wizard in New Ottosland right now, Gerald, and you — '
He raised his hands placatingly.'I'm sorry, Monk. I never meant to cause a panic, it's just the situation got away from me a bit and — '
'You think soV Monk took a deep breath and let it out. 'You're damned lucky nobody else has the monitoring capabilities we've got or you'd be up to your eyeballs in an international incident! What did you transmogrify, anyway?' 'A cat into a lion.'
Monk gave a gurgling cry and clutched at his chest, glaring. 'That was heart attack number four, in case you were wondering! Gerald, for the love of serendipity, why'
He scrubbed a hand across his face. 'It's a long story. Look, who else there knows what happened?'
Monk glowered at him out of the crystal ball. 'Nobody. I had a funny feeling I should keep an eye on you, so I gave young Harris an early mark and finished off his monitoring shift. If I hadn't shut off the alarms a split second before they sounded, mate, you wouldn't be talking to me, you'd be talking to a Department board of enquiry. And trust me when I say they have no sense of humour.'
Appalled, Gerald swallowed. 'Thanks, Monk. I owe you.'
'Damn right you owe me! Look, Gerald, you're not yanking my chain over this, are you? I mean, this isn't just some malfunction in our equipment? You really pulled off a Level Twelve transmog?' Deep within, a flicker of pride.'Yes. I really did.'
'Bloody hell,' said Monk, awed. 'Gerald, d'you realise what this means? It means you're a genuine card- carrying geniusl'
Coming from Monk Markham, enfant terrible of the Research and Development community, it was a compliment past price. 'Really? A genius?'
'Yes. And a raving bloody menace! Now you promise me, mate, right here and right now, you won't try anything so crackbrained again!' Monk demanded. 'Because I might not be around to save your roasting chestnuts next time, understand? Your paperwork says you're a Third Grade wizard, Gerald, so a Third Grade wizard's what you'll be until the boffins in Aptitude Testing say otherwise. So. How soon can you get back here? A few days? A week?'
Oh, no. He had no intention of surrendering himself to the Scunthorpes of the DoT. 'I don't know, Monk,' he said evasively. 'Not that soon. It's complicated. I'm under contract and there's a situation… here I've promised to help sort out.'
'Let someone else sort it out,' Monk retorted. 'There's something bloody funny going on with you, Gerald, and we have to get to the bottom of it before whatever it is blows up in our faces.'
Reg rattled her tail feathers. 'He's right, sunshine. Since the cat's out of the bag now there's no point hanging about this dismal backwater.'
Ignoring her, he shook his head. 'Nothing's going to blow up, Monk. I've promised no more funny business and you know I'm a man of my word. I'll just potter along, same as I always do, and when the time is right I'll ask the king to let me portal back for a day.'
Monk pulled a hideous face. 'I suppose that'll have to do.' 'Yes. It will.'
'Fine. But in the meantime, mate, you just keep your nose clean.'
'I will. My word as a wizard. And — thanks, Monk. For everything.'
Monk rolled his eyes. 'Level Twelve bloody transmogs. What'll the idiot think of next,' he muttered, and severed their connection.
'That's a very good question,' said Reg. 'What are you going to think of next, Gerald?'
'Nothing,' he said, and slid off the stool. 'Next I'm going to have a bath. Alone! he added, as she opened her beak.
She shut it again with a snap. He patted her on the head and headed for the bathroom.
CHAPTER NINE
Prince Nerim, only surviving brother to the Sultan of Kallarap, woke from his fitful sleep with a cry, momentarily confused as to where he was.
And then he remembered… and hung his head.
How shameful, to fall asleep during the day beneath the roof of — well, he supposed he couldn't call the King of New Ottosland an enemy. Kallarap and New Ottosland were not at war. Not yet, at least. Not until the gods decreed it. If they did decree it. It was hard to see how they could decree anything else, though, given the barbaric behaviour of New Ottosland's king.
Sitting up on his uncomfortably soft bed in the guest quarters provided by the oathbreaking infidel Lional — he could call him that, anyway, since that's what he was — Nerim hugged his knees unhappily. He wanted to go home.
New Ottosland was so green. There was grass everywhere, and trees, and flowers, and all kinds of hairy animals. The air was so full of smells it was heavy, sitting on his skin like a dirty blanket, and no amount of washing in New Ottosland's profligate waters could cleanse him. It was true: New Ottosland was an unclean, godless land. Not like Kallarap, with its burning deserts and sharp, unscented air and the living presence of the gods all around, their tears, shed for love of the Kallarapi people. Oh, he wanted to go home.
But he couldn't, not until Shugat said. Not until they'd had their audience with New Ottosland's king and spoken the words of his brother the sultan, may he live forever. And when that audience would happen was anybody's guess. The appalling king was keeping them waiting and waiting and waiting… the insult was calculated. Unforgiveable. His brother should force the infidel Lional to his knees for that alone. Shugat should beseech the gods to smite him and all his kind from the face of the world…
Imagining the gods' wrath Nerim shivered, even though there was a fire burning in the room. That was another thing wrong with New Ottosland. It was too cold during the day and too hot at night. How could these New Ottoslanders live here? What were the gods thinking, to have given them -
Horrified, scrambling, he prostrated his body on the carpeted floor. What was he doing? He was questioning the gods! Oh, great Grimthak and Lalchak and Vorsluk forgive him! This New Ottosland was a disease, rotting his brain! Paralysed with penitence, he began to pray
A voice above him enquired, dryly, 'What are you doing, Nerim?'
For one terrible moment he thought it was the flaming voice of Grimthak himself.'I–I — '
'Oh, get up,' said the voice. 'You look ridiculous.'
It wasn't Grimthak. It was Shugat… which was almost as bad and practically the same thing. Shugat was Kallarap's holy man, the most powerful man in all of Kallarap after the sultan, may he live forever. Shugat was learned, he was wise, he was beloved of the gods.
Nerim rolled over and clambered to his feet. 'Forgive me, Shugat,' he said, and pressed his hands to his heart.'I was praying for strength.'
Shugat nodded, looking stern. He always looked stern. And old. It was impossible to imagine Shugat unwrinkled and unbent and subject to the follies of youth.'Strength for what, Nerim?'
He chewed his lip. He hated confessing his weaknesses to Shugat, who had none, nor patience for anyone else's. 'I–I — ' He winced. 'I don't think I can bear this terrible place another day!' he whispered, trying not to wail.'I want to go home!' Shugat nodded again.'As do I.'
'When will the king see us, do you know? It has been days. Does he truly expect us to deliver the words of our sultan, may he live forever, to a mere woman? And not even a beautiful one!'
'The woman is of high estate among her own people,' said Shugat. 'Mock not the ways of other men, Nerim. The gods permit all peoples to live their lives in accordance with their rules.'
He stared. 'But she is ugly, Shugat! And forward and immodest and she speaks like a man! She is an insultV
Shugat smiled, revealing his gums. 'Of course she is. But the insult comes from her brother, not her. Be at peace, Nerim. The king will see us when he judges we have been suitably humbled.'
'Humbled!' He felt another surge of rage.'He is an infidel, not worthy to clean my brother's boots!'
'Even an infidel may have a purpose,' said Shugat, shrugging. 'We are here because the gods sent us. We
