know you've always wanted an adventure.
Yes. He had. Absolutely. He'd just never expected adventure to feel so ... disconcerting.
In due course the summoned taxi arrived. He piled himself, Reg and his pitifully meagre collection of luggage into the cab, gave the driver his instructions, then turned and looked through the rear window at his home of the last three years as it dwindled, dwindled and finally disappeared in the fast-falling dusk.
The portal station was crowded with arriving and departing wizards and their luggage. Gerald found a trolley, loaded it up with his suitcases, deposited Reg on the handle and whispered, 'Mind this while I get our coupon and find out which portal they've assigned us. And from hereon out no talking, all right? Remember what we agreed.'
Reg rolled her eyes. 'Yes, yes, I remember,' she muttered.'I'm ancient, not addled. And I still think you're making a mistake. Royal wizard or not, you'll need all the advantages you can get, Gerald, and -'
'And a talking bird could chatter us both into trouble. Let's just see which way the New Ottosland wind is blowing before we start amazing the locals, shall we?'
'Pishwash,' said Reg, and subsided into disgruntled silence.
There was quite a queue at the confirmation booth. By the time he'd shuffled his way to the attendant, picked up his travelling chit and fought his way back to where Reg was waiting like a martyr with the luggage it was perilously close to their allotted departure time. Naturally, the portal he'd been assigned was on the very far side of the concourse. He was forced to run with Reg and the luggage trolley, shouting 'look out' and 'so sorry' as he barrelled through the milling throng.
'Mister Dunwoody!' the supervisor was shouting as he arrived in a panting stagger at Portal 32, where a long line of other travellers waited. 'Third and final call for Mister Dunwoody!'
'Here! Here! I'm here!'
The portal supervisor looked him up and down. 'Cutting it fine, there, Mister Dunwoody.' He held out a white-gloved hand.'Chit, please.'
The next person in line was looking disappointed that he'd turned up in the nick of time. He spared her an apologetic grimace and handed his travel coupon to the disapproving supervisor. 'Here it is. Sorry. There's such a crowd.'
With a grunt that might've meant anything, the supervisor punched the coupon into a small box on a table beside him, examined the result, nodded, and dropped it into a waiting tray. 'Wait a minute, wait a minute, not so fast,' he snapped as Gerald turned to decant Reg and his luggage from the trolley.'Contraband inspection first.'
Oh. Of course. Ignoring Reg's snicker he stood still as the supervisor ran a slender bronze truncheon over him, Reg and his suitcases. Attached to each collar point of the supervisor's plain blue uniform was a small green button. So. The portal supervisor was a fellow Third Grader. Doomed to a life of coupon-punching, truncheon-waving and petty bureaucratic pettifogging.
Poor bastard. And there but for the grace of Monk Markham go I.
'Right you are, sir,' said the supervisor, clipping the truncheon back to his belt. 'AH clear.' He snapped his fingers at a hovering porter, who leapt forward and began transferring Gerald's battered suitcases from the trolley into the waiting portal. Then he took a bottle of pills from the table and held it out. 'Need a suppressative, sir? Only Portal travel does take some folk poorly.'
'No, no. We'll - I'll - be fine.'
'Very good sir,' said the supervisor. 'In that case, you're all clear to depart. If you'd kindly step into the Portal ...'
With Reg perched firmly on his shoulder, Gerald stepped.
'Excellent. Have a pleasant journey, sir, mind now, I'm closing the door ...'
...and he was spinning through time and space in a kaleidoscope of colour and sound. Then came the feeling that he was falling very slowly - or was it very quickly, he could never quite decide - down a long dark tunnel towards a bright light
Yes. He had. Absolutely. He'd just never expected adventure to feel so ... disconcerting.
In due course the summoned taxi arrived. He piled himself, Reg and his pitifully meagre collection of luggage into the cab, gave the driver his instructions, then turned and looked through the rear window at his home of the last three years as it dwindled, dwindled and finally disappeared in the fast-falling dusk.
The portal station was crowded with arriving and departing wizards and their luggage. Gerald found a trolley, loaded it up with his suitcases, deposited Reg on the handle and whispered, 'Mind this while I get our coupon and find out which portal they've assigned us. And from hereon out no talking, all right? Remember what we agreed.'
Reg rolled her eyes. 'Yes, yes, I remember,' she muttered.'I'm ancient, not addled. And I still think you're making a mistake. Royal wizard or not, you'll need all the advantages you can get, Gerald, and -'
'And a talking bird could chatter us both into trouble. Let's just see which way the New Ottosland wind is blowing before we start amazing the locals, shall we?'
'Pishwash,' said Reg, and subsided into disgruntled silence.
There was quite a queue at the confirmation booth. By the time he'd shuffled his way to the attendant, picked up his travelling chit and fought his way back to where Reg was waiting like a martyr with the luggage it was perilously close to their allotted departure time. Naturally, the portal he'd been assigned was on the very far side of the concourse. He was forced to run with Reg and the luggage trolley, shouting 'look out' and 'so sorry' as he barrelled through the milling throng.
'Mister Dunwoody!' the supervisor was shouting as he arrived in a panting stagger at Portal 32, where a long line of other travellers waited. 'Third and final call for Mister Dunwoody!'
'Here! Here! I'm here!'
The portal supervisor looked him up and down. 'Cutting it fine, there, Mister Dunwoody.' He held out a white-gloved hand.'Chit, please.'
The next person in line was looking disappointed that he'd turned up in the nick of time. He spared her an apologetic grimace and handed his travel coupon to the disapproving supervisor. 'Here it is. Sorry. There's such a crowd.'
With a grunt that might've meant anything, the supervisor punched the coupon into a small box on a table beside him, examined the result, nodded, and dropped it into a waiting tray. 'Wait a minute, wait a minute, not so fast,' he snapped as Gerald turned to decant Reg and his luggage from the trolley.'Contraband inspection first.'
Oh. Of course. Ignoring Reg's snicker he stood still as the supervisor ran a slender bronze truncheon over him, Reg and his suitcases. Attached to each collar point of the supervisor's plain blue uniform was a small green button. So. The portal supervisor was a fellow Third Grader. Doomed to a life of coupon-punching, truncheon-waving and petty bureaucratic pettifogging.
Poor bastard. And there but for the grace of Monk Markham go I.
'Right you are, sir,' said the supervisor, clipping the truncheon back to his belt. 'AH clear.' He snapped his fingers at a hovering porter, who leapt forward and began transferring Gerald's battered suitcases from the trolley into the waiting portal. Then he took a bottle of pills from the table and held it out. 'Need a suppressative, sir? Only Portal travel does take some folk poorly.'
'No, no. We'll - I'll - be fine.'
'Very good sir,' said the supervisor. 'In that case, you're all clear to depart. If you'd kindly step into the Portal ...'
With Reg perched firmly on his shoulder, Gerald stepped.
'Excellent. Have a pleasant journey, sir, mind now, I'm closing the door ...'
...and he was spinning through time and space in a kaleidoscope of colour and sound. Then came the feeling that he was falling very slowly - or was it very quickly, he could never quite decide - down a long dark tunnel towards a bright light
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