Professor-”
He let himself feel the depth of his relief. Monk. Oh, thank God. “Yes, Gerald?”
“Anything you wanted to say to this fool before we go?”
He stared at silent Prime Minister Attaby, whose chain of office was a sad and terrible prank. “No. No, not really.”
The other Gerald laughed, and slapped himself on the head. “I’m an idiot. I wanted to say something. Attaby?”
Attaby stood to attention, his eyes frightened. “Sir.”
“This is Gerald Dunwoody,” said the other Gerald, waving his hand. “Don’t let the silver eye fool you-” He glanced sideways. “Did you know the color-incant’s worn off, Gerald? Anyway-remarkable as it may seem, this man is me. More or less. To be strictly accurate, he’s another version of me. And that’s all you need to know about that. He’s here to work with me, to ensure Ottosland’s supremacy. Which means that you’ll be answerable to him too. In due course. That’s all. I just wanted to keep you apprised of developments. You can get back to work now.”
Attaby bowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Right then,” said the other Gerald, turning away as though Attaby had ceased to exist. “Off we go. I can’t wait to see what Monk’s come up with. Although-” Heading for the door, he glanced behind him, one arm draped around Bibbie’s shoulder. “I should warn you, Professor-our good friend’s looking a little the worse for wear these days. Try not to go on about it. Turns out Mr. Markham’s a bit more sensitive than we thought.”
“Oh,” said Gerald faintly, following. “I see. Well. Thanks for letting me know.”
Bloody hell. You bastard. What have you done?
They drove through the almost empty, rain-splattered streets to the Department of Thaumaturgy building, where they were waved through to an empty underground garage. Feeling sick again, dreading what he was about to find, Gerald followed his counterpart and Bibbie up three flights of basement stairs and into the building proper. Looking around, he recognized his own Monk’s Research and Development laboratory complex-but it seemed deserted. He couldn’t sense the presence of any other wizards. Even the ether was silent, no eddies and currents of thaumaturgic activity. It didn’t feel like R amp;D at all. So where was everyone?
I don’t think I want to know.
Noticing his confusion as they headed down the central corridor, the other Gerald grinned. “Don’t worry, Professor. The Department’s other wizards aren’t dead. They’re just-otherwise occupied.” The grin widened. “Bloody Errol Haythwaite. Is yours still alive?”
He nodded warily. “Yes.”
“So’s mine, more’s the pity,” said his counterpart, leading them out of the main corridor into a maze of shorter, narrower corridors linking a series of small thaumaturgic labs. “I keep hoping he’ll give me a reason to squash him like a bug, but he doesn’t. God, I hate him.”
“You need a reason to squash him?” he said, remembering those other awful exhibits in the parade ground. “I’m surprised.”
Spinning so he was walking backwards again, his counterpart frowned. “Watch it, sunshine. I’m the only one who gets to be sarcastic around here.”
He bit the inside of his cheek. “Sorry.”
“You will be, if you’re not careful,” said Bibbie. “We might need you, Gerry, but that’s not to say there’s bits of you that can’t be dispensed with at a pinch.” She smiled that sly smile. “And then there’s Melissande, don’t forget.”
The other Gerald gave her a pleased nod. “That’s my girl.”
The trick was not to listen when they said things like that. “So why haven’t you squashed Errol? Made him part of your outdoors amusement park?” he said. “Since you hate him so much, and since I can’t imagine he didn’t try to interfere with your plans-why isn’t he dead?”
The other Gerald heaved a sigh and spun around to walk face-forward again. “You tell me, Professor.”
How much do I hate that I know how he thinks? “Because you never know when a top-notch First Grade wizard might come in handy.”
His counterpart laughed. “You’re a fiendishly clever man, Gerald Dunwoody.”
“So where is he?”
More laughter, rich and filled with a genuine delight. “He and his dear friends Kirkby-Hackett and Cobcroft Minor, shadbolt-shackled to the eyeballs, the bastards, are currently slaving as kitchen hands in the greasy bowels of Government House. In fact, they’re probably washing our lunch plates as we speak. And to think-Errol used to be one of Ottosland’s premier airship designers. How’s that for revenge?”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed. The idea of superior, elegant Errol up to his elbows in dirty pots and pans…
“I thought you might appreciate the notion,” the other Gerald said, grinning. “What’s he doing in your world? Something menial, I hope.”
He stopped laughing. Bugger. “I-don’t know. Errol and I lost touch.”
“I never liked him either,” said Bibbie, her eyes smoldering with remembered resentment. “At parties he always used to try and look down my dress.”
Stunned, Gerald stumbled. She’d said that before. No. His Bibbie had said it. At home. In the parlor. Bibbie and Monk and Mel and Reg and him, working together to solve the mystery at Wycliffe’s.
God. What is wrong with me? I can’t laugh with these people. She’s not my Bibbie. I’m not their friend.
The other Gerald frowned. “Something the matter, Professor?”
Oh, only everything. “No.”
“Not feeling sorry for Haythwaite, are you? Because if anyone deserves a good shadbolting, he does.” They’d reached the end of the latest corridor, and a massively hexed door. Halting, spinning around again, the other Gerald smiled beatifically. “Saint Snodgrass be praised, Professor. I bloody love a good shadbolt.”
With an effort he kept his breathing slow and steady. “I’ve noticed. So why aren’t I wearing one?”
“Because, Professor,” said his counterpart, smile fading, eyes sharply watchful again, “as you know perfectly well, you’re shadbolt-proofed. Just like Sir Alec. Exactly like Sir Alec, actually. I don’t suppose you’d like to explain that, would you?”
I’m what? Since when? “No, not really.”
The other Gerald considered him closely. “Blimey. You didn’t know you were shadbolt-proof, did you? How’s that possible, a wizard with our potentia? ”
Sir Alec must’ve done it-or had it done-at some point during his janitor training. Sneakily, and undetectably. Probably during one of those interminable tests. Was Monk a part of it? He gave new meaning to the notion of sneaky and undetectable. But why do it and not tell him? What would Sir Alec have to gain by keeping it secret?
When I get back home, he and I are going to have some words…
His heart thudded. When I get back home. But the way things were looking he wasn’t going to get back, was he? Barring some kind of miracle he was trapped in this appalling, madhouse mirror world. And if that miracle didn’t come in the shape of one Monk Debinger Aloysius Markham, then he was pretty sure it would never come at all.
“Professor?” said his counterpart, seeming more alarmed than cross. “Your wits are wandering again. Should I be taking you to see a doctor?”
Bloody hell, if he so much as suspects I’m a janitor that’ll be it. I’ll have no hope of escape.
“What?” he said, trying to sound harmless. “No. I’m fine. I’m just-” Discovering how good I am at tap- dancing on eggshells. “I’m trying to remember when it could’ve happened. The shadbolt-proofing.”
The other Gerald raised an eyebrow. “And?”
Cover story, cover story, he needed a plausible cover story… A good janitor, Mr. Dunwoody, knows how to think on his feet.
“Well, I can’t be certain,” he said slowly, “but-I think it might’ve been when I was still a compliance officer. I needed money. You remember how skint we were. R amp;D was starting some paid double-blind thaumaturgic trials. Monk never told me what they were, just said they were perfectly safe. The boffins must’ve been testing a new shadbolt-proofing incant. They never explained either, and I didn’t ask. R amp;D-they’re so bloody hush-hush.
