Accidental Sorcerer (8 page)

'New Ottosland?' she shrieked. 'That obscure, sand-stranded,
nothing
little backwater?'

'Ah. You've been there,' he said, pleased. 'I rather thought you might.'

'Not recently. And not on purpose. My hot-air balloon sprang a leak and we had to drop in for repairs.'

'How long ago?'

'Three hundred years, more or less.' She shuddered. 'And I remember it as though it were yesterday'

'Well, three hundred years is a long time. Perhaps things have changed.'

'One can only hope so,' Reg said darkly. 'One can also hope that Lional the Forty-third has better manners than Lional the Thirty-Second.
He
dropped a cocktail onion down my decolletage and then tried to retrieve it with his nose.' Another shudder. 'Disgusting. Of course, if he'd been thirty years younger and five stone lighter it might have been a different story.'

He laughed, and immediately regretted it. His Bearhugger's glow was fading and he was starting to feel distinctly fragile. 'I had to take the position, Reg. Things are just too hot for me here after what happened at Stuttley's.'

She hopped from his toes to his knees then waddled up to his chest where she settled herself like a broody hen. 'So what happened at Stuttley's?'

He told her. Miraculously she refrained from comment until the entire sorry story was finished. 'Well,' she said, her head tipped to one side. 'That Markham boy's right about one thing, anyway: you can't be a common or garden variety Third Grade wizard, Gerald. Not if you can pull off a stunt like that. Haven't I always said there's more to you than meets the eye?'

'Yes, Reg, you have.'

She clicked her beak thoughtfully. 'So perhaps this mad move to New Ottosland might prove useful after all. As royal court wizard you won't be hamstrung by all those tiresome Departmental regulations, for a start. Without the likes of Scunthorpe breathing down your neck we might actually have a chance of finding out what you're really made of.' She made a pleased little sound deep in her throat. 'Yes. Indeed we might. Gerald, I take back everything I said. This is a
brilliant
move. A strategy worthy of me. I congratulate you.'

'Hang about,' he said. 'I may have been kicked out of the Department but there's still my oath of office, Reg. My wizardry vows. I'm not about to break those. Not even for you.'

She bounced to her feet, impatient, then kept on bouncing as though he were a trampoline. 'Did I ask you to? Of course I didn't! I took vows too, you know, just as binding as yours and a damned sight older to boot! No. We're not going to violate our sacred sacraments, Gerald. But we
are
going to find out once and for all just how good a wizard you can be.'

One more bounce and he was going to throw up all the Bearhugger's brandy still sloshing inside his stomach. He grabbed her with gentle hands and held her close to his face, squinting. 'We? Does that mean you're coming with me?'

'Well of
course
I'm coming with you!' she snapped.'Five minutes out of my sight and you're blowing up staff factories! If I turn you loose unchaperoned on the other side of the world Saint Snodgrass alone knows the calamity that would follow!'

He grinned, and kissed the tip of her beak.
'Excellent.
I was hoping you'd say that!'

As he'd suspected, he was able to wrap up his affairs in two days. On reflection, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad. With his Portal slot booked, all his worldly possessions packed, his shoebox of a bedsit vacated, his mail forwarding sorted out with Mr Pinchgut, and Princess Melissande warned of his imminent arrival, all that remained was to lounge about the club library until it was time to leave, checking every five minutes that he still had the New Ottosland portal address safe in his pocket and worrying that his taxi wouldn't arrive.

He and Monk had said their farewells over lunch near Department headquarters. 'Stay in touch, won't you, Dunnywood,' Monk told him. 'You've got my crystal ball vibration.'

'And you've got mine,' he replied. 'Good luck with your ambient tetrothaumicles, Monk. I look forward to reading all about them in
The Staff!

Monk grinned his irrepressible grin. 'And I look forward to seeing you back here. Soon. There's some Departmental testing equipment with your name on it, remember?'

He decided not to tell Monk about Reg's plan: what his friend didn't know wouldn't worry him. They'd hugged, clumsily, then Monk dashed back to work and he'd returned to the club feeling ridiculously bereft.

Now, waiting for the taxi and contemplating the upheaval of his life, he couldn't help a certain amount of trepidation.

It's an adventure, Dunwoody,
he kept telling himself.
You know you've always wanted an adventure.

Yes. He had. Absolutely. He'd just never expected adventure to feel so ... disconcerting.

In due course the summoned taxi arrived. He piled himself, Reg and his pitifully meagre collection of luggage into the cab, gave the driver his instructions, then turned and looked through the rear window at his home of the last three years as it dwindled, dwindled and finally disappeared in the fast-falling dusk.

The portal station was crowded with arriving and departing wizards and their luggage. Gerald found a trolley, loaded it up with his suitcases, deposited Reg on the handle and whispered, 'Mind this while I get our coupon and find out which portal they've assigned us. And from hereon out no talking, all right? Remember what we agreed.'

Reg rolled her eyes. 'Yes, yes, I remember,' she muttered.'I'm ancient, not addled. And I still think you're making a mistake. Royal wizard or not, you'll need all the advantages you can get, Gerald, and -'

'And a talking bird could chatter us both into trouble. Let's just see which way the New Ottosland wind is blowing before we start amazing the locals, shall we?'

'Pishwash,' said Reg, and subsided into disgruntled silence.

There was quite a queue at the confirmation booth. By the time he'd shuffled his way to the attendant, picked up his travelling chit and fought his way back to where Reg was waiting like a martyr with the luggage it was perilously close to their allotted departure time. Naturally, the portal he'd been assigned was on the very far side of the concourse. He was forced to run with Reg and the luggage trolley, shouting 'look out' and 'so sorry' as he barrelled through the milling throng.

'Mister Dunwoody!' the supervisor was shouting as he arrived in a panting stagger at Portal 32, where a long line of other travellers waited. 'Third and final call for Mister Dunwoody!'

'Here! Here! I'm here!'

The portal supervisor looked him up and down. 'Cutting it fine, there, Mister Dunwoody.' He held out a white-gloved hand.'Chit, please.'

The next person in line was looking disappointed that he'd turned up in the nick of time. He spared her an apologetic grimace and handed his travel coupon to the disapproving supervisor. 'Here it is. Sorry. There's such a crowd.'

With a grunt that might've meant anything, the supervisor punched the coupon into a small box on a table beside him, examined the result, nodded, and dropped it into a waiting tray. 'Wait a minute, wait a minute, not so fast,' he snapped as Gerald turned to decant Reg and his luggage from the trolley.'Contraband inspection first.'

Oh. Of course. Ignoring Reg's snicker he stood still as the supervisor ran a slender bronze truncheon over him, Reg and his suitcases. Attached to each collar point of the supervisor's plain blue uniform was a small green button. So. The portal supervisor was a fellow Third Grader. Doomed to a life of coupon-punching, truncheon-waving and petty bureaucratic pettifogging.

Poor bastard. And there but for the grace of Monk Markham go I.

'Right you are, sir,' said the supervisor, clipping the truncheon back to his belt. 'AH clear.' He snapped his fingers at a hovering porter, who leapt forward and began transferring Gerald's battered suitcases from the trolley into the waiting portal. Then he took a bottle of pills from the table and held it out. 'Need a suppressative, sir? Only Portal travel does take some folk poorly.'

'No, no. We'll - I'll - be fine.'

'Very good sir,' said the supervisor. 'In that case, you're all clear to depart. If you'd kindly step into the Portal ...'

With Reg perched firmly on his shoulder, Gerald stepped.

'Excellent. Have a pleasant journey, sir, mind now, I'm closing the door ...'

...and he was spinning through time and space in a kaleidoscope of colour and sound. Then came the feeling that he was falling very slowly - or was it very quickly, he could never quite decide - down a long dark tunnel towards a bright light ...

...which turned into a door, which opened onto an enormous, well-lit, unfurnished chamber decorated in various shades of gold. Head whirling, he stepped over his various bits of luggage and out of the portal.

'Hell's bells,' said Reg, hauling herself back into place on his shoulder.'I
hate
that bloody contraption.'

'My sentiments exactly,' said a coolly familiar voice. 'Good morning, Mister Dunwoody. Or should that be Professor? I confess the niceties of your profession leave me somewhat perplexed.'

Still giddy and somewhat disoriented - he'd never portalled so far in his life - he staggered in a circle until he found the woman attached to the voice.

She was young. Well, youngish. His own age or thereabouts. Vertically challenged, horizontally overcompensated, clad in baggy brown tweed trousers and a plain blue cotton shirt and crowned with a thick braid of rust-red hair that sagged on top of her head like an uncooked doughnut. Her face was round and splattered with freckles, her chin determined, her eyes green and calculating behind wire-rimmed glasses. At her feet languished a long black exclamation mark of a cat, whose eyes were equally green and calculating.

'Bugger,' said Reg.

The cat smiled and licked its lips.

'Now, now, Boris,' said the woman.'Manners.'

'Ah,' Gerald said, standing straighter. 'Princess Melissande?'

She smiled, revealing a hint of teeth.'Correct.'

Really?
This was a
princess?
Granted he'd never been this close to one before, but all the same ... 'I'm sorry,' he said.'I wasn't expecting you to meet me yourself, Your Highness. I thought you'd send a - a - minion.'

'They were all busy,' said the princess. 'Minioning.'Then she sighed. 'Don't tell me, let me guess. You were expecting someone taller, blonder and thinner, yes? Well, it breaks my heart to disappoint you, Mister Professor Dunwoody, but we ran out of that model around here about four generations ago. When it comes to New Ottosland royal princesses, what you see is what you get.' She smiled again, sweetly. 'Deal with it.'

Appalled, he stumbled forward and bowed. 'No - Your Highness - you misunderstand -'

'I expect I don't, you know. But it doesn't matter. I'm more than used to it.' She tipped her head to one side and considered Reg with narrowed eyes. 'That's a most unusual bird you have there, Professor. I don't think I've ever seen one quite like it before. And it talks?'

He spat a silent curse in Reg's direction. 'Ah - yes. She's - she's - a parrot. Very rare. One of a kind, actually. And you know what parrots are for meaningless chatter, Your Highness. 1 strongly suggest you don't take any notice of her. At all. Ever.'

'A parrot?' said the princess thoughtfully. 'Interesting. I was under the impression that parrots are generally noted for the curviness of their beaks and the brightness of their plumage ... but there you are. If you say it's a parrot then by all means. It's a parrot. Does Polly want a cracker, by any chance?'

'Thank you, no,' he said, fingers clamping tight about Reg's uncurved beak. 'And her name's Reg, actually. Not Polly. I'm afraid she's a bit sensitive about -'

'How quaint,' said Princess Melissande. She turned on her heel and headed at a determined rate towards a closed door at the far end of the golden chamber. The long black cat yawned and followed. He stared after her.

'Ah,Your Highness - my luggage -' 'Don't worry, Mister Professor Dunwoody,' said the princess over her shoulder. 'A spare minion will be along presently to see to it. I'd bring my personal effects, though, if I were you. Qualifications and what not. His Majesty might well ask to see them. And if he doesn't I certainly will.'

He turned back, snatched his carpet-bag and hurried to catch up with her.'Actually, just Mister will do, Your Highness. Or Gerald. I'm not really one to stand on ceremony'

'Really?' she said, and spared him another glance.'I am.'

They reached the golden chamber's vast double doors. The princess halted in front of them and waited, an impatient look on her face.

'Ouch,' he said, as Reg nipped him on the ear. 'What was that for?'

Reg sighed. 'Open the doors. Blockhead.'

He bit his tongue and opened the doors.

'What an interesting vocabulary you've taught your ... parrot,' said the princess as she marched past him, the cat smirking at her heels.'I can hardly wait to hear what it comes out with next. Incidentally, I hope it doesn't have lice. Birds do, you know.'

Reg squawked.

The cat bared its sharp teeth in a grin.

'Oh yes, and by the way, Professor ...' the princess added, already halfway down the corridor. 'Welcome to New Ottosland.'