CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

The crimson and emerald dragon came swooping. The other Gerald, on a choked cry, threw his strongest incants at her. She brushed them aside like the smoky air. Like they were nothing. Like her bright shining scales were sheathed in tempered glass.

The other Gerald screamed once as the great talons caught him. Screamed again, blood dripping, as the dragon wheeled away.

Still watching, Gerald breathed out a sigh. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "But you were never meant to be."

He snapped his fingers once... and where a dragon flew with a wizard in its talons, within a slow heartbeat the sky was full of fresh fire. And in another heartbeat even that vanished, and victorious airships filled the eye.

"Gerald. Gerald. Bloody hell, Dunnywood! Come on, mate, we've got to go!"

He swung around and there was Monk, the portable portal in his hand. A few feet distant a small bluish-red light, expanding... and in the ether a dreadful deep, twisting moan.

"Gerald!" said Monk again, and gestured at the sky. "Are you with me? Get ready!"

The green and black UMN airships were drifting lower, rope ladders unfurling from their underslung passenger pods, close enough now to nearly touch the ground. Behind them the sound of heavy running feet. He turned and saw more UMN personnel, felt their martial potentias like iron in the ether.

He nodded, feeling dreamy. Feeling very, very tired. "I'm with you. Just say the word."

There was a pile of charred feather and bone on the dais. He knew it was there, but he wasn't going to look. He wasn't going to look at this world's Bibbie, either, whose lips were painted the same shade of pink as her gown. If there'd been time he might have saved her. And now I'll never know. Instead he looked at Monk, who was weeping. Proper tears this time, not blood, as he jiggered with the portal.

"So is that it? Can we go?"

Monk checked the slowly widening vortex. "A few more seconds. We can't afford to get it wrong. Gerald-"

Reg.

"No." He shook his head. "Don't. Not yet."

"Yeah," Monk said roughly. "Gerald-are you all right? You look-"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

The running feet were getting closer. Someone in authority shouted. "You there! You there-Gerald Dunwoody! You're under arrest! Stand where you are!"

"Monk, I really think we need to-"

"I know! I know! All right. Bloody hell, we'll have to risk it."

The portal was a ragged blue and crimson hole in the air. Broad enough, certainly, but not quite the height of a tall, upstanding man.

"Bloody hell," Monk said again, nervous, his gaze shifting from the portal to the soldiers. "If we duck we should make it." He blew out a shaky breath. "On three, Gerald. Stay close behind me. One-two-three!"

With a strangled grunt Monk leaped into the portal. But as he went to leap after his brilliant friend he heard a dreadful, familiar sound. Tail feathers, rattling... and a muted chatter of beak. He spun around. Looked down.

The other Reg, come out of hiding from under the trolley, looked up at him in silence. The tatty piece of red ribbon was still wound around her beak.

"No. No," he whispered. His skin was full of tears. "You're not her. You'll never be her. Don't you see? It won't work."

Running feet. More shouting. Another gunship fired overhead.

"Oh, bloody hell," he said, and snatched her up, and leaped.

Feeling only a little bit trepidatious, Melissande took Sir Alec a cup of piping hot tea. She and Bibbie had spent the night in the parlor, dozing on and off, but he'd chosen to wait it out in the library. No explanation. No apology. Just a closed door in their faces.

Opening it now, she poked her head into the room. "Sir Alec?"

He was standing at the window, contemplating the new day. It promised to be warm and fine. "Miss Cadwallader," he said, turning. "Good morning."

He looked as fragile as she felt, and as rumpled, but he sounded unaltered. Cool and calm and completely self-contained. No-one would guess, looking at him, how many laws he's broken in one night. She crossed the book-lined room and handed him the cup and saucer. "No milk, a squeeze of lemon, and two sugars. That's right, isn't it?"

He took the tea. "Yes. That's right."

"I can boil you an egg, if you'd like," she added. "Bibbie and I aren't hungry, but..."

"No. Thank you," he said. "This will be fine."

Folding her arms, she stared out through the window. "Nearly a full day they've been gone. Will it be much longer, do you think?"

"I have no idea. I hope not."

"You've taken an awful risk, haven't you?" she said quietly. "If something goes wrong-if Monk and Gerald and Reg don't come back-"

"It will certainly be interesting," said Sir Alec, and stirred his tea.

"Sir Alec..." Sighing, she shifted her gaze to him. "I'm not just plain Miss Cadwallader, remember? You don't need to be... clever... for my sake."

He raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm thinking of your feelings?"

She was exhausted, she was frightened, but she couldn't help a smile. "You're admitting to feelings? Blimey. Wait till I tell Gerald. He'll have to sit down."

And that made him smile. But it didn't last long. He sipped his tea, thoughtful, then sat the cup back in its saucer. "You don't approve of my secrecy."

"It's not my place to approve or disapprove, is it?" she said. "You're the government stooge. I'm merely... a girl."

His dry look contradicted that assessment, but he didn't reply. Instead he sipped more tea. The clock on the mantel ticked softly as the morning's light slowly brightened.

"You can trust us, you know," she said at last. "We may not like you very much but we do know you're on our side." She pulled a face. "Well. You're not on their side. The villains' side. And since we aren't either... I suppose it's close enough."

He took a last sip of tea then put the cup and saucer on the windowsill. "I do trust you, Miss Cadwallader. Within narrow parameters."

"Gosh. That's flattering," she said, eyes wide. "I might have to sit down."

"I trust that you will never do anything to hurt either Mr. Markham or Mr. Dunwoody," he said, ignoring her sarcasm. "Which means-"

"What?" she said, alarmed by the look on his face. "Sir Alec? What's the matter, what-"

The library door banged open. "Do you feel that?" demanded Bibbie. Her long golden hair flew wildly about her face. "Sir Alec?"

He looked up, at the ceiling. Through the ceiling. "Yes, I do, Miss Markham. I suspect-"

But Bibbie was gone again, racing, her shoes thudding on the stairs. Not running, but definitely hurrying, Sir Alec followed. "Come along, Miss Cadwallader. Don't dawdle. Someone's knocking at the door."

There was a glowing, growing blue and crimson hole in the air of Gerald's bedroom.

"Stand back, Miss Markham," Sir Alec said sharply. "I know who we want to see step through that portal, but wanting and getting are two very different things."

As Bibbie retreated one grudging pace, Melissande felt her heart leap. Oh, Saint Snodgrass preserve us. "You think this could be the other Gerald?"

"I'd be a fool to think it weren't possible," he said tightly. "Stand back, I said, Miss Markham. You too, Miss Cadwallader."

The glowing hole in the air ripped wider. Wider. Reaching out blindly, she clutched Bibbie's hand.

Please, please, please, please...

Monk leaped out of thin air. Oh, lord, he looked dreadful. Shattered and terrified and covered in blood.

"Monk!" cried Bibbie, surging forward.

Sir Alec caught her around the waist and swung her aside. "Wait!" he snapped. "Wait! The danger's not over yet!"

Monk was ignoring them, had spun around to stare at that blue and crimson glowing hole, the portal. His hands were clenched to fists and he was dancing on the spot.

"Come on-come on-Gerald, you idiot-come on-"

And then another figure emerged out of nothing. Melissande heard herself sob.

"Gerald!" cried Bibbie. "Sir Alec, let me go!"

But Sir Alec didn't let go. Instead he pulled Bibbie further back, one arm still holding her tight, and with his free hand he caught her arm and started tugging- Wild-eyed, Monk shut down the portal then shoved Gerald behind him. "It's all right!" he shouted. "Sir Alec, he's safe! He's safe!"

But looking at Sir Alec's face, she wasn't sure.

"How can I trust you, Mr. Markham?" he demanded. "For all I know he's hexed you to his will."

Monk was breathing so fast he was practically panting. "He hasn't. I swear it. I promise, he's safe."

"What are you talking about?" said Bibbie, still struggling. "What do you mean safe?"

"Stop thinking like a girl and start thinking like a witch," snapped Sir Alec. "Feel the ether, Miss Markham. Mr. Dunwoody's not himself."

Melissande stared at him. What? What? "Monk-"

But before Monk could say anything, Bibbie let out a small cry. "Oh, Saint Snodgrass. Gerald. Monk-Monk, what happ-"

"I'm tainted, not tongueless," said Gerald, over Monk's shoulder. "Do you mind? I can speak for myself."

"Then speak, Mr. Dunwoody," said Sir Alec, ominously restrained. "You have one minute to make your case."

"I had to play along," said Gerald. Even without the blood, what they could see of him looked worse than Monk. "Take in some grimoire magic. Not much, I swear, not enough to turn me, but-" He shuddered. "Just tell me there's a way to strip it out again, Sir Alec. I'll do whatever it takes. I don't care what it costs. I just want it gone. And I want it gone now."

"He's not kidding, Sir Alec," said Monk. "I'm telling you, he's safe. He's still Gerald. You can trust him. You can."

After a heart-stopping moment, Sir Alec nodded. "Very well."

Monk turned. "Gerald-sit down, mate. Here-give me-give me-damn." He shook his head. "I'll take her."

And that was when Melissande realized Gerald had Reg tucked under one arm.

"Reg!" she said, relief and alarm clashing. There was red ribbon tied around her beak. "What's happened to you? Reg?"

"She's not Reg," said Gerald, staring at the bird in Monk's hands. "Reg is dead. She's-that's-she's not Reg."

Silence. One look at Gerald's eyes told her this wasn't a joke.

"Dead?" she whispered. "What do you mean? Dead how?"

"I killed her," said Gerald. "If you really must know. Sir Alec-"

"Mr. Dunwoody?" said Sir Alec. Nothing in his face gave anything away.

"I killed the other Gerald, too. I don't think we need to worry about any more interesting visitors-the other Ottosland's pretty much gone up in flames, and the UMN's moved in to take over-but just to be on the safe side, Monk's come up with a plan to stop any more incursions from alternative worlds."

Sir Alec nodded. "Of course he has. I would expect no less."

Gerald didn't smile. He looked like he'd never smile again. "But first I should get him out of that shadbolt. If you've no objections?"

"None at all," said Sir Alec. Then he glanced at the sheet-covered body on the bed. "But perhaps, all things considered-"

Gerald looked. "That's the other Monk?"

"Yes."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Bury him discreetly, with honor," said Sir Alec, after a moment. "An unmarked grave, of course."

"Of course," said Gerald. Then he looked at Monk. "You ready?"

Monk shook his head, as though suddenly events were moving far too fast. "Well, yes, but-"

"Good," said Gerald. "Now be quiet. And get rid of-you can't hold-"

"Oh," said Monk. "Um-"