Accidental Sorcerer (19 page)

Not as much as I do, trust me.
'I told you, I can't discuss it. And even if I could, I wouldn't.'

Monk's eyes squinted suspiciously. 'Why not?'

'Plausible deniability'

'Bloody hell, Gerald, what
is
it with you?' his friend demanded. 'This was supposed to be a cushy little job in the middle of nowhere, a doddle, a giggle, a walk in the park, and now you're talking complications and plausible deniability and all of a sudden -'

'Hang on,' he interrupted, distracted by the sound of loud erratic banging in the foyer. 'I have to go, Monk, there's someone at the door. Get back to me about those other wizards as soon as you can, okay? Leave a message if I'm not in.Thanks. Bye'.'

'He's right, you know,' said Reg, perched on her ram skull. 'We should skedaddle while the skedaddling's good.'

He snatched at the fraying ends of his temper.
'Reg -'

'Iknow, I know!' she said. 'You've got a contract, you made a promise, blah blah blah. But I'm right, sunshine. If we stay you'll be sorry.'

He was already sorry.
'Look -'

The loud erratic banging started up again. Reg tutted disapprovingly. 'Would you listen to that? Go on, see who it is before they knock the doors flat to the floor.'

He went.

'Cheery pip pip, Professor!' a fatuously smiling Melissande greeted him. Precariously propped against the doorframe she waggled her magically manicured fingers at him while Boris, draped around her neck like an evil moulting fur stole, leered and flicked his tail. Melissande patted him, cooing, then burped.

Gerald recoiled in automatic self-defence as a pungent wave of alcohol fumes wafted over him.
Oh hell. This is all I need.
'Your Highness. How ... unexpected.'

Beaming, she held up a bottle half-full of something that looked suspiciously like whiskey.

'Care for a little drinky-poo, old bean, eh what? We have news to celebrate! Lional informs me I'm about to be
marriedV

His heart sank. 'Oh lord.'

'Who is it?' Reg called.

He raised his voice. 'One of our chickens coming home to roost.'

'Eh?' said Melissande, peering blearily through her glasses. 'Who are you calling a chicken?'

'Nobody' he said helplessly, and stood back from the door. 'Would you like to come in?'

Another burp. 'Why I don't mind if I do!' she trilled, and tottered all the way into the foyer on the midnight blue patent leather high heeled shoes that he'd so kindly and
stupidly
conjured for her. Boris turned his head to look back over her shoulder. He was still leering.

Gerald closed the foyer doors, took a deep breath and shouted,
'Regl
I think you'd better get out here!
NowV

Twenty minutes later, they still had company.

'Oh God,' he said, one hand pressed firmly over his eyes.

'Which one?' asked Reg.

'I'm not fussy,' he replied, and groaned. 'I can't look, Reg. What's she doing now?'

'Well, she's just climbed into the ornamental fountain,' said Reg. 'And she's standing on the goldfish.'

'Oh,
Godl
What's that dreadful noise? Did she slip? Is she drowning? Tell me she's not drowning!'

'No, she's not drowning,' said Reg, after a pause. 'And neither's Boris, mores the pity. He's scarpered under the nearest table. She's - and I use the word in its
loosest
possible context - singing.'

It was no good. He had to look.

And promptly wished he hadn't.
Oh blimey. And to think I thought Stuttley's was the worst trouble I could get into.'I
don't believe this, Reg,' he muttered.'We have to get her
out
of here. If somebody comes in and finds her it'll be whoops-a-daisy and chains for two in the dungeons!'

Melissande, soaked to the skin and blissfully warbling, threw her head back and hit what she fondly imagined was a High C.

'At least the dungeons would be quiet!' Reg shrieked, and launched herself across the foyer to the fountain.'Oy! You! Princess Diva!
Put a sock in itV

Arrested in mid-arpeggio, Melissande blinked. 'Oh. It's you. The funny-looking feather duster with verbal diarrhoea.' She leaned forward confidingly'My cat Boris doesn't like you.'

'I'm shattered,' said Reg grimly perching on the edge of the fountain's top tier level with Melissande s bloodshot eyes. 'And you're drunk.'

'Yes,' said Melissande, and fished at her feet for the bottle of whiskey. Raising it with a flourish she swallowed another big mouthful, burped loudly, and beamed upon the world at large.'I rather think I am.'

Reg rolled her eyes. 'And that's going to help matters, is it?'

'Well it can't bloody hurt them!'

'Tell me that again tomorrow.'

'You know,' said Melissande, frowning, 'you really shouldn't take that tone with me. I
am
a princess.
And
the prime minister.' Suddenly noticing the haphazard modesty of her sodden clothing she squeaked, and with fumbling fingers started to rectify the situation.

'And you're doing a fine job of both, I must say,' scolded Reg. 'Drunk and disorderly in the private residence of an unmarried gentleman, madam? What kind of an example is
that
to set for this year's crop of debutantes? You're a danger to the fabric of society, not to mention my eardrums if you start singing again! Why don't you take yourself back to your own apartments, put your head in a nice big bucket of iced water and we'll agree to forget this unfortunate interlude ever -'

Modesty more or less restored, Melissande took another generous swig of whiskey then waved the bottle under Reg's beak. 'Don't look at me in that tone of voice, you disreputable cleaning implement. Didn't you hear me? I'm a
princess.
And I'm getting
married,
to a
sultan,
which means I'll be a
sultana -'
She stopped and thought for a moment. 'That can't be right. Sultanas are wrinkly grapes. I am
not
a wrinkly grape.'

Reg sniffed. 'Stay in that water for much longer and you'll be doing a pretty good impersonation.'

But Melissande wasn't listening. 'In fact, if you put it all together, I'll be a princess sultana. Or a sultana princess.'

'Yes, yes,' said Reg impatiently. 'The International Sultana Growers' Alliance will probably make you their mascot and then won't some poor fool in a grape suit be relieved. The point
is,
you stupid girl -'

'You can't talk to me like that!' Melissande spluttered, swaying dangerously. 'I'm a princess, a prime minister and very nearly a wrinkled grape! And you haven't congratulated me!
No-one's
congratulated me.'

'Probably no-one's been game to,' said Reg. 'Now why don't you be a sensible little sultana-in-waiting and put down the bottle, eh? I mean, don't you think you've had enough?'

'No,' said Melissande, and took another huge swig of whiskey.'I haven't had
nearly
enough.'

Reg opened her beak to argue, reconsidered, and said, 'You know what? You're right. Most marriages are best conducted when at least one of the victims is pickled. In which case can I fetch you another bottle? Or would you prefer a keg?'

'Reg, are you out of your mind?' Gerald demanded, and pushed away from the bit of foyer wall he'd been leaning against. 'Just - go away! You're not helping! Your Highness -' As Reg retreated to the nearest chair, hugely offended, he inched towards the fountain, ready to break Melissande's fall and be crushed to a pulp if she did a sudden nose-dive over the side. 'You're right. I'm sorry. Please accept our condolences - I mean
congratulations
- on your impending nuptials. This is wonderful news.'

Melissande staggered a pace sideways, the better to thrust an outstretched finger into his face.
' Wonderful?'The
flattering hairstyle he'd conjured for her was proving no match against water, head-tossing and the effects of a determined splurge of drinking; trailing vines of rust red hair waved about her flushed face and plastered themselves to her damp cheeks. 'What makes you think it's wonderful? It's
terrible,
you stupid wizard! And it's
all your fault]'

I knew it.
1
knew it. Of course she's blaming me.
He stepped back, stinging with guilt. 'Look here, Your Highness, that's bloody unfair. I'm not the one who pass-the-parcelled you over to Sultan Zazoor. That was your brother's idea, not mine.'

She stamped her foot splashily. 'Don't worry, there's plenty of blame to go around!'

'What's
that
supposed to mean?"

'It means marrying me off to Zazoor might have been Lional's idea but he
never
would've thought of it if
you
hadn't tarted me up like a prize cow for the market!'

'Prize cow?' he echoed. 'Well, thank you very much! For your information I did
not
make you look like a
cow,
I made you look
beautiful!
And then what happened? Instead of sticking around and doing your duty as princess and prime minister you caved in to the antiquated notions of those stupid bloody Kallarapi and left me in there all alone with your insane brother and everything went arse over tea kettle and I
still
don't know how I'm going to fix it! I don't even know if I
can!
I mean, I could've done with you in there for some moral support, Melissande, I
needed
you there for moral support. The only reason I was in there in the first place is because you manipulated me into fighting your fight for you. The
least
you could've done was be there in case of slight catastrophes! But no!
You
were too busy piking out! And anyway, do you honestly believe I
wanted
this to happen? Do you think I had any idea that it
could?
Well I
didn'tl
Brothers don't give their sisters away to virtual strangers where
I
come from. That's just a quaint New Ottosland custom! And - and -'

He stopped shouting and waving his arms, suddenly and acutely aware that Melissande, Reg and even Boris were all staring at him in mute astonishment. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and cleared his throat.

'Yes? And?' said Melissande, with ominous sweetness. 'Don't stop now, it's just getting interesting.'

'And I never intended for things to get so out of hand,' he finished lamely.'I'm sorry'

She brandished the whiskey bottle at him.
'Sony?
What good does
sorry
do me, Mister Professor Gerald Dunweedin', or Dunnywood, or whatever your name is? I mean if you're so
sorry
why don't
you
rattle off to Kallarap on the back of a camel to be their sultana and
I'll
stay here being the princess prime minister!'

He stared. 'I don't want to be their sultana.'

' Well neither do
71' she cried, stamping her foot so hard she sent a wave of water over the side of the fountain.
'I
never asked you to make me look beautiful, did I?
I
never asked you to stick me in this dress and these shoes and fix my makeup or my hair! What do you think I am,
blind?
Of
course
I know how appalling I look! Didn't it ever occur to you that I dress like a frump on
purpose?
Don't you think I'd figured out by the time I was
three
that slender pretty New Ottosland princesses get bartered away like - like - primary produce? I've spent
years
cultivating my Chubby Fashion Disaster Persona! And then
you
and your
bird
come along and ruin it in five minutes flat! How could you
do
that to me, Gerald? I thought you
liked
me!' She was weeping now, overflowing with rage and whiskey.

On
purpose?
She'd done it all on
purpose?
Why the hell hadn't she
said
so? 'I - I do like you,' he stammered, appalled. 'I just had no idea. You mean the trousers and the sensible shoes and the awful hair are
camouflage?
¹

'Of
course
they're camouflage, you dolt!' she shouted. 'And so is the chubbiness! All designed to make sure nobody would look at me as marriage market material so I could stay here in New Ottosland where I'm needed, and where I can keep both eyes on Lional! So congratulations, Professor! You've just scuttled the careful work of a lifetime!'

'Bloody hell,' he said faintly. 'You should've told me! This morning, in the carriage, I thought - it just seemed to me that you didn't like -'

'Being a frump? I
hate
it, but that's not the point, is it? I was doing it for New Ottosland and

now
-' Overcome with alcohol and emotion she sat down in the fountain, the whiskey bottle cradled in her arms. 'What I don't understand is
why',
she said, fishing a sodden handkerchief out of her cleavage and mopping her tear-streaked face.
' Why
has Lional suddenly decided he wants to deepen our close ties with Kallarap? What close ties? We don't even have adjacent
strings!
And he
despises
Zazoor, so how could he possibly want him as a brother-in-law? It doesn't make any
senscV