Wizard squared

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The crimson and emerald dragon came swooping. The other Gerald, on a choked cry, threw his strongest incants at her. She brushed them aside like the smoky air. Like they were nothing. Like her bright shining scales were sheathed in tempered glass.

The other Gerald screamed once as the great talons caught him. Screamed again, blood dripping, as the dragon wheeled away.

Still watching, Gerald breathed out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But you were never meant to be.”

He snapped his fingers once… and where a dragon flew with a wizard in its talons, within a slow heartbeat the sky was full of fresh fire. And in another heartbeat even that vanished, and victorious airships filled the eye.

“Gerald. Gerald. Bloody hell, Dunnywood! Come on, mate, we’ve got to go! ”

He swung around and there was Monk, the portable portal in his hand. A few feet distant a small bluish-red light, expanding… and in the ether a dreadful deep, twisting moan.

“Gerald!” said Monk again, and gestured at the sky. “Are you with me? Get ready!”

The green and black UMN airships were drifting lower, rope ladders unfurling from their underslung passenger pods, close enough now to nearly touch the ground. Behind them the sound of heavy running feet. He turned and saw more UMN personnel, felt their martial potentias like iron in the ether.

He nodded, feeling dreamy. Feeling very, very tired. “I’m with you. Just say the word.”

There was a pile of charred feather and bone on the dais. He knew it was there, but he wasn’t going to look. He wasn’t going to look at this world’s Bibbie, either, whose lips were painted the same shade of pink as her gown. If there’d been time he might have saved her. And now I’ll never know. Instead he looked at Monk, who was weeping. Proper tears this time, not blood, as he jiggered with the portal.

“So is that it? Can we go?”

Monk checked the slowly widening vortex. “A few more seconds. We can’t afford to get it wrong. Gerald-”

Reg.

“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t. Not yet.”

“Yeah,” Monk said roughly. “Gerald-are you all right? You look-”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

The running feet were getting closer. Someone in authority shouted. “You there! You there-Gerald Dunwoody! You’re under arrest! Stand where you are!”

“Monk, I really think we need to-”

“I know! I know! All right. Bloody hell, we’ll have to risk it.”

The portal was a ragged blue and crimson hole in the air. Broad enough, certainly, but not quite the height of a tall, upstanding man.

“Bloody hell,” Monk said again, nervous, his gaze shifting from the portal to the soldiers. “If we duck we should make it.” He blew out a shaky breath. “On three, Gerald. Stay close behind me. One-twothree! ”

With a strangled grunt Monk leaped into the portal. But as he went to leap after his brilliant friend he heard a dreadful, familiar sound. Tail feathers, rattling… and a muted chatter of beak. He spun around. Looked down.

The other Reg, come out of hiding from under the trolley, looked up at him in silence. The tatty piece of red ribbon was still wound around her beak.

“No. No,” he whispered. His skin was full of tears. “You’re not her. You’ll never be her. Don’t you see? It won’t work.”

Running feet. More shouting. Another gunship fired overhead.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he said, and snatched her up, and leaped.

Feeling only a little bit trepidatious, Melissande took Sir Alec a cup of piping hot tea. She and Bibbie had spent the night in the parlor, dozing on and off, but he’d chosen to wait it out in the library. No explanation. No apology. Just a closed door in their faces.

Opening it now, she poked her head into the room. “Sir Alec?”

He was standing at the window, contemplating the new day. It promised to be warm and fine. “Miss Cadwallader,” he said, turning. “Good morning.”

He looked as fragile as she felt, and as rumpled, but he sounded unaltered. Cool and calm and completely self-contained. No-one would guess, looking at him, how many laws he’s broken in one night. She crossed the book-lined room and handed him the cup and saucer. “No milk, a squeeze of lemon, and two sugars. That’s right, isn’t it?”

He took the tea. “Yes. That’s right.”

“I can boil you an egg, if you’d like,” she added. “Bibbie and I aren’t hungry, but…”

“No. Thank you,” he said. “This will be fine.”

Folding her arms, she stared out through the window. “Nearly a full day they’ve been gone. Will it be much longer, do you think?”

“I have no idea. I hope not.”

“You’ve taken an awful risk, haven’t you?” she said quietly. “If something goes wrong-if Monk and Gerald and Reg don’t come back-”

“It will certainly be interesting,” said Sir Alec, and stirred his tea.

“Sir Alec…” Sighing, she shifted her gaze to him. “I’m not just plain Miss Cadwallader, remember? You don’t need to be… clever… for my sake.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m thinking of your feelings?”

She was exhausted, she was frightened, but she couldn’t help a smile. “You’re admitting to feelings? Blimey. Wait till I tell Gerald. He’ll have to sit down.”

And that made him smile. But it didn’t last long. He sipped his tea, thoughtful, then sat the cup back in its saucer. “You don’t approve of my secrecy.”

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove, is it?” she said. “You’re the government stooge. I’m merely… a girl.”

His dry look contradicted that assessment, but he didn’t reply. Instead he sipped more tea. The clock on the mantel ticked softly as the morning’s light slowly brightened.

“You can trust us, you know,” she said at last. “We may not like you very much but we do know you’re on our side.” She pulled a face. “Well. You’re not on their side. The villains’ side. And since we aren’t either… I suppose it’s close enough.”

He took a last sip of tea then put the cup and saucer on the windowsill. “I do trust you, Miss Cadwallader. Within narrow parameters.”

“Gosh. That’s flattering,” she said, eyes wide. “ I might have to sit down.”

“I trust that you will never do anything to hurt either Mr. Markham or Mr. Dunwoody,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Which means-”

“What?” she said, alarmed by the look on his face. “Sir Alec? What’s the matter, what-”

The library door banged open. “Do you feel that?” demanded Bibbie. Her long golden hair flew wildly about her face. “Sir Alec?”

He looked up, at the ceiling. Through the ceiling. “Yes, I do, Miss Markham. I suspect-”

But Bibbie was gone again, racing, her shoes thudding on the stairs. Not running, but definitely hurrying, Sir Alec followed. “Come along, Miss Cadwallader. Don’t dawdle. Someone’s knocking at the door.”

There was a glowing, growing blue and crimson hole in the air of Gerald’s bedroom.

“Stand back, Miss Markham,” Sir Alec said sharply. “I know who we want to see step through that portal, but wanting and getting are two very different things.”

As Bibbie retreated one grudging pace, Melissande felt her heart leap. Oh, Saint Snodgrass preserve us. “You think this could be the other Gerald?”

“I’d be a fool to think it weren’t possible,” he said tightly. “Stand back, I said, Miss Markham. You too, Miss Cadwallader.”

The glowing hole in the air ripped wider. Wider. Reaching out blindly, she clutched Bibbie’s hand.

Please, please, please, please…

Monk leaped out of thin air. Oh, lord, he looked dreadful. Shattered and terrified and covered in blood.

“Monk!” cried Bibbie, surging forward.

Sir Alec caught her around the waist and swung her aside. “Wait!” he snapped. “ Wait! The danger’s not over yet!”

Monk was ignoring them, had spun around to stare at that blue and crimson glowing hole, the portal. His hands were clenched to fists and he was dancing on the spot.

“Come on-come on-Gerald, you idiot- come on — ”

And then another figure emerged out of nothing. Melissande heard herself sob.

“ Gerald! ” cried Bibbie. “Sir Alec, let me go! ”

But Sir Alec didn’t let go. Instead he pulled Bibbie further back, one arm still holding her tight, and with his free hand he caught her arm and started tugging Wild-eyed, Monk shut down the portal then shoved Gerald behind him. “It’s all right!” he shouted. “Sir Alec, he’s safe! He’s safe! ”

But looking at Sir Alec’s face, she wasn’t sure.

“How can I trust you, Mr. Markham?” he demanded. “For all I know he’s hexed you to his will.”

Monk was breathing so fast he was practically panting. “He hasn’t. I swear it. I promise, he’s safe.”

“What are you talking about?” said Bibbie, still struggling. “What do you mean safe? ”

“Stop thinking like a girl and start thinking like a witch,” snapped Sir Alec. “Feel the ether, Miss Markham. Mr. Dunwoody’s not himself.”

Melissande stared at him. What? What? “Monk-”

But before Monk could say anything, Bibbie let out a small cry. “Oh, Saint Snodgrass. Gerald. Monk-Monk, what happ — ”

“I’m tainted, not tongueless,” said Gerald, over Monk’s shoulder. “Do you mind? I can speak for myself.”

“Then speak, Mr. Dunwoody,” said Sir Alec, ominously restrained. “You have one minute to make your case.”

“I had to play along,” said Gerald. Even without the blood, what they could see of him looked worse than Monk. “Take in some grimoire magic. Not much, I swear, not enough to turn me, but-” He shuddered. “Just tell me there’s a way to strip it out again, Sir Alec. I’ll do whatever it takes. I don’t care what it costs. I just want it gone. And I want it gone now.”

“He’s not kidding, Sir Alec,” said Monk. “I’m telling you, he’s safe. He’s still Gerald. You can trust him. You can.”

After a heart-stopping moment, Sir Alec nodded. “Very well.”

Monk turned. “Gerald-sit down, mate. Here-give me-give me- damn.” He shook his head. “I’ll take her.”

And that was when Melissande realized Gerald had Reg tucked under one arm.

“Reg!” she said, relief and alarm clashing. There was red ribbon tied around her beak. “What’s happened to you? Reg?”

“She’s not Reg,” said Gerald, staring at the bird in Monk’s hands. “Reg is dead. She’s-that’s-she’s not Reg.”

Silence. One look at Gerald’s eyes told her this wasn’t a joke.

“Dead?” she whispered. “What do you mean? Dead how?”

“I killed her,” said Gerald. “If you really must know. Sir Alec-”

“Mr. Dunwoody?” said Sir Alec. Nothing in his face gave anything away.

“I killed the other Gerald, too. I don’t think we need to worry about any more interesting visitors-the other Ottosland’s pretty much gone up in flames, and the UMN’s moved in to take over-but just to be on the safe side, Monk’s come up with a plan to stop any more incursions from alternative worlds.”

Sir Alec nodded. “Of course he has. I would expect no less.”

Gerald didn’t smile. He looked like he’d never smile again. “But first I should get him out of that shadbolt. If you’ve no objections?”

“None at all,” said Sir Alec. Then he glanced at the sheet-covered body on the bed. “But perhaps, all things considered-”

Gerald looked. “That’s the other Monk?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Bury him discreetly, with honor,” said Sir Alec, after a moment. “An unmarked grave, of course.”

“Of course,” said Gerald. Then he looked at Monk. “You ready?”

Monk shook his head, as though suddenly events were moving far too fast. “Well, yes, but-”

“Good,” said Gerald. “Now be quiet. And get rid of-you can’t hold-”

“Oh,” said Monk. “Um-”

Melissande held out her hands. They were shaking. She wanted to weep. “I’ll take her.”

Another silence fell. With trembling fingers she untied the ribbon around Reg’s-the bird’s-familiar beak. She-Reg-the bird nodded but didn’t say anything. Good lord, she was so thin.

Gerald had one hand on Monk’s head and the other on his left shoulder. Eyes closed, breathing deeply, he seemed to sink into a trance. Nothing. Nothing. Just silence. Still nothing.

And then a flash of bluish white light, like a lightning strike. Monk shouted in pain and dropped to the floor.

“Monk!” cried Bibbie, rushing to him.

Melissande held the bird.

“He’ll be all right,” Gerald said to Sir Alec, as Bibbie helped Monk to his feet. “Headaches for a few days. After we’ve jiggered his expander he should steer clear of thaumaturgics for a while. A week, at least.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” said Sir Alec. “Mr. Dunwoody-”

Gerald silenced him with a look. “You’ll get your report. Just… not right now. If you don’t mind.”

“Tomorrow,” said Sir Alec, nodding. “No later. We need this put to bed.”

“Buried, you mean,” said Gerald. “Like that poor bastard under the sheet.”

Monk cleared his throat. “Gerald-”

“I’m fine,” said Gerald. But looking at him, Melissande could see he wasn’t. Oh, he wasn’t. Monk wasn’t either. And neither am I. “If you’re ready,” Gerald added, “let’s get up to the attic and bloody finish this, shall we?”

“Yeah,” said Monk, sighing. “Yeah. We can do that. Sir Alec?”

As Monk followed Gerald out of the bedroom, Sir Alec raised an eyebrow. “It might be best if you ladies… sit this one out. I’m sure these thaumaturgics won’t take long. And then I’ll be on my way.”

For once, Bibbie didn’t argue about being treated like a girl. Melissande nodded. “Yes. Of course. We’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

Sir Alec went after the boys, leaving silence in his wake. She stared at Bibbie, and Bibbie stared back. And then the bird in her arms… the bird who was Reg… and wasn’t… feebly stirred and tried to rattle her tail.

“Blimey bloody Charlie,” she croaked. “Madam, I’m starving. Where do you keep the minced beef around here?”

It took him and Monk not quite an hour to rejig the multi-dimensional etheretic wavelength expander and turn it into a wavelength inhibitor that, once activated, would prevent the opening of portals between their dimension and the next. Well. For the time being, anyway. For the short term, at least. Until Monk could look at inventing a larger and more permanent solution.

And he will. Because he’s Monk Markham and that’s what he does. It’s his job.

With that done, Sir Alec suggested they adjourn to the kitchen and fortify themselves while he… explained a few things. Melissande, being Melissande, made tea and cooked them scrambled eggs.

Oh, God.

It took every scrap of will power he had to eat them. The bird sat on a cushion on a spare bit of kitchen bench. He managed not to look at her once.

“The problem is,” Sir Alec said, in his quiet, nondescript way, “that as far as I can see, revealing what’s happened here can only cause more trouble. Obviously the notion that you’ve turned metaphysical theory into fact is… significant. But the thaumaturgical, social and geopolitical consequences could be grave. Perhaps even catastrophic.”

“In other words,” said Melissande, eyes narrowed, “you want us to keep on keeping our mouths shut.”

Monk snorted. “You realize you’re hatching the greatest conspiracy of modern times?”

“Mr. Markham, I’d hazard it’s the greatest conspiracy in history,” Sir Alec retorted. “Make no bones about it: this is irregular in the extreme. But after careful consideration I don’t see that we have another choice. At least, not for the time being. Besides…” He smiled his small, chilly smile. “You’re going to be far too busy inventing new locks for interdimensional doors to be dallying with gossip.”

“That’s true,” said Monk. With that bloody shadbolt gone, and tea and eggs inside him, he was looking a little better. But the fingerprints of their adventure were on him… and chances were they’d never quite leave.

We’ll have to talk about it. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen. We can’t pretend I wasn’t about to kill him.

Only not today. And not tomorrow. That conversation would have to wait.

“But you know, Sir Alec,” Monk added, pretending that everything was fine, just fine, nothing to see here, move along, “if I am going to keep the inhibitor running here in the meantime-”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Markham,” said Sir Alec. Not fooled, because he was never fooled, but prepared to pretend. For now. “You’ll have enough thaumaturgic energy at your disposal… and no questions asked.”

“Does that go for me, too?” said Bibbie, glancing up. “Only I’m working on this ethergenics thing and-”

Sir Alec sighed. “Yes, Miss Markham. I’ll see what I can do.” He looked at them one by one. “So… do I take it you’re agreeing to my unorthodox proposal?”

Monk scrubbed a hand across his stubbled face. “Sure. Why not? I mean, what’ve we got to lose?”

Gerald looked at Sir Alec. For God’s sake, don’t tell them.

Sir Alec nodded. “Thank you. Please don’t talk about these events beyond the confines of this house. Of course it would be better if you didn’t discuss them at all-but I’m not entirely stupid. I’m prepared to take what I can get.” Pushing his chair back, he stood. “And now I’ll bid you good day. Mr. Dunwoody-kindly walk me to my car.”

It was a pretty morning. Lots of sunshine. Butterflies in the garden and birds on the wing. Sir Alec, holding the driver’s door open, looked him up and down with a jaundiced eye. “I’m not going to like what I read in your report, am I?”

“Sir Alec…” He sighed. “Come on. You’re going to hate it.”

But not as much as I will.

“You’re taking a bloody big risk, keeping all this secret.”

Sir Alec shrugged. “I’m not a stranger to secrets, Mr. Dunwoody.” Then he hesitated, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the bird. I know how fond you were of her. And I wonder if it was wise of you, to bring the other one back.”

He pulled a face. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Abruptly, Sir Alec slapped the roof of his car. “A damned unfortunate mess all around, Mr. Dunwoody. You did well. Again. Take tomorrow off. But I’ll want you in my office the day after, with that report. You and I have a lot to discuss. And then, of course, there’s the matter of that grimoire magic.”

Which sat inside him, black and waiting, like a wolf.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he said, letting Sir Alec see behind his own mask. “I want the filthy bloody stuff gone. ”

In return, Sir Alec showed him nothing. “I know you meant it, Mr. Dunwoody. And we’ll see what we can do.” Halfway into the car he stopped, and looked back. “I’ll send Mr. Dalby for the other Monk’s body. No need for you to be involved.”

He supposed he should say thank you, but he wasn’t in the mood.

Uneasy, he watched Sir Alec drive out of sight, then turned to go back inside the house. The bird was behind him. She’d slipped out the open front door and was perched on the big flower pot at the top of the steps. Seeing him see her, and hesitate, she fluffed out her feathers. Tipped her head to one side, her familiar-her unknown-dark eyes sardonically gleaming.

“Hello, Gerald.”

… if you’ve finished slobbering over my third-rate understudy…

“Hello.”

The bird sighed. “So. Sunshine. What are we going to do?”

Sunshine. He pulled a face. “I don’t know about you, but I thought I might get drunk.”

“And then what? Blow your brains out?”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Well… those are your two basic choices, aren’t they? Drop dead or keep walking.” She stared without remorse. “So, Mr. Dunnywood? What’s it going to be?”

Oh, God. I can’t do this. I watched her burn alive. And now here she is, and that’s her voice and her feathers and her beak and her eyes…

“Your Sir Alec,” she said, and rattled her tail. “Bit of a sarky bugger, isn’t he? I think you need to watch your step with him, my boy. I don’t altogether trust that glint in his eyes.”

“He’s all right,” he said, shrugging. “He’s a good man. He’s just… not very comfortable. And anyway… he’s your Sir Alec now.”

“Ha,” she said. “ I don’t want him. I never asked for him, did I?”

“Yes, well, neither of us did, Reg,” he said. “It just worked out that way.”

Her head tipped again. “Reg?”

It’s not the same. It’s not the same. But it’s not her fault, either.

“What?” With a soft sigh, he held out his arm. “You’d prefer Dulcetta?”

“Ha,” she said again, and jumped, and made her way up to his shoulder. “So you like living dangerously. Nice to know some things don’t change.”

They went back inside, down the corridor to the kitchen, where Monk and Melissande and Bibbie sat with their tea. As they walked through the door, intent conversation ceased. His friends… his family… stared at him, anxious.

“Gerald,” said Monk. Still his friend, despite everything. “Honestly. Are you all right?”

He pulled out two chairs, one for him and one for Reg. “Not really,” he said at last, because he owed them the truth. “But I will be. I think I just need some time.” Reg hopped from his shoulder to the back of the other chair. She looked at him, and he looked at her. His fingertip stroked the length of her wing. “Monk… Melissande… Bibbie…” He swallowed. “This is Reg.”

Silence. And then Reg rattled her tail, eyes gleaming, and tipped her head to one side. “Well, well, well, duckies. Is this different, or what?”