“Haythwaite,” he said, and put one hand on Errol’s shoulder. Snapped the fingers of his other hand in front of Errol’s face, reinvigorating the docilianti. Priming Errol for what was to come. Thrusting aside any nasty, niggling qualms.
I’m one of the good guys. That means I’m doing good.
“You need to listen to me now, Errol. Are you listening? Can you hear me?”
“Oh, yes,” said Errol. His altered face was quite blank. Waiting for someone to write his thoughts upon it.
Slowly, carefully, Gerald reconstructed the evening’s events. “We’ve been working here all night, Errol. Just you and me. Working on the Mark VI prototype. We haven’t set so much as a toe outside of the lab complex. You made me stay behind and work with you to make up for the time I took to go into town. You were very angry about that, Errol. You thought I had no business leaving the laboratory. Do you understand me?”
Errol nodded. “Yes.”
“How did you feel about me leaving the laboratory, Errol?”
Slowly, Errol’s face contorted. “Bloody Dunnywood,” he said, contemptuous. “Have to twist his arm practically out of its socket to get a decent day’s work from him. Well, I won’t have it, you mingy little turd. I’m in charge of this facility and you’ll bloody well work all the hours I say. You’ll work till you drop, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mister Haythwaite,” he said, letting his voice cringe. “I’m sorry, Mister Haythwaite. Of course I’ll work back with you, as long as it takes, Mister Haythwaite.”
“Yes indeed, you will,” said Errol. “Or I’ll see that Ambrose sacks you first thing in the morning.”
“Good, Errol,” said Gerald, and patted his shoulder. “That’s what you remember. That’s all you remember. And Haf Rottlezinder is nothing to you but a vague memory from your youth. You didn’t know he was in the country. You had no idea what he was up to. Do you understand me, Errol?”
Errol nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
Gerald let out a long, unsteady breath. Lord, this is despicable. Even in a good cause. “ Excellent. Oh! Yes!” He’d nearly forgotten. “One last thing, Errol. If anyone asks, what happened tonight wasn’t my fault. In fact, I did everything I could to help you prevent this horrible accident. Ah… yes… which wasn’t much, because I am a thoroughly useless lump of a Third Grade wizard… but still. I tried. Right? You got that?”
“Right,” said Errol. “Got it.”
He nodded. “Good. So I think that’s everything. Now, Errol, you mustn’t worry. You’re perfectly safe.”
Using his staff this time, he washed a filtering protective wall around them, leaving it just porous enough for authenticity. Then, on a deep breath, he destabilised the hovering Ambrose Mark VI airship prototype… and watched it explode. Felt the rolling wave of thaumic discharge tumble through the carefully calibrated protective shield and leave the appropriate amount of thaumic residue all over himself and Errol. Not enough to hurt them-though he did feel his eyebrows frizzle-but a sufficient quantity to completely obscure what still remained of the residue from the old boot factory’s destruction.
Ears ringing, exposed skin smarting ever so slightly, he satisfied himself that Errol was unharmed then looked at the totally ruined prototype airship. Another one. How many did that make now? Four? No. Five. Fresh scorch marks seared the laboratory walls. Smoke swirled beneath its buckled ceiling.
After deactivating the protective barrier he turned back to Errol. Snapped his fingers again, severing the docilianti ’s hold. Errol’s eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped where he stood, his head rapping too hard on the laboratory’s unforgiving concrete floor. He’d have a nasty goose-egg for sure. Ah well, Just another touch of authenticity.
Feeling bleak, Gerald stared down at him.
Reg is right. I’m far too good at this. Nobody can know just how good at this I am.
And then he went to make his panicked phone call to the authorities. On the whole, it wasn’t going to take much acting.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A great deal of fuss and chaos ensued.
Some time later… he wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, he wasn’t keeping an eye on the clock and besides, he had a thumping headache… Ambrose Wycliffe and his sister Permelia arrived to force their loudly blustering way through the milling Department inspectors and ambulance orderlies.
“Mister Dunnywood, is it?” Ambrose Wycliffe demanded. “What is the meaning of this? What’s going on? Who are all these people and why are they here before me?”
“Before us,” said his sister sharply. “Well, young man? Answer my brother!”
Gerald, sitting at one of the central aisle benches, flicked an apologetic glance at the junior ambulance attendant who was pressing a strip of sticking plaster to his forehead. “It’s-ah-it’s Dunwoody, actually, Mister Wycliffe,” he said, at his most humble. “And I’m sorry, but I thought proper procedure was to inform the authorities in the case of a thaumaturgical accident. So I did.”
“An accident?” said Permelia Wycliffe. “What are you talking about? What kind of accident?”
Gerald arranged his face into an expression of servile distress. “We lost another Mark VI prototype, I’m sorry to say. We-”
“What do you mean we?” Ambrose Wycliffe interrupted. “Who is we, pray tell?”
“Mister Haythwaite and myself, sir,” said Gerald, earnestly. “We-”
“Mister Haythwaite?” echoed Ambrose Wycliffe, his florid face paling. “D’you mean to tell me Errol’s been blown up?”
He bit his lip. Yes indeed, Ambrose, that’s exactly what happened. In fact, our Errol’s been blown up twice. In one night. I wonder if that’s some kind of record? Throttling the urge to laugh- am I in shock? — he cleared his throat.
“It’s all right, Mister Wycliffe. Mister Haythwaite’s not dead. Some other ambulance officers are taking excellent care of him.”
Dazed, Ambrose Wycliffe fished a large blue handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his forehead. “Oh. I see. Good. What a relief.”
“The accident, young man!” snapped Permelia Wycliffe. “ What happened?”
“Well, we stayed back, you see, to do some more work on the prototype’s engine,” he explained, glancing uncertainly at Ambrose’s intimidating sister. If her brother was florid, she was pale as snow. In her eyes, the most unnerving glitter. “Ah-Mister Haythwaite was very keen to see that little-er-little hiccup in the thaumic regulation chamber sorted before-”
“What?” said Ambrose Wycliffe, startled out of his bewilderment, and glared at the junior ambulance orderly who was packing up his little tin of plasters and salves. “Be quiet, Dunwoody! You’re discussing private company matters in front of witnesses, you dolt!”
“Oh,” said Gerald. “Sorry, sir. I’m not thinking straight, got rather a nasty bump on the head.”
But if he was hoping for some sympathy from the Wycliffes he was wasting his breath.
“Let me see if I understand you, young man,” said Permelia Wycliffe. “You and another wizard were working here alone in the laboratory tonight?”
He nodded. “Yes, Miss Wycliffe. That’s correct.”
“ All night?”
“All night, Miss Wycliffe,” he said virtuously. “We never left. Everyone else left, but we stayed behind to work. As Mister Wycliffe knows, Mister Haythwaite is devoted heart and soul to the Ambrose Mark VI and he particularly ordered me to assist him. And of course I was only too happy to obey.”
Now Permelia Wycliffe was staring at him with the most peculiar look on her face. As though she’d swallowed a whole swarm of flies and couldn’t quite believe it.
“You never left?” she said. “Not even for a late supper?”
“No, Miss Wycliffe,” he replied. “Mister Haythwaite wouldn’t hear of it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Permelia Wycliffe. “But I-”