“Really, Mister Dunwoody,” said Sir Alec. Now he sounded irritated. “We are a secret government Department. Did you think we wouldn’t have a few surprises up our sleeve?”
He swallowed, hard. “No, of course not. So who invented that one? Not Monk, by any chance?”
Instead of answering, Sir Alec reached for another file from the pile on his desk, opened it and extracted a sheet of heavy, official looking paper, embossed in five places with enormous crimson wax seals. The black ink printing looked equally official and impressive.
Gerald read his name on it, upside down, and felt his heart thud heavily.
This is it. I’ve done it. I’m a real live janitor.
He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know nearly enough. The international law, the restricted incants, the seventeen volumes of case files that didn’t even scratch the surface of the Department’s work over the past ten years. He’d barely absorbed any of it. All was chaos in his head, facts and figures tumbling like leaves in a windstorm. He didn’t know enough yet to be let loose on the world.
Sir Alec was holding out a pen and a second sheet of paper. “Mister Dunwoody?”
Still dazed, he took them. “What am I signing?”
“Your permanent contract.”
“Oh.” He looked down. The words swam on the paper. Insofar as… wherefore the agent aforementioned… duty and diligence… penalties under the Act… utmost secrecy… blah blah blah blah…
He looked up again. “Do I have to sign right now, or do I get some time to think about it? And, you know, read the fine print.”
Sir Alec frowned. “Six months isn’t long enough for cogitation, Mister Dunwoody? Or are you having second thoughts?”
The ghost of Lional, whispering in his ear. They’re so frightened of you, Gerald, they can hardly spit.
“No, no, it’s not that. I just-well, you know what they say. Never sign a document you haven’t read at least twice.”
Sir Alec just looked at him.
Oh, blimey. Gerald stared at the contract again. At his black-and-white future. The years stretched ahead of him, full of danger and duty. Deception and lies. Loneliness. Fear.
Full of doing the right thing. Full of making amends. Full of Lionals who have to be stopped. The dead must be honoured… and you gave them your word.
He signed.
“Excellent,” said Sir Alec, and stood. “Now come with me.”
Gerald followed him out of the office, along the dingy corridor, down five flights of stairs to the underground complex beneath the unremarkable premises in Nettleworth, where he’d spent so much of his time lately being poked and prodded and investigated, like a crime.
But instead of going to the laboratory, which had become his second, reluctant home, Sir Alec led him to a small, featureless room with two doors, one chair and a table in it. On the table, in a black cradle, sat a lump of pale yellow scrying crystal.
“Have a look,” Sir Alec invited. “Then tell me what you see.”
Bending over the table, Gerald stared into the crystal. “A man,” he said. “He looks… frightened.”
“As well he should,” said Sir Alec grimly. “The fool’s been caught with the wrong secrets in his pocket. Now it’s our job to find out precisely how much more he knows, that he shouldn’t, and to which of our enemies he’s passed-or intends to pass-his pilfered information.”
“I see,” said Gerald, and gazed again into the scrying crystal.
Slightly distorted by etheretic vibrations, the man sat on a wooden chair rather like the one in Sir Alec’s office, his right arm pressed against his middle as though he had a pain, agitatedly chewing the fingernails of his left hand. He was thin and sallow… or maybe that was just the scrying crystal’s influence. He didn’t much look like a thief of secrets. A traitor to his nation. Or not the way Gerald imagined a man like that would look. If you took away the fear and the fingernail-chewing he appeared earnest and prosperous. Like many of the men he’d worked with when he was a Probationary Compliance Officer.
“Is he a wizard?” he asked, straightening.
Sir Alec nodded. “A Second Grader in the Department of Industry. The perfect target for subornment, Mister Dunwoody. Likes the ladies a little too much. Enjoys one tipple too many at his local club. Tends to bet just that fraction more than he can afford at the races.” He made a small sound of contempt. “And then thinks he can save himself by betting more the next time.”
“Ah,” said Gerald. “I have a second-cousin like that.” Morley, who’d never met a broken-down racehorse he wasn’t convinced would win the Five Furlong Dash. “So this man-this wizard-ah-”
Sir Alec smiled. “His name’s not important.”
Oh. “So… let me guess. This wizard got into debt, and couldn’t get out of it, and did something stupid to try and save himself. Is that right?” Oh yes. Just like Morley.
“You consider him a victim, do you, Mister Dun-woody?” Sir Alec asked softly. “A hapless, harmless ne’er- do-well who’s just made a silly little mistake? Committed a small error of judgement?”
Surprised by the sudden chill in Sir Alec’s voice, Gerald frowned. “Well, no, not exactly. I mean, if he’s been selling proprietary government information, well, obviously that’s wrong. But-”
“But because he’s not spilled blood, because he’s not a murderer, because, really, how much trouble can you get into with a dull set of chaps like the Department of Industry, you don’t think I should be taking this quite so seriously?”
Sir Alec’s voice was so cold icicles were practically forming in the air.
“No, sir,” he said, close to shivering. “I didn’t say that, either.”
“Shall I tell you the consequences of this traitor’s actions should we fail to uncover the extent of his perfidy and the identity of every last foreign agent in receipt of his stolen information?”
“Yes. Please.”
“You’ve been out of the way here, Mister Dun-woody,” Sir Alec said, his voice clipped. Still chilly. “And fairly well occupied, so it’s not unreasonable you’re a trifle behind the times. Allow me, therefore, to bring you up to speed. There’s been a breakthrough in the application of artificially agitated thaumicals to certain non-thaumically sensitive items. It’s early days still, but should preliminary tests prove out, the patents will be worth a fortune. And before you ask, no, Mister Markham is not involved. I realise you’re a great champion of his talents but he has only eight fingers and two thumbs and we-the government-have a few more pies to dabble in than that.”
Gerald managed, barely, to keep his face straight. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Can you tell me any more about this breakthrough?”
“Once the process has been sufficiently refined and is applied,” Sir Alec continued, “it will have a significant impact on various sectors of the economy. Enormous benefits will accrue to both government and selected private enterprise-at the expense of several nations currently enjoying certain… monopolies. And that is as specific as I’m prepared to be. The point, Mister Dunwoody, is that should these nations be warned ahead of time as to our progress, or be given access to research on the patents, they could either attempt to usurp the process or take pre-emptive and punitive action that will severely damage our economy.”
Gerald thought about that. “But aren’t we trying to damage their economies?”
“ Trying?” Sir Alec raised an eyebrow. “Certainly not. We are striving to benefit our nation, the primary duty of any good government. I admit there will be some inevitable realignments in some foreign revenues. An adjustment to income for the nations in question. But that is the nature of international trade. Swings and roundabouts, Mister Dunwoody. A loss here, a gain there, and it all comes out in the wash. Eventually.”
Gerald nodded. “I see.” And I’m getting a headache. “So this is about money.”
“It is about sovereignty and security,” Sir Alec snapped. “And preventing a war.”
“ War? How did we get to war? I thought we were talking about trade?”
“Trade is war,” said Sir Alec. “Or at least a close relative. Mister Dunwoody, you are not a stupid man. Ottosland has long been the envy of lesser thaumaturgically-gifted nations. To allow the envious to use our own gifts against us would be to encourage their predations. To give the impression that we are an easy target, disinclined to stand our ground. And as history so amply demonstrates, to give that impression to one’s enemies never leads to a happy ending. In short we must nip this matter in the bud. Before it comes to real war, and people start dying.”
