Nobody notices them. All that's noticed is the world is kept clean and tidy with a minimum of inconvenience to the ordinary man.' 'And woman,' said Reg, glaring. Gerald frowned. 'Messes.' 'Yes.'
'Messes like, say, for example… murdered wizards, stolen potentias, illegal grimoires, the attempted inciting of international religious conflicts… those kinds of messes?' Sir Alec's smiled widened. 'Precisely'
Gerald nodded. And now I understand. Because of Sir Alec, and men like him, the world at large would never learn of the recent events in New Ottosland. Lional's death would appear as three lines on the bottom of the back page of the few newspapers who'd even heard of New Ottosland's king or cared at all that the poor man died young. History would record that Lional perished choking on a fish bone, perhaps. Or falling down some stairs. Certainly there'd be no mention of dragons…
'You do appreciate it's often… better… that way'
'I can appreciate,' said Gerald quietly, 'that some people might be inclined to take that view.'
'Also,' Sir Alec added, refusing to pick up the conversational gauntlet, janitors are occasionally called upon to perform certain maintenance tasks as well.'
Maintenance? 'As in fixing faulty wiring before it burns the whole house down?' he suggested. 'That kind of maintenance?' 'Exactly. Mister Dunwoody, you catch on fast.'
Gerald pulled his knees up to his chest, rucking the blankets, and rested his chin. Considered his visitor in a new, more cautious light.'And are you a janitor by any chance?'
Sir Alec shook his head, i used to be. Before I retired from fieldwork.' Some unbidden, unpleasant memory skated the chilly surface of his face, so swiftly it might have been imagined. Then again, looking at Sir Alec's eyes… maybe not. 'Don't be fooled by the prosaic euphemism, Mister Dunwoody' he said sharply. 'This is not a job for the faint-hearted. Surgeons can't afford to be squeamish.'
'So you want me to be a surgeon now? What happened to my dustpan and brush?'
Sir Alec shrugged. 'Dustpan. Scalpel. Blunt instrument. You'll find there's a wide range of implements at your disposal. Some have more finesse than others, but they all have their uses.'
Ha. It was Shugat all over again. Gerald felt himself contracting like a snail into its shell. 'So that's what I am to you? Just another hammer?'
'Of course,' said Sir Alec. 'And so am I. So is everyone with a gift that can be exploited. We are at war, sir. With all the forces of darkness who desire to use magic to serve their own nefarious purposes. My organisation, and a few others like it around the world, are all that stands between what passes for tranquility, and utter chaos. You've had a lucky escape, Mister Dunwoody. An evil man sought to use you as his instrument… and he failed.'
He made himself meet Sir Alec's unforgiving gaze. 'Not completely. I did make the dragon. People died.'
'In war there are always innocent casualties. It's regrettable but unavoidable. The sooner you come to terms with that the better, because the alternative, doing nothing while evil flourishes, is not an option I care to explore.' Abruptly, unexpectedly, Sir Alec's severe demeanour softened. 'You did the best you could with the resources you had, Gerald. I've known experienced janitors to do far worse with more.'
Not pity this time, but understanding. Even… absolution. And coming from this man, this cold and calculating /W^/ifem'ng man…
Gerald wrapped his arms around his knees. 'How long do I have to make a decision?' 'Now' 'And if I decline your generous offer?' 'I'd advise against that,' Sir Alec said gently.
He smiled, unamused. 'So this is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of deal?'
Sir Alec's lips tightened.'Abandon your obsession with death. It's unhealthy. If you decline my offer, terms will be reached. I'd prefer, however, that you accept it.'
I'll bet you would. Tlie clever Sir Alec and his very own myth. 'What's going to happen to Monk?'
'Your friend Mister Markham knew perfectly well he was breaking the rules,' said Sir Alec, eyebrows raised. 'I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him.'
Gerald leaned forward, fury kindling beneath his fatigue and sorrow. 'Well I suggest you find something, Sir Alec. I never would've beaten Lional without Monk. So he bent — broke — all right, disintegrated a few rules. By all means rap his knuckles. Rap them twice if that'll make you feel better. But Monk Markham's a bloody genius and you'd be a fool to throw him away. You say we're at war? Then we need as many weapons as we can lay our hands on. You won't find a better one than Monk.' After a long moment Sir Alec nodded, is that a condition of your accepting my offer?' He sat back.'Say it is.'
Sir Alec examined his manicured fingernails, it so happens I share your opinion of Mister Markham. As I'm sure you can appreciate, we are obliged to rap his knuckles. We may even be forced to spank him slightly. But once he can sit down again we'll certainly find a use for him. You have my word, Mister Dunwoody: Monk Markham's unorthodox career is safe.'
There was a violent pounding behind his eyes. The effort of focusing now that he was half-blind, most likely. He pushed the pain aside.'This job. Your organisation. What aren't you telling me?'
'A great deal,' said Sir Alec. 'Most of it is… irrelevant. At least for now.'
'Then tell me what you wish you'd known when your Sir Alec made you the same offer.' Reg rattled her tail feathers. 'Gerald…'
He flicked her a severe glance. 'I need to know, Reg.' She subsided, grumbling under her breath.
Sir Alec's expression was guarded, as though he were afraid of revealing too much. 'It's a lonely life. You can never tell anybody outside the inner circle what it is you really do. That includes your family and friends. Acquaintances of the female persuasion. In effect you'll be living a lie. And you'll be placing your life at risk on a fairly regular basis. We swim in murky waters and we take as few people with us as possible. To the outside world you'll be plain Gerald Dunwoody, Wizard Third Class. A passably competent, never more than adequate locum who drifts from job to job, never settling down, and certainly never making a name for himself getting rich, or being noticed.' He pulled a face. 'It sounds irresistible.'
'I never said it would be easy' Sir Alec said curtly. 'But it is worthwhile. And with your unique talents I believe you'll make a contribution that will save many lives. I happen to think that's worth a little personal sacrifice. Perhaps you don't. Only you can say'
Gerald looked at Reg. Held out an arm, waited for her to jump on it, then set her on his upraised knees. 'What do you think?'
She rolled her eyes. 'Don't look at me, sunshine. It's your decision.'
He turned to Sir Alec. 'Can I keep Reg? I won't do it if I can't keep Reg.'
Sir Alec sighed, in principle, yes. But there will be wrinkles we'll have to iron out.' 'Wrinkles?'
'She may make you… conspicuous. Janitors often disguise their appearance when they enter a new… situation. Reg could compromise your anonymity. She may even cost you your life.'
'That'll be the day,' Reg snorted. 'Trust me, Sir Alec, or whatever your real name is, I've forgotten more about stealth than you'll learn in three lifetimes. Whatever else you've got to worry about, you won't need to worry about me!
Sir Alec smiled faintly.'Yes. Well.That remains to be seen, doesn't it? But as I say, Mister Dunwoody is welcome to keep you with him. For the time being, at least.'
Gerald closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, i don't know. I'm so bloody tired…' His eyelids felt like lead. He dragged them open and squinted at Reg. 'What do you think? Honestly. I want to hear it.'
'Honestly?' she echoed. 'Honestly, Gerald… what've you got to lose? Except your life. And everybody dies sooner or later. Even me, I expect. It's not how long you live that counts. What's important is how you live.'
He let his eyelids slam closed again, retreating into welcome darkness. He really was tired. No. Exhausted. Hollow. All used up. Changed, on some fundamental level having nothing to do with his potentia or the fact that he was a miraculous rogue.
Whoever Gerald Dunwoody had been the day he arrived in New Ottosland… that man was gone. In his place stood a new Gerald Dunwoody, with one working eye and blood on his hands and a power that nobody living seemed to understand. Least of all himself. A man who understood pain and sorrow, though, in ways he'd never dreamed were possible.
Sir Alec was right.There was no going back.Too much had happened. Too much had been done to him. By him. The memories were raw now. Brutal. And although they'd fade in time, they'd never disappear completely. Forever and always, till the day he drew his last breath, he'd be the Gerald Dunwoody who'd made Lional that
