Wizard squared

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Abandoned in Government House’s swanky Cabinet dining room, Gerald stared at the ornate clock on the wall. Just over five hours had passed since he’d first opened his eyes in this place. Five of the worst hours of his life-which was an alarming commentary on the state of his life, these days.

I really should’ve been a tailor. If I’d just followed in my father’s footsteps instead of chasing a dream…

Lunch sat in his belly like a lump of ice. Not because the food hadn’t been spectacular. This was Government House, of course it was spectacular. But digestion, it seemed, was beyond him at the moment. Breathing evenly and not screaming-that was about all he could manage right now.

Of course, I could run. I wonder how far I’d get before he found me? For God’s sake, he found me in a portal in an entirely different world. And then he pulled me out of it, with about as much effort as hooking a fish from a lake. What can’t he do, I wonder? What won’t he do in his mad pursuit of power?

Someone must be looking for him by now, surely. Sir Alec had to know he’d never reached Grande Splotze. A bugger, that. Perhaps their only solid lead on the black market wizard who’d sold one killing hex to Permelia Wycliffe and another to someone who wanted the tycoon Manizetto dead-and maybe it was lost. So yes. With so much at stake Sir Alec would be keeping a close eye on his janitor. He’d have to know by now that Dunwoody had vanished.

But has he told anyone? He’d have to tell Monk, surely. Like it or not, he’d have to know his best chance of finding me lies with Monk.

Only… how was Monk going to figure this out? Sure, he and Sir Alec would suspect a kidnapping. Kidnap was an occupational hazard for janitors. But kidnap to an alternate reality? Not even Monk was likely to dream up that scenario.

So I have to face it. I am stuck. On my own. Unless…

But he was starting to think he’d never turn this world’s Bibbie. For one thing he was never going to get her alone. Not with Gerald jealously hovering. And anyway, she was in love with him. She was in love with the power. Even afraid, she was still in love.

She’s not going to listen to me. Which leaves me with this world’s Monk and Reg…

Except Reg wasn’t a witch any more and this world’s Monk was wearing a shadbolt.

Oh, God. Is he going to shadbolt me? He has to sooner or later, surely. He can’t honestly think that when push comes to shove I’ll stand by and let him slaughter tens of thousands, even to keep my two dearest friends safe.

Although… maybe he did. Maybe this Gerald was by now so lost to himself that he really had forgotten his lesson in the cave.

So yes, it seemed likely there was a shadbolt in his future. He wasn’t immune. The docilianti incant Lional had used on him in New Ottosland was a shadbolt’s kissing cousin, and it had worked just fine. Unless… could it be a question of thaumaturgics? Perhaps whatever this world’s Gerald wanted him to do had to be done without a shadbolt’s interference.

Bloody hell, I wish he’d tell me what it is. I wish he’d get this over with. I wish I had the first idea what to do.

But when the other Gerald finally did reveal his plan… what then? Chances were good it was going to be monstrous. Unspeakable. A violation of every wizarding oath.

And I know, I just know, he’s dreamed up a way to make me go along with it. Lord, if only I could throw myself out of the nearest window. That’d put a spoke in the mad bastard’s wheel.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sitting alone here with the trifle and cream. The Cabinet dining room was hexed tight with a dozen binding incants and though he’d tried until his nose bled, he couldn’t break them.

All he could do was sit at the table… and wait.

Tired of being stared at, sick of their miserable, pathetic faces, he banished everyone but Attaby back to their desks. Attaby he sent to sit in a side room, so that he and Bibbie had the Cabinet room to themselves. He took her on the Cabinet conference table, knowing Attaby could hear them, glorying in her wantonness and the flouting of society’s rules. Sometimes he wondered if she’d do it without the wild magics he’d found for her. But every time the thought crossed his mind he crushed it. What did why matter? She did it. She was his.

The Cabinet room’s crystal ball remained stubbornly silent. If Damooj didn’t call soon…

Finished making herself ladylike again, Bibbie perched on the edge of the table and considered him. “Gerald…”

“What?” he said, arms folded in front of him, chin propped on his wrists. The afterglow was fading fast, chased away by impatience and doubt.

“The other Gerald. When you look at him… what do you see?”

He flicked her a look. “Opportunity. Why?”

“No reason,” she said, shrugging. “I was just wondering. It’s odd. You’re the same age… but he looks younger than you. Even with his horrible poached eye.”

“That’s because in every way that counts, he’s a child.”

“I suppose…” She slid off the edge of the table and wandered to the nearest window. The clouds had lowered and thickened. Any minute now they’d start vomiting rain. “Gerald… it is going to work, isn’t it? Your grand plan?”

“Of course it’s going to work,” he said, stung. “Are you doubting me, Bibbie?”

“No, no, no! Of course not!” she said quickly. “Only-well, we’re cutting things awfully close, aren’t we? The UMN’s deadline is almost on us and the machine’s not finished yet and-” She traced a fingertip down the windowpane. “When are you going to tell Gerry about the machine?”

He pulled a face. “Later. Once I’ve dealt with that pond scum Damooj.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, glancing over her silk-clad shoulder. “He’ll toe the line. He doesn’t have a choice.”

“I know that!” he snapped. “I’m not an idiot!”

“Of course you’re not” she said, fingers clenching. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-sorry.”

He flung himself back in his chair and scowled at her. “I should think so.”

The first splats of rain struck the window. Turning her back on them, Bibbie sat on its sill. “What are you going to do about Gonegal?”

He felt his belly tighten. Gonegal. That arrogant pillock. Him and the other nations of the UMN who were too stupid to read the writing on the wall.

Threaten me, would you? You’ve no idea what you’ve done. When I’m through with you, Viceroy, you and your little friends, you’ll look at Sir Alec and think he got off easy.

“What do you think I’m going to do, Bibs?”

She smoothed her outrageously short hair. He’d been so cross at first, when she’d cut it. Now he rather liked the look. “Oh, I think you’re going to make him pay. Provided…”

“What?” he said, sitting up. “Provided what, Bibbie?”

For once she didn’t back down when he bit. “It’s just-well, everything’s riding on the machine, isn’t it? On Monk being able to build it properly in the first place and then you being able to convince Gerry to help you work it. I mean, what if Monk can’t finish it? And what if Gerry won’t cooperate?”

He smiled, then smiled wider when she flinched. “Of course Monk can finish it, Bibbie. He knows what’ll happen if he fails. Besides-since when did Monk Markham not finish what he started? People don’t call him a genius just to see him blush.”

“And Gerry?”

“The Professor?” He snorted. “The only thing that Gerald Dunwoody and I have in common is our rogue potentia. Otherwise he’s so weak I could snap him like a twig. Did you see him nearly burst into tears over Melissande? He’ll do exactly what I want, when I want it and how I want it. To the letter. Because he knows I’ll make other people sorry if he won’t.”

She slid off the window sill and walked to him, every footstep a promise. “And when you say other people…”

You mean me. She didn’t say the words aloud but he could read them in her eyes. She adored him and feared him. It was the perfect combination. Reaching for her, he pulled her roughly into his lap. “I mean other people, Bibs,” he murmured against her cautious lips. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

Before she could answer, the Cabinet room’s crystal ball chimed. He pushed Monk’s sister onto the floor. “Attaby! Get in here!”

Shadbolted Attaby, so delightfully obedient, appeared in the doorway. “Sir?”

He nodded at the chiming crystal. “Answer it. If it’s Damooj, you know what to say. And you know what I want to hear.”

“Sir,” said Attaby, wooden as a pine tree.

With Bibbie standing beside him, tossing him reproachful glances, he sprawled in his chair and watched Attaby answer the call. The chiming stopped, the green flashing stopped, and the image of a familiar face formed deep in the clear crystal. It looked wonderfully frightened.

“Prime Minister Attaby. I’ve called to give you my country’s response to your… request.”

Attaby nodded. “President Damooj. We were beginning to think silence was your answer.”

Damooj’s pale skin flushed an unbecoming dull red. Since his last communication his yellow hair had been cropped close to his skull. It gave him the look of a man suffering from a rampaging fever.

“No, no, not at all, Prime Minister,” he said. His voice was cracked and close to breaking. “But these matters-they must be discussed-debated-mulled over-put to a vote. You understand, sir. They cannot be rushed.”

Attaby closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, President Damooj. I remember.”

“I’m sorry?” said Damooj, frowning. “I don’t-”

He rapped his knuckles on the conference table, making Attaby jump. And when the shadbolted fool looked at him, he raised a warning finger. It was all he needed; Attaby shuddered, nearly swaying with fright.

“President Damooj, I am a busy man,” he said huskily. “Give me your answer.”

“You already know my answer,” said Damooj, through gritted teeth. “We capitulate. Babishkia’s wizards and witches are being rounded up as we speak.”

“To be held under thaumaturgical lock and key?” said Attaby. “In a secure and secret location?”

A bead of sweat rolled down Damooj’s cheek. Or was it a tear? It was hard to tell the difference through the crystal. “Yes. As directed.”

Attaby nodded. “That is satisfactory. Continue the good work. A-a-representative of my government will be contacting you in due course. Well done, President Damooj. You’ve made the right decision.”

Damooj didn’t answer that. He just disconnected the call.

“Oh, Gerald! ” squealed Bibbie, and kissed him. “It’s happening. It’s really happening. Everything is falling into place, just like you said.”

Delighted, he leaped up from his chair and romped her around the Cabinet room in a fast waltz. Ending the impromptu dance with a dip and a kiss, he then turned to Attaby.

“We have our military on alert? And the portals locked on to Babishkia?”

Attaby nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“What about their portals?”

“Disabled, sir, as you ordered.”

“Excellent. Then as soon as Damooj confirms their arrests are complete give the order, Prime Minister.”

Attaby nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Gerald, this is so exciting,” said Bibbie, clapping her hands. “Ottosland’s very first invasion.”

Yes. And once Babishkia fell, the other lesser nations would fall twice as fast… provided he was able to hold off Gonegal and his short-sighted allies in the UMN.

But failure wasn’t something he thought about. He couldn’t fail. He was Gerald Dunwoody.

He slapped Bibbie’s temptingly rounded behind. “Go and fetch the Professor, Bibs. Taking Babishkia won’t help us if the machine’s not ready. It’s time Gerry rolled his sleeves up and got down to work.”

Bibbie’s hand on his shoulder startled him out of his doze. Seeing her sweet face beside his, smiling, he thought for the briefest moment that it really had been the worst kind of dream. And then he blinked… and the Cabinet dining room swam back into one-eyed focus.

The disappointment was so sharp that he gasped.

“Come along, Gerry,” said the Bibbie with short hair and makeup. “Gerald wants you.”

In numb silence he followed her back to the Cabinet room, where his counterpart was sitting in a chair with his crossed heels on the conference table. His only company was shadbolted Prime Minister Attaby, whose dull stare was carefully trained upon the carpet.

“Ah! Professor!” said the other Gerald, with a genial smile. “There you are. Ready to go?”

He was desperate to know what they’d been up to while he twiddled his thumbs in the dining room. He wanted to ask, but something dangerously brittle in the other Gerald’s voice dissuaded him. Whatever had happened, he thought it had sickened Attaby. There was some new strain in the shadbolted man’s gray face…

The other Gerald swung his feet to the floor. “Right. So, now that things are under control here for the next little while, you and I and Bibbie are going to-”

On the conference table, the large crystal ball chimed.

“Damooj again?” said the other Gerald, surprised. “My word, that was fast.” He glared at Attaby. “Well, come on man, don’t stand there like a noggin. Find out what he wants!”

“Yes, sir,” said Attaby, and accepted the call.

The crystal ball’s flashing green light was replaced by a man with a wolfish face and bright blue eyes full of disdain. Gerald felt his blood leap. Tambotan of Jandria. Jandria? What the devil was this?

Attaby flicked an anguished glance at the other Gerald and eased a finger between his collar and his throat. “Ah-Prime Minister Tambotan. Greetings, sir.”

“I do not care for your greetings, Attaby,” Tambotan snarled. “I want to speak to him. Send for him immediately.”

Bibbie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Y’know, Gerald,” she whispered loudly, “I’m beginning to think it was a mistake to pay Jandria any attention at all. Tambotan can’t seem to grasp he’s not in charge.”

Standing, the other Gerald cupped his hand to the back of her neck and kissed her, hard. “Don’t fret, Bibs. He’ll grasp it soon enough. But I do appreciate you getting all… hot and bothered… on my behalf.”

Bibbie laughed, but she was blushing. “I’ll always get hot and bothered for you, Gerald.”

“Glad to hear it,” the other Gerald said. “Now shut up. Like politicians, beautiful women should be seen and almost never heard.” Abandoning dumbstruck Bibbie, he approached the crystal ball. “What d’you want, Tambotan? I thought I made it clear I wasn’t to be bothered again.”

“And I thought I made it clear,” retorted Tambotan, “that there would be no alliance with Jandria unless certain conditions were met.”

The other Gerald was smiling, but he wasn’t amused. “I met the conditions I was interested in meeting. You can wait for the rest.”

“Why should I?” demanded Tambotan.

“You haven’t proven yourself trustworthy, that’s why,” the other Gerald retorted. “Once you’ve lost a few dozen of those airships I helped you build, defending Ottosland from the UMN, then I’ll think about giving you something else.”

Tambotan’s glare should have ignited the ether. “At least give us the weapons you promised. The thaumaturgically-enhanced guns.”

The other Gerald heaved a put-upon sigh. “You see, Professor?” he said, turning. “This is what happens when you give people things without getting something in return. They start taking you for granted. I swear, the way he keeps putting his hand out you’d think I was a genie in a magic lamp.”

Gerald cleared his throat. “You gave the Jandrians airship designs? Didn’t you have the war here, too? When they used airships to-”

“Yes, yes, but that was then and this is now,” said his counterpart impatiently. “Now they’re fighting with us, not against us. At least that’s the idea.” He turned back to the crystal ball. “All right, Tambotan. You can have the souped-up guns. I’ll make the arrangements. Just you be ready, you and the others, in case the UMN won’t take bugger off for an answer. Right?”

Tambotan, his eyes narrowed, touched his forehead in formal salute. “We’ll be ready.”

“Of course,” said the other Gerald, once the crystal ball connection was severed, “what Tambotan doesn’t know is that I’ve embedded an incant in the weapons that means one word from me and they’ll go up like fireworks. Never give a man a gun unless you’ve made sure he can’t point it at you, Professor. Bibbie!”

Bibbie roused out of her slouching sulk. “Yes?”

“How long has your brother been shut away in his lab, now?”

“Um-” She frowned at the ceiling. “Three days, twelve hours and twenty-four-no, make that five-minutes.”

“Really? Is it that long?” said the other Gerald briskly. “Gosh. I’ll bet the poor chap’s lonely. I think he’d like some company, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Bibbie. The sly smile was back, as though she and the other Gerald were sharing a private joke. “I’m sure he would.”

“Then let’s pay him a visit and see where he’s up to. For his sake I hope he’s got the job done, as promised. Professor-”

He let himself feel the depth of his relief. Monk. Oh, thank God. “Yes, Gerald?”

“Anything you wanted to say to this fool before we go?”

He stared at silent Prime Minister Attaby, whose chain of office was a sad and terrible prank. “No. No, not really.”

The other Gerald laughed, and slapped himself on the head. “I’m an idiot. I wanted to say something. Attaby?”

Attaby stood to attention, his eyes frightened. “Sir.”

“This is Gerald Dunwoody,” said the other Gerald, waving his hand. “Don’t let the silver eye fool you-” He glanced sideways. “Did you know the color-incant’s worn off, Gerald? Anyway-remarkable as it may seem, this man is me. More or less. To be strictly accurate, he’s another version of me. And that’s all you need to know about that. He’s here to work with me, to ensure Ottosland’s supremacy. Which means that you’ll be answerable to him too. In due course. That’s all. I just wanted to keep you apprised of developments. You can get back to work now.”

Attaby bowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Right then,” said the other Gerald, turning away as though Attaby had ceased to exist. “Off we go. I can’t wait to see what Monk’s come up with. Although-” Heading for the door, he glanced behind him, one arm draped around Bibbie’s shoulder. “I should warn you, Professor-our good friend’s looking a little the worse for wear these days. Try not to go on about it. Turns out Mr. Markham’s a bit more sensitive than we thought.”

“Oh,” said Gerald faintly, following. “I see. Well. Thanks for letting me know.”

Bloody hell. You bastard. What have you done?

They drove through the almost empty, rain-splattered streets to the Department of Thaumaturgy building, where they were waved through to an empty underground garage. Feeling sick again, dreading what he was about to find, Gerald followed his counterpart and Bibbie up three flights of basement stairs and into the building proper. Looking around, he recognized his own Monk’s Research and Development laboratory complex-but it seemed deserted. He couldn’t sense the presence of any other wizards. Even the ether was silent, no eddies and currents of thaumaturgic activity. It didn’t feel like R amp;D at all. So where was everyone?

I don’t think I want to know.

Noticing his confusion as they headed down the central corridor, the other Gerald grinned. “Don’t worry, Professor. The Department’s other wizards aren’t dead. They’re just-otherwise occupied.” The grin widened. “Bloody Errol Haythwaite. Is yours still alive?”

He nodded warily. “Yes.”

“So’s mine, more’s the pity,” said his counterpart, leading them out of the main corridor into a maze of shorter, narrower corridors linking a series of small thaumaturgic labs. “I keep hoping he’ll give me a reason to squash him like a bug, but he doesn’t. God, I hate him.”

“You need a reason to squash him?” he said, remembering those other awful exhibits in the parade ground. “I’m surprised.”

Spinning so he was walking backwards again, his counterpart frowned. “Watch it, sunshine. I’m the only one who gets to be sarcastic around here.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. “Sorry.”

“You will be, if you’re not careful,” said Bibbie. “We might need you, Gerry, but that’s not to say there’s bits of you that can’t be dispensed with at a pinch.” She smiled that sly smile. “And then there’s Melissande, don’t forget.”

The other Gerald gave her a pleased nod. “That’s my girl.”

The trick was not to listen when they said things like that. “So why haven’t you squashed Errol? Made him part of your outdoors amusement park?” he said. “Since you hate him so much, and since I can’t imagine he didn’t try to interfere with your plans-why isn’t he dead?”

The other Gerald heaved a sigh and spun around to walk face-forward again. “You tell me, Professor.”

How much do I hate that I know how he thinks? “Because you never know when a top-notch First Grade wizard might come in handy.”

His counterpart laughed. “You’re a fiendishly clever man, Gerald Dunwoody.”

“So where is he?”

More laughter, rich and filled with a genuine delight. “He and his dear friends Kirkby-Hackett and Cobcroft Minor, shadbolt-shackled to the eyeballs, the bastards, are currently slaving as kitchen hands in the greasy bowels of Government House. In fact, they’re probably washing our lunch plates as we speak. And to think-Errol used to be one of Ottosland’s premier airship designers. How’s that for revenge?”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. The idea of superior, elegant Errol up to his elbows in dirty pots and pans…

“I thought you might appreciate the notion,” the other Gerald said, grinning. “What’s he doing in your world? Something menial, I hope.”

He stopped laughing. Bugger. “I-don’t know. Errol and I lost touch.”

“I never liked him either,” said Bibbie, her eyes smoldering with remembered resentment. “At parties he always used to try and look down my dress.”

Stunned, Gerald stumbled. She’d said that before. No. His Bibbie had said it. At home. In the parlor. Bibbie and Monk and Mel and Reg and him, working together to solve the mystery at Wycliffe’s.

God. What is wrong with me? I can’t laugh with these people. She’s not my Bibbie. I’m not their friend.

The other Gerald frowned. “Something the matter, Professor?”

Oh, only everything. “No.”

“Not feeling sorry for Haythwaite, are you? Because if anyone deserves a good shadbolting, he does.” They’d reached the end of the latest corridor, and a massively hexed door. Halting, spinning around again, the other Gerald smiled beatifically. “Saint Snodgrass be praised, Professor. I bloody love a good shadbolt.”

With an effort he kept his breathing slow and steady. “I’ve noticed. So why aren’t I wearing one?”

“Because, Professor,” said his counterpart, smile fading, eyes sharply watchful again, “as you know perfectly well, you’re shadbolt-proofed. Just like Sir Alec. Exactly like Sir Alec, actually. I don’t suppose you’d like to explain that, would you?”

I’m what? Since when? “No, not really.”

The other Gerald considered him closely. “Blimey. You didn’t know you were shadbolt-proof, did you? How’s that possible, a wizard with our potentia? ”

Sir Alec must’ve done it-or had it done-at some point during his janitor training. Sneakily, and undetectably. Probably during one of those interminable tests. Was Monk a part of it? He gave new meaning to the notion of sneaky and undetectable. But why do it and not tell him? What would Sir Alec have to gain by keeping it secret?

When I get back home, he and I are going to have some words…

His heart thudded. When I get back home. But the way things were looking he wasn’t going to get back, was he? Barring some kind of miracle he was trapped in this appalling, madhouse mirror world. And if that miracle didn’t come in the shape of one Monk Debinger Aloysius Markham, then he was pretty sure it would never come at all.

“Professor?” said his counterpart, seeming more alarmed than cross. “Your wits are wandering again. Should I be taking you to see a doctor?”

Bloody hell, if he so much as suspects I’m a janitor that’ll be it. I’ll have no hope of escape.

“What?” he said, trying to sound harmless. “No. I’m fine. I’m just-” Discovering how good I am at tap-dancing on eggshells. “I’m trying to remember when it could’ve happened. The shadbolt-proofing.”

The other Gerald raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Cover story, cover story, he needed a plausible cover story… A good janitor, Mr. Dunwoody, knows how to think on his feet.

“Well, I can’t be certain,” he said slowly, “but-I think it might’ve been when I was still a compliance officer. I needed money. You remember how skint we were. R amp;D was starting some paid double-blind thaumaturgic trials. Monk never told me what they were, just said they were perfectly safe. The boffins must’ve been testing a new shadbolt-proofing incant. They never explained either, and I didn’t ask. R amp;D-they’re so bloody hush-hush. It was about a month before the accident at Stuttley’s. You didn’t-that didn’t happen here?”

“The accident happened,” said the other Gerald. “Not the R amp;D trial.”

He shrugged, doing his best to look innocent and bemused. “Oh. All right. Odd, isn’t it, the bits and pieces of our worlds that don’t fit? Well, anyway, that’s the only explanation I can think of.”

And truer words have never been spoken. At least not by me.

“It makes sense, Gerald,” said Bibbie, slumped against the corridor wall and trying not to look bored. “Now honestly, can we see where Monk’s up to and then go? Because I’d really like to-”

His sharp look having silenced her, the other Gerald folded his arms and tapped his fingers, edgily thoughtful. “What is it you do these days, Professor? Back in your world?”

Ah. Right. Damn. His counterpart’s lack of curiosity had always been too good to last. What do they say? The easiest lies are the ones we tell ourselves? “I… consult, Gerald. Solve problems of a thaumaturgical nature.”

“And how is it you know Sir Alec Oldman?”

Careful now, careful. “Well, I wouldn’t say I know him,” he said, casually dismissive. “We’re slightly acquainted. We crossed paths after I got home from New Ottosland.” He shrugged. “Sir Alec was just one of a long line of government busybodies I had to put up with while the dust was settling. Look-how come you don’t know this? I mean, if you’ve got the wherewithal to pluck me from my world into yours, how can you not know who I am there?”

The other Gerald smiled thinly. “The plucking, as you call it, Professor, is a brand new feat. As it stands I wouldn’t call the technique precisely refined. But don’t worry. Once Monk’s taken care of a few other tasks I have in mind he’ll be turning his prodigious talents to the reading of alternative dimensions. In fact, we all will. But for now first things first. Just like dominoes, worlds need to fall one at a time.”

It was the off-handed way the words were said that made him ill.

Bloody hell. So that’s it. That’s his grand plan. It’s not enough to rule one world. He wants to rule them all.

“What?” said the other Gerald, reading him like a book. “Oh come on, Professor. Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

He didn’t know what he was… except terrified and sick.

Sighing, the other Gerald unfolded his arms and pressed his left hand flat to the locked door before them. With a blinding surge of power the tangle of warding hexes on the door deactivated, blowing them all back several paces.

“What did you expect, Professor?” said his counterpart, grinning. “Keeping Monk Markham penned isn’t exactly child’s play.” With a snap of his fingers the de-hexed door swung open. “After you.”

The first thing he saw, walking into the unsealed lab with the other Gerald and Bibbie on his heels-was Reg. This world’s Reg. Crammed into a cage dangling from a tall stand, tail feathers sticking out through its bars, fluffed-up and miserable. Her beak was tied shut with a length of red ribbon. When she saw him she made a strangled sound of surprise.

He stopped dead.

You bastard. You utter, utter, pillocking bastard. I will kill you for this. I swear you are dead.

With a bang and a thaumic blast, the laboratory door swung shut behind them, the warding incants reigniting.

The other Gerald put a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t be too careful, Professor. Like I said, this is Monk. And look, there she is. Reg. Didn’t I say you’d be seeing her?”

He swallowed acid and bile. “Get her out of that damned cage, Gerald.”

“I will,” the other Gerald said. “In a minute. Say hello to Monk, why don’t you?”

Oh, yes. There was Monk. This world’s Monk. Shadbolted like Attaby and the others, and barricaded behind a veritable wall of thaumaturgical apparatus, monitors and etheretic flux capacitors and test tubes and various bits and pieces he couldn’t put a name to, wearing an expression that could only be described as stunned.

“Gerald…” he whispered.

“Actually,” said the other Gerald, “to avoid confusion, I’m calling him Professor. Your sister’s calling him Gerry. You can call him whatever you like-but I’m the only Gerald here. Understood?”

“What?” said the other Monk. He shook himself like a wet dog. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Sorry.”

The small, windowless laboratory stank of discharged thaumaturgics and the ether quivered with echoes of thaumic activity. A table shoved against the right-hand wall was littered with dirty plates and cutlery. Crowded with discarded mugs. There was a single gas ring in the corner unlit, and an icebox beside it. A narrow door in the left-hand wall offered a glimpse of bathroom. Along the same wall was a bedroll, a pillow and a heap of blankets. How long did Bibbie say this Monk had been here? Three days and counting? The lab was a cage.

“So,” said the other Gerald, as his Monk Markham continued to stare. “How have you been getting on, old chap?”

Monk blinked. “Getting on?”

“Don’t play the idiot, Monk,” Bibbie snapped. “Because you know what happens when you play the idiot. Gerald gets cranky, you get punished and I’m the one who has to listen to you scream. So if you love me like a big brother’s supposed to, just answer the bloody question.”

“Bibbie,” said the other Monk. And now he was staring like he’d never seen her before. Reg, in her horrible cage, banged her beak against the bars. Monk flinched. “Yes. Of course I love you, Bibs.” He looked at his Gerald. “I’m sorry. It’s not finished.”

“ Not finished?” said the other Gerald, his voice silky with displeasure. “ Why not? Monk, you told me all you needed was a few more days in absolute solitude, so you could focus. You swore to me that in a few more days it would be done. So why isn’t it done? You know the timetable. You know what’s expected. Monk, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. Bibbie-”

Bibbie looked at him. “Yes, Gerald?”

“Now would be a good time to stick your fingers in your ears.”

As Bibbie turned away, clapping her hands to the sides of her head, the other Gerald snapped his fingers. And Monk-the other Monk-dropped howling to the floor.

“Stop it!” Gerald shouted, lunging at his counterpart. “Bloody hell, Gerald. Stop it! He’s your friend! ”

“Mind your own business, Professor,” the other Gerald retorted, and clenched his fist.

The ether surged and he flew through the air to smack into the nearest bit of wall, flicked aside as though he were a pestering fly. He struck the plastered brick so hard bright lights burst before his good eye and all the stale lab air was punched out of his lungs. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping, and watched himself watch Monk’s suffering with no sympathy at all.

Reg was banging her head against the cage.

And then Bibbie tugged at the other Gerald’s arm. “That’s enough. If you need him you can’t keep hurting him like this.”

The other Gerald spared her an irritated glance then snapped his fingers again. Monk stopped howling.

“You’re a bloody idiot, mate,” the other Gerald said, sounding weary. “When you know what that shadbolt can do, why the hell did you have to go and disappoint me?”

Sheet-white, the other Monk staggered to his feet. “You think I wanted to?” he said raggedly. “I’ve been working non-stop, Gerald. I’ve been slaving around the clock. I need help. This bloody contraption-I don’t have what it takes to get the job done. You’re the only wizard in the world with the potentia to make this work. You’ll have to stay and help me. It’s the only way you’ll have it in time.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” said the other Gerald, frowning. “I’ve got about a million things to do, Monk.”

Bracing himself, the other Monk lifted his chin. “Then you’ll have to stay disappointed, mate. Because I’m officially at the end of the thaumaturgical road.”

The other Gerald laughed. “No, you’re not, Monk. You should’ve let me finish. Why d’you think I brought you a visitor? I can’t stay here and help you-but he can.”