Wizard Undercover

Epilogue

“Bloody hell, Alec. Bloody, bloody hell! Do you have any notion of what you’ve done?”

Sir Alec finished signing his name, neatly placed his pen on the desk, set aside his monthly expense report and then looked up.

“By all means, Ralph, come in. Take a seat. But be so kind as to shut the door after you first.”

Shutting his office door was of paramount importance. It might be late-these kinds of conversations were always conducted in the dead of night-but Nettleworth was never entirely deserted.

Ralph slammed the door and started pacing. “I told you, Alec. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say this damned mission would end in tears?”

Sitting back in his chair, Sir Alec swallowed a sigh. “Surely it’s to be expected. Weddings are, I’m told, emotional affairs.”

Ralph’s glare was hot enough to combust a forest. “I’m not talking about the bloody wedding! I could care less about the Splotze-Borovnik wedding! Damnit, Alec! What the devil are we to do with this-thiscreature you’ve created? That bloody dirit should’ve killed him stone dead in heartbeats. And thanks to those grimoire incants and his rogue potentia, it didn’t! What have you to say about that? About any of it? The things he did-he’s unprecedented, Alec! And it’s all your fault!”

Creature. Resisting the urge to swear, Sir Alec kept his expression impassive. “Calm down, Ralph, before you burst a blood vessel.”

“Trust me, Alec, this is bloody calm!”

Ah. “Would you care for a drink?”

“No, Alec, what I’d care for is an explanation!” Ralph retorted. “What I’d care for is knowing how you intend to stuff this bloody genie back in its bottle!”

It would be far easier to answer Ralph’s ire if he weren’t, in his own way, feeling equally alarmed. “Ralph, you are borrowing trouble. There’s no need. Mister Jennings tells me-”

Ralph waved a furiously dismissive hand in passing. “To the devil with Jennings, Alec! He’s as clueless as the rest of us. Admit it. You don’t know what Gerald Dunwoody’s turned into and you’ve no more idea of how to control him than I have!”

“What I know, Ralph,” he said, very carefully, because his own temper was starting to stir, “is that Gerald Dunwoody saved the day for us. Again.”

“With a lot of help from my niece!” said Ralph, still glaring. “And that’s another thing, Alec. Emmerabiblia! D’you know she’s started dropping hints the size of carthorses about gels in the Department?”

Because he was more than a little irritated with Ralph, he smiled. “Indeed? Well, she certainly proved her mettle in Splotze.”

Ralph leapt to the desk and banged both his fists on it, hard. “Don’t you dare, Alec. I’m warning you. Don’t you bloody dare. I won’t have Bibbie dragged into our world. Not again. This Splotze business will never be repeated, do I make myself clear?”

He stared at Ralph’s fists until they were removed, then looked up at his sometime friend, sometime foe, and shrugged. Emmerabiblia Markham. What a surprise that young lady had turned out be. The various mission reports had proven to be… interesting… reading.

“Quite clear, Ralph. Only I expect, at the end of the day, it won’t be up to me. Or, dare I say it, you.”

“Perhaps not,” said Ralph, close to snarling. “But it won’t be up to her, either.”

He wasn’t sure about that, but neither was there any point in arguing. Young Bibbie was Ralph’s niece. Let her be Ralph’s problem, at least for the time being. He gestured at the chair on the other side of the desk.

“I understand. Now, please, Ralph, do sit down. There’s no reason that we can’t discuss this like sensible men.”

Ralph stepped back. The mingled despair and contempt in his eyes were a sharp reproof. “There’s nothing to discuss. Clearly you’re not interested in entertaining any suggestion that Gerald Dunwoody might now be more than even you can handle.”

He dropped his gaze to the desk. Dammit. He’d never seen Ralph so angry, at least not at him. The situation was untenable. Ralph Markham was an indispensible ally. If he let pride destroy their complicated relationship…

“I’m sorry,” he said, resting his clasped hands before him. “If I gave you the impression that I feel your concerns are trivial, Ralph, I apologise.”

Which neatly took the wind out of Ralph’s bellicose sails. He sat. “You did.”

“Then I was clumsy.”

“You were.”

“I am sorry.”

“Yes. So you’ve said.” Ralph drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “But let’s not get maudlin. What matters now is how we’re going to deal with your precious Mister Dunwoody.” A shiver. “Who makes my skin crawl, Alec. I’ll not pussyfoot around it. These changes in his potentia? They make my skin crawl.”

Jennings had said the same thing, in a slightly more technical manner. And as for his own skin…

Dunwoody’s more unsettling than ever. I can’t deny that. But unsettling isn’t evil. Gerald Dunwoody isn’t evil.

“Something’s got to be done, Alec,” Ralph said, more kindly. “I know you’re fond of the lad, but-”

Fond. A ridiculous word. “I agree,” he said briskly. “Mister Dunwoody’s situation cannot be left unaddressed. For any of our sakes. But I’m not prepared to let fear propel me into a decision I might later regret.”

Ralph was bristling. “Fear? Who said anything about fear?”

You did, my friend, and we both know it. “A poor choice of words,” he said smoothly. “My point is that we can’t unring a bell, Ralph. What we need is a little breathing space, so we can think the matter through calmly, and decide what to do next.”

Ralph snorted. “And I suppose you’ve got that all organised, have you?”

“Well…” He permitted himself a small smile. “As it happens, I do have an idea.”

“And am I going to like it?”

“I hope so. King Rupert of New Ottosland has expressed a desire to introduce a little modern thaumaturgy into his moribund kingdom. Nothing too extreme. A limited public portal network, a few labour-saving devices here and there. He wondered if I might be able to assist him. I thought perhaps Mister Dunwoody could prove helpful.”

“New Ottosland,” Ralph said slowly, considering. “That’s a nice long way away. And then there’s the Kallarapi desert. All that sand, and New Ottosland like a little island in the middle…”

“Precisely.”

“Out of sight, out of mind, that sort of thing.”

“Indeed.”

Now Ralph was smiling. “And in the meantime, Alec, while Dunwoody’s busy emptying scorpions out of his underwear, you and I-and possibly that ghastly nephew of mine-can come up with a way to get him under control. Permanently.”

Not at all. But he wasn’t about to spoil things with another argument. Not yet, anyway. “So, you agree?”

Ralph sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

“Always,” he said, lying without compunction. “But I really do feel this is the answer, at least for the time being. Now, Ralph, are you quite sure I can’t pour you a drink?”

Nine days after his return to Ottosland, Gerald found the events in Splotze were starting to take on a slightly unrealistic air. Even with the report writing, and the hours of poking, prodding, intrusive tests with Mister Jennings, and the scattering of conversations that had taken place here in Chatterly Crescent, a certain dreamlike feeling persisted.

Of course, that bizarre sense of I wonder if I didn’t imagine it all wasn’t helped by the sight of Sir Alec at the town house’s kitchen table, sharing an informal meal. He’d turned up at the front door, uninvited, just as Melissande was making mushroom gravy, despite unsolicited culinary advice from Reg, and Monk and Bibbie were laying the table. So of course he’d been asked to stay.

To their scarcely hidden alarm, Sir Alec agreed.

Now it was nearly half-past eight. Over the course of an hour and a half they’d eaten their way through an appetiser- onion soup, not crab puffs-then roast beef with all the trimmings, and finally an apple and blackberry pie with generous dollops of cream. Conversation had been desultory and mostly about the foibles of famous thaumaturgists, long dead. Nothing awkward or Department-related at all.

“So,” said Sir Alec, elbows negligently resting on the kitchen table. “The Splotze-Borovnik affair.”

Gerald exchanged glances with Monk. I knew it was too good to last. Then he looked back at Sir Alec. “Yes, sir? What about it?”

“In the end, it was a rather grubby crime, really,” Sir Alec said, sounding mildly offended. “A distasteful dog’s breakfast of passion, misplaced patriotism, and greed.”

That was one way of looking at it, certainly. A very simplified way. But given the enormous list of secrets, both classified and unclassifiable, that the six of them now kept, he had to wonder how long simple could last.

And what was the tally this time? Bibbie’s two dead bodies and his own grimoire-enhanced potentia and the restoration of his sight and Reg and Monk’s enterprising but completely illegal forays into espionage. And Dodsworth, of course. There were probably more, but he was tired and full of food. Those were enough to be going on with.

Perched on the back of her chair, Reg rattled her tail. “What I want to know, Mister Government Stooge, is did we ever uncover the truth about those bloody Lanruvians?”

Sir Alec nodded. “As a matter of fact, Reg, we did. Ambassador Dermit has proven himself to be a fascinating conversationalist.”

“And?” said Reg, when it seemed no-one else felt brave enough to prod. “What did our Steinish chatterbox have to say?”

Sighing, Sir Alec steepled his fingers. Though he was dressed in his customary nondescript grey suit, he had unbent far enough to loosen his tie. It made him look positively debauched.

“Let’s see if I can keep this straight,” he murmured. “Since between them, our players have turned this into something of a melodrama. Norbert of Harenstein encouraged the match between Ratafia and Ludwig in order to lull Hartwig and Erminium into a false sense of security regarding his friendship and the disposition of the Canal. His intent, however, was to bind Erminium to him, encouraging her to rely on his judgement above her own, so that he might in due course undermine the newly formed alliance between Splotze and Borovnik, and the marriage between Prince Ludwig and Princess Ratafia, thus ensuring that the Canal came under Steinish control, with Borovnik the paper partner.”

“Yes, yes,” said Reg. “The political quickstep. It’s all horribly familiar, I’ve seen it a hundred times before. But what about the bloody Lanruvians?”

“Yes,” said Melissande. “And Leopold Gertz?”

Sir Alec’s lips twitched, very faintly. “Former Secretary of State Gertz’s motives were, alas, driven by the personal. In some ways he, too, is a victim. Norbert of Harenstein learned of his history and ruthlessly manipulated it for his own ends.”

“What history?” said Bibbie, drawing patterns on the tablecloth with the tines of her fork. “I never thought Gertz was enough of a person to have a history. He was always just… that damp little man.”

Sir Alec’s gaze was cool and steady. “We are all of us persons, Miss Markham, however plain and damp and lacking in brilliance we might be.”

As Bibbie’s cheeks tinted pink at the reproof, Gerald reached for her other hand under the table and squeezed. His precious, precocious Emmerabiblia. They’d have to talk, and soon. What with one thing and another there’d been little time before now. And, if he was honest, a need for some distance. She’d felt it too. They’d both been hiding.

But that can’t go on. There are things we need to say. Things we can’t hide from, even though they’re hard to look at.

Under the table, Bibbie’s fingers closed around his.

Melissande rearranged her spoon on her empty plate. “What was Leopold’s history, Sir Alec?”

Sir Alec’s expression softened ever so slightly towards regret. “When he was a child, his father was killed in one of the Splotze-Borovnik Canal skirmishes, and apparently the loss disordered his wits. Seeded in him a hatred of Borovnik that bordered on madness. It seems he genuinely believed that in ruining the wedding and the treaty he was saving both Prince Ludwig and his beloved Splotze from a fateful mistake.”

Monk was frowning. “Fine, I can see where and why Gertz did his bit. But that rockslide at the Hanging Bridge-from what Gerald’s said, it could easily have killed Ludwig and Ratafia. How could Norbert’s plan have worked if they were dead?”

“Obviously it couldn’t,” Sir Alec said, his eyes faintly approving. “That was a miscalculation on the part of Dermit and Volker. Fortunately for Norbert of Harenstein, Mister Dunwoody was at hand.”

Gerald cleared his throat. “And Miss Markham.”

“Indeed.” Now Sir Alec’s expression was repressive. “But the less said about that, the better.”

Right. Giving Bibbie a quick nudge under the table, he risked a sideways glance at Monk, whose shoulder twitched in the smallest of shrugs. They’d not done much private talking either, since his return from Splotze… and now there was more to say then ever. The grimoire magic. Bibbie. Where they all went from here.

But that can wait, too. Right now I need everything to wait.

“All right, all right,” said Reg, with an emphatic tail rattle. “So we’ve established Norbert’s a villain and poor little Leopold was simply misunderstood. Not that it excuses him poisoning my Gerald, but since the boy didn’t die I’ll let that pass. For now. But that still doesn’t explain-”

“The bloody Lanruvians,” said Sir Alec. “Indeed. An intriguing puzzle piece, they’ve proven to be. According to Ambassador Dermit, Norbert had reached a mutually beneficial agreement with our pale friends. In return for giving their cargo barges unrestricted and uninspected access to the Canal, once it was in Steinish hands, the Lanruvians would give him the wherewithal to take control of the region’s unreliable etheretics.”

“What?” said Bibbie, astonished. “But-is that even possible?”

“Maybe,” said Monk, after a look at Sir Alec. “That restricted equipment Aylebsury said they were trying to get their hands on? There’s a good chance it would’ve helped them make good on their side of the bargain.”

“Or at the very least advanced their cause far past the point where I, and Sir Ralph, and any number of other concerned parties would be comfortable,” said Sir Alec. He gave Bibbie a small nod. “So now it seems we are in debt to both of your brothers, Miss Markham.”

“So… what?” said Melissande, frowning. “After the near-disaster at the bridge they decided Harenstein couldn’t be trusted to succeed?”

Sir Alec sat back. “Certainly that’s one explanation. But I don’t begin to understand the machinations of the Lanruvian mind.”

“Speaking of the bridge,” said Reg, “has that manky bugger Dermit turned up yet? Or his knife-happy offsider?”

Gerald held his breath. Dermit and Volker’s bodies had been thaumaturgically disposed of, their deaths comprehensively lied about. As far as Sir Alec and Sir Ralph and everyone else was concerned, Norbert of Harenstein’s co-conspirators had seen the writing on the wall and fled. He’d not wanted to lie about it, not to Sir Alec, but what could they do? Risk Bibbie being arrested for murder?

Bloody hell, Reg. What are you playing at?

But Sir Alec was shaking his head. “No, they remain unaccounted for.”

“Well, I hope you find them,” said Bibbie, playing dangerous games. “And throw them into a dungeon. I mean, they did try to drown me in the Canal.”

“Indeed,” said Sir Alec, at his most bland. “We’re doing what we can.”

Did he harbour even a sliver of suspicion? Nothing in his expression suggested it. But then, he was an expert at keeping secrets

…

“And what about the cherries?” Bibbie added. “Was that Leopold’s daft idea?”

“Yes,” said Sir Alec. “Norbert encouraged him since it helped undermine Splotze, which was his primary goal. I understand the marquis promised Gertz a great deal of influence in the cherry liqueur business as a reward for his help.”

“Norbert,” said Melissande, in tones of deep loathing. “Honestly, I could kick myslef. I should’ve known he was rotten. I mean, how difficult is it to remember someone’s name?”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Miss Cadwallader,” said Sir Alec, surpringly kind. “Nobody suspected Harenstein. After all, not every villain struts the stage twirling his moustache and loudly proclaiming his evil plans. Which is a pity, since it would certainly make my job a lot easier.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“Nothing public,” said Sir Alec. “There are talks going on, behind firmly closed doors. Everything is being handled with the utmost discretion.”

Monk shook his head. “The whole thing’s been handled that way. It’s been very impressive, really. Well. You know.” He looked at Bibbie. “Except for the part where the palace burned down.”

Bibbie thumped the table. “It did not burn down! Will you stop saying it burned down? There’s still a palace there, right?”

“Yes,” Monk murmured. “A charred, sooty, smelly, burned palace.”

“Anyway,” said Melissande, with a daggered look at Monk and Bibbie, “my point is, Sir Alec, will Norbert be punished for what he did?”

Sir Alec hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, Miss Cadwallader. He will.”

“Good,” she said, fiercely smiling. “Then please be so kind as to give me his postal address when he’s settled in his new and hopefully very dungeon-like accommodation. I shall write to him once a week. Dear Norris. Dear Nigel. Dear Neville. Dear Nugent.”

Gerald, watching Sir Alec, thought it was the closest he’d ever seen his self-contained superior to outright laughter.

“So it’s over?” said Bibbie. “We won, they lost, three cheers, pip pip, hoorah?”

“As far as anything like this can ever be said to end, Miss Markham? Yes,” said Sir Alec, very cool. “Ludwig and Ratafia are now man and wife, the new Canal treaty has been signed and ratified, and as a result we can look forward to a new era of peace and prosperity in the region.”

Melissande snorted. “Provided Erminium stays out of the way. But I, for one, won’t be holding my breath.” She favoured Sir Alec with a narrow-eyed stare. “Now, since it seems we’re tying up all the loose ends, what about Abel Bestwick? I mean, without him Norbert would’ve got everything he wanted.”

Ah, yes. Bestwick. Talk about complications…

“That’s a Department matter, Miss Cadwallader,” Sir Alec, his expression bland again. “Don’t let it concern you.”

Melissande pointed a finger at him. “But it does concern me. I want your word he’ll not be punished for wick-dipping with Mitzie. She helped save the day too, y’know. And they’re in love.”

A pained look ghosted across Sir Alec’s face. “Indeed.”

“Well, then?”

“Well, then, Miss Cadwallader…” Sir Alec shrugged. “You have my word.”

Gerald nearly swallowed his tongue.

“And what about-” Monk hesitated. “Well. You know.” He waved his hand. “Everything else.”

Sir Alec raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mister Markham.”

“You know,” Monk said, scowling. “The embassies and so forth. You were s’posed to sort that out with Uncle Ralph.”

The eyebrow climbed higher. “Was I?”

Sitting beside him, Bibbie patted his hand. “Ignore him, Monk. He’s teasing. I had tea and crumpets with Uncle Ralph this morning and everything’s fine.”

Monk slewed round to stare at her. “You did? Why didn’t you invite me?”

Bibbie’s smile was poisonously sweet. “You told Dodsworth the palace burned down.”

“Bloody hell,” Monk muttered. “I give up.”

Under cover of more lively sibling nattering, Gerald looked at Sir Alec. “And what about me?” he said quietly. “Does Mister Jennings have an opinion?”

“Perhaps, Mister Dunwoody, this is neither the time nor place to-”

“You might as well tell me, sir. We both know I’m going to tell them after you’re gone.”

Sir Alec frowned. “Indeed. Well, Mister Dunwoody, in a nutshell? Mister Jennings is reluctant to draw a definitive conclusion as to what has happened to you.”

“Ha,” said Reg. “I’m not. You should sack that tosser Jennings and give me his bloody job. What happened, Mister Clever Clogs, is exactly what you hoped would happen. The grimoire magic you left behind in Gerald, on purpose, and don’t you think for a moment any of us was fooled by that little ploy, has grafted itself well and truly into my boy’s rogue potentia. Whatever he was before his little jaunt into my world, well, he’s twice that now, at least… and it might be only the beginning. That’s the explanation, sunshine. So. Are you happy now?”

Silence, as they all looked at Sir Alec. Silence, as Sir Alec looked back at them.

“Obviously,” he said at last, “there will be no discussion whatsoever with anyone outside this room regarding the events that transpired in Splotze. In fact, it would be best if you never discussed them again, either.” His lips pinched. “Of course, I say that purely as a matter of form, since I know perfectly well you’ll talk of nothing else for the foreseeable future. But as far as my Department is concerned, the Splotze-Borovnik file is closed. And I think I can safely say the same opinion is held by Sir Ralph. Mister Markham, you’ll return to your duties in Research and Development, while the rest of you will get back to Witches Inc. And should I have need of your services again, Mister Dunwoody, be sure I shall find you there. And now I’ll bid you good night.” He stood. “It was a delightful meal. Thank you.”

They sat in silence after he left. Then Reg broke the hush with a vigorous rattle of her tail.

“Right,” she said briskly. “So that’s that. At least for now. And you know what they say. All’s well that ends well. So, who wants more pie?”