The Accidental sorcerer

Well, 1 can be sneaky too, Sir Alec from the Department. I can do a lot of things. I think I might surprise you.

With a blink, Sir Alec calmed his thaumic aura. 'As I said, Mr Dunwoody, we need to talk. It won't take long, I do realise you're convalescent… and in any case I am needed elsewhere. You've kicked up some dust both at home and abroad; ruffled feathers require tactful soothing.'

Gerald considered him. 'Maybe they wouldn't if you lot had been doing your jobs. Five minutes after I made Lional his dragon you and your counterparts from the UMN should've been crawling all over New Ottosland. Why weren't you?'

Sir Alec's pale eyes were cold and calculating, the brain behind them summing him up…i'm sorry if you felt… abandoned, but I'm afraid politics both domestic and international raised their ugly heads at precisely the wrong moment. Valuable resources were… diverted. May I sit down?' if you must,' said Reg, before he could answer, and relocated to the bedrail behind the pillows. 'But don't get too comfy. Gerald's been through a terrible ordeal so talk fast and leave faster, sunshine, because — '

One hand raised, Sir Alec moved towards the bed, a thin smile curving his lips. 'Yes, yes, Reg. Or should I say: Your Majesty? Seeing as you are, beneath that quaint disguise, Queen Duketta of Lalapmda, born in the year 1216, only daughter of King Treve and Queen Amyrl, who ascended the Lalapindian throne in 1234, foolishly married the warlock Vertain in 1235 and apparently drowned soon thereafter. In reality Vertain ensorcelled you, trapping your soul in the body of a bird and dooming you to wander the world ever after… provided the enchantment placed upon you is not touched.' He cleared his throat. 'Did I leave anything out?'

Reg closed her gaping beak with a click. 'You nosey bugger! How did you find out?'

Another sardonic smile, it's part of my job description.'

'And what job is that?' said Gerald. He wasn't at all sure he liked where this was heading…

Sir Alec seated himself in the armchair by the bed. 'All in good time, Mister Dunwoody.'

So. Here was the other shoe dropping with a vengeance. Gerald scowled. 'That's Professor Dunwoody to you.'

Sir Alec nodded. 'Certainly. At least for the moment.'

'All right, all right,' said Reg, rallying. 'That's enough with the cut glass repartee, sunshine. Why are you here?'

'Why do you think, Reg? He wants to find out how I did it,' he said tiredly. 'How I made the dragons and all the rest of it.'

'On the contrary,' said Sir Alec. 'I know precisely how you did it.' 'So?'

'So the question is: what are we going to do with you as a result?'

He made himself meet Sir Alec's cold, grey gaze. Here we go. 'You're saying I'm dangerous.'

Sir Alec smiled. 'Everyone is dangerous, Mister Dunwoody. In their own way, in their own time. All it takes is the right catalyst, the right circumstances. The perfect confluence of events.'

He shook his head, rejecting the cynicism. 'No. Not — '

'Everyone, Mister Dunwoody' Sir Alec flicked a speck of dust from his knee. 'Shall I tell you how you're feeling, sir? Yes, I think I shall. You're feeling… betrayed. As though the world has betrayed you. And do you know why you feel like that? It's because you've lost your innocence. Like the vast majority of people, Mister Dunwoody, until New Ottosland came into your life, you bumped along happily enough. Oh, you had dreams that didn't seem likely to come true, but they were comforting and you dreamed them. You'd had career disappointments, yes, but you trusted they were temporary. Your faith was a little battered, perhaps, but you still believed. You looked upon the world with a benevolent eye. Oh yes, of course you knew there were scoundrels among us, certain gentlemen whose company you preferred to avoid, but on the whole you found the world good. And then you came here. With the best of intentions — eager and anxious and so terribly naive. Without ever meaning to, you kicked over the rock of New Ottosland… and from under it crawled Lional.'

Deep inside, Gerald felt himself shiver. 'You make me sound like a fool.'

'A fool?' said Sir Alec thoughtfully. 'Not at all. Before this… adventure… you were no more foolish than any other ordinary man. You saw the sunlight, not the shadows. The trouble is, Mister Dunwoody, the shadows exist. And if we're not very careful, very vigilant, they will swallow us. And our good world will be plunged into darkness.'

Gerald watched his fingers clench, his knuckles whiten. Sir Alec was right. And I hate it. I never, ever wanted to know this. 'All right. Say I agree with you. So what? What has any of that to do with me?'

Another flick of manicured fingers, banishing dust. 'In the time that's passed since the incident with the two dragons and the late King Lional,' said Sir Alec, 'certain of my colleagues have been conducting an exhaustive search into your ancestry. Also your medical, educational and various employment records, the results of your original Thaumaturgical Aptitude test and several eyewitness accounts of what happened at Stuttley's.' 'You really are a nosey bugger,' Reg grumbled.

Sir Alec rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, apparently quite at ease. But a dynamo of tension hummed inside him, thrumming the invisible air. 'The technical term for your condition is "thaumaturgical distillation". The slang term is "rogue". In metaphysical parlance, Mister Dunwoody, it means you're a sport. An anomaly. It means you are irregular.' He sniffed. 'Highly irregular, if you must know. And as I said, it's causing no end of a stir in certain circles.'

Gerald breathed out slowly. How did this happen? My dad's a tailor…'That sounds inconvenient.'

'Let's just say you've added a new level of complexity to my already complicated life,' said Sir Alec, his tone extremely dry.

'All right. So I'm thaumaturgically distilled. Is it fatal?' Sir Alec's smile was wintry.'Only to other people.' 'You miserable shitl' snapped Reg. 'That's not funny!'

Sir Alec considered her for an arctic moment then nodded. 'Point taken. Forgive me, Mister Dunwoody. A macabre sense of humour is an unfortunate side effect in my line of work.'

Ninety-seven dead. Twelve of them children. 'How does it happen?' said Gerald, when he could trust his voice again. 'This… distillation?'

Sir Alec shrugged. 'Nobody's certain. We believe it's the result of no wizards being born to a particular bloodline for three or more generations. In your case, however, it appears to be more like fifteen.'

Fifteen. That sounded… impressive. Or maybe inconvenient. 'Is the condition common?'

'Quite the contrary. Many experts consider it something of a myth. No rogue has been born in the modern era.'

'That you know of,' he pointed out. i mean I was tested, wasn't I, and classified Third Grade.'

Sir Alec frowned, it would appear the condition remains dormant until something triggers it.'

Ah. And that would be the sound of the third shoe dropping.'You mean something like Stuttley's?' 'Exactly'

Meanly, viciously, he felt vindicated. 'So if that prig Scunthorpe hadn't — '

'Mr Scunthorpe,' said Sir Alec repressively, 'is no longer your concern, Dunwoody. I'm here to discuss your aberrant potentia, not the decisions, prudent or otherwise, of your past supervisors.'

Aberrant. It was as good a word as any. Gerald thought about that for some time. About the implications of this aberrant, inconvenient condition. Its ramifications for himself and everyone who knew him.

At last he looked up. Sir Alec was watching him, still coiled inside like an overwound spring. 'All right, Sir Alec. We know what I am. But what does it mean?'

'Don't ask him,' Reg said sourly, as Sir Alec hesitated. 'He hasn't got a bloody clue. Accidents like you are so rare you're nothing more than a footnote in a mouldering textbook in the back room of the Department's basement library. Isn't that right, mate?'

Incredibly Sir Alec looked faintly discomfited. 'I'm afraid so.'