Wizard Squared

by K. E. Mills

  “Now?” he said, staring at the almost-completed machine.

  Monk rolled his eyes. “No, next week.”

  “Ha,” he said. “Y’know what? You’ve been spending too much time with Reg.”

  Reg whacked him with her wing. “Cheeky bugger. Put a sock in it, sunshine, and let’s get this over with. Saint Snodgrass only knows what those girls are up to behind our backs. Especially with that manky Sir Alec hanging around like a bad smell.”

  Summoning his potentia—feeling anew its taint of darkness—but I’ll be all right. I will. I will—he sank himself into the ether and looked at the machine. Monk was right, the incants needed to complete its amplification chamber’s matrix were daunting. Well… daunting for someone who wasn’t him. Feeling the surge of power through his blood and bones, he filled in the matrix’s gaps then added his own flourish here and there to give the impression he’d done even more work than that.

  In passing he felt the ever-so-slightly different thaumic signature of the other Monk Markham. The dead one. Melancholy, he touched it lightly—Thanks, Monk—and moved on.

  “All done?” said his Monk, once he’d withdrawn from the machine.

  He nodded. “All done.”

  “I’ll just have a quick squiz,” said Monk. “Not because I don’t trust you, mate. Only if that other bugger asks me—”

  “Fine. Go ahead. Squiz away.”

  So Monk squizzed, nodding his approval. “Good. So this bloody thing—” he whacked the gizmo with the back of his hand, “—will, when it’s activated, trigger a massive etheretic carrier wave. And once it’s triggered, and your evil twin tags it with his favorite shadbolt incant, every non-shadbolted and unprotected witch and wizard in this Ottosland will be instantly shadbolted.” He frowned. “Damn. That means we’ll need to proof you, Gerald, somehow, in case—”

  “No need,” he said. “Turns out I’m already proofed. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

  “Me?” Monk stared at him. “Why would you think I—” And then he understood. “Oh, that’s great, Gerald. That’s a real vote of confidence. Thanks a lot. Once, once, you got clobbered with one of my incants—and it wasn’t even my bloody idea!”

  “Well, you can’t blame me for wondering,” he retorted. “Every time I turn around you’ve invented another crazy gizmo—broken another rule—and if you thought it was for my own good we both know you’d—”

  “Do you mind?” said Reg, rattling her tail feathers ferociously. “Save the kindergarten fisticuffs for our own backyard. Right now we’ve got an evil twin to thwart, you plonkers!”

  He and Monk glared at each other, and then he sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. Sorry.”

  “Anyway,” said Monk, breathing hard, “now that we’ve finished this infernal machine we can jigger it so it backfires in that mad pillock’s face.”

  “Yeah…” He scratched at his chin, which was starting to stubble. “About that. Look, how confident are you that you can hide the bits of jiggering I’m not supposed to have done? Because if that crazy bugger catches so much as a whiff of me in the wrong place then—”

  “Bloody hell, Gerald, how many times do I have to say it?” Monk snapped. “He won’t. The masking incant Sir Alec gave me is brilliant. You didn’t detect me in this bloody shadbolt I’m wearing, did you?”

  “No,” he said at last, reluctantly. “But come on, Monk. You can’t compare this gizmo and a shadbolt. The amount of thaumic energy it’s going to gobble up—the etheretic discharges—the carrier wave itself—what if they blast that masking incant to smithereens?”

  Monk shook his head. “I know it’s a risk but we have to take it. Because this is it. This is our one shot at spiking your evil twin’s guns, Gerald. If we don’t stop him with this… well. You know what comes next.”

  Unfortunately he did. He looked at this world’s sleeping Reg, then back at his own. “What d’you think?”

  “I think you’d be better off ignoring that bird over there,” said Reg. “Because when this plan of ours works, and it’ll work because he’s a genius and you’re a rogue wizard and I’m a very intelligent woman, we’ll be buggering off home with your nasty double and leaving her behind.” She gave Monk an equally sharp look. “That goes for you too, Mr. Clever Clogs. No saving that fallen woman masquerading as your sister, or the Princess Pushy she’s got stashed away. They belong in this world, not ours. Our world’s already got a Bibbie Markham and a Princess Melissande and a cruelly dispossessed Queen Dulcetta. And you don’t know what kind of mischief you could be stirring up, bringing them home with us for good. Bad enough we’ve got to drag along the other Gerald. It only takes one straw to break the camel’s back.”

  “I hate to say it, Monk, but she’s right,” he said, after a moment. “We don’t dare risk unbalancing the dimensional metaphysics any more than that—especially when we don’t have a clue how they work. And anyway—once we’ve taken care of this world’s me, they won’t be in danger any more. Will they?”

  Monk frowned at his nicked and singed hand. “Right,” he said at last. “So, now that I understand exactly how this gizmo works, I’m thinking we need to embed a reverse-thaumic trigger inside the activation matrix. And we need to make it target specific. So when that mad bugger switches this thing on, instead of lots of shadbolts imprisoning lots of witches and wizards—”

  “—he gets trussed up by his own shadbolt,” said Reg. “Neat and tidy and ready for kidnapping. Y’know, Mr. Markham, that just might do the trick.”

  “Will it, Gerald?” said Monk. “I mean, he is bloody powerful and he’s soaked to the gills in all that foul grimoire magic. And you’d have to think he’s immune to his own shadbolt incant.”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “as powerful as he is, I can’t see him being stronger than the etheretic amplification wave this machine’s designed to create. And as for being immune to his own shadbolt—” He shrugged. “Maybe there’s something I can do about that.”

  Monk’s eyebrows shot up. “Maybe?”

  “Let me think about it,” he said. “In the meantime, we’d better jigger what we can, quickly. Who knows when that bastard’s going to turn up again?”

  “Good point,” said Reg, and ruffled all her feathers. “So come on, get jiggering!”

  He pulled a face at Monk, who grinned. “You heard Her Majesty, Gerald. Chop chop!”

  Despite the horrible shadbolt binding Monk’s aura and the taint of dark magics in his own blood, despite the thin, downtrodden other Reg asleep on the bedroll—and their own Reg making exploding teakettle noises because, in her opinion, they weren’t working fast enough—he and his best friend found their tandem thaumaturgic rhythm almost at once… and without even having to discuss tactics began jiggering up a storm.

  At one point Monk paused and grinned again. “All I know, Gerald, is that after this caper nobody back home whose name rhymes with Uncle Ralph or Sir Alec better say boo about you and me practicing on my inventions in the attic. Because if we hadn’t done that—”

  “I know,” he said, soberly. The thought was so appalling he couldn’t manage an answering grin. “We’d have no hope of doing this.”

  Monk nodded firmly. “Bloody oath. In fact, they ought to give us a raise.”

  I’ll settle for a whole skin, and our world sqfe. Or at least a decent breathing space between disasters.

  “Come on, come on,” said Reg, rattling her tail. “That’s enough chit-chat. Get on with it!”

  With an exchange of eye-rolling glances, they got on.

  Weaken the sub-dimensional etheretic link… reverse the polarity, on the secondary directional matrix… tag the wave amplifier with an amended target… and hide every last trace of their tricks. Done and done and done and done.

  “Bloody hell,” Monk muttered, and blotted sweat from his pale face. “Is that it, mate? Please tell me that’s it.”

  “Yeah, I think so,” he said, just as sweaty and exhausted. “You all right?”r />
  Monk pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. “This bloody shadbolt,” he muttered. “It doesn’t half give me a headache.”

  “I know. But honestly? It won’t hurt for him to notice you’re in pain. There’s nothing he likes better than someone suffering on his behalf.”

  “Right,” said Monk, giving him an odd look. “If you say so.” And then he bit his lip. “Look. Gerald. Are you sure about this? Because if you can’t handle it—if you’re not as good as you think you are? Ass over elbows won’t begin to—”

  “Monk, I can handle it,” he said flatly. “You worry about—”

  The hot, sharp stirring in the ether turned both of them towards the hexed laboratory door.

  “Is that him?” said Reg, craning her head. “Is he coming back? Bugger. Then tie that old biddy’s beak shut again and chuck her in the cage, quick.”

  He stared at her. “Reg!”

  “Don’t you Reg me, Gerald Dunwoody!” she retorted. “I’m the one who’s got to hide in that manky bathroom. Quick, can’t you feel him? He’s in a right state!”

  And she wasn’t wrong about the other Gerald’s angry approach. Still a ways distant, this world’s Mr. Dunwoody was burning through the ether like a wind-whipped summer fire through the dry grass. He couldn’t feel Bibbie with him—and that was a relief. Even knowing she wasn’t really his sister, Monk was distracted when she was in the room. And they couldn’t afford any distractions. One false step and they’d be toast.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the other Reg. “But she’s right. You need to go back in the cage.”

  “I know,” she said, her familiar eyes warm with a smile. “If she hadn’t said it, I would have.”

  He fetched the red ribbon and started winding it around her long beak. “Look. If this goes right we—we won’t see each other again. So I’ll wish you good luck, Reg. After he’s taken care of there’ll be a lot of work to do. I expect your Melissande will be up to her eyeballs in that. She’ll need your advice. She’ll need you to—to nag her.Will you do that for me, Reg? Nag her and make rude comments about her butt—her behind? Complain about her tweed trousers and her terrible hairstyles and how she walks like a hockey player instead of a princess?”

  Bound to silence now, the other Reg nodded.

  “Thanks,” he whispered, and kissed the top of her head.

  “Right, right, so if you’ve finished slobbering all over my third-rate understudy, Gerald,” his Reg snapped, her head poked around the bathroom door, “maybe you could get her in that cage before your evil twin kicks the front doors down?”

  Ignoring the wretched woman, he returned the other Reg to her prison and re-hexed it. “Monk. The portable portal opener. Is it—”

  Monk slapped his chest. “Safe in my pocket, mate.”

  “And you’re sure it’s still working?”

  “Sure as I can be.”

  “He really can’t sense it?”

  A shrug. “He hasn’t so far.”

  “And if we manage to do this and have a shot at escaping, where do we—”

  “He was a bit clever, that other Monk,” said Monk, not quite smiling. “It’ll take us back to the last place it opened. In this case, your bedroom. All very neat.”

  “And if that’s not proof positive it was a different Monk Markham who made it…” Heart pounding, he turned to stare at the hexed door. Raised his voice a little. “Reg, if he’s taking us out of here I’ll make sure the lab door stays open. Follow us as soon as you can and for the love of Saint Snodgrass, don’t get caught.”

  “No, really?” said Reg, from the bathroom. “That’s a bugger. Because I was planning on introducing myself and asking for a matching cage!”

  “Gerald,” Monk said urgently, standing behind the etheretic gizmo. “Gerald, what about—”

  But there was no more time for talking. The other Gerald was here.

  With a blinding surge of thaumic power the laboratory door smashed open and the other Gerald strode in, pushing a large wheeled trolley. He’d changed out of his royal blue suit and was garbed now in gold and crimson, garish as bullion splashed with fresh blood.

  “Well, Monk?” he demanded, eyes glittering with rage. “Is it finished? You’d better tell me it’s finished, because if it’s not finished I’m going to make you very bloody sorry!”

  Monk flinched and gasped, as though a knife had run through him. The shadbolt. “It’s finished, Gerald. All right? It’s finished!”

  “And is it working?” said the other Gerald, silkily smooth. “Because if it’s finished and it’s not working then I don’t see the point. Do you?”

  Gerald bit his tongue. Damn. They hadn’t tested the wretched thing. There hadn’t been time. “Gerald,” he said, stepping forward. “It’s working, but it hasn’t been given a proper test run. That’s your prerogative, not ours. Anyway, when did Monk Markham ever build a thaumic machine that didn’t work?”

  His counterpart sneered. “When did Monk Markham need me to help him build one?”

  “Actually—” Monk cleared his throat. “A few times, Gerald. Only I didn’t have the guts to admit it. I could hardly admit it to myself. So anything I couldn’t do without you, I just—I stopped working on.”

  Before Gerald could stop himself, he was exchanging surprised looks with his evil twin.

  “Huh,” said the other Gerald. “Y’know, call me crazy, Professor, but I think that touching declaration had the ring of truth about it. Don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

  And when Monk and I are home again, we’re going to have a little chat.

  “Anyway,” said Monk darkly. “The bloody thing’s operational. So what happens now?”

  Brief amusement fled from the other Gerald’s demeanor, and fury poured in after it. “Ideally I’d test that claim for myself, Monk, but I’ll have to take your word on it. There’s been a slight change in plans. That stupid bastard Gonegal at the UMN had the gall to threaten my life. There’s a fleet of UMN armed airships on their way here now. He’s coming to take me into custody! Crimes against thaumaturgics! Can you believe it? I can’t wait to put a bloody shadbolt on him.”

  Gerald didn’t dare risk a glance at Monk. “Armed airships? But—”

  “Frightened, Professor?” said the other Gerald, full of contempt. “There’s no need. Gonegal’s armed airships are no match for ours. And once I’ve shadbolted Ottosland’s wizards and witches and have their harnessed potentias at my beck and call?” He laughed. “Viceroy Gonegal and his toadies won’t stand a chance.”

  “Gerald…” He risked a step closer. “Stealing other people’s potentias will make you no better than Lional.”

  “That’s a lie!” the other Gerald spat. “Lional was a murderer. He killed the wizards whose potentias he took. I’m not killing anyone.” And then he smiled. “Well. Not anyone in Ottosland. I won’t vouch for those pustules from the UMN. If they breach our sovereign airspace then all bets are off. And I’m not stealing anything, either. I’m borrowing it. In a good cause. I’m not the villain here, Professor. Now shut up. You’re wasting my time.” He gave the wheeled trolley a shove. “Here. Get my machine on that, Mr. Markham. We’ll have to transport it the ordinary way, in case more thaumaturgics upset its calibrations. Quickly! We’ve got a lot of people waiting for us at the parade ground and I don’t want to disappoint them. Thanks to certain troublemakers I’m already running late.”

  Monk nodded. “Yes, sir. Ah—Ger—sorry, Professor? Would you mind giving me a hand?”

  “Good idea,” said the other Gerald. “I mean, I’d help but I’m not exactly dressed for manual labor.”

  Oh, blimey. Puffing and grunting with the effort, he helped Monk manhandle the etheretic amplifier onto the trolley. Touching the gizmo, he could feel its enormous thaumaturgic potential thrumming beneath his hands like a rumbling volcano waiting to erupt.

  “All right,” said the other Gerald. “That’s
it. Let’s go. Except—” He looked at poor caged Reg, silent and miserable. “Bring the bird, Professor. She really shouldn’t be deprived of seeing my moment of triumph. And with any luck she’ll choke to death trying to apologize.” He smiled. “I’ll just unhex the cage for you.”

  Gerald held his breath, his stomach churning. If his counterpart noticed it had already been unhexed and re-hexed—

  But no. Either their thaumic signatures were close enough to fool him or the other Gerald was just too keyed up with angry excitement, because he didn’t notice a thing.

  Praise the pigs.

  “Thank you,” he said, and gently took the other Reg out again.

  “No, don’t untie her beak yet,” said his counterpart. “She’ll only start nagging. Untie it when it’s time for her to apologize. Until then, Professor, we’ll bask in the silence.”

  “Right,” he said, and stroked the tip of Reg’s wing. Surreptitiously, so his counterpart wouldn’t see.

  The other Gerald glared at Monk. “Well? Why are you standing there like a lump of dried cowpat? Push the damn trolley! We’ve got to go!”

  Monk flinched. “Sorry. Sorry. Um—push it where?”

  “Oh, for the love of Saint Snodgrass,” the other Gerald snapped. “Follow me. Both of you. And you’d better bloody well keep up.”

  He swept out of the laboratory, crimson boot-heels banging the floor. Gerald, not daring to look at the bathroom, dropped another kiss on Reg’s third-rate understudy’s head, exchanged a grim glance with Monk, and followed him out… making sure to leave the lab door open behind them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A covered, open-backed lorry took them to the ceremonial parade ground. The other Gerald traveled with them, not wanting to let his precious thaumic machine out of his sight. Gerald swallowed frustration. Inconvenient didn’t begin to describe it—now there was no hope of discussing his crazy idea for an evil-twin nobbling incant with Monk. So he consoled himself with holding the other Reg and silently promising her that whatever else happened, when this was over she’d be free to fly away.