The Accidental sorcerer

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

'On!' shouted Melissande, and kicked her suite's unyielding front doors. 'I hate you! Open up right now or I'll — I'll give you woo amp;wormV

It was an idle threat. Not only did Madame Ravatinka not believe in teaching practical applications of magic until Second Year, she also frowned on offensive thaumaturgy. Because witches were ladies, and ladies were nice, and nice meant doing nothing aggressive.

Thwarted, Melissande hobbled to the nearest chair, shoved its occupying books to the floor and flung herself into it, feeling remarkably foolish. The doors were locked. She knew they were locked. Expecting them to miraculously open with a threat made as much sense as looking for one lost shoe in the same cupboard you've already searched six times.

Staring at the doors she chewed her thumbnail, savagely.

Something was very wrong here. Well, more wrong than being cooped up in these wretched rooms unable to do a stroke of work because the etheretic transductors still hadn't returned to normal and Lional had forbidden contact from anyone beyond the palace which meant every meeting scheduled for the past five days had been cancelled and what that was going to do to the Treasury's cash flow and the kingdom's trade balances she couldn't begin to think about without a cold compress for her forehead and a very large glass of whiskey for the rest of her. Oh dear lord how she loathed her brother.

Returning to the doors she pressed her cheek to the timber and listened. Nothing. She took a deep breath. 'Ronnie? Ronnie, are you there yet? Is anyone there? Answer me!'

Silence. Ronnie was gone and no other guard had taken his place. Neither had Bedford responded to her summons via the bell-rope, and he'd been faithfully delivering her meals since this ridiculous incarceration had begun. It didn't make sense.

'Well,' she said to the world at large. 'Bugger this for a barrel-load of monkeys.'

Muttering, she retrieved from her sock drawer the special set of keys she kept hidden there and returned to her stubbornly locked suite doors. Lional wouldn't like it one little bit, her just letting herself out with incanted keys she wasn't supposed to own, but that was too bad. He shouldn't have turned into such an unreasonable bully. He only had himself to blame. She'd get him to see sense once he'd calmed down. That was one of her greatest talents, getting Lional to see sense in the long run. Usually.

Shoving aside that unwelcome thought, she sorted through the key collection until she found the big one with all the curlicues and stuck it in the lock. There was a sharp crack, an acrid puff of smoke and a flash of unbearable heat. Crying out, she let go of the key ring… and watched the incredibly expensive incanted keys melt and dribble down the varnished timber into a sizzling puddle of bronze on the floor. Her jaw dropped.' What?'

Closing her mouth with a snap she fetched a screwdriver and tried to remove the hinges holding the doors to the wall. The screwdriver sagged like a limp piece of liquorice. No. No. There was a hex on her doors? Gerald, how could you?

Tears welled. Angrily she smeared them away and dropped again into her chair. At least this explained why she hadn't heard from him in over a week. Meditation? Meditation her fat Uncle Albert! Gerald had caved, that's what he'd done. He was aiding and abetting impossible Lional. What pressures her brother had brought to bear on him she couldn't imagine… and didn't much care about, actually. Gerald was a scummy turncoat, full stop, end of discussion.

Damn him. If she could stand up to Lional why couldn't he?

What a rnessl The only person left on her side of the argument was Rupert and there was no point considering help from that quarter, even if she could reach him. Rupert couldn't even help himself. Expecting him to defy Lional and come charging — no, make that fluttering — to the rescue was like expecting Reg to keep her beak shut.

And as if her personal crisis wasn't bad enough there was the imminent national disaster waiting to explode in all their faces once Lional's dealings with the Kallarapi were made public. But instead of being out there in the thick of the action, doing her job, taking charge, organising some kind of intelligent response, she was stuck in here behind a pair of hexed doors without the first idea of how to get around them.

Which meant she was stuck here indefinitely, because those doors were the only way out of her apartments. It was an absolute catastrophe. And if she wasn't careful she was really going to cry.

From the direction of the bedroom came a heavy, clunking-on-glass sound. She stood up, frowning. What the hell?

I've had about as much nonsense as I can take for one lifetime. If you're a burglar you're going to be sorry.

Fists clenched she marched to the bedroom, stopped just inside the doorway and glared into the corners. Then she heard it again, a banging against the windowpane behind those curtains therel

Heavy drapes in either hand, panting, she found herself staring nose to beak at Reg, who was hovering like an ugly overgrown hummingbird on the other side of the window.

'Well don't just stand there, you stupid bint!' Reg shouted through the thick pane of glass. 'Or do you want him to fall screaming to a messy death?'

That's when she noticed the fingers ranged along the window ledge. The window ledge of the window that was seven storeys up the side of the palace wall, that she couldn't escape through because not even all her sheets and blankets tied together would reach the ground and, thanks to Madame Ravatinka, her levitation skills hadn't progressed past lifting and lowering very short thin pencils.

The fingers were bloodless, and clutching the window ledge in a manner that did suggest imminent letting go and a subsequent screaming fall to a messy death.

She opened the window and Reg half-flew, half-fell into the room. 'What are you waiting for?' the wretched bird gasped, collapsed in a heap on the floor.'Pull him in!'

She lunged forward and over the windowsill, grabbed the wrists belonging to the slipping fingers, dug her heels into the carpet and heaved. Inch by inch the wrists became arms, became shoulders with a head centred neatly between them, became a whole body kicking and cursing and scraping over the sill and into her bedroom.

With a startled grunt she overbalanced and fell on the carpet, rump first. The body landed on its face between her outstretched legs. After a grumbling groaning moment, it looked up. She stared.'What the hell? You're not Gerald!'

The body shook the floppy black hair out of its face, offered her an engaging grin and waved its inkstained fingers at her.'Hi there, Your Highness. Monk Markham. Remember me?'

Far too much whiskey. A dip in Gerald's fountain. A wobbly face in his crystal ball. She repressed a shudder. 'Vaguely' she said, and scooted herself backwards to a decorous distance.'How did you get here?'

Markham wriggled himself into a sitting position.'Long story. Where's Gerald?'

She scowled.'I neither know nor care. I consider myself gravely deceived in Gerald Dunwoody'

'Deceived?' Reg demanded, heaving herself unsteadily upright. 'You watch what you're saying about that boy, there's not an ounce of deception in him! And not for want of my trying, either. A good wizard needs a dash of the devious but will he listen? No, he won't.'

'Really?' She glared at Reg. 'Then why did he hex my doors so I can't get out after he swore blind he'd help me?'

'How should I know?' said Reg. 'I haven't been here. But I'll bet you a new hairdo it wasn't Gerald. Or if it was, he had a very good reason. Probably something to do with saving you from yourself. The ether knows you could do with it. Those trousers, girl! With that shirt? With any shirt?'

Just what she needed in a time of crisis: more acerbic fashion advice. 'Of course it was Gerald, who else could it be? And what do you mean you haven't been here? Where have you been? And what are you doing in my bedroom? With Markham? Answer me!' i would if you'd let me get a word in edgewise!' Reg retorted. 'We're in your bedroom because we couldn't get into my bedroom! And we couldn't get into my bedroom because Gerald wasn't there to let us in! Now where is he, ducky?' 'Don't ask me! And don't call me ducky!

Reg glared. 'Why shouldn't I ask you? Are you the princess round here or aren't you?'

'Yes. I am. I'm the princess who's been locked in her suite since the day that rotter Gerald fell off Dorcas! You're his keeper, why don't you know where he is?'

'Because I've been out of the country since the day after that!'

Grabbing hold of a handy chair, Melissande hauled herself to her feet. 'Out of the country? What are you talking about? What the hell is going on around here?'

Markham glanced at Reg, who nodded. He got up, lifted her onto the back of the same chair then pulled a lump of rock from the pocket of his slightly threadbare blue jacket. 'Can you keep a secret, Melissande?'

She looked at him. 'I'm the prime minister of New Ottosland and I have two older brothers, one of whom is Lional, King of Insane and Inappropriate Wedding Plans and the other Rupert, Prince of Butterflies. What do you think? And don't call me Melissande. It's "Your Royal Highness" to the likes of you.'

'It's all right, Monk,' Reg said gruffly. 'We can trust her. She's got the manners of a warthog and the grace of a drunken rhinoceros but unlike Rupert she's not a complete ninny'

She goggled. 'Excuse me? Did you just call me a — '

Markham cleared his throat. 'Okay, ladies, probably right now we should be concentrating on — '

'Oh, why don't you put a sock in it, ducky]' Reg snapped. 'If you can't dress like a princess you can at least act like one. Now listen up. We — '

'Listen up? To you? The biggest mistake I ever made in my life — after hiring Gerald, that is — was listening to you] You're a bird, for God's sake! A scruffy, coarse, drab, irritating, uninvited bird] What do you know about being a princess? What do you know about anything?'

'What do / know?' said Reg, clutching at the chair back to stop herself from falling; she was swaying with exhaustion. 'A damned sight more than you do, ducky, I'll tell you that for nothing! I may well die a bird, dearie, but I sure as shooting wasn't born one. I was born a princess and became a queen and I was a witch to boot. The most powerful witch in all of Lalapinda!'

Melissande opened her mouth then closed it again.Turned to Markham.'Is that true?' Markham shook his head and sat on the end of her four-poster bed. 'Don't ask me. Reg's past is a closed book, Your Highness.'

Frowning, she leaned against a bedpost and considered the bird.'So what happened?'

Reg sighed, it's not important. What's important is finding out what's happened to Gerald.'

'Nothing's happened to Gerald!' She scowled. 'Yet.'

'Urn…' Markham exchanged a worried glance with Reg. 'Look. Not that I make a habit of contradicting royalty, but… we're pretty sure you're wrong.' 'Why?'

'Because a few hours ago the Ottosland Department of Thaumaturgy's thaumatograph's readings hit the roof, kept on going and are currently headed for outer space,' said Reg. 'So?'

'So,' said Markham, 'the source of the readings was New Ottosland. And their cause was the biggest Level Twelve transmog ever recorded. Gerald's the only wizard I know who's capable of successfully pulling one off.'

Oh. She rallied. 'That still doesn't explain what you're doing here.'

'He promised me he wouldn't do another one and he's a man of his word,' said Markham. He looked worried. 'Gerald must've been under duress.' 'Duress? From who?'

Markham and Reg exchanged cryptic glances. 'We're not sure,' he said, cautiously. Then he held up the nondescript rock. 'But it's why I risked using this.' 'And what is that, exactly?' i call it a Stealth Stone. It's a kind of portable portal. You can use it to go pretty much wherever you like without needing any physical apparatus or a destination module, and nobody at the other end is any the wiser when you get there.'

'A portable portal?' she said, peering suspiciously. 'I've never heard of such a thing.'

He cleared his throat. 'That's because I only just invented it. This is a prototype.'

'You invented it?' Despite herself she was impressed. 'How?'

Markham shrugged, it just sort of happened while I was mucking about with transdimensional keys.'

Reg eyed him with proprietal favour. 'He's a bit of a genius himself, is our Markham.'

He slipped the rock back in his pocket. 'Anyway. I haven't told my bosses about it yet. I wasn't even sure it would work. But when the thaumatograph spiked and the Department brass launched into hysterics I thought it was as good a time as any to try it.'

'So that explains how you got into the country. But I'm still waiting to hear how Reg got outV Reg sniffed, i flew.' 'To Ottosland? In what, a week?'

'Four days. It was supposed to be two,' said Reg. 'Only the accelerando wore off prematurely. I had to hitch till my wings worked again.' 'And why did you have to go at all?'

'To find Markham, of course,' said Reg, rolling her eyes. 'And raise the alarm. He'd just finished finding out what happened to all of Lional's other wizards when I reached him, but then he had to convince those idiots he works for he wasn't making it up! I was just about to start cracking some heads myself when the thaumatograph went haywire and they finally took him seriously. Except then they had to form a committee to investigate and we didn't have time to hang about. So here we are.'

She was feeling bewildered, which always made her cross. 'Reg, this is nonsense. Nothing happened to Lional's other wizards. They quit or he fired them. I told you that already'

Markham shook his head. 'I know that's what your brother said, Your Highness, but… he lied.'

Shaken, she shoved a couple of hairpins back into her lopsided bun. 'Nonsense. I've got three letters of resignation in my office. I'll show them to you, assuming I ever get out of this stupid suite.' 'Did the wizards hand them to you in person?'

'Not to me. To Lional. He's the king and they were his court wizards.'

'Fair enough,' said Markham. 'But did you see them afterwards? See them leave, wave them goodbye? Any of them? Or did your brother just tell you they'd gone?'

No. No. No. 'This is ridiculous,' she said automatically. 'What are you suggesting, that Lional — ' The words died in her throat. 'No. You're wrong. He wouldn't — '

'What?' Reg said brutally. 'Make five wizards disappear? Kill them? Why not? He tried to kill Gerald.' 'Kill Gerald? Are you crazy?'

'No, but your pretty brother is,' Reg retorted. 'That riding accident wasn't an accident, ducky. And those other wizards didn't resign or get fired. Lional retired them. Permanently'

'The thing is,' Markham added, 'after they arrived in New Ottosland nobody who knew them — family, friends, colleagues — ever saw or heard from them again. I'm sorry. It's pretty obvious they met with foul play'

'What you're suggesting is ludicrous!' she shouted, and pushed away from the bedpost. 'Lional's not some common criminal, he's a kingl'

Reg snorted. 'Often as not it's one and the same thing. If you'd known the kings I've known, ducky — '

'And he's my brother. Do you think I wouldn't notice a little detail like being related to a homicidal maniac?'

'Trust me,' said Reg. 'Family's usually the last to know.'

'No. This is ridiculous. What possible reason could he have for killing them?'

Reg flapped her wings tiredly. i don't know. Yet. But it won't be good, whatever it is. Face it, dearie. Your brother's demented. Markham checked with the Department's chief Etheretic Weather monitor. As I suspected there's no such thing as polarised lightning. Whatever's wrong with the etheretic transductors around here is wizard-made.' Reg scowled. 'By Lional, I'm guessing, since he's the one who invented that poppycock story.'

She stared. 'Lional can't do magic. It was probably Gerald. Now that he's on Lional's side.' Reg's beak fell open.'He is not]'

'Really? Then who hexed my door? I suppose you're going to tell me that was Lional too?'

'Of course it was! Anybody who'd kill five innocent wizards wouldn't hesitate to hex a door!'

'Stop calling Lional a murderer! You don't know he killed anybody] Former witch queen or not you don't know anything]'

'This isn't getting us anywhere,' said Markham, and headed for the door. 'There's only one way to tell if it's Gerald's hex.'

'Not so fast!' said Melissande, and blocked his path. 'You're Gerald's friend which means you're biased. There'll be no reading of anything without an independent witness!'

She led him out of the bedroom, her insides clenched and trembling.

'Excuse me!' Reg bellowed behind them. 'I'm still recovering from a flight to Ottosland and I'm feeling a little fatigued, if anybody's interested!'

She stopped. 'Wait here,' she ordered Markham, marched back into her bedroom, scooped Reg into the crook of one arm and marched back out again to find that Gerald's disreputable friend had paid no attention to her. She found him in the study, staring at her books.

'You have an… unusual… library for a princess,' he commented, one eyebrow raised.

'So now you're the book police?' she said, and resisted the urge to kick him. 'Let's just concentrate on my front doors. Because if you don't remove that hex we'll all be stuck in here for the forseeable future.'

'Don't just stand there, Markham,' said Reg. 'Run!'

She shoved Reg at him and stalked into the foyer. Markham followed, parked Reg on a handy pile of books and moved to consider the suite's front doors.

'They melted my incanted keys and ruined my screwdriver,' she said, glaring ferociously sideways. 'So don't try and tell me they're not hexed, Mr Markham.'

'Call me Monk,' he said, then laid his right palm against the carved wood and closed his eyes. A moment later he snatched it away again and shook it, hard. 'Ouch! No, they're hexed all right. One hex, very powerful.' 'See?' she said triumphantly.'I told you.'

'It's the strongest barrier hex I've ever come across. But it's not Gerald's.' 'It has to be.' Markham sighed. 'I'm sorry, Your Highness. I'd know his thaumic signature anywhere.' 'Then whose is it?'

'I don't know. But it's a weird one.' He pressed both palms to the wooden doors and shivered. 'More than weird. It's horrible! Reg clacked her beak. 'Horrible how?'

Markham pulled his hands free and wiped them on his trousers, his mouth pruned with distaste. 'I've got an idea but… it's crazy.'

Reg rolled her eyes. 'Then it's probably right. Everything in this cockeyed kingdom is crazy' 'Thank you,' Melissande said coldly.

Reg shrugged. 'No point plucking the messenger, ducky. I just call 'em as I see 'em.'

Ignoring the bird she turned to Markham. 'Explain.'

Markham chewed his bottom lip. 'Every incant has a unique signature. Like — a thaumaturgical fingerprint of the person who placed it.' 'I know that,' she snapped.'So?'

'So this hex hasn't got one fingerprint. It's got lots. As though a whole bunch of wizards performed it simultaneously' 'You're right. That's crazy' it's worse than crazy,' replied Markham. His expression was strained, it's hex soup. I mean, I'm good. I'm really good. And I've neutralised a bunch of hexes in my time. But I don't think I can do this one.'

There was a moment of shared and silent panic. Then she slapped her forehead, i'm an idiot. And so are you. We don't need the doors, we can use your portable portal to escape.'

He hesitated. 'Not necessarily. I haven't had a chance to fine-tune it for short distances. We may end up in the middle of the desert by mistake. Or worse.'

'Oh.' She thought for moment then slapped herself again. 'Oh! Of course! You can levitate us through the bedroom window!'

Another hesitation, then he shook his head. 'I don't think we should go anywhere till I've got a better understanding of this hex.'

'Mister Markham, I have a kingdom to run,' she said sharply. 'Get me out of here and you can spend as long as you like studying your precious hex. Better yet, ask Gerald to explain it.'

Markham slammed the doors with his fist, eyes blazing. 'For the last bloody time, lady, it wasn't Geraldl Gerald's in trouble somewhere, thanks to you! And if he ends up another one of your brother's victims I promise you: someone's going to pay, big time! And I don't have a problem if that someone is youV

There was an appalled silence. Then, panting and grunting, Reg flapped to the marble-topped table by the doors. 'Now, now. Let's take a deep breath and remember what's at stake here.'

'I know what's at stake!' Melissande turned on Markham. 'And don't you threaten me! I've been threatened by experts and I'm not scared! You — '

Reg let out a screech. 'Shut up the pair of you! Wasting time spitting like mangy alley cats when Gerald is out there somewhere expecting us to rescue him!' Silence. Then Markham ran his fingers through his hair.'You're right, Reg. I'm sorry' She crossed her arms.'Yes.Well.' 'All right, Markham,' Reg continued.'You're the genius here, so act like it. How many fingerprints can you sense in that hex?'

Markham sighed, i think… five. And they're all First Grade.'

Reg scratched her head. 'So. Five thaumic signatures… five missing First Grade wizards. Even Boris could do the maths on this one.' She sniffed. 'Where is that long black streak of misery, anyway? Last thing we need is for me to end up as his lunch.'

'One of the maids is looking after him,' said Melissande. 'What do you mean, even he could do the — '

But Reg and Markham weren't listening. They were staring at each other, eyes wide with dismay. is it even possible, Reg?' said Markham. 'I've never heard of-'

'You wouldn't have,' said the bird darkly. 'Seeing as you're a nice young man who doesn't read that kind of grimoire. But I've known men who do, Monk, and I'd say it's more than possible. It's the only explanation that makes any sense.'

Grimoire? 'What, so now you're saying there's black magic involved?' Melissande demanded, i don't believe it. This is getting more and more farfetched by the minute!'

Markham shook his head. 'Sorry. I know this is difficult but we have to face facts. The only way a single hex could contain five different thaumaturgical signatures is if someone stole the potentias of those five wizards.'

Not someone. Lional. Blinking rapidly, she stared at Markham. 'That is nothing more than wild speculation.'

'No,' said Gerald's annoying friend. His engaging grin was entirely absent. Now he looked angry and a whole lot older, it's not speculation. And I can prove it. All I need is something bearing the thaumaturgical signature of one of the missing wizards.'

'Well, ducky?' said Reg, not unkindly. 'Can you help him or would you rather go on sticking your head in the sand? Because all three of us know who's behind this trouble.'

She returned to the bedroom. Snatched up the brown painted tin horse from its special place on her dressing table and took it back to the foyer. i had a birthday a while ago,' she said, stroking the toy with one finger. 'Bondaningo Greenfeather — Lional's wizard before Gerald — gave me this. When you say a special word it — it — canters in little circles, neighing. Or it did. Now it can barely trot, I'm afraid I ran the magic down playing with it. Silly. It's not like I'm a child.'

Markham took the horse from her and lightly held it. 'Yes. Yes, Greenfeather's fingerprint is still quite clear,' he murmured, it's a clever incantation.' He reached out his other hand and pressed it to the door. Moments later his face twisted and his breathing harshened. He pulled his hand away. 'Blimey, that's disgusting!

'Never mind disgusting!' Reg said sharply. 'Did you recognise Greenfeather's signature?' Reluctantly, Markham nodded.'Yes. It's in there.' 'But not Gerald's?' 'No.' 'You're quite sure?' Reg persisted.

'I'm sure,' said Markham. 'Wherever he is Gerald's still got his potential

Reg fluffed up all her draggled feathers. 'Well, praise Saint Snodgrass for that.'

Hardly paying them any attention, Melissande took the toy from his unresisting fingers. Whispered 'tallyho' into its ear then put it on the foyer floor. All her insides felt hollowed out, scoured bare with sorrow. As they watched, the little tin horse lifted its head, flicked its tail and pranced in a slow jerky circle, neighing.

It wasn't till Reg said, in a strangled voice, 'There, there, ducky. Markham, give her a hanky' that she realised she was crying. Lional. Lional. Wlxat have you done?