Wizard Squared (55 page)

Bloody hell, Reg. Don’t do this to me.

Thanks to Bibbie’s enthusiastic example the ragged applause showed no sign of dying down. The other Gerald raised his hands. “Oh, you’re welcome, you’re welcome,” he said, widely smiling. “It’s my pleasure. Honestly, my only interest is in serving you all. And right now I’m going to serve you by asking
you
to
serve
me
. So everybody please relax. There’s no need to panic. You’re going to feel a little peculiar—and then
everything
will be fine. I promise. My word as a wizard.”

Bibbie stopped clapping, and immediately so did everyone else. With a final smile and a wave the other Gerald stepped up to his precious machine and started flipping switches. Moments later the ether began to stir, thaumaturgic currents agitating as the amplifier’s incants came alive. Gerald felt his own
potentia
stir in answer, shadowed eddies an unwelcome reminder of what had been given to him against his will. Felt what he’d have to purge from himself against
its
will, when this was done and he was home again, safe.

He looked at Monk, anxious. His friend would be feeling the machine’s effects too, along with every witch and wizard gathered in this horrible place. Monk was holding on, his face rigid with strain. He risked a glance at Bibbie. She was frowning, fingers tightly interlaced against the uncomfortable thaumaturgic roil.

But the other Gerald? His counterpart? He was revelling in it, grinning, drinking the ether’s agitation like fine wine. His perverted
potentia
was hungry, and fed on discord. Watching him, Gerald shuddered.

I don’t know why that isn’t me. I haven’t a clue why I was spared.

The etheretic pressure was slowly building to a crëuil clescendo. It was nearly time. They had one chance to do this—one chance to stop a madman and save two worlds, maybe more. He looked sideways at Monk, the only man in any world he wanted standing by his
side. Poor Monk. Not a trained government agent, just an extraordinary theoretical thaumaturgist. Dragged into this disaster by the scruff of his neck. Condemned by his own brilliance to be the lynchpin of a deluded wizard’s megalomaniacal plans.

Bloody hell, Markham. I’ll owe you for this.

Meeting his gaze, Monk flicked him a wink. Nonchalant on the surface, but terrified underneath. And he wasn’t the only one. If either of them made even the smallest mistake…

No. No. Don’t think like that, Dunnywood. You can do this. It’s your job.

He took a deep breath, then let it out. One more. One more. This world’s Reg had turned herself around on the dais railings. She was staring right at him, her eyes full of love. He couldn’t look at her. He had to look away.

Oh, God. Reg. Where are you? Come on… come on…

With a silent peal like thunder the etheretic amplifier’s process approached its peak strength. Feeling it, many of the captive wizards and witches cried out. The other Gerald shouted, a raw, shocking sound of triumph, his
potentia
shuddering—and then he started to recite the incant for his planned mass shadbolting.

“
Now, Monk!
” Gerald shouted. Then, as Monk triggered the hexes they’d planted in the machine he spun around to face his dreadful other self. Unleashed his own tarnished
potentia
, lashing out at the other Gerald to throw him off stride and disrupt his shadbolt incant.

Take that, you bastard. Bloody well take that!

But the other Gerald wasn’t easily knocked off stride. Shaking with fury, he pointed at Monk and
snapped his fingers. Monk dropped, writhing, as his shadbolt woke and sank its claws deep.

Gerald leaped forward but Monk waved him back. “Don’t be an idiot!” he grunted, choking with pain. “Stop him while you still can!”

“
Stop
me?” echoed the other Gerald. His wide eyes were mad, promising an appalling retribution. “You bloody idiots. You morons!
You can’t!
”

Laughing, he continued reciting the mass shadbolting hex.

Gerald spared one last look at Monk, tormented and shuddering against a dais railing post. And then he banished outrage and anguish and focused on the plan. The machine’s etheretic amplification wave was still building but Monk’s triggered incant had reversed its direction, sent it seeking, like an arrow, a rogue wizard’s
potentia
. He staggered, feeling its power.

Bloody hell, Monk. I hope we know what we’re doing.

And then there was no time for wondering, hardly any time to think at all. He’d baited his counterpart’s machine with the unique thaumaturgical signature that they shared—and if he could work out how to deflect the amplifier’s attention from himseëtiocoulf
right now
—before the other Gerald realized—before the wave of power found them both—

Oh bugger. Oh, bugger. I don’t know what to do.

He’d thought he could wing it. He’d thought he could make it up as he went along, avoid tumbling headfirst into his own clever trap—

And I can. I can. I’ve got a knack for improvisation. What do I need? What do I need? Bloody hell, I need not to be me…

With a blur of inspiration shooting through him
faster than thought, he turned on his shivering friend and snatched at his
potentia
, as though Monk were a paint pot and he wanted to slather himself green. Not knowing how to do it, precisely, knowing only that he could, even through the mauling claws of the cruel, confining shadbolt. Monk cried out, a sound of fresh shock and pain. Ruthless, he ignored that. For a heartbeat—and a heartbeat—and another pounding heartbeat—he smeared himself with Monk’s brilliant thaumic signature. Made up his own masking incant on the fly. Made himself not-Gerald. As good as invisible. He hoped.

Come on… come on… come on…

And all the while the other Gerald, oblivious, lost in a trance of his own grimoire making, wove his web to ensnare a whole world. Hidden in plain sight, Gerald shifted his attention. Now for the second impossible part of the plan. He needed to jigger with that shadbolt hex and in doing so fool the other Gerald’s shadbolt-proofing into failure. Trick it into accepting the very incant it was designed to defeat.

On a breath, on a sigh, he eased his
potentia
into the shadbolt’s matrix. Just like he’d eased it into Haf Rottlezinder’s warding hex. Sneaky—stealthy—he was a janitor’s janitor—

An odd thaumic
click
. A subtle etheretic vibration.
Done.
The shadbolt matrix was altered. The shadbolt-proofing would be blind. With a shiver, the redirected amplified etheretic carrier wave began to shift and—

And then—
oh, bloody hell—
things went ass over elbows in the worst possible way.

“Gerald!” Bibbie shouted, pointing skywards. “Gerald,
look!
”

Everyone on the parade ground and the dais was looking and pointing… and suddenly the sky had too many airships in it.

“It’s the UMN!” cried Attaby. “God be praised! We’re saved!”

Abandoning incantation the other Gerald turned on him, ferocious. “D’you think so, you tosser?”

A single word, a clenched fist, and Ottosland’s shadbolted Prime Minister dropped dead.

Pandemonium on the dais. Pandemonium in the sky. The other Gerald’s armed airships started shooting at the green and black UMN airships—and the city of Ott erupted in noise and fire.

“Gerald!”
screamed Bibbie, reaching for him. “Gerald, what are we going to do?”

The other Gerald wrenched his arm free and shoved hëee , wer aside. “Shut up, you silly bitch,” he snarled. “I’m going to finish what I started! Once I’ve harnessed these sheep’s
potentias
I’ll burn those airships with a
look
.”

Holding his breath, heart racing, Gerald stepped back. Any moment now, any moment… the ether was shuddering again, the jiggered shadbolt incant burgeoning. Despite the interruption the other Gerald hadn’t noticed. It was all coming together—the plan was going to work—

Hold on, Monk—hold on, mate—we’re nearly home—hold on—

The shadbolt incant ignited just as the amplified etheretic wave struck home, enveloping the other Gerald in a giant thaumic maelstrom. Bibbie shrieked, the other wizards on the dais echoed her surprise, and Gerald flung up his arms against the tremendous flash of heat and light. Moments later
the ether cleared, and his vision cleared with it. Dizzy with relief, he lowered his arms.

The other Gerald, unshadbolted, backhanded him across the face. “Are you a
moron?
You’re a
moron!
Did you think I wouldn’t
know?
Did you think I wouldn’t
feel
you piss-assing about with my incant? What—you thought you could
touch
me?
Me?
The greatest wizard ever born?”

Choking, Gerald pushed himself off the dais railing. His face was on fire. Over the other Gerald’s shoulder he could see Bibbie, avid for revenge. He could see the shadbolted government and its servants, broken by Attaby’s death. The air stank of discharged thaumics and burning airships. Battle raged over their heads, gunfire and screaming. The air boomed and blossomed with scalding heat and raging sound. Too soon to tell where victory would belong. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Monk, up on his elbows. Released from the shadbolt’s punishment, at least for now. The other Reg had hopped down beside him, her long beak still bound with ribbon the color of blood.

I want my Reg. The real Reg. Bloody hell, woman, where are you?

Eyes stinging, he looked again at this world’s terrible Gerald. “Did you think I
wouldn’t
try to stop you?”

“And did
you
think, Professor, that I’d
ever
give you the chance?” Grinning, gloating, the other Gerald snapped his fingers. “Didn’t you learn
anything
from what happened in New Ottosland? Didn’t drinking wine with Lional put you off swallowing things for
life?
”

Swallowing things?
Swallowing things?
What the hell was he—and then he understood.
The crystal.

Pain knocked him to his knees.

The other Gerald was laughing, no,
giggling
with his glee. “I can’t believe you
fell
for it, Gerald. Bloody hell, you are so
soft
. You were so worried about saving Monk and Melissande and whoever that you forgot to save yourself. I swear, I could weep for you. Thank God I found those grimoires. When I think I could be
you
right now? I swear, I could vomit for a week.” Smile vanishing, he clenched his fist. “
Get up.
”

Powerless, he stood.

“Now kill our good friend Monk, Gerald, becauseëGert s he’s been a naughty boy. Go on. Not all of the hexes in that crystal were for my use, you know. You’ve got what you need to squish him like a flea. So come on.
Squish him.
I want to see him bleed.”

The taint in his
potentia
stirred. He could feel the shadbolt incant waking, over-riding his own proof against compulsion. Its shadow crawled before his eyes, blotting out the fitful sunlight and plunging him into a nightmare dark. Growing dim, the sound of airships fighting overhead. Growing distant, the sight of Monk at his feet. Growing stronger, the urge to obey.

The other Gerald slapped him again, more kindly this time. “Well? What are you waiting for? I’ve given you an order. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve got a bit of a crisis on our hands. Gonegal and his UMN busybodies, trying to take the country from me. From
us
. We’re going to run things together, Gerald. I can’t do any of this without you. So
kill
the bastard, would you? He’s standing in our way.”

Dreamily he nodded. Dreamily he turned. Monk Markham groveled at his feet, eyes filled with terror. The bird was crouched beside him, her eyes hot with rage.
Bloody Reg. Tie her beak with red ribbon and she’d still poke it where it wasn’t wanted. He frowned. Reg.

Don’t I know something about Reg?

Never mind. It’d keep. Right now he had to kill Markham. Behind him, Bibbie was bleating something. The other Gerald—the
better
Gerald—silenced her with a slap. Bloody Markham shoved himself onto his knees.

“Gerald—for pity’s sake—
fight
it!” he shouted. “Fight
him
. This isn’t you, mate. If you do this—God, if you
do
this—”

“Put a sock in it, Monk,” he said, and raised his fist.

Monk went down screaming. The air itself was screaming. But—no, no, actually that was an airship of the United Magical Nations. Engulfed in flames, it plummeted blazing towards the ground. And that would likely be his problem too—but not yet. Not until meddling Monk Markham was finally taken care of.

“That’s it!” said the other Gerald, wildly encouraging. “Finish him, sunshine. We don’t need him any more.”

No, they didn’t, did they? It was time for Monk to go.

“Goodbye, Monk,” he said quietly. “Don’t fight it. Just let it happen. It won’t hurt as much that way.”

For the second time he raised his fist. Clenched it tighter—and simultaneously tightened the killing hex. Monk sucked in a deep breath, eyes wide with disbelief. His throat worked—it worked—and blood trickled from his eyes.