The Accidental sorcerer

CHAPTER FIVE

As he waited for the etheretic vibrations to connect, Gerald frowned at Monk. 'You know, if this doesn't work I won't have a choice. I'll have to go back to the Wallop and start tailoring. Maybe I should rethink this prejudice against polka-dots, they — '

'Excuse me,' said a harried young female voice from the crystal ball.'Sorry if I'm interrupting your sartorial crisis but you're the one who called me.'

Waving 'shut up' at Monk's snorting laughter he stared into the depths of the crystal ball. Due to the voluminous black veil draped over her face it was impossible to tell what the speaker looked like. Her voice, however, left very little to the imagination. It was crisp and educated and very unamused. 'Yes! Sorry. Yes, 1 did call you! You're right." The shrouded woman nodded. 'More often than not. About the job?' His mind went blank.'What job?'

Across the table Monk had his hand around an invisible noose and was industriously hanging himself.

'Oh, the job! he said, gathering his wits. 'You mean the position's still vacant?'

'If I say yes,' said the mystery woman in the crystal ball, after a considering moment, 'will I regret it?'

'Possibly. But then again so might I. Really, employing someone, being employed — it's all a bit like a blind date, isn't it, when you get right down to it?'

'Is it? I wouldn't know,' said the woman. 'What's your name?' 'Gerald Dunwoody. Professor Gerald Dunwoody' 'And you're a wizard, are you?'

She sounded sceptical. 'Yes,' he said firmly. 'I am. May I ask with whom I'm speaking?'

'Her Royal Highness Princess Melissande,' said the veiled woman. 'Prime Minister of New Ottosland. I take it, Mr Dunwoody, that you've all the proper qualifications and credentials? Diplomas with fancy seals on them and so forth? Proof, in other words, of your exalted wizarding status?'

'Yes, indeed, Your Highness. Or should that be Madam Prime Minister?'

From under the veil came an inelegant snort. 'Your Highness will suffice. Now tell me, Mr Dunwoody. Why should you be given the honour of serving my brother the king as New Ottosland's royal court wizard?'

He risked a glance at Monk, who nodded and made little 'go on, go on' gestures like a stage mother at her child's school play.

'Well,' he said, on a deep breath, 'because I have loads of personality, no pedigree whatsoever, practically no experience and after working in the Ottosland Department of Thaumaturgy the mucking out of any substances at all won't be a problem.'

Another snort. 'It was mucking in, actually, but never mind. How do you feel about butterflies?'

'Honestly, Your Highness? I can take them or leave them.'

'So can I,' said the princess mordantly. 'And you're from Ottosland, you say? Hmm. We've already had a — ' She stopped, as from somewhere beyond the crystal ball's field of focus came a bang, the sound of books crashing to the floor and an anguished cry of pain. Her veiled face turned sharply. 'RupertV

From more or less the same direction a plaintive male voice cried,'Sorry! Sorry! I didn't think — '

'You never do, that's the problem! Don't expect me to divert limited portal access to you again if this — '

'Never again, Melly, never again, I promise! Look, just hire the poor chap and come help me, would you? They're getting awfully stroppy and you know how delicate vampire butterflies are, not to mention expensive. And I simply can't catch them all by myself, I'll get bitten to death!' Princess Melissande sighed. 'Excuse me, Mr Dunwoody. My other brother Prince Rupert has just received a new delivery of butterflies and he's very excited about it.' She looked again in the direction of the complainer. 'Yes, all right, Rupert, I'm coming\ Honestly, I don't know why you had to ignore the packing instructions and open the box now in the first place! And in my office!

Neither did Gerald. Vampire butterflies? Accosted by a vision of pretty flying insects with fangs and a penchant for haemoglobin, he stared at Monk. Monk shook his head vehemently and crossed his eyes, one pointed finger spinning circles round his temple.

And of course Monk was right. Prince Rupert did sound mad. The whole set-up sounded mad. Not the kind of place in which to serve out a hopefully brief exile. Bad enough he had to leave home. The least he deserved was a place where the natives weren't stark staring cuckoo. On the other hand…

Across the table, Monk was shaking his head so hard it looked in danger of falling off, and waving his arms in giant 'Stop! No! Go back!' semaphore signals.

He bit his lip. How did the cliches go? Beggars can't be choosers? If wishes were horses, beggars would ride? The word 'beggar' was distressingly prominent. How long before it could reasonably be applied to him? His savings were negligible, his chances of re-employment here nil…

'Your Highness,' he said, 'if I ask you something will you answer me honestly?'

Her veiled chin shot up. 'I am a princess, sir. We are always honest.'

That wasn't what Reg had told him but this wasn't the time to quibble. 'How many other wizards do you have in the running?' 'Why?'

Because if he had stiff competition for the post he'd retire gracefully from the field. He didn't have time to waste on round-robin interviewing. He needed a new job fast. 'Oh,' he said. 'You know. Just curious.'

A long silence, punctuated by yelps and squeals in the background. Then: 'None. You're the only one.' 'I see.'

Now Monk had an invisible knife in one hand, a neck-stretching bunch of hair in the other, and was busily cutting his own throat.

He took a deep breath. Crazy or not, escapologist vampire butterflies or not, it was a wizarding position. It was out of the country. And there was a very good chance that as a royal court wizard he'd never lay eyes on a pair of polka-dot underpants. What had Reg shrieked at him during their most recent, calamitous argument? You're too timid, Gerald. You're unadventurous and unwilling to take a chance. You're always talking the talk hut you never walk the walk.

'All right, Your Highness,' he said.'I'm in. I'll be your new court wizard.'

Monk threw up his arms in despair. In the crystal ball, New Ottosland's prime minister jumped as though she'd just been bitten by a butterfly. 'You will? I mean, excellent. How soon can you start?'

'Soon. Within a couple of days, I should think. Just a few loose ends to sort out.'

'Really? How fortuitous. Er… do you have portal access?*

Good question. Surely Mr Scunthorpe wouldn't be so petty as to have revoked his portal privileges? He crossed his fingers.'Yes, Your Highness.'

'Excellent. I'm sending you our coordinates… now. Have you received them?'

The green recording crystal in the ball's base was blinking.'Yes, Your Highness.'

'Then on behalf of His Majesty King Lional the Forty-third, allow me to congratulate you on your appointment. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to have you join him in implementing his plans for the kingdom.'

'And please inform His Majesty that I'm thrilled to — ' He stopped. An enormous red and black butterfly had landed on the princess's veiled face. 'Er — Your Highness? There's a vampire butterfly on your nose.'

'Yes,' said the princess. 'I can see that, Professor.' She took a deep breath. 'RupertV

And then the connection was cut, and Monk's crystal ball was a lump of empty glass again. Bemused, Gerald sat back in his chair.

I'm still a wizard, hi fact I'm more than a wizard. I'm a royal court wizard. To a king. Take that, Scunthorpe!

'You're mad,' said Monk. 'Certifiable. You need your head examined. Vampire butterflies! Insane princes! A king with plans! Kings aren't supposed to have plans, Gerald, they're supposed to sit on their thrones and make new kings and that's all they're supposed to do. History is littered with the corpses of fools who got tangled up with kings who have plans'.'

He shrugged. 'History, maybe. But we live in the modern era, Monk. And anyway this was all your idea. You're the one who insisted I apply for the position.' 'Apply, yes! Accept, no!'

Strangely, he was feeling exhilarated. All his life he'd been sensible. Conservative. Hoping for great things but never quite believing they'd happen, at least not to him. Dreaming of grand achievements, heroic accomplishments, but always being brought back to reality with a shuddering thud by a seemingly inescapable fact: tailors' sons from Nether Wallop were not the cloth from which heroes are cut.

So. Perhaps he wasn't ever going to be a hero but he was about to become court wizard to a king. And that, at least, was a grand achievement. Of a sort. He smiled. 'Monk, I'll be fine.'

'You don't know that! And what about the salary? You didn't even ask how much they're paying you!'

'Like you said, the salary's not important. What's important is this job is my express ticket out of town. If I have to hang around here listening to Haythwaite and Co and everyone else going on and on about Stuttley's I think I will cut my throat. Don't you see? This is the answer to a prayer. And you were right: with Royal Court Wizard written on my resume nobody will care about Stuttley's. Not after I've been gone for a while, anyway. So thank you. I think we can officially say you've saved my bacon. Again.'

Monk shook his head. 'I'm not so sure. The court of New Ottosland looks more like a three-ring circus from where I'm sitting. And what about Reg?'

'If the court's a three-ringed circus she'll fit right in.' He sighed. 'Look. If she comes back before I leave, we'll talk about it. If she comes back after, will you tell her where I've gone? She can make up her own mind whether she wants to join me or not. And if she doesn't come back — ' 'I'll do everything I can to find her. But Gerald — ' 'No. I'm going. We both know it's my only choice.'

Reluctantly Monk nodded. 'Yeah. But I still think you should get yourself tested again. There has to be some explanation for what happened. Maybe in a couple of months, once you've settled in at court, you can portal back for a day and we'll see what the Department equipment has to say about you. The dust over Stuttley's will be settled by then. Deal?'

Gerald laughed, the gloom of recent events abruptly vanished. He felt light enough to fly. 'Deal! Now let's go back downstairs to the bar so I can buy you a drink.'

'No, let's go back downstairs to the bar so I cm buy you a drink,' said Monk. 'With luck Haythwaite and his little friends will still be there. I really want to see their faces when I call for a toast to the next Royal Court Wizard of New Ottosland!'

Sadly, Haythwaite and Co had departed. But that didn't stop Gerald and Monk from downing a prodigious number of colourful and highly alcoholic drinks in honour of the occasion. By the time Upjohn the barkeep called 'Time!' they were definitely the worse for wear. Mr Pinchgut, gloomily inured to the excesses of young wizardry, helped them up the stairs, poured Monk into his bed then saw Gerald poured safely into his own.

'Good night, sir,' he said, just before pulling the bedsit door closed. 'I'll be sure to have the kitchen prepare a little something for your headache in the morning.'

Sprawled face-up on his slowly expiring mattress, Gerald listened to the latch click shut and watched the ceiling spin lazy circles overhead. He felt warm and fuzzy and delightfully disconnected. Stuttley's exploding staff factory was a long, long way away.

A feathered shadow swooped through the open window and landed with a click of nails on the ram skull above the bed. He struggled onto his elbows and squinted into the darkness. 'Reg? Is that you?'

'No,' said a snippy voice. 'It's your fairy godmother.'

He thudded back to the sagging bed. 'Thank God! Where have you been? I've been worried out of my mind!' 'Must have been a short trip.' 'Oh come on, don't be like that.'

'I'll be any way I like, thank you very much.' A censorious sniff. 'You're drunk.'

He folded his arms behind his head. 'And you're a bird, but I shall be sober in the morning.'

A short, sharp silence. Then, 'That was unkind,' said Reg, subdued. 'And true.'

A cosily familiar ruffling sound as she fluffed out all her feathers. 'I hear you blew up Stuttley's staff factory and lost your job,' she observed, rallying.'How enterprising of you.'

Of course she'd heard. Reg heard everything. It was one of her more irritating habits. 'Yes, I did. But that's not why I'm drunk.'

'Really? Don't tell me there's more. I'm an extremely senior citizen, Gerald, I'm not sure my heart can take it.'

Slowly, carefully, mindful of his spinning head, he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. 'Look. I'm sorry about the other day. You said a lot of things I didn't want to hear and I lost my temper.'

Another feather-ruffling pause. 'Your apology's accepted, Gerald. I'm sure I don't like to be scathing with you but sometimes things need to be said no matter how uncomfortable they are or how little one doesn't wish to hear them. I've only your best interests at heart, you know, and I — '

'Yes, Reg, I know. I do. Which is why I think you'll be pleased when you hear my news.' Reg heaved a sigh. 'What news?' 'I found another job.' 'Already?'

Sitting up was proving to be a bad idea. He lowered himself by inches back to the mattress and winced as another spring expired, stabbing his backside in its death throes. 'Yes.' 'When?'

'This evening. Over dinner, actually. With Monk.'

'Oh, yes, well, I might've known that young reprobate would be involved!'

'He's not a reprobate, he's a lifesaver. I was all set to give up and go back to Nether Wallop. Monk convinced me otherwise.'

More furious feather-rattling. 'I can't believe what I'm hearing, Gerald! You actually accepted another wizarding position? Without consulting me? After everything I said the other day?'

Another wince. 'Well, you weren't here to consult, Reg. You'd flown off in a huff, remember?'

With a great flapping of wings Reg launched herself from the ram skull and landed on his booted toes. Even through the polished leather he could feel her claws gripping.

'What job? With which organisation? Saint Snodgrass and all her children defend me! Didn't you hear a word I said, Gerald? It takes days to choose a position properly! You have to check your prospective employer's references, his bank balance, his social standing, his pedigree! I don't believe this, it's the Department debacle all over again!'

Gerald peered down the length of his body at her. In the starlight from the open window her dark eyes gleamed, and her long sharp beak. 'Actually it's not. It's about as far from the Department as you can get. Didn't you say it was time I took a chance? Started walking the walk, not just talking the talk? Well, I've done it. This is me, walking. Reg, you are sitting on the feet of the next Royal Court Wizard to Lional the Forty-third, King of New Ottosland.'

'New Ottosland?' she shrieked. 'That obscure, sand-stranded, nothing little backwater?'

'Ah. You've been there,' he said, pleased. 'I rather thought you might.'

'Not recently. And not on purpose. My hot-air balloon sprang a leak and we had to drop in for repairs.' 'How long ago?'

'Three hundred years, more or less.' She shuddered. 'And I remember it as though it were yesterday'

'Well, three hundred years is a long time. Perhaps things have changed.'

'One can only hope so,' Reg said darkly. 'One can also hope that Lional the Forty-third has better manners than Lional the Thirty-Second. He dropped a cocktail onion down my decolletage and then tried to retrieve it with his nose.' Another shudder. 'Disgusting. Of course, if he'd been thirty years younger and five stone lighter it might have been a different story.'

He laughed, and immediately regretted it. His Bearhugger's glow was fading and he was starting to feel distinctly fragile. 'I had to take the position, Reg. Things are just too hot for me here after what happened at Stuttley's.'

She hopped from his toes to his knees then waddled up to his chest where she settled herself like a broody hen. 'So what happened at Stuttley's?'

He told her. Miraculously she refrained from comment until the entire sorry story was finished. 'Well,' she said, her head tipped to one side. 'That Markham boy's right about one thing, anyway: you can't be a common or garden variety Third Grade wizard, Gerald. Not if you can pull off a stunt like that. Haven't I always said there's more to you than meets the eye?' 'Yes, Reg, you have.'

She clicked her beak thoughtfully. 'So perhaps this mad move to New Ottosland might prove useful after all. As royal court wizard you won't be hamstrung by all those tiresome Departmental regulations, for a start. Without the likes of Scunthorpe breathing down your neck we might actually have a chance of finding out what you're really made of.' She made a pleased little sound deep in her throat. 'Yes. Indeed we might. Gerald, I take back everything I said. This is a brilliant move. A strategy worthy of me. I congratulate you.'

'Hang about,' he said. 'I may have been kicked out of the Department but there's still my oath of office, Reg. My wizardry vows. I'm not about to break those. Not even for you.'

She bounced to her feet, impatient, then kept on bouncing as though he were a trampoline. 'Did I ask you to? Of course I didn't! I took vows too, you know, just as binding as yours and a damned sight older to boot! No. We're not going to violate our sacred sacraments, Gerald. But we are going to find out once and for all just how good a wizard you can be.'

One more bounce and he was going to throw up all the Bearhugger's brandy still sloshing inside his stomach. He grabbed her with gentle hands and held her close to his face, squinting. 'We? Does that mean you're coming with me?'

'Well of course I'm coming with you!' she snapped.'Five minutes out of my sight and you're blowing up staff factories! If I turn you loose unchaperoned on the other side of the world Saint Snodgrass alone knows the calamity that would follow!'

He grinned, and kissed the tip of her beak. 'Excellent. I was hoping you'd say that!' As he'd suspected, he was able to wrap up his affairs in two days. On reflection, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad. With his Portal slot booked, all his worldly possessions packed, his shoebox of a bedsit vacated, his mail forwarding sorted out with Mr Pinchgut, and Princess Melissande warned of his imminent arrival, all that remained was to lounge about the club library until it was time to leave, checking every five minutes that he still had the New Ottosland portal address safe in his pocket and worrying that his taxi wouldn't arrive.

He and Monk had said their farewells over lunch near Department headquarters. 'Stay in touch, won't you, Dunnywood,' Monk told him. 'You've got my crystal ball vibration.'

'And you've got mine,' he replied. 'Good luck with your ambient tetrothaumicles, Monk. I look forward to reading all about them in The Staff!

Monk grinned his irrepressible grin. 'And I look forward to seeing you back here. Soon. There's some Departmental testing equipment with your name on it, remember?'

He decided not to tell Monk about Reg's plan: what his friend didn't know wouldn't worry him. They'd hugged, clumsily, then Monk dashed back to work and he'd returned to the club feeling ridiculously bereft.

Now, waiting for the taxi and contemplating the upheaval of his life, he couldn't help a certain amount of trepidation.

It's an adventure, Dunwoody, he kept telling himself. You know you've always wanted an adventure.

Yes. He had. Absolutely. He'd just never expected adventure to feel so… disconcerting.

In due course the summoned taxi arrived. He piled himself, Reg and his pitifully meagre collection of luggage into the cab, gave the driver his instructions, then turned and looked through the rear window at his home of the last three years as it dwindled, dwindled and finally disappeared in the fast-falling dusk. The portal station was crowded with arriving and departing wizards and their luggage. Gerald found a trolley, loaded it up with his suitcases, deposited Reg on the handle and whispered, 'Mind this while I get our coupon and find out which portal they've assigned us. And from hereon out no talking, all right? Remember what we agreed.'

Reg rolled her eyes. 'Yes, yes, I remember,' she muttered.'I'm ancient, not addled. And I still think you're making a mistake. Royal wizard or not, you'll need all the advantages you can get, Gerald, and — '

'And a talking bird could chatter us both into trouble. Let's just see which way the New Ottosland wind is blowing before we start amazing the locals, shall we?'

'Pishwash,' said Reg, and subsided into disgruntled silence.

There was quite a queue at the confirmation booth. By the time he'd shuffled his way to the attendant, picked up his travelling chit and fought his way back to where Reg was waiting like a martyr with the luggage it was perilously close to their allotted departure time. Naturally, the portal he'd been assigned was on the very far side of the concourse. He was forced to run with Reg and the luggage trolley, shouting 'look out' and 'so sorry' as he barrelled through the milling throng.

'Mister Dunwoody!' the supervisor was shouting as he arrived in a panting stagger at Portal 32, where a long line of other travellers waited. 'Third and final call for Mister Dunwoody!' 'Here! Here! I'm here!'

The portal supervisor looked him up and down. 'Cutting it fine, there, Mister Dunwoody.' He held out a white-gloved hand.'Chit, please.'

The next person in line was looking disappointed that he'd turned up in the nick of time. He spared her an apologetic grimace and handed his travel coupon to the disapproving supervisor. 'Here it is. Sorry. There's such a crowd.'

With a grunt that might've meant anything, the supervisor punched the coupon into a small box on a table beside him, examined the result, nodded, and dropped it into a waiting tray. 'Wait a minute, wait a minute, not so fast,' he snapped as Gerald turned to decant Reg and his luggage from the trolley.'Contraband inspection first.'

Oh. Of course. Ignoring Reg's snicker he stood still as the supervisor ran a slender bronze truncheon over him, Reg and his suitcases. Attached to each collar point of the supervisor's plain blue uniform was a small green button. So. The portal supervisor was a fellow Third Grader. Doomed to a life of coupon-punching, truncheon-waving and petty bureaucratic pettifogging.

Poor bastard. And there but for the grace of Monk Markham go I.

'Right you are, sir,' said the supervisor, clipping the truncheon back to his belt. 'AH clear.' He snapped his fingers at a hovering porter, who leapt forward and began transferring Gerald's battered suitcases from the trolley into the waiting portal. Then he took a bottle of pills from the table and held it out. 'Need a suppressative, sir? Only Portal travel does take some folk poorly.' 'No, no. We'll — I'll — be fine.'

'Very good sir,' said the supervisor. 'In that case, you're all clear to depart. If you'd kindly step into the Portal…'

With Reg perched firmly on his shoulder, Gerald stepped.

'Excellent. Have a pleasant journey, sir, mind now, I'm closing the door…'

… and he was spinning through time and space in a kaleidoscope of colour and sound. Then came the feeling that he was falling very slowly — or was it very quickly, he could never quite decide — down a long dark tunnel towards a bright light…

… which turned into a door, which opened onto an enormous, well-lit, unfurnished chamber decorated in various shades of gold. Head whirling, he stepped over his various bits of luggage and out of the portal.

'Hell's bells,' said Reg, hauling herself back into place on his shoulder.'I hate that bloody contraption.'

'My sentiments exactly,' said a coolly familiar voice. 'Good morning, Mister Dunwoody. Or should that be Professor? I confess the niceties of your profession leave me somewhat perplexed.'

Still giddy and somewhat disoriented — he'd never portalled so far in his life — he staggered in a circle until he found the woman attached to the voice.

She was young. Well, youngish. His own age or thereabouts. Vertically challenged, horizontally overcompensated, clad in baggy brown tweed trousers and a plain blue cotton shirt and crowned with a thick braid of rust-red hair that sagged on top of her head like an uncooked doughnut. Her face was round and splattered with freckles, her chin determined, her eyes green and calculating behind wire-rimmed glasses. At her feet languished a long black exclamation mark of a cat, whose eyes were equally green and calculating. 'Bugger,' said Reg. The cat smiled and licked its lips. 'Now, now, Boris,' said the woman.'Manners.'

'Ah,' Gerald said, standing straighter. 'Princess Melissande?' She smiled, revealing a hint of teeth.'Correct.'

Really? This was a princess? Granted he'd never been this close to one before, but all the same… 'I'm sorry,' he said.'I wasn't expecting you to meet me yourself, Your Highness. I thought you'd send a — a — minion.'

'They were all busy,' said the princess. 'Minioning.'Then she sighed. 'Don't tell me, let me guess. You were expecting someone taller, blonder and thinner, yes? Well, it breaks my heart to disappoint you, Mister Professor Dunwoody, but we ran out of that model around here about four generations ago. When it comes to New Ottosland royal princesses, what you see is what you get.' She smiled again, sweetly. 'Deal with it.'

Appalled, he stumbled forward and bowed. 'No — Your Highness — you misunderstand — '

'I expect I don't, you know. But it doesn't matter. I'm more than used to it.' She tipped her head to one side and considered Reg with narrowed eyes. 'That's a most unusual bird you have there, Professor. I don't think I've ever seen one quite like it before. And it talks?'

He spat a silent curse in Reg's direction. 'Ah — yes. She's — she's — a parrot. Very rare. One of a kind, actually. And you know what parrots are for meaningless chatter, Your Highness. 1 strongly suggest you don't take any notice of her. At all. Ever.'

'A parrot?' said the princess thoughtfully. 'Interesting. I was under the impression that parrots are generally noted for the curviness of their beaks and the brightness of their plumage… but there you are. If you say it's a parrot then by all means. It's a parrot. Does Polly want a cracker, by any chance?'

'Thank you, no,' he said, fingers clamping tight about Reg's uncurved beak. 'And her name's Reg, actually. Not Polly. I'm afraid she's a bit sensitive about — '

'How quaint,' said Princess Melissande. She turned on her heel and headed at a determined rate towards a closed door at the far end of the golden chamber. The long black cat yawned and followed. He stared after her. 'Ah,Your Highness — my luggage — ' 'Don't worry, Mister Professor Dunwoody,' said the princess over her shoulder. 'A spare minion will be along presently to see to it. I'd bring my personal effects, though, if I were you. Qualifications and what not. His Majesty might well ask to see them. And if he doesn't I certainly will.'

He turned back, snatched his carpet-bag and hurried to catch up with her.'Actually, just Mister will do, Your Highness. Or Gerald. I'm not really one to stand on ceremony'

'Really?' she said, and spared him another glance.'I am.'

They reached the golden chamber's vast double doors. The princess halted in front of them and waited, an impatient look on her face.

'Ouch,' he said, as Reg nipped him on the ear. 'What was that for?' Reg sighed. 'Open the doors. Blockhead.' He bit his tongue and opened the doors.

'What an interesting vocabulary you've taught your… parrot,' said the princess as she marched past him, the cat smirking at her heels.'I can hardly wait to hear what it comes out with next. Incidentally, I hope it doesn't have lice. Birds do, you know.' Reg squawked. The cat bared its sharp teeth in a grin.

'Oh yes, and by the way, Professor…' the princess added, already halfway down the corridor. 'Welcome to New Ottosland.'