by K. E. Mills
The other Gerald laughed. “Am I? All right.”
Gerald looked away as they kissed, not envious any more. Just ill and revolted. He felt Monk’s shocked horror like a blow. Poor bugger. Bet he was sorry he’d come, now.
The laboratory door banged closed behind them, and then came an obliterating surge in the ether as the multiple, unbreakable locking-hexes and incants were reengaged.
“Right,” said Monk, once the etheretic ripples had faded. “Come on, Gerald. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
“What?” he said, staring. “Um-no. No, we’re not. We can’t, Monk. Not yet.”
The Reg in the cage started bouncing up and down, banging her beak against the bars so hard she risked hurting herself. Poor thing.
“Oh, blimey,” said Monk, and crossed to the cage. “Hang on-hang on-Gerald-unhex the door, would you? I can’t. This bloody shadbolt.”
Yes. The shadbolt. How the devil had he managed that? How had he managed any of this?
“Gerald, I’ll explain later! Just open the bloody cage!”
Thanks to the dark magics the other Gerald had given him, the filthy incants binding the cage door surrendered without a fight.
“Wait-wait-” said Monk, carefully extracting agitated Reg from her prison. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Released from her prison, with the red ribbon gag discarded, Reg shot into the air, an indignant blur of feathers. “Not yet? Not yet? What d’you mean, not yet? Gerald Dunwoody, I want to go home! ”
Stunned, he watched her flap furiously around the lab. That was Reg. His Reg. But-but I was going to let Gerald kill her. I was going to let him snap her neck. Oh my God… oh my God…
Furious, he turned on Monk. “Bloody hell, Markham, what’s she doing here? What the hell were you thinking, bringing Reg into this?”
“Hey, don’t look at me!” Monk retorted. “I didn’t invite her, she invited herself!”
“Then why didn’t you un invite her? Why didn’t you send her packing as soon as you realized-”
“Shut up, the pair of you!” said Reg, landing in a flapping of wings on the top of the cage. “Do I look like a wishbone at the family picnic? Has interdimensional sightseeing scrambled your brains? Monk Markham, get us out of here!”
Abruptly exhausted, Gerald headed for the nearest bit of empty wall and slid down it. His head was pounding. “ No! I told you, nobody’s going anywhere. At least, I’m not going anywhere. I suppose you two can do what you like.”
“Bloody hell,” said Monk, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “ Gerald — ”
“ Don’t,” he snapped. “I’ve had a very bad day.”
“It’s no use, sunshine,” Reg sighed, rattling her tail. “You know what he’s like. We’ll have to hear him out. Only first you’d better make sure my pathetic twin hasn’t carked it.”
“Bugger,” said Monk. “I forgot about her.”
Gerald watched, lost for words, as Monk ducked into the lab’s bathroom and came out again a moment later cradling a limp draggle of feathers against his chest. “She’s all right, I think,” he said. “Just weak.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” said the other Reg. Her eyes were glazed, and there was no familiar gloss on her feathers. “Just tired. And thirsty.”
“Well, don’t sit there gawking at her, Gerald,” Reg snapped, waspish. “Fetch her some water. Fetch enough for both of us. I’m parched too.”
Water. Yes. Right. Good idea. He scrambled to his feet, snatched up two empty beakers and took them into the bathroom. It was empty. No second Monk. Everywhere he turned, another bloody mystery. After filling the beakers with water he went back out to the lab.
“So where is he, then?” he said. “This world’s Monk, I mean. You must have him stashed somewhere.”
“He’s dead,” Monk said flatly, perched on the lab’s only stool. “Look. Give that poor bird a drink, and Reg, and then I’ll tell you what’s been going on. Maybe then you’ll understand why we have to get out of here before that bastard comes back.”
Dead? The other Monk was dead? Then where was the body? “But Monk-”
“Just hear me out, Gerald! I think you owe me that much!”
Right. Right. Monk was upset. “Fine,” he said, then looked around the locked lab. “Only, is it safe to talk? He could be listening.”
“I’ve checked,” said Monk. “We’re safe. Gerald-”
“Yes. Sorry.”
Monk had settled the other Reg on the makeshift bed’s pillow. He put one beaker down on the bench for his Reg, then sat beside the other one, braced his back against the wall and offered her a drink.
“Thank you,” she murmured, after drinking, then almost immediately drifted into a doze.
Bloody hell, she looks rough. I can’t imagine what she’s been through…
Having drunk her own fill, his Reg flapped down from the bench to perch on his bent knees. He stroked a finger down her wing, so pleased to see her. “All right, Monk. I’m listening.”
Slumped on his lab stool, Monk started talking. At last, when he stopped, Gerald looked at him. He felt pummeled. No, pulverized. Thrashed to an emotional pulp.
But that’s probably nothing compared to what Monk’s feeling.
“Bloody hell.”
Monk snorted. “You’re telling me.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll live.”
Oh, very funny. It wasn’t remotely true, either. Monk was holding himself together, but only just.
But that’s a conversation for another time and place.
“And nobody in the government outside Sir Alec knows about any of it?”
“Not when I–I mean we- left,” said Monk. “But the longer we stay away the more likely it is that something’ll go wrong and he’ll have to spill the beans. If we’re not careful, Gerald, we’ll walk back into a bloody firestorm. I’m telling you, we need to go and we need to go now.”
Gerald wiped a hand across his face. “You’re not thinking straight, Monk. We can’t leave until we’ve done something about this world’s Gerald.”
“We will do something,” said Monk. “As soon as we get home.”
“Like what?”
“Like-like-oh, I don’t know,” said Monk, reckless. “I’ll invent something, won’t I?” And then he straightened. “In fact-in fact- ” He snapped his fingers. “ Ha! I’ve got it! I’ve already invented the solution, haven’t I?”
“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Have you?”
“Yes! My multi-dimensional etheretic wavelength expander,” said Monk, fired up. “The work’s practically done for us, mate. All we have to do is iron out the kinks, soup it up a bit, reverse its etheretic polarities to switch its modality from expand to inhibit, add a few extra layers of security and booby-traps and what have you-and hey presto. Instant impenetrable interdimensional barrier. Guaranteed to stop your evil twin from opening a portal to our world ever again.”
Letting his head tip back against the wall, he considered his friend with weary affection. “Hey presto, eh? Just like that?”
“Bloody oath just like that!”
He managed a tired smile. “Yeah. It sounds great, Monk. Only you’re forgetting one small detail. Evil twin Gerald didn’t open a portal to bring me here. He yanked me out of an existing regular domestic transport portal. While I was on my way to Grande Splotze. Can you guarantee your invention can prevent a repeat of that nifty trick?”
Monk opened his mouth, then closed it again. Shook his head. “No.”
“Fine. So unless you want to explain why we have to close down our world’s entire portal network overnight we can’t go home until we’ve taken care of him.”
“Bugger,” said Monk, scowling. “I hate it when you’re right.”
He sighed. “Trust me. So do I.”
“Well, then,” said Reg, rattling her tail. “So now we’ve decided the manky git’s got to die, if one of you can rustle up a nail file
I’ll sharpen my beak and stick it right through his maggoty black heart.”
“Oh, Reg.” He stroked her wing again. “Get a grip. Nobody’s stabbing anyone. We’ll have to smuggle him out of here, back to our Ottosland. Hand him over to Sir Alec. He’ll know what to do.”
“Yes,” said Reg. “He’ll put him down like a dog. But I don’t see why our resident government stooge should have all the fun.”
Monk pulled a face. “Y’know, she’s got a point. Give me a nail file and I’ll perforate the bastard myself.”
“No!” he said sharply. “Just-shut up, Monk. You don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve never killed anyone and believe me-you don’t want to.”
Instead of answering, Monk slid off his stool and checked on the other Reg. She’d fallen properly asleep, head tucked under one wing, a forlorn drabble of feathers piled on the pillow. Sitting down again, he sucked in air and winced.
Gerald bit his lip. Lord, he looks bloody terrible. He’s had it ten times worse than me. “I wish I could get that bloody shadbolt off you.”
“Not as much as I do, mate.”
“I will. The second we get home, the filthy thing’s history.” He heard his breathing hitch. “I can’t believe you let Sir Alec put it on you. I can’t believe-”
“What, you thought I’d leave you stranded here?” said Monk, eyebrows lifting. “Thanks. Nice to know you’ve got such a high opinion of me, Dunnywood.”
He sat up, indignant. “What? No-I just-Monk-”
But Monk was grinning, sardonic. “Gotcha.”
“Pillock,” he said, slumping again.
“Tosser,” Monk retorted. “Huh. Y’know what I can’t believe? I can’t believe that was Bibbie.”
“It wasn’t,” he said quietly. “Monk, forget what you saw. What you heard. You’ll go demented if you don’t. They might be wearing our faces but they aren’t us. All right?”
“Yeah,” Monk muttered. “I suppose.” He punched his knee. “Except-look-what Bibbie- she — said about Mel. Rotten eggs? What did she mean?”
Oh, hell. “What did I just say, Monk? They’re not us. Forget it.”
But Monk never was one to take wise advice. “Have you seen her? This world’s Mel? Is she all right? Is she safe? Gerald-”
“She’s fine,” he said, making himself meet Monk’s distressed gaze without flinching. I have to lie. I have to. It’s the kind thing to do. “She’s living in the same house. Our-your-house. She’s fine.”
Monk let out a long and shaky breath. “Good. That’s something. I mean, I know he threatened her to get to you, and I understand what you’re saying about us not being them, but still-I mean, in a weird way he is you, isn’t he? Yeah, he’s twisted inside-out with dark magics-I know, I felt them-but-underneath all that, even though he isn’t, he’s still you.”
“Yeah, Monk. He is.”
And that would be what scares me the most.
“Blimey-” Monk sat forward. “Sorry. I’m not thinking straight. Those dark incants he made you swallow-”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t even call them dark. Grubby, maybe. But nothing I can’t handle.”
“Ha!” said Reg, and chattered her beak. “Pull the other leg, sunshine. If it comes off we know where to find a spare.”
Monk was scowling. “Yeah, Gerald. What she said. I saw your face when those incants kicked in.”
The shadow slithered through him, a dark snake in the grass. “I can handle it,” he insisted. “Rogue wizard, remember? It’s under control. Now stop fussing at me, the pair of you, and tell me what it is this world’s Monk Markham has been building for my evil twin.” He nodded at the sprawl of coils and conductors and thaumaturgic containers and gauges spread out on the lab’s biggest bench. “I take it that’s it?”
“That’s it,” said Monk.
“And?”
Monk shrugged. “And it’s the most diabolical perversion of a thaumaturgic invention that I’ve ever come across.”
“Oh.” He stared at the mysterious thingamajig on the bench. “Why? What does it do?”
Reg chattered her beak. “Nothing yet, because Mad Mr. Markham here hasn’t finished the bloody thing. But when he does-”
The other Reg stirred on her pillowy bed, and sat up. “When he does, sunshine, that’ll be it. The end of our world. And then the end of yours. And after that…”
“It’s a weapon?” he said, startled, turning back to the other Monk’s untidy invention.
“Not the way you’re thinking, Gerald,” said the other Reg. “ Gerald. ” Her voice broke. “I never thought I’d see the old you again.”
He had to clear his throat. “No. I don’t suppose you did. Look, about this-”
“It’s a thaumaturgic enhancer,” said Monk, his face grim. “Good old Gerald’s tired of arguing with people. He’s going to shadbolt every wizard and witch in the country-and from what I can gather, it’s all thanks to me.”
“In other words it is a weapon,” he said. “So I guess that means we’ve got some work ahead of us. Because if it’s the last thing we do, we can’t let him get his hands on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Half-way through his very expensive dinner with Bibbie, Attaby called from Government House.
“What?” he demanded, striding back into the Cabinet room. His head was splitting. Bibbie hadn’t taken at all kindly to her intimate supper being disrupted. Sometimes he wondered about her, he really did. He’d thought she understood what he was doing. The scope of it. The sheer majesty of it. But then she’d turn around and whine…
“Gerald, when do I get to do some proper magic? Gerald, when do I have a Department of my own? Gerald, you said we’d rule Ottosland together as husband and wife. So when are we going to get married, Gerald?”
She’d started up again on their way to Government House from the restaurant, so he’d doubled back and taken her home. He had enough on his plate without listening to her whine.
I wonder what the Bibbie from next door is like? She can’t possibly be more irritating than mine. Maybe I’ll swap them. I can’t do any worse.
Attaby was staring at him like a mouse facing a cat. “Sir, there’s been another communication from Viceroy Gonegal.” A nod at the Cabinet room’s crystal ball. “It’s recorded.”
He felt the blood thundering inside his aching skull. “You dragged me away from dinner for that twit?”
Shadbolted Attaby flinched. “Yes, sir. I thought it advisable. Perhaps you should look at the message, sir.”
“Fine,” he said glowering. “Now bugger off. The sight of your hangdog face makes me sick.”
“Sir,” said Attaby, and wisely retreated.
He activated the crystal ball. Gonegal’s face swam into focus. “I’m told your name is Gerald Dunwoody,” said the old fool, his eyes narrowed. “I’m told your potentia is unlike that of other wizards. And I’m told you’ve polluted yourself with grimoire magic. That is unfortunate. You should know, Mr. Dunwoody, that Babishkia is now protected from your predations. You should also know that the United Magical Nations has expelled from its ranks all those member states who have foolishly allowed themselves to be suborned by you. They are now facing… sanctions.” Gonegal smiled, like a tiger. “That especially includes Jandria. Jandria is closely watched. And finally you should know that an armed fleet of airships is poised to bring Ottosland to its knees. Stand down, Mr. Dunwoody. Awaken from your outlandish dream of world domination. Spare yourself and your people the consequences of our wrath.”
Fury turned the Cabinet room to scarlet. With a shout of rage he smashed the crystal ball to dust and shards.
“Attaby! Attaby, get in here!”
Attaby came running. “Sir? Yes, sir?”
Bone and muscle burned with his anger. “Get your staff back here. I want every desk manned and every man working. I want every single portal in the country closed down. All portal travel is suspended, is that clear? I want armed airships p
atrolling our borders and the limits of the city. I want every thaumic monitor pointed at UMN headquarters. Send a message to Tambotan: I want his airship fleet patroling with ours by sunrise, or else.”
“Yes, sir,” said Attaby, nodding. His eyes were wide and fearful. “I understand.”
“Are preparations completed at the ceremonial ground?”
Attaby nodded again. “They are.”
“And the unshadbolted wizards and witches?”
“Under lock and key in Ott’s main prison, sir,” said Attaby. “Ready for transport first thing in the morning.”
A little of his anger receded. “Good. That’s something. I need a lorry.”
Attaby goggled. “Sir?”
He clenched his fist and cracked lightning around the room. “A lorry, a lorry, you know what a bloody lorry is, don’t you?”
White and sweating, Attaby screwed his eyes shut. “Sir. Yes, sir. Of course I know what a lorry is.”
“Well, I want one!” he said, and leaned into Attaby’s face. “D’you hear me? I want a lorry and a driver at my front door no later than seven tomorrow morning! Can you manage that, Attaby? Or is that too complicated for a prime minister to arrange?”
“No, sir,” whispered Attaby. “I can arrange that.”
“ Good! ” he spat. “And I want another car and driver to take Bibbie to the parade ground at eight. Can you manage that? Or will doing two things at once give you a nosebleed, my lord?”
“No, sir,” croaked Attaby. “A lorry and a car. You’ll have them.”
“I’d better,” he said, heading for the Cabinet room door. “Or there’ll be one more exhibit gracing Ott’s parade ground. Understood?”
Thanks to the curfew there was no traffic to impede him on the way home. Searchlights stabbed the cloudy night sky, illuminating the armed airships as they ceaselessly prowled. His fingers were bloodless around his car’s steering wheel. His own harsh breathing filled his ears.
Threaten me, Gonegal? You and your friends at the doomed UMN? Bloody hell, you’ll be sorry. You won’t know what’s hit you.
