friend!'
Whirling, he gestured wildly at the open doors; they slammed shut so hard the hinges nearly buckled.
'What am I going to do, Reg? What the hell am I going to do?'
Reg sighed and stretched one wing above her head.'Well, for starters you're going to calm down.'
'Calm down? How can I calm down? You were there! You saw what happened! If word of this gets out I am finished] I am sanctioned into the middle of next century] And most likely I'm in gaol]'
She sighed, and stretched the other wing. 'Stop panicking, Gerald. Word isn't going to get out.'
'You don't know that!' he shouted. 'Good God, with my luck five minutes after the Kallarapi delegation unsaddles its last camel there'll be a report on its way to the Department!'
'Oh, Gerald! Enough with the hysteria! Shugat could just as easily go home and tell his sultan 'Slight change of plans, sunshine. Put on your prettiest turban, you're going to a wedding!' So how's this for an idea? Why don't we wait to see what happens before you start picking out a fetching prison ensemble?'
He groaned, still pacing. 'Wedding. Oh lord. Melissande's going to kill me.'
Reg tipped her head to one side consideringly. 'Not necessarily. The wretched girl might be secretly in love with Zazoor. This could be the best news she's had since she heard about sensible shoes.' He stopped pacing.'You think?'
Reg sniffed. 'Well… no. But at the rate you're going you'll be throwing yourself into that fountain to drown and I can't see me pulling you out in time. Not with my arthritis. And anyway she won't blame you. How can she? None of this is your fault. Lional's not your barmy brother.'
'Trust me, that won't make any difference!' he retorted.'I was there and I didn't stop it! Of course it's all my fault!'
'Well, you heard what His Raving Majesty said. It's a question of duty. She might not like the idea of marrying Zazoor but she is a Melissande and — '
'Oh Reg, come on!' he said, and started pacing again. 'Can you see her meekly trotting off to live the rest of her life in a tent? Leaving Lional here with no-one but Rupert to keep him in check?'
Reg deflated. 'Damn. Now you've got a point.' Then she brightened. 'I know,' she said, cackling. 'Maybe we'll get lucky and old Shugat'll stir Zazoor up for an invasion and when the sand settles there won't be any Lional left to explain away or cause any more grief!' 'Regl That's a terrible thing to say!'
She snorted. 'Maybe, but are you going to tell me the idea doesn't give you a happy tingling feeling?'
Possibly it did but that wasn't the issue. 'This isn't about getting him killed. I'm a wizard, not an assassin.' 'I know, I know,' she said, placating.
'God! He pressed the heels of his hands against his aching temples. 'What the hell am I going to do?' 'Call that Markham boy.'
Abruptly tired of pacing, Gerald slumped into the nearest chair. 'Why? The last person I can tell any of this to is Monk.'
'Of course you can't! You can't talk about today to anybody outside this foyer!' said Reg. 'But you do need to find out if he's tracked down any of those other wizards yet. They might be your only hope for keeping Lional under control!'
Of course. He'd forgotten all about his predecessors, and asking Monk to track them down. This damned place was getting to him…
'I got your message,' said Monk from the uncertain depths of his crystal ball. 'And I've started tracking those wizards' whereabouts. Bottomley's one of ours, I should hear something about him soon but — ' Then he scowled. 'All right. I know that look. What's gone wrong now?'
Draped across his workshop bench, Gerald swallowed. 'Nothing.'
'Don't you try that 'nothing' mouthwash with me, Dunnywood! I can read you like a book and the page I'm looking at has 'Trouble' written all over it. What's going on?'
'I told you, Monk. Nothing! he insisted. Then added, as his friend's expression scrunched warningly, 'Much. Nothing I can go into right now.' He dragged his fingers through his hair. 'Let's just say its not easy being court wizard to His Sovereign Majesty King Lional the Forty-third of New Ottosland and leave it at that, eh?'
'Uh huh,' said Monk, unimpressed.'Fine. Just so long as you haven't gone and transmogrified anything else!'
With an effort, he made his voice cheerful. 'No. No, I haven't done that.'
'Good!'Then Monk's ferocious scowl cleared. 'Look, Gerald, if the job's such a stinker chuck it in. Come home. I'll hide you in the cupboard till everyone's stopped talking about Stuttley's. Honestly, there's bound to be a fresh scandal any day now.'
He sighed. 'I wish I could, Monk. But it's out of the question. Things around here have got a bit… complicated.'
'Complicated?' Monk slapped his forehead, aghast. 'I knew it! Didn't I say I can read you like a book? Ha! I can read you like bloody hieroglyphics, mate!' He groaned. 'Complicated means politics, doesn't it? Go on, doesn't it? God, I hate politics.'
Not as much as I do, trust me. 'I told you, I can't discuss it. And even if I could, I wouldn't.' Monk's eyes squinted suspiciously. 'Why not?' 'Plausible deniability'
'Bloody hell, Gerald, what is it with you?' his friend demanded. 'This was supposed to be a cushy little job in the middle of nowhere, a doddle, a giggle, a walk in the park, and now you're talking complications and plausible deniability and all of a sudden — '
'Hang on,' he interrupted, distracted by the sound of loud erratic banging in the foyer. 'I have to go, Monk, there's someone at the door. Get back to me about those other wizards as soon as you can, okay? Leave a message if I'm not in.Thanks. Bye'.'
'He's right, you know,' said Reg, perched on her ram skull. 'We should skedaddle while the skedaddling's good.'
He snatched at the fraying ends of his temper. 'Reg — '
'I know, I know!' she said. 'You've got a contract, you made a promise, blah blah blah. But I'm right, sunshine. If we stay you'll be sorry.' He was already sorry. 'Look — '
The loud erratic banging started up again. Reg tutted disapprovingly. 'Would you listen to that? Go on, see who it is before they knock the doors flat to the floor.' He went.
'Cheery pip pip, Professor!' a fatuously smiling Melissande greeted him. Precariously propped against the doorframe she waggled her magically manicured fingers at him while Boris, draped around her neck like an evil moulting fur stole, leered and flicked his tail. Melissande patted him, cooing, then burped.
Gerald recoiled in automatic self-defence as a pungent wave of alcohol fumes wafted over him. Oh hell. This is all I need. 'Your Highness. How… unexpected.'
Beaming, she held up a bottle half-full of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey. 'Care for a little drinky-poo, old bean, eh what? We have news to celebrate! Lional informs me I'm about to be marriedV His heart sank. 'Oh lord.' 'Who is it?' Reg called.
He raised his voice. 'One of our chickens coming home to roost.'
'Eh?' said Melissande, peering blearily through her glasses. 'Who are you calling a chicken?'
'Nobody' he said helplessly, and stood back from the door. 'Would you like to come in?'
Another burp. 'Why I don't mind if I do!' she trilled, and tottered all the way into the foyer on the midnight blue patent leather high heeled shoes that he'd so kindly and stupidly conjured for her. Boris turned his head to look back over her shoulder. He was still leering.
Gerald closed the foyer doors, took a deep breath and shouted, 'Regl I think you'd better get out here! NowV Twenty minutes later, they still had company.
'Oh God,' he said, one hand pressed firmly over his eyes. 'Which one?' asked Reg.
'I'm not fussy,' he replied, and groaned. 'I can't look, Reg. What's she doing now?'
'Well, she's just climbed into the ornamental fountain,' said Reg. 'And she's standing on the goldfish.'
'Oh, Godl What's that dreadful noise? Did she slip? Is she drowning? Tell me she's not drowning!'
'No, she's not drowning,' said Reg, after a pause. 'And neither's Boris, mores the pity. He's scarpered under the nearest table. She's — and I use the word in its loosest possible context — singing.' It was no good. He had to look.
And promptly wished he hadn't. Oh blimey. And to think I thought Stuttley's was the worst trouble I could
