Accidental Sorcerer (33 page)

'Did the wizards hand them to you in person?'

'Not to me. To Lional. He's the king and they were his court wizards.'

'Fair enough,' said Markham. 'But did you see them afterwards? See them leave, wave them goodbye? Any of them? Or did your brother just tell you they'd gone?'

No. No. No.
'This is ridiculous,' she said automatically. 'What are you suggesting, that Lional -' The words died in her throat. 'No. You're wrong. He
wouldn't -'

'What?' Reg said brutally. 'Make five wizards disappear?
Kill
them? Why not? He tried to kill Gerald.'

'Kill Gerald?
Are you
crazy?'

'No, but your pretty brother is,' Reg retorted. 'That riding accident wasn't an accident, ducky. And those other wizards didn't resign or get fired. Lional retired them. Permanently'

'The thing is,' Markham added, 'after they arrived in New Ottosland nobody who knew them - family, friends, colleagues - ever saw or heard from them again. I'm sorry. It's pretty obvious they met with foul play'

'What you're suggesting is
ludicrous!'
she shouted, and pushed away from the bedpost. 'Lional's not some common criminal, he's a
kingl'

Reg snorted. 'Often as not it's one and the same thing. If you'd known the kings
I've
known, ducky -'

'And
he's my
brother.
Do you think I wouldn't
notice
a little detail like being related to a homicidal maniac?'

'Trust me,' said Reg. 'Family's usually the last to know.'

'No.
This is
ridiculous.
What
possible
reason could he have for killing them?'

Reg flapped her wings tiredly. i don't know. Yet. But it won't be good, whatever it is. Face it, dearie. Your brother's demented. Markham checked with the Department's chief Etheretic Weather monitor. As I suspected there's no such thing as polarised lightning. Whatever's wrong with the etheretic transductors around here is wizard-made.' Reg scowled. 'By Lional, I'm guessing, since he's the one who invented that poppycock story.'

She stared. 'Lional can't do magic. It was probably Gerald. Now that he's on Lional's side.'

Reg's beak fell open.'He is
not]'

'Really? Then who hexed my door? I suppose you're going to tell me
that
was Lional too?'

'Of course it was! Anybody who'd kill five innocent wizards wouldn't hesitate to hex a door!'

'Stop calling Lional a murderer! You don't know he killed
anybody]
Former witch queen or not you don't know
anything]'

'This isn't getting us anywhere,' said Markham, and headed for the door. 'There's only one way to tell if it's Gerald's hex.'

'Not so fast!' said Melissande, and blocked his path. 'You're Gerald's friend which means you're biased. There'll be no reading of anything without an independent witness!'

She led him out of the bedroom, her insides clenched and trembling.

'Excuse me!' Reg bellowed behind them. 'I'm still recovering from a flight to Ottosland and I'm feeling a little fatigued, if anybody's interested!'

She stopped. 'Wait here,' she ordered Markham, marched back into her bedroom, scooped Reg into the crook of one arm and marched back out again to find that Gerald's disreputable friend had paid no attention to her. She found him in the study, staring at her books.

'You have an ... unusual ... library for a princess,' he commented, one eyebrow raised.

'So now you're the book police?' she said, and resisted the urge to kick him. 'Let's just concentrate on my front doors. Because if you don't remove that hex we'll all be stuck in here for the forseeable future.'

'Don't just stand there, Markham,' said Reg. 'Run!'

She shoved Reg at him and stalked into the foyer. Markham followed, parked Reg on a handy pile of books and moved to consider the suite's front doors.

'They melted my incanted keys and ruined my screwdriver,' she said, glaring ferociously sideways. 'So don't try and tell me they're not hexed, Mr Markham.'

'Call me Monk,' he said, then laid his right palm against the carved wood and closed his eyes. A moment later he snatched it away again and shook it, hard. 'Ouch! No, they're hexed all right. One hex, very powerful.'

'See?' she said triumphantly.'I told you.'

'It's the strongest barrier hex I've ever come across. But it's not Gerald's.'

'It has to be.'

Markham sighed. 'I'm sorry, Your Highness. I'd know his thaumic signature anywhere.' 'Then whose is it?'

'I don't know. But it's a weird one.' He pressed both palms to the wooden doors and shivered. 'More than weird. It's
horrible!

Reg clacked her beak. 'Horrible how?'

Markham pulled his hands free and wiped them on his trousers, his mouth pruned with distaste. 'I've got an idea but ... it's crazy.'

Reg rolled her eyes. 'Then it's probably right.
Everything
in this cockeyed kingdom is crazy'

'Thank you,' Melissande said coldly.

Reg shrugged. 'No point plucking the messenger, ducky. I just call 'em as I see 'em.'

Ignoring the bird she turned to Markham. 'Explain.'

Markham chewed his bottom lip. 'Every incant has a unique signature. Like - a thaumaturgical fingerprint of the person who placed it.'

'I know that,' she snapped.'So?'

'So this hex hasn't got one fingerprint. It's got lots. As though a whole bunch of wizards performed it simultaneously'

'You're right. That's crazy'

it's worse than crazy,' replied Markham. His expression was strained, it's hex soup. I mean, I'm good. I'm
really
good. And I've neutralised a bunch of hexes in my time. But I don't think I can do this one.'

There was a moment of shared and silent panic. Then she slapped her forehead, i'm an idiot. And so are you. We don't need the doors, we can use your portable portal to escape.'

He hesitated. 'Not necessarily. I haven't had a chance to fine-tune it for short distances. We may end up in the middle of the desert by mistake. Or worse.'

'Oh.' She thought for moment then slapped herself again. 'Oh! Of
course!
You can levitate us through the bedroom window!'

Another hesitation, then he shook his head. 'I don't think we should go anywhere till I've got a better understanding of this hex.'

'Mister
Markham, I have a kingdom to run,' she said sharply. 'Get me out of here and you can spend as long as you like studying your precious hex. Better yet, ask Gerald to explain it.'

Markham slammed the doors with his fist, eyes blazing. 'For the last bloody time, lady, it
wasn't Geraldl
Gerald's in trouble somewhere, thanks to you! And if he ends up another one of your brother's victims I promise you:
someone's
going to pay, big time! And I don't have a problem if that someone is
youV

There was an appalled silence. Then, panting and grunting, Reg flapped to the marble-topped table by the doors. 'Now, now. Let's take a deep breath and remember what's at stake here.'

'I know what's at stake!' Melissande turned on Markham. 'And don't you threaten me! I've been threatened by experts and I'm not scared! You -'

Reg let out a screech. 'Shut up the pair of you! Wasting time spitting like mangy alley cats when Gerald is out there somewhere expecting us to rescue him!'

Silence. Then Markham ran his fingers through his hair.'You're right, Reg. I'm sorry' She crossed her arms.'Yes.Well.' 'All right, Markham,' Reg continued.'You're the genius here, so
act
like it. How many fingerprints can you sense in that hex?'

Markham sighed, i think ... five. And they're all First Grade.'

Reg scratched her head. 'So. Five thaumic signatures ... five missing First Grade wizards. Even Boris could do the maths on this one.' She sniffed. 'Where is that long black streak of misery, anyway? Last thing we need is for me to end up as his lunch.'

'One of the maids is looking after him,' said Melissande. 'What do you mean, even he could do the -'

But Reg and Markham weren't listening. They were staring at each other, eyes wide with dismay.

is it even
possible,
Reg?' said Markham. 'I've never heard of-'

'You wouldn't have,' said the bird darkly. 'Seeing as you're a nice young man who doesn't read that kind of grimoire. But I've known men who do, Monk, and I'd say it's more than possible. It's the only explanation that makes any sense.'

Grimoire?
'What, so now you're saying there's black magic involved?' Melissande demanded, i don't believe it. This is getting more and more farfetched by the minute!'

Markham shook his head. 'Sorry. I know this is difficult but we have to face facts. The only way a single hex could contain five different thaumaturgical signatures is if someone stole the
potentias
of those five wizards.'

Not someone.
Lional.
Blinking rapidly, she stared at Markham. 'That is nothing more than wild speculation.'

'No,' said Gerald's annoying friend. His engaging grin was entirely absent. Now he looked angry and a whole lot older, it's not speculation. And I can prove it. All I need is something bearing the thaumaturgical signature of one of the missing wizards.'

'Well, ducky?' said Reg, not unkindly. 'Can you help him or would you rather go on sticking your head in the sand? Because all three of us know who's behind this trouble.'

She returned to the bedroom. Snatched up the brown painted tin horse from its special place on her dressing table and took it back to the foyer.

i had a birthday a while ago,' she said, stroking the toy with one finger. 'Bondaningo Greenfeather - Lional's wizard before Gerald - gave me this. When you say a special word it - it - canters in little circles, neighing. Or it did. Now it can barely trot, I'm afraid I ran the magic down playing with it. Silly. It's not like I'm a child.'

Markham took the horse from her and lightly held it. 'Yes. Yes, Greenfeather's fingerprint is still quite clear,' he murmured, it's a clever incantation.' He reached out his other hand and pressed it to the door. Moments later his face twisted and his breathing harshened. He pulled his hand away. 'Blimey, that's
disgusting!

'Never mind disgusting!' Reg said sharply. 'Did you recognise Greenfeather's signature?'

Reluctantly, Markham nodded.'Yes. It's in there.'

'But not Gerald's?'

'No.'

'You're quite sure?' Reg persisted.

'I'm sure,' said Markham. 'Wherever he is Gerald's still got his
potential

Reg fluffed up all her draggled feathers. 'Well, praise Saint Snodgrass for that.'

Hardly paying them any attention, Melissande took the toy from his unresisting fingers. Whispered
'tallyho'
into its ear then put it on the foyer floor. All her insides felt hollowed out, scoured bare with sorrow. As they watched, the little tin horse lifted its head, flicked its tail and pranced in a slow jerky circle, neighing.

It wasn't till Reg said, in a strangled voice, 'There, there, ducky. Markham, give her a hanky' that she realised she was crying.

Lional. Lional. Wlxat have you done?

'Don't be so hard, Reg,' said Markham, disapproving.'She's had a bad shock.'

'And she's going to get another one if she doesn't buck up! Royalty doesn't sit around
glooming,
it
rallies,
it
rebounds,
it seeks
revenge!
Look at me!'

Trying to sniff discreetly, Melissande watched as Markham ignored the damned bird, crossed to her chair and dropped to a crouch beside it. With flagrant disregard for protocol he took her hand in his; ridiculously, she felt comforted.

'Your Highness -
Melissande
- I'm sorry about this,' he said with surprising gentleness. 'I really am. I've got a brother. We can't stand each other but even so ... I think I know how you feel. I mean, if I found out Aylesbury was a mass murderer ...'

She pulled her hand free. 'Stop calling Lional a murderer. You don't know those other wizards are dead.'

'Melissande ...' Markham's thin face was full of compassion. 'It's impossible to take a wizard's
magicali potentia
without killing him. Magic is in the blood, literally. It'd be like having your bones ripped out. Not even a First Grade wizard could survive it.'

She wasn't Lional's sister for nothing. 'I don't believe you. Show me five corpses and
then
I might accept what you're saying, but until you do, I -'

'Melissande!
said Markham. His hand took hers again. 'The wizards are
dead!

'And if you bleat "no, no, Lional isn't a murderer"
one
more time when you know damn well he
is,'
said Reg, without any compassion, i swear on my phoney grave, ducky, I'll poke out your eyeballs like olives and feed them to your precious Boris.'

She tried not to think of dear Bondaningo, ripped apart from the inside out. 'Fine,' she said sullenly. Hating Markham. Hating the bird. Most of all, hating Lional.'Have it your way.They're dead.'

Markham chewed on a fingernail. 'Blimey, Reg. We've got a real problem. How are we supposed to stand up to a man with the
potentias
ot five First Grade wizards?' His expression changed, abruptly. 'Especially when one of them had access to texts from the
Internationally Proscribed Index!
He let go of her hand and unfolded to his feet, looking stricken.
'Damn.
Pomodoro Uffitzi held a doctorate in Theoretical Applications of Reverse Thaumatics.'

in Ottish please?' said Melissande, feeling waspish.

'Black magic,' he said, distracted. 'Uffitzi spent eleven years researching his thesis in several countries renowned for their past dabblings in unsavoury practices. Who knows what grimoires he managed to find in that time?'

'And ever so carefully forgot to declare to the authorities?' said Reg.'Saint Snodgrass preserve us!'

if I'm right, I have to notify the Department.'

'Yes, but
after
we've found Gerald,' said Reg. She chattered her beak, thinking hard. 'He must be around here somewhere.'

Very carefully Melissande laid Markham's damp handkerchief over the arm of her chair.'Lional said he was in private retreat, meditating.'

Reg snorted. 'Meditating my feathered arse. He's being held prisoner.' 'Maybe he's run away'

'Stop being deliberately provocative. I'll bet you a nice pair of high-heeled pumps, ducky, Gerald's "accident" in the forest was Lional
not
being able to steal his
potentia.
That means our mad king needs him to do his dirty work for him - whatever that is.Trust me, he won't be far away'

'But he will be somewhere with a decent amount of space,' added Markham. 'We know the dirty work involved a Level Twelve transmog that makes the cat-into-lion trick look puny. Melissande, do you have any idea what Lional wanted Gerald to make?'

She glared at him. 'Of course not! Who do you think I am, his evil sidekick? I don't have the first idea what -' And then she turned to Reg.

'Hell's bells,' Reg whispered, as they stared at each other in sudden, appalled comprehension. 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking, madam? The Kallarapi gods. Tavistock as Lalchak ... me as Vorsluk ...'

Melissande shot out of the chair.'
Grimthak]
Oh my God, Reg! Gerald's made a bloody
dragonV

Reg turned, her dark eyes blazing.
'Markham, get us out ofhereV

He flung himself at the foyer doors. Spread his fingers flat to the polished oak surface and pressed his cheek between them. After a moment he began to hum off-key. A moment after that, alarmingly, his unruly dark hair developed a life of its own, weaving and unweaving itself around his head in a series of bizarre patterns.

'Ah - wouldn't the window have been easier?' she asked.

'Don't distract him!' hissed Reg.

As she watched, holding her breath, Markham's face began to twist with pain. The humming became a groan and a bloody sweat broke out on his forehead. Moments later there was an explosion of light and sound and a billow of foul green smoke. Markham, shouting, flew across the foyer, struck the far wall and slid moaning to the floor.

As Reg exclaimed in the background Melissande dropped to her knees beside him.
'Monkl
Are you all right?'

i think I'm going to be sick,' he groaned.

'Not in my foyer you're not!'

He heaved himself upright.'Okay'

'Good!' said Reg, hovering now between the splintered remains of the foyer doors. 'Now come on, you two. Let's find Gerald!'

She helped Markham to his feet. 'Give him a moment, you nagging old hag! He was practically knocked unconscious!'

'Gerald's running out of moments!' Reg shouted, flapping madly. 'How long will your brother keep him around, do you think, now that he's got his precious dragon?'

'Reg is right,' said Markham, still looking sick. 'We have to go.'

'Go
where?
I've no idea where Gerald is. Have you?'

'No. But if we're lucky I can find him with a locator incant. I'll need something to guide me.'

'Then what are waiting for?' demanded Reg, still haphazardly hovering. 'Let's get to our suite!'

They raced through deserted corridors and up and down empty staircases to the palace's official wizard's residence. Gasping for air, Reg landed on a foyer chair and pointed a wing.

'The bedroom's that way. Fetch a used sock, Markham. That should have a good strong scent.'

As Markham fetched, Melissande frowned. 'Something strange is going on. The place is deserted, we didn't see
anybody
between here and my apartments. Where's everyone got to? There are always servants scurrying around here, it's like a damned anthill.'

Before Reg could comment Markham returned with a limp red sock. 'This should do it. Now I need a map of the kingdom.'

'There's one in the
Guide to New Ottosland
I left here for Gerald.'

Reg jerked her beak. 'It's in, the dresser, underneath that painting of the constipated cow on the wall there.'

'He shoved it in a drawer?' said Melissande, offended, as Markham found the pink folder. 'Did he even
read
it? I'll bet he didn't. I spent
hours
putting that guide together, you know!'

'And now it's come in very useful,' said Reg, 'which only goes to show there's a first time for everything. Now be quiet and let Markham focus.'

Melissande swallowed.'Will the incant still work if the person you're trying to find is - you know -'

Markham glanced up from spreading the guide's map on the foyer table. 'Dead?' he said. 'No. It won't.'

'Anyway, he can't be dead,' she added, desperate for a bright side. 'You said Lional couldn't kill him.'

'Not with magic, apparently. No.'

She didn't need him to elaborate. 'Oh.'

Reg flapped from her chair to the table and glared. 'Any
more
clever questions, ducky?'

'Not for the moment.'

'That's
a relief. Now come on, Markham. Let's get cracking.'

Markham nodded curtly, his face pale and serious. He wrapped Gerald's sock around his left hand, extended the index finger of his right hand and held it over the map of New Ottosland.
'Seekati. Kevelati. Demonstrate.'

Almost before the words had left his lips the tip of his pointing index finger flared into life as though a light had been switched on under the skin.

He laughed. 'We've got him, Reg! He's still alive!'

'Yes, but where?' Reg demanded.

His pointing finger started zigzagging across the map.'Hang on, it's trying to home in on him now.' Another zig and two more zags and his finger jabbed itself to a standstill.'There.' He peered at the map. 'Tolepootle Valley. Melissande?'

'That's
miles
from here. It'll take hours to -'

'No, it won't. The Stealth Stone's fine with miles. What can we expect when we get there?'

Before she could answer they heard a thundering of feet in the corridor outside the suite and a cacophony of alarmed cries.

'Now
what?' said Reg, and rattled all her feathers. 'Quick, madam, see what's making the natives restless!'

Melissande flung open the foyer doors and accosted the first running servant she recognised. 'Hamish! What in the name of Saint Snodgrass is going on?'

Hamish was too panicked to be polite. 'Bloody hell, miss! Haven't you heard? There's a bloody great fire-breathing dragon on the loose! It's already killed people down in the city and now it's flying over the palace!'

She stepped back, shut the doors on all the fleeing servants and turned to Reg and Markham. Instead of gibbering incoherently, she felt unnaturally calm.
It's already killed people down in the city.
'Hamish says there's a fire-breathing dragon flying over the palace.'

'He's right,' said Markham, staring at the foyer's skylight. 'There is.'

She looked up.

On the other side of the skylight's glass, floating lazily on an updraft like an enormous crimson and emerald striped seagull - with teeth and talons - was Lional's dragon. As they watched, it opened its massive jaws and belched a fearsome plume of fire.

She felt her heart shrivel to ash.
It's already killed people down in the city.

'Come on,' said Reg grimly. 'Let's go. We have to stop that damned thing before it really gets started.'

Melissande nodded. For once she wasn't inclined to argue.

When Gerald eventually roused from his exhausted, nightmare-ridden stupor there was still no light in the cave. So he sat with his back to the wall and waited.

There wasn't anything else to do.

A few feet away in the dirt and the dark was Reg.

He didn't want to think about her. Reg was a bruised and bloody mark in his heart, an absence he was only just beginning to realise. Another failure he wasn't sure he could live with. She was dead, she was dead ... and it was all his fault. Everything was his fault.
All those people, hunted to a crisp
or
soaked in poison. The terror. The destruction.
He pulled his knees to his aching chest and held on tight.

If only I'd been braver. If only I'd defied him. If only I'd never been born.

There was no food or drink in the cold dark cave. If Lional changed his mind about wanting more dragons or lost what little was left of his sanity and forgot about him, which seemed more likely, then he was doomed to die in this place.

Oh God. I hope so.

Time dragged on, sodden with regrets.

Later, in the unrelenting black, he thought he saw a pinpoint of light.

He stirred. Stared, blinking. What new torment was this? Lional, returning at last to dispose of his tool? Or demand more damned dragons ... or something worse ...

I can't. I can't.

Ten feet away and six feet in the air, the pinpoint of light grew. Intensified. Glowing, it expanded to the size of a firefly. Against his skin, a sudden tingling crackle of power. Heedless of scrapes and bruises he hauled himself to his feet and leaned against the rough rock of the cave wall, his gaze not leaving the ball of light pulsing before him.

With a flash and a ripping sound the air tore open and three briefly silhouetted figures fell through the hole to land shouting on the cave's dirt floor.

'Owl
That's my
face]'

'Sorry Melissande. Gerald, are you in here? Um, Your Highness, not to complain or anything but your elbow's in a very precarious part of my anato-'

I'm dreaming. I must be.
'Monk?' he said tentatively, is that you?'

'Oh, yes, fine, ask about Markham first why don't you?' demanded an impossible voice. 'When I'm the one sitting here faded to a mere shadow of my former glory after flying
and
hitching from here to Ottosland, then convincing Markham and his idiot colleagues that your life was in danger and then risking my life
again
to get back to this ether-forsaken kingdom using Markham's highly illegal and practically untested portable portal! And why is it so
dark
in here? Why doesn't somebody turn on the lights?'

For a moment Gerald thought he'd finally gone mad. Because that was Reg's voice, being Reg, in the Reggiest way it knew how.

And then somebody snapped their fingers and said
illuminate
and he was blinking, half-blinded by the sudden light, and there on the cave floor shaking dirt out of her feathers was -

'RegV
he cried, and fell to his knees. 'Oh my God,
Reg,
you're
aliveV

She glared at him. 'Well if I am it's no thanks to your friend the Mad Scientist!' She swung her beak towards Markham and chattered it. 'What kind of a portal exit do you call
that?
Flinging us out at speed and miles above terra firma, I think I've bent a tail feather, you stupid boy! Do you know how long it takes to grow in a tail feather, you -
awwwkV

'Reg!' he shouted, clutching her to his chest. 'Lional said you were dead, he said he'd killed you! He
did
kill you,
look,
there's your body! Over there!'

Melissande, grubby and harassed and getting to her feet, stared where he pointed at the forlorn draggle of feathers in the dirt.'Eww What's that?'