Bibbie was waiting at the old house's front door, changed out of her scanty scarlet dress into an exotically shimmering neck-to-ankle garment made entirely of multi-colored Fandawandi silk. To complete her decorous deception she'd added a hat that seemed to be adorned with enough bits of parrot to render an entire flock extinct.

"There you are," she said, seeing them, her shiny pink lips pouting. "All that shouting and waving your arms about and now here I am twiddling my thumbs while you-"

"Put a sock in it, Bibs," growled the other Gerald. "Before I put a sock in it for you."

Bibbie wilted. "Sorry, Gerald," she murmured, and meekly followed him outside.

Gerald, his heart painfully thumping, fell into step behind the appalling pair. Parked outside the front gate was an enormous gleaming silver car, the most luxurious and expensive-looking model he'd ever seen. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it was a Kingsmark. Remembering Monk's dilapidated and unreliable jalopy, and despite his current predicament, he couldn't help a soft whistle of admiration.

The other Gerald flicked him a disdainful look. "What, you were expecting a clunker? Hardly. You can ride in the back."

He nodded. "Of course, Gerald. Whatever you say."

And that would have to be his mantra for the next little while. Until he knew what his other self wanted from him... and he'd worked out a way to make sure the mad bastard never got it.

As well as being a stunning example of automotive design, the other Gerald's expensive car-like the house-was hexed, smothered bumper to bumper in powerful incants designed to deflect both physical and thaumaturgical attack. Interesting. It surely suggested that even with his fist gripping tight, he still had powerful enemies. Or was afraid he might have powerful enemies. Something certainly worth bearing in mind.

If I can find out who he's scared of-make contact with them-maybe we could work together. I'll work with anyone to see him brought down, even Errol Haythwaite. Because the enemy of my enemy is absolutely my new best friend.

The Kingsmark's engine turned over smoothly, purring like Tavistock. Behind the wheel the other Gerald pulled away from the pavement, Bibbie pretty and poisonous at his side.

Gerald let his head fall back against the seat.

Bloody hell, Reg. Wish me luck, ducky, wherever you are.

"All right, Professor," said the other Gerald, after they'd been driving for about twenty minutes. "The time has come for you to close your eyes."

Now there was an idea. If he closed his eyes maybe when he opened them again he'd find himself back in his real bed, in Monk's real house, at home in real Ottosland. That would be nice.

Oh, give it a rest, Dunnywood. This really is happening. You're never going to wish it away.

Looking out of the passenger window had proven pointless-every piece of glass save the windshield was hexed to keep the world beyond it a mystery. It was like traveling inside a luxurious shoebox. He'd done his best to peer between the front seats and out of the more lightly-hexed windshield, but the other Gerald had sworn at him and told him to bloody well sit back and stop wriggling or else. Still. He'd seen enough to know that they were definitely heading down to the city center. And what was there? Government House. Various ministry buildings, including the Department of Thaumaturgy's stately home. The Botanical Gardens. The Old Parade Ground. The Mint. The National Art Gallery. The Opera- "Eyes closed, Gerry," said Bibbie, squirmed around in the front passenger seat and frowning at him. "Aren't you paying attention?"

Dear lord, she was appalling. How could she possibly be related-thaumaturgically or otherwise-to his own sweet Emmerabiblia?

"Sorry," he muttered. "Eyes closing now."

But slowly, so he could try to snatch one last glimpse of the world outside their car. As his eyelids drifted shut he caught sight of the city's world famous Botanical Gardens, and with them a corner hint of the Department of Thaumaturgy building. Above and beyond them a tiny snatch of airship floated in the cloudy sky, he thought above the Grand Ott Portal Station. Ha. Maybe it's one of Ambrose Wycliffe's, if he's still alive here. And then, because he couldn't stall any longer, he let his eyes close completely and the world beyond the windshield disappeared.

He felt the car take a right-hand turn, away from the Gardens and his old stamping ground, the DoT. And that meant-that meant-what was in this specific direction? Oh yes. They must be heading for Ott's big ceremonial parade ground, smack bang in the middle of the sprawling metropolis. Not that it was used for ceremonial parades anymore. At least, not often. Not in his world anyway. Back home the empty space was used for open-air theatrical productions and Keys to the City ceremonies and War Remembrance services. Jolly civic get-togethers like that. What it was used for in this Ott, he couldn't imagine... although nothing jolly seemed a pretty safe bet. Whatever the truth was, he was starting to think it would turn out to be something else he really didn't want to know.

And what I do want to know, this Gerald won't tell me.

While he sat silently in the back seat, feeling stupid with his eyes closed, Bibbie prattled on about some upcoming grand society reception. A glittering event, all the important people coming. She started to name names but her Gerald shut her up. After a moment's frightened silence she started prattling again, her voice brittle beneath the gaiety. This time she was careful to talk only of clothes and jewels and who was yet to be invited and what she wanted on the menu. Then she and her Gerald started arguing about the merits of smoked salmon and caviar.

With his captors momentarily distracted, he grabbed his chance with both hands and took a closer look at Bibbie's aura. He had to know what she'd done to herself. She was nowhere near as rotten as this Gerald, but she'd warped her sweetness somehow. If he could work out what incants she'd absorbed then maybe, just maybe, he could undo the damage. If he could restore her to the Bibbie he knew and-and cared for-perhaps he'd have found his first ally.

God knows I need all the help I can get.

And the thought of leaving her like this, twisted and distorted, was more than he could stomach. But before he'd managed to identify the first dark incant tainting her etheretic aura the other Gerald shushed Monk's sister with a sharp word and started to slow the car.

"All right, Professor," he said, so abominably cheerful. "We're here. And we've just enough time to spare to have ourselves a nice little stroll around."

"Stroll around?" he said, lifting his eyelids. Ha, I was right. This is the parade ground. "In public? Don't you want to keep me under wraps? I mean, aren't I going to be a bit difficult to explain?"

Looking over his shoulder, the other Gerald smiled the blood-chilling smile that rendered him a perfect stranger. "That won't be a problem. I've had the area closed. Come along!"

So Melissande really hadn't been exaggerating. This Gerald had the power to arrange the city's workings to suit himself. Even incomplete, the picture was getting worse and worse. Beneath his plain cotton shirt and his drab brown suit his skin was sticky with sweat. He had to wait for his counterpart to unhex his door and open it.

"Just one more thing, Professor," the other Gerald said, out of the car now and leaning down, his hand on the rear passenger door's handle, his body blocking escape. Deep in his eyes, the crimson flames flickered. "You'll notice that as a courtesy I've not restrained you. No shadbolt. No booby-traps. Not even a little docilianti to keep you at my heels. I'm going to assume you appreciate that gesture. I'm going to assume you'll not disrespect my hospitality or betray my trust by trying anything stupid-say, like running away."

Keep him sweet, keep him sweet..."Of course not, Gerald."

"Good," said his counterpart. "Because I wasn't joking. I will make Melissande pay for your mistakes. And if those mistakes are big enough, well, I'll kick your ass too. And you might as well know now, Professor, so there aren't any misunderstandings. Compared to me? Lional of New Ottosland was a slobbering sentimentalist."

A bolt of the darkest, purest fear he'd ever felt shafted through him. "This is crazy," he whispered. "Gerald, what happened to you? What went wrong? We weren't brought up to be cruel, or-or despotic. Our parents are-were-lovely people. And we were-we were good. I can't believe that even Grummen's Lexicon and those other grimoires could've changed you this much."

The other Gerald laughed. "Don't be an idiot. You think I stopped there? Uffitzi's paltry library was only the beginning."

"Oh," he said blankly. "Well. That probably explains it." He swallowed. "So... we're talking the entire Internationally Proscribed Index?"

"And one or two collections that slipped through the cracks," said his counterpart. "Let's just say I'm the most well-rounded wizard you're ever likely to meet. And that I can deal with you as easily as swatting a fly."

He nodded, bacon and fried egg churning in his guts. "It's all right. I believe you." Except-if that's the case, then why do you need me? Whatever you're planning, Gerald, why don't you just get on with it? "And like I said, I won't try anything. I promise."

"Excellent," said the other Gerald, and stepped back from the car. "But you know-just in case you're trying to pull a swifty? If you're thinking you might, I don't know, bide your time and try something foolish when my guard's down? There are one or two things I really need you to see."

Which means I really don't want to see them, doesn't it?

But he had no choice. All he could do was play along until he had a chance to come up with some kind of plan.

Because there's still the Monk in this world. I have to believe that Melissande's right and he's not let himself be corrupted too. And my Monk, he's a bloody genius. He'll work out what's happened and he'll find a way to get me home. Bibbie-my Bibbie-she'll help him. And Sir Alec. The whole Department. All the janitors-even Mr. Dalby. I'm not alone. It just feels that way.

Steeling himself, he clambered out of the posh car-and nearly fell on his ass.

"Bloody hell!"

What had been an open air civic gathering place was now a forbiddingly-walled enclosure, the red brick barriers standing some fifteen feet high. Enormous wrought-iron gates guarded a locked entrance, and frozen over the gates in a nightmare greeting-or warning- His counterpart sighed. "Magnificent, isn't she? Quite the souvenir if I do say so myself."

She was the dragon he-they-had made for Lional. Even in the glum, cloud-filtered light the creature's crimson and emerald scales flashed brilliant. Suspended in mid-air, wings spread wide, lower jaw unhinged to display its full array of fearsome, poison-slicked teeth, tail poised to lash, taloned feet outstretched, the dragon reared above the wrought-iron gates so lifelike, so terrifying- "God," he said, turning. "It's dead, isn't it? Tell me it's dead!"

Bibbie giggled. "You big baby. Of course it's dead."

"Dead and thaumaturgically preserved," added the other Gerald. "For posterity. Because she really is bloody beautiful, isn't she?"

The last thing he wanted to do was agree, but he had no choice. Indeed the dragon was-had always been-beautiful. He nodded. "Yes."

The other Gerald sighed. "Such a shame I had to replace two of the teeth with thaumaturgical fakes."

"They got broken?"

"Sort of."

Oh. Well. All moral considerations aside it was a shame, really. Like a magnet the dragon drew his horrified, fascinated gaze. Cautiously he stretched out his potentia. The strength of the incants surrounding the creature did knock him back a step, but he managed to keep his balance and stay on his feet.

Beneath the complex network of preservation and immobilization hexes he could feel decaying remnants of the Tantigliani sympathetico... and mingled with that, a lingering memory of Lional.

He felt his belly turn over as bile flooded his mouth.

The other Gerald laughed. "You know what they say, Professor. Look, but don't touch."

He pulled back his potentia, shaking, and waited for the churning nausea to subside. "It's very impressive."

"Isn't it?" said his counterpart, smugly pleased. "What did you do with your dragon, Professor? No-wait-don't tell me. You buried her. Right?"

He nodded, his gaze still riveted to the horribly magnificent beast overhead. "Of course. Thanks to the sympathetico, Lional and that thing were inextricably bound. To bury him without the dragon would've been like burying him without an arm, or a leg."

"Or a head," said the other Gerald. "But then, since my Lional's not buried either it isn't something I need to worry about."

"Not that you needed to worry at all," added Bibbie. "I mean, he was a rotter and he deserved what he got."

Gerald felt a cold shiver skitter over his skin. "And what did he get? If you don't mind me asking."

"All in good time, Professor," said the other Gerald briskly. "Let's get cracking, shall we? I've a lot planned for today."

With a snap of his fingers he unhexed the lethally hexed wrought-iron gates, which silently swung open to admit them. Gerald hung back, letting his counterpart and Bibbie lead the way. Once they were just comfortably far enough ahead he followed and, trying not to appear eagerly curious, looked around the enclosed parade ground. It seemed they were alone. He couldn't see anyone else. But there was a scattered collection of large, opaque domes. They looked like enormous upended, smoked-glass soup bowls. Most peculiar. But he didn't dare poke at them to learn exactly what they were. Everything in here was hexed, he could feel the incants skittering against his skin. Poke too hard, or at the wrong thing, and he might set off a thaumaturgical booby-trap.

The wrought-iron gates clanged shut behind them, their hexes reigniting as metal kissed metal. He felt that, too, a deep shudder in his potentia. The air reeked of coercive magics, a sour tang aftertaste with every breath he took. So unlike his own city of Ott was it that he found it hard to believe they'd ever been the same place.

Like me and this Gerald. We have no common ground.

So how he was supposed to reach him, get him to turn back from his dark, destructive path, he had no idea.

But I have to try.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The other Gerald strode ahead, Bibbie by his side, clearly enjoying himself. Like a child on an outing. Then, realizing he'd left his reluctant guest behind he slowed and, not turning, raised his right hand. "Come along, Professor. I hate people who dawdle." He waggled a finger and the air sizzled, suggestively. "Chop chop!"

"Sorry," he muttered, and prudently lengthened his stride.

To his surprise Bibbie slowed her pace until he'd caught up with her. Even more surprisingly she fell into step beside him and linked one silken arm through his.

"Now tell me, Gerry," she said, archly playful. "The Bibbie in your world-is she as pretty and as scintillating and as fascinating as me?"

"Um..." He looked down at the gloved hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, then glanced at the other Gerald, sauntering ahead. Every instinct told him the man would be... possessive. But if he snubbed her, the other Gerald would probably take offense. And if he praised his Bibbie, this one would probably slap him-or worse. Talk about tap-dancing on eggshells. "My-I mean, the other Bibbie? She's-ah-she's different. You know. She's her own person."

"Hmmph," said Bibbie, wrinkling her perfect nose. "Different. I know what that means. I used to be repressed too. Oh, I thought I was daring, flouting the rules, playing with stupid stuff like ethergenics. Ha. As if silly ethergenics is the cutting edge of witchcraft. But then you-I mean he-came back from New Ottosland and..." She sighed. "Well. Everything changed."

"For the better?" he asked quietly, and looked at her sidelong. Beneath the polished confidence, could he sense doubt? And if he could... I have to risk it. I might not get another chance. "Bibbie-sometimes what starts off as fun and games can turn into something else. Something frightening. If you're not happy-if you're having second thoughts-"

She snatched her arm back. Scorched him with her eyes. "Don't be silly. I've never been happier. The things I can do now-all my dreams are coming true! If you think I have any regrets, Gerry, then it's clear as glass you don't know me at all."

Soft laughter in front of them. "Now, now, Professor," said the other Gerald, spinning around to walk backwards. His eyes were glittering with a gleeful malice. "Don't you be naughty. She's my Emmerabiblia. If you didn't get anywhere with yours, well, that's too bad. You've missed out on quite a treat. But in case you're forgetting, you and I are singletons. Spoiled only children. And everybody knows only children don't share."

He made himself hold his counterpart's intimidating gaze. "We used to."

"Oh, come on, Professor," the other Gerald retorted. "This is you you're talking to, remember? We only shared then because the cousins were bullies and we were too afraid to fight back. But I'm not afraid of bullies any more. Even better, I'm not afraid of myself. On the contrary, I've embraced myself. I adore the new me." A quick, sly smile. "And you will too. In time. I promise."

Angry despair robbed him of speech for a moment. No, I'm pretty sure I won't. But there was no point arguing. He cleared his throat. "Look-Gerald-what are we doing here, exactly?"

"We're on a tour, Professor," his counterpart said brightly, still walking backwards, as light and confident on his feet as a circus performer. "Trust me, the exhibits here are marvelously educational. The way I see it, they might even save your life."

Exhibits? That's what those opaque domes were? So had this Gerald turned the ceremonial parade ground into some kind of open-air museum? As his counterpart spun around to face forward again, fingers summoning Bibbie to his side with an impatient snap, he took another look at the dome directly ahead.

This close, the level of ambient thaumaturgics in the ether was much higher. So high, in fact, that the air felt almost syrupy. A little hard to push through. Whatever was hidden within that opaque dome it was surrounded by impressively powerful incants. His own potentia was twitching in response-but until this moment he hadn't noticed. Instead he'd let himself be distracted by the Gerald and Bibbie strolling in front of him. Damn. He really was off his game. And why was that? The shock of his abrupt transdimensional dislocation? Or maybe the equally disconcerting effect of suddenly being turned into a twin. Seeing Melissande shadbolted, and Bibbie being cruel. And then he shook himself.

It doesn't matter why. You can't afford to be off your game, Dunnywood, so bloody well pull yourself together. You're a trained prqfessional troubleshooter. A janitor. Situations like this are meant to be your meat and drink.

True. Except what he was facing here and now felt like having to drink dry an ocean and swallow a continent's worth of cows.

"And here we are!" announced the other Gerald, halting. "At what you might call Exhibit A, Professor. Or-as I prefer to think of it-Object Lesson Number One." He laughed. "I'll give you three guesses what's inside."

He stared at the shimmering, impenetrable dome. "You could give me thirty and it wouldn't make a difference. If you want to show me something, Gerald, then show me. I don't understand why we need to play games."

That earned him a sharp look. "Trust me, Professor, I'm not playing. Just ask Lional if you don't believe me."

A fingersnap, one whispered word, and a moment later the opaque dome turned to mist and blew away. The ether sighed with the release of thaumic stresses. Heart thudding, Gerald stared at what was now revealed.

Just ask Lional...

Who, like his precious dragon, was dead and preserved with powerful incants. Dead and staked to a rectangle of turf, pinned in place with dragon teeth. Dead with the blood still fresh, with the wounds that killed him still gaping, dead with his mouth open in one last, frozen scream.

"Oh, Professor," said the other Gerald, watching. "You feel sorry for him? After the cave?"

Slowly he lowered his hand from his mouth. Took a deep breath, even though the syrupy air stank of foul incants, and shook his head. "No, Gerald. Not for him."

His counterpart laughed, incredulous. "For me? Really? Do I look like I need your pathetic pity?"

Sickened, he risked another glance at Lional. "No."