Accidental Sorcerer (16 page)

'Oh
pleaseV
cried Reg, and dove headfirst into the cushions.

Melissande stared at her kicking toes. 'She's muttering about arses and tea-kettles. Should we take her to a vet?'

'Doctor,
if you don't mind!' snapped Reg, sitting up. 'And no.
I'm
not the one who needs his head examined!'

A rancorous silence fell.'Look,' said Gerald at last, 'there's no point getting all worked up over what
might
happen, Melissande. I'll do whatever it takes to keep His Majesty from doing something ... regrettable ... in the meeting. I promise.'

'Whatever it takes. I hope those aren't famous last words.' She sniffed. 'AH right.Thank you. Now, we'd best get back to the palace. I've got appointments scheduled all afternoon and that's
before
Lional gives me his daily list of Things I Can't Be Bothered Doing Myself So Just Take Care Of Them For Me, Would You?'

'As you wish, Your Highness.'

Extracting her parasol from beneath the cushions, Melissande turned and poked the driver between his shoulder blades. When he looked round, expression enquiring, she bawled, 'Home, William!'William touched his fingers to the curly brim of his coachman's hat and took a left-hand turn along yet another tree-lined street.

'You know,' Gerald mused, 'when you think about it, the underlying cause of all this kerfuffle is the fact you're totally reliant on Kallarap for getting things in and out of the country. Why not just arrange for some industrial-grade portals and bypass the Kallarapi altogether?'

Melissande slumped against the carriage cushions. 'We can't afford them.The only reason we've got any kind of portal at all is because Pomodoro Uffitzi constructed one for us.'

What?
Wliat?
He'd travelled halfway across the world in an amateur unsanctioned portal? 'But - but that's
illegal]'
he protested. 'There's international law governing portal installations. They're supposed to be constructed by a specially certified thaumaturgical company
and
inspected regularly. If something went wrong someone could -'

She appeared surprised.'Nothing's gone wrong.'

'No, not yet! But if your portal's a do-it-yourself job by some smart-alec nobody wizard then it's only a matter of time!'

'Oh, but - Pomodoro Uffitzi - he wasn't a nobody, he had
pages
of commendations and awards and references, he wouldn't -'

He could easily have shaken her silly. 'Melissande! Portal installation is a specialist's job.' He stared at her, aghast, but she didn't seem to realise the gravity of the situation. 'Look, I do know what I'm talking about, I used to be a thaumaturgical compliance officer!'

'Well you're not one now,' she snapped, flushed. 'Now you're an honorary New Ottosland citizen. And you can't report us, it'd be treason.'

/ take it back. She's as bad as the king.
'I was an oath-sworn wizard before I was a New Ottoslander, honorary or otherwise, and -'

'So you keep saying,' she said impatiently. 'Fine. I'll hang a great big
Out of Order
sign on the portal door. Happy now?'

'Oh yes,' he said. 'I can just see your brother paying attention to
that.'

Reg broke the crackling silence with a pointed rattling of her tail feathers. 'Yes, well, I suggest we worry about this little hiccup
after
we've dealt with the Kallarapi. What d'you say?'

'Fine,' muttered Gerald.

'Excellent,' snarled Melissande.

'Oh,
please,'
groaned Reg.

After that there was nothing more to be said. During the forty-five minute journey back to the palace they clip-clopped over the picturesque Canal Bridge, past the fountain-studded Art Gallery, the Mint, the recently vacated House of Ministers, an Academy for Young Gentlemen, a Seminary for Young Ladies, the Royal Playhouse, the Royal Opera House and down the full length of fashionable King Lional High Street where all the important people bought their necessities, apparently.

Eventually they arrived at the palace's rear entrance. Various servants bustled in and out with messages and packages and a constant stream of tradesmen's wagons trundled further along to the loading bay, where another servant was ticking off their deliveries and arguing about payment. They alighted from the carriage and stood looking at each other.

'Well,' said Melissande. 'That's that, then. You'll come and see me, after the meeting?'

Gerald made sure Reg was secure on his shoulder, and bowed.'Certainly, Your Highness.'

'Good. Excellent.'

She turned on her heel and marched away. He watched her go, frowning. 'I can't believe she let me travel through an unregulated portal. I could've been
killed!

' We
could've been killed,' Reg pointed out. 'But we weren't, so let's worry about it later. Right now there are far more interesting things to worry about.'

Yes. Like spying for the princess. He swallowed a groan. 'Fancy a walk? I need to air my brain, and those look like gardens over there ...'

They were indeed gardens. Beautiful ones, spreading out from the palace in a lake ot colour and perfume. If they were Lional the Forty-Second's legacy, well, royalty had surely done worse.

Like now, for instance.

Reg whistled approvingly as they wandered among the flowerbeds. 'Very nice. If more kings stuck to harmless pursuits like weeding and fertilising, the world would be a better place.'

'I say!' cried an excited voice.'I say,
ProfessorV

Gerald turned - and there was Prince Rupert, bouncing up and down in the middle of a neighbouring pansy patch. Both hands were filled with plucked blooms.

He smiled and waved. 'Good morning, Your Highness.'

'Rupert,' said the prince. 'Remember? I'm just collecting a few treats for my butterflies. Since you're out and about would you like to come and see them?'

No. I've got better things to do with my time, like panic about this stupid meeting where I'm single-handedly supposed to avert a full-scale international invasion, complete with camels.

Reg leaned close to his ear. 'Say yes,' she muttered. 'He may be a prat but he's a royal prat. Never get on the wrong side of royalty, sunshine. It always ends badly.'

Swallowing a groan, he made himself smile. 'That sounds lovely, Rupert,' he said. 'I'd be honoured.'

Rupert beamed. '
Splendid!
Come along, then! Follow me!'

Rupert's butterfly house was situated on the far side of the gardens. Flooded with light, it was filled with beautifully maintained cages, a variety of aromatic mini-habitats and an immaculately arranged workroom containing butterfly food, magnifying glasses, three crammed bookcases, two microscopes and a wide array of nets and other butterfly-catching paraphernalia.

Gerald was surprised. Given Rupert's scatterbrained demeanour he'd not expected such clutterless order and pristine attention to detail. As for the butterflies ... there were hundreds, in every colour, shape and size imaginable. They were riotously beautiful ... and he hadn't been expecting that, either. Whoever noticed butterflies?

Rupert was still beaming. 'Don't tell Lional, but I call this butterfly house "my little kingdom",' he confessed.

'And a well-run little kingdom it is too.'

'Well, you know, the butterflies rely on me, don't they?' said Rupert, as they wandered past cage after cage of jewel-bright insects. 'If I didn't look after them properly they might get sick, or die, and that would be unforgiveable.'

He nodded. 'You're right. It would be.' He stopped in front of a cage neatly labelled:
Vampirella Majcsticas. Danger: Do Not Touch.
The savagely scarlet and black insects clustered on their hunks of fresh raw meat and waved ominous antennae at him. Safely anchored to his shoulder, Reg burbled like a kettle with a sock shoved down its spout. He stroked her wing with a reassuring finger. 'So ... they really are dangerous, then?'

'Everyone's dangerous, Gerald,' Rupert said gently. 'Or they can be, if you're not careful. I mean, you seem like a terribly nice chap and all that, especially for a wizard, but I expect you could do a mischief or two if you put your mind to it.'

'Well, yes, I
could'
he admitted reluctantly 'Only I wouldn't.'

'No,
you
wouldn't,' said Rupert. 'You're a thoroughly decent chap, I can tell. But some wizards aren't so scrupulous, Gerald. I've heard stories ...'

The sight of the
Majesticas
sucking blood from the raw meat was ... unsettling. He turned away. 'Old stories from our distant past, Rupert. It's true that once upon a time there were wizards who abused their powers, wizards who ran amok doing unspeakable things. But not any more. My colleagues and I are closely monitored. There are terrible penalties for the irresponsible uses of magic these days. Modern wizarding is about humanitarian advances and scientific discovery, not subjugation and warfare and dark deeds in the dead of night.'

Rupert beamed.'Well, that's a relief!'

'Honestly,' he insisted as they continued to wander past more butterfly enclosures. 'Wizardry's perfectly safe and reliable these days. Those other kinds of wizard are history'

'I'm very pleased to hear you say so,' said Rupert earnestly. 'Because when you get right down to it there's something not very
nice
about a person who likes other people to be afraid of him. A person like that bears very close watching, don't you agree?'

'Er ... yes. Probably' he said, after a moment. Was it his imagination or was Rupert trying to
tell
him something ...

Rupert, his watery blue eyes wide, smiled his foolish, tremulous smile. 'You're staring, Gerald. Was it something I said?'

'What? Oh! No! Sorry. I just - I was off with the butterflies.'

Rupert chortled. 'I say. that's a good one! "Off with the butterflies"! I must remember that! Now, I expect you'll want to be on your way. Busy, busy, busy. I'll see you again soon, though, yes?'

'Yes. Yes,' said Gerald. 'And thanks for showing me around.'

Outside in the gentle sunshine, Reg cackled. 'Hard to believe he's related to the other two, isn't it?'

'Practically impossible,' he agreed as they headed back to the palace. 'He's such a fluffy, harmless man I feel guilty for getting impatient with him.'

Reg snorted. 'He's such a fluffy, harmless man that after five minutes in his company I want to rush to the nearest park and find some pigeons to poison!'

'Oh, come on, Reg! You don't! I mean, isn't that practically mur-'

'Why hello, there. Professor,' said King Lional, stepping out from behind one of the large, flowering trees that lined the path. 'Fancy meeting you here.'

Gerald stopped, heart pounding, and managed a ragged bow. 'Your Majesty! Ah - you startled me.'

Lional smiled. 'I'm sure I did.'

'Is there something I can do for Your Majesty?'

'Indeed there is,' said the king. There was something ... unsettling in that smile. 'You can introduce me to your loquacious little friend!'

He cleared his throat. 'I can explain, Your Majesty.The thing is -'

'Thank you, Gerald, I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself,' said Reg, with a rattle of tail feathers.'Let's start with you not call me "it", Your Majesty. I'm a sensitive soul and my feelings are easily bruised.'

Lional's flawless face was vivid with delight. 'Extraordinary,' he murmured. 'Tell me. Professor, was it a very difficult ensorcelment to perforin? Of course, I realise you're a brilliant wizard but even so ... birds are singularly stupid creatures. To give one such a convincing appearance of intelligence, I can scarcely -'

'Oy!' said Reg. 'What d'you mean
appearance
of intelligence! What d'you think I am, some kind of metaphysically enhanced ventriloquist's doll? I'll have you know -'

'I'm so sorry, Your Majesty,' said Gerald, Reg's beak caught firmly between thumb and forefinger. 'She gets flustered in the presence of royalty. Doesn't know what she's saying.'

To his surprise the king didn't appear in the least offended. 'Incredible. You
must
tell me how you did it!'

'But I didn't, Your Majesty. Reg was - articulate - when we met.'

Lional frowned.'You're telling me this
isn't
your handiwork? How disappointing. But you can duplicate the enchantment, can't you? Recreate the same extraordinary linguistic achievements elsewhere?' One elegant hand strayed to the top of

Tavistock's head; the lion rumbled deep in its throat at the touch.

The implication was unmistakable.
Oh God ...
'Tavistock? Your Majesty wants me to -'

Wrenching her beak free of his fingers, Reg cackled scornfully. 'Why? What kind of conversation are you going to get from an overgrown cat? Milk now, scratch my tummy, and somebody empty the damned litter tray. Hardly what you'd call
scintillating,
is it?'

'Scintillating or not ...' said Lional.

'I'm so sorry, Your Majesty,' Gerald said quickly. 'I'm afraid it's impossible.'

Lional's smile chilled. 'Does that mean you can't ... or you won't?'

Saint Snodgrass, arc you listening? Get me out of thisl
'It means I don't know how,' he said, with care. 'And it would be far too dangerous for me to ... experiment. I might end up hurting Tavistock and that would violate my oaths. I'm sorry'

For one terrible moment he thought the king was going to argue, or start making threats. A flush of temper mantled Lional's cheekbones and his lips pinched tight. Then he heaved a sigh. 'I'm sorry too, Professor. It would've been so entertaining! I shall just have to amuse myself with your bird here, shan't I?'

He wanted to ask
'Amuse how?'
but didn't dare. Instead he bowed.'Your Majesty.'

'Very good. Go, now. I shall see you in the Large Audience Chamber at three.'

Another bow.'Yes,Your Majesty.'

'And Gerald?'

Swallowing a curse, he stopped walking, rearranged his expression into bland helpfulness and swung about.'Your Majesty?'

Lional was suavely smiling again. 'Make sure to wear that splendid robe you had on at dinner. The Kallarapi are a primitive people, easily impressed by bright display, and we do want to put our best sartorial feet forward, don't we? No need to mention it's hand-made, of course. Oh, and bring your bird, too. I dare say they'll find it ... charming.'

Safely within their apartments once more, Reg gave vent to her feelings in a long, loud raspberry. 'Appearance of intelligence, my arse!' Then she whacked Gerald on the head with her wing. 'And what d'you mean I get flustered in the presence of royalty! Cheeky bugger! I'd have a bloody hard time of it looking in the mirror every morning if that was the case, wouldn't I?'

Slumping into the nearest chair, Gerald watched her fly outraged laps of the foyer. Each time she passed the caged parrots she paused to engage in rude exchanges. Ordinarily he'd have laughed but he didn't have the energy. He was exhausted and he had another headache; the royal family of New Ottosland was a lot harder going than he'd bargained for.

Temporarily puffed, Reg fluttered to join him on the arm of the chair. 'That wretched Lional's a menace,' she announced. 'He's let inheriting a crown go right to his head. No wonder all his other wizards sloped off or got themselves fired. You mark my words, Gerald, there'll be tears before bedtime if someone doesn't haul him into line quick smart.'

'Mine, probably' he said, pulling a face. 'Reg, why do you think he's so keen on having you at this meeting?'

She shrugged. 'I expect he wants to lord it over the Sultan's delegates. See, I've got a wizard
and
a talking birdie. So
double
nyah.'

"Well, that's just childish,'

'I know,' she sighed.'But you need to understand, Gerald, you're not dealing with
normal
people now. You're amongst
royalty.
Think Errol Haythwaite and multiply by a hundred. Which means our pretty friend Lional bears close watching.'

True, true, damnably true.
And when I've done watching him, what then? I've no authority here, or jurisdiction. I'm not even a probationary compliance officer any more. If I had any sense at all I'd listen to Reg. Get out while the going's good. But even if I didn't have a contract, I promised Melissande I'd help.
He pressed his fingertips into his eyes.
Ale and my big mouth.

He pushed himself to his feet. 'I need to get Monk onto finding those former court wizards for me. I know it's a long shot, but if just
one
of them has an idea of how to keep Lional in check ...'

But Monk wasn't answering his crystal ball. Disgruntled, he retrieved the recording incant, transmitted his predecessors' names with an urgent request for their contact details, then pulled the nearest bell-rope and ordered lunch from the breathless servant who turned up some fifteen minutes later.

Once he'd finished his soup and sandwiches, and Reg had gobbled her chopped chicken liver, it was perilously close to three o'clock.

With a show of devil-may-care he was a long way from feeling, he bathed, changed, then inspected himself in the mirror ...
Gerald Dunwoody, Wizard Spy ...
God help him ...

After that it was time to go. He called for a servant to guide him through the labyrinthine palace corridors and made his way to the Large Audience Chamber with Reg uncharacteristically silent on his shoulder.

As for his spare cherrywood staff, he left it behind. Something told him he didn't need it any more.

Lional was already in the audience chamber, ensconced on yet another extravagant throne. From head to foot he was swathed in gold and studded with rubies. Tavistock, freshly groomed and sleekly oiled, gleamed at his feet. As the herald's announcement of his arrival echoed beneath the lavishly frescoed ceiling Gerald made his way from the doors to the dais. The walk took forever: the room was absolutely enormous.

'Right on time, Professor,' Lional greeted him, glittering in the chandelier light. 'How gratifying.

Do come and stand beside me. We must present a united front, musn't we?'

He climbed the dais stairs. 'Certainly, Your Majesty'Taking up a position discreetly to the rear of the throne, he looked around the empty chamber. 'Ah - I thought there'd be more people here. Attendants. Minor aristocracy'

Lional laughed. 'I have no need of them, Professor. On occasions similar to this one my late father, when he could be prised from his wheelbarrow, surrounded himself with ministers and secretaries, courtiers and chamberlains, experts all ... and yet still we find ourselves in our present invidious position. He was a timorous fellow, my father. Too afraid to seize life by the throat. Too willing to let others do the thinking for him. In that respect, Professor, as in so many others, I am
not
my father's son.'

Which was a great shame. At least his father hadn't brought the kingdom to the brink of a war it had no hope of winning . . .

The herald positioned at the chamber's open doors cleared his throat. 'Your Majesty?' he called. 'The Kallarapi delegation is approach -
owV

'They can wait a minute!' declared Melissande, having shoved the hapless herald aside.'Lional, hold your horses! I want a word with you!'

'Blimey bloody Charlie,' Reg muttered as the shaken herald hurriedly closed the chamber doors. 'She wants a word with a fashion consultant is what
she
wants.'

The princess, marching towards the dais, had made a valiant effort to match her brother's habitual magnificence ... and failed. Gerald felt his jaw clench, and his guts turn over in horrified sympathy.

Melissande, Melissande ... what were you thinking?

Her rust-red hair was tortured into an odd looking construction on top of her head and stabbed to death with crystal-topped pins that looked like an outbreak of colourful warts. Her face - minus its glasses - was coated in makeup: bristly mascara-laden eyelashes, startled blue-rimmed eyes, embarrassed cheeks and lips the colour of over-ripe plums turned her ordinary features into a poster for bad abstract art. Her dress was a bilious green satin sack trimmed with blue-dyed feathers and finished about the hem with voluminous mulberry-coloured netting. To complete the ensemble she'd chosen thick dark tights, laddered at the ankle, and bricklike shoes in a moth-eaten black.

The only part of the outfit that worked was the matching pearl necklace and earrings.

'Melissande?' Lional enquired, his voice suggesting that hidden within its velvet sheath was a
very
sharp knife that could see the light of day at any moment. 'Would you care to explain?'

She halted before the throne. 'Look,' she said forcefully, 'sorry to interrupt, Lional, but who's the damned princess around here anyway? I'm just as much Blood of the King as Prince Nerim is Blood of the Sultan and on top of
that
I'm the prime minister. I
deserve
to be in this meeting!'

Lional frowned. 'Melissande, you'd be well advised not to take that tone with me. / wear the crown in this family, not you.'

She waved a pointed finger under his nose. 'Exactly! So why are you letting the Kallarapi tell you who can and can't be present at a meeting in
your
audience chamber?'

Lional leaned back on his throne and considered her from head to toe. Eventually he said musingly, 'I don't suppose you know exactly
who
is responsible for that fetching gown you're wearing, do you?'

'Imight,' said Melissande, suddenly wary. 'But only if you want to write them a card saying how nice it is.'

'That wasn't my first thought, no.'

'In that case,' she replied, chin up, 'I found it in the bottom of my closet and I don't have the faintest idea how it got there.'

Lional sighed and passed a weary hand across his eyes.'If only I didn't find that so easy to believe.'

Through gritted teeth his sister said,'If I've told you once, Lional, I've told you a million times, I'm not a clothes horse. If you want a decorative female around here you'll have to marry one. Now can I stay or can't I?'

There was a long silence, punctuated by Tavistock's heavy breathing, during which Lional stared into the distance with half-lidded eyes and his lips pursed. Then he nodded. 'Very well. On one condition.'

Beneath the layers of makeup Melissande blushed with pleasure. 'Name it.'

Lional turned. 'Dear Professor. Be a good chap and fix her, would you?'

Taken off guard, Gerald answered without thinking.'Fix her? I didn't know she was broken.'

Lional waved an impatient hand. 'Her
presentation,
man. Do something about that
abominable
frock ... and the rest of her.'

He didn't dare look at Melissande.
She'd kill me, she'd kill me, I'd wake up dead.
'Ah - forgive me for saying so, Your Majesty, but do you really think it's
appropriate
for me to -'

'No, it isn't!' snapped Melissande.'There's nothing wrong with how I look!
Honestly,
Lional! I'm in a dress, what more do you want? I'm not going to have
him -'

¹
MelissandeV

Her eyes were very bright. With tears or temper, Gerald wasn't sure. 'Sorry'

Lional's fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. 'It's your choice, prime minister. Change your unfortunate appearance or leave.'

Melissande let out a shaking breath. 'Some choice,' she muttered.Then she turned, glaring.'Well, Professor? What are you waiting for? Get on with it.'

Gerald swallowed.'Certainly, Your Highness. If I might just have a moment to confer with my - my - fashion consultant?'

She made a rude sound and glared at the ceiling. Lional sighed. 'A very brief moment. I'm sure I have nothing better to do with my time than kick my heels while you and your feathery friend natter about last year's hemlines.'

He bowed then put some distance between himself and the royal siblings. 'Help, Reg!' he demanded in an urgent whisper. "If I put her in the wrong frock I'll offend her, Lional
and
the Kallarapi!!'

'The Kallarapi are going to be offended no matter what frock she's wearing, sunshine,' Reg pointed out. 'And I wouldn't worry too much about offending her, either. Not if that sack she's wearing is her idea of fashion that flatters.' She snuck a look under her right wing. 'Give me strength! If only she wasn't such a
box
of a girl!'

'RcgV

'All right, all right!' She heaved a long-suffering sigh and stuck her head under her wing for another look. 'Cripes. Just don't expect a miracle.'

He closed his eyes and concentrated as Reg whispered into his ear. When she'd finished designing Melissande's new ensemble, she shook her head. 'And that's the best I can do on short notice.'

'Thanks.' Turning to Melissande he said, 'I'm ready, Your Highness. Are you?'

'Yes.' The word came out cold and clipped, and in her eyes a promise of hot words later.

He swallowed annoyance.
Because this is all my fault, of course ..
. The words of the incant hovered on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken.