by K. E. Mills
No nightmare could ever come close to this. “Really? And what—you just happened to have this little grimoire sampler lying around? How convenient.”
“Convenience had nothing to do with it,” his counterpart snapped. “I’ve been planning this for months, Professor. I knew almost from the beginning that I’d need you to make my plan work. Why d’you think I risked what I risked to get you here? Mind you—” He shot a resentful look at Monk, on the floor. “I didn’t realize this idiot would fail me. But that’s all right. I can spare you for a few hours.”
“To do what?”
“Bloody hell, Professor,” said the other Gerald, exasperated. “Weren’t you listening? I need you to help him finish what he started. What he swore to me he could build. And then, once it’s completed, you and I are going to change the world. This world. To start with. Today is what you might call—the overture.”
Oh, wonderful. He looked down at the red hex crystal burning his fingers with malign, malevolent promise. “Using this?”
“That’s right.” Another wide smile, as though he and the other Gerald were friends. As though Monk wasn’t curled up on the floor at their feet. “Using that. And trust me, Professor, you’re going to thank me for it. Not only will the incants in that crystal help you change the world, they’ll give you a taste of what you’re missing out on because of some antiquated notions forced on you by men too gutless to take what they want.”
He looked at Bibbie. “And that’s how you hooked her, is it? How you twisted and—”
The other Gerald raised a finger. “Careful, Professor.”
Of course it was. This other Gerald had dangled a morsel of forbidden fruit in front of his Bibbie, and his Bibbie—being Bibbie, and fearless—had grabbed it with glee. Because she and Monk were Markhams, and in the habit of… bending the rules. Because she was tired of being a girl and hearing No, dear, you can’t. Be a good little witch and don’t show up the boys. And of course, once she’d tasted it, she’d wanted more, and more, and more…
Oh, bloody hell, Bibbie. It was ridiculous to feel guilty. He wasn’t the one who’d tempted her. But still. Bibs, I’m so sorry.
“Anyway,” said his counterpart briskly, and clapped his hands. “I’ve got things to do, so let’s get on, shall we? Swallow the crystal, Professor. Now. While I’m watching. Nothing personal, I just don’t trust you not to flush it down the bog once my back’s turned.”
“You still haven’t told me what incants are in this thing.”
The other Gerald rolled his eyes. “Oh, Saint Snodgrass save me. Fine. There’s a general etheretic enhancement hex. A trebled counter-incant that’ll let you—well, never mind. You don’t need to know about that yet. There’s an incant that gives you the power to control any First Grade wizard—which won’t work on me, so don’t even bother trying. A bunch of shadbolt matrixes, always useful. A handful of compulsion hexes—and they won’t work on me either, so, y’know, don’t waste my time. Oh yes, and a couple of nifty punishment hexes. For when your underlings get uppity.”
“I see,” he said, feeling sick again. “And that’s it?”
“For starters,” said his counterpart. “But if you’re very good, Professor, who knows? There could be more.”
He shook his head. “Trust me, Gerald. I won’t be wanting more.”
The other Gerald laughed. “Yes, well, you say that now. But I think you’ll find that once you get a taste of what’s possible you won’t be quite so eager to sermonize. Or turn me down.”
The casually mocking comment chilled him.
What if he’s right? What if I like what’s in this crystal? It might not be the worst dark magic in the world, but still… if I swallow it I won’t be me any more. I’ll have taken the first step towards turning into him.
He could feel Monk, staring. Lifted his own gaze, just enough. His friend was hunched on his side with his back to the other Gerald. He nodded, the smallest gesture. Twitched his lips into the merest hint of a smile.
Oh, bloody hell, Monk. You’d better know how to purge me if this muck.
He closed his eyes, shuddering, and swallowed the hex crystal. Within moments his mouth filled with a raw and angry heat. Whatever he was tasting he didn’t begin to understand it. It tasted of nothing, of everything, of power and pain. He felt his potentia stir to life like a banked fire kicked over. Felt the hex crystal’s incants unfurling like a seed-pod in spring. All that dark promise uncoiling, expanding, pushing single-mindedly through his blood towards the sun.
“Steady now, Professor,” said his counterpart, and took his arm. “Don’t fight it. Let it happen. It might tickle a bit. But what’s a little pain compared with undreamt of power?”
Bloody hell. A little pain? The dark incants and hexes had sharp teeth and claws and they were tearing holes in his etheretic aura. Burrowing into hispotentia. He could feel himself… changing. Could feel a shadow, encroaching.
Oh no. Oh no. What the hell have I done?
He would’ve fallen, if the other Gerald wasn’t holding him up. He felt himself clinging. Heard himself say: “Don’t let go.”
“It’s all right, Gerald,” said his other self, so kindly. “Don’t be frightened. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. You’re safe.”
And then the dark magic inside him finished unfolding and caught fire. Seared every nerve and sinew as it flashed through him, incandescent.
“There,” said the other Gerald, pleased. “All finished.” Letting go, he stepped back. “And doesn’t that feel better?”
The pain was gone. That was better. But the shadow—the shadow—
“Yes,” he said, blinking. “I’m fine.”
“I knew you would be,” said his counterpart, who then turned and kicked Monk. “Get up, Markham. You’ve got work to do.”
Slowly, painfully, Monk rolled to his hands and knees. Took a deep breath and staggered to his feet. “Look. I’m going to need him for more than a couple of hours. This bloody contraption of yours—I don’t know if you understand how complicated it is, Gerald.”
“Thank you, I’m not an idiot,” the other Gerald said coldly. “How long do you need him?”
“All night would be good.”
“All night? Markham—”
“Oh, Gerald, don’t go on,” said Bibbie. “Isn’t it better that he’ll be locked in here with Monk? At least this way you won’t have to worry about keeping an eye on him. Once the lab doors are hexed that’s it. He’s just another Reg in a tiny little cage.”
“I suppose so,” said the other Gerald, grudging. “But let’s get one thing clear, Monk—if he’s staying the night that means no more excuses. I want to find my machine finished and foolproof when I come back in the morning. Is that clear?”
“Actually,” said Gerald, not looking at Monk, “instead of making assumptions that I can help, maybe you should explain what this contraption of yours—”
“Monk’ll explain it,” snapped his counterpart. “I don’t have time. Bibbie—”
“Finally,” said Bibbie, going to him. “I was about to die of boredom. You’re taking me out to dinner, Gerald. A very expensive, very exclusive, very rarified dinner. And you’re giving me a gold-and-diamond bracelet.”
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.
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 uninvite 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 answer
ing, 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.”
