Witches Incorporated Part 35

And I really don't think he is.

"I'm sure that sounds terribly exciting in theory, Mister Dunwoody, but there remains the matter of your anonymity," said Sir Alec.

Gerald shrugged. "We both know you can fix that, Sir Alec. This Department's got access to any number of useful, despicable incants." He snorted. "Probably we invent most of them ourselves."

Sir Alec was silent again, one forefinger tapping his lips. "You'd sanction that?" he said at last. No emotion in his voice, no hint of what he was thinking or feeling. "The use of despicable incants against Errol Haythwaite?"

"Given that I've already rearranged his memories once tonight, I'd be a bit b.l.o.o.d.y hypocritical to complain now, wouldn't I?" he retorted. "Besides... if it means we stop Jandria from starting another war?" Staring at his knees, he thought about New Ottosland. Remembered all those charred, twisted bodies in the streets. Imagined the same kind of bloodshed here... and in other cities... but with a death toll in the thousands. Imagined death raining down from the sky from military airs.h.i.+ps. Just another kind of dragon. Looking up, he nodded. "Yes. I can live with hexing Errol. Besides, nothing could hurt him worse than being falsely accused of treason and maybe found guilty of something he didn't do."

Sighing, Sir Alec pa.s.sed a hand across his face. "Mister Dunwoody," he murmured. "What a trial you are proving to be."

"Um..." said Gerald. "So, would that be a yes?"

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Pale and dishevelled, his face motley with bruises, its cuts and sc.r.a.pes covered with sticking plaster, Errol looked up as Gerald entered the small interrogation room. His mouth dropped open and his tired, bloodshot eyes stretched wide.

"What the h.e.l.l? What is this rubbish? Dunnywood?"

Sighing, Gerald dropped into the other chair at the interrogation room's table. "h.e.l.lo, Errol."

This interrogation room was identical to the one from Monk's delerioso incant. Four walls. Two doors. No windows. No sign of the scrying crystal that would be feeding images back to Sir Alec and whoever else was observing this... conversation.

Errol was still staring at him in shock. "Is this some kind of unamusing joke? Or are you under arrest too? Now that I have no trouble believing. I don't care what I said, you're responsible for what happened to the new Mark VI prototype. To both prototypes. You're a walking b.l.o.o.d.y disaster, Dunwoody. I knew you were trouble the first day I laid eyes on you. And at Wycliffe's I was convinced. I could smell trouble on you, I could sense it. I could feel there was something very wrong about you."

Gerald looked at him. Here we go. "Actually, Errol, what you felt was this."

And he let his full rogue wizard potentia flare all around him like the raging nimbus of a newborn sun.

Every last bit of colour drained from Errol's face. He scrambled out of his chair and retreated until he hit the nearest wall.

"That's not possible," he whispered, his voice hitching with shock. "That's a trick. What the h.e.l.l is going on here? You get out, Dunwoody. I won't share a room with you. I want nothing to do with you!"

"Sorry, Errol," he said, and pulled his potentia back inside himself. "We're stuck with each other for a little while yet." He nodded at the chair. "Sit down. There are some things we need to discuss."

"Are you b.l.o.o.d.y deaf, you cretin?" Errol spat. "I'm not talking to you. I don't know how but you're responsible for all of this!"

"No," he said. "Not all of it. Maybe some of it, in a roundabout kind of way. Look... maybe this will be easier on both of us if I put things back the way they were." And with a snap of his fingers, and the whisper of a few cruel words, he undid what he'd done to Errol's memory at Wycliffe's.

It took a moment for reality to rea.s.sert itself. And then, as Gerald watched, Errol... remembered.

"I'm sorry about Rottlezinder," he said, as Errol blindly groped for the chair. "I know you were friends. Used to be friends. And I'm sorry about what I did to you. But you didn't really give me a choice, Errol."

Errol thudded into the chair and pressed his hands flat to his face. It was quite astonis.h.i.+ng, to see the polished, sophisticated, exquisitely urbane Errol Haythwaite so completely dismayed. Once, he'd have been delighted to see his nemesis brought so low. But witnessing it now, all he could feel was a tired pity.

Errol let his hands drop to the table, revealing a bone-white, ravaged face. "Who the h.e.l.l are you, Dunwoody? What are you?"

He grimaced. "Yes, well, it seems n.o.body's managed to figure that out yet. But I can tell you what I'm not. I'm not your enemy, Errol. I'm trying to help you."

"Help me?" said Errol, and wrestled for self-control. "Fine. Then you can answer some questions."

"Sure. If I can."

"What is this place?" Errol demanded, looking around the cold, unfriendly room. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here? That man-Dalby, is it?-he said there were one or two things about the lab accident that needed clearing up-and then he took me to see some doctor. Said it was a new DoT policy. Except-" He shook his head, dazed. "There wasn't any lab accident. You-you faked that. So is this about Haf? About him sabotaging Ottosland's portal network?" Errol leaned across the table, the closest to desperate that Gerald had ever seen him. "Because I had nothing to do with that! You were there at the boot factory, Dunwoody, G.o.d knows how or why. Didn't you hear what I told Haf, didn't you hear me-"

"Yes, Errol, I heard," he said quietly. "We know you weren't working with Haf Rottlezinder."

Errol sat back. "Good. That's good," he said un-steadily. "Then I can go."

"Not quite yet," he said. "There's something else we need to discuss. But before we do... I have to tell you, Errol, I am curious about something."

"As if I had the slightest interest in you or your curiosity," said Errol, sneering. His confidence was seeping back. In his eyes a familiar, icy glitter of dislike. "Get out of here, Dunwoody. I've nothing to say to you."

Oh, Errol. How can you be such a brilliant wizard and such a fool?

"Come on, Errol," he said, and rested his clasped hands on the table. "Indulge me, just this once. After all, I did save your life. Go on. What can it hurt?"

Errol blew out a hard breath and waved his hand. "Fine. Ask what you like. But that doesn't mean I'll answer."

As invitations went, it was hardly gracious-but given that this was Errol Haythwaite, he'd take what he could get. "Okay. So here's the thing that has me puzzled, Errol. After Rottlezinder first approached you, why didn't you tell the Department of Thaumaturgy?"

"Tell them what?" said Errol, scathing. "That an old friend contacted me out of the blue and asked if I'd like to work with him on a lucrative project?"

He frowned. "That's all he said? He didn't tell you what the project was? Where the money was coming from?"

"No."

"And you didn't ask?"

"I wasn't interested."

"And why was that, Errol?" he asked quietly. "Because you knew there was a good chance that if Haf was involved the project would be... questionable?"

Errol glared at the table. "This is ridiculous."

"All right," he said. "I accept that Haf played his cards close to his chest. I accept that on the face of it there was no reason for you to alert the authorities. Not in the beginning. But Errol... after that first portal accident, and knowing the kind of man Rottlezinder was, you must've realised there was a connection. Or at least suspected-but still you kept quiet. And because you kept quiet, scores more people were hurt. For what? So you could protect your precious career? Are you really that shallow, Errol?"

Errol's pale, bruised face flushed a dull red. "Watch your mouth, Dunwoody. I don't take that kind of cheek from tailor's brats."

"Don't say things like that, Errol," he said, shaking his head. "I'm the only friend you've got in this place."

"Ha!" said Errol. "Then I really am in trouble, aren't I?"

Oh, lord. "Errol, don't you get it? You're in so much hot water right now it's a wonder you can't feel the steam."

Errol breathed hard, torn between contempt and uncertainty. Then he dropped his gaze and folded his arms. "Of course I knew something was wrong," he muttered. "But he threatened me. When I turned him down. He threatened my family. He threatened my friends. He said if I knew what was good for me I'd pay no attention to the newspapers. He said if I didn't want to spend the next six months attending funerals I'd mind my own business."

"And you believed him?"

"Yes, I believed him!" said Errol, violently. "G.o.d, you'd have believed him too if-"

"If I'd shared a few youthful indiscretions with him?"

Stark silence, as Errol stared. "You know about that?" he said at last, dully, emptied abruptly of fire and fight. He shrugged. "Well, then."

Sympathy flickered. Resenting it, Gerald frowned. "Errol, while it's true you've been cleared of involvement in the portal sabotage, we have learned something else. Something very... disquieting. I wanted to know what you thought about it."

"You wanted to-" Errol glared, his anger rekindling. "You?" Unfolding his arms, he shoved to his feet. "You aren't fit to polish my shoes, Dunwoody. As far as I'm concerned this conversation is over. I'm leaving. And you can rest a.s.sured, you and-" His gaze swept the small room. "-whoever else is party to this charade, that Lord Attaby shall shortly be receiving a visit from my legal counsel. This has been nothing but a farrago of hara.s.sment, a.s.sault and intimidation. And if you think you can get away with it you are sorely mistaken. I shall take immense pleasure, Dunwoody, in seeing you broken in a very public Court of-"

"Sit down, Errol," Gerald said softly. "We're not finished here."

"We most certainly are!" snapped Errol. "You're finished, Dunnywood, you're-"

"I said sit down!"

Errol gaped at him, stunned.

"Please, Errol," he said. "Sit. Don't make me make you."

Errol sat jerkily, like a puppet with faulty strings.

"The Jandrians are building a fleet of military airs.h.i.+ps using your designs," he said flatly. "Would you care to explain how that's come about?"

"I'm sorry?" said Errol, after another long silence. His voice was faint. Uncertain. "I don't-I don't understand."

He leaned forward across the table. "I think you do, Errol. You're not deaf, or stupid. The Jandrian government has broken the armistice. The Jandrians are dreaming of war again. And you're helping them. I don't understand. Why would you do that? Betray your country, most likely to its death?"

"But I didn't," said Errol. "I would never-" He shook his head, stunned. "The Jandrians? You think I'd crawl into bed with those filthy sc.u.m? My G.o.d, they're barely one rung up the ladder from animals."

"Perhaps," said Gerald, shrugging, and sat back. "But they're wealthy, Errol. And you have expensive tastes. Perhaps you lied to Rottlezinder about not needing money. Perhaps your trust fund has run dry."

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from Errol, once the accusation of treason was made. Fury. Wild denials. Possibly even a physical or thaumaturgical attack. He was braced for all of that.

What he wasn't prepared for was... anguish.

Errol leaned forward, his hands splayed flat and hard on the table. "No. No. You must believe me. On my wizard's oath, I did not do this. I haven't betrayed Ottosland to Jandria." He swallowed convulsively, a terrible desperation in his eyes. "I swear it."

"Then how do you explain copies of your airs.h.i.+p designs being found there?"

A bead of sweat trickled down Errol's blanched cheek. "I can't. All my work is triple-warded and kept in my office at Wycliffe's. I don't let anybody touch it, not even Ambrose."

He shrugged, feigning indifference. "Then like I said, Errol. You're in very hot water."

"Oh, G.o.d," said Errol. It was almost a sob. "This can't be happening." On a gasp he pressed his hands flat to his face, then let them drop. "You have to help me, Gerald. Whatever you are, whatever freakish powers you possess, use them. Winnow my memories. Break my mind, if you have to. I don't care. I am not a traitor. And I'm asking you... I'm begging you... help me to prove it."

Sighing, Gerald stood up. Looked to the ceiling, where he suspected the scrying crystals were concealed. "Sir Alec? If you know anything about Errol, you know what asking that cost him. He's telling the truth. You need to look for your traitor somewhere else. And now, if you don't mind, it's been a long night. I'm going home."

And he walked out, closing the interrogation room door very gently behind him.

But the idea of returning to his rented bedsit, which was hardly better than that horrible attic room in the Wizards' Club, depressed him beyond bearing. Besides. After everything that had happened... he didn't want to be alone.

Monk answered his front door wearing the hara.s.sed, distracted expression that meant he'd just been talking to his sister.

"Gerald? Blimey, you look like death dragged backwards," he said. "Come on in. Amuse yourself for a moment, I'm on the telephone with Bibbie."

As Monk muttered his way down the corridor, Gerald pushed the front door closed behind him and heaved a deep sigh. Lord, he was so tired. He was also, technically, in possession of stolen property, having ridden his pilfered, souped-up Wycliffe scooter straight here from Nettleworth. He'd have to take it back to the airs.h.i.+p company sooner or later, but now all he could think about was sitting down before he fell down.

Monk's voice drifted into the corridor from the parlour. "-was Gerald.-Yes, he just got here.-No, I don't know what's going on. Didn't I say he just got here? Blimey.-Well yes, I think you should come round right away. I want my jalopy back.-No, I didn't say you could keep it indefinitely, I said you could borrow it for one night and-Bibbie. Bibbie. Bibbie, I swear, if you don't bring my jalopy back I will tell the folks about the time you and Tiffany Mc-Sweeney-yes, I do know what you did.-It doesn't matter how I know. I know.-Yes. Good. I'll see you soon."

Gerald leaned against the parlour's open doorway, frowning muzzily. "Everything all right?"

Monk stopped glaring at the telephone. "Sisters! You can't say no to 'em and you can't kill 'em. Doesn't leave much else, does it?"

"I'll take your word on that."

"She's bringing my car back," said Monk. "And it goes without saying she'll have Mel and Reg with her. Are you feeling strong enough to face them? Or would you rather escape while there's still time?"

He managed a smile. "I'd love to, but after what happened last night I need to talk to them."

Monk paled. "Why? What happened last night?"

"I ran into them while they were gallivanting about South Ott."

Monk stared. "What? They were gallivanting where?"

"In South Ott. In the old factory district. I can't believe you let them go there, Monk. It's a dreadful part of town!"

"Hey, it's not my fault!" Monk protested. "I had no idea where they were headed!"

Unbelievable. "You mean you lent those three maniacs your jalopy and you didn't know what they had in mind? What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you, Monk?"

"Well-well-I tried to stop them," Monk said feebly. "But you know what women are like. You know what those three are like, especially."

"Yes! They're maniacs!" he retorted. "And they nearly ended up getting themselves blown to bits. All because you lent them your jalopy, you idiot."

"Blown to bits?" Monk said, his voice faint with horror. "What are you talking about, blown to bits?"

"You haven't listened to the wireless this morning?"

"Come on, Gerald. You know I never listen to the wireless."