Or-who he was.
And that’s the question, isn’t it? How much of this man is still Gerald? My friend. The stubbornly conscientious wizard I left behind.
From the looks of things… not enough.
“If I might inquire,” said Sir Alec, breaking the taut silence. “Once you removed the stolen potentias, Mr. Dunwoody, what did you do with them?”
Gerald shrugged. “I got rid of them.”
“You didn’t-” Sir Alec hesitated, “-make use of them yourself?”
“No!” said Gerald. Now he looked genuinely shocked. “What do you take me for? A ghoul, like Lional? I dissipated them into the ether. It was the least I could do.”
“I see,” said Sir Alec. He was very quiet, and so watchful. “That’s impressive, Mr. Dunwoody. Really. But it’s not what one might call orthodox incanting. So I take it that means-”
“Oh, come on, man!” said Gerald. “Stop being coy. Yes, I made use of the proscribed texts Lional took from Pomodoro Uffitzi. Enhanced my natural thaumaturgic abilities-which as it turns out are a lot more impressive than I’d been led to believe. But don’t tell me that’s news to you. I’ll bet when I activated all those interesting incants the etheretic surge blew up half the DoT’s monitoring equipment.”
Sir Alec risked a swift, wintry smile. “As it happens we did notice some unusual thaumaturgic activity. And we assumed it had something to do with you. But it never hurts to have one’s theory confirmed.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” said Gerald, choosing to be amused. “Especially since someone somewhere is expecting a report about this. Am I right?”
“Well…” Sir Alec flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve. “I do serve a bureaucracy, which would grind to a halt without regular reports.”
Gerald pulled a rueful face-and for a split second he looked like his old self. “I know. I used to be a probationary compliance officer. Practically gave myself arthritis, writing reports.”
“I’m gratified you understand, Mr. Dunwoody.”
“Oh, I do, Sir Alec,” said Gerald, as earnest as ever he used to be. Only now his sincerity struck a sour, false note. Hearing it, Reg rattled her tail.
Monk managed to catch her eye. Don’t. Don’t. It’s too dangerous. Don’t. But Reg, being Reg, ignored him.
“So let me get this straight, sunshine,” she said. “Just so there aren’t any misunderstandings. Even though I told you not to, you barged right in and mucked about with those filthy grimoires.”
Haughtily surprised, Gerald looked down at her. “That’s right. Because the last time I looked, Reg, you weren’t my mother. I did what had to be done. What you and Monk were too frightened to do. What Shugat was too selfish to do, and Melissande and Rupert here were too incompetent to do. I stopped Lional. I saved New Ottosland. And I think it’d be nice if you just said thank you and left it at that.”
Monk blinked, the blood thundering in his ears. Oh, no. Oh, no. The heartbreak in Reg’s eyes as she stared at Gerald was breaking his heart…
Dammit, mate. You bloody fool. You didn’t have to do this. We’d have found a way to stop Lional without this.
Melissande and Rupert were staring too, in guilty dismay. As for Sir Alec, his face was glass-smooth, revealing nothing of his thoughts or feelings. The silence surrounding them seemed to deepen. Grow cold. Even the palace garden birds were hushed.
“Now I realize,” said Gerald, turning to Sir Alec, “that what I’ve done is a violation of the Official Code of Conduct but I’m sure you’ll agree I didn’t have a choice.” He spread his empty hands wide and smiled, one bureaucrat to another. “Exigent circumstances. I was saving a kingdom.”
Sir Alec nodded, still giving nothing away. “Certainly that’s a legal argument, Mr. Dunwoody. One I’ll be sure to mention in my report to the Ministry.”
As Gerald and Sir Alec stared at each other like fencers over their crossed, unbuttoned blades, Monk cleared his throat. “So, Gerald-exactly how much of those proscribed thaumaturgics did you take on board? Was it just Grummen’s Lexicon, or-”
“No,” said Gerald, his voice edged, his gaze still locked with Sir Alec’s. “I took them all.”
“And when you say all,” said Sir Alec, glacially calm, “what exactly do you mean?”
Gerald’s face tightened. “You’re being coy again, Sir Alec. I don’t like it.”
Reg rattled her tail feathers. “Never mind what you do and don’t like, sunshine. Just answer the bloody question.”
And that earned her a hot look, nastily annoyed and so not-Gerald. Suddenly afraid- bloody hell, I’m afraid if Gerald Dunwoody — Monk took another step forward, seeking to distract him. Because if Gerald lost his temper and did something awful to Reg “I know it’s a nuisance, mate,” he said, trying to sound helpful and unafraid, “but probably we should know what texts Uffitzi was hiding. Probably there’ll be forms to fill out about them, once we get back to-”
“I like patronizing even less than coy, Monk,” said Gerald, his dreadful crimson gaze narrow. “Do you mind?”
And maybe Reg was right. Maybe the time had come for a little pushing back and bugger the danger. “Actually I do, yeah,” he retorted. “You’re the one being coy here, Gerald. Not us. So come clean and be done with it. What other grimoires did Lional have stashed away besides the Lexicon?”
Gerald seemed genuinely shocked by that. “ Come clean? You make it sound like I’m a criminal, Monk, instead of-”
Of what. A hero? His gaze flickered to Lional. What kind of hero does that to a man? “That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh, all right,” said Gerald, with a theatrical sigh. “If you must know, New Ottosland’s former king had six grimoires in total.” He held up his fingers and started counting them off. “The Lexicon, a Pygram ’s, a Foyle’s Foilers, a Compendium of Curses, Madam Bartholomew’s Little Surprise and-oh, yes. Trinauld’s Guide to the Unnatural. All in all a really fascinating collection.” He smiled. It was horrible. “I can personally vouch for the Pygram ’s. Lional used every last hex on me in the cave, y’know.”
Turning to Sir Alec, feeling sicker than ever, Monk saw that his uncle’s mysterious colleague had paled. Oh, no. This can’t be good. “Sir Alec?”
“Every one of those texts is on the international proscribed list,” Sir Alec said, his voice harsh with revulsion. “Arguably they are the six most feared grimoires in the history of thaumaturgy. Not to put too fine a point on it, they are notorious.”
“Notorious, eh?” said Gerald, obscenely cheerful. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Bloody awful, some of those incants. Enough to turn your stomach inside out-and I’m not talking metaphorically.”
“Although-” Sir Alec was watching Gerald closely. “I was under the impression that both the Bartholomew and the Guide were no longer extant.”
“Were you?” said Gerald, one eyebrow raised. “Oh. Then somebody in Records needs their wrist slapped, don’t they?” Then he frowned. “Mind you, now that I think about it-” He looked down at Reg again, lips pursed. “D’you know, it occurs to me that in between all that nagging you might have had a point.”
“Oh, yes?” Reg said warily. “And I’m supposed to be flattered now, am I?”
“Keep on like that and you’ll be better off silent,” Gerald retorted.
“Can you be a bit more specific, mate?” Monk said. Bloody hell, when this is over I should find work as a lion tamer. “I mean, Reg spends half her time nagging, doesn’t she?”
And that made Gerald laugh. “Too bloody true, Monk!”
“So-”
“I’m referring to what she said about those texts falling into the wrong hands,” said Gerald. “Which they did. First Pomodoro Uffitzi’s and then Lional’s, here. Two complete scoundrels. It’s obvious the Ottosland Department of Thaumaturgy and the United Magical Nations between them aren’t up to the task of protecting the world from grimoires like the Lexicon and the rest.”
Sir Alec cleared his throat delicately. “And you are?”
“Who better?” said Gerald, and clenched his right fist. Closed his eyes. Whispered something under his breath.
