The Accidental sorcerer

He bit his lip. How did the cliches go? Beggars can't be choosers? If wishes were horses, beggars would ride? The word 'beggar' was distressingly prominent. How long before it could reasonably be applied to him? His savings were negligible, his chances of re-employment here nil…

'Your Highness,' he said, 'if I ask you something will you answer me honestly?'

Her veiled chin shot up. 'I am a princess, sir. We are always honest.'

That wasn't what Reg had told him but this wasn't the time to quibble. 'How many other wizards do you have in the running?' 'Why?'

Because if he had stiff competition for the post he'd retire gracefully from the field. He didn't have time to waste on round-robin interviewing. He needed a new job fast. 'Oh,' he said. 'You know. Just curious.'

A long silence, punctuated by yelps and squeals in the background. Then: 'None. You're the only one.' 'I see.'

Now Monk had an invisible knife in one hand, a neck-stretching bunch of hair in the other, and was busily cutting his own throat.

He took a deep breath. Crazy or not, escapologist vampire butterflies or not, it was a wizarding position. It was out of the country. And there was a very good chance that as a royal court wizard he'd never lay eyes on a pair of polka-dot underpants. What had Reg shrieked at him during their most recent, calamitous argument? You're too timid, Gerald. You're unadventurous and unwilling to take a chance. You're always talking the talk hut you never walk the walk.

'All right, Your Highness,' he said.'I'm in. I'll be your new court wizard.'

Monk threw up his arms in despair. In the crystal ball, New Ottosland's prime minister jumped as though she'd just been bitten by a butterfly. 'You will? I mean, excellent. How soon can you start?'

'Soon. Within a couple of days, I should think. Just a few loose ends to sort out.'

'Really? How fortuitous. Er… do you have portal access?*

Good question. Surely Mr Scunthorpe wouldn't be so petty as to have revoked his portal privileges? He crossed his fingers.'Yes, Your Highness.'

'Excellent. I'm sending you our coordinates… now. Have you received them?'

The green recording crystal in the ball's base was blinking.'Yes, Your Highness.'

'Then on behalf of His Majesty King Lional the Forty-third, allow me to congratulate you on your appointment. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to have you join him in implementing his plans for the kingdom.'

'And please inform His Majesty that I'm thrilled to — ' He stopped. An enormous red and black butterfly had landed on the princess's veiled face. 'Er — Your Highness? There's a vampire butterfly on your nose.'

'Yes,' said the princess. 'I can see that, Professor.' She took a deep breath. 'RupertV

And then the connection was cut, and Monk's crystal ball was a lump of empty glass again. Bemused, Gerald sat back in his chair.

I'm still a wizard, hi fact I'm more than a wizard. I'm a royal court wizard. To a king. Take that, Scunthorpe!

'You're mad,' said Monk. 'Certifiable. You need your head examined. Vampire butterflies! Insane princes! A king with plans! Kings aren't supposed to have plans, Gerald, they're supposed to sit on their thrones and make new kings and that's all they're supposed to do. History is littered with the corpses of fools who got tangled up with kings who have plans'.'

He shrugged. 'History, maybe. But we live in the modern era, Monk. And anyway this was all your idea. You're the one who insisted I apply for the position.' 'Apply, yes! Accept, no!'

Strangely, he was feeling exhilarated. All his life he'd been sensible. Conservative. Hoping for great things but never quite believing they'd happen, at least not to him. Dreaming of grand achievements, heroic accomplishments, but always being brought back to reality with a shuddering thud by a seemingly inescapable fact: tailors' sons from Nether Wallop were not the cloth from which heroes are cut.

So. Perhaps he wasn't ever going to be a hero but he was about to become court wizard to a king. And that, at least, was a grand achievement. Of a sort. He smiled. 'Monk, I'll be fine.'

'You don't know that! And what about the salary? You didn't even ask how much they're paying you!'

'Like you said, the salary's not important. What's important is this job is my express ticket out of town. If I have to hang around here listening to Haythwaite and Co and everyone else going on and on about Stuttley's I think I will cut my throat. Don't you see? This is the answer to a prayer. And you were right: with Royal Court Wizard written on my resume nobody will care about Stuttley's. Not after I've been gone for a while, anyway. So thank you. I think we can officially say you've saved my bacon. Again.'

Monk shook his head. 'I'm not so sure. The court of New Ottosland looks more like a three-ring circus from where I'm sitting. And what about Reg?'

'If the court's a three-ringed circus she'll fit right in.' He sighed. 'Look. If she comes back before I leave, we'll talk about it. If she comes back after, will you tell her where I've gone? She can make up her own mind whether she wants to join me or not. And if she doesn't come back — ' 'I'll do everything I can to find her. But Gerald — ' 'No. I'm going. We both know it's my only choice.'

Reluctantly Monk nodded. 'Yeah. But I still think you should get yourself tested again. There has to be some explanation for what happened. Maybe in a couple of months, once you've settled in at court, you can portal back for a day and we'll see what the Department equipment has to say about you. The dust over Stuttley's will be settled by then. Deal?'

Gerald laughed, the gloom of recent events abruptly vanished. He felt light enough to fly. 'Deal! Now let's go back downstairs to the bar so I can buy you a drink.'

'No, let's go back downstairs to the bar so I cm buy you a drink,' said Monk. 'With luck Haythwaite and his little friends will still be there. I really want to see their faces when I call for a toast to the next Royal Court Wizard of New Ottosland!'

Sadly, Haythwaite and Co had departed. But that didn't stop Gerald and Monk from downing a prodigious number of colourful and highly alcoholic drinks in honour of the occasion. By the time Upjohn the barkeep called 'Time!' they were definitely the worse for wear. Mr Pinchgut, gloomily inured to the excesses of young wizardry, helped them up the stairs, poured Monk into his bed then saw Gerald poured safely into his own.

'Good night, sir,' he said, just before pulling the bedsit door closed. 'I'll be sure to have the kitchen prepare a little something for your headache in the morning.'

Sprawled face-up on his slowly expiring mattress, Gerald listened to the latch click shut and watched the ceiling spin lazy circles overhead. He felt warm and fuzzy and delightfully disconnected. Stuttley's exploding staff factory was a long, long way away.

A feathered shadow swooped through the open window and landed with a click of nails on the ram skull above the bed. He struggled onto his elbows and squinted into the darkness. 'Reg? Is that you?'

'No,' said a snippy voice. 'It's your fairy godmother.'

He thudded back to the sagging bed. 'Thank God! Where have you been? I've been worried out of my mind!' 'Must have been a short trip.' 'Oh come on, don't be like that.'

'I'll be any way I like, thank you very much.' A censorious sniff. 'You're drunk.'

He folded his arms behind his head. 'And you're a bird, but I shall be sober in the morning.'

A short, sharp silence. Then, 'That was unkind,' said Reg, subdued. 'And true.'

A cosily familiar ruffling sound as she fluffed out all her feathers. 'I hear you blew up Stuttley's staff factory and lost your job,' she observed, rallying.'How enterprising of you.'

Of course she'd heard. Reg heard everything. It was one of her more irritating habits. 'Yes, I did. But that's not why I'm drunk.'