Markham has been building for my evil twin.” He nodded at the sprawl of coils and conductors and thaumaturgic containers and gauges spread out on the lab’s biggest bench. “I take it that’s it?”
“That’s it,” said Monk.
“And?”
Monk shrugged. “And it’s the most diabolical perversion of a thaumaturgic invention that I’ve ever come across.”
“Oh.” He stared at the mysterious thingamajig on the bench. “Why? What does it do?”
Reg chattered her beak. “Nothing yet, because Mad Mr. Markham here hasn’t finished the bloody thing. But when he does-”
The other Reg stirred on her pillowy bed, and sat up. “When he does, sunshine, that’ll be it. The end of our world. And then the end of yours. And after that…”
“It’s a weapon?” he said, startled, turning back to the other Monk’s untidy invention.
“Not the way you’re thinking, Gerald,” said the other Reg. “ Gerald. ” Her voice broke. “I never thought I’d see the old you again.”
He had to clear his throat. “No. I don’t suppose you did. Look, about this-”
“It’s a thaumaturgic enhancer,” said Monk, his face grim. “Good old Gerald’s tired of arguing with people. He’s going to shadbolt every wizard and witch in the country-and from what I can gather, it’s all thanks to me.”
“In other words it is a weapon,” he said. “So I guess that means we’ve got some work ahead of us. Because if it’s the last thing we do, we can’t let him get his hands on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Half-way through his very expensive dinner with Bibbie, Attaby called from Government House.
“What?” he demanded, striding back into the Cabinet room. His head was splitting. Bibbie hadn’t taken at all kindly to her intimate supper being disrupted. Sometimes he wondered about her, he really did. He’d thought she understood what he was doing. The scope of it. The sheer majesty of it. But then she’d turn around and whine…
“Gerald, when do I get to do some proper magic? Gerald, when do I have a Department of my own? Gerald, you said we’d rule Ottosland together as husband and wife. So when are we going to get married, Gerald?”
She’d started up again on their way to Government House from the restaurant, so he’d doubled back and taken her home. He had enough on his plate without listening to her whine.
I wonder what the Bibbie from next door is like? She can’t possibly be more irritating than mine. Maybe I’ll swap them. I can’t do any worse.
Attaby was staring at him like a mouse facing a cat. “Sir, there’s been another communication from Viceroy Gonegal.” A nod at the Cabinet room’s crystal ball. “It’s recorded.”
He felt the blood thundering inside his aching skull. “You dragged me away from dinner for that twit?”
Shadbolted Attaby flinched. “Yes, sir. I thought it advisable. Perhaps you should look at the message, sir.”
“Fine,” he said glowering. “Now bugger off. The sight of your hangdog face makes me sick.”
“Sir,” said Attaby, and wisely retreated.
He activated the crystal ball. Gonegal’s face swam into focus. “I’m told your name is Gerald Dunwoody,” said the old fool, his eyes narrowed. “I’m told your potentia is unlike that of other wizards. And I’m told you’ve polluted yourself with grimoire magic. That is unfortunate. You should know, Mr. Dunwoody, that Babishkia is now protected from your predations. You should also know that the United Magical Nations has expelled from its ranks all those member states who have foolishly allowed themselves to be suborned by you. They are now facing… sanctions.” Gonegal smiled, like a tiger. “That especially includes Jandria. Jandria is closely watched. And finally you should know that an armed fleet of airships is poised to bring Ottosland to its knees. Stand down, Mr. Dunwoody. Awaken from your outlandish dream of world domination. Spare yourself and your people the consequences of our wrath.”
Fury turned the Cabinet room to scarlet. With a shout of rage he smashed the crystal ball to dust and shards.
“Attaby! Attaby, get in here!”
Attaby came running. “Sir? Yes, sir?”
Bone and muscle burned with his anger. “Get your staff back here. I want every desk manned and every man working. I want every single portal in the country closed down. All portal travel is suspended, is that clear? I want armed airships patrolling our borders and the limits of the city. I want every thaumic monitor pointed at UMN headquarters. Send a message to Tambotan: I want his airship fleet patroling with ours by sunrise, or else.”
“Yes, sir,” said Attaby, nodding. His eyes were wide and fearful. “I understand.”
“Are preparations completed at the ceremonial ground?”
Attaby nodded again. “They are.”
“And the unshadbolted wizards and witches?”
“Under lock and key in Ott’s main prison, sir,” said Attaby. “Ready for transport first thing in the morning.”
A little of his anger receded. “Good. That’s something. I need a lorry.”
Attaby goggled. “Sir?”
He clenched his fist and cracked lightning around the room. “A lorry, a lorry, you know what a bloody lorry is, don’t you?”
White and sweating, Attaby screwed his eyes shut. “Sir. Yes, sir. Of course I know what a lorry is.”
“Well, I want one!” he said, and leaned into Attaby’s face. “D’you hear me? I want a lorry and a driver at my front door no later than seven tomorrow morning! Can you manage that, Attaby? Or is that too complicated for a prime minister to arrange?”
“No, sir,” whispered Attaby. “I can arrange that.”
“ Good! ” he spat. “And I want another car and driver to take Bibbie to the parade ground at eight. Can you manage that? Or will doing two things at once give you a nosebleed, my lord?”
“No, sir,” croaked Attaby. “A lorry and a car. You’ll have them.”
“I’d better,” he said, heading for the Cabinet room door. “Or there’ll be one more exhibit gracing Ott’s parade ground. Understood?”
Thanks to the curfew there was no traffic to impede him on the way home. Searchlights stabbed the cloudy night sky, illuminating the armed airships as they ceaselessly prowled. His fingers were bloodless around his car’s steering wheel. His own harsh breathing filled his ears.
Threaten me, Gonegal? You and your friends at the doomed UMN? Bloody hell, you’ll be sorry. You won’t know what’s hit you.
Bibbie had taken herself off to bed, but Melissande was still awake. She looked up from blacking the cooking range as he strode into the kitchen.
“I want tea.”
She put down the blacking and the brush then wiped her hands on a cloth, warily watching him. She was always wary these days. Not without reason. “Yes. All right.”
He watched as she put the kettle on, spooned tea leaves into the pot and got a generous mug out for him. Dumpy, frumpy bloody woman. She had no business being a princess. If a woman was a princess she was meant to look like Bibbie.
Gonegal threatens me? My God. How does he dare?
Waiting for the kettle to boil, Melissande slid him a sideways glance. “Where’s the other Gerald?”
“None of your business,” he said, glowering.
She swallowed. “He’s not-you haven’t-”
He kicked out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. “No, of course I bloody haven’t. God, you’re an idiot. Not much point half-killing myself to get him here just so I can snuff him out, is there?”
