Wizard Squared (39 page)

“Bugger,” said the other Gerald, standing well out of vibration range. He was scowling. “
Not
President Damooj.”

Attaby tugged at his tie. “Viceroy Gonegal.”

“Prime Minister,” said Gonegal. “On behalf of the Directorate of the United Magical Nations, I wanted to see if you’d made any progress regarding our list of demands. As you’re surely aware, your deadline expires soon.”

“Ha!” muttered the other Gerald, and grinned. “See, Bibbie? I told you. I’ve got the cowards running scared. They don’t have the guts to attack me. They know if they try I’ll wipe them out of existence.”

Bibbie went to him and stroked his arm. “They’re fools.”

“I regret, Viceroy, that our answer remains unchanged,” said Attaby. He was sweating, fat drops rolling down his cheek and off his chin. “You have no right to threaten this nation, or dictate our friendships and political alliances. We stand firm in our commitment to Ottosland’s territorial sovereignty and repeat our warning to the UMN: attempt to set foot on Ottosland’s home soil or breach her airspace or indeed harm any nation who supports us and you will face our fierce and merciless retribution.”

Gonegal’s pale blue eyes blazed with sudden anger. “Prime Minister, I do assure you—any merciless retribution will be faced by you and your innocent
population. Ottosland is a founding signatory member of the UMN Charter. If you flout our authority, if you presume to—”

“Oh,
shut up
, Gonegal,” said the other Gerald, and shoved Attaby aside. “You can’t honestly think I’m actually
scared
of you and your little box of tricks? Your charter and your rules mean bugger all to me. So why don’t you stop huffing and puffing and making threats we both know you can’t keep and get your nose out of my private business!”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Gonegal, after a long and frigid silence. “But I don’t believe you and I have been formally introduced.”

“We haven’t been formally anythinged,” said the other Gerald. “But who cares? It doesn’t matter who I am. All that matters is what I want. And what I
want
, Viceroy, is for you to bugger off. I’m expecting an important communication and you’re getting in the way. Don’t call again unless it’s to discuss how you and the rest of the UMN are going to serve Ottosland’s interests.”

Gerald, trying hard not to swallow his tongue, watched his counterpart disconnect from Viceroy Gonegal with a snap of his fingers, then sweep Bibbie into his embrace for an extravagant kiss. Far from being embarrassed by such intimacy in front of practically an entire government, and only one of them family, Bibbie laughed and wound her arms enthusiastically around his neck.

Attaby closed his eyes and waited, like a brutally trained dog.

Turning away, because while he did want Bibbie he did
not
want that, Gerald thrust his fisted hands
into his pockets and crossed to the window. He could feel the shadbolted men’s hungry, disbelieving gazes follow him.

For pity’s sake, don’t look at me like that. I can’t help you. I’m sorry.

Letting his sweat-damp forehead come to rest against the window’s cool glass, he³ cofon stared down into Government Street many stories below. He knew it was Government Street because he could see the Treasury Building, with its distinctive red and blue sandstone bricks and enormous, imposing brass-bound front door. If not for that, though, he’d have been hard-pressed to name it. Government Street was one of Ott’s main thoroughfares; he was used to seeing it chockful of cars and carriages and businessmen and civil servants and government officials and messenger-boys racing up and down on foot and pushbike, tending to weighty matters of state. Even on working days the foot paths were clogged with sightseers ooohing and aaaahing and pointing excited fingers. But this Ott’s Government Street was eerily empty. Three carriages, one black car, a handful of scuttling pedestrians—and no sightseers. Was it his imagination or even so high up, and inside this impotent Cabinet room, could he feel the city’s ambient fear? He thought he could. He thought that if he closed his eyes and listened hard he’d be able to hear the weeping and the stifled gasps of terror.

Another armed airship ghosted by, its shadow blotting out the fitful sun.

How long has it been since New Ottosland, and Lional? Just over a year? How could so much go so wrong
in a year? Are we truly so fragile? Do peace and safety really dangle by such a brittle thread?

Apparently, they did.

Behind him he heard Bibbie utter a deep, petulant sigh. “Gerald, I’m hungry,” she complained. “It’s past lunch time, you know. Government House has a dining room, doesn’t it? Why can’t they feed us? They really should feed us.”

“Bibbie, don’t be a nuisance,” said the other Gerald, impatient. “Weren’t you listening? I’m expecting a call from President Damooj!”

Another sigh. “Yes, Gerald, I know you are. Only have you forgotten it’s practically midnight in Babishkia? President Damooj will be fast asleep.”

The ether trembled with the other Gerald’s displeasure. “He’s got no bloody business sleeping. Not when I’m here waiting for his oath of fealty.”

His
what
? Gerald turned around. “You’re expecting Babishkia to cede its sovereignty to you?”

The other Gerald smiled. “Actually, I’m expecting a lot of things, Professor. But yes, that would be one of them.”

“And if they refuse?”

“Well, let’s hope for their sake that they don’t,” said the other Gerald. Then he looked at Bibbie. “You’re really hungry, Bibs?”

Bibbie pouted. “
Famished.
My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

“Oh dear,” said the other Gerald, grinning. “We can’t have that, can we? All right. We’ll go to the dining room and they can feed us an extravagant lunch. You, me and the Professor. But if after that President Damooj
still
hasn’t called?” Another ominous
tremble in the ether. “Well. All I can say is I’ll be glad that
I
don’t live in Babishkia.” He snapped his fingers. “Come on, Professor. We’re going to eat.”

The thought of food was revolting, but there was no question of refusal. Silent and nause³ile

B
ecause they didn’t know what else to do with him, they’d put the other Monk in Gerald’s bedroom, on his bed, covered him head to toe with a respectful sheet and closed the door. Then they’d gone back downstairs to the kitchen, where Melissande made tea and buttered toast and they sat around not drinking or eating and waited for Sir Alec to tell them what to do next.

Brooding over his cold, greasy bread, Monk made himself not stare at the kitchen ceiling.

I’m dead. I’m dead up there. That’s not right. He didn’t come all this way just to die. He came so I could save him. But I didn’t. I think I killed him.

“Oy,” said Reg, slumpingly perched on the back of the chair beside him. “Don’t you dare start with that nonsense, sunshine.”

He blinked at her. “How could you possibly know what—”

“Don’t make me laugh,” the wretched bird retorted. “I can read your face with my eyes closed, can’t I?”

“She’s right,” said Bibbie, quiet and composed with tears running and running and running down her face. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“Yes, it was,” said Melissande, beside her. “It was the other Gerald’s fault.”

Oh, God.
Gerald
. Midnight was hours behind them. It would be dawn in a while. The sun was going to rise on a world without Gerald Dunwoody in it.

Reg hiccuped, hunched and feather-fluffed. “My poor boy. I always said he never should’ve got himself mixed up with that government stooge. Didn’t I always say it? Didn’t I say nothing good would come of him gallivanting around the world sticking his nose into other people’s nefarious business?”

“Yes, Reg, and you keep
on
saying it, but that’s not what happened, is it?” said Bibbie. Did she know she was crying? It didn’t seem that she did. “At least, we don’t know for sure. I mean, it’s not like you’ve any proof this is Sir Alec’s fault.”

Reg rattled her tail feathers. “Oh. Right. Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’ve decided to go sweet on him, have you, ducky? The dashing and mysterious older man mistake.” She sniffed. “And here’s me thinking you were smarter than that.”

“
What?
” said Bibbie, outraged, and threw a discarded teaspoon across the table at her. “Sweet on Sir Alec? Are you out of your mind?”

“Oh, don’t even
start!
” snapped Melissande. “Put a sock in it, the pair of you! It’s bad enough we don’t know what’s happened to Gerald. But if you two are
going to carry on like
children
you can bloody well go to your rooms!”

As Bibbie opened her mouth to argue, Monk raised a challenging eyebrow at her. Pulling a face she gave up, and slumped a little deeper into her chair¶ si.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m thinking it can’t be a coincidence that the other me turned up here around the same time Gerald disappeared on the way to Grande Splotze. Especially since everything points to him not being in our world any more.”

“So what are you saying?” said Bibbie. “That their Monk crossed over here—and our Gerald crossed over there?”

“I think it’s absolutely possible, yes.”

“But how?” said Melissande. “The other you jiggered his portable portal opener to get here. Exactly how many ways are there to open a door between dimensions?”

He shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Well,
could
you travel between worlds using a regular portal?”

“I don’t see why not,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “It’d be bloody tricky trying it with one of those big commercial portals but the basic thaumaturgics are the same.”

“And what about trying it with a small, unregistered portal?”

Like one of Sir Alec’s? “Sure,” he said, nodding. “You could jigger one of those if you had some serious thaumaturgic juice.”

Melissande looked at him, her green eyes somber.
“Serious as in rogue wizard? Monk, are you saying Gerald isn’t missing at all? That he
left
?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Of course not. But we’ve got more than one rogue wizard in play, haven’t we? And we all heard what the other me said about
him
. I’ll bet you anything you like he’s the one behind our Gerald’s disappearance.”

“Ha! I don’t give a fat rat’s ass what that other Markham boy blathered!” said truculent Reg. “I’m telling you, sunshine, I know my Gerald. And I don’t care
which
version we’re talking about, he would
never
stoop to kidnap or—”

“Or shadbolts?” he said, frowning into his cooling mug of tea. “Enough, Reg. Face facts. Somewhere out there is a wizard wearing Gerald’s face, possessing his rogue thaumaturgic abilities but none of his conscience or decency. A wizard who’s souped himself up on so much dark magic there’s a pretty good chance he’s not strictly human any more.”

“Don’t you say that!” Reg shrieked, all her feathers sleeking and her tail ferociously rattling. “Say that again, Monk Markham, and I
swear
I will poke out your eyeballs and—”

“
Hey!
” He shoved his mug away so hard that it tipped over, flooding the old, scarred kitchen table in a tidal wave of tea. “You think I
want
to say it, Reg? Or even think it? But I was
inside that other Monk’s head
. I
felt
what his Gerald did to him. Only someone who’s completely lost their humanity could do that. And if you think I want to think that about my
best friend
you’re mad!”

Melissande, who’d leapt up from the table and
fetched a cloth to stem the tide of tea, paused in her mopping. “Don’t, Monk. She’s upset.”

“And I’m
not
?” Glaring, he sat back and folded his arms. “Melissande—”

“Oh, shut up, Monk,” said Bibbie. “Reg is upset, you’re upset—we’re all of us upset. This isn’t about who can boo-hoo the hardest, it’s about getting our Gerald back from wherever he’s been snatched to.”

“And finding out what’s going on,” Melissande added, carrying the tea-sopping cloth over to the sink. “I mean, don’t you think this is all a bit odd? If this other Gerald’s so amazingly powerful, what does he want with
ours
?”

“I don’t know, do I?” he said, dangerously close to snapping. At
Mel
. “How am I supposed to know? The other Monk didn’t say and I’m not a bloody mind reader. The only thing we can bet on is that it won’t be anything good.”

“Exactly!” said Reg. “Which means for once in her frivolous life your scatterbrained sister is talking sense. Enough of this sitting around on our asses. We’ve got to nip over to the world-next-door and drag our Gerald back here by the scruff of his neck!”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” said Melissande over her shoulder as she wrung out the cloth. “Wish on a star and hope for the best?”

“What d’you mean
how
?” Reg demanded, staring. “The answer’s right under your silly freckled nose, ducky. We’ve got that other Monk’s jiggered-up portal opener, haven’t we? That’s as good as a battering ram, that is.”

Monk cleared his throat. “Except we haven’t got it any more.”