“And this is where we house the new arrivals, after they've had medical checks and any shots they might need. Until we've assessed their mental state and behaviour patterns we can't risk putting them in with other dogs.”
Nick nodded his understanding as he followed the enthusiastic young centre assistant across the yard to a roofed structure set a little apart from the others, the rest of his team trailing behind him and his photographer snapping away. For once his PR team had come up with something enjoyable for him to do, he reflected; although Olly was trailing along behind, tapping away on her Blackberry, and his aide Richard was scowling down at the mud obscuring the usually mirror-like sheen of his shoes, his security team were happily looking around at the rows of covered enclosures full of excited canines of every imaginable size, shape and colour, while both of Nick's interns had been lost to a particularly adorable mutt back in the public viewing area. Maybe, he thought half-seriously, he could suggest a whole programme of visits to rescue centres. The chance to relax in such undemanding company would make a nice change of pace from the usual meet-and-greets, factory visits, and endless bloody trade conferences.
The dog handler opened the door and the long building exploded into a cacophony of excited barking. Richard winced and even Olly looked up from her ever-present Blackberry as Vic, the senior member of his two-man security team, waved to Nick to wait while he and his colleague Jason quickly checked the interior. Nick glanced at his two companions.
“Richard, why don't you go back to reception and get yourself a cup of tea or something?” he suggested to the young aide, raising his voice to be heard over the riot of noise. “If I need you for anything I can always call.”
Richard flushed and was clearly about to refuse before Olly took a hand. “Excellent idea,” she said briskly, pocketing her Blackberry and taking Richard's arm. “Come along, Richard - you can buy me a coffee and we'll make a start on the press release. There's plenty of handouts and leaflets in the refreshments area that we can use for facts and figures, to save us looking them up later. Nick -” she fixed her boss with a gimlet eye “ - don't you dare come back with a puppy!”
“Aw, can't I?” queried Nick, pulling an exaggeratedly-disappointed face. “When I was so looking forward to introducing it to the Cabinet! - No, all right, Olly, I promise to be good. I won't promise to be quick, though!”
“You've got thirty minutes,” Olly said firmly as the two members of Nick's protection squad reappeared and confirmed that it was safe for their boss to enter. “Then we're off to the foundry, and we mustn't be late or we won't get a mention on the one o' clock news.
“Now, Nick - ” said warningly as she saw him look longingly towards the door where the centre assistant was waiting, “- half an hour, do you hear?.... Oh, go on then. I'll come and get you when we have to leave.”
Just over half of the big, comfortable pens had occupants, and some of those dogs were looking somewhat the worse for wear. Their escort explained that most of the animals were either strays or - increasingly likely these days - simply thrown out by their owners, and had been brought to the centre by police or members of the public who had found them abandoned.
“Some of them are half starved, most are confused and terrified, and - well, in a dreadful state altogether,” the handler finished, the anger clear in her voice, and Nick nodded sadly.
“Yes, I've heard that abandoned dogs are a growing - hello there, you're a friendly one, aren't you?”
The half-grown, chocolate brown Labrador pup to which these words were addressed barked again, putting his oversized front paws up against the cage door and pawing at it as if trying to dig his way out. Great, mournful dark blue eyes fixed on the man standing in front of his pen and tail whirling in a blur, the young animal was yelping and whining in a frantic bid for Nick's attention.
“Ah, now he's an interesting one,” commented the assistant as Nick went down on his heels in front of the cage, crouching to get a better look at the excited animal, who tried to touch his nose to Nick's face only to be defeated by the transparent plastic of the viewing window.
“He was only brought in a couple of hours ago, and he's in very good condition - excellent muscle tone and good healthy coat, and he's had all his shots. Plus he seems to be a pure-bred, if a little long in the muzzle, and pure-bred Labradors - especially of that unusual colour - are extremely valuable animals. We're inclined to think he's a stray rather than abandoned, so we're providing photos and details to all the local police stations in case his owners are out looking for him.”
“No microchip?”
“No and no collar either, or any indication that he's ever worn one,” was the reply. “it's odd - he's a mystery! However, I'm sure we'll - ”
She was interrupted by the imperative chime of a phone, and with a grimace of apology as the shrill ringtone brought a fresh round of barks, yelps and whines Nick came to his feet and answered.
It was his government phone, and after only a few words Nick felt the blood drain from his face. Abruptly forgetting all about his surroundings - and the oddly friendly dog - Nick swiftly left the building, leaving the centre assistant gaping after him as he made for the front reception with his security team scrambling hastily to catch up with their charge's long-legged stride. Nick was aware with part of his mind that the pup that had been trying so hard to keep his attention was howling disconsolately in a continuous wail and setting every other dog in the building off, but he had little attention to spare from the impossible event that the excited voice on the other end of his phone was pouring into his ear.
“He can't have just vanished!” he snapped. “Dammit, he's the most powerful man in the country, how could he just disappear!”
The voice - it sounded like Ed Llewellyn, Cameron's chief of staff, but Nick had never heard the normally unflappable Llewellyn sound so panic-stricken - started to gabble, the words running together, and Nick cut impatiently through the stream of speech as he saw Olly running towards him, her own phone plastered to one ear and her face pale and shocked.
Somehow he managed to calm Ed down and finish the call as Olly reached him, holding up a hand as she opened her mouth.
“I know, I've just heard,” he said curtly, turning towards his official car, luckily still parked outside the reception area although the escort vehicle had cleared the drive as soon as Nick and his team had disembarked... Oh. Only one car...
Nick hesitated then nodded to himself. “Right - Olly, can you organise getting everyone else back as soon as possible? I have to leave right now, Vic and Jason will travel in my car with me, you and the others will have to wait for the escort -”
“- yes, that's fine, you have to get back! I... Nick, how can this have happened?” for a moment, Olly's usual brisk efficiency was drowned in confusion and she looked as lost as Nick had ever seen her. “The - the Prime Minister! I... Where were his Protection people? How did this happen?”
“I'm sure I'll get a full briefing as soon as I get to No 10,” Nick sent back over his shoulder as he continued towards his car, “In the meantime, just make sure that you all get back to my office as soon as you can. And PR will have to contact the Downing St team, and -”
“Yes, yes, Nick, I'll handle all that!” Olly had rapidly recovered her usual self-possession and already had her Blackberry out. “Just go!”
Nick's driver was scrambling to open the car door as Nick approached, clearly sensing that there was a Situation in the offing, but before Nick reached him a brown blur shot past the driver and onto the back seat in a flurry of legs and furiously whirling tail.
“What-”
Coming abruptly to a stop at the side of the car with his guards at his back, Nick stared at the interior.
The rescue pup - the chocolate brown, half-grown Labrador with the big blue eyes and the furiously-waving tail - stared guilelessly back.
Something in the way the dog had settled itself told Nick that it wasn't going to be easy to get the animal out, and he groaned silently. He did not have time for this! But the dog was so clearly delighted with its success, tongue hanging out and tail wagging, that for one brief moment he felt the leaden feeling of dread weighing on him ease off - just a little.
Then it all crashed in on him again and he bit down hard on his lip, fighting to get his imagination under control. He wasn't - wasn't going to think about the way his chest tightened at the thought of David - charming, handsome, decent-hearted David, his colleague, his rival, his - yes, his friend - gone. Vanished. Maybe even - No!
Not going there, Nick told himself firmly as his fear stabbed at him, making his breath stutter and catch. Much better not to think about how close the two of them had grown in the past couple of years, about how much closer they could yet become... And best of all not to think about what might be happening to David at this very moment, while he tried to get a bloody dog out of a bloody car.
“Well, you're pleased with yourself, aren't you?” he commented aloud. The tail increased its beat, thumping against the seat while the dog's ears flattened. Then it cocked its head on one side and gave a small, pleading whine, and Nick shook his head firmly.
“No. You're not coming. Come on - out!” then a thought struck him and he frowned a little. “Hang on - how did you get out of your pen, anyway? No-one's even noticed you've gone!”
It was true. There was no sign of alarm or crisis from the complex of buildings behind them.
“Real escape artist, that one,” Vic volunteered. “I'll take the little bleeder back, sir, and cadge a lift back with the rest of the team. Jase can stay with you.”
“That's assuming we can get him out of the car,” Nick pointed out a little grimly as Vic edged forward, extending one hand towards the pup. The animal slithered backwards until it was against the far door, then, as if understanding Jason's stealthy move in that direction, suddenly snaked its head towards Vic in a quick, vicious snap of gleaming - and extremely sharp-looking - teeth.
Vic instinctively jerked backwards - Nick was encouraged to see that the security man's reflexes were still excellent despite his greying hair and slight paunch - and the dog took immediate advantage by shifting forward and away from the door Jason was aiming for. Jason swung the heavy armour plating of the door back with a grunt of effort and the dog moved further along the seat until it was exactly in the middle, then settled down, forelegs braced wide apart on the seat, in a position where it could watch both doors at once without turning its back on either of them.
Then it lowered its head, bared its teeth, and began a low, sing-song, undeniably menacing growl, shifting its gaze from one security man to the other and clearly determined to stay right where it was...
Five minutes later they were no nearer getting the dog out of the car, not even with the help of the very apologetic rescue centre staff who were still trying to understand how the pup had managed to open the (theoretically) dog-proof catch on its cage and then escape from the building altogether. After Vic narrowly avoided losing a couple of fingers Nick finally called a halt to proceedings.
“Look, I really do have to leave,” he said firmly to the head of the rescue centre. “I can't waste any more time on this. If the dog won't leave the car then we'll bring the car back after I've been dropped off at Downing St. and you can work on the best way of extracting him then. But for now, I really must go!”
“But - but how will you -” began the centre director, only to stammer into silence as Nick climbed into the back to sit next to the dog - who promptly ceased growling and sat down, leaning against Nick for a moment before curling up next to him and resting its head on Nick's knee with a very human-sounding sigh of contentment.
Vic, still grumbling quietly, climbed into the front and Charlie the driver obediently set the car into motion in response to Nick's “No 10, Charlie, as quickly as you can!”
As the car pulled out to begin the return to London, Nick sat back and, digging out his Blackberry and his phone, began to garner as much information as he could on the unprecedented events of that morning. As DPM he knew that Team Cameron would talk to him where they might not necessarily talk to his staff; David had always been very firm about making sure that his Coalition partner was kept fully 'in the loop' and Cameron's Downing St team, staffers and civil servants alike, knew it.
It was all very peculiar, Nick decided a little later as he rang off after one final phone call, one hand unconsciously caressing the soft fur of the head resting heavily on his lap while he mentally ran through what he'd been told. There had been nothing unusual about the morning's Quad meeting. When Nick had left for the rescue centre visit George and Danny had returned to the Treasury and David had headed off for the first fixture of his busy day. The Prime Minister had been scheduled to visit a hospital in St Albans, and had left right on schedule in the PM's governmental Jag - but when the vehicle had drawn up in front of the hospital entrance just over an hour later, the car door had been opened to reveal an empty, PM-less interior.
The driver had not spoken to his passenger during the drive, but this was quite usual for Cameron, who liked to work during the many car journeys that the PM's job entailed. The spell wards on the vehicle had been thoroughly and carefully renewed only that week under the regular maintenance programme for such matters, and the forensic thaumaturges had not only been unable to figure out where and how the magickal attack had penetrated the wards, they hadn't even been able to identify the type of spell that had been used - save that whatever that spell had been, it had not included any teleportation algorithms!
The only glimmer of light in the darkness was that - Nick allowed himself a sigh of relief, while trying not to think about why the news meant so much to him on a personal level - David was definitely still alive and in good health. The Principal Clairvoyant at the Cabinet Office had phoned through with the results of his emergency scrying session while Nick was on the phone to Magickal Forensics. Of course, it only deepened the mystery of the PM's fate - especially as there was no hint of Qabalistic or Islamic influences in the rapidly-fading traces, and no-one had yet claimed responsibility. Not a terrorist attack, then - but if not that, then what? Some nutter, working alone? Insanity had been known to increase the power and effectiveness of certain spells, but no single wizard, even an insane one, should be able to get through official government spell wards!
Shaking his head at his thoughts, Nick came out of his brown study to realise that they had nearly reached their destination - and that there was a half-grown Labrador pup curled up on his lap with Nick absent-mindedly carding one soft, floppy ear through his fingers. As soon as he stopped the puppy raised its head and gave him a reproachful look out of those blue eyes - very dark blue eyes too, really a most unusual colour for a dog - then pushed its nose under Nick's hand in a peremptory command for him to resume, and despite his worry Nick could not help smiling.
“You - are a tart,” he said severely. The dog blinked at him, then suddenly darted its head forward and licked him on the chin before he could dodge, surprising a laugh out of him. The dog cocked its head to one side, ears pricked, and gave a little whine, and Nick sighed and then smiled, ruffling the Labrador's fur.
“Don't you play the innocent with me, my lad! You're sneaky! You tricked your way into the car, and you've crept on to my lap, and if I wasn't so worried about David -”
The dog gave a short, sharp wuff! almost as if it was responding to the name, and Nick paused.
“David? Is that what you're called?”
The dog wuffed! again and Nick's smile widened. The animal was probably just reacting to the attention and the tone of his voice, but it really did sound as if it was answering him... “All right then,” he said aloud, “I'll call you David. How's that?”
The sharp single bark he got in response sounded positive enough, and Nick gave a confirmatory pat to - 'David's' - head as the car slowed abruptly. Looking out of the window he saw that they were on Whitehall and about to turn into Downing St, and he carefully levered 'David' off his lap. Hopefully he would be able to exit the car and keep the dog inside -
Er... No.
Vic opened the door and with an excited bark 'David' ran straight across Nick, shooting from the car like a bullet out of a gun and dancing up to the door of No 10 with ears flagged and tail wagging. Larry the cat, who had been sunbathing on the front step, spat some feline insults and beat a hasty retreat with fur bristling and claws out, but to Nick's surprise his new friend, after a brief battle with the seductive temptation represented by Larry's fleeing form, returned its attention to the closed door before it. Assuming a seemingly sedate sitting position, the dog waited, eyes fixed on the door and whole body quivering with impatience, for someone to let it in.
“There's something very odd about that dog,” Nick murmured to himself as he exited the car, and he shrugged at Vic. “It's no good, Vic, I don't think we'll get him back in the car. I'll tell someone to inform the rescue centre that I've been adopted - temporarily at least.”
“Determined little bugger,” commented a Vic who seemed to have recovered his usual good humour, as the dog glanced over its shoulder and gave a sharp yip. “And bossy, too. That said 'Hurry up, I'm waiting,' as plain as if he'd said it in English! Will you be leaving at your usual time tonight, Mr Clegg?”
“I'll phone you,” was Nick's response. “I think we're going to be burning the midnight oil tonight. Let Jason know, will you? I'll see you later -”
He was interrupted by another impatient bark from the dog, still waiting on No 10's doorstep under the bemused gaze of the duty policeman, and with a hasty nod of farewell Nick made for the famous, black-painted front door.
“And you behave yourself!” Nick hissed at 'David' as the door opened. There was no visible response, but to Nick's relief the pup stayed calm and well-behaved, accompanying him all the way to the PM's office and loftily ignoring all attempts to tempt or distract it away from its chosen position at Nick's side.
The lobby outside Cameron's office was crowded and noisy with security, both magical and mundane, staffers, and civil servants, but the private office beyond contained only an even-paler-than-usual George Osborne, an agitated, pacing Michael Gove and a professionally calm and collected Jeremy Heywood - though even his Whitehall sang-froid seemed a little more brittle than usual. The occupants of the lobby had barely noticed Nick's companion - in their harried, barely-controlled panic they'd hardly even noticed Nick - but Osborne was reacting, furiously, almost as soon as Nick had closed the door on the chaos outside.
“What the hell are you playing at, Clegg, the PM disappears into thin air, we're in the middle of a major crisis, and you adopt a fucking dog? Christ, I know you LibDems are woolly-headed tree-huggers, but this is hardly the time or-”
Flushing, Nick was drawing breath for a snappy - and, he knew, overly sharp - reply, when Gove replied for him.
“Oh, stop it, George, you know you just want to pick a fight because you're worried about David. Well, we're all worried about David, and I'm sure Nick is as well. Let's just concentrate on finding the Prime Minister, shall we?”
Gove's precise, educated tones had an immediate effect - he was probably lacing his voice with soothers, Nick reflected, as Osborne flushed and stared at his shoes, mumbling an apology. Gove had taken a First in Voice at Oxford - which probably explained why he had such a mixed record with his speeches in the House, where no magickal augmentation was permitted. The current Speaker was especially skilled at detecting, and very firmly squashing, any such attempts -
The germ of a thought seeded itself at the back of his mind, but before Nick could drag it out and look at it Gove was saying,
“Are you fully up to speed on the situation? The latest from the clairvoyants -”
Then he was interrupted.
After sniffing around the office with every appearance of alert interest, Nick's latest acquisition had jumped onto the Prime Minister's chair. Now it cocked its head to one side, eyes fixed on the four men before it, and gave one short, attention-demanding bark.
Everyone turned to where the dog could just be seen over the top of the desk, and Nick was struck by a sudden, totally ludicrous idea. He tried to push it away as too stupid to be given serious consideration, but it persisted.
“He really has got David's eyes...” he murmured to himself. “And that coat - it's the exact shade of his hair, and - and he recognises his name... And he, he knew me, right from when I clapped eyes on him... Oh, fuck!”
With a happy bark, 'David' leaped off the chair and ran to Nick, jumping up at him and trying to lick every bit of exposed skin it could reach while Nick tried to hold the excited animal at bay.
“- What was that?” came Gove's inquisitive voice over the dog's excited barking. “What did you say?”
Nick looked across from where he was holding the dog's front legs in an attempt to prevent the animal getting marks all over his suit, still trying to absorb the sudden, shattering revelation. Carefully, almost gently, he released his hold and straightened up, staring down at the dog. The dog stared up at him, whining, then raised one beseeching paw.
“Yes, all right, David. I know... I'll tell them.”
Nick looked at the puzzled trio staring from him to the dog - though for Osborne, at least, the penny seemed to have dropped, judging by his horrified expression.
“Excuse me, Deputy Prime Minister, but if you would be so kind as to explain?”
That was Heywood, always a stickler for etiquette, but the snap of impatience in his voice had Nick scrambling to get his thoughts onto some kind of coherent order.
“Yes. Sorry. I, um... This dog. I met it - him, I met him -” Nick corrected hastily, at the dog's warning yip, “At the rescue centre this morning... He'd been brought in only that morning, and he recognised me as soon as he saw me. Then he escaped - from a dog-proof cage - and insisted on coming back here with me, and - well, he's really not behaving much like a dog, is he?”
Nick took a deep breath and looked down at the animal watching him so intently. The expression of deep concentration in those blue eyes was heartbreakingly familiar... “I think the dog is David. The PM's right here, only someone's turned him into... this.”
“What? But - but the transformation protocols were lost centuries ago! And that's not forgetting the fact that they were outlawed in the Runnymede Charter, because unless the victim can be returned to their own form almost immediately it's tantamount to murder!”
That was Gove, stating the obvious as usual... Perhaps he was being unfair. Perhaps that was just Michael's way of coping. Nick glanced at George and felt a pang of fellow-feeling. Osborne looked as sick, as unhappy, as Nick felt -
David the dog gave a small whine, his pleading gaze capturing Nick's, and suddenly Nick dropped to one knee to gather the compact brown body in his arms, hugging it fiercely while he buried his face in David's fur. David responded by pressing into Nick's hold, resting his head on Nick's shoulder and licking at the skin under Nick's ear, whimpering softly.
“We'll turn you back,” Nick whispered desperately, hearing the tears in his own voice. “We'll find a way. I promise, David!”
oOo
“I've examined the medieval records, and they are unanimous, I'm afraid. Unless we can reverse the effects of the transformation before sunrise tomorrow, the Prime Minister's personality, his psyche, if you will, will be completely absorbed into the new body. Once that process has been completed - once the man is lost within the dog - it will be quite impossible to return him to human form.”
An hour had passed since Nick's flash of inspiration. Heywood had been sceptical, but both Michael and George had believed him immediately, possibly because as politicians they frequently had to believe in at least three impossible things before breakfast, but more likely because they both knew Cameron very well, and once they'd made the connection they could both see their friend looking out from behind the Labrador's pleading eyes.
The pup had insisted on staying with Nick, though. Even now, as they listened to Magister John Sawers, head of the Bureau of Magickal Investigation (Section Six), summarising the findings of his mages, David was sitting on Nick, pressing so close to the human that Nick could feel the minute tremors running through the other's body. There was no doubt that David could understand what the humans were saying - and fully comprehended what Sawers' report meant for him.
A lifetime as a dog, unless they could find out who - and how - and how to reverse it, and all before sunrise tomorrow!
Reverse a spell which until today's events had been thought the stuff of legend, an act whose illegality was a matter of tradition, a hangover from the same superstitious times which had held werewolves and vampires, goblins and elves to be malevolent supernatural beings rather than the completely natural variants in the human genome that modern magickal research had determined them to be. These days there were even elf, vampire and werewolf MPs, and if they - Nick stiffened as that germ of an idea flickered into his head again, only this time he was able to catch hold of it.
“The Speaker!”
“What about him?” demanded Osborne in annoyed tones as Sawers and Gove swung round to stare at the man who had spent the last half an hour listening intently to their increasingly-fractious discussion - with the canine form of their Prime Minister sitting contentedly and affectionately on his lap.
“Really, Clegg, is this the time and place -”
Nick, who knew that most of Osborne's short temper was down to personal worry for his friend and the rest to jealousy of Nick's close political relationship with the PM, ignored the snap in the light tenor voice. Running one hand reassuringly down David's back, he said,
“We've been so bound up in thinking of David Cameron the Prime Minister -” he smiled apologetically down at the dog, who promptly licked his nose “- we forgot that he was an MP first! The Speaker has special powers where MPs are concerned, hasn't he? So why don't we ask him to use those powers on David's behalf? One of his MPs has been the subject of a magickal attack - defending and preventing that sort of thing is part of his job description, and has been since Cromwell's time!”
“I couldn't have put it better myself,” came a voice from the door, and John Bercow, resplendent in the gold-embroidered Magickal Defender robes that were usually only brought out for the Monarch's Address to Parliament, strode into the room, grey hair tousled and Great Mace slung carelessly over one shoulder rather in the manner of a gamekeeper carrying a favourite shotgun. At his heels the deputy Speaker, less ceremonially clad though nevertheless wearing the black gown used for casting defensive magicks, was laden with a large carpet bag and Black Rod's sceptre. Bercow looked around, effortlessly dominating the assembled company despite his short stature, and said briskly,
“If you'd contacted me earlier a lot of trouble might have been avoided, gentlemen. It's as well that I did actually conduct a noon scrying today - I don't always bother when Parliament is in recess. Prime Minister,” he nodded briefly in the direction of the silent dog. David's ears went up hopefully, but Nick also heard the quiet growl rumbling in the animal's chest and leaned down to whisper,
“It's okay, David, I know you and Bercow don't get on, but this time he's on your side. This is part of the Speaker's job, and you know conscientious Bercow is. He won't let you down - I won't let him, and neither will George, or Michael.”
“No, I certainly won't,” came the retort from the table, where Bercow was extracting various pieces of magical paraphernalia from the bag and arranging them with painstaking care into the standard pentagram pattern that was the foundation for most spells. He shot the pair on the couch a piercing, but not entirely unsympathetic glance, and added more gently,
“We may not see eye to eye in political matters, Prime Minister, but please believe that I would do everything I can to reverse this dreadful thing that has been done to you even if it were not my duty. You must trust me to do my best for you - and my best,” he added in characteristic Bercovian manner, “Is very good indeed!”
David's head cocked to one side while his eyes held Bercow's; then he jumped off the couch and pattered over to where the Speaker was standing. Bercow offered his hand; David sniffed it briefly, gave it a swift lick, and returned to the couch where he climbed onto Nick's lap, sitting with his side pressed against Nick's chest and his head tucked under Nick's chin in what was becoming a favourite position of his.
Nick rubbed his cheek against the top of the dog's head, closing his eyes as he heard the soft rumble of contentment from David and tightening his arms around him in a comforting hug - comforting for him as well as for David. He could tell that David was still frightened, but a little more relaxed now that he'd put his trust in the Speaker. Nick was only relieved that they'd finally found someone who seemed to have at least some idea of what to do.
Why was he finding it so easy to tell what David was thinking and feeling, he wondered. Ever since he'd first seen the pup in the rescue centre they'd been communicating on some basic level that had nothing to do with speech and everything to do with feelings.
Looking down at the pup on his lap he smiled to himself as memories of David - laughing, talking, arguing, flashing him that irresistible smile of his, those impossibly blue eyes full of warmth - flashed through his mind almost too quickly for him to catch, leaving him with a sudden melting in his chest and a yearning for something just out of reach -
And then he understood.
Nick bit his lip, aware with part of his mind that Bercow, with the assistance of his deputy, Lindsay Hoyle, and a fascinated Michael Gove, was beginning a complicated scrying spell, with the addition of some extremely unusual and very old magickal formulae, but most of his attention was focussed on the second shattering revelation that he'd had to cope with today.
His feelings for David Cameron went far beyond the professional, or even the easy friendliness that tended to develop between vaguely congenial work colleagues. It had crept up on him unnoticed and unacknowledged, and it had taken something like this to make him see... David in dog form was utterly adorable, but he was still David, just less - guarded, more open. Showing everything he felt and thought with all of a dog's eagerness and enthusiasm and a puppy's delight in the world... But that delight, that openness and eagerness, that was part of David as well, under the cynical carapace of professional politician that masked the real David from everyone except those closest to him, like George, and Michael...
... And Nick.
And then Nick bit his lip as sudden, irrepressible joy took hold of him despite his worry and concern.
David felt the same way!
How could he have missed it? It was so obvious, now that David in canine form was showing everything he felt with all of a dog's openness and sincerity; in David's behaviour in the car, in the way he'd clung to Nick since they'd got to Downing St, in the way he was behaving now, snuggling close, sitting on Nick's lap, demanding touches and caresses and affection...
Stunned, delighted, almost fizzing with joy, Nick was just drawing breath to say something - what, he was never afterwards quite sure - when Bercow's furious voice broke in on him.
“Peter Bone! That imbecilic, over-ambitious excuse for a cheap tuppenny-ha'penny hedge wizard -”
Man and dog looked around at the table where the Speaker had been conducting his scrying.
“Bone? The MP for Wellingborough?” Michael was beginning, when Bercow stalked across to David, still clearly fuming. Hastily Nick came to his feet and moved to intercept the furious man, unsure of David's reaction and unwilling to risk the Speaker's safety. David might only be a puppy, but his teeth were in excellent condition - as Nick's security chief Vic could testify. At Nick's approach Bercow paused his advance, contenting himself with glaring towards the couch.
“All of this is the result of a monumental cock-up - by one of your own MPs!” he snapped, almost quivering with fury.
“You have been transformed, Cameron, because the Honourable Peter Bone -” he gave Bone his title with deep contempt “- has an over-inflated idea of his own abilities and is so supremely arrogant that he ignores basic safety parameters when spellcasting! I cannot believe that any magickal practitioner could be so monumentally stupid!-”
“What did he do?” demanded Nick, cutting through Bercow's tirade. The Speaker took a deep breath, visibly wrestling his temper back under control, and looked back at Nick.
“Master Bone,” he said with withering sarcasm, “Tried to bring the Prime Minister under his psychic control by linking Cameron's aura with that of a dog - his own familiar, in fact - presumably so that Cameron would prove a little more amenable to the dictates of the 1922 Committee than he has been thus far.”
“First of all he set a geas on the driver - it could have been done several days ago, for all I know - so that he would drop the government spell wards on the car as soon as it left Downing St. with the Prime Minister on board. For that he only needed to know the identity of Cameron's driver for the day - simple enough for an influential Tory MP like Bone to discover.
“Once the spell wards were down, he could target Cameron with relative ease... and that's where it all went pear-shaped for the cack-handed, over-confident - imbecile!.
“He combined psychic transference formulae with a general-purpose translocation spell module - with absolutely no attempt to set up safety filters or -”
“Yes, that's all very well,” Nick interrupted hastily before Bercow could get himself wound up any further, “Bone got it wrong and the spell went out of control. We're not experts, John - even if you did explain how he made his mistake we wouldn't understand it. The important thing is whether you can fix it?
“Are you able to reverse the effects and get the Prime Minister back?”
“Assuming there's anything left of him in the dog...” muttered George as the Speaker, his face solemn, began to reply. Osborne was staring down at his handmade leather shoes, where, Nick suddenly realised with a spurt of half-hysterical amusement, a half-grown chocolate Labrador puppy was tugging away at Osborne's shoelaces and growling happily as the laces were slowly and inexorably pulled out of their holes.
“David!” he said sharply, repressing his ill-timed hilarity, “That's enough! Leave George's shoes alone!”
The pup ignored him, though his tail gave a perfunctory, appeasing wag, and Nick sighed and looked around the office.
“Here,” he said, going over the the cupboard where he knew David kept a spare pair of comfortable old shoes to wear around No 10 when there was no media or public to see him, and pulling one out. “David! Want this? Want to play?”
He waved the shoe, and David's head came round, ears pricked. With a happy bark he abandoned George's shoes to gambol over to Nick, watching the shoe intently. Nick waved it a couple of times, then tossed it towards the open area in front of the desk and turned back to where the others - minus Magister Sawers, who had left to personally arrange for Bone's arrest as soon as he had the name of the man responsible for the PM's condition - had gone into a huddle with a worried-looking Bercow.
“David's losing himself to the dog form,” said Michael anxiously as Nick joined them, the crease of worry between his brows deepening. Bercow nodded.
“It's happening too quickly - there must be a natural affinity between the dog psyche and the Prime Minister's. This is unfortunate. I have even less time than-”
He was interrupted by a grief-stricken wail. Everyone's head snapped towards the source of the desolate sound, and then Nick was there, dropping to one knee and gathering a howling, terrified animal to him, murmuring to it softly and petting it into a semblance of calm. Eventually the heart-rending plaint faded into silence and Nick got carefully to his feet. Holding the - now quiet - dog in his arms, Nick looked up.
“David's remembered,” he said simply, “And knew he'd forgotten who he was...”
“Ah, no!” exclaimed George, starting forward, completely forgetting his usual wariness around dogs. “David, don't - please don't worry! Speaker Bercow will reverse the spell, won't you, John?”
Behind George, Nick saw Michael's expressive features twist with angry worry and felt a pang of sympathy. Michael knew much more than Nick about the mysterious world of magick and he also knew Bercow. Like Nick he could see that the Speaker was far from convinced that he could get David back to his human form.
But Bercow's face had suddenly sharpened into alertness. Eyes bright and eager, the Speaker pointed at the partly-chewed shoe lying abandoned on the carpet and demanded, “Is there another one of those?”
For answer Nick quietly put David down on the couch and went to the cupboard, where he took out the other shoe of the pair and handed it to the waiting Speaker. Bercow turned it over and over, examining it closely, then brought it to his nose and sniffed cautiously.
“Ew, no!” exclaimed George, and even Nick gave an involuntary wince, but Michael shushed them sharply.
“Those shoes must be full of David's human scent!” he told them importantly. “Is that what helped him get control of the dog form, John?”
“Yes, I think so,” was the absent reply as the Speaker brought the shoe back to the table and gave it to his deputy. Then he picked up the other shoe and placed it next to David on the couch, put his hand under the pup's muzzle, and lifted it until he could meet David's eyes.
“Keep this shoe by you, Prime Minister,” he said seriously, “The scent will help you to remain in control, and the more you remember of yourself, the better the chances of success. Do you understand?”
Staring up at the round, intent face looking down at him, the Labrador dropped his muzzle and lifted it again in a slow, unmistakable nod of agreement, and Bercow grunted with satisfaction.
“Good. Then let's get started. There's a lot to do and not a lot of time. Gove, I'm going to need the following-”
He reeled off a list of esoteric ingredients of which Nick recognised only one or two. As Michael hurried out of the office, already talking hard into the phone stuck to his ear, Bercow turned to the two remaining politicians.
“Nick, look after David and keep him calm. Keep talking to him about his human life, his duties, his Cabinet, the House of Commons - take him through the last session of PMQs if you have to, but keep - him - human!
“George, help Hoyle roll the carpet back and draw the Spells Major pentacle - the Transformative Variant, Lindsay, with the Hunter-Velikowsky form of the lower quadrant. Show Mr. Osborne what to do, will you?”
While Nick bent over the quietly-whimpering puppy, murmuring softly, George helped the Deputy Speaker push the furniture back against the walls and roll back the carpet. Then the two men began to crawl around on the floor, consulting, chalking, and occasionally rubbing out and re-writing a mass of symbols and sigils. When a flustered and out-of-breath Michael tumbled through the door a little later with an armful of herbs, phials and bottles, those items too were added to the complicated design growing on the bare boards.
Twenty minutes later the Speaker looked up from the large, battered notebook he had been studying. Eyeing the large, multicoloured pentacle, surrounded by graceful curlicues and adorned with bunches of herbs, variously-coloured candles and small bowls of scented oils, he gave a brisk nod of satisfaction.
“That'll do. Hoyle -” he beckoned his deputy over and went into a brief, whispered consultation. Nick, George and Michael watched anxiously. David looked from Nick to the Speaker and back, whining a little, and Nick petted him until the whining died away and David settled under his hand, abandoning the shoe in favour of Nick's lap.
It was odd, reflected Nick as he watched the Speaker and his Deputy check each other's robes and anoint wrists and foreheads with the necessary defensive philtres before collecting Black Rod's sceptre (the Deputy Speaker) and the Mace (the Speaker) and taking up positions at two points of the pentacle. He'd known both men for years; but now, as they called on the powers of their offices and drew the defensive magicks of their roles around themselves like almost visible cloaks, Nick suddenly knew that he wasn't looking at John Bercow and Lindsay Hoyle. These were the Speaker and the Deputy Speaker in the full panoply of their roles, with all their powers made manifest...
... Shivering, Nick looked down at the pup huddled on his lap and hoped that it would be enough.
“Clegg, put the Prime Minister into the centre of the pentacle, next to the shoe, and then stand at that point of the pattern - there.” Silently Nick obeyed, hating the way David whined, tail tight between his legs, as Nick carefully placed him right in the middle of the chalk shape - after one last fierce hug - and stepped into the position indicated as the Speaker continued his instructions.
“Gove, you take that one and Osborne, that one. Keep a visualisation of David Cameron at the front of your minds - memories of your friend, incidents that are typical of the man - the person - that you know. Keep thinking of them as we work...”
Lighting one final candle and placing it in the final position in the design, the small man in the gold-embroidered robes stepped back into his chosen position, cast one final look at the four other men standing around the outside of the pentacle and the Labrador looking so small and isolated in the very centre of the pattern, and with a nod of satisfaction raised the great golden Mace.
“Right - let's get started. It won't be long now, Prime Minister. Stay strong...”
oOo
“Thank you gentlemen, I think that's everything. George, about that other matter -”
“It's in hand, David. I've had a word with Central Office...”
Nick tuned out the sound of Osborne's light tenor voice and came to his feet, picking up his red folder and turning towards the door as Danny followed suit. Leave the Tories to their party business, Nick told himself, ignoring the leaden misery that was an ever-present companion these days. He had plenty of work to get through on his own, he couldn't afford to waste time mooning over a Prime Minister who clearly retained little - if any - memory of those few nightmare hours barely three days ago.
And if those events were fast becoming some of Nick's most valued memories, little brightly-coloured treasures to bring out and remember every time David gave Nick that distant, friendly smile, or treated him with the same general, undiscriminating friendliness that Cameron extended to a vaguely congenial acquaintance - well, so what? The close friendship that had been developing before the now-confined Peter Bone's meddling might never have existed. And Nick's hope - no, more than that, Nick's belief - that David felt more than mere friendship - well, he'd been fooling himself, hadn't he?
Frowning, Nick strode into his office and firmly closed the door on his aides in the office outside. Dumping his papers on the table, he stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered across to stare gloomily out of the window, seeing not the view across Horseguards, but a lively half-grown Labrador pup with adoring blue eyes and a heart overflowing with love...
How could he have been so - so stupid? Convincing himself that what he read in the dog's eyes was what David truly felt, not just part of a Labrador's character? Believing, no, letting himself believe in the face of all common sense.
Nick's face twisted as a spasm of pain shook him, and he leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. His eyes were burning... Stubbornly he forced the shameful tears back. It was all his own stupid, gullible fault, he'd let his guard down and it was up to him to handle the consequences.
A silent sob shook him and he took a deep breath, fighting to suppress the foolish emotions swirling through him.
He was so involved in his battle that he never heard the faint click of the door opening behind him.
“Um, Nick? Are you all right?”
At the sound of David's concerned voice Nick swung round in shock, giving the other man a perfect view of his tear-stained face.
David had been hovering just inside the door, but one glimpse of Nick's miserable expression had him starting forward, instinctively reaching out.
“What - Nick, what's the matter? Can I -”
Nick looked away. “Nothing.”
Deliberately he turned away from the window and walked to his desk, picking up some papers and pretending to look through them.
“Did you want to see me about something?” he enquired, controlling his voice with an effort and keeping his eyes on the documents. “I thought you had some party business to work out with Osborne.”
Despite himself, a slight edge entered his voice when he mentioned George, and inwardly Nick winced. Oh, great. Let his boss know what an immature, over-emotional idiot he was -
“Is that why you dashed off in such a hurry?”
David sounded oddly tentative, most unlike David, and Nick looked up in surprise. He met David's gaze and swallowed, fighting back the desperate yearning that rose in him in response to the expression in those blue eyes. He was imagining things, surely, he had to be -
“You know, after - after what happened,” David said conversationally, approaching Nick as slowly and carefully as if it was Nick that was the scared puppy this time round, “When I woke up to find you all staring down at me - Bercow looking so insufferably smug and the rest of you looking so fucking relieved... All I could think of was that I'd been drugged or hexed somehow. I couldn't remember a damned thing after getting into my car that morning - but even then I was sure that you'd been the most important part of getting me back. I knew that, Nick - I just couldn't recall why, or how, or what.”
David was smiling hopefully - the old warm, eager smile, the one Nick had thought he would never see again. He stood frozen, afraid to believe. Surely this was the David he'd known, the David he'd laughed with, argued with... fallen for... the David he thought he'd lost? Surely... But - what if he was seeing what he wanted to see? What if he was fooling himself again?
“Then why -”
Nick shut his mouth with a snap. He wasn't going to beg, like some needy, lovesick teen. He wasn't -
“Why didn't I say something?” David caught his half-spoken question. Nick nodded silently, and David sighed and moved a little closer, then stopped, stricken, as Nick backed away.
“Wha- Nick, no, don't, please - I'm sorry! I - ” David's mouth opened, but no words came out, and after a few more moments' struggle he stopped and took a deep breath. Then he ran one hand through his hair, clearly thinking hard, and began again.
“You know what it was like that day, after I... woke up. Non-stop damage limitation, briefings with the press, my team, the Cabinet - everybody wanted a piece of me! And I couldn't remember a fucking thing! I just had that - feeling...
“And you - where were you, Nick? Where did you go? You avoided me, all bloody day you avoided me, and then -” David swallowed, shaking his head as Nick attempted to interrupt, “No, Nick, please - let me say my piece, and then I - I'll go, if that's what you want, and we won't - talk about it, ever again. I just - please, I have to say this...
“I... began to remember what had happened.”
Unexpectedly, David's fair skin flushed bright pink and he looked away. “I remembered - and Christ, I was so ashamed of myself! I - chewing on George's shoelaces? Licking your face - behaving like a - like a lovesick -”
“-Labrador puppy?” interrupted Nick, walking over to stand in front of David and feeling his misery and confusion melt away. Was that all this had been about? Oh, David. You darling, silly prat...
“None of this was your fault, David.” he said forcefully. “You behaved like a puppy because that was what Bone had transformed you into! It's as bonkers to be embarrassed over it as it would be to be, to be bothered by your Eton accent!”
“But...”
“No, David.”
Nick put his hands on David's shoulders, watching the downturned face and willing the other to look up.
“Bercow told us a little about it. Your feelings, your personality - they were still there. You were still you, just - filtered through a dog's instincts and behaviour. You were mischievous, and playful, and utterly adorable, and I...” It was Nick's turn to swallow, dry-mouthed, as he plunged, “I thought you really felt something for me. More than a puppy's love for its favourite human.”
That, finally, made David look up. Tears filled his eyes. “I did, I do!” he whispered. “God, Nick, I'm sorry - I made you doubt, how could I - I'm so sorry!”
David threw his arms around the other man, feeling the long leanness of him, drawing Nick close in a hard, rib-bruising hug. After a moment of stunned immobility, Nick responded - then he turned his head, his lips grazing across David's face, caressing lightly-stubbled skin until he found David's mouth, opening willingly beneath his in their first (but by no means last) kiss.
David might be adorable as a dog, Nick found himself thinking as they kissed, and kissed, and kissed, murmurs of pleasure and ridiculous, whispered endearments passing between them, but as a human he was immeasurably more. Irresistibly and wonderfully more.
And all his...
END