Wizard squared

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A covered, open-backed lorry took them to the ceremonial parade ground. The other Gerald traveled with them, not wanting to let his precious thaumic machine out of his sight. Gerald swallowed frustration. Inconvenient didn’t begin to describe it-now there was no hope of discussing his crazy idea for an evil-twin nobbling incant with Monk. So he consoled himself with holding the other Reg and silently promising her that whatever else happened, when this was over she’d be free to fly away.

As the lorry passed through the gates into the ceremonial parade ground, Monk looked up and saw Lional’s transfixed dragon.

“Bloody hell!”

The other Gerald stared at him. “What is wrong with you? Anyone’d think you’d never seen it before-let alone helped me get it up there!”

“What?” said Monk faintly. “I mean, sorry. No. It’s just-it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I–I forgot what an impression it makes.”

The other Gerald glowered. “One more uninvited word out of you, Monk, and I’ll give that bloody dragon a jockey, I swear.”

They rode in silence the rest of the way.

“So,” said the other Gerald, as the lorry finally ground to a halt. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to stand with me on the dais, both of you, with my machine. You’re going to monitor its status while I begin phase one of my plan. If I don’t like the way either of you so much as blinks — the bird dies. Melissande dies. And if it comes to that, Monk, your sister dies too.” He smiled. “She’s not the only pretty blonde witch in the world.”

“You mean-” Monk had to moisten his lips and try again. “Melissande’s here?”

“No. She’s at home,” said the other Gerald, straightening his lapels. “But believe me, old chum. It makes no difference. I can kill her with a thought from a hundred miles away.”

Gasping, Monk dropped to the lorry floor, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“You see? Just like that.” A wide smile. “Saint Snodgrass’s bunions. I love a good shadbolt.”

Gerald set the other Reg on his shoulder then risked touching his counterpart on the arm. “Don’t be a fool, Gerald. You need him.”

“For the machine, yes,” his counterpart snapped. “But for precious little else, believe me! So if he wants to go on living he’ll watch his bloody step!”

Released, breathing harshly, Monk shakily sat up.

“Now come along,” said the other Gerald, leading the way out of the lorry. “I want this over and done with before Viceroy Gonegal and his pathetic armed airships get here.”

There was indeed a dais. It had been assembled in the middle of the ceremonial parade ground. Crowded onto it were the elected government and appointed senior civil servants of Ottosland, every last one of them still shadbolted to the hilt. He could see Lord Attaby, but not Monk’s Uncle Ralph. The rest of the walled enclosure was crammed full of unshadbolted witches and wizards, their potentias stirring thickly in the agitated ether. Bibbie was there too, at the very front of the dais, resplendent in swathes of vibrant pink silk, pouting because she’d been left alone for so long.

All the smoky half-domes had been removed, revealing the obscene and terrifying exhibits this world’s Gerald had so assiduously collected.

“Monk,” Gerald said under his breath, as they guided the etheretic wave enhancer on its trolley down the lorry’s portable ramp. His friend was walking backwards, bracing it, keeping it straight. “Monk, listen. When you turn around you’re going to see some things. Whatever you do, mate, don’t react.”

Puzzled, Monk blinked at him. “Yeah? All right. Whatever you say.”

But then they hit the bottom of the ramp and the trolley rolled over the flagstones and Monk had to wrestle it a bit-and he turned.

There was Sir Alec, still dying, dressed in flames. There was Lional, ripped and slashed and pinned to the ground. There was the witch whose name he didn’t know, wrapped in a blanket made of her own flayed skin. And wait-there was a new one-he hadn’t seen that one the last time. It was-it was Monk staggered. “Oh my God. That’s Uncle Ralph.”

“Oh, yes,” said the other Gerald, turning. “Stubborn old coot. Y’know, even with a shadbolt he kept on answering back. I didn’t want to lose him, I really didn’t. A First Grade Markham wizard isn’t something you throw away lightly. But-he was setting a bad example. He didn’t give me a choice.”

Uncle Ralph was front and center, directly in line with the dais. Probably the other Gerald had ordered him set there just so Sir Ralph’s former colleagues were reminded to hold their busy tongues. Compared to some of the others here he’d been granted an easy death: a swift impalement on a long, thin, sharpened stake.

“Monk, don’t,” said Gerald, and grabbed his friend’s arm. “Remember Melissande. And Reg. And Bibbie.”

Dazed, Monk shook him free. “Yeah. Yeah. Right.”

Still clinging to his shoulder, the other Reg was making angry noises in her throat. He patted the nearest bit of her that he could reach. “I know, Reg,” he muttered. “But we can’t help him now.”

The truck was retreating, chugging steadily away. The sky above the parade ground was clear of cloud but clogged with airships. The early morning sunshine turned their gun barrels bright silver. Some were pointed at the ground, covering the uneasily silent crowd of captive thaumaturgists; the rest were pointed outwards, waiting for the airships of the United Magical Nations.

When they got here-if they got here-there was going to be a bloodbath. There was going to be a bloodbath anyway, of a sorts. All these wizards and witches, waiting to be enslaved.

Sick to his stomach, Gerald turned to the man in crimson and gold who was wearing his face. He didn’t want to take this other Gerald back through the portable portal. The risk to Ottosland was too great. What if he and Sir Alec couldn’t contain him? What if this murderous madman got loose?

What was I thinking? I can’t risk it. He’s too dangerous. There has to be another way.

“Gerald, listen to me,” he said, cajoling. “You don’t have to do this. There’s still time to change your mind. Deep down I don’t think you want to do this. All these grand plans, enslaving wizards, taking over the world… it’s those grimoires talking. It’s not you. Let me help. Let me fix this. Someone has to know a way of getting that magic out of you. There’ll be questions-and yes, there’ll be a tribunal, you can’t avoid that-but I’ll-I’ll testify about how the grimoire magic changed you.”

Monk was staring at him. “What the- Gerald — ”

“Be quiet, Monk.” Desperate, he looked at his counterpart, willing him to listen. “Not all of this is your fault, Gerald. The magics you gave me, in that hex crystal-hardly anything, and I can feel them inside me, changing my potentia. A teaspoon’s worth of grinwire magic, compared to what you took-and I’m twisted. Only a little bit, but I know the twist is there. I know what you went through. And I know why you did it. You did it to stop Lional, to save New Ottosland. You did the wrong thing for the right reason-and that has to count for something, Gerald. I think it counts.”

The look on his counterpart’s face shifted from bafflement to irritation. “Oh, my God, Professor. You’re as bad as the bloody bird. Now shut up before I shut you up. I might not be able to shadbolt you but I’ll bet I can find a gag.”

Swamped with despair, he shut up.

I’m a bloody idiot. Talking to him is like talking to Lional. He’s too far gone to reach.

And so, just like New Ottosland, this could only end one way. Except this time it wasn’t just him and one insane man getting ready to face each other in a thaumaturgic duel. This time there were hundreds of people who could-who would-get hurt in a confrontation. So this time, terribly, he had no other choice.

Oh, lord. Oh, Saint Snodgrass. I really have to take him home.

“Professor Dunwoody! Sir! Sir!”

As one, he and his counterpart turned. “Yes?”

It would have been funny if the situation weren’t so dire.

Some kind of junior government flunky was panting on a pushbike across the ceremonial parade ground towards them, brandishing a piece of paper. He was so upset he didn’t even notice the horrendous exhibits around him, or the fact that he was staring at two Professor Dunwoodys. Reaching them, he half-leaped, half-fell off the pushbike which clattered onto the flagstones, wheels spinning.

“Sir! Sir! They’ve been sighted, sir! The UMN airships have crossed the border! Scores of them! And they’re heading this way, sir, at a right rate of knots!”

Gerald watched his counterpart’s face flush red, then drain dead white. The ether stirred dangerously, his warped potentia snarling. He snatched the piece of paper from the flunky’s hand and read it for himself. Crumpled it in his fist and threw it at the terrified young man.

“And what about the Jandrians?”

The flunky shook his head. “No sign of them, sir,” he whispered. “Looks like we’re on our own.”

Another threatening sizzle in the air. “Send word to the commander of our airship fleet,” the other Gerald snapped. “Engage the enemy at will. I don’t want to see a single UMN airship over this city, is that clear? And then send a message to Tambotan of Jandria. I want his airships here within the hour. If one Ottish citizen is harmed because he fails to keep his word, his streets will run with Jandrian blood and his head will take pride of place above my fireplace mantel. Tell him to tell his feckless allies the same applies to them. Well? Why are you still standing there? Start pedaling! ”

Almost gibbering with fear the flunky snatched up his pushbike and desperately pedaled away. Behind them, stranded on the crowded dais, Bibbie stamped her stylishly-shod foot.

“Gerald? Gerald! What’s going on? I’ve been waiting for ages. Are we going to do this or aren’t we?”

“In a minute, Bibbie!” The other Gerald raised an eyebrow. “Well, Professor? Are you ready? I hope so, for your sake. Because it’s only fair to tell you that if you and Monk, here, fail to deliver what you’ve promised? I’ll be looking for a bigger fireplace, with more room over the mantel.”

Gerald risked a glance at Monk, who nodded. He looked back. “Yes. We’re ready.”

“Then get my machine up to the dais. We’ve no time to waste.”

As the other Gerald wandered away to inspect his latest gruesome exhibit, Monk glanced at the sky. “I can’t see Reg,” he muttered. “What about you?”

Reg… He risked his own quick look around. “No. But she’ll be here.”

“She’d better,” said Monk. “We won’t have time to wait. Gerald-” Now he was staring at the cowering crowd of wizards and witches who’d been brought here for a group shadbolting. “I don’t get it. Why are they just standing there? Why are they letting him do this? He’s one man, Gerald. It’s crazy.”

He sighed. “Monk, he’s one man who’s managed to shadbolt an entire government. He’s one man who can rain fire upon their heads with a couple of words and the snap of his fingers. They’ve got families-and at least once a week they have to walk around here looking at what happens to people who put him in a bad mood. Now come on. I want to get out of here before the UMN fleet turns up. They’ve got no chance of beating him-which means things are going to get messy, fast.”

There was a ramp ready and waiting for them. With the other Reg clinging tight to his shoulder, her beak still tied shut, he helped his Monk wrangle the other Monk’s invention into position at the front of the dais. Bibbie watched them, arms folded, her beautiful, painted face set into deep lines of discontent. Would she be heartbroken to lose her Gerald, once they dragged him through the portal? It was hard to believe she could love a man who didn’t love her.

She’s not the only pretty blonde witch in the world.

He felt his heart break. Felt the burning sting of tears.

I’m so sorry, Bibs. I wish there’d been time to help you.

“What’s wrong?” Monk muttered as he checked the machines etheretic calibrations. “Bloody hell, Gerald. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“No, of course I’m not,” he muttered back. “Shut up. Is everything set?”

“Well, it’s set from my end,” said Monk, straightening. “But what about-”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

Except of course he didn’t. How could he? This was an entirely unprecedented situation. Not a single hex or incant in his repertoire had been designed to do what he and Monk planned to do here. Not one lecture in his training at Nettleworth had encompassed this kind of mission. In all the history of janitoring there’d never been this kind of mission.

I’ll have to wing it. Just like I winged it with Hal Rottlezinder and his warding hexes. I did it then. I’ll do it now. Because I’m Gerald Dunwoody, janitor, and this is my job.

Overhead, the armed airships of Ott methodically criss-crossed the sky. And somewhere beyond the city were UMN airships, just as determined. This could all go ass over elbows in the blink of an eye.

“ Right,” said the other Gerald, rubbing his hands together as he joined them on the dais. “I think I’ve waited long enough for this, don’t you?”

“ I’ve certainly waited long enough,” said Bibbie, arms folded, toes tapping. “Honestly, Gerald-”

He silenced her with a look. Then he turned. “Professor, why are you still wearing that bloody bird on your shoulder? You look ridiculous. Put it down.”

Oh. Right. Poor thing. Poor Reg. “Is the dais railing acceptable, Gerald?” he said, nodding at it. “There aren’t any spare seats and if I put her on the ground she might get trodden on accidentally.”

“And wouldn’t that be a tragedy?” said his counterpart. Then he sighed. “Fine. The railing. Just hurry up.” He glanced at the sky. “We could have visitors any minute.”

As gently as he could, he plucked the other Reg from his shoulder and made sure she was settled safely on the dais railing. Her eyes warm with appreciation, she gave him a little nod. She even managed to rattle her tail.

The other Gerald snapped his fingers and a rain of rose petals fell from the sky. Then, ignoring Reg, he grasped the dais railing with both hands and swept his gaze around his frightened, captive audience.

“Look, everyone, I know you’re afraid,” he said, his voice clear and carrying. “I know in the last few months there have been many changes which you haven’t always understood. And some harsh measures have been taken that have caused some of you pain. I’m sorry about that. Truly. I wish there’d been time to tread lightly and kindly. To explain everything step-by-step. I wish there’d been time for committees and consultations and working parties and resolutions in the house. But there wasn’t. I had to act swiftly and I didn’t have time to argue every little thing. There are dangers in this world, my friends, terrible dangers. And whether it was by accident, or by some strange thaumaturgical design, I’m the wizard who was in the right place at the right time with the right resources to make us safe. Which is what I’m about to do now. I’m going to make every last one of us safe.”

Silence. The captive crowd of wizards and witches looked at each other, then looked back at the dais.

The other Gerald was frowning. “Well, y’know, I think a thank you would be nice. Bibbie.”

Smiling brightly, Bibbie started to clap. After a moment, behind them, Ottosland’s impotent Prime Minister Attaby clapped with her. One by one his fellow shadbolted ministers and senior civil servants joined in. Bibbie clapped harder. Ottosland’s government followed suit. And at last, grudgingly, the city’s captive thaumaturgists followed suit. Nobody in their right mind would call the applause enthusiastic, but it was loud enough to put a smile on the other Gerald’s face.

Reluctantly clapping, Gerald kept his own face blank and was careful not to look anywhere near Monk. Blimey, he really believes it. He believes everything he just said. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse. Trying to be inconspicuous, he stared around the ceremonial parade ground. There was still no sign of Reg. Where the devil was she? Surely not lost. Or-oh, God, was she trapped back in the Department of Thaumaturgy building? No, no, no. Don’t let it be that. Because once the etheretic enhancer was switched on there’d be no going back. She had to be here, ready and waiting.

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 crescendo. 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 himself 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 her 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, because 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.

A shriek of outrage. A whirling comet of brown feathers. And then there were claws in his hair and hard wings beating about his head.

“Gerald Dunwoody, what the hell are you doing?”

Stunned, he staggered backwards. Monk dropped to the dais again. And then his attacker was yanked away. But-but-it was Reg.

“ Two of them?” said the other Gerald, his eyes narrowed. “How can there be two of them? Two of them is two too many! How did you get here? Which world are you from?”

This new Reg was suspended in midair, held fast by the other Gerald’s thaumaturgical fist. “How do you think, you manky pillock?” she said. “I was traveling in the portal with Gerald. When you yanked him out I caught his coat-tails, so to speak. And I’ve been in hiding, keeping an eye on him, ever since.”

“Is that so?” said the other Gerald, his eyes still narrow with dislike and suspicion. “I find it hard to believe.”

“Then how do you explain it?” the bird demanded. “You think I hitched a ride here on an interdimensional sprite? You opened a window between my world and yours and I flew right through it. So let that be a lesson to you. Next time stay in your own bloody backyard!”

“Actually,” said the other Gerald, smiling, “I think I’d rather let this be a lesson for you.”

Feather by feather, Reg burst into flame.

Monk was screaming again, not in pain but in horror. The other bird with the red ribbon beak was flapping and flailing in avian distress. The other Gerald was laughing. In the blue crowded sky airships burned in hot, bright sympathy.

Reg… Reg… Reg…

Gerald felt something inside him twist-and tear-and break. Felt his rogue potentia overtake him like a tidal wave come to shore. It obliterated whatever hold the other Gerald had upon him. Obliterated too any sense of decency or restraint. Cast him free of all restrictions and let fury off its leash. Unleashed instinct with it, and a wild, wailing grief.

Reg.

Throwing his head back he screamed to the fiery sky.

“Draconi! Draconi! Draconi revenanto!”

Helpless before his blinding rage the ether seethed and surged and rushed to do his bidding. The other Gerald, startled, loosened his fingers and let the charred birdish skeleton in his grasp tumble to ash.

“Gerald? Gerald! What d’you think you’re doing?”

Reg.

He had no words for this creature with the two seeing eyes. No words, no forgiveness, no desire to redeem.

Somebody in the crowd of witches and wizards cried out. “Run! Run! It’s the dragon!”

Pandemonium again-and this time it won the day. Shadbolted or not every captive in the walled ceremonial parade ground broke free of obedient terror and fled. They stampeded from the dais, they stampeded to the gates. They crushed the hideous exhibits beneath their racing feet.

Bibbie was crying. “Gerald-Gerald, stop him. Make him stop this. Gerald! ”

The other Gerald turned on her. “ Shut up, Emmerabiblia, you stupid whining cow! ”

“What?” She stared at him, dumbfounded. “What did you call me? How dare you, Gerald, after I-”

“I told you to shut up!”

Emmerabiblia, like Lord Attaby, fell dead without a sound.

Hardly even noticing, the other Gerald raised both fists. “Think I’m impressed with your parlor tricks, Professor? Think you can scare me by waving a dead dragon in my face? I killed that dragon. I killed the man who had it made. And now, because you’re a moron, I’m going to kill you.”

He shook his head, shuddering. Reg. “No, Gerald. You’re not.”

The other Gerald-his counterpart-absolutely his evil twin-flushed crimson with fury. The ether trembled, twisting dark with his rage. A hot wind stinking of cinders and burned blood whipped up out of nowhere. Above them the airships began to plunge like wild horses.

And riding the scorching thermals came the dragon, reborn.

Feeling it, calling it, Gerald stood silent and stared at himself. Smiled as his counterpart threw curse after curse at him, tried to reignite that controlling incant, tried to set him on fire with a word. He was impervious to all of it, his potentia sheathing him like tempered glass. Every killing incant flowed down him, every murdering hex washed away. He was cold, he was so cold, yet something burned inside him. Burned hot, burned bright, burned itself as it burned.

Blimey. I think I’m dying.

But that didn’t matter-provided he watched his other self die first.

Reg.

The dragon came screaming, poison pouring from its mouth. Came beating the smoky air with its beautiful emerald wings. He heard Monk say something, and turned his head, and smiled.

“It’s all right, Monk. It’s not here for you. Stand still, and it’ll pass. Stand still. Don’t run.”

Exhausted, for the moment, the other Gerald let his arms drop. “You’re a fool, Professor,” he said, his breathing ragged. “I made that thing. I control it. It won’t come after me.”

He smiled. “You made it. You killed it. I brought it back to life.” Eyes drifting closed, he reached out to the dragon. Whispered sweetly into its dead, empty heart. “He’s the one, draconi. He’s the one who took your love.”

“Took what? I did what? ” The other Gerald stepped backwards. “What are you talking about?”

Gerald opened his eyes and laughed. “The Tantigliani sympathetico, you moron. It binds man and beast heart to heart. Kill one and you kill both. Kill one, and murder love.”

The other Gerald blanched to snow. “You’re lying. That’s a lie.”

He looked up. “Really? Am I? Well, you tell her that.”