The Accidental sorcerer

A footnote? He was a footnote? Practically a myth? 'Then… what's going to happen to me? Is there some way of switching off this — this — aberrant potentia? Can I go back to being a common or garden variety Third Grade wizard?'

The question appeared to take Sir Alec by surprise. 'You'd do that? Surrender all your power? Mister Dunwoody, do you know what you're saying? Do you have any idea how strong you are?'

I'm strong enough to make two dragons. Strong enough to survive the sympathetica. Strong enough to get ninety-seven innocent souls killed.

But not strong enough to stop any of it happening.

Sir Alec leaned forward. 'Princess Melissande tells me her brother tortured you for many days. With curses from texts listed on the Internationally Proscribed Index. One of them was Grummen's Lexicon which I'm pleased to say is now safely dismembered and under lock and key' Again, that grimness in Sir Alec's face. 'Mister Dunwoody, I'm not sure you understand. No other wizard I know — or have ever heard of- could have survived an ordeal like that. If the physical stresses of such brutality didn't prove fatal then prior evidence indicates the mind of the tortured wizard would simply… snap. But you didn't die and your mind appears intact. And then of course there's the matter of Lional being unable to steal your potentia. Don't you see? At the risk of sounding melodramatic… you are something of a miracle!

He made himself meet Sir Alec's gaze, i don't want to be a miracle.' Sir Alec snorted. 'What sane man would?' 'Then can't you — '

'No,' said Sir Alec. 'I'm afraid that's not possible. I'm aware of no incant or potion capable of undoing whatever the accident at Stuttley's did to you. You are what you've become, Professor, and will remain like that till the day you die. I am very sorry, but there's no going back.'

Was that pity in Sir Alec's grey eyes? If so he didn't want it. Above him on the bedrail he could feel Reg's consternation. She'd been unnaturally quiet through all of this; he wasn't sure what that meant.

'Then I'll stay here,' he said. 'As a private citizen. I'm sure King Rupert will have no objections. I'll dedicate the rest of my life to making up for the damage I did to his people.'

Sir Alec sighed. 'Again, I'm sorry, but no. That's not possible either.'

'You're not leaving him too many options, sunshine,' said Reg. 'There's wheels and wheels turning behind your eyes. What is it you're thinking? What have you got planned for Gerald?'

He lifted his hand to touch fingertips to her wing. 'I already know what he's thinking, Reg,' he said, not taking his gaze from Sir Alec's watchful waiting face. 'He's thinking I'm a problem. He's thinking how best to… resolve me. Aren't you, Sir Alec? Isn't that your plan?'

Reg let out a furious squawk. 'Resolve? You mean assassinate! Over my dead body, mate! Raise so much as an eyebrow to this boy and I'll be wearing your eyeballs for earrings! Gerald, we're leaving. All of a sudden the decor in here is getting right up my sinuses. When I give the word, you head for the door. I'll keep Sir Stooge here occupied while you — '

'Really, Dulcetta,' Sir Alec said, bored. 'Now who's being melodramatic? Mister Dunwoody, please. I'm not here to assassinate you. Or coerce you. Or do anything contrary to the oath I took, as you did, when I became a wizard.'

Bleakly, Gerald looked at him. 'Yes, but oaths are more fragile than you might think, Sir Alec. I broke mine and people died. Perhaps you should… resolve… me. Perhaps the world would be a better place if you did.'

Sir Alec nodded.'It's certainly one solution. And I won't deny it was suggested. It was. Quite vigorously, in some quarters.'

How odd to know that people he'd never met had argued for his murder. He felt almost… academic. As though he were a student again, discussing hypotheticals in a classroom. 'Suggested by you?'

'No,' said Sir Alec. 'Although I certainly considered the notion. In the end I decided eliminating you would be… wasteful.'

Wasteful. He didn't know which was more outrageous… the word or the idea that Sir Alec would calmly admit he'd contemplated killing him. 'Might I ask what you do want to do with me?'

Sir Alec sat back in the armchair. Steepled his fingers and considered him thoughtfully. 'Offer you a job, I think.'

And he hadn't been expecting that. "A job,' he repeated blankly.

' Work, Mister Dunwoody. Gainful employment. You've already had four positions, you must be familiar with the concept by now'

'Bloody hell,' said Reg. 'Whatever it is don't take it, Gerald.'

He eased himself against his pillows. So. This must be what Monk was hinting at. 'A job where? Doing what?'

A faint crease appeared between Sir Alec's pale brown eyebrows, in the Department, of course. Working for me. As a janitor.'

'A what? Images of buckets and mops danced across his inner eye. 'Look, all this cryptic crap might be meat and drink to you, Sir Alec, but I'm tired and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm also blind in one eye. So why don't you stop playing your stupid bloody games and tell me what you mean, straight out, no riddles.'

Sir Alec smiled, his gaze intent. 'Certainly. Janitors are very important people, Mister Dunwoody. They go about their business with a dustpan and brush, sweeping up all the little messes other people leave behind. Nobody notices them. All that's noticed is the world is kept clean and tidy with a minimum of inconvenience to the ordinary man.' 'And woman,' said Reg, glaring. Gerald frowned. 'Messes.' 'Yes.'

'Messes like, say, for example… murdered wizards, stolen potentias, illegal grimoires, the attempted inciting of international religious conflicts… those kinds of messes?' Sir Alec's smiled widened. 'Precisely'

Gerald nodded. And now I understand. Because of Sir Alec, and men like him, the world at large would never learn of the recent events in New Ottosland. Lional's death would appear as three lines on the bottom of the back page of the few newspapers who'd even heard of New Ottosland's king or cared at all that the poor man died young. History would record that Lional perished choking on a fish bone, perhaps. Or falling down some stairs. Certainly there'd be no mention of dragons…

'You do appreciate it's often… better… that way'

'I can appreciate,' said Gerald quietly, 'that some people might be inclined to take that view.'

'Also,' Sir Alec added, refusing to pick up the conversational gauntlet, janitors are occasionally called upon to perform certain maintenance tasks as well.'

Maintenance? 'As in fixing faulty wiring before it burns the whole house down?' he suggested. 'That kind of maintenance?' 'Exactly. Mister Dunwoody, you catch on fast.'

Gerald pulled his knees up to his chest, rucking the blankets, and rested his chin. Considered his visitor in a new, more cautious light.'And are you a janitor by any chance?'

Sir Alec shook his head, i used to be. Before I retired from fieldwork.' Some unbidden, unpleasant memory skated the chilly surface of his face, so swiftly it might have been imagined. Then again, looking at Sir Alec's eyes… maybe not. 'Don't be fooled by the prosaic euphemism, Mister Dunwoody' he said sharply. 'This is not a job for the faint-hearted. Surgeons can't afford to be squeamish.'

'So you want me to be a surgeon now? What happened to my dustpan and brush?'

Sir Alec shrugged. 'Dustpan. Scalpel. Blunt instrument. You'll find there's a wide range of implements at your disposal. Some have more finesse than others, but they all have their uses.'

Ha. It was Shugat all over again. Gerald felt himself contracting like a snail into its shell. 'So that's what I am to you? Just another hammer?'

'Of course,' said Sir Alec. 'And so am I. So is everyone with a gift that can be exploited. We are at war, sir. With all the forces of darkness who desire to use magic to serve their own nefarious purposes. My organisation, and a few others like it around the world, are all that stands between what passes for tranquility, and utter chaos. You've had a lucky escape, Mister Dunwoody. An evil man sought to use you as his instrument… and he failed.'