But at least one thing was abundantly clear. With his shield-incant switched on, if push came to shove he could climb the wall. Well. He could climb the wall if he could climb. Except climbing had never really been his thing, not even as a small, mildly adventurous boy. Maybe someone had left a handy sheep-hurdle lying about, that he could hex into a wooden flying carpet. This was the countryside after all. Surely abandoned sheep-hurdles were as common as dandelions…
Except no. They weren’t. But there was, it turned out, a tree growing more-or-less close to the wall, further along the lane. It was better than nothing and all he was going to get.
Muddy, splintered, scraped and bruised, Gerald picked himself up out of the quagmire on the other side of the wall. Snapping off the shield-incant again, he held his breath. Then, when nothing terrible happened, he began clearing a path through out-of-control brambles, feral apple trees and hazelnut-thickets taller than he was, making his way back to the waiting Department house.
This is ridiculous. I’m a wizard, not a wilderness explorer.
Branch by thorn by gnarled, tangled root, the jungle surrendered to his careful incants and he slid his way through it, as inconspicuously, as subtly, as he could. Getting closer, the haphazard chimney pots and higgledy- piggledy gables of the establishment.
With cautious optimism he pushed through the last of the undergrowth into relatively clear ground. Saw oak trees. Saw the gravel driveway. Saw the house’s front door, beckoning. Feeling his face split wide in a smile he tugged his coat free of the last bramble and strode forward.
“Oh, Gerald,” said a petulant voice. “Why did you have to go and kill me? We made such a grand team. You know, together we could have ruled the world.”
CHAPTER TWO
Gerald spun round, his heart thudding. Lional. Not as he’d last seen him, a nightmarish corpse, but exactly as he’d been in his extravagant prime. Dressed in black velvet sewn with seed pearls. Negligently leaning against an accommodating tree trunk. Handsome. Charismatic. Rotten to the core.
It’s in the eyes, he realised, staring at New Ottosland’s improbably resurrected king. It always was. Why didn’t I see it? How did I let myself get fooled?
Except he hadn’t been fooled. Not really. Yes, Lional was deceptive-the king of deception, as it turned out- but in Gerald Dunwoody he’d had a willing accomplice. He hadn’t liked Lional from the moment they met, but the sauce of desperation can make the most revolting meal edible. And there was no getting away from it: after the debacle at Stuttley’s he’d been pretty desperate.
As he stood there, staring at impossible Lional, dreadful memories slithered past his mind’s eye: the cavern. The crimson-and-emerald dragon. The dead and dying of New Ottosland and those who’d been left alive, perpetually maimed.
If this was part of Sir Alec’s test he didn’t much care for it. He’d prepared himself for metaphysical challenges, not a stagger down potholed memory lane.
Lional looked up from inspecting his beautifully manicured fingernails. “You haven’t answered my question, Gerald,” he said, reproachful. “I think that’s rather rude, don’t you?”
He held his ground, just, and with an effort shook off his dismay. “No. You’re not real.”
Lional smiled; a suggestion of crimson scales slid beneath his skin. “Tell that to your nightmares.”
His nightmares. He shivered. “You’re not real now. You died.”
“Tsk tsk, Gerald,” Lional chided. “You used to have much prettier manners. Gratitude would be more becoming, you know. After all, I made you. You could at least say ‘Thank you, Sire’.”
Gerald stared at the gravelled driveway. Every muscle and sinew was screaming at him to turn around and walk away. He’d spent the last six months trying to forget this bastard. Forget the cave, and what had been done to him there. What he’d done. What Lional had seen. But Sir Alec had to have his reasons for such a charade, so he didn’t surrender to the almost overwhelming impulse to retreat. Surrender meant failure.
And I didn’t come all this way to fail.
He looked up. Not to look up, not to look at Lional, would’ve been cowardly. “ Thank you? I don’t think so, Lional. Have you forgotten? You made me a murderer.”
“I made you a thaumaturgical god,” retorted Lional. “Pushed you past your dreary moralities so you could get a glimpse of the infinite realm that was waiting for you.”
“The infinite horrors, you mean.”
Sighing, Lional rolled his eyes. “Oh, Gerald. Such melodrama. It doesn’t become you.” He spread his hands wide, entreating. “Don’t you remember what it was like, being a dragon? All right, as dragons go the one you made was pathetic but the principle still holds. You flew. You were invincible.” Another sigh, sorrowful this time, and his hands dropped. “And then you threw it all away.”
Gerald let dead Lional’s barbed words wash over him. So what was the point of this? Did Sir Alec think he was having second thoughts? Did he want to make sure his newest janitor wasn’t regretting the decision to use his outrageous talents for good? Was he somehow listening to this crazy conversation?
Well, if you are, Sir Alec, prick up your ears and listen to this.
“I did what I had to do, Lional,” he said flatly. “The only thing I could’ve done and still live with myself.”
Ruby rings flashing in the mellow morning light, Lional clasped his elegant hands before him. “No, Gerald. You turned your back on brilliance. You chose dancing to mediocrity’s dull little tune.” Another smile. More hints of sliding crimson. “And now tell me you don’t regret it. Tell me you don’t dream of being a dragon… and repine.”
As though Lional’s words were a summoning, Gerald felt the unnatural forces within him stir. His incandescent potentia, these past months kept strictly confined. In his veins the blood warmed. The ether trembled. The glory of the dragon thrummed through his bones.
“All these rules and regulations, Gerald,” said Lional, with spurious sympathy. “Don’t you find them just the tiniest bit tedious?”
If I did, I wouldn’t tell you. “Rules are important, Lional. They remind us of our ties to one another. They keep us civilised. You never grasped that, and you paid the price.”
“Yes, I thought you did,” said Lional, looking pleased. “A wizard like you, as far beyond First Grade as First Grade surpasses a gnat, chained to mundane, mawkish convention. Manacled by you must and you can’t and under no circumstances shall you. You are so grand, Gerald… and they are so small. So they have to keep you small. It’s the only way they can control you.”
He felt a prickle of temper. “No-one’s controlling me, Lional. I’m in the Department of my own free will.”
Lional’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? All right, Gerald. If you say so. But what if you wake up tomorrow and choose another path? What then?”
“I won’t.”
“Perhaps not,” said Lional, watching his rubies flash and sparkle in the sun. “But that wasn’t the question, was it?”
Gerald shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the sky. Once upon a time he’d been twinned with a dragon. Had flown untrammelled in the wild, warm air. Sometimes, in his dreaming, he was that dragon again. A creature of myth and magic, bound only by his will. Born because he wanted it. Brought to life because he could.
No, said a sharp, scolding voice in his head. Because Lional was about to commit wholesale slaughter. So you took a small innocent life, because it was there and you needed it. And then you warped it, tortured it and in the end destroyed it to fix the mess you made. Nothing glorious about that, sunshine.
Frowning, he scuffed his shoe-heel in the gravel.
“Would you like to know what I think, Gerald?” said Lional. His eyes were glittering. “I think you do repine. I think you repine daily. I think if we could turn back time you’d choose differently. You’d join me. You’d run to me.”
He stepped back. “No, Lional. I wouldn’t.”
