'Now you're being ridiculous,' said Monk. 'Lots of civilians have enough sparkle to use a ball. That stopped being part of the aptitude test years ago and you know it.' 'Yes, but — '
Monk sat back in his chair, disgusted. 'Look, mate. Just call them. Or don't. Go back to Nether Wallop and spend your life as a pin cushion. Makes no difference to me. Just make sure to warn me before you tell Reg you passed up this chance so that / can get out of the country' He looked away. 'Reg is gone. She left me.' ' WliatV 'We had a fight, she — '
'Oh, like that's never happened before,' said Monk. 'Don't worry, Gerald. She'll come back. She always does.' 'No. No.This time was different.'
Monk rolled his eyes. 'Look, Gerald. All external evidence to the contrary she's a woman. And you know what women are like.'
Yes, but Reg was no ordinary woman. 'Look, I'm worried about her, Monk, all right? It's a big bad world out there and — '
'And she's survived in it for a long, long time,' said Monk, and slapped the table. 'Reg can take care of herself. You're the one in trouble at the moment. You need to make a decision. The wild adventure and solemn glory of wizardry… or slaving for your cousins in Nether Wallop where the most exciting thing you'll see in a month is a pair of men's polka-dot underpants.'
Yes, well, when you put it like that… Heart uncomfortably thudding, Gerald retrieved the Orb. Stared at the address listed at the end of the advertisement. Ever helpful, Monk lifted his crystal ball from the windowsill and plonked it on the table.
'Go on. Quick. Before somebody else gets the job.' He made the call.
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.'
