by K. E. Mills
He pulled back his potentia, shaking, and waited for the churning nausea to subside. “It’s very impressive.”
“Isn’t it?” said his counterpart, smugly pleased. “What did you do with your dragon, Professor? No-wait-don’t tell me. You buried her. Right?”
He nodded, his gaze still riveted to the horribly magnificent beast overhead. “Of course. Thanks to the sympathetico, Lional and that thing were inextricably bound. To bury him without the dragon would’ve been like burying him without an arm, or a leg.”
“Or a head,” said the other Gerald. “But then, since my Lional’s not buried either it isn’t something I need to worry about.”
“Not that you needed to worry at all,” added Bibbie. “I mean, he was a rotter and he deserved what he got.”
Gerald felt a cold shiver skitter over his skin. “And what did he get? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“All in good time, Professor,” said the other Gerald briskly. “Let’s get cracking, shall we? I’ve a lot planned for today.”
With a snap of his fingers he unhexed the lethally hexed wrought-iron gates, which silently swung open to admit them. Gerald hung back, letting his counterpart and Bibbie lead the way. Once they were just comfortably far enough ahead he followed and, trying not to appear eagerly curious, looked around the enclosed parade ground. It seemed they were alone. He couldn’t see anyone else. But there was a scattered collection of large, opaque domes. They looked like enormous upended, smoked-glass soup bowls. Most peculiar. But he didn’t dare poke at them to learn exactly what they were. Everything in here was hexed, he could feel the incants skittering against his skin. Poke too hard, or at the wrong thing, and he might set off a thaumaturgical booby-trap.
The wrought-iron gates clanged shut behind them, their hexes reigniting as metal kissed metal. He felt that, too, a deep shudder in his potentia. The air reeked of coercive magics, a sour tang aftertaste with every breath he took. So unlike his own city of Ott was it that he found it hard to believe they’d ever been the same place.
Like me and this Gerald. We have no common ground.
So how he was supposed to reach him, get him to turn back from his dark, destructive path, he had no idea.
But I have to try.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The other Gerald strode ahead, Bibbie by his side, clearly enjoying himself. Like a child on an outing. Then, realizing he’d left his reluctant guest behind he slowed and, not turning, raised his right hand. “Come along, Professor. I hate people who dawdle.” He waggled a finger and the air sizzled, suggestively. “Chop chop!”
“Sorry,” he muttered, and prudently lengthened his stride.
To his surprise Bibbie slowed her pace until he’d caught up with her. Even more surprisingly she fell into step beside him and linked one silken arm through his.
“Now tell me, Gerry,” she said, archly playful. “The Bibbie in your world-is she as pretty and as scintillating and as fascinating as me?”
“Um…” He looked down at the gloved hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, then glanced at the other Gerald, sauntering ahead. Every instinct told him the man would be… possessive. But if he snubbed her, the other Gerald would probably take offense. And if he praised his Bibbie, this one would probably slap him-or worse. Talk about tap-dancing on eggshells. “My-I mean, the other Bibbie? She’s-ah-she’s different. You know. She’s her own person.”
“Hmmph,” said Bibbie, wrinkling her perfect nose. “ Different. I know what that means. I used to be repressed too. Oh, I thought I was daring, flouting the rules, playing with stupid stuff like ethergenics. Ha. As if silly ethergenics is the cutting edge of witchcraft. But then you-I mean he — came back from New Ottosland and…” She sighed. “Well. Everything changed.”
“For the better?” he asked quietly, and looked at her sidelong. Beneath the polished confidence, could he sense doubt? And if he could… I have to risk it. I might not get another chance. “Bibbie-sometimes what starts off as fun and games can turn into something else. Something frightening. If you’re not happy-if you’re having second thoughts-”
She snatched her arm back. Scorched him with her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I’ve never been happier. The things I can do now-all my dreams are coming true! If you think I have any regrets, Gerry, then it’s clear as glass you don’t know me at all.”
Soft laughter in front of them. “Now, now, Professor,” said the other Gerald, spinning around to walk backwards. His eyes were glittering with a gleeful malice. “Don’t you be naughty. She’s my Emmerabiblia. If you didn’t get anywhere with yours, well, that’s too bad. You’ve missed out on quite a treat. But in case you’re forgetting, you and I are singletons. Spoiled only children. And everybody knows only children don’t share.”
He made himself hold his counterpart’s intimidating gaze. “We used to.”
“Oh, come on, Professor,” the other Gerald retorted. “This is you you’re talking to, remember? We only shared then because the cousins were bullies and we were too afraid to fight back. But I’m not afraid of bullies any more. Even better, I’m not afraid of myself. On the contrary, I’ve embraced myself. I adore the new me.” A quick, sly smile. “And you will too. In time. I promise.”
Angry despair robbed him of speech for a moment. No, I’m pretty sure I won’t. But there was no point arguing. He cleared his throat. “Look-Gerald-what are we doing here, exactly?”
“We’re on a tour, Professor,” his counterpart said brightly, still walking backwards, as light and confident on his feet as a circus performer. “Trust me, the exhibits here are marvelously educational. The way I see it, they might even save your life.”
Exhibits? That’s what those opaque domes were? So had this Gerald turned the ceremonial parade ground into some kind of open-air museum? As his counterpart spun around to face forward again, fingers summoning Bibbie to his side with an impatient snap, he took another look at the dome directly ahead.
This close, the level of ambient thaumaturgics in the ether was much higher. So high, in fact, that the air felt almost syrupy. A little hard to push through. Whatever was hidden within that opaque dome it was surrounded by impressively powerful incants. His own potentia was twitching in response-but until this moment he hadn’t noticed. Instead he’d let himself be distracted by the Gerald and Bibbie strolling in front of him. Damn. He really was off his game. And why was that? The shock of his abrupt transdimensional dislocation? Or maybe the equally disconcerting effect of suddenly being turned into a twin. Seeing Melissande shadbolted, and Bibbie being cruel. And then he shook himself.
It doesn’t matter why. You can’t afford to be off your game, Dunnywood, so bloody well pull yourself together. You’re a trained prqfessional troubleshooter. A janitor. Situations like this are meant to be your meat and drink.
True. Except what he was facing here and now felt like having to drink dry an ocean and swallow a continent’s worth of cows.
“And here we are!” announced the other Gerald, halting. “At what you might call Exhibit A, Professor. Or-as I prefer to think of it-Object Lesson Number One.” He laughed. “I’ll give you three guesses what’s inside.”
He stared at the shimmering, impenetrable dome. “You could give me thirty and it wouldn’t make a difference. If you want to show me something, Gerald, then show me. I don’t understand why we need to play games.”
That earned him a sharp look. “Trust me, Professor, I’m not playing. Just ask Lional if you don’t believe me.”
A fingersnap, one whispered word, and a moment later the opaque dome turned to mist and blew away. The ether sighed with the release of thaumic stresses. Heart thudding, Gerald stared at what was now revealed.
Just ask Lional…
Who, like his precious dragon, was dead and preserved with powerful incants. Dead and staked to a rectangle of turf, pinned in place with dragon teeth. Dead with the blood still fresh, with the wounds that killed him still gaping, dead with his mouth open in o
ne last, frozen scream.
“Oh, Professor,” said the other Gerald, watching. “You feel sorry for him? After the cave?”
Slowly he lowered his hand from his mouth. Took a deep breath, even though the syrupy air stank of foul incants, and shook his head. “No, Gerald. Not for him.”
His counterpart laughed, incredulous. “For me? Really? Do I look like I need your pathetic pity?”
Sickened, he risked another glance at Lional. “No.”
“Professor…” The other Gerald ran a hand over his hair, everything about him impatient and irked. “I’m disappointed. I never would’ve pegged you as a hypocrite. You admitted it yourself-the Lional in your world is dead. So what-you expect me to believe he choked on a fishbone?”
Gerald shook his head. “No. I killed him. Him and the dragon together. But afterwards I gave him to Mel and Rupert for a decent, private burial. I didn’t-I couldn’t- ” He had to wait until his voice was trustworthy. “Why is he here? Like this. Why have you-”
“Oh, Professor,” snapped his counterpart. “Why d’you think? Because a picture is worth a thousand words, isn’t it?”
“The parade ground’s only empty this morning,” Bibbie added. She seemed completely unconcerned by the mutilated man-corpse-at her feet. “As a special treat for you, Gerry. Ordinarily it’s jam-packed, you know. Because it’s the law that everyone in Ott comes to visit at least once a week, every week. And if you don’t live in Ott it’s once a month, which I think is very reasonable.” She stroked the other Gerald’s arm. “Kind of like church, really, only far less boring.”
Dazed, he stared at them. “Everyone? You mean even the children are-”
“Oh, especially the children,” she said, her beautiful blue eyes wide. “It’s very important that they understand.”
Understand what? he wanted to scream. That you and your young man are stark staring bloody bonkers?
“So, anyway,” said the other Gerald, and snapped his fingers again. Instantly that smoky opacity began to reform, bowl-like, mercifully obliterating Lional from sight. “That’s what happened to Lional. Good riddance to bad rubbish, as they wisely say. And now let’s keep on, because the day’s not getting any younger and like I said, we’ve a lot to do!”
Oh, Saint Snodgrass. He didn’t want to see inside another one of those domes. He knew, he just knew, that as bad as Lional was, he wasn’t the worst.
What if I just stand here and dig my heels in, like a mule…
“Professor,” said the other Gerald. The glitter was back in his eyes. “Did your sideways leap through the portal scramble your memory? Ottosland isn’t exactly short of housekeepers. So unless you fancy writing me up a good Positions Vacant notice…?”
Melissande. He could still feel her dreadful fear, a choking constriction in his throat. That shadbolt was capable of inflicting the most horrendous pain… “I’m coming,” he said, his voice thick. “There’s no need for threats.”
The other Gerald raised an eyebrow. “Actually, there is. You’d be surprised how dim some people can be.” He held out his hand. “Come on, Bibbie. And you, Professor-keep up.”
As they headed for the next dome a huge shadow flitted over them. Gerald tipped his head back and stared at the sky, to see a sleek and streamlined airship gliding high above. The cloud cover briefly parted, and its silver and scarlet skin shone brilliantly in the sunshine, which bounced brightly off the “ Guns? ” he said, grabbing at the other Gerald’s arm. “You’ve got guns on airships? Are we-is your city-under attack?”
Halting, the other Gerald looked at him. “Let go.”
With a yelp he snatched his fingers free and leaped aside. Soundlessly, no hint at all, his counterpart had surged something sharp through his etheretic aura. He shook his hand, fingers stinging. “Answer the question. Is there trouble? Is Ottosland at war?”
“Blimey, was I really this much of an alarmist?” the other Gerald mused. “I didn’t think so-but how embarrassing if I was. No, Professor, Ottosland isn’t at war. I’m just a big believer in an orderly society.”
You mean a terrified society. But with Melissande hostage to his good behavior he didn’t say it, just in case. “Oh,” he said instead. “Well. That’s good to know.”
“Isn’t it?” said his counterpart, showing his teeth in a smile, and slid an arm around Bibbie’s shoulders. “Because there’s nothing like sleeping safely at night.” He kissed Bibbie’s cheek. “Is there, Bibs?”
She shook her head fervently. “Nothing.”
“And believe me, Professor,” the other Gerald added, “there’s nothing I won’t do to make sure things stay that way.”
“Oh, I believe you, Gerald,” he said. “I mean, I have to, don’t I? If I can’t tell when I’m being sincere, who can?”
“Exactly,” said his counterpart, and laughed. “On we go, then-and let’s not have any more interruptions or you’ll miss out on some of the best exhibits. And you wouldn’t want that, Professor. Would you?”
Are you kidding? I’d love it. “No, Gerald,” he said obediently. “I wouldn’t at all.”
Far too soon they reached the next opaque dome.
“Now,” said the other Gerald, “here’s another really useful object lesson.” He snapped his fingers, and the obscuring mist before them began to dissolve. “I like to call this one You Do Have A Choice. Because he did. He really did. Didn’t he, Bibbie?”
Bibbie smoothed down her short, sleek hair. “Yes, he did, Gerald. And he made the wrong one.”
“And d’you know, I was pretty bloody reasonable,” said the other Gerald, sounding aggrieved. “I gave him three chances to join me. It was a damned nuisance he’d been shadbolt-proofed, I can tell you.”
With an effort he kept his face blank. A nuisance. Yes. I mean, Saint Snodgrass forbid you should ever be inconvenienced. Then, as he opened his mouth to say something that could be interpreted as supportive, the last of the obscuring mist melted… and he saw who the other Gerald was whining about. He saw, he heard, he smelled… and his mind and body rebelled, recoiling in horror.
Oh. Oh-good lord. No. No-no-no He heaved up his half-digested fried eggs and bacon in a splattering mess, all over the parade ground’s pristine flagstones.
“What?” said the other Gerald, surprised, his voice raised above the steady crackling and the terrible screams. “Do you know him? Really? That’s… unexpected.”
Gerald dragged his sleeve across his foul-tasting mouth. Don’t look again. Don’t look. Turn away. But he couldn’t. He owed it to Sir Alec-even a Sir Alec who’d never met him, or fought for him-to bear witness to this most despicable act.
The other Gerald muted the awful sounds. “It’s a pretty ingenious incant, even if I do say so myself,” he said. “I wish I could take full credit for it, but I can’t. It’s what you might call a joint effort. I dreamed it up, but Monk’s the one who made it work. Y’know, I might be the world’s most powerful wizard but Saint Snodgrass’s bunions — he’s its greatest inventor and thaumaturgical technician. What I wouldn’t give to have his kink in the brain.”
He could taste blood in his mouth, he was biting his lip so hard. And what I wouldn’t give to be completely blind and deaf and senseless right now. For a moment he thought he’d be sick again, but somehow he managed to keep his stomach where it belonged.
“It is a bit gruesome, though,” said Bibbie, sounding petulant. “I do wish you wouldn’t keep making me come back to see it.”
“Well, of course it’s gruesome, Bibbie,” said the other Gerald. He sounded miffed. “It’s supposed to be gruesome. What kind of an object lesson would it be if it didn’t make you want to claw out your eyes, stuff corks in your ears and shove cotton plugs up your nose?”
“Well… yes,” said Bibbie, unconvinced. “I know. You’re right. I suppose.”
“And I thought you were proud of me for thinking this one up,” the other Gerald added. “You said you were proud. You said you thought it was fantastic.”
“I do, I do think it’s fantastic,” Bibbie protested. “Only a genius could’ve dreamed this up. But I’m sensitive, Gerald, and this must be the fiftieth time I’ve seen it. Fifty times. Isn’t that enough?”
As his counterpart and Bibbie launched into a bitter bickering match, he made himself face what they’d done to Sir Alec. Looking at him not only with his one good eye, but with his sharply honed thaumaturgic senses, too.
If I can see how the incant’s put together maybe I can break it. Maybe I can set the poor bastard free.
Because what this world’s Gerald and Monk had done, between them, was imprison their Sir Alec within an infinite temporal loop. Chained to a stake, surrounded by ignited oil-soaked wood, enigmatic, mysterious and oddly compassionate Sir Alec was burning alive. Worse, he was trapped in the last hideous heartbeats before death that now, thanks to Monk’s genius, stretched on and on to infinity. A death without end. A death lasting forever.
They show this to children. They make children see this. How can I help him? I can’t help him. I don’t want to. I want him to die.
Through blinding tears he battled to understand the construction of the incant. He’d never encountered anything like it, a combination of the darkest magic he’d ever tasted and his own potentia warped almost beyond recognition, shot through with Monk’s inimitable, irrepressible thaumic signature.
How could you, Monk? How could you do this?
And then he felt a rough hand on his shoulder, shaking him. “Oh, for pity’s sake, Professor! Now you’re crying? What are you, a girl? Even Bibbie’s not boo-hooing. Who is this Sir Alec to you, that you’d give a toss that he’s dead?”
It was no good. He couldn’t begin to break this incant. Not here and now, anyway. Probably not ever. Pulling away from the other Gerald, he dried his face on his sleeve.
“But he’s not dead, is he? Gerald-”
“He tried to kill me!” the other Gerald shouted. “All right? This isn’t murder. It’s self-defense. It’s justice. When someone tries to kill you-”