He pulled a face at Monk, who grinned. “You heard Her Majesty, Gerald. Chop chop!”
Despite the horrible shadbolt binding Monk’s aura and the taint of dark magics in his own blood, despite the thin, downtrodden other Reg asleep on the bedroll-and their own Reg making exploding teakettle noises because, in her opinion, they weren’t working fast enough-he and his best friend found their tandem thaumaturgic rhythm almost at once… and without even having to discuss tactics began jiggering up a storm.
At one point Monk paused and grinned again. “All I know, Gerald, is that after this caper nobody back home whose name rhymes with Uncle Ralph or Sir Alec better say boo about you and me practicing on my inventions in the attic. Because if we hadn’t done that-”
“I know,” he said, soberly. The thought was so appalling he couldn’t manage an answering grin. “We’d have no hope of doing this.”
Monk nodded firmly. “Bloody oath. In fact, they ought to give us a raise.”
I’ll settle for a whole skin, and our world sqfe. Or at least a decent breathing space between disasters.
“Come on, come on,” said Reg, rattling her tail. “That’s enough chit-chat. Get on with it!”
With an exchange of eye-rolling glances, they got on.
Weaken the sub-dimensional etheretic link… reverse the polarity, on the secondary directional matrix… tag the wave amplifier with an amended target… and hide every last trace of their tricks. Done and done and done and done.
“Bloody hell,” Monk muttered, and blotted sweat from his pale face. “Is that it, mate? Please tell me that’s it.”
“Yeah, I think so,” he said, just as sweaty and exhausted. “You all right?”
Monk pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. “This bloody shadbolt,” he muttered. “It doesn’t half give me a headache.”
“I know. But honestly? It won’t hurt for him to notice you’re in pain. There’s nothing he likes better than someone suffering on his behalf.”
“Right,” said Monk, giving him an odd look. “If you say so.” And then he bit his lip. “Look. Gerald. Are you sure about this? Because if you can’t handle it-if you’re not as good as you think you are? Ass over elbows won’t begin to-”
“Monk, I can handle it,” he said flatly. “You worry about-”
The hot, sharp stirring in the ether turned both of them towards the hexed laboratory door.
“Is that him?” said Reg, craning her head. “Is he coming back? Bugger. Then tie that old biddy’s beak shut again and chuck her in the cage, quick.”
He stared at her. “Reg!”
“Don’t you Reg me, Gerald Dunwoody!” she retorted. “I’m the one who’s got to hide in that manky bathroom. Quick, can’t you feel him? He’s in a right state!”
And she wasn’t wrong about the other Gerald’s angry approach. Still a ways distant, this world’s Mr. Dunwoody was burning through the ether like a wind-whipped summer fire through the dry grass. He couldn’t feel Bibbie with him-and that was a relief. Even knowing she wasn’t really his sister, Monk was distracted when she was in the room. And they couldn’t afford any distractions. One false step and they’d be toast.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to the other Reg. “But she’s right. You need to go back in the cage.”
“I know,” she said, her familiar eyes warm with a smile. “If she hadn’t said it, I would have.”
He fetched the red ribbon and started winding it around her long beak. “Look. If this goes right we-we won’t see each other again. So I’ll wish you good luck, Reg. After he’s taken care of there’ll be a lot of work to do. I expect your Melissande will be up to her eyeballs in that. She’ll need your advice. She’ll need you to-to nag her. Will you do that for me, Reg? Nag her and make rude comments about her butt-her behind? Complain about her tweed trousers and her terrible hairstyles and how she walks like a hockey player instead of a princess?”
Bound to silence now, the other Reg nodded.
“Thanks,” he whispered, and kissed the top of her head.
“Right, right, so if you’ve finished slobbering all over my third-rate understudy, Gerald,” his Reg snapped, her head poked around the bathroom door, “maybe you could get her in that cage before your evil twin kicks the front doors down?”
Ignoring the wretched woman, he returned the other Reg to her prison and re-hexed it. “Monk. The portable portal opener. Is it-”
Monk slapped his chest. “Safe in my pocket, mate.”
“And you’re sure it’s still working?”
“Sure as I can be.”
“He really can’t sense it?”
A shrug. “He hasn’t so far.”
“And if we manage to do this and have a shot at escaping, where do we-”
“He was a bit clever, that other Monk,” said Monk, not quite smiling. “It’ll take us back to the last place it opened. In this case, your bedroom. All very neat.”
“And if that’s not proof positive it was a different Monk Markham who made it…” Heart pounding, he turned to stare at the hexed door. Raised his voice a little. “Reg, if he’s taking us out of here I’ll make sure the lab door stays open. Follow us as soon as you can and for the love of Saint Snodgrass, don’t get caught.”
“No, really?” said Reg, from the bathroom. “That’s a bugger. Because I was planning on introducing myself and asking for a matching cage!”
“Gerald,” Monk said urgently, standing behind the etheretic gizmo. “Gerald, what about-”
But there was no more time for talking. The other Gerald was here.
With a blinding surge of thaumic power the laboratory door smashed open and the other Gerald strode in, pushing a large wheeled trolley. He’d changed out of his royal blue suit and was garbed now in gold and crimson, garish as bullion splashed with fresh blood.
“Well, Monk?” he demanded, eyes glittering with rage. “Is it finished? You’d better tell me it’s finished, because if it’s not finished I’m going to make you very bloody sorry! ”
Monk flinched and gasped, as though a knife had run through him. The shadbolt. “It’s finished, Gerald. All right? It’s finished!”
“And is it working?” said the other Gerald, silkily smooth. “Because if it’s finished and it’s not working then I don’t see the point. Do you?”
Gerald bit his tongue. Damn. They hadn’t tested the wretched thing. There hadn’t been time. “Gerald,” he said, stepping forward. “It’s working, but it hasn’t been given a proper test run. That’s your prerogative, not ours. Anyway, when did Monk Markham ever build a thaumic machine that didn’t work?”
His counterpart sneered. “When did Monk Markham need me to help him build one?”
“Actually-” Monk cleared his throat. “A few times, Gerald. Only I didn’t have the guts to admit it. I could hardly admit it to myself. So anything I couldn’t do without you, I just-I stopped working on.”
Before Gerald could stop himself, he was exchanging surprised looks with his evil twin.
“Huh,” said the other Gerald. “Y’know, call me crazy, Professor, but I think that touching declaration had the ring of truth about it. Don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It did.”
And when Monk and I are home again, we’re going to have a little chat.
“Anyway,” said Monk darkly. “The bloody thing’s operational. So what happens now?”
Brief amusement fled from the other Gerald’s demeanor, and fury poured in after it. “Ideally I’d test that claim for myself, Monk, but I’ll have to take your word on it. There’s been a slight change in plans. That stupid bastard Gonegal at the UMN had the gall to threaten my life. There’s a fleet of UMN armed airships on their way here now. He’s coming to take me into custody! Crimes against thaumaturgics! Can you believe it? I can’t wait to put a bloody shadbolt on him.”
Gerald didn’t dare risk a glance at Monk. “Armed airships? But-”
“Frightened, Professor?” said the other Gerald, full of contempt. “There’s no need. Gonegal’s armed airships are no match for ours. And once I’ve shadbolted Ottosland’s wizards and witches and have their harnessed potentias at my beck and call?” He laughed. “Viceroy Gonegal and his toadies won’t stand a chance.”
“Gerald…” He risked a step closer. “Stealing other people’s potentias will make you no better than
