It was about a month before the accident at Stuttley’s. You didn’t-that didn’t happen here?”
“The accident happened,” said the other Gerald. “Not the R amp;D trial.”
He shrugged, doing his best to look innocent and bemused. “Oh. All right. Odd, isn’t it, the bits and pieces of our worlds that don’t fit? Well, anyway, that’s the only explanation I can think of.”
And truer words have never been spoken. At least not by me.
“It makes sense, Gerald,” said Bibbie, slumped against the corridor wall and trying not to look bored. “Now honestly, can we see where Monk’s up to and then go? Because I’d really like to-”
His sharp look having silenced her, the other Gerald folded his arms and tapped his fingers, edgily thoughtful. “What is it you do these days, Professor? Back in your world?”
Ah. Right. Damn. His counterpart’s lack of curiosity had always been too good to last. What do they say? The easiest lies are the ones we tell ourselves? “I… consult, Gerald. Solve problems of a thaumaturgical nature.”
“And how is it you know Sir Alec Oldman?”
Careful now, careful. “Well, I wouldn’t say I know him,” he said, casually dismissive. “We’re slightly acquainted. We crossed paths after I got home from New Ottosland.” He shrugged. “Sir Alec was just one of a long line of government busybodies I had to put up with while the dust was settling. Look-how come you don’t know this? I mean, if you’ve got the wherewithal to pluck me from my world into yours, how can you not know who I am there?”
The other Gerald smiled thinly. “The plucking, as you call it, Professor, is a brand new feat. As it stands I wouldn’t call the technique precisely refined. But don’t worry. Once Monk’s taken care of a few other tasks I have in mind he’ll be turning his prodigious talents to the reading of alternative dimensions. In fact, we all will. But for now first things first. Just like dominoes, worlds need to fall one at a time.”
It was the off-handed way the words were said that made him ill.
Bloody hell. So that’s it. That’s his grand plan. It’s not enough to rule one world. He wants to rule them all.
“What?” said the other Gerald, reading him like a book. “Oh come on, Professor. Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”
He didn’t know what he was… except terrified and sick.
Sighing, the other Gerald unfolded his arms and pressed his left hand flat to the locked door before them. With a blinding surge of power the tangle of warding hexes on the door deactivated, blowing them all back several paces.
“What did you expect, Professor?” said his counterpart, grinning. “Keeping Monk Markham penned isn’t exactly child’s play.” With a snap of his fingers the de-hexed door swung open. “After you.”
The first thing he saw, walking into the unsealed lab with the other Gerald and Bibbie on his heels-was Reg. This world’s Reg. Crammed into a cage dangling from a tall stand, tail feathers sticking out through its bars, fluffed-up and miserable. Her beak was tied shut with a length of red ribbon. When she saw him she made a strangled sound of surprise.
He stopped dead.
You bastard. You utter, utter, pillocking bastard. I will kill you for this. I swear you are dead.
With a bang and a thaumic blast, the laboratory door swung shut behind them, the warding incants reigniting.
The other Gerald put a hand on his shoulder. “Can’t be too careful, Professor. Like I said, this is Monk. And look, there she is. Reg. Didn’t I say you’d be seeing her?”
He swallowed acid and bile. “Get her out of that damned cage, Gerald.”
“I will,” the other Gerald said. “In a minute. Say hello to Monk, why don’t you?”
Oh, yes. There was Monk. This world’s Monk. Shadbolted like Attaby and the others, and barricaded behind a veritable wall of thaumaturgical apparatus, monitors and etheretic flux capacitors and test tubes and various bits and pieces he couldn’t put a name to, wearing an expression that could only be described as stunned.
“Gerald…” he whispered.
“Actually,” said the other Gerald, “to avoid confusion, I’m calling him Professor. Your sister’s calling him Gerry. You can call him whatever you like-but I’m the only Gerald here. Understood?”
“What?” said the other Monk. He shook himself like a wet dog. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Sorry.”
The small, windowless laboratory stank of discharged thaumaturgics and the ether quivered with echoes of thaumic activity. A table shoved against the right-hand wall was littered with dirty plates and cutlery. Crowded with discarded mugs. There was a single gas ring in the corner unlit, and an icebox beside it. A narrow door in the left-hand wall offered a glimpse of bathroom. Along the same wall was a bedroll, a pillow and a heap of blankets. How long did Bibbie say this Monk had been here? Three days and counting? The lab was a cage.
“So,” said the other Gerald, as his Monk Markham continued to stare. “How have you been getting on, old chap?”
Monk blinked. “Getting on?”
“Don’t play the idiot, Monk,” Bibbie snapped. “Because you know what happens when you play the idiot. Gerald gets cranky, you get punished and I’m the one who has to listen to you scream. So if you love me like a big brother’s supposed to, just answer the bloody question.”
“Bibbie,” said the other Monk. And now he was staring like he’d never seen her before. Reg, in her horrible cage, banged her beak against the bars. Monk flinched. “Yes. Of course I love you, Bibs.” He looked at his Gerald. “I’m sorry. It’s not finished.”
“ Not finished?” said the other Gerald, his voice silky with displeasure. “ Why not? Monk, you told me all you needed was a few more days in absolute solitude, so you could focus. You swore to me that in a few more days it would be done. So why isn’t it done? You know the timetable. You know what’s expected. Monk, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. Bibbie-”
Bibbie looked at him. “Yes, Gerald?”
“Now would be a good time to stick your fingers in your ears.”
As Bibbie turned away, clapping her hands to the sides of her head, the other Gerald snapped his fingers. And Monk-the other Monk-dropped howling to the floor.
“Stop it!” Gerald shouted, lunging at his counterpart. “Bloody hell, Gerald. Stop it! He’s your friend! ”
“Mind your own business, Professor,” the other Gerald retorted, and clenched his fist.
The ether surged and he flew through the air to smack into the nearest bit of wall, flicked aside as though he were a pestering fly. He struck the plastered brick so hard bright lights burst before his good eye and all the stale lab air was punched out of his lungs. He fell to his hands and knees, gasping, and watched himself watch Monk’s suffering with no sympathy at all.
Reg was banging her head against the cage.
And then Bibbie tugged at the other Gerald’s arm. “That’s enough. If you need him you can’t keep hurting him like this.”
The other Gerald spared her an irritated glance then snapped his fingers again. Monk stopped howling.
“You’re a bloody idiot, mate,” the other Gerald said, sounding weary. “When you know what that shadbolt can do, why the hell did you have to go and disappoint me?”
Sheet-white, the other Monk staggered to his feet. “You think I wanted to?” he said raggedly. “I’ve been working non-stop, Gerald. I’ve been slaving around the clock. I need help. This bloody contraption-I don’t have what it takes to get the job done. You’re the only wizard in the world with the potentia to make this work. You’ll have to stay and help me. It’s the only way you’ll have it in time.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” said the other Gerald, frowning. “I’ve got about a million things to do, Monk.”
Bracing himself, the other Monk lifted his chin. “Then you’ll have to stay disappointed, mate. Because I’m officially at the end of the thaumaturgical road.”
The other Gerald laughed. “No, you’re not, Monk. You should’ve let me finish. Why d’you think I brought you a visitor? I can’t stay here and help you-but he can.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
