister Dunwoody, please. I'm not here to assassinate you. Or coerce you. Or do anything contrary to the oath I took, as you did, when I became a wizard.'

Bleakly, Gerald looked at him. 'Yes, but oaths are more fragile than you might think, Sir Alec. I broke mine and people died. Perhaps you should… resolve… me. Perhaps the world would be a better place if you did.'

Sir Alec nodded.'It's certainly one solution. And I won't deny it was suggested. It was. Quite vigorously, in some quarters.'

How odd to know that people he'd never met had argued for his murder. He felt almost… academic. As though he were a student again, discussing hypotheticals in a classroom. 'Suggested by you?'

'No,' said Sir Alec. 'Although I certainly considered the notion. In the end I decided eliminating you would be… wasteful.'

Wasteful. He didn't know which was more outrageous… the word or the idea that Sir Alec would calmly admit he'd contemplated killing him. 'Might I ask what you do want to do with me?'

Sir Alec sat back in the armchair. Steepled his fingers and considered him thoughtfully. 'Offer you a job, I think.'

And he hadn't been expecting that. "A job,' he repeated blankly.

' Work, Mister Dunwoody. Gainful employment. You've already had four positions, you must be familiar with the concept by now'

'Bloody hell,' said Reg. 'Whatever it is don't take it, Gerald.'

He eased himself against his pillows. So. This must be what Monk was hinting at. 'A job where? Doing what?'

A faint crease appeared between Sir Alec's pale brown eyebrows, in the Department, of course. Working for me. As a janitor.'

'A what? Images of buckets and mops danced across his inner eye. 'Look, all this cryptic crap might be meat and drink to you, Sir Alec, but I'm tired and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm also blind in one eye. So why don't you stop playing your stupid bloody games and tell me what you mean, straight out, no riddles.'

Sir Alec smiled, his gaze intent. 'Certainly. Janitors are very important people, Mister Dunwoody. They go about their business with a dustpan and brush, sweeping up all the little messes other people leave behind. Nobody notices them. All that's noticed is the world is kept clean and tidy with a minimum of inconvenience to the ordinary man.' 'And woman,' said Reg, glaring. Gerald frowned. 'Messes.' 'Yes.'

'Messes like, say, for example… murdered wizards, stolen potentias, illegal grimoires, the attempted inciting of international religious conflicts… those kinds of messes?' Sir Alec's smiled widened. 'Precisely'

Gerald nodded. And now I understand. Because of Sir Alec, and men like him, the world at large would never learn of the recent events in New Ottosland. Lional's death would appear as three lines on the bottom of the back page of the few newspapers who'd even heard of New Ottosland's king or cared at all that the poor man died young. History would record that Lional perished choking on a fish bone, perhaps. Or falling down some stairs. Certainly there'd be no mention of dragons…

'You do appreciate it's often… better… that way'

'I can appreciate,' said Gerald quietly, 'that some people might be inclined to take that view.'

'Also,' Sir Alec added, refusing to pick up the conversational gauntlet, janitors are occasionally called upon to perform certain maintenance tasks as well.'

Maintenance? 'As in fixing faulty wiring before it burns the whole house down?' he suggested. 'That kind of maintenance?' 'Exactly. Mister Dunwoody, you catch on fast.'

Gerald pulled his knees up to his chest, rucking the blankets, and rested his chin. Considered his visitor in a new, more cautious light.'And are you a janitor by any chance?'

Sir Alec shook his head, i used to be. Before I retired from fieldwork.' Some unbidden, unpleasant memory skated the chilly surface of his face, so swiftly it might have been imagined. Then again, looking at Sir Alec's eyes… maybe not. 'Don't be fooled by the prosaic euphemism, Mister Dunwoody' he said sharply. 'This is not a job for the faint-hearted. Surgeons can't afford to be squeamish.'

'So you want me to be a surgeon now? What happened to my dustpan and brush?'

Sir Alec shrugged. 'Dustpan. Scalpel. Blunt instrument. You'll find there's a wide range of implements at your disposal. Some have more finesse than others, but they all have their uses.'

Ha. It was Shugat all over again. Gerald felt himself contracting like a snail into its shell. 'So that's what I am to you? Just another hammer?'

'Of course,' said Sir Alec. 'And so am I. So is everyone with a gift that can be exploited. We are at war, sir. With all the forces of darkness who desire to use magic to serve their own nefarious purposes. My organisation, and a few others like it around the world, are all that stands between what passes for tranquility, and utter chaos. You've had a lucky escape, Mister Dunwoody. An evil man sought to use you as his instrument… and he failed.'

He made himself meet Sir Alec's unforgiving gaze. 'Not completely. I did make the dragon. People died.'

'In war there are always innocent casualties. It's regrettable but unavoidable. The sooner you come to terms with that the better, because the alternative, doing nothing while evil flourishes, is not an option I care to explore.' Abruptly, unexpectedly, Sir Alec's severe demeanour softened. 'You did the best you could with the resources you had, Gerald. I've known experienced janitors to do far worse with more.'

Not pity this time, but understanding. Even… absolution. And coming from this man, this cold and calculating /W^/ifem'ng man…

Gerald wrapped his arms around his knees. 'How long do I have to make a decision?' 'Now' 'And if I decline your generous offer?' 'I'd advise against that,' Sir Alec said gently.

He smiled, unamused. 'So this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of deal?'

Sir Alec's lips tightened.'Abandon your obsession with death. It's unhealthy. If you decline my offer, terms will be reached. I'd prefer, however, that you accept it.'

I'll bet you would. Tlie clever Sir Alec and his very own myth. 'What's going to happen to Monk?'

'Your friend Mister Markham knew perfectly well he was breaking the rules,' said Sir Alec, eyebrows raised. 'I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him.'

Gerald leaned forward, fury kindling beneath his fatigue and sorrow. 'Well I suggest you find something, Sir Alec. I never would've beaten Lional without Monk. So he bent — broke — all right, disintegrated a few rules. By all means rap his knuckles. Rap them twice if that'll make you feel better. But Monk Markham's a bloody genius and you'd be a fool to throw him away. You say we're at war? Then we need as many weapons as we can lay our hands on. You won't find a better one than Monk.' After a long moment Sir Alec nodded, is that a condition of your accepting my offer?' He sat back.'Say it is.'

Sir Alec examined his manicured fingernails, it so happens I share your opinion of Mister Markham. As I'm sure you can appreciate, we are obliged to rap his knuckles. We may even be forced to spank him slightly. But once he can sit down again we'll certainly find a use for him. You have my word, Mister Dunwoody: Monk Markham's unorthodox career is safe.'

There was a violent pounding behind his eyes. The effort of focusing now that he was half-blind, most likely. He pushed the pain aside.'This job. Your organisation. What aren't you telling me?'

'A great deal,' said Sir Alec. 'Most of it is… irrelevant. At least for now.'

'Then tell me what you wish you'd known when your Sir Alec made you the same offer.' Reg rattled her tail feathers. 'Gerald…'

He flicked her a severe glance. 'I need to know, Reg.' She subsided, grumbling under her breath.

Sir Alec's expression was guarded, as though he were afraid of revealing too much. 'It's a lonely life. You can never tell anybody outside the inner circle what it is you really do. That includes your family and friends. Acquaintances of the female persuasion. In effect you'll be living a lie. And you'll be placing your life at risk on a fairly regular basis. We swim in murky waters and we take as few people with us as possible. To the outside world you'll be plain Gerald Dunwoody, Wizard Third Class. A passably competent, never more than adequate locum who drifts from job to job, never settling down, and certainly never making a name for himself getting rich, or being noticed.' He pulled a face. 'It sounds irresistible.'

'I never said it would be easy' Sir Alec said curtly. 'But it is worthwhile. And with your unique talents I believe you'll make a contribution that will save many lives. I happen to think that's worth a little personal sacrifice. Perhaps you don't. Only you can say'

Gerald looked at Reg. Held out an arm, waited for her to jump on it, then set her on his upraised knees. 'What do you think?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Don't look at me, sunshine. It's your decision.'

He turned to Sir Alec. 'Can I keep Reg? I won't do it if I can't keep Reg.'

Sir Alec sighed, in principle, yes. But there will be wrinkles we'll have to iron out.' 'Wrinkles?'

'She may make you… conspicuous. Janitors often disguise their appearance when they enter a new… situation. Reg could compromise your anonymity. She may even cost you your life.'

'That'll be the day,' Reg snorted. 'Trust me, Sir Alec, or whatever your real name is, I've forgotten more about stealth than you'll learn in three lifetimes. Whatever else you've got to worry about, you won't need to worry about me!

Sir Alec smiled faintly.'Yes. Well.That remains to be seen, doesn't it? But as I say, Mister Dunwoody is welcome to keep you with him. For the time being, at least.'

Gerald closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, i don't know. I'm so bloody tired…' His eyelids felt like lead. He dragged them open and squinted at Reg. 'What do you think? Honestly. I want to hear it.'

'Honestly?' she echoed. 'Honestly, Gerald… what've you got to lose? Except your life. And everybody dies sooner or later. Even me, I expect. It's not how long you live that counts. What's important is how you live.'

He let his eyelids slam closed again, retreating into welcome darkness. He really was tired. No. Exhausted. Hollow. All used up. Changed, on some fundamental level having nothing to do with his potentia or the fact that he was a miraculous rogue.

Whoever Gerald Dunwoody had been the day he arrived in New Ottosland… that man was gone. In his place stood a new Gerald Dunwoody, with one working eye and blood on his hands and a power that nobody living seemed to understand. Least of all himself. A man who understood pain and sorrow, though, in ways he'd never dreamed were possible.

Sir Alec was right.There was no going back.Too much had happened. Too much had been done to him. By him. The memories were raw now. Brutal. And although they'd fade in time, they'd never disappear completely. Forever and always, till the day he drew his last breath, he'd be the Gerald Dunwoody who'd made Lional that dragon.

If he wasn't careful he knew that could destroy him.

Mysterious Sir Alec was offering him a new life. The chance to make a difference. Put a stop to all the other Lionals in the world, wherever they were, before their greed and madness and cruelty, their lust for power in all its forms, destroyed the lives of innocent people. Dangerous work, but necessary. Perhaps even vital.

And in doing it he might eventually atone for the ninety-seven souls whod died because of him. Killed by the dragon hed made.

Knowing the debt he owed them, how could he refuse?

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Opened his eyes. Looked at Reg as he answered Sir Alec. 'AH right. I'll do it.'

'Excellent!' said Sir Alec and stood. 'I'll get the paperwork started immediately. I understand from that singular Kallarapi holy man you've a few more days in bed ahead of you. Just as a precaution.' He sniffed. 'I'm sure he's an admirable fellow but of course you'll be receiving a full physical from our own medical staff once you return to Ottosland. As soon as you're feeling up to the journey, call me at this vibration.' He produced a business card from an inside jacket pocket. 'You'll portal directly into the Department.'

Gerald took the card. 'Actually I want to go home first.' His parents weren't there but he had a key. He needed to go home, to sleep in his childhood bed and breathe in memories of love and laughter.

'Yes. Of course. Family business. Friends. Two days grace, then. But only two.' From the look on Sir Alec's face and the tone of his voice it was clear the man didn't have a family of his own. No close friends either.

Gerald promised himself he'd never let his new job do that to him. No matter how hard it tried.

'Naturally,' Sir Alec continued, 'you won't be going into the field right away. We'll need to get a proper idea of what you can do. Test you inside out and back to front to get a handle on the extent of your potentia. Then of course there'll be training. Lots and lots of training.' He started towards the bedroom door. 'You've a great deal of hard work ahead of you, Dunwoody. But you won't regret this decision, I'm sure of it.'At the door he turned back, lips curved in that thin, sardonic smile. 'Although there'll be times when you'll come very close.'

The bedroom door shut behind him with a decisive thud. Groaning, Gerald collapsed onto his bank of pillows. Well, he'd done it now. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and most probably excruciatingly dangerous and imminently life-threatening situations… he was cryptic Sir Alec's newest secret janitor.

With a sniff, Reg hopped onto his chest. Stared down her beak at him, pinning him to the bed with her bright and brilliant gaze.

'Well, well, well,' she said, and balanced on one precarious foot to scratch the side of her head. 'This is going to be interesting, sunshine!'