by K. E. Mills
“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?”
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