'Explode into so many pieces there won't be anything left to bury!' he retorted. 'The Speed-Em-Up was never designed to be used on living things! Don't you remember the bookmaker and the racehorse? It was disgusting] And that was using the hex at quarter strength!'
Reg snorted. 'The wizard that bookmaker hired was a third-rate hack who couldn't tie his shoelaces without a diagram and a scantily clad assistant. I have total faith in your ability to do the thing correctly, Gerald. You're a metaphysical prodigy, remember? There's absolutely no reason to assume I'll explode, provided you take the proper precautions. Besides, what other choice is there? We have to reach that Markham boy somehow'
She was right, dammit, but hell. The risk. 'What about Lional?' he demanded, desperate. 'What if he wants you? What do I tell him?' 'Tell him I'm sick.' 'And if he doesn't believe me?'
'Then tell him I'm dead! Boo-hoo your eyes out, put on a show. Now stop arguing, Gerald! We both know I have to do this.'
Overwhelmed, stomach churning, Gerald pushed to his feet, stamped to and fro for a minute then collapsed to the grass against a handy chestnut tree and closed his eyes tight. He could hear the drone of bees amongst the flowers, the twittering of birds in the branches overhead, the laughter of children playing two gardens along and the measured snick-snick of secateurs somewhere off to the right. The morning sun was warm on his face, the heady perfume of roses and luvvyduvvies tickled his nose. He felt Reg's claws prick gently through the fabric of his trousers as she jumped onto his knee.
'Come on, my boy' she coaxed. 'I'll be fine, you'll see. I'm a smart old bird and I have no intention of blowing myself to kingdom come on behalf of that oink Lionel.'
Unconvinced, he banged his head against the tree trunk and welcomed the pain. He was familiar with the accelerando maxima hex. For a while, until Scunthorpe played spoilsport and put an end to the hijinks, he and a bunch of other probationary compliance officers had spent their lunchtimes souping up some model cars and zooming them round the Department car park, to the amusement and bruised ankles of all. The employment market for top-notch speed wizards was excellent, and lucrative; the international car-racing circuit paid a fortune for wizards with the knack of making race cars go really, really fast. Briefly he'd dreamed of the big-time himself, but mostly his model cars had crashed. Of course that was before Stuttley's. The hex would work now. He knew it would. / am, after all, a metaphysical prodigy.
Suddenly he was angry. If only he could be the old Gerald Dunwoody again, the Gerald Dunwoody who'd forgotten New Ottosland even existed, who'd honestly believed he'd found his level and was — if not happy — then resigned to staying there, doing what good he could for the welfare of wizardry and civilians alike. Where was that Gerald Dunwoody when he needed him? Gone.
And in his place breathed a wizard of untried, untested limits who held the fate of two nations and who knew how many thousands of souls in his ill-prepared and sweating hands.
With his heart like frozen lead in his chest he opened his eyes to meet Reg's expectant gaze. 'Do you even know how to find Markham from here?' he asked tiredly.
'More or less. Trust me, Gerald, that's the least of my worries.' She rattled her tail. 'So. Does this mean you'll do it?' 'Do I have a choice?' 'Sorry' she said. 'You really don't.'
No. He really didn't. If I get out of this mess in one piece I'm retiring. The world will he a safer place without a wizard like me let loose in it. He looked at Reg. 'Well. Are you ready?'
She ruffled all her feathers. 'And waiting, sunshine.'
'All right then,' he sighed. His chest hurt. 'But if this doesn't work and your wings fall off or your brain explodes or you fly in one side of a mountain and out the other don't you dare come back to haunt me because I'm telling you right now, for the record, I think this is a very bad ideal
Reg rolled her eyes. 'Yes, Gerald. I hear you, Gerald. Now can we please get on with it, Gerald, because I'm not getting any younger!'
She hopped down from his knee and crouched on the grass before him, eyes gleaming with determination, wings outspread and ready. He leaned forward and rested a finger lightly on the top of her head. Closed his eyes. Sought for the power hidden within and felt it shudder, waiting. 'Accelerando maxima,' he whispered. 'Accelerando maxima qui.Accelerando maxima deco dea'. Nothing happened.
'Gerald, if you're waiting for me to change my mind you're much sillier than I ever gave you credit for!' said Reg, flapping her wings. 'I'm going and that's all there is tooooo — ooooh — ooooh — GceeraaaaaaldV And she was gone. For a long time he sat in the shade of the chestnut tree, listening to a nearby gardener's tuneless humming and staring at the point of sky into which Reg had launched herself like an arrow of flame. He lost track of time. Felt bodiless, as though he were nothing but a vast and pulsing pain contained within a tissue-thin sack of skin. As though at any moment he would tear to shreds and the pain would come pouring out in a torrent of tears to soak into the grass and put an end to him entirely.
He thought that might be a good thing. Because if anything happened to Reg…
Then a voice cried: 'Oh there you are, Professor! I've found you!' and he was dragged back into passing time and aching flesh and solid sorrow.
Oh no. Not Rupert. Not now. Someone make him go away.
He closed his eyes, but when he opened them again Melissande's batty brother stood directly in front of him, beaming like a little boy who'd found his lost teddy. He was dressed in a puce velvet suit with lace trimmings, and wore a butterfly like a hair ornament.
'Rupert,' he said, struggling for rudimentary good manners. 'Hello. Ah… on your head — there's a — '
Rupert's smile widened. 'Oh, yes, that's Esmerelda. Isn't she beautiful?' Collapsing his knees and ankles he dropped to the grass to sit cross-legged in the shade. The green and white butterfly clinging to his tangled hair fluttered its wings but didn't fly away. 'I named her after my mother. Her name was Esmerelda, before she became a Melissande. She was beautiful too. Lional looks just like her. Unfortunately Melly and I seem to have taken more after Father's side of the family' He reached up a gentle fingertip; the butterfly stepped onto it, dainty as a ballerina. 'Esmerelda's a Dumb Cluck,' he added, grinning soppily at the docile insect. / can't stand this, not right now… 'A what?' Gerald said, ungritting his teeth.
'It's a specialty breed,' Rupert explained.'Designed as a house pet. They can't fly so they almost never escape. If you're not careful though you tread on them, with unfortunate consequences. But they do make excellent companions, provided you remember to look where you're stepping.' He winced. 'Or sitting.'
Gerald tried to imagine the kind of person who'd go to all the trouble of purpose-breeding a butterfly that made a good pet but couldn't fly. Probably they looked a lot like Rupert.
'The Dumb Clucks used to be very popular,' said Rupert, carefully returning the insect to his head. 'But then Andrea Wallington-Finch successfully crossed a Dumb Cluck with an Exciteable Clampet.' He sighed. 'And after that hardly anybody wanted a plain old Cluck in the family. I suppose I have a certain amount of fellow feeling for the poor things.'
There was no way to answer that politely, so he nodded. 'Hmm.'
'Now tell me, Gerald, how are you feeling this morning? All recovered from that nasty fall?' 'Yes. Quite recovered.Thanks for asking.'
Rupert peered at him. 'Are you sure? Because when I saw you just now I thought: Oh dear, Gerald's having a relapse.'
Reg. With a supreme effort he banished the haunting fear. 'No. No relapse.'
'You'd tell me if you were, though, wouldn't you?' Rupert said anxiously. 'I mean, if there was anything upsetting you, you'd tell me? I know I'm a bit of a ninny but I'm a very good listener. You'd be surprised, I think, the things people tell me. Especially the staff. They all come to me with their little problems because they know I'll listen. Sometimes I even solve them, only please don't go repeating that because Lional doesn't like me getting familiar with the staff