looked at him. “Did you…?”
“I’m sorry. I tried not to. I did. But…”
“I know,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t blame you. He’d gone quite mad.”
It was her dull resignation that broke his heart. “Look, Melissande-I can’t believe there’s no hope of fixing things here. What about Kallarap? I know Shugat’s not big on getting involved in anything not Kallarapi but under the circusmtances you’d think-”
“Rupert asked,” she said, grimacing. “More than once. It was no use. And I made him promise that no matter what happened he wouldn’t try helping me on his own. There’s nothing he can do, anyway. He’s not a wizard and New Ottosland’s weak. Gerald…” Stepping closer, she rested her hand on his arm. “It’s awful you’ve been dragged here, into our mess. And if there’s the slightest chance of you escaping back to your own world, you should take it. Reg was right. The magic in those grimoires ruined you. In a way it killed you. So don’t be a hero. You can’t save us. Nobody can. But it would make living this nightmare more bearable if I knew you were home safe. If I knew that somewhere I had a life worth living.”
“Oh, Mel,” he whispered, and pulled her to him in a desperate hug. “How can I do that? I can’t leave you here alone with-”
The kitchen door crashed open. “Oh, stop groping that silly cow, Professor, and come on!” snarled the other Gerald. “Thanks to Bibbie, who insists on doing her makeup by hand, God alone knows why, we’re running late. And I’m expecting a very important call this morning. I swear, if I miss it because she can’t make up her mind about bloody lipstick…”
Still holding on to Melissande, he kissed her cheek. “Don’t give up hope just yet,” he said softly. “I know things look bleak but… please, don’t give up.”
“Professor,” said the other Gerald. He sounded dangerous now.
He let her go and turned. “Yes. All right. I’m coming.”
“You’d be wise not to try me, you know,” said the other Gerald, slamming the kitchen door shut behind them and stalking off along the corridor. “My plans have reached a critical phase and waiting puts me in a very bad mood. So don’t make me testy. Because while it might not suit me to hurt you I can always hurt her. Cross me and I will. My word as a wizard.” A scathing backwards glance. “Do you believe me, Professor? Say you believe me.”
Oh, lord. “Yes, Gerald. I believe you.”
“Good,” said the other Gerald, and picked up his pace.
Bibbie was waiting at the old house’s front door, changed out of her scanty scarlet dress into an exotically shimmering neck-to-ankle garment made entirely of multi-colored Fandawandi silk. To complete her decorous deception she’d added a hat that seemed to be adorned with enough bits of parrot to render an entire flock extinct.
“There you are,” she said, seeing them, her shiny pink lips pouting. “All that shouting and waving your arms about and now here I am twiddling my thumbs while you-”
“Put a sock in it, Bibs,” growled the other Gerald. “Before I put a sock in it for you.”
Bibbie wilted. “Sorry, Gerald,” she murmured, and meekly followed him outside.
Gerald, his heart painfully thumping, fell into step behind the appalling pair. Parked outside the front gate was an enormous gleaming silver car, the most luxurious and expensive-looking model he’d ever seen. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought it was a Kingsmark. Remembering Monk’s dilapidated and unreliable jalopy, and despite his current predicament, he couldn’t help a soft whistle of admiration.
The other Gerald flicked him a disdainful look. “What, you were expecting a clunker? Hardly. You can ride in the back.”
He nodded. “Of course, Gerald. Whatever you say.”
And that would have to be his mantra for the next little while. Until he knew what his other self wanted from him… and he’d worked out a way to make sure the mad bastard never got it.
As well as being a stunning example of automotive design, the other Gerald’s expensive car-like the house-was hexed, smothered bumper to bumper in powerful incants designed to deflect both physical and thaumaturgical attack. Interesting. It surely suggested that even with his fist gripping tight, he still had powerful enemies. Or was afraid he might have powerful enemies. Something certainly worth bearing in mind.
If I can find out who he’s scared of-make contact with them-maybe we could work together. I’ll work with anyone to see him brought down, even Errol Haythwaite. Because the enemy of my enemy is absolutely my new best friend.
The Kingsmark’s engine turned over smoothly, purring like Tavistock. Behind the wheel the other Gerald pulled away from the pavement, Bibbie pretty and poisonous at his side.
Gerald let his head fall back against the seat.
Bloody hell, Reg. Wish me luck, ducky, wherever you are.
“All right, Professor,” said the other Gerald, after they’d been driving for about twenty minutes. “The time has come for you to close your eyes.”
Now there was an idea. If he closed his eyes maybe when he opened them again he’d find himself back in his real bed, in Monk’s real house, at home in real Ottosland. That would be nice.
Oh, give it a rest, Dunnywood. This really is happening. You’re never going to wish it away.
Looking out of the passenger window had proven pointless-every piece of glass save the windshield was hexed to keep the world beyond it a mystery. It was like traveling inside a luxurious shoebox. He’d done his best to peer between the front seats and out of the more lightly-hexed windshield, but the other Gerald had sworn at him and told him to bloody well sit back and stop wriggling or else. Still. He’d seen enough to know that they were definitely heading down to the city center. And what was there? Government House. Various ministry buildings, including the Department of Thaumaturgy’s stately home. The Botanical Gardens. The Old Parade Ground. The Mint. The National Art Gallery. The Opera “Eyes closed, Gerry,” said Bibbie, squirmed around in the front passenger seat and frowning at him. “Aren’t you paying attention?”
Dear lord, she was appalling. How could she possibly be related-thaumaturgically or otherwise-to his own sweet Emmerabiblia?
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Eyes closing now.”
But slowly, so he could try to snatch one last glimpse of the world outside their car. As his eyelids drifted shut he caught sight of the city’s world famous Botanical Gardens, and with them a corner hint of the Department of Thaumaturgy building. Above and beyond them a tiny snatch of airship floated in the cloudy sky, he thought above the Grand Ott Portal Station. Ha. Maybe it’s one of Ambrose Wycliffe’s, if he’s still alive here. And then, because he couldn’t stall any longer, he let his eyes close completely and the world beyond the windshield disappeared.
He felt the car take a right-hand turn, away from the Gardens and his old stamping ground, the DoT. And that meant-that meant-what was in this specific direction? Oh yes. They must be heading for Ott’s big ceremonial parade ground, smack bang in the middle of the sprawling metropolis. Not that it was used for ceremonial parades anymore. At least, not often. Not in his world anyway. Back home the empty space was used for open-air theatrical productions and Keys to the City ceremonies and War Remembrance services. Jolly civic get-togethers like that. What it was used for in this Ott, he couldn’t imagine… although nothing jolly seemed a pretty safe bet. Whatever the truth was, he was starting to think it would turn out to be something else he really didn’t want to know.
And what I do want to know, this Gerald won’t tell me.
While he sat silently in the back seat, feeling stupid with his eyes closed, Bibbie prattled on about some upcoming grand society reception. A glittering event, all the important people coming. She started to name names but her Gerald shut her up. After a moment’s frightened silence she started prattling again, her voice brittle beneath the gaiety. This time she was careful to talk only of clothes and jewels and who was yet to be invited and what she wanted on the menu. Then she and her Gerald started arguing about the merits of smoked salmon and caviar.
With his captors momentarily distracted, he grabbed his chance with both hands and took a closer look at Bibbie’s aura. He had to know what she’d done to herself. She was nowhere near as rotten as this Gerald, but she’d warped her sweetness somehow. If he could work out what incants she’d absorbed then maybe, just maybe, he could undo the damage. If he could restore her to the Bibbie he knew and-and cared for-perhaps he’d have
