Gerald turned on her. She stepped back, quickly, paling again. “Shut up, Melissande,” he hissed. “Without me you’d be wading armpit-deep in blood by now. Your precious little kingdom would be reduced to smoking cinders. So like I said, I think it’s about time you showed me a little genuine gratitude. A little respect.”
“Or what?” asked Sir Alec, breaking his watchful silence. “We’ll end up like King Lional? Pinioned, spread- eagled and tortured nearly to death?”
Gerald’s eyes shone like wet blood. “If you’re asking whether I’m prepared to defend myself, Sir Alec, the answer is yes. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I don’t know why you were sent here? You’re not a paper- pusher, you’re a spy for the Department. A shill. A stooge. Well, let’s get one thing straight, shall we? I care as much for the vaunted Department of Thaumaturgy as I do for Holy Shugat and his stupid gods! Where was the Department when I saved the day at Stuttley’s? I’ll tell you where it was, Sir Alec. It was standing behind me kicking me in the ass. Washing its hands of me. And what-now you think I’m going to bow and scrape and hope I’m forgiven for doing what needed to be done here? For saving thousands of lives? Think again. Because the days of kicking Gerald Dunwoody’s ass are over.”
Shocked, Monk stepped forward. “Gerald-mate-”
“Don’t you bloody start, Monk!” Gerald said viciously. “What would you know about it? The Department’s golden-haired R amp;D boy. Its resident genius. Born into the right family, with the right connections. You were never not going to be asked to join the Worshipful Company, were you?”
What? “Now hang on a minute,” he said, feeling his own temper stir. “Since when did I ever rub your nose in any of that? It’s not my fault who my family is, Gerald. I never asked to be born a Markham, did I?”
“Maybe not,” said Gerald, his crimson eyes hateful. “But you never stopped to ask yourself what you were getting out of it, either. All the little lurks and perks of being in the right clan.”
He could feel the others holding their breaths, willing him to back down, to go along, to let it be. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand here and let the man wearing his best friend’s face spout this kind of claptrap and get away with it. Not without being challenged, at least.
And who knows? I might get through to him. Gerald’s still in there somewhere. I know he is. And if I can just get him to hear me…
He shook his head. “That’s not true, mate. I’ve always known I’ve had advantages other wizards never got. The best tutors. The best equipment. A ride to the top in the fast lane. I’ve always known it, and I’ve never been comfortable with it.”
“Oh, Monk, I don’t think you’re that uncomfortable,” said Gerald. “You never looked that uncomfortable from where I was sitting. But I’ll grant you-yes, sometimes I think you felt a tiny twinge of guilt.” He shrugged. “But hey, that’s easily fixed, isn’t it? All you have to do is make friends with the pathetic Third Grader. That way you can pat yourself on the back for not being a bigoted plonker like Errol bloody Haythwaite.”
He heard Reg sigh, brokenly. “Oh, sunshine…”
“And that’s your theory on why we’re friends, is it?” he said, keeping his voice steady with enormous effort. “That’s how much-how little-you really think of me?”
Gerald’s expression twisted. “Yes, it bloody well is! You don’t understand, Monk. You’ll never understand. You can do what you like and get away with all of it. Because you’re a Markham. Because you’re special. Well it turns out I’m special too, mate. So watch yourself. I’m not going to be patronized by anyone ever again. Not even you. Especially not you.”
The words were like punches from a clenched fist. Swallowing the pain, closing his eyes to the raw antagonism in Gerald’s face, which was worse than the crimson eyes, he took a deep, steadying breath. He could feel Melissande beside him, horrified, and Reg’s dumbstruck distress. Even Sir Alec was taken aback. Even the old man Shugat who’d appeared out of nowhere.
Another deep breath, and he looked at his friend. “I’m sorry, Gerald,” he said, very quietly. “If I made you feel-inadequate-I’m sorry. I never meant to. And I’m not your friend so I can feel superior to a tosser like Errol. I’m your friend because I like you. Because you’re a good, decent man.”
“He was a good, decent man,” said Reg, still slumped on Melissande’s shoulder. Her voice trembled. “Before he mucked about with those grimoires. But now he’s-he’s-”
“Don’t,” he said, turning, and touched a fingertip to her wing. “You’ll only make things worse, Reg. He can’t hear us. What’s happened to him-it’s too new. Too overwhelming. Just-don’t take any of it to heart. He’s not himself. He’s not thinking straight. He doesn’t mean any of it.”
“You fool,” said the old man Shugat, and bowed his bald head. “He means every word. Woe to the wizard who has lost his way.”
“ Lost it?” said Gerald, incredulous. “You’re the fool, old fool. I’ve found my way. After bumbling in the dark for years I finally know who I am. What I am.”
Sir Alec cleared his throat. “And what would that be, Mr. Dunwoody?”
“The best damn wizard you’re ever likely to meet!” said Gerald, and laughed.
“No,” said Shugat heavily. “Not the best. The worst. Boy, you have become an abomination. The bird warned you. Woe to the world that you did not heed its advice.”
Gerald spat on the grass. “If I’d heeded her advice, Shugat, you’d most likely be inside that dragon’s belly right now. You and Zazoor and your silly camel army. Are they still here, by the way? Hiding? That’s wise, if they are. Trust me, if they know what’s good for them they’ll bloody well stay hidden. And if you know which side your bread’s buttered on-”
Shugat stabbed the ground with his staff, and the ether trembled. “Think not to threaten a man who talks to the gods!”
“I’m not,” said Gerald, chin lifted, eyes glittering. “I think Lional was right about you, Shugat. You’re a man who claims to talk to the gods. You’re a man who claims the gods exist. But I don’t see them anywhere. If I’m so bad, so dangerous, an abomination, why haven’t they stopped me? Why didn’t they stop Lional?” Another laugh, sneering and contemptuous. “I’ll tell you why. Because they don’t exist. It’s all a flim-flam, Shugat. And you’re a holy flim-flam man.”
The rough crystal in Shugat’s forehead flared once. Monk winced, feeling the power roil through him. “A sad day, this is,” said the old man. “A day to make the gods weep. Turn back, young wizard. Turn back if you can. For if you do not you will live to see your name a curse.”
Melissande leaped forward as the old man raised his staff. “No-wait-you’re not leaving? Shugat, please, you can’t leave. We need you. We need Kallarap’s help. Stay.”
Shugat shook his head. “Kallarap is Kallarap, Highness. We dwell in our desert and the world wanders its own way.”
“But-”
Another blinding flash of light and she was talking to herself. Shugat had vanished.
“Silly old fart,” said Gerald, still sneering. “If he and Zazoor think they’re getting those back-tariffs now they’re sorely mistaken. And if they try anything funny you refer them to me, Rupert. I’ll sort them out for you.”
“Thank you, Gerald,” said Rupert faintly. “I’m sure that’s very kind.”
Gerald smoothed his sleeve. “Well, it is, actually. But that’s the whole point, which I rather think you’re all missing. I am kind. And I’m generous-at least to my friends.” He looked around at all their faces. “You are my friends, aren’t you? I’m not mistaken in that?”
Monk swallowed the bile that rose into his throat. God help us. “Of course we are, mate.”
Gerald nodded, pleased. “Good. Because you know, you really don’t want to be my enemy. Just ask Lional.” Then he sighed. “And since we’re back speaking of Lional again-and of friendship-” He snapped his fingers once and the long, daggerish teeth piercing Lional’s palms, keeping the unconscious former king pinned to the ground, pulled free and tumbled to the grass. Lional moaned but didn’t open his eyes. “He’s all yours, Rupert. And while I just know you’re going to have a physician look at him, I’ll tell you this for nothing. You’ll be wasting your time. The bastard’s too far gone. Me taking back those stolen potentias didn’t agree with him at all.”
Rupert, his face ashen, turned to Melissande. “Stay with him, Melly. I’ll go and fetch a handcart or a wheelbarrow or something.”
“All right,” she said, almost tearful. “But hurry.”
“Perhaps you’d care for some assistance, Your Majesty?” said Sir Alec.
“What?” said Rupert, startled. “Oh-yes-er, why not? You can help, if you like.”
