Infinite Regress

(Schooled in Magic IX)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Twilight Times Books

Kingsport Tennessee

Infinite Regress

This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are used fictitiously and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 Christopher G. Nuttall

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

Twilight Times Books

P O Box 3340

Kingsport TN 37664

http://twilighttimesbooks.com/

First Edition, May 2016

Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter

Published in the United States of America.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Afterword

Appendix: Education in The Allied Lands

Prologue

“I WANT HER GONE!”

Lady Barb sighed. She’d suspected what the staff meeting, two days after Master Gordian had been formally invested with the robes and power of the Grandmaster, would be about but she’d hoped she’d been wrong. The death of the previous Grandmaster—and Master Grey—had rattled more than a few cages in the White City. Far too many powerful people wondered just what sort of monster Void had introduced to Whitehall.

But Emily isn’t a monster, she told herself, as her eyes swept the room, silently gauging how much support she might expect from the senior tutors. She’s... she’s a very flawed person, but a great one. And Gordian...

Grandmaster Gordian dominated the room. He was a tall, powerfully-built man, with long dark hair drawn back in a ponytail. His face seemed somehow ageless, yet lined enough to make it clear he was no longer young; his dark eyes flickered back and forth as they moved from face to face. As the new Grandmaster, a word from him would be quite enough to end the careers of anyone in the room.

Lady Barb doubted that many would dare to challenge him openly. But she had no choice.

She took a breath and leaned forward, drawing his attention. “You have no grounds to expel her,” she said, flatly. It was unwise to challenge a senior magician in his place of power, but she wasn’t planning to remain at Whitehall anyway. “She could challenge your decision in front of the council.”

Gordian stared back at her, icily. “No grounds?”

He calmed his voice, then went on. “In her first year, the school was invaded by a necromancer,” he said. “A number of students were killed...”

“Before she killed the necromancer,” Lady Barb said. She still wasn’t sure how Emily had managed to kill Shadye, but Emily had. “You cannot blame her for the invasion.”

“In her second year, the school was infested with a Mimic,” Gordian continued. “That... creature... would not have escaped, was it not for her!”

“You cannot blame her for that either,” Lady Barb said.

“She also conducted experiments that could have proven disastrous, if unchecked,” Gordian snapped. “She should have been expelled for those alone.”

He tapped the table, sharply. “In her third year, she went to Mountaintop and left the school in ruins,” he added. “And in her fourth year, she killed a tutor!”

“Who manipulated her into issuing something that sounded like a challenge,” Lady Barb pointed out, curtly. It was true, but it wasn’t the version of the story everyone believed. “I don’t think you can blame her for that either.”

“She should have been expelled for her actions in Second Year,” Gordian insisted. “And all of that does not include the results of her conduct outside the school. The Ashworths and Ashfalls nearly went to battle because of her.”

Lady Barb pressed her fingertips together, a mannerism she knew had always irritated her father. “Grandmaster Hasdrubal was the one charged with determining her punishment for her actions,” she said. “He chose not to expel her. You do not have the legal right to retroactively overrule your predecessor and expel her from Whitehall.”

“I am the Grandmaster,” Gordian snapped. “I do have that authority.”

Lady Barb forced herself to meet his eyes. “If you expel her—a very big if—she will have no trouble finding a place at Mountaintop, Stronghold or Laughter,” she said. “They will be delighted to offer her a place.”

“Laughter is very exclusive,” Gordian pointed out.

“The core requirements are breasts and a vagina,” Lady Barb said, knowing the crudeness would irritate him still further. “And I assure you that Emily qualifies on both counts. Her marks in the exams were high and would have been higher still, Grandmaster, if she’d had more time to prepare. She will have no difficulty gaining admittance to any of the other schools.”

“Then let her go,” Gordian insisted. “They can have her.”

“That would be dishonorable,” Sergeant Miles stated. “She saved the school, Grandmaster: three times, by my count. We are indebted to her.”

“After plunging it into danger,” Gordian snapped.

Lady Barb leaned forward, calmly. “There is another problem,” she said. “She could end up apprenticed to her... to her father. A girl with such remarkable talent, trained by a Lone Power of his reputation... the potential for disaster is staggeringly high.”

“There are any number of prospective sorcerers who would sell their souls to train under a Lone Power,” Gordian said. But he sounded a little uncertain for the first time since the meeting had begun. “Let her father take her, if he wishes.”

He doesn’t know, Lady Barb noted. Emily’s true origins had leaked in Zangaria, but they hadn’t leaked very far. He believes the cover story.

“I submit to you that allowing Void to take her would not be optimal,” Lady Barb said, gently. “Right now, she has friends at Whitehall and tutors she respects. There is time to shape her, to help guide her down a path that will keep her from becoming a danger to the Allied Lands. Letting her go will cost us that opportunity, once and for all. The very best we could hope for is that she would allow herself to be guided by other tutors in other schools.”

“And that would reflect badly on Whitehall,” Professor Locke stated.

“Merely expelling her for daring to save us would be bad enough,” Sergeant Miles added.

Gordian scowled. “There is no guarantee that a Child of Destiny will be favorable to us,” he pointed out. “Destiny may have his own plans.”

“Keeping her here is the best chance we have of ensuring that we can ride the rapids of change,” Lady Barb said. The prospect of Emily being apprenticed to Void was not to be borne. Void was dangerously unpredictable at the best of times. “We cannot—we must not—expel her.”

“She is dangerous,” Gordian said.

“Not intentionally,” Lady Barb corrected him.

“She is not a malicious student,” Mistress Kirdáne said. “I have never caught her playing tricks on the younglings, or being cruel to dumb animals.”

“One does not need malice to be dangerous,” Gordian said. “Letting her return to Whitehall goes against my better judgement.”

Lady Barb smiled, inwardly. She’d won.

“Allow me to propose a compromise,” she said, pressing her advantage. “You could take her back as a probationary student.”

“That would mean she wouldn’t be taking the oaths,” Gordian said.

“But it would also mean you could expel her if things went wrong,” Lady Barb reminded him. Gordian wouldn’t want Emily to take the oaths, not when they were binding on the staff as well as the students. “Apprentice her to Sergeant Miles. She’ll need additional training in martial magic...”

“Out of the question,” Gordian snapped. “She knows quite enough dangerous magic already.”

And she’s quite capable of inventing her own, Lady Barb thought. She’d given a great deal of thought to taking Emily on herself, even though it would have meant staying at Whitehall for another two years. What will Emily do without proper supervision?

“Then let her work with me,” Professor Locke said.

“You already have one probationary student working under you,” Gordian said.

“I can use two,” Professor Locke insisted. He shot Gordian a look that Lady Barb found impossible to interpret. “My new... project... could use an additional pair of hands.”

Lady Barb frowned. She knew little about Professor Locke’s new project, but several of the tutors—notably Professor Lombardi—looked wary. Locke seemed... too insistent for her peace of mind. And yet, the Grandmaster had authorized it...

“It could,” Gordian agreed. “And it would keep her out of trouble.”

Lady Barb scowled. “Emily is not short of enemies,” she said, flatly. “She needs training in protecting herself.”

“I rather doubt that will be a problem,” Gordian said. “She killed a combat sorcerer!”

“That doesn’t make her invulnerable,” Lady Barb snapped.

Gordian held up his hand. “My mind is made up,” he said. “I will summon Lady Emily to Whitehall and speak with her personally. If she’s willing to be a probationary student until I see fit to lift her probation, she may return for her fifth year. Professor Locke will ensure she is kept out of trouble. If not... she can transfer to another school. Whitehall has stood for a thousand years...”

“More like eight hundred,” Professor Locke said. “Although, to be fair, we have no idea when the castle was actually built.”

Gordian silenced him with a glare. “Whitehall has stood for over a thousand years without her and it will stand for a thousand more, with or without her,” he said. “One student, no matter how interesting she is, cannot be allowed to put every other student at risk.”

He rose to his feet. “Lady Barb, you may inform her of our decision,” he added. “And we will hold your exit interview after I have spoken to her.”

It was a dismissal, Lady Barb knew. A rude one, against all the etiquette that had been drilled into her when she’d been declared her father’s heir. And yet, a dismissal nonetheless. She thinned her lips as she rose, nodding in curt understanding. She’d have a long chat with Emily before taking her back to Whitehall. If nothing else, she had to be warned that the new Grandmaster wasn’t her friend...

She shook her head, irritated. It was going to be a challenging year.

Poor Emily, she thought. May the gods help her.

Chapter One

WHITEHALL FELT... DIFFERENT.

Emily could feel the change as soon as she stepped through the main doors, leaving Lady Barb and Frieda behind in the Courtyard. The wards were different, no longer echoing with the personality of their former master. She felt a pang, deep in her heart, as she recalled the old Grandmaster, a man she’d loved and admired in equal measure. He’d given his life to save hers, back when the demon had infected the school. And he’d had enough faith in her to believe she’d survive the duel after his death.

He didn’t deserve to die.

She braced herself, then walked slowly up the stairs towards the Grandmaster’s office, her footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Lady Barb had offered to teleport Emily and Frieda to Whitehall, but Emily had insisted on hiring a carriage, even though it took longer. She’d needed time to think about what Lady Barb had said, when she’d come to fetch her. But now there was no more time to think. The wards grew stronger as she reached the top of the stairwell and walked down the long corridor, glancing from left to right as she realized that the portraits hanging from the walls had been changed. She didn’t recognize any of the figures looking back at her—all with disapproving expressions.

At least they took down the picture of me, she thought, wryly. She’d never liked that painting, although she did have to admit that anyone who used it to look for her was going to be disappointed. She’d never been that beautiful—or muscular—in her life. But is the picture being taken down actually a bad sign?

A large portrait of the former Grandmaster hung at the end of the corridor, by the door to the Grandmaster’s office. Emily paused to study it, silently admiring the artist’s talent. The Grandmaster stood in the midst of a crowd of hooded inhuman creatures, holding his staff in one hand and a book in the other; it was hard to tell, somehow, if he was fighting the creatures or directing them. She smiled in sudden amusement as she realized the artist had never seen the Grandmaster in person. His eyes had been drawn in shadow, instead of covered with a blindfold. She still shuddered when she thought of the Grandmaster’s missing eyes.

Former Grandmaster, she reminded herself, sharply. The man she’d come to see would not be pleased, Lady Barb had warned, if she treated him as a temporary Grandmaster. He holds the post now.

She braced herself, then cast a reflection spell and checked her appearance. Lady Barb had advised her to wear sorcerer’s black, a long dark robe that obscured her curves and made her look studious. It contrasted oddly with her pale skin, brown hair and dark eyes, yet it was probably better than wearing trousers or a dress. She’d considered wearing school robes, but that would have seemed presumptuous. Grandmaster Gordian didn’t want her here. The thought caused her another pang as she raised her hand and tapped once on the door, feeling a ward shimmering in response to her touch. Whitehall was the first true home she’d had, even before she’d come to the Nameless World. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving.

You’ll have to leave at the end of Sixth Year anyway, she reminded herself, as the door swung open. They won’t let you stay on as a teaching assistant until you have far more experience.

The Grandmaster—the former Grandmaster—had allowed visitors to step directly into his office, but Grandmaster Gordian clearly felt differently. Emily stepped through the door into a waiting room, dominated by a horse-faced woman wearing red robes and seated behind a wooden desk. The former Grandmaster hadn’t had a secretary either. She couldn’t help wondering if that was a bad sign.

She stopped in front of the desk, resisting the urge to curtsey. On one hand, it would be a sign of respect; on the other, the secretary might think she was being mocked. There was no way to know just how close she was to her boss, but she wouldn’t have the post unless her master trusted her completely. Or had bound her to him with unbreakable oaths. Emily shuddered inwardly at the thought, then forced herself to meet the older woman’s dark eyes.

“Lady Emily,” the secretary said. Her voice was very cold. “Be seated. The Grandmaster will see you as soon as possible.”

Emily turned and saw a bench, placed neatly against the wall. She felt a flicker of irritation as she walked over to the bench and sat down, understanding that the Grandmaster was playing games. Alassa—and her father—had taught her more about such power plays than she’d ever wanted to know. By making her wait, he was making it clear that she was coming as a supplicant, putting her firmly in her place. She was tempted to pull a book out of her bag—either one of her textbooks or a novel Frieda had recommended—but she forcibly resisted the temptation. There was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the secretary or her master. Instead, she toyed with her snake-bracelet and ran through some of the mental disciplines Lady Barb had hammered into her head. She needed to be calm when she faced the Grandmaster.

Nearly ten minutes passed before a low chime echoed through the air. The secretary glanced up, her lips moving silently, then turned her head until she was looking directly at Emily. Emily resisted the urge to shrink backwards under the older woman’s gaze and merely looked back, neither resisting nor bending. There was a long moment of silence, then the secretary nodded curtly.

“You may enter,” she said, flatly.

Emily rose and paced through the door, clasping her hands behind her back as she entered the office. Gordian, sitting behind his desk, rose to his feet and nodded to her. He made no attempt to shake hands.

No chair for me, Emily noted, as Gordian sat again. The room felt very cold. And no Kava either.

That, she knew from her etiquette lessons, was a bad sign, a touch of calculated rudeness that made it clear she was far from welcome. A welcome guest would always be offered a drink, which could be politely declined. She pushed the flicker of irritation aside and studied Gordian for a long moment, wondering when the genial man she’d met last year had turned into a cold-hearted bureaucrat. But then, being given responsibility for an entire school had to change a man. And Whitehall was far more than just a school.

Her eyes flickered, briefly around the office. It had changed too; the room was bare, save for a large wooden desk and a chair. A single scroll rested on the desk, but otherwise it was empty. The bookshelves and paintings had been removed, leaving the walls completely bare of anything to catch the eye. It served a double purpose, she realized, as the door closed behind her. There was nothing that would tell her anything about the room’s occupant, no hint as to his personality and disposition; there was also nothing that would distract her from him.

Gordian studied her back with equal interest. “Lady Emily,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

I wasn’t aware I had a choice, Emily thought.

She resisted the urge to say it aloud. Lady Barb had warned her to be on her best behavior, no matter what provocation she faced. The Grandmaster would seize on any excuse to expel her from Whitehall, casting her adrift to an uncertain future. Emily had no idea what she’d do, if she couldn’t return to Whitehall. Go to Mountaintop? Or try Stronghold? Caleb had told her too many horror stories about that school to make her want to go there unless she had no other choice.

“I do not want you at this school,” Gordian said, bluntly. She’d expected it, but his words still stung badly. “You are a disruptive influence. Whitehall’s existence has been placed in danger, because of you. The Kingdom of Zangaria has been turned upside down, because of you. The Allied Lands themselves have been changed, because of you.”

Emily kept her mouth firmly closed. It was true enough, she supposed, that Whitehall had been in danger because of her, but she hadn’t done any of it deliberately. She’d never even known about magic before Shadye had kidnapped her, let alone just how much power her knowledge—from a far more advanced world—gave her in the Allied Lands. And she had to admit that her ideas, her innovations, had wrought considerable change for good and ill. She’d unleashed forces that might never be tamed by the current ruling class.

“You are reckless, headstrong and dangerous,” Gordian continued. His voice was calm, but she had no difficulty in hearing the underlying anger. “If it were up to me, you would have been expelled back in your second year. You chose to ignore rules devised for your safety and the safety of your fellow students. Grandmaster Hasdrubal should have expelled you on the spot. It set a poor precedent for later disciplinary action. Challenging a tutor to a duel...”

“He manipulated me into challenging him,” Emily said, unable to keep her mouth closed any longer. “If he hadn’t wanted the duel, he could have refused the challenge...”

“Yes, he could have,” Gordian agreed. He made an odd gesture with his hand; it took her a moment to recognize that he’d conceded her point. “But a student challenging a tutor does set a grim precedent.”

Emily met his eyes. “And a tutor accepting a duel does... what?”

It was hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, the grim awareness that Master Grey had meant to kill her leaking through. He would have killed her too, if she’d lost. And it would have been perfectly legal. There would have been some consequences for him, she was sure, but he could never have been charged with her murder. As far as the Allied Lands were concerned, an idiotic student would have been killed before she got anyone else in trouble.

Gordian ignored her point. “And then you turned Zangaria upside down,” he said, repeating his earlier point. “Teleporting out of King Randor’s castle, tearing his wards down in the process... what do you think that did to his reputation?”

“You’re the one who told me to divest myself of my holdings in Zangaria,” Emily pointed out. Hindsight told her she’d been wrong; hindsight told her that King Randor hadn’t intended to order her to unleash a holocaust on countless rebels and everyone else caught up in the blast radius. But by then it had been far too late. “He thought he could use me to his own ends.”

“I’m afraid you will find that’s true of almost everyone,” Gordian said. “And you have not—quite—divested yourself of your holdings, have you?”

Emily frowned. Alassa had patched together a compromise, ensuring that while Emily was persona non grata in Zangaria for the moment, she wasn’t exiled for good. Imaiqah would rule the Barony of Cockatrice in Emily’s absence. In truth, Emily wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She’d never wanted to be a great feudal landholder, she’d certainly never wanted to rule the lives of countless people she would never meet. And yet, throwing the barony back in King Randor’s face almost guaranteed that whoever took her place would try to roll back her reforms. Imaiqah, at the very least, would hold the barony in stasis.

“They are no longer in my possession.” Emily said, flatly.

Gordian studied her for a long moment. “You should have been expelled several times over,” he said. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said. It struck her, suddenly, that she should have been calling him "sir" all along. Calling attention to it might have been a very bad move. But it wasn’t something she’d done with his predecessor. “I understand.”

“If Grandmaster Hasdrubal saw no reason to expel you, I have no legal right to do so,” Gordian added, slowly. “But I can refuse to allow you to return to Whitehall, if you refuse to attend on my terms.”

Emily waited, not trusting herself to speak.

“You will be a probationary student for a set period of time,” Gordian told her. “During that period, you will be under close supervision, from both myself and the other tutors. I will be keeping a very sharp eye on you. Should you do anything that concerns me, you will be formally expelled from the school. Your father will have no legal grounds for protest.”

She’d known it was coming. Lady Barb had warned her. But it still hurt.

“I understand, sir,” Emily said, quietly.

“A probationary student is apprenticed to a tutor, until they are either removed from probation or expelled,” Gordian continued. “That tutor will take responsibility for their conduct, in exchange for which they will work for him in whatever manner the tutor deems suitable. You will be apprenticed to Professor Locke. He has a... research project that could use your input. Your free time will be his as long as he has a use for you.”

Emily scowled. She would have preferred to be apprenticed to Lady Barb or Sergeant Miles, but Lady Barb was leaving Whitehall and Sergeant Miles had too much else on his plate. She liked the history professor, yet she knew from Aloha that Fifth Year was hard, very hard. If she spent all of her free time, such as there was of it, on his project, how would she manage to keep up with her fellow students? She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do with her life after leaving Whitehall, but she did know that higher grades would help open doors in the future.

And besides, she thought, remembering the ring on her finger, I don’t want to let Void down.

“I understand, sir,” she said. She’d have to find a book on probationary students and read it quickly, just to discover what else she’d be expected to do. “What is his research project?”

“I believe he would prefer to tell you himself,” Gordian said. “It is his project, after all.”

He cleared his throat, then unwrapped the scroll. “Your exam results,” he said. “They would normally be sent out a week from today, but I made the decision to unseal yours early.”

Emily leaned forward, torn between anticipation and dread. She’d never cared about her exam results on Earth—it wasn’t as if they would have any bearing on her life—but on the Nameless World they were the difference between a brilliant career and remaining just another sorceress. She would never be poor—she could brew Manaskol, if nothing else—yet she wanted to do more with her life, even if she wasn’t quite sure what yet.

“You passed all of your exams,” Gordian said. It didn’t sound as though he was deliberately dragging out the moment, but it certainly felt that way. “Overall, I would have no hesitation—barring the current issue—in allowing you to progress into Fifth Year and take the courses you requested, as well as continuing your joint project. As it is, there will be one major change.”

Emily felt cold. Lady Barb hadn’t warned her about this.

“You have requested permission to continue to study combat sorcery under Sergeant Miles,” Gordian said. “He ensured that you would take the theoretical side of the Military Magic exam, which you passed. However, I am not minded to allow you to continue in your studies, even in exchange for working as a teaching assistant. Your apprenticeship to Professor Locke will preclude any other such commitments.”

“I need the training,” Emily said.

She swallowed, hard. Nanette was still out there, along with Fulvia and countless other enemies who resented the changes she’d brought to their world. She needed to know how to defend herself. Lady Barb had taught her, more than once, that raw power alone didn’t guarantee victory. As it was, her enhanced magic made her a target for more than just the necromancers.

“Regardless, you will not be training under Sergeant Miles,” Gordian said, flatly. “It would not be proper.”

Emily fought down the urge to say something sharp and unpleasant. She needed that training, but there were several other options. Mistress Danielle had offered private lessons, after all. She made a mental note to write to the older woman once she escaped the office, then looked up at the Grandmaster. He was regarding her with an unreadable expression.

“I advise you to remain in Whitehall until the start of term,” Gordian added. “Griselda has the details of your classes, reading lists and other details. Collect them from her, then Lady Barb will show you to your bedroom. Your... friend... will also be staying here.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said. Lady Barb had warned her to expect it, so she’d shut up the house before calling the carriage and heading to the school. Besides, there was only a week until the Fifth Year students were expected to return. A week sharing a room with Frieda wouldn’t be unpleasant. “And thank you.”

Gordian eyed her, darkly. “I’ve done you no favors, Lady Emily,” he said. His voice was suddenly very cold. “And I would advise you not to think otherwise.”

He pointed a finger at the door, which opened. “When you see Lady Barb, ask her to attend upon me when it’s convenient,” he added. “And I hope I don’t see you in here again.”

Because I’ll be in trouble, Emily finished, silently. And you’ll be expelling me.

She dropped a curtsey, then turned and walked out of the room. Griselda—Emily had to admit that the name suited the sour-faced secretary—passed her a sheaf of papers, then nodded toward the door. Emily walked through, sweat prickling down her back, and caught sight of the portrait of the former Grandmaster. His death meant that nothing would ever be the same again.

Behind her, the door slammed closed.

Chapter Two

“EMILY,” FRIEDA CALLED, AS EMILY STEPPED into the common room. She was sitting on the sofa, while Lady Barb leaned against the wall behind her, studying a manuscript book. “How did it go?”

“It could have gone better,” Emily said. She walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a mug of Kava. Her throat felt parched. “But I suppose it could have gone worse, too.”

“You accepted the probationary period,” Lady Barb said. It wasn’t a question. She’d known what Emily planned to do. “Gordian, I suspect, was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“He wants to see you,” Emily said. “As soon as convenient, he said...”

“You shouldn’t have,” Frieda interrupted. “Emily, there isn’t a school in the Allied Lands that wouldn’t take you. Or an apprenticeship...”

Emily shook her head. She didn’t want to leave Whitehall. Besides, she’d seen too much of Mountaintop to want to go back, even with a different MageMaster in control. And it would mean leaving Caleb and Frieda behind. She didn’t want to leave them either.

“There aren’t many masters who will take her as a full-fledged apprentice, now,” Lady Barb commented. “Her education is not complete. Anyone who would take her now is likely to do it for the wrong reasons.”

“Because they want the honor of training the Necromancer’s Bane,” Emily said. She sighed, inwardly. She’d never really come to terms with her fame, particularly outside Whitehall. Frieda and she had needed to travel the country incognito to ensure they weren’t recognized. “And they might make mistakes.”

“They would make mistakes,” Lady Barb said. She walked around the sofa and rested a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “But it’s definitely an option.”

Emily shook her head. No tutor, not even Void, could give her access to Whitehall’s massive collection of textbooks and ancient tomes, let alone the chance to speak to masters specializing in a dozen different subjects. Magic had fascinated her since the day she’d first set foot in the Nameless World. She didn’t want to give up the library either.

“It hardly seems fair,” Frieda grumbled. “They expect you to spend all your free time working for the history professor, of all people. After all you’ve done for them!”

“There may not be much free time in any case,” Lady Barb said. “This is your fifth year, Emily. Students have been known to retake the year even without having to work on a professor’s private project.”

Emily leaned forward. “Do you know what it is?”

“No,” Lady Barb said. “But you might find it interesting.”

“It’s history,” Frieda protested. “It isn’t interesting.”

“Those who don’t learn from history,” Emily said, “are doomed to repeat it.”

She snorted at the thought as she finished her drink. She’d always loved history, both the history of Earth and the history of the Nameless World. Indeed, there were so many gaps in the latter that she’d wondered just how many of the history textbooks they’d studied were actually accurate. Professor Locke had even told them, back during their first set of lessons, that there were hundreds of question marks over anything that had happened more than three hundred years ago. An event might have one date in one textbook, but a different date in another; the outcome of a particular battle might differ, depending on which book one read. It was impossible to know for sure what had happened.

“We shall see,” Emily said, finally.

“Mistress Irene offered me a chance to go to Stronghold,” Frieda said. “A chance to study there for a couple of years...”

Emily stared at her. “She offered it to you now?”

“Just now, while we were waiting,” Frieda confirmed.

Emily swallowed. The thought of being alone in Whitehall—her friends elsewhere—made her uneasy. There had been a time when she’d had no friends, but that had been before Whitehall, before the Nameless World. Now, she found herself enjoying the company of others more than she cared to admit. Frieda was a friend too...

And was she offered the chance to go, she asked herself, to keep me isolated?

“I said I was staying,” Frieda told her. “I’m not leaving you alone here.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. She felt a wave of relief and gratitude that surprised her. “I...”

“And I’m going to be Ken Captain,” Frieda added, sticking out her tongue. “And I don’t want to go to a third school in as many years.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a great captain,” Emily said. She’d always loathed team sports, but Alassa—and Frieda—loved them. Alassa had founded the team, then left it to Frieda after her departure from Whitehall. “Just remember, you’re not allowed to cheat.”

“You’re not allowed to get caught cheating,” Frieda pointed out.

Emily laughed, despite herself. “True,” she agreed. “But the referee has seen every cheating trick in the book.”

“Then I’ll have to invent some new ones,” Frieda said.

Lady Barb cleared her throat, drawing Emily’s attention back to her. “Grandmaster Gordian inherited a mess from his predecessor,” she said, curtly. “Your situation is one of many... issues... confronting him right now. I believe he’s doing his best to clear the decks before the term starts.”

“I thought he meant well, when he was giving me career advice,” Emily said, sullenly.

“He probably did,” Lady Barb said. “But it will take time for his position to solidify. He needs to avoid anything that might convince the White Council that they made a mistake in appointing him to the post. I suspect he fears that you were allowed to get away with far too much.”

Emily scowled, but conceded the point. Any other student would probably have been expelled for experimenting with pocket dimensions within Whitehall, even though she’d had two different excuses. Neither one, she suspected, would be considered valid, certainly not by a man who wanted to get rid of her by any means necessary. Given what had been at stake, Grandmaster Hasdrubal’s punishments hadn’t remotely fitted the crime.

“But she saved the school,” Frieda protested.

“There’s a case to be made that bringing Emily to Whitehall also endangered it,” Lady Barb said. She held up a hand before either of them could protest. “And Gordian doesn’t have anything like the freedom of action Hasdrubal enjoyed.”

She met Emily’s eyes. “It’s not too late to apply to Stronghold or Mountaintop,” she added, gently. “I can take you to either of them now.”

“I’m staying,” Emily said. She didn’t want to leave Whitehall. And besides, the school had been her first real home. She would be damned if she was allowing Gordian to drive her away merely because he found her inconvenient. “Will Frieda and I be sharing a room for the next week?”

“I’m afraid not,” Lady Barb said. “You’ll have been assigned a room in the fifth year dormitories. I believe your roommate is already there. Frieda will have a room in the third year dorms. I’ll escort you both to your rooms now.”

Emily swallowed. “And then you’ll be leaving?”

“I have to talk to the Grandmaster, one last time,” Lady Barb said. “And then I’ll be gone.”

She gave Emily a smile. “You can always write to me, you know.”

“It isn’t the same,” Emily muttered.

She couldn’t help feeling down as she followed Lady Barb out of the common room and up a long flight of stairs. She’d come to think of the older woman as a mother, of sorts; someone who would advise and help her when necessary. The thought of being separated from her was unbearable. And yet, Lady Barb had a life of her own. Emily told herself not to be selfish as they reached the dormitory entrance and stopped. The entrance to the fifth year dorms looked surprisingly elaborate, compared to the fourth. A large golden eagle hung above the door, strikingly detailed. It took her a moment to realize that a real bird had been transfigured into gold, then locked in that form. She hoped, for its sake, that it had been dead before the spell had been cast. The idea of being trapped in an immobile form for days was terrifying, let alone months or years. She’d go mad quickly.

“I’ll see you around,” Lady Barb said, awkwardly. “And don’t forget to write.”

Emily nodded. Lady Barb had taught her how to write a letter, then charm it so only the intended recipient could open the envelope without destroying the message inside. They’d created a chat parchment to allow them to talk privately, but Lady Barb preferred letters even though the parchment was more convenient. Emily gave the older woman a tight hug, not trusting herself to speak. She’d see Lady Barb around—if nothing else, she’d come to visit Sergeant Miles—but it wouldn’t be the same.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Frieda said, quietly.

“Goodbye,” Lady Barb said.

The wards covering the door parted at Emily’s touch, allowing her to push the door open and step into an ornate corridor. She shook her head in disbelief as she saw the fancy decorations on each of the doors—it looked as if every last centimeter had been covered with ornate gold runes—and then slowly walked down the corridor. A handful of wards brushed against her magic as she checked the doors, looking for her name. But there was no sign of it.

She looked up as she heard a woman bustle out of the door at the end of the corridor and turn down to face her. “Ah, you must be our new prisoner,” she said. “Welcome, welcome!”

Emily blinked in disbelief. The woman was a powerful sorceress—she was making no attempt to mask her magic—but she looked like an old gypsy woman. She looked almost East Indian, with dark skin, darker eyes and a multicolored headscarf covering her hair, wearing a sari that shimmered from red to yellow as she moved. Looking more closely, Emily thought she appeared around fifty years old, although it was impossible to be certain. Mundanes aged quickly on the Nameless World, while sorcerers could retard aging indefinitely. The woman could easily be in her second century.

She blinked as the woman’s words caught up with her. “Prisoner?”

“Just my little joke,” the woman said. She looked Emily up and down, then nodded to herself cheerfully. “I am Madame Rosalinda, child. Your housemother for the next two years, unless you actually manage to get yourself expelled. I assume you’ve had a chance to review the notes on life in fifth year?”

Emily shook her head. It was hard not to stare at the housemother. Anyone less like a Rosalinda was hard to imagine. But she hadn’t had time to review anything, not when she hadn’t even been given her exam results until she’d faced Grandmaster Gordian. She assumed the details were in the sheaf of papers she’d been given, along with everything else she’d need to know before term officially started. She’d have to read them as soon as possible.

“You have a common room at each end of the corridor, four private study rooms and two private spellchambers,” Madame Rosalinda informed her, as she turned to lead Emily further down the corridor. “If you need to use any of them in the middle of the night, you may do so; there’s no set bedtime inside the dorms. You may also order snacks in the common rooms, which will be brought up from the kitchens for you.”

Emily had to smile. There had never been a set bedtime at Whitehall, but anyone caught outside their bedroom after Lights Out could expect to get into trouble. Sneaking out, she recalled, was fun as long as no one was caught. The idea of being able to leave her room without getting into trouble was a great deal less thrilling, although she could see the value of a spellchamber she could use at any hour she liked. Her magic was under better control now, but she needed to keep expending it until she returned to classes. She wouldn’t have to worry about expending magic then.

“The rules concerning visitors remain the same,” Madame Rosalinda added, as they stopped outside a cupboard. “You’re not allowed to invite anyone from a lower year into the dorms, nor are you allowed to invite anyone into your bedroom without your roommate’s permission. I suggest that you do your best to be friends with your roommate, as your tutors will not accept being turned into a frog as an excuse for being late with your homework.”

“Of course not,” Emily agreed.

She felt a flicker of déjà vu as Madame Rosalinda opened the cupboard and produced a handful of robes, undergarments and a handful of small potions. Emily felt herself blush as the latter were pushed into her hands, even though she knew how to make the potions for herself now. She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed or horrified that Whitehall was handing out contraceptive potions as well as everything else.

“You may be a probationary student, but you have the same rights and responsibilities as the rest of the students,” Madame Rosalinda said. “I will not be inspecting your room. You and your roommate are solely responsible for keeping it clean and tidy, so if you want to live in a pigsty you may do so. Indeed, I will not be entering your room unless it is vitally important or the wards are sounding the alarm. You’re expected to be an adult now.”

Emily nodded. Magicians traditionally came of age after completing their first set of studies, according to Void; she’d been considered a child until she’d passed her exams, even though she’d been sixteen when she’d started at Whitehall. Many of her fellow students had chafed against the rules and restraints, but Emily had been relieved—in some ways—that there had finally been someone looking out for her. Now, she would be treated as an adult. The only upside was that Gordian would have less authority over her than he would have had last year.

“I understand,” she said.

“Very good,” Madame Rosalinda said. She dumped the robes into Emily’s arms, then led the way back down the corridor. Emily followed, staggering slightly under the weight. “And here we have the prison cell.”

Emily winced. The door looked just like every other bedroom door, but it was right next to Madame Rosalinda’s office. There would be no sneaking in or out of the chamber without alerting the housemother. It was a little pointless, now she could use the common room or spellchambers in the middle of the night, but it still felt oppressive. The probation would have to be lifted eventually, Lady Barb had said, if she didn’t give Gordian an excuse to expel her, yet she’d still be right next to the housemother. It was a warning—to her and her mystery roommate—to behave themselves.

Something must have shown on her face when the housemother glanced at her. “Don’t worry,” she said. There was a hint of mischief in her voice. “We only fitted the stocks yesterday. Before then, we had to chain people to the beds every night to keep them from sneaking out. And then there were regular whippings, every hour on the hour...”

She giggled. “I kid, I kid,” she added. “It’s just the same as every other room.”

Emily scowled as the housemother turned back to the door. She was already on edge and feeling alone, despite Frieda staying at Whitehall, too. The joke didn’t strike her as very funny at all.

“Now, there’re only two of you here,” Madame Rosalinda said, as she started to make passes in front of the door. “Once you’re a registered occupant, you can come and go as you please; anyone else will not be able to enter without your permission. Should the room be empty, the wards will not allow anyone to enter.”

“Same as before, then,” Emily said.

“Correct,” Madame Rosalinda said.

Emily nodded. She was surprised that Gordian hadn’t insisted on the right to inspect her room and search her possessions at any moment he chose. She’d taken the precaution of leaving her notebooks in her house, just in case. But then, searching her possessions would be a gross breach of magical etiquette. Searching her trunk without permission would be a major scandal, even if he had extremely good cause. If Lady Barb was right and Gordian’s position was hardly secure, he probably wouldn’t take the risk.

“Touch the door,” Madame Rosalinda ordered.

The wards tingled when Emily touched them, allowing them to taste her magical signature and record it for later use. They were powerful, she noted; she thought she could break them down, one by one, but there would be no way to hide what she’d done. Moments later, the door clicked open.

“Your trunk is already inside,” Madame Rosalinda told her. “Dinner will be served at seventeen bells precisely in the Great Hall, but as there are so few of us in the building you may ask the kitchens for a snack at any time you like. If you have any questions, you can find me in my office.”

Emily nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of Madame Rosalinda. The housemother didn’t appear to be anything like as strict as her two predecessors, but Madame Rosalinda definitely seemed eccentric. “I will.”

She hesitated, unsure what she’d find inside. A roommate who was also a probationary student? She had no idea who it could be. Her friends would have told her if they were on probation, surely? Indeed, she didn’t think that any of her classmates from last year were in trouble, unless it was the Gorgon. Grandmaster Gordian might not have liked the idea of a gorgon studying at Whitehall and put her on probation too.

Possibly, she thought. She found it hard to reconcile the career advisor she’d met last year with the grim-faced Grandmaster. But then, that man hadn’t had to worry about an entire school. It would be just the sort of thing he would do.

Bracing herself, she pushed open the door.

Chapter Three

THE ROOM WAS MUCH NICER THAN any of her previous bedrooms, Emily noticed, as the door latched noisily behind her. A large window looked over the grounds, allowing brilliant sunlight to stream in and illuminate the chamber. One of the walls was lined with bookshelves, already half-filled; there were two desks, two chairs, and two beds, the room clearly divided into two sections. The wall beside one of the beds was bare, but the wall beside the other was covered with posters, each one showing the anatomy of the human body. She’d seen similar diagrams in Lady Barb’s classroom, when she’d been teaching, yet the ones on the walls looked remarkably more detailed. A small portrait of a kind-looking man hung at the foot of the bed, placed to allow it to smile down at the pillow. But the bed was empty...

The bare side of the room must be mine, she thought.

Emily dropped the blue robes and undergarments on the bed, then carefully placed the tiny potions bottles in the bedside cabinet. They were probably charmed to be unbreakable, save by magic, but there was no point in taking chances. The idea of going back to the housemother and asking for more already was embarrassing. She would be given them, she was sure, yet she would also be given a lecture on the proper care of potion bottles.

She looked up as a side door opened—the bathroom, she guessed—to reveal a tall girl wearing a long dark dress. Emily started as she realized she recognized her roommate; she’d seen her once before, being told off by Grandmaster Hasdrubal. Cabiria, she recalled; Cabiria of House Fellini. She’d been in trouble for something, according to Lady Barb, and had been lucky not to have been expelled outright. Lady Barb hadn’t gone into details, but if Gordian had been annoyed at Emily escaping expulsion for her actions, he had to be outraged at Cabiria doing the same. Oddly, the realization made Emily feel a little better...

“Emily,” Cabiria said. Her voice was stronger than Emily had expected, reminding her a little of Lady Barb. “I was wondering who it would be.”

Emily tensed, one hand reaching down to touch the snake-bracelet on her wrist. Cabiria and she had only met once, but it had been awkward; Emily had honestly feared Cabiria intended to hex her right in front of the Grandmaster’s office. Now... now they were roommates. If they couldn’t get along, they would probably both be expelled.

“I think we’ve both managed to displease the Grandmaster,” she said, carefully. “I should have realized it would be you.”

Cabiria nodded, then smiled. “I think I can get along with you,” she said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

Emily studied her carefully, aware that Cabiria was studying her as well. Cabiria was tall and willowy, taller than Emily, with long black hair that hung down to her waist. Her skin was inhumanly pale, as if she’d never seen the sun; her eyes were so dark they were like pools of darkness set against the light. Emily wondered, for a moment, if Cabiria had some vampire blood in her before dismissing the idea as impossible. Vampires couldn’t breed with humans, mundane or magical. Cabiria was as human as Emily herself.

“I know,” Emily said, glumly. “Everyone’s heard of me.”

“Better that than being obscure,” Cabiria said. She shrugged as she walked over to the bed and sat down, never taking her eyes off Emily. “Why are you in trouble? Everyone said you were the Grandmaster’s golden girl.”

Emily sighed. “What are you in for?”

“Apparently I was sold to Professor Locke,” Cabiria said, cheerfully. “I don’t think he’s going to get his money’s worth.”

Emily’s mouth dropped open. “They sold you to him?”

“Oh, not literally,” Cabiria said, reassuringly. “But the price of my remaining at Whitehall was being his apprentice—one of his apprentices. And I don’t think I’m actually going to be of much help, either. I dumped history as soon as I could.”

“Ouch,” Emily said. “Why were you suspended?”

Cabiria smirked. “They caught me in the Black Room one too many times.”

“Oh,” Emily said. She’d never tried to break into the Black Room, the restricted section of the library. It was hard to get permission to look at any of the books, certainly not without a convincing case to present to a tutor. She’d been told that anyone who tried would be lucky not to be expelled. “How many times did you break in?”

“Only once,” Cabiria admitted. Her smirk grew wider. “But I was actually reading the books when they dragged me out by the hair.”

Emily lifted her eyebrows. She’d sensed the wards surrounding the darker parts of the library, the collections of books regarded as dubious or dangerous; she couldn’t imagine the Black Room having any lesser protections. And yet Cabiria had managed to break in and start reading the books before she’d been caught? It was an impressive achievement, even if it was forbidden. No wonder she hadn’t been expelled, even if she had been suspended. The Grandmaster would have been reluctant to let her talent go to waste.

“That’s impressive,” she said, honestly.

“Thanks,” Cabiria said, wryly. “But being sent home for a year was not fun.”

Emily nodded and turned to study the bare side of the room. “I suppose it wouldn’t have been,” she said. She had no idea where she would have gone, if she’d been suspended midway through second year. “What were you looking for?”

She turned back to her trunk and opened it, removing the handful of clothes she’d brought with her and dumping them on the bed. Cabiria smiled and lay back on her bed, watching Emily through mischievous eyes. Despite their first meeting, Emily found herself almost liking Cabiria. She would have been expelled, no matter her potential, if she had been studying something as dark as necromancy or demonology. But then, any halfway competent sorcerer could reinvent the necromantic rite with ease.

And a smart one would know better, she thought, as she opened the underside drawer and started to pack her clothes away. Necromancy leads to madness.

“Healing texts,” Cabiria said, softly. “I wanted to read books that were marked forbidden.”

Emily felt a flicker of guilt. She’d been shown some of those books at Mountaintop, books that were normally only available to those who had sworn the Healer’s Oath. And she remembered some of what she’d read too. She’d even used one of the spells to save Alassa’s life after her near-death in Zangaria. Cabiria, without such private training, would have to take the oaths if she wanted to read the books.

She glanced at the older girl. “You wanted to study Healing?”

“Not at all,” Cabiria said. “I wanted to know how to use magic to... improve... animals. The Grandmaster didn’t like the idea.”

Emily frowned. “I thought there were animals bred for greater intelligence and suchlike.”

“Oh, there are,” Cabiria said. “But they don’t use magic!”

She smiled as she sat up and paced over to the bookshelves. “If one can use magic to modify the human form,” she said, “why can’t one do the same to animals?”

Emily considered the problem for a long moment. “Someone must have thought of it long ago,” she said, finally.

“Yes, of course,” Cabiria said. “But why aren’t such practices normal?”

“The techniques must be secret,” Emily guessed. “If someone had come up with a way to enhance horses, they might not want to share their techniques.”

“Precisely my conclusion,” Cabiria agreed. She pulled a book off the shelves, flicked through the pages until she found what she was looking for and held it out to Emily. “But if they’re publishing pieces of information like this, why aren’t they doing the same for animals?”

Emily took the book and read the page quickly. The alchemical potion, combined with a handful of spells, claimed to be able to grant perfect eyesight, both to the drinker and his children up to the next four generations. It looked workable, but she had her doubts about its value—or about its safety. She knew more than she wanted to know about the Royal Bloodline of Zangaria, the alchemical breeding program that had produced Alassa—and, perhaps, rendered her infertile. It was quite possible that the potion had its own drawbacks, drawbacks that might only emerge one or two generations down the line.

Lamarck was right where magic is concerned, she thought, as she passed the book back to Cabiria. A change in the parent’s body may have effects on the child.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why aren’t they doing anything like this for animals?”

Cabiria smiled. “Either the techniques are secret, as you said, or no one has done any research on it at all,” she agreed. “And I needed to know what had been done...”

She shrugged. “Ah, well. Water under the bridge and all that rot.”

Emily had to smile. “And you’re interested in humans too?”

“You need to be a Healer to take a real interest in humans,” Cabiria said. “And besides, a great deal of work has already been done on humans.”

“True,” Emily agreed. She bent down and retrieved a handful of textbooks from her trunk, placing them on the bed. “Perhaps a little too much, in some cases.”

Cabiria frowned. “Too much?”

“There are long-term side effects of some magical treatments,” Emily pointed out. The Royal Bloodline was the most serious case she knew about, but there had been others. She’d read about them after discovering what had happened to Alassa’s family. “People going mad or being born with deformities that are impossible to fix...”

She sighed. “Anything you do to the animals might cause them problems further down the line too,” she warned. “You might have a fast horse in one generation, but a lame horse in the next.”

“There is always a price to be paid for understanding,” Cabiria said, bluntly. “Magic always comes with a cost.”

“Which you won’t be paying,” Emily said, irked.

Cabiria smirked, widely. “This from the person who invented the printing press and a whole new system of letters and numbers?”

Emily winced. Cabiria was quite right. Emily hadn’t thought too much either before releasing her innovations into the wild. How many people had watched helplessly as their lives were turned upside down, just by the introduction of something new? She wouldn’t shed a tear for the Accountants Guilds’—they’d tolerated far too many crooks amongst their number—but innocents had been hurt too. And the secret of gunpowder, out and spreading, would send thousands more to their graves in the very near future.

“Touché,” she conceded. “But I should have been more careful too.”

“Perhaps,” Cabiria agreed. Her voice hardened, tinged with bitter pain and regret. “My... family... isn’t keen on my little obsession. They thought I should do something a little more conventional with my life.”

Emily looked up at her. “Conventional?”

“Studying a field of magic or becoming a specialist,” Cabiria said. “Something the Patriarch would find useful.”

“Ouch,” Emily said. She knew nothing about House Fellini—she made a mental note to look them up in the library, when she next had a moment—but she doubted they were that different from either House Ashworth or Ashfall. There would be a Patriarch, a handful of elders... and everyone else, who would be expected to do as they were told. “Didn’t they try to force you to study something useful?”

“I told them I’d leave if they tried,” Cabiria said, bluntly. “And I swore an oath too.”

Emily stared. Swearing oaths was dangerously reckless at the best of times. The consequences of breaking an oath ranged from losing one’s magic to death, depending on just how the oath had been shaped and sworn. Cabiria’s parents had to have recoiled in horror when they realized what their daughter had done. She was surprised Cabiria hadn’t been unceremoniously disowned. In some ways, her actions had threatened the whole family.

“You must have been determined,” she said, finally. “Why...?”

Cabiria snorted. “You don’t know?”

“No,” Emily said. “Should I?”

“It was quite the story, seven or so years ago,” Cabiria said. She laughed, rather harshly. “I suppose your appearance took some attention away from me.”

“That would have happened two years before... two years before I came to Whitehall,” Emily said, slowly. She picked her next words very carefully. “I don’t recall hearing anything about you.”

“You must be the only one,” Cabiria said.

Emily held up a hand. “If you don’t want to talk about it...”

“You’ll just go look it up in the library,” Cabiria interrupted. “At least this way you’ll get the unvarnished truth.”

She scowled down at the floor. “I was the third daughter of my parents; my father the third son of House Fellini. My mother was a newborn magician. They had my two elder sisters in short order, barely pausing long enough to teach the last child to walk before having the next one.”

Her voice lowered. “Until they had me.”

Emily frowned. “You?”

“I had magic, all the tests said,” Cabiria said. “But I couldn’t use it. No matter what I did, my magic refused to work. I might as well have been a powerless mundane! I should have gone to Whitehall or Mountaintop when I turned sixteen, but... no magic. My parents were on the verge of giving up on me.”

“Shit,” Emily said. “They treated you badly?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Squibs—for want of a better term—were almost completely unknown in the Nameless World. The children of magicians would almost certainly have magic themselves. Most families actively sought out newborn magicians to marry their children, knowing that it would make the bloodlines stronger. The thought of growing up in a magical household, without magic, was terrifying. She knew, all too well, just how cruel kids could be.

“Oh, no,” Cabiria said. “They were very kind to me. My parents would have taken care of me for the rest of my life. I would have wanted for nothing. And my sisters were very solicitous of my welfare. But I wouldn’t have wanted to do anything either.”

“They treated you as a cripple,” Emily realized. She shuddered. Being mistreated was one form of abuse, but having everything done for you was another. “What happened?”

“Uncle Alanson”—she nodded towards the portrait at the foot of her bed—“dug up a really old rite he claimed would work and insisted on using it on me, over my father’s objections,” Cabiria said. “He was the Patriarch, Emily; his word was law. So he took me into his private spellchamber and...”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure what happened then,” she added. “My memory goes fuzzy after he started the first incantation. The next thing I know for sure is crying over his ashes, magic sparkling over me. I could finally use my powers. And I went to Whitehall a year later than I should.”

Emily leaned forward. “You didn’t think to use memory charms to recover the lost memories?”

Cabiria gave her a rather droll look. “First thing my parents tried,” she said, sarcastically. “It did nothing. My father thinks I must have blacked out as soon as the rite began, but we don’t know for sure. All I really know is that my uncle gave his life to let me use my powers.”

“I see,” Emily said. “And now you’re studying how magic interacts with flesh?”

“More or less,” Cabiria said. She looked up at Emily. “I’m a fluke, as far as I can tell; there are no recorded cases of anyone like me in history. I don’t know why I couldn’t use my powers until my uncle did something to me. Finding out why—unlocking the great mysteries—has been my calling ever since I first came to Whitehall.”

“And Healer Oaths would make it impossible for you to study the root of magic,” Emily concluded.

“More or less,” Cabiria agreed. “They are very restrictive.”

She smiled. “So... what’s your story? What did you do to piss off our lord and master?”

“Too many things to list,” Emily said. “He seems to believe I should have been expelled long ago.”

“You did get away with a lot,” Cabiria pointed out. “Anything in particular?”

“Accidentally challenging a tutor and then killing him,” Emily said. “I think that was the matter he considered to be beyond the pale.”

“Idiot deserved it,” Cabiria said. She smiled, rather gently. “My parents went through the whole affair in some detail. Master Grey should never have accepted your challenge. Or he should have beaten you to a pulp instead. The best he could have hoped for would be spending the rest of his life as an outcast.”

“Probably,” Emily said. She didn’t want to talk about Master Grey. “Do you have any idea what Professor Locke intends to do?”

Cabiria shook her head. “The Grandmaster may think that a history apprenticeship will keep us both out of trouble,” she said. “I can’t see him coming up with anything important.”

She shrugged, dismissing the issue. “You can read my books if I can read yours. How does that sound?”

“Great,” Emily said. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to read Cabiria’s books or not, but there was no point in picking a fight over the handful of books she’d brought with her from the house. “Trunks remain private?”

“Of course,” Cabiria said. “I should warn you that mine is protected by a series of very nasty hexes.”

“Likewise,” Emily said.

Cabiria nodded. “Let me know if you and your boyfriend want to use the room,” she added, mischievously. “I don’t mind.”

Emily colored. “Of course,” she said. “And you can do the same.”

She smiled as she finished unpacking, then pulled the chat parchment out of her trunk and started to scribble out a note to her friends. She’d feared the worst, but Cabiria didn’t seem like a bad person. Perhaps having her for a roommate wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter Four

“YOU SEEM TO BE SPENDING FAR too much time in here,” Frieda said, as she walked up to Emily and sat down facing her. The library was so quiet that her voice was surprisingly loud. “Your eyes will go funny.”

Emily shrugged. She’d spent the last five days in the library, save for meals and bed, mainly reading about Professor Locke, Cabiria and Grandmaster Gordian. Cabiria’s story had been quite famous at the time, she’d discovered; there was no shortage of learned articles written about how a young girl might have no access to her powers, with explanations ranging from familial incompetence to a reluctance to actually knuckle down and work hard. Emily rather doubted it was the latter, just from a look at Cabiria’s side of the room. Cabiria might not be an extrovert like Alassa or a genius like Aloha, but she was definitely brilliant and scholarly. She knew how to work hard.

“I need to catch up,” she said, feeling a stab of guilt. Frieda had stayed with her, but she hadn’t spent any time with the younger girl outside the dinner hall. “Much of this is fascinating.”

“I suppose,” Frieda said. “Professor Locke used to have us reading all the old tomes and trying to draw a coherent story out of them. But nothing quite fit in.”

Emily nodded. Historians on Earth had the same problem. Histories were written by the winners. Augustus Caesar had been careful to blacken the names of his opponents, up to and including Antony and Cleopatra. There was no way to be sure just how many of the surviving works from that era were accurate. Or, for that matter, what had been said in works referred to by an author that hadn’t survived to the present day. And the Nameless World didn’t have half the techniques available to archaeologists on Earth. They weren’t even sure when Whitehall Castle had been built!

But they’re sure it predates the school, she thought, looking down at one of the textbooks she’d pulled from the shelves. It was empty when Lord Whitehall and the Whitehall Commune arrived.

She shook her head in irritation, feeling a headache coming on. There were so many stories and legends, all of which tended to contradict other stories and legends. She’d done the same exercise herself, trying to put the story together into a single narrative, but it was impossible to complete the task without adding a great many caveats. Who’d taught Lord Whitehall? No one knew. Was Bernard De Born his son or merely an apprentice? Was Lord Alfred really a near-omnipotent magician or had the stories grown in the telling? And who was the Dark Lady, if she’d ever existed at all? There was so much confusion over the dates that she might have existed before or after Lord Whitehall, if her stories were based on a real person.

And how, she asked herself silently, was the nexus point tamed?

“You’re driving yourself mad,” Frieda said, picking up one of the books. “I think it would be better if we went for a ramble now, Emily.”

Emily scowled. “Why?”

“Because the other students will be returning tonight,” Frieda reminded her. “And you don’t want to greet Caleb in a grumpy mood, do you?”

“Point,” Emily agreed. She picked up the books and carefully returned them to the librarian’s trolley. She’d offered to return the books to the shelves, but Lady Aliya had flatly refused to allow her to waste her time. “How long do we have?”

Frieda glanced out of the window. “I’d say around a couple of hours before the first students arrive,” she said, as they headed for the door. “But it depends on how they travel.”

Emily nodded. Some students would take coaches to Dragon’s Den, where they would be picked up by the staff, but others would travel to the White City and step through the portals that would take them directly to Whitehall. She rather suspected she was the only student in her year who could teleport, although someone like Jade or Aloha might well have mastered the skill on their own. Aloha, in particular, was certainly good enough to cast the spell even under pressure, accounting for all of the variables before it was too late.

But no one can teleport into the school, she thought. The papers she’d been given by Griselda had made it clear that teleporting was strictly forbidden within Whitehall. There was no list of consequences, but the wards would make teleporting very dangerous. They’d have to teleport to a point beyond the wards and walk into the school.

They stopped at the kitchens long enough to pick up a snack, then walked out onto the grounds and up to the mountain pathways. The wards flickered around them, but made no objection to their departure. Emily smiled, relaxing despite herself, as the warm summer heat soaked into her skin. The weather surrounding the castle was always variable, thanks to the nexus point, but for once it was cooperating nicely. She watched a flight of birds skimming through the air, a couple dropping down to snatch at small creatures in the undergrowth and return, carrying tiny mice in their claws. Beside her, Frieda chatted about her coming classes and her application for Martial Magic.

“I still don’t know who I’ll be rooming with,” Frieda said. “How is your roommate?”

“She seems nice,” Emily said, after a moment. She rather liked Cabiria, although she wasn’t sure how far she trusted her. Cabiria didn’t seem to have any moral or ethical qualms about her research at all. “It could be worse, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Frieda agreed. “You could be rooming with Melissa.”

Emily scowled at the thought. Melissa and she would never be friends, even though she’d done Melissa a colossal favor last year. And yet, Melissa had been cut adrift by her former cronies, after she’d been formally disowned from her family. Emily felt a stab of sympathy, followed by guilt. She hadn’t known what it was like to have friends until recently, but now she hated the idea of losing her friends. Chatting through the parchments was just not the same.

If they cut her loose so sharply, they weren’t true friends, she told herself. And yet, she knew it wasn’t a convincing argument. Melissa will miss them even as she hates them for not being her true friends.

She pushed the thought out of her mind as they walked on, then started the long trek back to Whitehall as the sky began to darken. Rain splattered down around them, bouncing off the wards they hastily erected, running in rivulets towards the lake. She glanced down at her charmed boots, silently grateful that the charms would keep the leather from spoiling. It was an expensive pair, even by Queen Marlena’s standards. Emily would have preferred to refuse the gift, but there was no polite way to do so.

And they keep my feet dry, she thought. Buying a new pair with similar charms would be tricky.

They reached the bottom of the hill and walked straight towards Whitehall. A handful of carriages were parked outside the courtyard, their passengers using wards to shield themselves as they levitated trunks into the castle. Emily caught sight of Pandora and Prunella arguing over something and gave them both a wide berth. Pandora had never made much of an impression on her, but Prunella could be nasty if pushed. There was no point in getting into a fight she knew she’d be blamed for starting.

“There’s Melissa,” Frieda said. “And the Gorgon.”

Emily smiled as she hurried towards her friends. Seeing them together was a shock—she’d never imagined Melissa becoming friends with the Gorgon—but perhaps it made a certain kind of sense. They were both outcasts, after all; the Gorgon by nature and Melissa by choice. Emily wondered if Markus had accompanied Melissa, then remembered he probably wouldn’t have been allowed past Dragon’s Den. His family were less concerned with the near-disaster in Cockatrice than the Ashworths, but Gordian would probably be reluctant to give them cause to dislike him.

Not that it matters, Emily thought. The Ashworths alone will be happy to make their feelings clear.

“Emily,” the Gorgon said. There was, as always, a faint hiss in her voice, her snakes echoing her words. “I’m glad you got to stay.”

“Me too,” Emily said. She glanced at Melissa, then looked back at the Gorgon. “How was your holiday?”

“I went back to the homeland after the wedding,” the Gorgon said. She didn’t seem concerned by the question. “And I did a lot of reading as well as working.”

She shrugged. “My family has been trying to betroth me to a young man,” she added, after a moment. “He’s an old friend—I’ve known him for years—but I want to finish my studies first.”

Emily frowned. “And you’re all right with marrying him?”

“I do like him,” the Gorgon said. “And he is a good friend.”

“At least you know him,” Melissa said, tiredly.

Emily nodded. Even now, four years after entering the Nameless World, it still struck her—sometimes—just how different it was from Earth. The idea of an arranged marriage was intolerable to her, but the Gorgon seemed accepting—and happy. Maybe Melissa was right, maybe it made a difference if one knew the prospective partner ahead of time. Besides, the Gorgon was a powerful magician in her own right. Emily rather doubted that anyone, even another Gorgon, could push her around easily.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. It was hard not to ask if she was sure, but there was no way that question wouldn’t be taken as an insult. “Are we going to meet him before the wedding?”

“I’m not sure,” the Gorgon admitted. “He probably won’t want to come to Dragon’s Den.”

“He can always travel with Markus,” Melissa pointed out. “That should make things easier.”

“Should,” the Gorgon said.

“Emily,” a familiar voice called.

Emily turned—and felt herself smile as she saw Caleb, jumping out of a carriage and running towards her. She opened her arms and hugged him, tightly, his lips pressing against hers. It struck her, a second too late, that they were kissing in front of dozens of people, but it was suddenly very hard to care. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered why no one else could hear it.

Caleb pulled back, still holding her. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll tell you everything later,” Emily said. She adjusted her hair, uncomfortably. Too many people were looking at them. “How was the trip?”

“Uncomfortable,” Caleb said. “We were taking Karan to Stronghold for her very first term.”

Emily nodded, remembering the younger girl. “Is she going to be fine?”

“I think so,” Caleb said. “She has magic and she’s tough. I think she’ll be all right.”

He waved a hand at the carriage, summoning his trunk. Emily watched with some amusement as he exchanged signals with the driver, then levitated the trunk into the air and floated it towards the castle. Emily waved goodbye to Frieda and the others before allowing him to lead her after the trunk. It felt good, better than she’d expected, to be standing so close to him once again. Caleb held her hand gently, but firmly, as if he didn’t want to ever let go. She didn’t really want to let go either.

She looked up at him, drinking in the view. Caleb wasn’t conventionally handsome, unlike Jade or Markus, but there was a strength of character there that she found surprisingly reassuring. His hair had grown longer over the summer, hanging down to touch his shoulders; she rather suspected he’d grown it out just to annoy his stern, military-minded father. It would probably start getting in his way soon, unless he had it cut short once school started in earnest. Maybe there were girls who wouldn’t find him attractive, but she did. And that was all that mattered.

“I’ve missed you,” Caleb said. “I would have visited if I could.”

Emily nodded, shortly. It was partly her fault—she wasn’t really keen on the idea of inviting anyone to her house, save for Frieda—but Lady Barb had advised her to be careful what she and Caleb did in public. They were courting, after all; they weren’t entering a short-lived relationship... in hindsight, she admitted privately, the formal courtship might have been a mistake. But it did prove that Caleb was serious...

“I understand,” she said. “I wish you’d been there when we went traveling.”

She shook her head. “How’s your family?”

Caleb’s face darkened. “Father is currently working with some of his old comrades to put together a regiment of musketmen,” he said. “After what happened in Zangaria... well, any doubt there might have been has vanished. There are enough rumbles near the Desert of Death to suggest we might need to get a larger military force in place soon. Mother... is well enough, now there’s only one of us left at home. Poor Marian.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Emily said. “Your mother is a decent person.”

“She’s also a strict homeschooler,” Caleb said. He smiled, rather dryly. “She’s had plenty of practice on the rest of us.”

Emily nodded. Homeschooling preteens was common amongst magical families, even though the largest cities often had quite a few schools of varying quality. She expected that there would be an explosion in education soon, as the New Learning spread further, but she doubted the homeschooling aspect would change anytime soon. There was too much to be gained by teaching the children the basics of their heritage and magical theory, in addition to reading, writing and arithmetic. Maybe it was a very basic education, she had to admit, but it was better than anything she’d personally experienced on Earth.

They floated the trunk into the castle, then stopped as they saw a grim-faced tutor standing just inside the gate. “These are your updated papers,” he said, passing Caleb a stuffed envelope. “Report to the Great Hall at ten bells, tomorrow morning.”

He glanced at Emily. “The same for you too, young lady.”

“Understood,” Emily said, curtly. She didn’t recognize him. Was he Mistress Irene’s replacement? She’d hoped that Professor Lombardi would get pushed into the Deputy Grandmaster position, but there had been no word on it as far as she knew. “Are there any updated papers for me?”

“They’ll have been sent to your room,” the tutor said. “Move along, please.”

Caleb shrugged and levitated the trunk up the stairs and on to the fifth floor, pushing it down the corridor towards the dorms. Emily followed, lifting her eyebrows in surprise as she realized that both male and female students were sharing the dorms. There wouldn’t be any co-ed roommates, she was sure, yet it was still unusual. But there were only twenty-five fifth years, if she recalled correctly. Whitehall was vast, but her masters probably thought it made more sense to keep the fifth year students in one place.

Madame Rosalinda greeted them at the door, then showed Caleb the way to his room and frowned disapprovingly when Emily followed him into the chamber. There was no window, but apart from that there was no real difference between his room and hers. Caleb placed his trunk neatly on the floor, then pulled Emily into a long kiss, his hands gently stroking her back as the kiss grew deeper. Emily found herself torn, once again, between the urge to go further with him and the urge to pull back and run. She just didn’t trust the feelings coursing through her body...

The door opened. She jumped back, alarmed, as a dark-skinned young man stepped into the room, his trunk floating behind him like a clingy puppy. Caleb turned, one hand raised in a casting pose, then sighed in relief as he recognized the newcomer. Emily, who didn’t, remained tense.

“Cirroc,” he said. “They held you back?”

“Messed up one of the exams and got told to repeat the year,” Cirroc said. He had a nice smile, Emily noted; indeed, come to think of it, she had heard of Cirroc as one of Imaiqah’s many boyfriends. She just hadn’t met him before. “At least I didn’t manage to cripple myself.”

“I got better,” Caleb said. “And I didn’t manage to get ordered to repeat the year.”

Cirroc conceded the point with a nod, then looked at Emily. “And this is?”

“Emily,” Emily said. She held out a hand for him to shake. “Just plain Emily.”

“There’s nothing plain about you,” Cirroc said. He shook her hand, then kissed the air over the back of her hand. “I’m quite looking forward to spending the year in your classes.”

“That makes you the only one,” Emily said, flustered. “I’ll leave you two to finish unpacking, shall I?”

“Don’t mind me,” Cirroc teased. “You can carry on, if you like.”

“That’s enough,” Caleb said. There was a warning note to his voice. “Really.”

“Probably,” Cirroc said. He shrugged, expressively. “You want to hear some bad news?”

“No,” Caleb said. “What is it?”

“I just discovered who’s going to be our Year Head,” Cirroc said. “Professor Thande has been demoted to handling itty bitty third year brats. Master Tor has returned and will be taking us.”

Emily blinked. “Master Tor?”

“Yeah,” Cirroc said. “You know him?”

“Just a little,” Emily said.

She cursed her luck under her breath. That, at least, explained why Gordian had known so much about her misadventures in Second Year. Master Tor had been the one who’d caught her. She still flushed when she remembered the scathing lecture he’d given her, before the first of the Mimic’s victims had been discovered. And he’d had a point. She hated to admit it, but he’d had a very good point.

But he also admitted he was wrong about me, she reminded herself. Maybe this won’t be a complete disaster after all.

“We’ll see what happens tomorrow,” she said, out loud. She turned and strode towards the door. “I’ll leave you two to finish unpacking.”

“See you at dinner,” Caleb called after her.

Chapter Five

EMILY WAS SILENTLY GRATEFUL FOR CALEB’S presence as they walked into the Great Hall and spotted Master Tor standing at one end of the chamber. It was easy, too easy, to imagine the older tutor taking his brief exile out on her, or having been ordered to keep a very sharp eye on her along with Professor Locke. And yet, when he turned and looked at her, he didn’t show any hint of his feelings at all. Aloha stood beside him, looking concerned.

“Be seated,” Master Tor ordered. His voice was unchanged, deep and baritone—like a Shakespearian actor. Someone had set out chairs and a table; he waved the students to the chairs, rather than forcing them to stand. “We have a considerable amount to cover.”

Emily nodded and sat down, smoothing out her robe as Caleb sat next to her. She couldn’t help noticing that some of the students threw her sidelong glances when they thought she wasn’t looking, as if her mere presence made them nervous. The Gorgon sat next to her, her snakes curling around her ears, but none of the other students seemed keen to approach, not even Melissa or Cabiria. Did she scare them that badly?

She sighed, inwardly, and directed her attention to Master Tor. He didn’t seem to have changed that much, although there was a new purpose animating his movements. The tutor still looked alarmingly like Captain Picard, complete with a bald patch on his head that sent a shiver down her spine. It was probably nothing more than a memory—Aurelius had made it clear that DemonMasters almost always shaved their heads—but it still chilled her to the bone. Her last encounter with a demon had nearly killed her.

He’s not a DemonMaster, she told herself, firmly. The Grandmaster wouldn’t have allowed him anywhere near Whitehall if he was a practicing demonologist.

Master Tor studied them for a long moment, his eyes pausing momentarily on Emily, then cleared his throat. “First, welcome back for your fifth year of magical studies,” he said. “I have seen and approved all of your course schedules, after the traditional round of haggling, so your formal classes will begin next week, on Monday. If you change your mind about taking one or more of your classes, you may do so at any point, but I am obliged to warn you that it will not be added to your permanent record and it may be impossible to transfer to another class. The tutors have the right to reject any late applicants.”

Emily nodded. Fourth Year had been intense—and Fifth Year promised to be worse. A student who joined a class a week late would be behind and a student who joined a month late wouldn’t have a hope of catching up. The tutors would probably advise any latecomers to retake the year, rather than allow them to enter a class they couldn’t complete. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was more practical than anything she’d seen on Earth.

“There are, however, a number of changes in the school,” Master Tor continued, after a long moment of silence. “In particular, some of these changes affect you personally.”

Emily frowned. Gordian had made a brief speech at dinner, the previous evening, where he’d alluded to changes, but he hadn’t said anything concrete. Now... she leaned forward, forcing herself to relax. Maybe the changes wouldn’t be bad ones. Gordian probably just wanted to make his mark on the school. He was experienced enough, surely, to know what worked and what didn’t.

“In particular, you will be expected to take on a mentoring role towards the younger students,” Master Tor said. “You will each be assigned to serve a handful of new students as their mentor. Your task will be to introduce them to Whitehall, outline the basics of magical education and the rules of the school, then provide what support you can as they make their way through their first year. This whole process will be supervised by Aloha, our Head Girl.”

He nodded towards Aloha, who smiled wanly. Emily frowned, wondering if Aloha still bore a grudge over Master Grey’s death. She certainly deserved to be Head Girl—Emily hadn’t met anyone smarter—but would she take her feelings out on Emily? Or had she come to realize that Master Grey had deliberately lured Emily into a trap? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had options for evading the duel, if he’d wished. No one would have thought any less of him for refusing a challenge from a student...

Melissa held up her hand. “Sir,” she said. “Are we meant to give up our own time for this?”

“Yes,” Master Tor said. “In fact...”

“But time is not on our side,” Melissa interrupted. “We all have to study on our own when we’re not in class.”

Emily stared at her. Interrupting a tutor? It wasn’t done! And yet her heart sank as she realized Melissa was quite right. Even without having to work for Professor Locke, having to give up some of her free time to assist younger students would have a serious effect on her studies. If it was going to be bad for Melissa, it was going to be sheer hell for Emily...

“We are aware of the problems,” Master Tor said. “However, we will only discover some of the problems by doing it.”

Caleb leaned forward. “I can see a problem right now,” he said. “How many of us will have the time to study so we can pass our exams?”

There was a general rustle of agreement. “He’s right,” Cirroc said, backing him up. “If we have to spend our time tutoring stupid brats, we won’t be spending it studying.”

Master Tor cleared his throat, loudly. “First, we will be monitoring your progress and will intervene, if necessary, to ensure that you have a reasonable chance of passing your exams,” he said. “Second, we believe that your mentoring services will not be required after the first couple of months. Third, we have been contemplating extending Fifth Year to two years, thus allowing you to concentrate on your studies for the duration of the second year.”

“Then it won’t be Fifth Year,” Pandora said.

Emily kept her thoughts to herself. She’d seen something similar, at Mountaintop, but it hadn’t worked out very well. The Shadows had been practically slaves, to all intents and purposes; they worked for older students in exchange for private lessons, lessons that hadn’t always been provided. It was how she’d met Frieda. And she still felt guilty whenever she remembered just how badly Frieda had been hurting, before they’d become friends.

Master Tor ignored the protests. “We understand your concerns,” he said. “But there is another point here.”

His gaze lingered, for a long moment, on Emily. “Apart from students raised in magical households, who are taught the basics from a very early age, far too many students come to Whitehall with only a very sketchy idea of everything from the rules and regulations to the reasons for their existence,” he said. “Some students understand the dangers from the start, others have to learn the rules as they go along—and sometimes they only learn the rule when they get in trouble for breaking it. This has been a major concern over the past twenty years.”

“If that’s true,” Melissa asked, “why wasn’t something done about it earlier?”

Master Tor frowned. “The previous Grandmaster, may he rest in peace, believed that establishing a mentorship system would be detrimental to education,” he said. “Students would learn faster, he claimed, if they believed themselves to be on their own. The current Grandmaster feels otherwise.”

Emily tilted her head, slightly. She knew who Master Tor had in mind, when he’d pointed out that some students only discovered the rules by breaking them. She’d been one of those students. And yet, she had to admit he had a point. She’d been hellishly ignorant when she’d been sent to Whitehall, even though her discoverer was supposed to ensure she received a full briefing on how to handle the school before sending her there. Void, for whatever reason, had barely told her anything before summoning a dragon to fly her to Whitehall.

And they all think I’m his daughter, she reminded herself. I should have known at least as much as Melissa, when she entered the school.

Caleb nudged her. “What do you think?”

Emily took a moment to get her thoughts in order. She would have done better in her first year with a mentor, someone who could have advised her as she fitted into the school. But she’d also seen just how badly the mentorship scheme could be abused at Mountaintop, with younger students treated as servants by older students. It would depend on just how the system was implemented. And how closely the mentors were supervised.

“It’s a good idea, in theory,” Emily muttered, pitching her voice low. They’d have to talk about it later. “But will we have the time to mentor younger students?”

“It might have been better to have us do it in Second Year,” Caleb muttered back. “We would know the ropes, but we wouldn’t be too occupied with studies.”

He stuck up his hand. “I can see the value of the mentorship program, sir,” he said. “But surely it would be better to have the Second Years do it. They’d be closer to the First Years.”

“The Second Years would be too close to the First Years,” Master Tor pointed out. A thin smile flickered over his face. “There would be a gap between them, of course, but it would not be unbridgeable. You have enough magical knowledge and experience to be vastly superior to any newcomer—and if you don’t, you’re not going to pass your exams anyway.”

Caleb reddened, slightly, as several students snickered. Emily caught his hand and squeezed it, gently. Master Tor had a point, she had to admit. And there was a point he hadn’t mentioned either. The rules on dating specifically forbade relationships between students who were more than a year apart. A Second Year could date a First Year... and if that student was also a mentor it could open up a whole new can of worms.

It would be far too easy to abuse the position, she thought. One might not even be aware that one was abusing it.

“We do understand that none of you knew that this was coming,” Master Tor said. “Like I said, if this doesn’t work out, there are contingency plans in place. You can find the details in the paperwork we’ll be passing out after this meeting.”

Emily kept her face expressionless, despite her mixed feelings, but several of the other students didn’t look too pleased. Passing their Fifth and Sixth Year exams on the first attempt would look very good on their resumes, particularly if they were competing for one of the most prestigious apprenticeships. Caleb wanted an apprenticeship, she knew; he’d need to leave with very high marks to get a chance to study under a very well-known master.

And Pandora may not have her fees paid past Sixth Year, she thought. If she has to repeat a year, she might not be able to afford it.

She scowled at the thought. Markus could pay Melissa’s fees, if she couldn’t get a Healing Scholarship, but she had no idea about the others. Caleb’s family could pay; the Gorgon’s tribe might be reluctant to pay.

Bracing herself, she raised her hand. “Sir,” she said. “What about fees for retaking the year?”

Master Tor scowled. “It is not our general policy to allow students to repeat a year without charge,” he said. “But in this case, we will... consider... a reduction in fees, or waiving them altogether, if we believe that the student in question failed because he or she was taking part in the mentorship program.”

“If,” Caleb muttered.

Emily nodded in agreement. Students on Earth had come up with all sorts of excuses for not completing their homework or failing their exams; hell, the only real difference between the excuses on Earth and the excuses at Whitehall was that the latter were often more imaginative. At least one student had cheerfully claimed that his homework had eaten the dog; another, she recalled, had insisted that he’d been cursed and was now allergic to exam papers. It said a great deal about magic, she felt, that there was apparently a grain of truth in both excuses.

“They won’t have any benchmark,” she muttered back, darkly. She gritted her teeth in irritation. The mentorship program was a good idea—a great idea—but at the same time it was going to cause all manner of headaches. And it might produce a number of unintended consequences. “They won’t know for sure if we failed because we were busy mentoring students or simply lazy.”

Master Tor tapped the table, once.

“The Head Girl will explain the ins and outs of the program to you,” he said, when he had their attention. “However, there are two points I need to make clear.

“First, you are expected to take this seriously. You are not being given servants you can order around or younger siblings you can play with. Anyone caught abusing the youngsters they are supposed to mentor will find themselves staring expulsion in the face. I will do everything in my power to make sure that anyone so unpleasant never has a chance to be unpleasant to anyone else, at least at this school.”

Emily nodded. It was a wise precaution. She remembered, all too clearly, just how the Mountaintop Shadows had been abused and worked to death by their appointed masters.

“Second,” Master Tor continued, “you have limited power to assign punishments to your charges. The prospects for abuse should be clear to you. Understand, then, that any of you caught issuing excessive or unnecessary punishment will face the same punishment. I suggest, very strongly, that you bear that in mind. You are considered adults now, with all that implies. Those of you who fail to live up to the standards we set will regret it.”

He nodded to Aloha, then took a seat at the side of the room. Aloha stepped forward, looking regally confident in the Head Girl’s long black robe. Emily admired her poise, even as Aloha’s eyes flickered over her without any acknowledgement at all. Her former friend probably did still bear a grudge.

“As you may have noticed,” Aloha said, “there has been a decline in enrollment since Shadye attacked the school four years ago. Successive events have not made it easier to convince parents to send their children to Whitehall. Indeed, were it not for... events... at Mountaintop, the problem would have been a great deal worse. Consequently, despite a heavy recruitment drive, the majority of new students are from non-magical backgrounds.”

Where they won’t have heard so many horror stories, Emily thought, morbidly. The magical families talked, naturally, but they rarely shared gossip with mundanes. No wonder they’re so keen to have the newcomers mentored. There won’t be such a great chance to learn from their classmates.

“Grandmaster Gordian has also been intent on ensuring that most of the newcomers arrive at the same time, rather than being slotted into First Year throughout the year as they are discovered,” Aloha continued. “You will be formally introduced to your charges on Sunday, where you will give them a briefing on basic rules, regulations and safety precautions—” she pointed to the pile of papers on the table “—and get to know them. Should they require help and advice, you will give it. If, for whatever reason, you don’t know the answer to their questions, ask me.”

She paused. “I’m hoping that there will be no need for you to keep mentoring them past the first couple of months,” she added. “If this works out as I expect, there should be no need to expend any more of your free time mentoring past that point. However, if it doesn’t, please discuss it with me as quickly as possible. This program is still very new.”

But it will do you a great deal of good if it works, Emily thought. Aloha was already brilliant, but she wanted—needed—more. You’ll practically be able to write your own ticket.

Aloha ran through a long list of observations and warnings, then gave them all a mischievous smile. “Are there any questions?”

Cirroc held up a hand. “What is the price of basilisk scales, relative to unicorn dung?”

“Are there any useful questions?” Aloha asked, as a flicker of amusement ran around the room. “Something to do with the mentorships, perhaps?”

Melissa coughed for attention. “What do we do if they keep pestering us past the two-month period?”

“If you have time to help them, then help them,” Aloha said. “If you don’t, then explain it to them as gently as you can.”

“Which will make us the bad guys,” Melissa pointed out.

“Bad girls,” Cirroc contradicted.

Melissa gave him a one-fingered gesture, then looked back at Aloha. “Should we just send any further questions to you?”

Aloha’s face flickered with irritation. “Your task is not to give them the answers,” she said, sharply. “I don’t care if it would be easier for you to just dump the answers in front of them or not. Your task is to teach them how to find the answers for themselves. If they ask about hints and tips for alchemical brewing, you can point them to textbooks in the library. A copy of Practical Brewing will be far more helpful than just giving them the answer, don’t you think?”

Emily had to agree. She’d never excelled at Alchemy, unlike Imaiqah, but Practical Brewing had taught her how to avoid basic mistakes. But she hadn’t even known the book existed until she’d stumbled across it in the library. Professor Thande had probably wanted them to find the book for themselves. Whitehall encouraged students to look for answers, rather than merely regurgitate back what they were told. It was something she found refreshing after ten years trapped in her former school.

“If you do this right, they shouldn’t need you past a month or two,” Aloha concluded. “And if you do run into problems, just ask for help.”

Master Tor rose. “Emily, Cabiria, stay behind,” he ordered. “Everyone else, take your papers and go.”

Chapter Six

“I'LL SEE YOU OUTSIDE,” CALEB MUTTERED.

Emily nodded, feeling her heart sink as the remainder of the students collected their papers from Aloha and hurried out of the hall. Cabiria rose and paced over to her, looking surprisingly chipper for someone who’d stayed up half the night devouring a textbook she’d borrowed from the library. Emily rather suspected she’d been drinking potions to keep herself awake, something that would catch up with her sooner or later. But there was no point in making a fuss about it.

She watched Caleb hurrying out the room, followed by Aloha, and then turned back to Master Tor. He looked forbidding, his eyes moving from Emily to Cabiria and back again as if he couldn’t quite decide who annoyed him the most. Emily schooled her face into an impassive mask, and forced herself to wait. She’d hear the bad news soon enough, she was sure. Master Tor had never rebuked her without a good reason, she had to admit, but he’d taken a dislike to her long before they’d met for the first time.

“Welcome back to Whitehall,” Master Tor said, his voice loaded with heavy irony. “You are aware, of course, of the probationary nature of your return?”

“Yes, sir,” Cabiria said.

“Very good,” Master Tor said.

Oddly, he looked reluctant to continue. “If it were up to me,” he added after a moment, “both of you would be excluded from the mentorship program. You already have extra work to do for Professor Locke, as well as being on probation. Your free time will rapidly decline to nothing. However, we simply do not have enough Fifth Year students to take on the task of mentoring newcomers without using you two.”

“Because there’s only twenty-five Fifth Years,” Cabiria said.

Emily nodded in reluctant agreement. There were probably around a hundred First Years entering the school, assuming it was the same number as she recalled from her own First Year. And there might be more, if someone was sent to Whitehall after term officially started. It was possible, despite Grandmaster Gordian’s objections. Emily and Frieda had both entered Whitehall out of sequence, after all.

“And a couple might drop out,” Master Tor added. He paused. “If either of you are having significant problems after the first month, please come to me and I will make arrangements to have one or more of your duties lifted. You should not have to rely on doing all your studies in class.”

“Thank you,” Emily managed. It was astonishing. She’d never really believed that Master Tor would put himself out to help her, let alone pick a fight with the Grandmaster. A word from Gordian could bring Master Tor’s career to an end, instantly. And yet, he did take his duties seriously. “I will let you know.”

“But you also need to keep your noses clean,” Master Tor warned them, sternly. “You have both incurred a great deal of official displeasure. A single mistake will be enough to get either of you expelled. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Cabiria said.

Emily echoed her a moment later, thinking hard. Master Tor was clearly playing his own game... or maybe he was just trying to do his duty under difficult circumstances. The mentorship scheme wasn’t a bad idea, but it would cause problems for the mentors; she doubted, somehow, that anything Master Tor could do would make a difference. A number of students were still going to have to cope with the stigma of not passing their exams the first time.

“The Shadows at Mountaintop were linked to Third Year students,” she mused aloud. “They had more time for their charges.”

Master Tor shrugged. “I discussed the matter with tutors from Mountaintop,” he said. “It was generally agreed that placing youngsters in the care of students only a couple of years older than themselves was asking for trouble.”

“And yet none of them tried to end it,” Emily said, before she could stop herself. “I don’t know if Zed kept it or not.”

“Traditions can be hard to change,” Master Tor acknowledged. “But the greater maturity of you students should be enough to offset any tendencies you have towards bullying or despotism. And if it isn’t, rest assured it will be dealt with.”

Emily nodded, slowly. She wasn’t pleased, any more than any of the other students, but she saw the wisdom in the scheme. And if it consumed far too much of her time, she could probably lodge an official complaint even if Master Tor did nothing. It might weaken Gordian’s position a little.

“Now, to business,” Master Tor said. His lips thinned in disapproval, although for once Emily didn’t think it was aimed at her. “Professor Locke has requested that you both attend upon him today, immediately after lunch. He will inform you of what he has in mind for the coming term, as well as the precise nature of your duties. If his demands consume too much of your study time, tell him and bring it to me if he proves unreasonable. I have already discussed the matter with him, but he rarely has anything to do with students above Third Year.”

“No history exams after that point,” Cabiria noted.

“Correct,” Master Tor agreed. “Whitehall doesn’t offer further training in historical research.”

No archaeologists digging up the past, Emily thought. And only a handful of copies of rare historical books, if that.

“I don’t promise that this will be an easy term for either of you,” Master Tor concluded, firmly. “One would certainly hope it would be more peaceful than your last few years. But if you have problems, inform me and I will do what I can.”

He nodded curtly towards the door. Emily nodded back, then rose and followed Cabiria into the corridor. Caleb stood there, underneath a large painting showing the Whitehall Commune, the original founders of Whitehall. They looked like sober and dignified men, Emily thought as Caleb gave her a quick hug, but there was no way to know if they’d actually looked like their painting. She’d seen paintings of Lord Whitehall that made him look like Dumbledore and others that made him look like Jonathon Strange.

“That didn’t take long,” Caleb said, as he released her. “What happened?”

“We’re to report to Professor Locke after lunch,” Emily said. Cabiria winked at her, then strolled off down the corridor, swinging her hips in a ludicrously sassy manner. “He’ll be telling us what he wants us to do.”

“It hardly seems fair,” Caleb said, as he checked his watch. “You’re going to be studying hard, doing the project with me... as well as mentoring students and doing whatever Professor Locke wants. You’re going to need thirty hours to a day.”

“Master Tor did say he’d help if I couldn’t keep up,” Emily said. She had the feeling Master Tor was sincere, but what about Gordian? If he couldn’t expel her, he might just keep up the pressure in hopes of forcing her to quit on her own. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Caleb took her hand and led her down the corridor. “Right now, we’re going for a walk,” he said. “It’s supposed to be a lovely day outside.”

“I need to write a letter,” Emily said. “Can you wait for ten minutes while I write and post it?”

“I suppose,” Caleb said, reluctantly. They reached the stairwell and headed back up to the dorms. “Casper is going to laugh his head off.”

Emily glanced at him. “Your brother? Why?”

Caleb snorted. “I was a failure as platoon corporal,” he said. “Telling people what to do didn’t come naturally. And I wouldn’t even have gotten that post if my father hadn’t pulled strings.”

“You’ll be four years older than any of the students you’re supposed to mentor,” Emily pointed out. “If there are a hundred newcomers and twenty-five of us, you’ll have five students at most.”

“There could be more,” Caleb countered. “I don’t think they’d assign female mentors to male students and vice versa.”

“True,” Emily agreed. A magical family would have no qualms about sending their daughters to Whitehall—or Mountaintop—but a mundane one would be rather more reluctant to do the same. Imaiqah might not have been allowed to attend if she hadn’t had several older siblings who could work for their parents. “There might be a gender imbalance.”

“Or there might be more girls,” Caleb pointed out. “Stronghold has been recruiting heavily over the last couple of years.”

Emily nodded as they reached the dorms and walked down to her bedroom. Stronghold discouraged girls from attending, even though women made up roughly half of the magical population. Indeed, from what she’d heard, there were only a handful of girls at Stronghold at any one time. If Stronghold had been soaking up the male candidates, Whitehall might get more female students to compensate. And that would mean more girls to be distributed between the female mentors.

She allowed herself a moment of relief as she opened the door and saw the room was empty—Cabiria might not have objected to Caleb’s presence, but she didn’t really want to have her in the same room—then motioned for Caleb to sit on her bed as she sat down at the desk and reached for a piece of paper. Lady Barb had drilled her on how to write a private letter, drilled her so hard that Emily rather suspected that no one could read her words without destroying the paper. She’d accidentally managed to keep herself from reading her work several times before she got the hang of the charm.

And if I mess this up, Mistress Danielle won’t be able to read it either, she thought.

“Caleb,” she said slowly, “when are we next going to Dragon’s Den?”

“We can go any time outside classes,” Caleb said. He smiled as she glanced at him. “We’re not new bugs anymore.”

Emily frowned. She’d taken the chance to study her schedule the previous evening and it had been packed with classes, including several that were likely to take up half the day and leave her exhausted at the end of it. Her weekends were free, as normal, but she rather suspected she would be occupied with both mentoring and working for Professor Locke. Indeed, she wasn’t sure when she would have time to get down to Dragon’s Den. Even getting there required half an hour in the coach...

No, it doesn’t, she thought. I can teleport.

“We can go on Friday afternoon,” she said, after rechecking her schedule. “I need to meet someone there.”

Caleb didn’t look pleased, his expression furrowing. “Can we go for dinner afterwards?”

“I think so,” Emily said, after a moment. “I just don’t know how long this will take.”

She wrote out a brief letter to Mistress Danielle, then signed and sealed it with a charm. Only Mistress Danielle would be able to read it, she hoped; anyone else would watch helplessly as the letter turned to ash in front of them. It was against both law and school regulations to try to interfere with the mail, but she had a feeling that Gordian might try to read her letters. If nothing else, she was certainly evading his refusal to allow her to continue to study martial magic.

The thought nagged at her mind as she rose. What was Gordian doing? He’d seemed encouraging, the first time they’d spoken; he’d even urged her to consider her future career and given some very good advice. And now he seemed reluctant to allow her anywhere near his school. Refusing to allow her to study combat magic wasn’t just interfering with her education, it was leaving her vulnerable to enemies.

At the very least, she thought, I could retake Martial Magic classes with the other students.

Caleb caught her arm as she walked past him and gently pulled her onto the bed. Emily tensed automatically, then forced herself to relax. She knew he meant her no harm, yet her body didn’t agree. Or maybe it was her mind that worried, because her body wanted to go further and further every time he kissed her. She cursed her stepfather under her breath as Caleb’s lips touched hers. It was so hard to just let herself go.

“My father wanted me to pass on a message,” Caleb said, nervously. “He wanted you to know that he isn’t minded to forbid the courtship.”

Emily blinked. “Pardon?”

She ran her hand through her hair as she looked up at him. General Pollack—Caleb’s father—hadn’t raised any objections when she’d visited him in Beneficence, even though his oldest son had neither completed his apprenticeship nor brought home a prospective partner. What had changed? It wasn’t as if she was a different person...

It struck her a moment later. “Cockatrice.”

“Yeah,” Caleb said. “You leaving, in the manner you did, concerned him. But he isn’t minded to forbid anything.”

Emily sighed, tiredly. “Did he think you were going to be married to a baroness?”

Caleb gave her an odd look. “Of course.”

Of course he did, Emily thought, crossly. She wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed at herself or General Pollack. I was a baroness when he met me.

She rubbed her eyes. “I’m not going to be going back there,” she said, firmly. “I know Alassa patched together a face-saving scheme, but I’m not going to be going back. Imaiqah can have it for the rest of time, if she wishes.”

“That’s an attitude my father won’t understand,” Caleb said, gently.

“I know,” Emily said. “But he assumed his role willingly.”

She swallowed, then met his eyes. “Did you want to marry me because I was a baroness?”

Caleb looked hurt, hurt enough that she regretted her words instantly. “Of course not,” he said, sharply. “I fell in love with you during our time together in Cockatrice!”

Emily lowered her eyes, feeling a flicker of bitter guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said, quietly. “That was wrong of me.”

Caleb said nothing for a long moment. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “But I will stay with you, whatever rank you hold.”

“Thank you,” Emily said.

She leaned forward and kissed him briefly, feeling oddly daring. He normally kissed her, not the other way around. It made her feel as though she was in control. And yet... she pulled back as her heart began to race. She wasn’t sure she trusted the feeling yet.

“Did your father raise any concerns?”

“He said you should probably resolve the issue one way or the other,” Caleb said. “But he isn’t too concerned about your rank.”

He’s probably relieved, Emily thought. His son won’t be marrying into high nobility. He won’t have to lift his own social pretensions in response.

She cursed herself for her insensitivity a moment later. It wasn’t a pleasant thought at all, one unworthy of her. General Pollock had struck her as loud and bombastic, but she’d never thought he didn’t care for his children. Or, for that matter, that he wanted to get Caleb married to her just so he could take advantage of the connection. But then, he might have had second thoughts after seeing firearms used in Zangaria. Magic was powerful, far more versatile than anything available to commoner mundanes, yet firearms placed a hell of a lot of power in anyone’s hands. And the secret of gunpowder was out and spreading.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “And your mother?”

“Thinks you should come and stay with us again,” Caleb said. “It used to be traditional, in some houses, for the prospective wife to live with her husband’s family for a few months prior to the wedding.”

Emily shook her head. She liked her privacy, she liked her alone time... one of the reasons she liked Caleb was that she knew he wouldn’t trespass on either. Living with Void for a few weeks had been all right, she supposed, but she wasn’t sure how well she’d cope with a whole family. They’d never give her any peace!

“No, thank you,” she said, hastily.

“I told her you’d say that,” Caleb said. “And I don’t blame you either.”

“Thanks,” Emily said. She leaned into his arms, feeling his warmth slowly seeping into her body. It was hard to escape the impression that she didn’t deserve him, that he deserved someone with fewer problems... she shook her head, reminding herself—sharply—not to be self-pitying. “I... I’ll definitely try and visit over the summer.”

“Casper will probably be released from his apprenticeship this year,” Caleb said. There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “That’s a mere fifty years in harness.”

Emily laughed. Casper had been apprenticed to his master for three years, while Jade—admittedly a brilliant student—had been released after one. It didn’t bode well for Casper, she knew, or for his family. People would wonder why it had taken him so long to complete his apprenticeship. And then they would start questioning his competence.

“Better not point that out to him,” she said.

“I did,” Caleb said. He rubbed his cheek, looking rather shamefaced. “We had a colossal fight over it. Mother finally threw us both out of the house and threatened bloody murder if we showed our faces for a few hours.”

“Ouch,” Emily said. “And then what happened?”

“Oh, we stalked off in opposite directions,” Caleb said. He shrugged. “But enough about him, anyway. What do you want to do the rest of the morning?”

Emily glanced at the clock on the wall. “Go for a walk,” she said. She’d read too many history books over the last few days and she needed to relax. Cabiria and she would be facing Professor Locke in three hours. “And then we need to go for lunch.”

“You’ll be fine,” Caleb said, reassuringly. He gave her a tight hug, then gently kissed the top of her head. “It isn’t as if you’re being apprenticed to Professor Thande.”

“I suppose,” Emily said. She pulled back and stood. “He’d have us drinking all sorts of alchemical mixes, just to see what happened.”

“Exactly,” Caleb said. “It could be worse.”

Sure, Emily added, in the privacy of her own thoughts. But it could be better too.

Chapter Seven

DESPITE HERSELF, EMILY WAS ACTUALLY QUITE curious to see Professor Locke’s office. Lady Barb had encouraged her to follow the grand old Whitehall tradition of breaking into various offices, pointing out that it was good practice for later life, but she’d never actually seen Professor Locke’s office as a challenge. No one really expected the history tutor to be a capable magician, let alone ward his office as thoroughly as Professor Lombardi or Mistress Irene. And neither of their offices, as far as Emily knew, had been cracked by anyone.

She knocked on the door, which opened to allow her to enter. The office should have been large, easily twice the size of her bedroom, but it was absolutely heaving with books and bookshelves. There were piles of books on the shelves, piles of books on the floor, scrolls and parchments positioned neatly on chairs and tables in a manner that looked haphazard, but probably made sense to their owner. Emily was charmed, despite herself. Professor Locke had enough reading material in his office to keep a dozen students going for years.

“Ah, Emily,” Professor Locke called. He was seated at a dining table, Cabiria sitting facing him. His eyes were glittering with suppressed anticipation. “Let me take the books off that chair, then you can sit down.”

Emily nodded. Professor Locke looked fatter than she remembered, but otherwise he hadn’t changed much since First Year. He was a short elderly man with long white hair, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. Two more pairs of eyeglasses were balanced precariously amidst his hair, probably spelled to remain there no matter how hard he shook his head. But he was spry enough, his manner energetic as he cleared a chair and then pointed to it. Emily sat, then watched with some amusement as a servant entered, carrying a large tray of steaming drinks. The fear in Professor Locke’s eyes, as the servant lowered it gently to the one spot on the table that wasn’t covered with pieces of paperwork, would have been amusing, if Emily hadn’t understood it perfectly. There were so many books around that a spill would be disastrous.

“Please, pour yourselves a drink,” Professor Locke said. He rubbed his hands together as he sat, leaning forward to study them through his spectacles. “You are both welcome here, girls.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. The Professor was brimming with enthusiasm. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “We’re quite curious to hear about your project.”

Cabiria shot her a sharp look as she reached out and poured three mugs of... something hot and green. Emily took the mug Cabiria offered her and sniffed it carefully, catching a whiff of mint and something else she didn’t quite recognize. She took a sip and detected a hint of vanilla essence, mixed with peppermint. It left an odd tingling sensation in her throat as she swallowed.

“I’ve been hoping to engage in this project for the last twenty years,” Professor Locke said, as he sipped his own drink. “Grandmaster Hasdrubal felt that the project was not a worthwhile use of my time or the school’s resources. Fortunately, Grandmaster Gordian thinks differently.”

Cabiria smiled, thinly. “He does, sir?”

Professor Locke smiled. “How much do you know about the founding of Whitehall?”

Emily scowled. It was a trick question. “Very little is known, sir,” she said. “And very few points are corroborated by more than one or two sources.”

“Correct,” Professor Locke agreed. He waved a hand at the collection of books and parchment scrolls. “For the past forty years, longer than either of you have been alive, I have made it my life’s work to collect information on Lord Whitehall and the Whitehall Commune. I have haggled and bargained to gain access to libraries closed to the general public, I have hunted lost scrolls in places long abandoned and I have slowly worked my way through the documents stored here, in Whitehall. And yet, I have frustratingly little to show for my endeavors.”

“Apart from unanswered questions,” Cabiria said.

Emily shot her a warning look. Professor Locke was a magician. There was no way he was stupid, if only because stupid magicians got themselves killed very quickly. Professor Locke might pick up on her sarcasm at any moment and react badly. Emily had no doubt that he could get them both expelled, if he wished. Gordian would probably be glad of the excuse.

“Precisely,” Professor Locke said. There was no sign he’d noticed the insult. “Depending on which set of dates are actually accurate, Whitehall is the oldest school in the Allied Lands. Mountaintop and Heart’s Eye came later; Stronghold and Laughter are actually only five hundred or so years old.”

Emily blinked. “Heart’s Eye?”

“It was destroyed by the necromancers,” Cabiria said, quietly.

“Occupied,” Professor Locke corrected. He took another sip of his drink. “Whitehall changed everything, girls. It was the first generalist school of magic to come into existence, the proof that the apprenticeship system was far too specialized. And yet, why are there so few records? An event so important should have left hundreds of thousands of direct and indirect records! Many of the most significant magical bloodlines owe their existence to changes wrought by Whitehall. Why do they have so few records?”

“They wanted to hide something,” Emily guessed. “Maybe their ancestors weren’t as noble as they wanted to believe.”

“Perhaps,” Professor Locke said. “Or maybe there was a deliberate purge.”

He leaned forward. “There are very few surviving copies of anything dating back over six hundred years,” he said. “We know very little of how Whitehall was founded, how the Empire came into existence, how the first Faerie War was fought. The more I worked my way through what collections did exist, the more convinced I became that something had deliberately obliterated the records.”

“It sounds possible,” Emily mused. “Why?”

Professor Locke smirked. “Here is a question for you,” he said, “and it’s one you should be able to answer. What makes Whitehall unmatched among the other magical schools?”

“Well, it has me in it,” Cabiria said.

“It’s a little bit more significant than that,” Professor Locke said, dryly.

Emily contemplated the question for a long moment. Whitehall and Mountaintop had similar curriculums, she knew; their students took the same exams. She knew very little about Laughter, but she assumed it was true of their students too. Stronghold was the only real exception, if only because it was the only school that took mundanes as well as magicians and taught them the martial arts...

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“The nexus point,” Professor Locke said.

Cabiria shook her head. “There isn’t a school that doesn’t have a nexus point,” she pointed out. “How could anyone host a magic school without one?”

That, Emily knew, wasn’t true. Mountaintop didn’t have a nexus point—and what they’d done instead to power their wards still caused her nightmares. But Stronghold and Laughter probably had nexus points of their own. It wasn’t as if they were that rare.

“True enough,” Professor Locke said. Clearly, he didn’t know anything different about Mountaintop. “But, you see, our nexus point system is vastly superior to anything known to exist outside Whitehall. The techniques used by Lord Whitehall to tame the nexus point are lost to us. We find it very difficult to replace the Warden, let alone repair the remainder of the older wards.”

“How unlucky for the other schools,” Cabiria mused. “I dare say their tutors get worn out by repetitive arm movements.”

Emily ignored her. The Warden was head and shoulders above any other homunculi she’d encountered, possessing a limited intelligence of his own as well as a strong tie to Whitehall’s wards and internal defenses. She’d read about more advanced homunculi, but almost all of them required incredibly advanced techniques to fool observers. The Warden was definitely in a class of its own.

“Constructing a pocket dimension for a trunk is incredibly difficult,” Professor Locke continued, in a deliberately mild tone. Emily was surprised he hadn’t told Cabiria off for her cheek. “Even experienced enchanters can run into problems—and all they have to do is expand a reasonably small region of space. Doing portals is far—far—harder. And yet, Whitehall is far larger on the inside than on the outside, seemingly without any effort at all! There’s nothing like it in the Allied Lands.”

“Curious,” Cabiria said. “And no one has tried to duplicate it?”

“Not to the best of my knowledge,” Professor Locke said. “I believe experiments were run at several places, but results were almost non-existent.”

Emily was fascinated, despite herself. “What were they trying to hide?”

“Whitehall itself isn’t the only wonder from the lost ages,” Professor Locke said. “There are references—vague, cryptic references—to works of magic that defy everything we know about the sorcerous arts. The Lay of Lord Alfred, in particular, refers to a number of magic spells that have been lost for centuries. But were they real?”

Emily cast her mind back to Second Year. “The writer talked about plucking the moon from the sky,” she said. She vaguely recalled reading a fantasy story about something similar, back on Earth, but the heroes had thought better of it midway through. “How is that even possible?”

“It isn’t,” Cabiria said. “And what would happen if you succeeded?”

“You’d destroy the entire world,” Emily said. If a relatively small asteroid could tip the dinosaurs towards extinction, she hated to think of what something the size of the moon could do if it hit the world. It might smash the planet as easily as one might shatter an egg. “It would be utter madness.”

“The story could be an exaggeration,” Professor Locke agreed. “Or it could be an allusion, a cryptic reference to something that would have been understood by its readers.”

Cabiria shrugged. “We could argue over it all day,” she said, after a moment. “Are you expecting us to read our way through these papers?”

“No,” Professor Locke said. “I believe I have exhausted everything that can reasonably be drawn from the various collections known to exist. There may be other collections, I suppose, but since I don’t know about them I haven’t been able to consult them.”

Emily leaned forward. “Is that likely?”

For the first time, Professor Locke showed a flicker of irritation, his face flushing red with anger. “The old families—the really old families—have vast collections of papers, parchments and manuscript books, often dating back hundreds of years,” he said. “And the short-sighted idiots don’t always know what they have, because some of them are written in long-dead languages and others are pretty boring as far as their owners are concerned. A copy of the pipe rolls from a kingdom or an estate is meaningless to them, but quite useful to an historian.”

He scowled. “There may be a complete record of the founding of Whitehall buried in a collection somewhere,” he added, “and I wouldn’t know about it! The idiots who own it wouldn’t even know what they had!”

Emily couldn’t disagree. She’d spent two terms working in Whitehall’s library and discovered just how hard it was to find time to catalog large parts of the collection, particularly the older books and manuscripts. The librarians simply didn’t have the time—or, in some cases, the expertise—to sort out a clear record, let alone decide if the material should be stored, presented to the public, or simply discarded. She’d inherited a great many books from the Grandmaster, a tiny collection by Whitehall’s standards, but she’d never had the time to go through them either. It was unlikely there was anything world-shaking amongst the other books, yet there was no way she could be sure...

“I see,” Cabiria said. “What do you want us to do?”

“I want to open up the old tunnels and explore below Whitehall,” Professor Locke said.

Emily frowned. “I’ve been to the nexus chamber,” she said, carefully. “There’s nothing there...”

“Below the nexus chamber,” Professor Locke said.

He leapt from his chair and then started to burrow through a large pile of parchments, his voice echoing back as Emily and Cabiria looked at each other. “The records are clear that there was once a network of tunnels below the nexus chamber,” he said. “Those tunnels were sealed at some point, I believe shortly after Whitehall died. It may even have been Whitehall who sealed the tunnels, although it’s more probably Lord Bernard who was responsible. He was the first true Grandmaster.”

Cabiria coughed. “How do you know?”

“There are several references to the tunnels in works that postdate Whitehall,” Professor Locke said. He emerged, carrying a large scroll. “After that, the tunnels are largely gone from the historical records. Bernard becomes thus our most likely suspect for closing off the tunnels.”

Emily watched as he unfurled the sheet of parchment. It was a map of Whitehall, judging from the exterior design, although the interior was very different. The person who’d drawn the map had clearly hewed to a different set of standards than anything she recalled from the modern era, the scaling so badly warped that classrooms looked larger than the Great Hall, but it was clear that there were a number of tunnels below the nexus chamber, linked to Whitehall through a pair of gates.

“I see,” Cabiria said. “Were the tunnels simply collapsed?”

“The gates were sealed and warded with powerful concealment charms,” Professor Locke said. “Those charms are actually worked into the school’s wards; they’re so powerful that countless generations of staff and students have walked past the gates without any idea they were there. It took me nearly forty minutes to perceive them even though I knew they were there. I took my report to the Grandmaster and he refused to let me investigate further. He believed that opening the gates might be a bad idea.”

“He might have been right,” Emily mused.

“The tunnels interact—somehow—with the spells that make up Whitehall,” Professor Locke said. “If we cannot find the secret of Whitehall from books, perhaps we can find it by studying the tunnels.”

“It’s very old magic,” Cabiria pointed out. She sounded fascinated, despite herself. “Who knows what we would find, under Whitehall?”

We might find a hungry basilisk, Emily thought. There were monsters sleeping under Mountaintop...

“Grandmaster Gordian has approved my plan to explore the lower tunnels,” Professor Locke informed them. “The two of you will accompany me. I would have preferred to bring in a much larger team, but the Grandmaster insisted on limiting the number of people involved in the research program. I believe he will change his mind when we find something new and interesting—or old and interesting—buried beneath the school.”

Or get killed, Emily thought. She had no idea if there was any validity to Professor Locke’s theories, but she knew what else had been buried below Mountaintop. It was quite possible that the tunnels had been sealed up for a very good reason. We might run straight into a trap.

“The tunnels might also connect with the outside world,” Cabiria observed. “There used to be quite an extensive tunnel network under the Craggy Mountains.”

Emily shuddered. She’d explored some of those tunnels in Martial Magic. Sergeant Harkin had warned them about giant scorpions and other creatures lurking within the darkness, but two of her fellows had still been stung and almost killed. Perhaps the tunnels had been sealed to keep other underground-dwellers—or outsiders—from making their way up into the school and causing havoc. Professor Locke might be disappointed, she thought, when they made their way under the school. They might discover nothing more than a link to the tunnels and hundreds of creatures that wanted to kill them.

But she had to admit the whole project was fascinating. She’d researched the history of the Nameless World as best as she could, yet she’d discovered that there was almost nothing definite known about anything that had taken place over a thousand years ago. Human civilization had to be far older than that, she thought, but no one knew what had happened—or why—beyond that point. And there was a question mark over just when Whitehall Castle had been built, too. The castle itself was far older than the school.

It’s the one thing most of the stories agree on, she thought. The castle was not built by the Whitehall Commune.

Professor Locke cleared his throat. “I intend to open the gates and enter the tunnels on Sunday,” he said, firmly. “You two will accompany me. I suggest you wear something simple, something you don’t mind getting dirty. Charm your garments to provide what protection you can, just in case.”

“Yes, sir,” Cabiria said. She sounded less certain, all of a sudden. “Do you expect danger?”

“The tunnels may not have been opened for over seven hundred years,” Professor Locke reminded her. “There’s certainly little chance they’ve been maintained. We should be careful. The prospect of a cave-in should not be underestimated.”

He rose, resting one hand on the table. “I’ll see you on Sunday,” he said. “Before then, I suggest you take the time to read through these papers—I’ll key the wards so you can get access. If you see anything interesting, please let me know.”

Emily sighed, inwardly, as she rose and headed for the door. There were so many papers crammed into the office that she didn’t have the slightest idea where to begin. It would take years, perhaps, to read them all.

“Well,” Cabiria said, once they were outside and heading back up to their bedroom. “That was more interesting than I expected.”

“True,” Emily agreed. She gave the older girl a sharp look. “You’re lucky he didn’t notice your sarcasm. Talk like that to Professor Lombardi or Mistress Irene and you won’t be sitting down for a week.”

“Of course,” Cabiria said. She winked, clearly amused by Emily’s remark. “That’s why I do it to him.”

Emily winced. “And if he decides to expel you?”

“He’s too invested in his project to care,” Cabiria said. “This has been his obsession for decades! All he wants, right now, is to get on with it before he dies.”

“I hope you’re right,” Emily said. “But if you’re wrong, it’s your own stupid fault.”

Chapter Eight

“TELL ME SOMETHING,” CALEB MUTTERED. He stood beside Emily, one hand wrapped around her waist, as they watched the First Years climbing out of their carriages. “Were we ever that young?”

Emily shrugged. The First Years would all be around sixteen years old, but it was clear, just looking at them, that they were staggeringly inexperienced. They gaped up at the towering castle, they lugged their trunks behind them as if they didn’t know how to levitate them and some of them were even wandering off in the wrong directions. She caught sight of a pale-skinned girl staring at the castle and smiled, reading the girl’s thoughts from the expression on her face. What the hell am I doing here?

“I can’t remember being that young,” she said, mischievously. “It never happened.”

She shook her head in amusement as the tutors calmly corralled the youngsters, passed their trunks to the stewards and escorted the newcomers to the Great Hall. It was easy, now, to deduce their origins; the youngsters from magical families were clinging together, wearing robes with an ease and confidence that came from wearing them ever since they could walk, while the children from non-magical families seemed uncomfortable in their robes. Even the wealthier non-magical families weren’t used to wearing robes. And yet, it was easy to pick them out from the poor. Their robes were of better quality.

Changing the uniform policy might have been a mistake, she thought, as the novices walked past her. It promotes disunity among classmates.

It wasn’t the only problem, she noted. The children from magical families, the ones who knew each other already, chatted happily, while those who were new to magic shuffled around, unable or unwilling to look their fellows in the eye. Whitehall had to be hugely intimidating to them, she knew; they probably feared what would happen if they said the wrong thing or touched the wrong item. It wouldn’t take them long to learn to master their magic and cast spells, she was sure, but they would be vulnerable until then.

And the children of magical families will already know a few hexes, she thought. The rich and well-connected always have their advantages, don’t they?

She glanced at Caleb. “How many spells did you know when you went to Stronghold?”

“A few hundred,” Caleb said. “Mother was very insistent that I knew how to defend myself magically, as well as physically.”

Emily felt a flicker of envy. If only she’d had a mother like that. A mother who would’ve defended her—and taught her to defend herself. It would have been a dream come true. She swore to herself, deep inside, that if she ever had children she wouldn’t make the same mistake. Her children would learn how to channel and use their magic as soon as they decently could. She looked at Caleb, knowing that he would agree with her. Children needed to be able to take care of themselves.

She watched the last of the newcomers walking through the gate, then frowned as she saw Aloha emerge from the doorway and head straight towards them. The Head Girl was wearing a long white robe, charmed so it practically glowed with light. It was bright enough to draw attention from right across the room. Emily sighed inwardly—she’d been expecting a talk with Aloha at some point—and braced herself. The chat might not be remotely pleasant.

“Emily, I need to have a word with you,” Aloha said. She looked at Caleb. “Can I borrow your girlfriend for a while?”

Caleb glanced at Emily. “Emily?”

“You go on ahead,” Emily said, reluctantly. “I’ll meet you inside.”

She watched as Caleb strode off towards the gates, then glanced at Aloha. The older girl looked tired, even though it was only early afternoon. Emily supposed she would have been working hard to get the rooms ready for the new students and sorting out their schedules, rather than trying to sleep in one last time. The Fifth Years would be returning to work tomorrow, she knew, and she assumed the same was true of the final year students. She’d managed to sleep in until ten bells.

“Emily,” Aloha said. “I owe you an apology.”

Emily blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

“I’m not happy about Master Grey’s death,” Aloha added, hurrying on before Emily could say a word. “I wish you hadn’t challenged him and I wish you hadn’t killed him, but I do understand what happened. He should never have accepted that challenge.”

“I didn’t even realize it was a challenge,” Emily said.

Aloha bowed her head. “I know,” she said. “He could have just ignored your ill-chosen words—or turned them into a lesson. Instead...”

She shook her head. Emily felt a stab of sympathy, even though she knew Master Grey had deliberately set out to contrive an excuse to kill her. Aloha had practically worshipped the ground Master Grey walked on, seeing him as the embodiment of magical and martial prowess. She’d even hoped to plead for an apprenticeship with him, after completing her final year at Whitehall. And all those hopes were now gone.

“You liked him,” Emily said. She found it hard to pick her next words. “But you didn’t know what he actually was.”

“He was a great man,” Aloha said. There was a bitterness in her voice that shocked Emily to the core. “But I never realized he would stoop to such a level.”

She had a crush on him, Emily thought. She’d never seen Aloha express romantic interest in anyone, let alone go out on dates like Imaiqah or calmly accept an arranged marriage like the Gorgon. But then, there were very few students at the same level as Aloha. Master Grey must have seemed far more capable than anyone at the school.

“I didn’t either, until it was too late,” she said. She tried to think for a moment, but her thoughts kept chasing themselves in circles. What did one say to console a friend? “He would have killed me.”

“I know,” Aloha said. She gathered herself. “I have treated you badly,” she said, clearing her throat. “And I offer my most humble apologies for my actions.”

Emily nodded, recognizing the ritual apology. “I accept,” she said. “And I don’t blame you for liking him.”

Aloha scowled. Emily wondered, suddenly, just how it would have played out if the duel had never happened. It was rare for a male to take on a female apprentice—and vice versa—but very few people would have questioned Master Grey choosing someone as capable as Aloha as his next student. And then? Tongues would have begun to wag, Emily was sure, if they’d started a romantic relationship... if, indeed, he’d felt the same way too. It was quite possible Master Grey had regarded Aloha as just another student, perhaps a mite more capable than the rest. He’d always been too focused on Emily to pay much attention to everyone else.

“I thank you,” Aloha said, formally. “I understand that you had little choice.”

She took a breath. “I should warn you that not everyone feels the same way,” she added. She lowered her voice, significantly. “There are quite a few people who think you deliberately challenged him and killed him.”

Emily scowled. She hadn’t spent long at Whitehall, after Void had helped her recover from the duel, but it had been clear—all too clear—that far too many students were frightened to death of her. Her friends had treated her as they always did, thankfully, but other students had quailed when she looked at them or hastily retreated as soon as she saw them coming. A reputation she would have liked on Earth—as it would at least have kept her from being harassed—was a depressing liability at Whitehall. If nothing else, it made it hard for her to talk to anyone outside her original circle of friends.

“I didn’t challenge him deliberately,” she protested. “And he didn’t have to take up the challenge.”

“No, he didn’t,” Aloha agreed. “But you know that isn’t the story everyone believes.”

Emily sighed. Rumors ran through the Nameless World nearly as fast as they did on Earth, even though the Nameless World lacked the Internet. Stories grew in the telling, to the point where bards confidently claimed that she’d wrestled Shadye into submission and befriended the Mimic by pulling a thorn out of its paw. The fact that anyone stupid enough to wrestle a necromancer would wind up dead in short order—and the fact that Mimics didn’t have paws—had never been allowed to get in the way of a good story. No doubt there were some new ones after Master Grey’s untimely death.

“They’re saying you pitched the duel in a manner he could not refuse,” Aloha warned. “And that you practically lured him to his death.”

“Idiots,” Emily muttered.

She rolled her eyes. Sure, she could have worded the challenge in a manner that practically forced him to accept—an accusation of necromancy, perhaps—but it would have been insane and suicidal. No one had expected her to win the duel. And she knew, even if no one else did, just how close it had been. A second’s hesitation at the climax would have seen her dead. Master Grey had practically beaten her when she’d struck the fatal blow.

“People are often idiots,” Aloha said. “Just be careful, Emily.”

Emily nodded and changed the subject. “I was thinking about something different we could do with the chat parchments,” she said, as they started to walk towards the gates. “It might be possible to work out a telegram service, using sheets of linked parchment.”

Aloha frowned. “A telegram service?”

“Just what I call it,” Emily said. “It would operate along the same lines as standard messages, but it wouldn’t need sorcerers to send or receive them.”

She explained the concept as they walked through the gates and into the rear of the Great Hall, slipping in behind the new students. Grandmaster Gordian stood at the front of the giant room, speaking about Whitehall’s long history of teaching magic, etiquette and everything else a sorcerer needed for success. He wasn’t quite as inspirational as Grandmaster Hasdrubal, Emily considered, but she had to admit he sounded competent. Given that some of the newcomers were clearly nervous, judging from the way they shuffled their feet, it was probably a point in his favor.

Caleb waved to her from where he was standing, next to Cirroc and Melissa. Emily slipped over to join him, silently counting the new students as she moved. There were around a hundred and thirty, by her count, more than anyone had expected. Gordian must have worked hard to recruit new students, she thought; he must have started long before he’d been formally appointed to his post. Or maybe Mistress Irene had started the process and Gordian was merely taking credit for her success. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“He’s been talking for nearly thirty minutes,” Caleb muttered, using a privacy ward to make sure that only Emily could hear him. “I think they’re getting a little restless.”

Emily nodded as she cast her eyes over the gathered students. She couldn’t see anything beyond the backs of their heads, but it was clear that some of them were shuffling uncomfortably. Gordian paid no heed, even when a couple of the students started playing games with their fingers. Emily couldn’t help noticing that the students who were paying attention were almost all from non-magical families. Clearly, the others thought they’d heard the speech—or some variant on it—already.

She felt a stab of bitter envy. What would it have been like to grow up in a magical household? To learn magic from parents who actually cared? To be aware, right down to her bones, of just what magic could and couldn’t do? Everyone thought she had been given such an upbringing, from Void. They kept expecting her to know things she’d never even realized she had to know.

And yet, she’d met far too many magicians with a superiority complex, magicians who thought magic made them better than mundanes. Would she have changed the world, for better or worse, if she’d been born in it? Or would she never have known there was a box, let alone learned to think outside it? She might have wound up as unimaginative as Melissa’s former cronies, the silly girls who’d dumped her like a hot rock the moment she defied her grandmother and married Markus. Emily wasn’t really surprised that none of them had made it into Fifth Year. They might not have been stupid, but they weren’t very clever either.

You can’t change the past, she reminded herself, firmly. All you can do is make the most of what you have.

She leaned forward, interested, as Gordian’s speech finally came to an end. Master Tor stepped forward and ordered the newcomers to separate, boys to the right of the room and girls to the left. Emily saw a couple of students glance at her, their eyes passing over her as if she didn’t quite register. No doubt they’d seen some of the more... imaginative paintings of her, if they’d seen any at all. She’d seen portraits—portraits painted by artists who claimed to have known her personally—that made her look like Alassa, Aloha, Melissa or—in one case—the Mona Lisa. They’d be surprised, she thought ruefully, when they actually heard her name. Maybe they’d think she wasn’t so intimidating in person.

“You will be sorted out into groups, then escorted to your bedrooms,” Master Tor said, calmly. “The Head Girl—” he nodded towards Aloha, who still stood at the back “—will introduce you to your mentors, who will then cover the basic rules, regulations and safety requirements of Whitehall.”

“I didn’t know we cared about safety,” Cirroc muttered.

“I nearly blew my hands off,” Caleb muttered back. “Being careful isn’t actually a bad idea.”

Cirroc snorted. “What sort of attitude is that?”

“The attitude that cost you your first try at the exams,” Caleb jibed. “Did you forget to revise or something...?”

“Shut up, the pair of you,” Melissa snapped. “You’re attracting attention.”

Emily concealed her amusement with an effort as Master Tor aimed a death glare at Cirroc and Caleb. Several of the newcomers were also paying attention to them, rather than to the tutors gathered near the Grandmaster. She wanted to pull Caleb away, but she knew that would just draw more attention. Instead, all she could do was wait and hope the problem faded away. She breathed a sigh of relief as Master Tor turned back to the new students and started to pass out colored tokens at random. Emily assumed the tokens would—eventually—be matched with a Fifth Year student. It made as much sense as anything else.

“I’ll be taking them up to their dorms now,” Aloha said, as Master Tor handed out the last of the tokens. “Emily, you’re going to be in Study Room One in twenty minutes; Melissa, I want you in Room Two; Pandora...”

“Good luck,” Caleb said. “Tell them who you are and you won’t have any trouble at all.”

Emily rather doubted it, but kept that thought to herself as Aloha walked over to the newcomers, reintroduced herself and led them towards the stairwell. Madame Razz would be waiting for them upstairs, unless she too had been replaced; the students would be issued everything from spare robes to potions and guidance medallions before being escorted to meet their mentors. It all looked surprisingly orderly, but she suspected that most of the students were too overawed to cause trouble. That would start once they found their footing and mastered the art of casting spells.

“Emily,” Master Tor said. He held out a second bag. “Take a token.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out a green token, which glowed faintly as she held it up in front of him. It was charmed to do something, she sensed, although the charm was fading too rapidly for her to work out what it did. Perhaps it just confirmed that she was female, she reasoned, or maybe it had been spelled to ensure she took the green token instead of any of the others.

“You’re going to be mentoring the green group,” Master Tor said. “You’ll have six students in your care.”

With the goal of making sure they don’t need my care, Emily thought. They want me to teach the students how to do things, rather than doing their work for them.

“Blue group,” Melissa said. She smiled, rather wanly. “I thought they looked like a decent set of kids, myself.”

Emily shrugged. She hadn’t been paying enough attention to the sorting to pick out who had been assigned to the green group; even if she had, their names and faces wouldn’t have meant much to her. But she’d learn their names soon enough. She’d never been very good at matching names to faces, but she’d improved since coming to Whitehall. She hadn’t really had a choice.

“I’ll see you afterwards,” she said, glancing at Caleb. “Good luck with your students.”

“And you with yours,” Caleb said.

Melissa smiled. “Just remember, you’re not allowed to play games with their heads,” she said. There was an odd note to her voice. “If they’re anything like my siblings, the urge to mess with them will be overpowering.”

“I know the feeling,” Caleb said. “I’ll just keep reminding myself that they aren’t my siblings.”

“Good idea,” Emily said.

Chapter Nine

EMILY COULDN’T HELP FEELING NERVOUS AS she stepped into Study Room One and looked around, making sure that the servants had placed a steaming pot of Kava and seven mugs on a table by the side of the room. She’d never had siblings, as far as she knew; she wasn’t sure how she should relate to students who were only four years younger than her, yet effectively children by magical law. Their understanding of the world they’d just entered was very limited, even for those who had grown up in magical households. Whitehall was simply a dangerous place for the unwary.

She worked the problem out in her head, feeling unsure of herself. How should she treat them? Should she try to act like a big sister, or should she try to be their friend? But if they were anything like some of Frieda’s classmates, they would be uncomfortable with the idea of an older girl trying to be their friend. Should she try to keep a distance between herself and the newcomers? Or would that make it harder for them to confide in her if they had problems? She couldn’t help them unless she knew what they needed.

Someone—probably Aloha—had put a set of books by the sideboard. Emily picked one up and glanced at the title, smiling as she realized it was a guidebook to Whitehall. She hadn’t been given one, when she’d entered the school; it hadn’t been so easy to produce books before she’d introduced the printing press. But it would have come in handy, she thought, as she flipped through it. There was no plan of the school—a pointless endeavor when the corridors were known to shift around randomly—but there were plenty of other little details she’d taken far too long to learn.

Maybe Gordian has a point, she thought, ruefully. Some of his changes needed to be made.

Emily looked up as the door opened, revealing Aloha. She forced herself to stand straight as the newcomers entered, their faces suggesting they were as nervous as Emily herself. They were all girls, of course, but their appearances were very different. It depressed her, on some level, that she could tell rich from poor so easily. The latter were thin, so thin it looked as if they might blow away; their clothes were cheap, probably passed down from older students.

She smiled, despite herself, as she recognized one of the newcomers. Jasmine—it had to be Jasmine, the singer she’d met at the Traveller Camp. Emily had liked her and felt sorry for her; she’d even offered to pay the girl’s fees if she wanted to go to Whitehall. Jasmine stared back at her, her dark eyes opening wide with astonishment. Her face—she looked vaguely Asian—was far too pale. To her, a cramped building like Whitehall had to be a nightmare made flesh.

“This is Emily,” Aloha said. The newcomers stared at Emily, shocked. “She will be your mentor for the next two months.”

Jasmine’s mouth dropped open. Emily hid her amusement with an effort. She’d called herself Millie at the time—the name Emily was almost unknown in the Allied Lands—and Jasmine had probably never connected Millie with the Necromancer’s Bane. How could she have? Even if she’d suspected the truth, Emily didn’t look anything like the monstrous figure beloved of bards and heralds. She’d probably have dismissed the connection as impossible and left it at that.

“They’re all yours,” Aloha said. “Talk your charges through the basic rules, then take them down to dinner. They’ll need to get an early night.”

“Of course,” Emily said.

She gathered herself as Aloha slipped out the door. The students stared at her, some of them clearly uncomfortable and others obviously wishing they were somewhere—anywhere—else. Emily didn’t really blame them. Jade and Aloha could put people at ease, with a few well-chosen words, but it wasn’t one of Emily’s talents. And yet, she was all they had. They were depending on her.

“Welcome to Whitehall,” she managed. She indicated the sideboard with her hand. “Please, take a drink if you need one. We have much to discuss.”

She waited until the students had each taken a mug of Kava and sat down, then leaned forward. “I don’t know what you want to be called,” she continued, keeping her voice as gentle as possible. “Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves? You may call me Emily.”

Jasmine looked nervous. “I am called Jasmine of the Diddakoi Travellers,” she said. “My parents are dead; my aunt and uncle sent me to Whitehall.”

“Welcome, Jasmine,” Emily said. Did Jasmine know she’d paid her fees? If Jasmine didn’t know and Emily asked, she’d feel embarrassed and obliged—perhaps—to find a way to repay the debt. “I hope you will have a long and happy career at Whitehall.”

The other five introduced themselves, one by one. Emily vaguely recalled Adana of House Ashworth from the Cockatrice Faire—she would be Melissa’s cousin—but the others were strangers. Tiega of House Worldweaver was a big girl, muscular rather than pretty; her face was unpleasant enough that Emily couldn’t help wondering why she didn’t use glamours or magical surgery to improve it. A curse? Or did her family not give a damn? Her brown hair was nice, Emily supposed—it was a shade or two lighter than Emily’s—but she’d hacked it short, giving her an oddly masculine appearance. Beside her, Lillian of House Augustus looked shy, unwilling to meet Emily’s gaze. Her blonde hair hung in pigtails that hung down to her shoulders.

Dulcet, Daughter of Oswald, was short and thin, with dark hair that fell in ringlets around her shoulders and a despondent expression. She said nothing about her background, which suggested her parents were peasants or—perhaps—slaves. It was unlikely that the daughter of slaves could go to Whitehall—if she’d been born while her parents were in bondage, she would belong to their owner too—but Gordian’s agents might have purchased her or her parents just to ensure they got another candidate. Julia, Daughter of Julius, looked far more elegant in her robes, even though she was the daughter of a merchant. Emily had to admit that the slight redheaded girl had more poise than Imaiqah ever had. Her voice was so resonant that Emily was sure she’d attended elocution lessons.

The thought made her smile as she contemplated her new charges. A lower-class personage could be identified by their dress and their voice; they were barred from wearing certain garments or learning how to speak like their betters. But Julia could probably pass for an upper-class girl, if she tried. She’d be a magician too, of course, yet having a talent for presenting herself to the world without magic would make it easier. No doubt her father planned to rise in the world, using his daughter as the key to a higher social rank.

She cleared her throat as she sensed the tension beginning to rise again. “Whitehall is a great place to learn,” she said, seriously. She’d fallen in love with the school from the moment she’d first set eyes on it and she’d be damned if she was leaving ahead of time, no matter what Grandmaster Gordian did. “But it can also be very dangerous to the unwary. Magic can be very dangerous. The rules set in place by the administration are there to protect you. I strongly advise you not to even consider breaking the rules.

“You will be given safety instructions in each of your classes,” she told them. “I suggest you heed those instructions, both inside and outside class. Certain spells and practices—alchemy in particular—can be very dangerous without supervision. If you are caught experimenting with such spells, without supervision, you will be lucky not to be expelled.”

She paused. “Some of you will know a handful of spells already,” she added. She would have been astonished if Adana or Tiega didn’t know any spells. “The remainder of you will learn spells quickly, including a number of practical jokes and pranks. You are allowed to play pranks on one another”—it was hard to keep the disapproval out of her voice—“but you are warned that preventing another student from attending classes or studying outside classes is grounds for severe punishment. Your tutors will not be pleased if your roommate misses class because you turned her into a statue or trapped her in an enchanted sleep. Do not push them on this, because you will regret it.”

Adana smirked; Dulcet paled. Emily sighed, inwardly. Whitehall tolerated far too much from its students, although she did have to admit that student pranks provided an excellent motive to learn how to defend oneself. But there were limits, and those limits had to be made clear before something went badly wrong. If she had nearly killed Alassa, after a bare month of magical education, who knew what these newcomers could do?

“There are also a number of pranks that are flatly forbidden,” she added. “Stripping someone naked or forcing them to strip—or engage in sexual behavior—is forbidden. Using love potions is forbidden. You...”

Adana looked up. “What’s wrong with love potions?”

“They make people do things they wouldn’t do, normally,” Emily said. Love potions were date-rape drugs, as far as she was concerned. Married couples might use them on the wedding night, just to ensure that nothing went wrong, but at least that was between consensual adults. “Using a love potion on anyone, for whatever reason, is grounds for expulsion. Again, do not test the patience of your tutors with such pranks. They’re not remotely funny.”

She ran through the remaining list of forbidden pranks, then added a warning she hadn’t heard until her second year. “Right now, older students are not permitted to start anything with you,” she told them. “But if you try to prank an older student, that student is permitted to retaliate in any way he or she sees fit. Furthermore, you are not permitted to prank the non-magical staff in any way whatsoever. It is hard to find staff willing to serve at Whitehall”—Madame Razz had made that clear, back when Alassa had done just that—“and anything you do that makes that harder will draw severe punishment. Madame Razz will not be amused.”

“She didn’t look easily amused,” Tiega noted.

“She isn’t,” Emily confirmed.

She glanced from face to face, wondering if they were a little overwhelmed. But she knew she had to go on, regardless. “You’ll each be given a guidebook to Whitehall,” she added, “which I advise you to study closely. There are rules regarding etiquette that you need to master, including some concerning your bedrooms. If you have any questions about those, ask me or Madame Razz. She will answer your questions, even if she makes you pay for the answers.

“But the most important rule, right now, is this; do not enter another bedroom without permission from the occupants. All of the occupants.”

Julia frowned. “What if I want my friend to enter and my roommates say she can’t?”

“She can’t enter, dumbass,” Tiega sneered. “Weren’t you listening?”

Emily cleared her throat, loudly. “That’s correct,” she said, before Julia could snap out a biting response. “You can’t bring your friends into the room unless all of the occupants agree.”

She paused. “You are expected to be in your dorms after eight bells in the evening and in your bedrooms after nine,” she added. “Sneaking around the castle after dark and trying to break into various offices is an old tradition, but being caught will ensure that you have to sleep on your bellies for the next couple of days. The tutors patrol the corridors randomly, so watch yourselves if you decide to leave the dorms. I strongly advise you not to try to break into another bedroom. You will not like the results.”

Adana smiled. “And what if we don’t get caught?”

“You get away with it,” Emily said. “But I would be very impressed if any of you managed to break into a tutor’s office, let alone a bedroom.”

She held up a hand. “There are two other points that need to be brought to your attention,” she warned. “First, the interior of the school is monitored closely. If you break one of the rules—like ensuring your roommate cannot attend classes—the tutors will know who to blame. If you manage to do something stupid, and you probably will, there is no point in running away from the scene of the crime. You will be caught and you will be punished.

“Second, as some of you probably already know, there are long-standing feuds and disagreements within the magical community. Your families may have rivalries with other families. You are not allowed to pick fights with members of those families inside Whitehall or engage in proxy battles with students from other countries or whatever. Whitehall is neutral in all political disputes. If you can’t find it in you to be friendly to people from different sides, then ignore them.”

She looked from face to face. Dulcet and Julia probably wouldn’t have any friends or enemies within the magical community—yet—but the other four, even Jasmine, might well see old feuds reasserting themselves at Whitehall. Hell, Adana might well be trouble. There were no Ashfalls at Whitehall, if she recalled correctly, yet it was quite possible that one or more of their client families were represented at the school. And Melissa was at Whitehall too, after being disowned by her family. Adana might have orders to try to make Melissa’s life difficult...

Which would be stupid, Emily thought, coldly. Picking a fight with a Fifth Year student would be insane. She’s no match for Melissa on her worst day.

“If you need help or advice, I will be around on Saturday,” she said. “I will be in the common room by your bedrooms from ten bells to twelve bells, at least for the first couple of months. Should you need help outside that time, ask a tutor to find me through the wards and you can talk to me if I am not in class. That said—” she held up a hand “—if you waste my time, I will not be pleased.”

Aloha had suggested she issue such a warning, pointing out that she might be besieged by younger girls demanding advice at all hours of the day. It wasn’t anything like as convenient as they might have hoped—a look at her schedule had told her she was going to be in class at least five hours a day—but she would be around. All Emily could really do was hope that nothing happened that demanded her urgent attention.

But they might think that it isn’t urgent when it is, she thought. And they will be too scared to approach me.

She leaned back in her chair. “Do you have any questions?”

Tiega thrust her hand into the air. “Did you really kill Shadye?”

“Yes,” Emily said, flatly.

“Unreal,” Lillian breathed.

“She killed a combat sorcerer last year,” Adana told them. She looked at Emily, her bright eyes flickering over Emily’s face. “How did you do it?”

“Skill,” Emily said. She had no intention of discussing Shadye, Mother Holly or Master Grey with them. “It was not easy.”

“You could teach me how to duel,” Adana said. “Could you? Please?”

“Take defensive magic next year,” Emily said. She didn’t like dueling. Maybe there were students who viewed it as an honorable sport, but she just saw it as dangerous. Master Grey had set out to kill her, after all. There was no honor in cold-blooded murder, even if the victim turned the tables and won the duel. “After that, if you wish, you may take dueling as an elective.”

She rose, ending the session. “I believe you’ve already seen your rooms,” she said. “Did Madame Razz give you guidance medallions?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Dulcet said, shyly. “She showed us how to use them too.”

“That’s good,” Emily said. “You will learn how to navigate the school, in time, but until then keep those guidance medallions with you. If you lose them, ask a tutor to send you back to your dorms and get a new one from Madame Razz. She will not be pleased, but she will understand.”

She studied them all for a long moment, then nodded to the door. “Dinner time,” she said, firmly. The food wouldn’t be anything special for Tiega or Adana, but the other four would think they’d died and gone to heaven. “Make sure you eat as much as you can. You’ll need the food for energy.”

Jasmine stepped up beside her as she led the way out of the room. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

“I didn’t want to be recognized,” Emily said, seriously. It didn’t sound as though Jasmine knew Emily had helped to pay her fees. “Are you going to sing for the school?”

“If they’ll let me,” Jasmine said. “Will they?”

“Probably,” Emily said. There was no such thing as a talent night at Whitehall, but perhaps that too would change. Some of Gordian’s ideas weren’t bad. “I just hope you’ll have time to practice.”

“I’ve had too much practice,” Jasmine said. She gave Emily a brilliant smile. “Right now, I’m practically singing in my sleep.”

“I’d better teach your roommates how to block out the sound,” Emily said. “Or they’ll be turning you into things just to make sure they get a good night’s sleep.”

“Ouch,” Jasmine said. “That isn’t funny.”

“No,” Emily agreed. “It isn’t.”

Chapter Ten

EMILY HAD MADE SURE TO GO to bed early—after casting charms to make sure Cabiria wouldn’t keep her awake half the night—but she still felt tired and unready as she followed Caleb into the wardcrafting classroom and took a seat near the front. The classroom would have interested her normally—there were diagrams painted on the walls and dozens of workbenches, covered in various pieces of metal and stone—but she felt too tired to care. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to cast a spell for energy, knowing she would pay for it later. Such spells always came with a price.

Professor Armstrong strode into the room at precisely five minutes past the hour, the door slamming closed with a loud thump and locking behind him. “I will be entering the classroom at this time, every class,” he said, as he walked up to the front of the classroom and turned to face then. “Anyone who arrives after me will be denied entry to the room and marked absent. Repeated absences will result in your removal from my class and there will be no chance to take it again, should you repeat the year.”

Emily nodded, studying Professor Armstrong thoughtfully. He was a towering man, with long red hair and a long red beard that hung down to his chest. His face was scarred and pockmarked, his hands were large enough to make her feel uncomfortable, yet there was an odd gentleness about the way he moved that reassured her. She didn’t blame him for closing the door or issuing such a stern warning to his students. She’d heard the same from several other tutors over the years.

“For most of you, this is your first class with me,” Professor Armstrong continued, after a long moment. “You will have had experience with very basic wards before, of course, but for these two years we will be looking at practical Wardcrafting. Those of you who wish to find an apprenticeship with an enchanter will require top marks in this class, so I advise you to pay attention. Your progress will be monitored closely and if I don’t feel you have a reasonable chance at passing your exams, your names will not be included in the rolls.”

He paused, his eyes flashing as he dared them to say anything. “This class is almost completely practical work,” he said. “You will be required to prove to me that you can complete each step, reliably, before we move on to the next step. There will be a considerable amount of background reading, naturally, but you’re expected to cope with that in your own time.”

Emily winced. What time?

Professor Armstrong went on, regardless. “We will start with putting together basic wards, anchoring them within hearthstones and runic sequences, then I will allow you to take the risk of constructing your own wards,” he said. “You will not pass your exams unless you put together a ward network that stands up to a wardcrafter for longer than ten minutes. And in doing so, what is the greatest danger?”

Cirroc stuck up a hand. “Sir, I...”

“You’ve already taken this class,” Professor Armstrong said, cutting him off. “And if you don’t know the answer, you’re doomed.”

His gaze swept the room, again. “Anyone care to recollect what they should have read in the books? Am I required to pick someone at random?”

He jabbed a finger at the Gorgon. “You. What is the greatest danger in putting together one’s own wards?”

The Gorgon hesitated, then leaned forward. “Using a piece of well-understood spellware,” she said. “That’s...”

“Correct,” Professor Armstrong boomed. “And why is it a danger?”

His finger stabbed at Emily. “Emily? Care to answer the question?”

“Because the spellware is already understood,” Emily said, “a skilled wardcrafter can easily counter it and break through the layers of protection.”

“Exactly,” Professor Armstrong said. “You would not believe the number of students who give me a piece of work they have carelessly thrown together from known spellware, completely failing to fix the glitches in the original junk! And I rarely need more than a minute to crack it. Let that be a lesson to you. If you can’t be bothered closing all the holes before you steal someone else’s early work, you deserve everything you get!”

His flashing eyes swept the room. “Open your desks.”

Emily obeyed. Inside, there was a lump of stone—it took her a moment to recognize that it was an inactive hearthstone—a handful of tools, a collection of pieces of metal and a notebook. Beside her, Caleb did the same. His desk held the same collection, although she thought his hearthstone was bigger. She doubted it made much of a difference.

“That hearthstone is raw,” Professor Armstrong stated, as she traced her fingers over the stone. “You will see, if you touch it, that it has never been primed, let alone turned into a lodestone for magic. Such unprepared hearthstones are relatively cheap, but rest assured you will be expected to pay for any replacements if you lose them through carelessness or stupidity. You will be using it as the base for your work. Close your desks.”

He went on as the desks banged closed. “The principle difference between basic ward construction and outright Wardcrafting is that the latter involves anchoring one’s wards to a structure or object independent of yourself,” he informed them. “For the former, you anchor your wards and protections within your own magical fields; for the latter, you anchor the wards to a hearthstone and then charge them with magic. Later, you will be using runes to power the wards directly from ambient local mana. It is those wards that cause the greatest headaches after their creators die.”

There was a long chilling pause. “Why is that the case?”

His finger stabbed at Pandora. “They don’t collapse after the death of their creator,” she said, softly. “The wards either need to be dismantled or left in place, permanently keeping intruders out of whatever they defend.”

“Correct,” Professor Armstrong said. “Indeed, there was a tradition—for a while—of having emperors buried in warded tombs, tombs which were effectively impossible for looters to rob. Later, as Wardcrafting developed, it became harder to seal the tombs permanently and a number were looted. Of course, some of the looters discovered too late that many artifacts were cursed.”

He smirked. “In your later years, should you be called upon to craft wards for your family house, you will have to ensure that your family are keyed into the wards too,” he added. “But what sort of problems does this produce?”

Emily winced inwardly as his finger moved towards her, but stopped, pointing at Caleb instead. She breathed a sigh of relief. The answer was fairly simple, she thought, but she’d learned it from Void, rather than Professor Lombardi or Mistress Irene. She didn’t want to talk about that with anyone. Professor Armstrong might object to her learning skills from a sorcerer who wasn’t an experienced tutor.

“The more people who are keyed into the wards,” Caleb said, “the more weak points within the structure for someone else to use to break in.”

“Correct,” Professor Armstrong said. “And the other problem?”

Caleb hesitated. “I don’t know, sir,” he admitted. “I...”

“At least you’re smart enough not to guess,” Professor Armstrong said. It sounded like a compliment, although Emily couldn’t help bristling on her boyfriend’s behalf. “Would anyone else like to answer the question?”

Prunella stuck up a hand. “Sir,” she said, when Professor Armstrong nodded to her. “It allows your family to remove you from the wards.”

“It can,” Professor Armstrong confirmed. “Like Caleb said, allowing someone else access to the wards can make it easier for them to break into the command spellwork, giving them a chance to rewrite your work to erase your access rights. Should you be a Family Head, you must always be on guard for your children trying to steal your power and home from under you. The more you have keyed into the wards, the greater the chance that someone will try something.”

Emily glanced at Caleb, thinking hard. Was that what had happened to Fulvia? She’d left her family’s home, from what Void had said, although no one knew where she’d gone. But if her family had chosen to expel her, she wouldn’t have had much choice. Whoever had crafted the original wards had probably keyed special rights to those who shared the bloodline, which Fulvia didn’t. She shrugged, dismissing the thought. There would be time to worry about Fulvia later.

“It seems a little harsh,” Pandora said. “I don’t think my future husband would expel me from my home.”

“You can never trust anyone these days,” Professor Armstrong said, cheerfully. “The better your defenses, the less chance someone will try to take advantage of you.”

He rubbed his hands together. “If there is anyone here who cannot cast a simple early-warning ward, please leave the classroom now,” he said. “Everyone else, open your desks, remove your hearthstones and place them in front of you.”

Emily smiled. She would have been astonished if someone had left the classroom, given that almost everyone mastered such wards in their first year. All they really did was sound the alert if they brushed up against another magic field, such as a cursed object lying in wait, but they were very useful. She’d used them herself in Martial Magic, priming them to warn her if someone was trying to sneak up behind her. The wards were simply too tricky to detect before they were already triggered.

She rubbed the hearthstone gently as Professor Armstrong strode around the classroom, checking each hearthstone before grunting in curt acknowledgement and moving to the next stone. Emily had no idea why he hadn’t done it before the class began, but she rather assumed he knew what he was doing. Maybe he’d thought one or more of the students had already started to prime the hearthstone. But when she touched it, she sensed nothing but cold stone. It could have passed for a piece of sandstone, if she hadn’t already known what it was.

“You have all, I believe, experimented with wands and staffs,” Professor Armstrong added, when he returned to the front of the classroom. “Infusing a spell into a hearthstone operates on the same lines, but this time you charge the spell before pushing it into the hearthstone. I strongly advise you not to try this with anything dangerous, not yet. Accidentally setting off a blasting curse on your fingertips will probably kill you—and if it doesn’t kill you, you’ll wish you were dead.”

“Ouch,” Caleb muttered.

“Cast the spell,” Professor Armstrong ordered. “And then infuse it into the hearthstone.”

Emily nodded, then shaped the spell in her mind. It felt hard to put it together piece by piece, now that her abilities had expanded sharply, but the textbooks she’d read had warned her that it would make it easier to move to the next step. Normally, a spell would be infused into a wand without being charged; this time, she had to charge it first... she felt it waggling backwards and forwards over her fingertips, then humming as she pushed her hand against the hearthstone and tried to let go of the spell. It shimmered with power, then flickered out of existence. Emily swallowed a curse as she stared down at the grey stone. It almost seemed to be mocking her.

“It isn’t primed yet,” Professor Armstrong said. Emily looked up, sharply. She hadn’t heard him approaching, even though he strode around the room like a charging elephant. She’d been too intent on the spell to notice. “You need to use a far more gentle touch.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said.

“Try again,” he ordered. “And this time, be gentle.”

Emily nodded and went back to work. It took her four tries to get the spell infused into the hearthstone without losing it, although she had a feeling it would get easier as the stone became more used to the presence of magic. Hearthstones channeled magic, projecting wards out... she shuddered, inwardly, as she recalled Shadye looming over her with a stone knife. He’d intended to use it to suck out her magic and use it for himself.

“You’re pushing too hard,” Professor Armstrong said to Pandora. “You need to be gentle.”

“I was gentle,” Caleb muttered. He’d succeeded on his second try. “But the spellwork doesn’t last very long.”

“It needs to be charged,” Emily muttered back. “But how do we charge it without overbalancing it?”

She sighed in frustration. It was definitely a balancing act; too little power and the spell would snap out of existence, too much power and the spell would come apart at the seams. She silently thanked Void for making her start again from the beginning, no matter how much she’d resented it at the time. If he had let her have her way, when her magical reserves had expanded so radically, she doubted she would have been allowed to remain in Professor Armstrong’s class. She would probably have accidentally destroyed the hearthstone within the first hour.

Professor Armstrong strode back to the front of the classroom. “You have all managed to put a working spell into the hearthstone,” he said. “But it didn’t last very long. Why?”

“It didn’t have enough power to remain active,” Cirroc said, quickly.

“Quite right,” Professor Armstrong said. “I’m glad you learned something over the last year, young man. And for a second point, why don’t you tell us how to fix this problem?”

Cirroc leaned forward. “We rewrite the spell to allow us to recharge it, once the spell is firmly in place,” he said. “It’s a complex piece of work...”

“But doable, at your stage,” Professor Armstrong said. His gaze swept the room for a long moment. “Each of you is to write out a modification to the spell that allows you to recharge it, once the spell is firmly embedded in the hearthstone. I want you to do this alone, without even a hint of help from the person next to you. Anyone caught helping or asking for help will be in deep trouble.”

Emily winked at Caleb, then produced her notepad from the desk and went to work. Writing out the spell notation was second nature now—she still cringed at the memory of some of her early mistakes—but it was never easy to rewrite a spell on the fly. Indeed, she’d never really had to annotate a spell she’d used for a wand. It was really just a matter of pushing power through the wand, making sure not to accidentally destroy the spellwork in the process. But the hearthstone was a little more complicated.

She wrote out the original spell, then carefully added a pair of modifications. One would allow her to charge the spell, while the other would balance the power, giving the spell a power reserve. It wouldn’t last long—power leached away from improper spellwork—but at least it would hold long enough to master the trick. She glanced at Caleb, his head bent over his own notebook, and smiled. Their joint project—which they would have to work on at some point—might benefit from some of their new skills.

“Let me see your work,” Professor Armstrong said. “Do not attempt to actually use the spellwork without my permission.”

He strode from desk to desk, reading the paperwork and offering comments. Cirroc was given nothing, while Pandora was told off sharply for missing out on the power reserve, which would have destroyed her spellwork if she’d actually tried to use it. He glanced once at Caleb’s and nodded in approval, then picked up Emily’s paper and read it twice before scowling in disapproval and pointing to a single line.

“Emily,” he said, sharply. “What’s wrong with this?”

Emily hesitated, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at her. “It channels power,” she said. She felt her cheeks grow warm under his stare. “I don’t know what’s wrong...”

“This isn’t a wand,” Professor Armstrong said. “What you have is something that will spend its power in a single moment, then stop working. Stone channels magic, but in this case the power will spew out in all directions. It is not a workable solution, which is a shame because the rest of the spellwork is quite good.”

He stepped backwards, leaving Emily to fix the mistake as quickly as she could. In hindsight, it was an obvious mistake—and a common one. Prunella received the same lecture, along with two other students. Emily didn’t want to look at Caleb, even though she knew he wouldn’t laugh at her. It was embarrassing.

“Tonight, you are to read about the properties of different kinds of material,” Professor Armstrong said, as he returned to the front of the classroom. “Tomorrow, we will be taking your spellwork and actually putting it to the test. Those of you who fail to learn from mistakes—yours and others—will not get very far.”

He paused. “And one other thing...

“Many of you will want to compare notes, once you’re out of the classroom,” he added, darkly. “And if you understand what you’re doing, that’s fine. But if you don’t understand what you’re doing, you’re only hurting yourself.”

The bell rang. “Class dismissed.”

Emily returned the hearthstone to the desk, then rose and headed for the door. She needed Kava. Professor Lombardi was presenting her next class, after lunch, and he didn’t suffer fools gladly. And Caleb wouldn’t be taking it with her. It would just be her.

“Interesting class,” Caleb observed, once they were outside. “And very educational.”

“We could use some of the techniques,” Emily said. “When are we restarting work on the joint project?”

“Once you know where you stand with Professor Locke,” Caleb said. “I think we can put it off for a month, if we try.”

“I hope you’re right,” Emily said.

Chapter Eleven

EMILY COULDN’T HELP FEELING A TINGLE of nervousness as she stepped into Professor Lombardi’s new ritual magic classroom, even though she’d had him as a tutor since First Year. The chamber was surprisingly comfortable: a handful of chairs, a single sofa and a desk, parked at the front of the room. Several students were already there; Melissa, the Gorgon, Prunella, Pandora... just for a moment, she wondered if only female students had been accepted for the class. And then Mathis and Johan followed her into the classroom.

Silly thought, she told herself, as she found a seat. Ritual Magic isn’t a sex-specific class.

She sighed, inwardly. Melissa and the Gorgon were sitting together, leaving her feeling isolated. She didn’t know Mathis and Johan, while Pandora and Prunella had never been her friends. Emily shook her head, wishing that Alassa or Imaiqah had stayed in Whitehall for two more years, then dismissed the thought. She could cope with being alone for a while.

Professor Lombardi, like Professor Armstrong, chased the last couple of students into the classroom, then closed and locked the door. “The same rules apply here as they do to my Charms lessons,” he said, shortly. “Given that these classes are largely practical, missing more than one or two classes will guarantee failure. I will not hesitate to dismiss anyone who misses more than two lessons. Be warned.”

He stalked up to the front of the classroom and turned to face them. His appearance didn’t seem to have changed much from her first lessons; he was a short, light-skinned man, with an afro that seemed to change color randomly. Once, she’d thought she was imagining it; now, she could sense the twisting magic that sparkled around his hair. She assumed it had some form of practical use—Professor Lombardi wasn’t the type of person to bother with fashion—but she couldn’t imagine what.

The Professor stared at them, his gaze hard. “Before we start, I must warn you that you are absolutely forbidden to practice or experiment with ritual magic outside this classroom, regardless of how much supervision you have,” he said. “I don’t care how desperately you need to catch up with the class. There are no exceptions to this rule. If you are caught practicing or experimenting, you will be unceremoniously expelled from the school. There will be no further warnings.”

Emily swallowed. She’d known Professor Lombardi was strict, but this was harsh even for him. And yet, Lady Barb had told her that rituals could be immensely dangerous—and they could be perverted quite easily. Professor Lombardi probably had a point. She might well be the only student in the class, even counting the ones with a magical background, who had any experience of rituals at all. Lady Barb had shown her a ritual—and she’d seen others at Mountaintop—but she’d been warned, in no uncertain terms, not to discuss her experiences with anyone.

“There are a handful of textbooks that are assigned to you and waiting in the library,” Professor Lombardi continued, after a moment. “Those books are charmed to ensure that only authorized students can read them, so don’t show them to your friends! Anyone who does will have a great deal of explaining to do and will probably be expelled. Rest assured, unauthorized readers will be blinded due to trying to read these books and we will know what blinded them.”

A gasp ran through the classroom. Emily honestly didn’t know why they were so shocked at the suggestion, even though blinding hexes were on the list of forbidden pranks. There was no shortage of books that had been marked forbidden, after all; it should have been no surprise that they would be charmed to deter unauthorized readers. Blinding someone was a little excessive, but it made it impossible for the crime to remain undetected. The victim would have to go to the tutors to get the curse removed.

“I advise you to keep the books in the library and consult them there,” Professor Lombardi concluded. “If you do take them to your bedrooms, rest assured that you will be blamed for anything... unfortunate.”

Gordian would probably be delighted if I gave him cause to expel me, Emily thought, as the class shuffled nervously. And I wouldn’t be able to argue that I wasn’t warned.

Professor Lombardi cleared his throat. “Ritual magic involves the deliberate sharing of magic amongst magicians, each one contributing a little mana to a working that would completely drain the caster or be otherwise impossible,” he said. “The mana is extruded from one’s body, then shaped by pre-prepared runes into spellwork that can then be triggered at will. Designing one’s runic circles requires nothing less than the highest precision, as a single mistake may mean failure or randomized effects. You do not want to get caught up in a flash of wild magic!”

There was a long, chilling pause. “Ritual magic requires a high degree of vulnerability among those who contribute to the spells,” he warned. “It is not unknown for casters to be caught during the working and killed by their enemies, either because they were contributing too much magic or because they didn’t dare halt the ritual. Those of you with an interest in becoming combat sorcerers may wish to remember what happened at Hobbs End. There is no doubt that the devastation was caused by a ritual gone badly wrong.”

Emily frowned. She hadn’t heard of Hobbs End. Professor Lombardi didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, so she made a mental note to look it up later in the library. Perhaps it was one of the cautionary tales they were told, regularly, but in that case surely Professor Lombardi would have told them what had happened in gruesome detail. Or maybe the casters did nothing wrong. She knew enough about rituals to know that if someone had interrupted the spell at the worst possible moment—and she suspected that was what had happened—there would be nothing the casters could do to save themselves.

Look it up later, she told herself. He’s still talking.

“Ritual magic requires absolute trust among the casters,” Professor Lombardi concluded, darkly. “Wags”—his expression flickered with displeasure—“have compared taking part in a ritual to undressing in front of one’s fellow casters. You will be making yourselves vulnerable, very vulnerable. That, among other reasons, is why practicing rituals outside this classroom is strictly forbidden. The dangers are not always as obvious as a sudden and devastating surge of power, but they are there.”

He clapped his hands together. “I want you in groups of two,” he added. “Pair up, now.”

Emily glanced around the room. The Gorgon and Melissa were already together; Pandora seemed to have teamed up with Mathis, while Johan and Cirroc were sharing a desk. She sighed, inwardly, as it became clear she was partnered with Prunella by default. The only consolation was that Prunella didn’t seem any happier about it than Emily herself.

“Pair up,” Professor Lombardi repeated, impatiently. “And then follow me.”

He nodded towards the nearest wall, which lifted up to reveal a giant spellchamber. Emily could sense dozens—hundreds—of protective spells crawling through the air as Professor Lombardi led them into the chamber. There were chalk drawings on the stone floor, all identical: a circle, surrounded by a dozen carefully-drawn runes. Emily had memorized enough runes, over the last few years, to pick out the ones for generating light. The ritual, it seemed, was meant to light up the room.

You need to learn to walk before you can run, she thought. And no one here knows I’ve done this before.

“This chamber is specifically designed to cope with accidental discharges,” Professor Lombardi informed them. “However, there are still a number of basic precautions you need to remember. In particular, do not enter a circle once the ritual is underway and do not leave a circle until the ritual is completed. You would be stepping out into a maelstrom and quite probably killed or warped. If matters go wrong, here, just stop the ritual and allow the wards to cope with the excess magic. Any questions?”

Melissa stuck up a hand. “What happens if we’re using a ritual outside this chamber?”

Professor Lombardi eyed her suspiciously. “You cast a spell and pray to all the gods that the spell will soak up the magic before it goes wild,” he said. “And I should tell you that it only works about a third of the time. Losing control of a ritual can be disastrous.”

He jabbed a finger at the first circle. “This is perhaps the most simplistic ritual working there is,” he added. “All you really have to do is extrude a little magic and let the runes shape and direct it for you. There’s nothing too complex in the runic pattern, but you need to check and recheck it before you step into the circle. A mistake now would be unpleasant, to say the least; a mistake with a more dangerous ritual would be catastrophic. Choose a circle, then check the runes.”

Emily glanced at Prunella, then picked a chalk circle at random and walked over to check the runes. They looked correct, from what she’d been taught; indeed, there was a neatness about them that Lady Barb’s work had lacked. She forced herself to check everything, nodding at Prunella to do the same, and smiled in relief when she found nothing wrong...

“Professor,” Cirroc said, carefully. “This rune is reversed.”

“Correct,” Professor Lombardi said. He sounded pleased. “Well spotted.”

He held out a piece of chalk. A trap, Emily realized as Cirroc rubbed out the reversed rune, carefully wiped away the dust and redrew it in the correct orientation. Professor Lombardi had deliberately left a mistake in the runic pattern, just to see who was careful enough to check every rune—and brave enough to tell the tutor that he’d made a mistake. She looked back at her circle and rechecked it, but found nothing wrong. Professor Lombardi stalked over to them, nodded curtly and then strode away. Clearly, only one circle had been drawn incorrectly.

“We’d better make a habit of checking the circles every time,” Emily said. She was sure Professor Lombardi wouldn’t stop with just one test of their reasoning skills. “The next one to get a dummy might be us.”

Prunella nodded. She looked nervous, Emily noted, even though she’d never seen Prunella nervous before. But then, Emily had been nervous too, the first time she’d used a ritual—and she’d had Lady Barb helping her. Professor Lombardi was responsible for twelve students, divided out into six pairings. She wished, again, that someone closer to her had returned to Whitehall for the final two years.

“Step into the circles and sit down,” Professor Lombardi ordered. “Do not attempt to start the working until I tell you to begin.”

Emily felt a tingle in the air as she stepped over the chalk circle, careful not to step on the markings or smudge the runes, then sat down and crossed her legs. Touching the chalk, even the inner circle, could be dangerous. It would, at the very least, make the ritual unworkable; she sighed, then inched forward until there was a space between her and the chalk. If she had to move backwards suddenly, she told herself, she wouldn’t thrust her head into the wild magic.

Prunella sat right at the edge, seemingly unwilling to move. Emily hesitated, then waved her forward until their knees were practically touching as Professor Lombardi stalked from circle to circle, examining their pose and positions. She couldn’t help feeling nervous too, even though she had taken part in a ritual once before. Lady Barb and she had been alone, after all, and she’d allowed the older woman to lead her through the working. Here, she was the more experienced magician. It was a worrying thought.

“Join hands,” Professor Lombardi ordered. “And feel the magic within you.”

Emily blinked in shock. This was nothing like the ritual Lady Barb had shown her. Had she been taught a more advanced ritual? Or had she merely been shown how to extrude magic and little else? God knew she used the spell for her batteries, draining magic into them for later use. She forced herself to reach out to Prunella and blinked in surprise as Prunella drew back, seemingly reluctant to touch Emily’s hands.

“Join hands,” Professor Lombardi repeated, tartly. “Reach inside and feel the magic within you.”

Prunella eyes were wide with fear as she touched Emily’s hand. Emily recalled Lady Barb’s warnings—that there were some magicians who could never commit themselves to rituals—and forced herself to relax, even though she’d never known Prunella to be scared of anything. But then, she barely knew the girl. It wasn’t as if they’d ever had past disagreements or misunderstandings.

She closed her eyes, feeling the magic pulsing within her. It seemed to ebb and flow with her heartbeats, each one sending a surge of magic though her body that slowly faded back into her reserves. She’d been careful to expend some of her magic in the spellchamber before breakfast, but her reserves had already regenerated themselves. Master Grey would have hated knowing that he’d accidentally made her more powerful, yet that was exactly what he’d done.

“You should also be able to feel your partner’s magic,” Professor Lombardi said. “Do not try to reach for it, just sense its presence.”

Emily heard Prunella gasp in shock, but ignored her. Her eyes were still closed, yet she could sense Prunella’s magic boiling through the air. It was strong, alright, but far weaker than hers. Or was that just her imagination? Her magic pulsed so loudly that it was hard to hear anything beyond it. Even touching Prunella’s fingertips, Emily had trouble sensing where her magic ended and Prunella’s began.

“Concentrate a little magic in your fingertips, then thrust it up to merge with your partner’s magic,” Professor Lombardi ordered. “Count down from five before, just so you know when to extrude the magic.”

Emily nodded. She focused her mind—now, extruding magic was almost second nature—and counted down from five. Magic flared in her fingertips as she pushed it forward, then swore out loud as Prunella jerked her fingers back. She tried to get a grip on the magic before it surged upwards, but it was too late. Moments later, the room turned white, even though her eyes were firmly closed. The magic had found the runes and triggered the working...

Prunella groaned as the light faded. Emily’s eyes snapped open. Prunella was leaning away from her, sweat staining her forehead and her eyes flickering madly. Her mouth was opening and closing like a fish; Emily started forward, only to realize that her presence was making matters worse. Prunella... no one, not even Hodge, had stared at her with so much horror.

“Interesting,” Professor Lombardi said, striding over. “Get a grip on yourself, young lady.”

“She’s upset,” Emily protested. “She...”

“Of course she’s upset,” Professor Lombardi said. His voice was icy cold. “But do you really imagine it gets any easier from here?”

“I’m sorry,” Prunella said. Her entire body shook like a leaf. “I just... I just couldn’t do it.”

“Not an uncommon reaction,” Professor Lombardi said. “Was there any reason you couldn’t do it?”

Prunella shook her head, desperately. Emily watched, unsure what to say or do. Had she somehow scared the older girl? If Prunella had sensed Emily’s power reserves, would it have frightened her? Perhaps it would. Lady Barb had warned her not to talk about her enhanced reserves, pointing out that it would make her fellow students jealous. She hadn’t suggested that it would also scare people, but in hindsight it was far too clear.

“The circle has been broken,” Professor Lombardi said. He jabbed a finger at where Prunella was sitting. “And you backed into it. That could have hurt you badly.”

Emily swallowed. The chalk had turned to ash. If it had been charged when Prunella had inched away, she might have been killed...

“Remain behind, after class,” Professor Lombardi ordered. He brushed the ash away with a simple spell. “You were not the only person to have problems.”

But the only one to have such a bad reaction, Emily thought. Melissa looked starkly pale and the Gorgon had gone a sickly yellow color, but neither of them had reacted as badly as Prunella. Why?

“We will be spending the next two weeks mastering the art of sharing mana,” Professor Lombardi informed them. “You will be unable to progress, ritually, until you master the secret. I’m afraid it can take quite some time to master.”

He glanced at the clock. “Class dismissed.”

Emily glanced at Prunella, who had barely moved from where she’d been sitting, then rose and headed for the door. The others followed her, all looking tired and worn. No wonder Professor Lombardi’s class was the last, Emily thought, recalling just how weak she’d felt after her first ritual. She doubted any of them were in a mood to enjoy being released from class twenty minutes early.

“That was interesting,” the Gorgon said, falling into step beside Emily. Her face was slowly returning to normal. “But what happened to Prunella?”

Melissa snorted as she walked up behind them. “Isn’t it obvious,” she said. “She’s scared.”

“I was nervous too,” Emily said. “Professor Lombardi said it was common.”

“You misunderstand,” Melissa said, bluntly. She frowned as Emily stopped and turned to face her. “She’s scared of you. I dare say there aren’t many students who would willingly agree to render themselves defenseless in front of you.”

Emily stared at her. Prunella had always struck her as tough. “She’s scared of me?”

“Of course she is,” the Gorgon said. She sounded oddly amused. “You’re the one who killed a tutor.”

And that, Emily realized numbly, must be how the Gorgon felt, all the time.

Chapter Twelve

MELISSA HAD BEEN RIGHT, EMILY DISCOVERED over the next two days. Apart from Caleb, who didn’t treat her any differently from when they’d started dating, most of the students gave her a wide berth. Even the Gorgon preferred to sit next to Melissa, although Emily found it hard to begrudge two outcasts their friendship. It wasn’t just that they weren’t speaking to her—she hadn’t really spoken to many students apart from Alassa and Imaiqah—it was that they were treating her as a bomb that might explode at any second. She might have liked such a reputation on Earth, but at Whitehall she merely found it depressing. Teamwork was going to be impossible if everyone was too scared to work with her.

“People are idiots,” Cabiria said, when Emily complained to her. She didn’t seem inclined to treat Emily any differently either. But then, they’d had no dealings before beginning Fifth Year. “You’re not actually a monster.”

“I know that,” Emily muttered.

She scowled down at her hands, feeling helpless and frustrated. How many of the students at Whitehall owed her their lives? It had been her who’d killed Shadye, her who had deduced the nature of the Mimic, her who had identified the true cause of the problems plaguing Whitehall... and her who had been willing to sacrifice everything to save the school. She’d been in trouble before, of course, but this was worse. Instead of spells being hurled in her direction every time she turned her back, the students scuttled away from her as soon as she wasn’t looking. It was... it was infuriating.

A sharp knock on the door made her look up. “Come in!”

Madame Rosalinda opened the door and peered inside. “Emily,” she said. “Professor Locke would like to see you in his classroom.”

Emily resisted the urge to pretend it wasn’t an order, no matter how it was phrased. She was a probationary student. Professor Locke could demand her presence at midnight, if he wished, or insist on her dancing attendance on him at all hours. It could have been a great deal worse. Shaking her head, she stood and grabbed a pair of books she wanted to return to the library. If nothing else, she could return them after seeing what Professor Locke wanted.

“He didn’t summon me,” Cabiria said. “Maybe it’s nothing to do with us.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” Emily said. “But I’d better go find out.”

Classes were just coming to an end as she made her way to Professor Locke’s classroom; younger students headed back to their dorms while older students hurried down to the gates, hoping to catch a carriage down to Dragon’s Den. Emily rather doubted they’d keep doing that, as their workload grew heavier and heavier; indeed, she didn’t have the time to go herself until Friday. She hadn’t heard anything back from Mistress Danielle, yet, but she was looking forward to dinner with Caleb...

Students were spilling out of the history classroom as she approached, including several she recognized from her group. Jasmine waved shyly at her; Lillian, beside Jasmine, looked as if she desperately wanted to hide behind her friend. Emily hoped they were friends, that they would stay friends. Jasmine could use someone to introduce her to the magical community and Lillian needed someone to help her get out of her shell.

But it’s never that easy, Emily thought, as she tapped on the classroom door. I never really climbed out of mine.

She pushed memories of well-meaning but incompetent school counselors out of her head as Professor Locke beckoned her into the room. A large map of the Allied Lands hung on one wall, which she recalled from her own lessons; the other walls showed portraits of famous people from history and a handful of detailed—and highly unrealistic—battle scenes. The painting of a famous sorceress who stopped an entire army was quite artistic, according to Lady Barb, but no one in their right mind would go to war wearing a chainmail bikini. It would be quite thoroughly uncomfortable.

“Ah, Emily,” Professor Locke said. “I have a small problem which I hope you will help me resolve.”

Emily frowned. “A small problem?”

“A small problem,” Professor Locke confirmed. “Adana of House Ashworth did not attend class.”

“Oh,” Emily said.

She bit down the response that came to mind. Her job as mentor didn’t include forcing students to go to class on time. If they didn’t develop the right study habits, she’d been told at the start, they would fail their exams and—eventually—be told they could not continue at Whitehall. Adana, no doubt, considered history to be an unimportant class. She’d probably been taught all the history her family considered important long before she’d been sent to Whitehall.

“I want you to find out why she skipped class and deal with it,” Professor Locke said. He cocked his head, consulting the wards. “Adana is in Classroom 7/17.”

Emily blinked in surprise. Classroom 7/17 was disused, like most of the other classrooms on the seventh level. Adana had no business being there, unless she was playing hide and seek with her friends. God knew Frieda and her friends had turned some of the disused levels into their own playing field over the last couple of years. They’d probably keep doing it too, unless they found themselves caught up in schoolwork. Perhaps Adana had merely started young.

“I’ll see to it, sir,” she said. “Do you want me to send her back to you?”

“No,” Professor Locke said. He shrugged. “I want you to do as you see fit.”

Emily nodded, then headed for the stairwell. The school grew quieter as she strode up the stairs, even though she’d expected to run into a gaggle of students playing games. She tensed, despite herself, as she reached the seventh level and hurried down the corridor. The air was cold and silent. Someone—a long time ago—had stripped all personality from the level. Even the portraits had been taken down and removed.

The school must have been bigger, once upon a time, Emily thought. Even with pocket dimensions and TARDIS-like structure, there’s far more space than anyone needs.

She stopped outside Classroom 7/17 and peered inside. The room was cold and empty, dust lying on abandoned chairs and tables. Someone had removed everything apart from the basics, making it impossible to tell what the classroom had originally been used to teach. She glanced down and saw footprints making their way in and out of the classroom, leading towards a large wooden cupboard. A nasty thought ran through her mind as she hurried towards the cupboard and threw it open. A frog jumped out and hopped away at terrifying speed.

“Stop,” she shouted, spinning around. “I can’t undo the spell if you keep moving!”

The frog—Adana, she thought coldly—stopped and turned to face her. Emily felt a wave of anger, mixed with relief. At least she’d found the girl. Adana the frog peered up at her with disturbingly human eyes. Emily rested a finger against her warty back, carefully feeling out the spell. It wasn’t a standard prank, she noted immediately. The spellwork was far too advanced for that. Indeed, Adana had had very little hope of breaking the spell from the inside, even if she hadn’t been trapped in the cupboard. It was designed to practically make it impossible to cast the counterspell.

“It’s all right,” she said, as comfortingly as she could. “I can break the spell...”

There was a flash of light. Emily leaned backwards as the frog swelled, slowly morphing back into Adana. The younger girl looked pale, her eyes wide and staring; Emily couldn’t help thinking of Prunella, even as she put out a hand to steady Adana. Being a frog was quite bad enough, even without being unable to break the spell and being trapped in a dark cupboard. Emily didn’t want to think about what would have happened if the spell had worn off while Adana was trapped.

“Take a deep breath,” she advised. Adana would be used to being transfigured, surely? Lady Barb had told her that many magician families often transfigured their children randomly, just so the children became used to living in a different form. Fulvia had probably considered it to be a suitable punishment for real or imagined misdeeds. “Concentrate on your breathing.”

She forced herself to remain calm, despite her growing anger. Whoever had done this needed to pay. Adana hadn’t deserved to be tormented, had she? And even if she had, she didn’t deserve the prospect of a very messy death when the spell wore off. If she’d realized what would happen, she might well have been traumatized by the experience.

“I... I thank you,” Adana managed. “I thought I was going to be trapped in there forever.”

Emily scowled. Professor Locke had used the wards to find Adana, but only because she’d missed his class. If he hadn’t, no one would have known Adana was actually missing until the following morning, when she would have skipped breakfast and her early classes. It wasn’t as if Madame Razz would have looked for her, not when she’d assume Adana was merely trying to sneak around the school. In hindsight, she made a mental note to raise the issue with Aloha. Perhaps the mentors should quietly check on where their charges were before going to bed.

“You’re welcome,” she said, gently. “Who did this to you?”

Adana paled. “I...”

“You can tell me,” Emily said. She knew the code, she knew that younger students were supposed to handle such matters themselves, but this was no prank. Adana could have been killed! She wasn’t even sure what the wards would have done, if the spell had started to wear off. God knew she’d come far too close to killing Alassa without a flicker of intervention from the wards. “I need to know.”

“... Melissa,” Adana said.

Emily stared. Melissa?

She shook her head, firmly. “Melissa would not be stupid enough to pick a fight with a first year student,” she snapped. Melissa wasn’t stupid. “She’d run the risk of being expelled.”

“She hates me,” Adana said. “She...”

“She would not want to be expelled,” Emily pointed out, sharply. Melissa wanted to be a Healer. She’d never be able to reach her goal if she was expelled from Whitehall. No one would defend her for picking on a younger student. “If you must tell a lie, Adana, tell a convincing one.”

Adana looked down at the dusty floor. “Tiega,” she whispered. “It was her.”

That, Emily conceded, was far more believable. Tiega’s family was magical. It was quite possible that she’d learned the transfiguration spell for self-defense. Given its power, it might well be effective against a student one or two years above her, particularly with the advantage of surprise. She had no idea just how powerful Tiega was, but if she’d been taught the basics by her family she was probably the most capable student in First Year.

“I see,” she said. It was a shame she didn’t dare use a truth spell. “Why?”

“We went back to our bedroom after lunch,” Adana said. She started to shake again. “And... and we got into a fight and she turned me into a frog and I couldn’t turn myself back and...”

“Take a breath,” Emily advised, dryly. The first time she’d been transfigured, she recalled, it had been a nasty shock too. Perhaps the spell had flaws, flaws that allowed elements of the frog’s mind to infect the human soul. She would have to get the spellwork off Tiega and take it apart, piece by piece, just to check. “You’ll have to work on your defenses.”

She sighed, inwardly. If Tiega could do that to Adana, what could she do to the girls who didn’t have any prior magical education? She was rooming with Jasmine as well as Adana, Emily recalled. The thought of her bullying the singer was horrific. But then, Jasmine probably did have some knowledge from the Travellers...

So did Adana, Emily reminded herself. And look what that got her.

She gently removed her hand from Adana’s shoulder. “Go to the kitchens and get some water,” she advised. “And then I suggest you write a formal note of apology to Professor Locke for missing his class. He was not pleased.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Adana protested.

“I know,” Emily said. “But you need to write the note anyway. It’s good manners.”

She escorted Adana to the fourth level before pointing her onwards to the kitchens. Adana shouldn’t have any problems getting a glass of water, if nothing else. Emily shook her head as the younger girl hurried on her way, then took a deep breath to center herself. She hated bullies. The urge to do something horrific to Tiega was almost overpowering. And yet, she knew she didn’t dare lose control.

I would be no better than her, she thought, as she entered the dorms. And Gordian would use it as an excuse to expel me.

The doors had been charmed to allow the mentors to enter, assuming there was a student already present in the room. Emily felt a flicker of déjà vu as she stepped into the room, remembering what it had been like to share such a room with two other students. She’d managed to get along with all of them, after a few prickly moments. Not everyone had been so lucky.

Tiega sat on her bed, reading a book. There was a resigned expression on her face as she looked up at Emily, as if she knew she was in trouble. Emily glanced at the other two beds—to her relief, they were both empty—and then walked over to Tiega. The younger girl put her book on the bedside table and crossed her arms under her breasts. Up close, she looked strikingly ugly. Emily couldn’t help feeling a flicker of sympathy for her, despite her anger. Tiega looked worse—far worse—than some of the mountain women she’d met in the Cairngorms.

“You could have killed Adana,” Emily said, flatly. She resisted the urge to sit down next to the younger girl. “You certainly caused her to miss a class, which could have landed her in hot water. Why?”

Tiega looked sullen. “Why do you care?”

“Because it’s my job to care,” Emily said, after a moment. “I’m here to help you.”

“No one cares about me,” Tiega said. She looked down at the carpeted floor. “You don’t care about me any more than my parents.”

Emily sighed. “I do care,” she said. She’d looked up House Worldweaver in the library, but there had been very little in the record books. The family hadn’t particularly distinguished itself in living memory. Tiega was, apparently, the youngest in her parent’s brood. “I’m here to help.”

“There’s no point,” Tiega said. “Look at me!”

“You cast a spell that should have been out of your reach for at least two years,” Emily pointed out, firmly. “I dare say you have the makings of a very powerful magician.”

“My family doesn’t think that way,” Tiega said.

“Then they’re being foolish,” Emily said. “Now, why did you cast the spell on Adana?”

“She was going on and on about her family,” Tiega said. “And about how she was going to be the Matriarch of House Ashworth one day. And then she called me an ugly troll half-breed.”

Emily winced. There were few worse insults in the Nameless World than suggesting that someone was a half-human hybrid. If there were people who taunted the Gorgon for being part of a twisted off-shoot of humanity... she shook her head in some irritation. No doubt Adana had played a role in her own downfall. Implying that Tiega’s father—or mother—had slept with a troll... for an adult, that would be practically an invitation to duel.

But that doesn’t excuse what Tiega did either, she thought.

She glanced at the other two beds. “What happened to Jasmine?”

“I asked her to leave me alone,” Tiega said. “I just... I just wanted to be alone.”

“This would be after you transformed Adana and concealed her,” Emily said. “After classes too, right?”

“Yeah,” Tiega said.

Emily rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to issue punishments of any kind, but she knew her duty. Tiega had crossed the line when she’d made Adana miss class and there was no escaping it. “You know I can’t let you get away with this?”

“I know,” Tiega said. The bitterness in her voice shocked Emily. “My parents never let me get away with anything either.”

“Report to the Warden,” Emily said, tiredly. She’d feel guilty for hours, afterwards, yet there was no choice. “I believe Adana has suffered enough, but I will have a stern talk with her anyway.”

Tiega snorted, rudely.

“This Saturday, we’ll all learn some spells,” Emily added, ignoring the snort. If nothing else, teaching the younger girls how to defend themselves would be interesting. She’d taught Frieda a few tricks back in Mountaintop. “And maybe we can work on getting you and Adana to get along.”

She stepped backwards. She’d have to read Adana the riot act too, although she had the feeling Adana had learned her lesson. There were taunts you didn’t issue unless you wanted a fight. Tiega rose, reluctance clearly written in her movements. Emily didn’t blame her.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Tiega said. “No one does.”

“I think you have talent,” Emily told her, firmly. She’d make sure to go through Tiega’s spell with her on Saturday. “And it’s high time you learned to use it.”

Chapter Thirteen

“EMILY,” ALOHA SAID, THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON. “Do you have a moment?”

Emily sighed. She’d just endured another ritual magic lesson that had been even less productive, if that was possible, than the first lesson and all she really wanted was to get a nap before she went for dinner. The only good news was that she’d picked up a letter from the mailbox when she’d entered the dorms, one she wanted to read as soon as possible. But she had the feeling that Aloha wasn’t inclined to take no for an answer.

She nodded curtly, then pressed her hand against the door and invited Aloha to step into her bedroom. Thankfully, Cabiria was gone. She hadn’t raised any objections to Caleb visiting, but the Head Girl was a different matter.

She’s probably in the library, Emily thought. Cabiria spent more time there than Emily did, which Emily would have sworn was impossible. Reading every book on the shelves.

She closed the door, then motioned for Aloha to take the chair while she sat on the bed and waited. The Head Girl looked tired, as if she was nursing a headache. Emily wasn’t too surprised. Aloha was in her final year of schooling and really shouldn’t be wasting her time supervising the mentorship program, as well as her other duties. But if she knew Aloha, there was no way she would consider giving up any of her responsibilities. She’d carry on until she graduated—or until she collapsed.

Aloha met her eyes. “What happened yesterday?”

Emily wasn’t surprised. There hadn’t been anything else, as far as she knew, that might demand Aloha’s attention. She was supervising the whole program, after all; she’d probably noted Adana missing a class and Tiega visiting the Warden. It was quite possible that she’d even know what was going on before Emily herself, although in that case Emily would have a few choice words for her. Adana could have been seriously injured—or killed—if the spell had worn off at the wrong time.

“Adana called Tiega something unforgivable,” Emily said, bluntly. “Tiega turned her into a frog and locked her in a cupboard on the seventh level. I dealt with it.”

She sighed. She’d had a long discussion with Adana after dinner, telling the younger girl that insulting someone’s family was almost certain to start a fight. Adana had offered a number of excuses, but Emily hadn’t been in the mood to hear them. There were no excuses, as far as she was concerned, for such insults. Besides, if Adana hadn’t learnt her lesson from spending several hours as a frog, she was probably past redemption anyway.

“So you did,” Aloha agreed. “Do you think you did the right thing?”

Emily scowled at her. “Do you think there was a better choice?”

“I need your answer,” Aloha said.

“I hate bullies,” Emily said, sharply. “And both of them acted badly.”

“That’s what happens,” Aloha said. “And they have to learn to defend themselves.”

“I would have said that Tiega defended herself very well,” Emily snapped. “You know, if she hadn’t done something that might have got another student killed.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Aloha said.

Emily flushed. “That isn’t the same and you know it.”

“Not quite,” Aloha said. “But you did want to hurt someone badly.”

“I know my mistakes,” Emily said. She forced herself to calm down, somehow. “Are you about to tell me that I did the wrong thing?”

“You might be, if you start teaching them more spells,” Aloha said. “They do have to figure out how to learn on their own.”

“I’m not going to force them to learn,” Emily said. “Right now, though, they really need the training.”

“Which they can find in the library, same as you did,” Aloha said.

Emily took a breath. “Are you ordering me not to teach them some skills they will need in the future?”

“No,” Aloha said. She didn’t look angry, but there was an edge to her voice that Emily didn’t like. “I’m ordering you to be careful what you teach them.”

“I’m not going to teach them anything forbidden,” Emily said. “Just basic defensive spells.”

“And what will happen,” Aloha asked, “when your students are ahead of everyone else?”

“I thought the others can learn in the library,” Emily said. She resisted—barely—the urge to stick out her tongue. “If, of course, their mentors are unwilling to teach them.”

Emily sighed. “Perhaps we should make it a more formal activity,” she added, after a moment of thought. “Two or three of the mentors could host a class for the newcomers...”

“Which might well get us into trouble,” Aloha said. “If we accidentally give the newcomers something to unlearn...”

Emily rolled her eyes. Prank spells didn’t really give the students anything to learn, let alone unlearn. They were carefully designed to be irritating, but ultimately harmless... assuming, of course, they were cast on a magician. A mundane who was turned into a frog had very little chance of breaking the spell, regardless of which spell was used. One of the reasons so many magical students were herded into schools was to keep them away from everyone else.

“I’ll stick to the very basics,” she said, finally. “The spells I learned in First Year myself.”

“Make sure of it,” Aloha said. “And remember, you’re going to be tutoring six students at a time.”

Emily nodded in glum agreement. She’d taught Frieda, of course, but that had been one on one—and Frieda had been very willing to learn. She had no idea if that was true of her students, although after a few weeks at Whitehall the newborn magicians would have very good reason to learn, if they hadn’t managed to pick up some spells on their own. By then, Professor Lombardi would have made sure to hammer some of the basics into their heads...

And rapped their palms a few times, she thought, ruefully. Professor Lombardi had no tolerance for mistakes. Better that than trying to cast a faulty spell.

Aloha shrugged. “Make sure you have time to listen to their other problems,” she added, “but remember—you can’t fix every one of their problems. They have to learn to cope with them themselves.”

Emily sighed. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for Tiega. There were hundreds of spells the younger girl could use to improve her appearance, but it was too late to wear a glamour to school. She had to wonder just how neglectful Tiega’s parents were, in refusing to do anything about her appearance... if, indeed, there was anything they could do about her appearance. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was some inhuman blood in Tiega’s background—or perhaps it was the result of a curse. If someone had cursed Tiega at a very young age...

Or maybe she was just unlucky, Emily thought. It doesn’t have to be a curse.

Aloha rose. “Be careful,” she said, as she headed for the door. “You could mess up their lives if you taught them the wrong thing.”

Emily looked at her. “Then why are you appointing any mentors?”

“Because too many students come to Whitehall with incomplete briefings,” Aloha said, tiredly. “How many students got hurt over the past twenty years because they didn’t know the dangers, let alone realize when they were getting into trouble?”

She nodded once, then walked out of the door, closing it firmly behind her. Emily stared at where she’d been for a long moment, shaking her head in dismay. On one hand, she couldn’t help agreeing with Gordian; mentoring younger students might prevent a whole string of near-disasters. But on the other, if there were real prospects for the mentors hampering the young students...

Gordian wants to make changes, she thought, as she picked up the letter from her desk and pressed her palm against the charm holding it closed. And not all of those changes can be perfectly implemented. He needs to learn what works and what doesn’t.

The charm faded away; she tore the letter open and removed a sheet of paper, reading it quickly. It was from Mistress Danielle, confirming that she would be able to meet Emily in Dragon’s Den, in the early afternoon. There was no suggestion she might be doing anything else, Emily noted; she honestly wasn’t sure what Mistress Danielle had been doing with herself, after Master Grey’s death. As a trained and experienced Mediator, she might be called back on active service at any time.

She read the letter twice, noting the instructions—Mistress Danielle apparently wanted to meet in an apartment she’d rented—then reached for a sheet of paper and hastily scribbled out a reply. She’d have to create a chat parchment for Mistress Danielle, Emily thought; she was far too used to instant communication. Sending letters seemed so old-fashioned. But there was no other way to ensure a certain degree of privacy.

There was a knock on the door as she finished folding up the letter. “Come in!”

The door opened. She looked up as Caleb stepped into the room. “How was class?”

“Bad,” Emily said. She rubbed her forehead. “I just can’t get the rituals to work properly.”

Caleb met her eyes. “They still don’t trust you?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Emily said. “Even the Gorgon had problems.”

“It’s not trust so much as an inability to relax and let the magic flow,” Caleb said, as he sat down on the bed. She’d discussed the problem with him, after remembering that he knew a little about ritual magics himself. “If your reserves are so much greater than theirs, they’re going to find it hard to relax next to you.”

“I don’t want to hurt them,” Emily said, frustrated.

“Accidents happen,” Caleb said, bluntly. He lowered his voice. “Do you want to practice with me?”

Emily shook her head, quickly. Quite apart from the risk of getting caught and expelled—which could be avoided if they practiced in her house, rather than the school—she wasn’t sure she wanted to lower her defenses that far in front of him. It was a little like being naked.

“I can extrude the magic,” she said, frustrated. “I just can’t get them to work with me long enough to actually do anything with it!”

“You could charge the runes yourself,” Caleb said. “But Lombardi would catch on, wouldn’t he?”

Emily nodded. She wasn’t sure how old Professor Lombardi actually was, but she hadn’t met a spell he couldn’t unravel. He’d accuse her of cheating—and she would be cheating—and then dismiss her from the class. Or, perhaps, tell her there were easier and less magic-intensive ways to produce light. And he’d be right, again.

Caleb leaned in to give her a kiss. “There is another possibility,” he said, as he drew back slowly. “Aloha would have taken ritual magic, wouldn’t she?”

“I’m not sure,” Emily said, after a moment. She had no idea what Aloha wanted to do with her life, but ritual magic was a useful skill to have. And she would have definitely needed it if she wanted to apprentice under Master Grey. “I think she must have.”

“Then ask her to partner with you,” Caleb suggested. “She might just be experienced enough to do it even when working with you.”

Emily stared at him. It wasn’t a bad idea, she had to admit; indeed, she could ask for one of the tutors to work the ritual with her. But she would have to get used to working with her classmates eventually... and what if Aloha said no? It wasn’t as if she could be forced to give up her time to help Emily learn. God alone knew what she was doing when Emily was supposed to have Ritual Magic.

“I could try,” she mused. “But what if she’s busy?”

“You’ll never know unless you ask,” Caleb pointed out. He leaned in to give her another kiss, his lips lingering on hers for a long second. Emily was too worried about her classes to lean into the kiss. “And if she’s busy then, you might be able to convince her to practice with you later.”

Emily’s heart fell. “Professor Lombardi forbade practicing outside of class,” she reminded him, bitterly. “She’ll refuse...”

“No, I mean ask Lombardi to supervise you,” Caleb said. “The worst he can do, if you ask ahead of time, is refuse.”

The worst he can do is have me expelled, Emily thought. But she had to admit Caleb had a point. Professor Lombardi was bound to have sensed the problem, even if he hadn’t found a solution beyond encouraging her partners to cope with the ritual. If I ask him first, he can say no without doing anything else.

“I suppose,” she said.

“You could ask through Master Tor,” Caleb said, thoughtfully. “He is supposed to be supervising us. He’d have access to your grades; he’d know you were failing the class.”

Emily ground her teeth together in frustration. She could draw the runic patterns; not easily, perhaps, but she could do it. She’d learned enough in the last four years to calculate the result of each pattern they were shown, then modify them to carry the mana long enough to work the spell. And yet, all of that was worthless without the ability to start a ritual and complete it successfully. She was in danger of failing through no fault of her own!

“I’d sooner ask Professor Lombardi directly,” Emily said. She wasn’t sure how Master Tor would react, but if he forbade her to ask for a stronger partner... she wouldn’t be able to take it to Professor Lombardi. “The worst he can do is say no.”

“Words of a genius,” Caleb teased.

“More like a smart-ass,” Emily said. She reached for a pillow and threatened to hit him with it. “But you’re right.”

Caleb preened. “Of course,” he said. “What else would I be?”

Emily nodded to the letter on the desk. “I need to meet Mistress Danielle on Friday, but otherwise... we should have a half-day at Dragon’s Den. Do you mind if I leave you alone long enough to see her?”

Caleb looked hurt, his face twisting into a momentary scowl, but he nodded slowly. “She won’t want to see me too,” he said, reluctantly. “Just don’t let her sucker you into starting immediately.”

“I won’t,” Emily promised. “And afterwards...”

She frowned. “Would you let me teleport you there?”

“I trust you,” Caleb said. “But wouldn’t it tire you out before you meet her?”

Emily cursed. She should have thought of that. She’d been drained after her first successful teleport, particularly after punching though a number of wards before making her escape. Alassa had told her, afterwards, that Jade had been torn between being impressed with her power and furious at the mess she’d made of his work. Emily suspected, privately, that if Jade hadn’t needed to protect the entire castle, trying to teleport out would have proved a terminal mistake.

“Drat,” she said.

“Take a carriage,” Caleb said. He winked at her. “You should be able to get a drink there before you go to meet her. I’ll go source some more supplies for our project, then meet you afterwards.”

Emily smiled in relief. “That would be good,” she said. She met his eyes. “I wish we had more time.”

“Me too,” Caleb said. “We can put off starting our next step for a month or two, but after that we have to get working.”

“We really should get working sooner,” Emily said. She scowled as she realized she might just have over-committed herself. If she needed longer than a month to work with the younger students, she wasn’t sure where she’d find the time to work on the joint project with Caleb. “But I don’t know where we’ll find the time.”

“Maybe Professor Locke’s plan will go splat,” Caleb said. She’d told him enough about it for him to offer some good advice. “And then your Sundays will be free.”

“He’ll just find something else for me to do,” Emily predicted. “I won’t get away that easily.”

Caleb leaned forward and kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her to bring her into a hug. Emily felt her heart began to pound harder as his hands stroked her back, gently encouraging her to relax. She kissed him back, feeling torn between pushing it further and drawing back. His kisses were growing harder, more demanding...

The door opened. Emily jumped back, in shock, as Cabiria stepped into the room.

“Put up a privacy ward,” she suggested, as Emily and Caleb stared at her accusingly. “Or go to his room.”

“We can’t,” Caleb said. He sounded more than a little embarrassed. “Cirroc had a nasty fight with his girlfriend—his ex—and now he’s fighting off the effects of a very nasty hex.”

Emily smiled. She had a feeling she knew which one. Imaiqah had used it once or twice, on a pair of boyfriends who refused to recognize that the relationship was over. It was technically forbidden, but she doubted any of the victims dared go to a tutor to have the spell removed. Quite apart from the embarrassment, they’d have to answer some very searching questions afterwards. But the hex did no lasting harm, if it was allowed to fade away on its own.

“Poor him,” Cabiria said, crossly. She glanced at Emily. “You’d better be certain to teach that hex to your students. You never know who might want to take advantage of them.”

“Good idea,” Emily agreed. She rose. Cabiria might say she didn’t mind having Caleb in the room, but Emily was embarrassed to kiss him in front of her. They could go for a walk instead, if Caleb’s room was off-limits. “I dread to imagine what they’d do with it.”

“So does everyone else,” Cabiria said. “But you should find teaching them the spell fun.”

Chapter Fourteen

“YOU LOOK GOOD,” CALEB SAID, AS he met her in the courtyard. “Are you dressing to impress?”

Emily shrugged. She’d thought hard about what to wear when she met Mistress Danielle; school robes would remind the older woman that Emily was still a student, while one of her long dresses would make her look insincere about lessons. Eventually, she’d settled on a comfortable working outfit: a loose shirt, trousers and shoes. It wasn’t what she would have preferred to wear, but it would have to suffice.

Unless Mistress Danielle would prefer I wore something else, she thought, looking Caleb up and down. He’d simply not bothered to change out of his school robes. On Earth, it would have made him look stupid, but it wasn’t socially awkward on the Nameless World. And he looks good in them.

“I think there’s no point in trying to impress her,” Emily said, as she took his arm and led him towards the coaches. “She’s a combat sorceress...”

“And you killed the combat sorcerer who trained her,” Caleb pointed out, dryly. “She’ll be very impressed.”

“She wasn’t pleased about her role in the duel,” Emily recalled. They walked towards the carriages, following Cirroc and a blonde-haired girl who clung to his arm. Master Tor stood beside the nearest carriage, making notes on a piece of paper. “I think she thought he was doing the wrong thing.”

“He was,” Caleb said. “I...”

“Emily,” Master Tor said, bluntly. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Emily blinked. “Dragon’s Den,” she said, puzzled. For a moment, she wondered if Gordian had been reading her mail and decided she wasn’t going to have private lessons. “I don’t have anything this afternoon...”

“No, you don’t,” Master Tor agreed. “But do you have permission from Professor Locke to leave the grounds?”

“... No,” Emily said. She’d briefly considered lying, but Master Tor would probably have checked with Professor Locke, landing her in hot water when she returned to the school. “I didn’t realize I needed it.”

“You do,” Master Tor said, bluntly. He cocked his head to one side. “He’s in his office. I suggest you go ask him now, before the carriages leave.”

Emily felt a hot flash of embarrassment, followed by rage, as several of the students turned to look at her. Even if only one carriage was held back long enough for her to find Professor Locke and ask his permission, she would be delaying their visit to Dragon’s Den by at least ten minutes, perhaps longer. And they’d blame her...

“I’ll hold the carriage,” Caleb said. “You go.”

Emily turned and ran back into the school, cursing Master Tor and Grandmaster Gordian under her breath. She’d read the rules for probationary students, but she hadn’t realized she needed to seek specific permission to leave the grounds. No one had complained when Frieda and she had gone hiking, although that had been before term officially started. She dodged a pair of younger students playing Freeze Tag and tapped sharply on Professor Locke’s door. What the hell would she do if he refused her permission?

“Emily,” Professor Locke said, as the door opened. “What can I do for you?”

“I need permission to go to Dragon’s Den for the afternoon,” Emily said, forcing herself to speak calmly. “Please, can I go?”

“Of course,” Professor Locke said. He gave her an odd look. “Just remember to report to me on Sunday morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said.

She turned and hurried back to the courtyard. All but one of the carriages had departed; Caleb stood beside the last carriage, alternatively glowering at the driver and looking frantically towards the castle. He gave Emily a smile of relief, then opened the door to allow them both to climb inside. There was no sign of Master Tor.

“What a dickhead,” Cirroc said, as the carriage rattled into life. “What’s he got against you, anyway?”

Emily shrugged and averted her eyes. Cirroc’s new girlfriend was practically sitting in his lap, slobbering over him. She leaned back against Caleb as the carriage rattled down the road, silently brooding over Master Tor’s upset to her plans. They might not even have time to go for a drink before she had to meet Mistress Danielle! But as she hadn’t been denied permission to leave the castle, she could only assume that neither Tor nor Gordian knew what she was planning to do.

“Don’t worry about it,” Caleb muttered. The carriage stopped with a jerk. “He’s just being an ass.”

Cirroc threw the door open and jumped down to the cobbled street. Emily wrinkled her nose at the stench, which hadn’t faded despite the new regulations the City Fathers had introduced to combat disease. Dragon’s Den had heard of modern plumbing, but the inhabitants still preferred to empty their chamberpots into the streets rather than build sewers and pipes. She was silently grateful that her house had magical facilities. The idea of using what passed for a toilet in Dragon’s Den sickened her.

“There’s not enough time to go for a drink,” Caleb said, regretfully. “I’ll walk you to her apartment, then go find our supplies.”

Emily gave him a grateful kiss, then allowed him to lead her through the streets towards a set of new apartment blocks. Dragon’s Den hadn’t changed that much in the last four years, save for a handful of new bookstores selling printed books and services. The City Fathers probably disapproved of the new printing industry, but the demand for books was skyrocketing. It served as proof that not all of the changes she’d brought to the Nameless World had been bad.

None of them are bad, she told herself, firmly. They just had some unfortunate side effects.

“Good luck,” Caleb said. “I’ll see you back here in a couple of hours, okay?”

“Yeah,” Emily said. She sensed the ward floating in the air and triggered it, gently, with her magic field. Trying to enter the apartment complex without permission would have been, at best, a serious breach of etiquette. “Take care.”

Mistress Danielle opened the door and peered out, then beckoned Emily to enter. It reminded her oddly of Earth, although the stairwell was lit with magic and the entire complex was only four or five stories high. Emily followed Mistress Danielle up one flight of stairs and into a small apartment, barely roomy enough for a single person. It looked very much like a studio apartment from Earth.

“Take a seat,” Mistress Danielle ordered. “I’ve heard a great deal about you recently.”

Emily nodded and sat down at the table, studying the older woman thoughtfully. She was in her early thirties, Emily thought; her dark skin marred with a handful of scars she’d either been unable or unwilling to remove. Her eyes were darker still, while her dark hair was tied back in a long ponytail, hanging down over a white shirt that had been cut to leave her muscular arms bare. Emily couldn’t help feeling a little intimidated. Mistress Danielle looked as formidable as Lady Barb.

“Teleporting out of a warded chamber,” Mistress Danielle added, sitting down and resting her elbows on the table. “I don’t know many magicians who would have taken the risk.”

“I was desperate,” Emily said.

“You must have been,” Mistress Danielle said. She leaned forward so her dark eyes bored into Emily’s. “What do you want from me?”

Emily took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I completed all three years of Martial Magic at Whitehall, passing all of the exams,” she said. She’d failed the second year course, but she’d been allowed to retake the exams at the end of her third year. “Whitehall does not offer any other instruction in combat magic, yet I cannot allow my skills to atrophy. I require private tuition.”

Mistress Danielle frowned. “You would be better working with me over the summer,” she said, after a moment. “Right now, how often can you leave Whitehall?”

“Once a week,” Emily said. “I don’t know what I’ll be doing next summer.”

“I might be available, if you want more intensive lessons,” Mistress Danielle said. She closed her eyes for a long moment. “Once a week... it will be awkward. I have a leave of absence from my duties, but I’d prefer not to waste it.”

“I can pay,” Emily said, quickly.

“Pay isn’t the issue,” Mistress Danielle said. “Being here for seven months, without doing anything else...”

She shrugged. “I’m not the sort of person who likes sitting around,” she added, after a moment. “But I’ve always wanted to explore the Craggy Mountains.”

“They’re beautiful,” Emily said.

“But only on one side,” Mistress Danielle said. “I understand you visited the Blighted Lands.”

Emily shuddered. The land had changed, sharply, as soon as they’d crossed the Craggy Mountains and entered the Blighted Lands. Ash had lain everywhere, choking the land and destroying any hope of it regenerating itself; the handful of settlements they’d passed had been dead and cold, their inhabitants having long since fled or taken for sacrifice by the necromancers. No one in their right mind would want to stay in the Blighted Lands.

“It was not pleasant,” she said, with deliberate understatement. “Shadye destroyed everything.”

Mistress Danielle nodded. “This will not be a formal apprenticeship,” she said, returning to the matter at hand. “I will certainly not uphold the conventions of the master-apprentice relationship. If you decide to quit, you may quit; if you mess around, I will kick you out and end our training sessions without hesitation. I have neither the time nor the patience to put up with misbehavior. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Emily said.

“Good,” Mistress Danielle said. “And so...”

She lifted her hand and snapped off a spell, hurling it directly into Emily’s wards. Emily shrank back as it started to tear them apart, threatening to leave her unprotected. She gritted her teeth, then cast a whole set of new protections, pushing the old set away from her and discarding them. The hex flickered out of existence, just as Mistress Danielle cast a second spell, aimed at the newer defenses. Emily cursed under her breath and cast a fireball, throwing it right at Mistress Danielle’s face. Not entirely to her surprise, the fireball flickered out of existence long before it struck its target.

Mistress Danielle tossed a third spell at her, a thin smile playing over her dark face. Emily caught it on her wards, swearing under her breath as she realized it accelerated the destruction of her remaining protections. Rage billowed through her as she felt... something... catch hold of her feet, trapping her. She ran her hands under the table, casting a levitation spell and hurling the table up and straight towards Mistress Danielle. It splintered to cracked ruin, scattering pieces of wood everywhere, but it bought her enough time to free her feet and dive out of the chair, hastily canceling her protections and regenerating them. Mistress Danielle was evidently very fond of ward-cracking spells.

She scrambled to her feet, ducking a freeze spell that wouldn’t have trapped a younger student for very long and hastily glanced around for cover. There was none; bracing herself, she cast a freeze spell and followed it up with a melting spell aimed at the floor, hoping it would be enough to distract her target. If this was a test...

Mistress Danielle snorted as she batted away both spells, aiming the freeze spell back at Emily. Emily ducked it, casting a whole series of fireballs towards the older woman and then a ward-cracking spell of her own. Mistress Danielle did... something... and the spell vanished without doing any harm. Emily had barely a second to realize that the spell had failed completely before Mistress Danielle tossed back two of her own. Her protections, already weakened, shriveled to nothing. A moment later, she was frozen and helpless.

Break the spell, she thought, desperately. Mistress Danielle paced towards her, one hand drawing a silver knife from her belt. Near-panic made it hard to concentrate.

Break the spell...

She lurched forward as the spell snapped, too late. Mistress Danielle caught her effortlessly and held her knife to Emily’s throat. Emily froze, suddenly unsure of the older woman’s intentions. Did she want revenge for her dead master? She’d been so sure Mistress Danielle had disapproved of Master Grey’s final duel...

Mistress Danielle peered down at her. “Yield?”

“Yield,” Emily said. Her breath came in ragged gasps; the older woman didn’t even seem winded. “I yield.”

“You didn’t do too badly,” Mistress Danielle said. She returned her knife to her belt, then helped Emily to stand upright. “Throwing the table at me was a good thought, but I caught you by surprise and weakened your wards. And you were holding back, too. What happened to the champion who killed Master Grey?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Emily said. “I thought that something more dangerous might kill you.”

“Perhaps,” Mistress Danielle said. She turned and strode towards the chair. “And what if I had been trying to kill you?”

Emily had no answer. Instead, she looked around the apartment. The table had been smashed beyond repair, one of the chairs had been broken... she scowled as she realized that several of her fireballs had struck cupboards on the wall and knocked them down to the floor, scattering their contents all over the room. Mistress Danielle clearly hadn’t bothered to take the lesson to a spellchamber, where damage would have been minimized. But then, Emily had to admit, she wouldn’t have been quite so surprised.

She rubbed her forehead, feeling sweat pricking her brow. “What did you do to my spell?”

“I extruded a ward forward and caught it,” Mistress Danielle said. “There was very little magic for the spell to eat so it just died a natural death. It’s a relatively simple technique, but it requires a great deal of concentration until it’s second nature.”

Emily sighed. “What about the mess?”

“I’ll be paying the landlord well above the going rate,” Mistress Danielle said. She picked up the broken chair and muttered a quick spell, fixing the damage. “But he owes me a favor in any case.”

Emily winced as Mistress Danielle shoved the chair towards her. The Nameless World hadn’t had the concept of mass production, at least until she’d introduced it. Plastering the wall, replacing the table and repairing the cupboards would require skilled craftsmen, unless the landlord could do his own repairs. The cost might be quite high. She sat down, wondering if she should offer to pay. She’d been the one who’d tossed most of the fireballs.

“You have a great deal of raw power,” Mistress Danielle said. She took the other chair and crossed her shapely legs. “You lack two things: the knowledge to use your power effectively and the killer instinct. The former will come in time, the latter requires practice. You must learn to show no mercy to your enemies.”

“I could have killed you,” Emily protested.

“A risk I took,” Mistress Danielle said. “You fought Master Grey, I suspect, because you saw no way out. Here, you held back. That could prove fatal in combat.”

Emily nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Our next meeting will be at the spellchambers,” Mistress Danielle said. “I will hire one for every Friday afternoon, at least until you cancel our arrangement. If you can come at other times, please do, but there will be no guarantee of being able to obtain a spellchamber. It would be a great deal easier if we could use one at Whitehall.”

“I doubt that will be possible,” Emily said, tiredly.

Mistress Danielle lifted her eyebrows, but nodded. “So I hear,” she said. “The other point I should bring to your attention is this: there is a good chance you will be injured, perhaps badly. This is not Whitehall. There are few protective spells and fewer Healers. I will do what I can, of course, but I have my limits. Do you understand the risks?”

“Yes,” Emily said. She’d been hurt before in Martial Magic, sometimes badly. Keeping up with the spell-casting had been hard but doable; physically, she had always been at the bottom of the class. “I understand.”

“Very well,” Mistress Danielle said. “Inform me if, for any reason, you are unable to meet me. I will not be pleased if you miss a class without warning me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Emily said. “I can make you a chat parchment, if you like...”

“It requires blood, I’ve heard,” Mistress Danielle said. “So no. But it was a good thought.”

She rose. “I’ll see you next week,” she added. “And I suggest you try to come as early as possible.”

Emily nodded, then hurried out of the door and down to the street. Her magic felt odd, now her protections had been torn away; she took a moment to rebuild them before stepping onto the street and glancing around. If anything, there were more people out than before, crowding their way towards the center of town. She puzzled over it for a long moment, then started to walk towards the enchanter and alchemist supply shops. Caleb would be there, if he hadn’t already completed his business. They could go have dinner before heading back to the school.

She found herself smiling as she turned the corner and headed towards the nearest alchemist shop. It was going to be hard, studying under Mistress Danielle, but she had the feeling that it was going to be rewarding. And, if nothing else, it was a way to evade Gordian’s rules. He’d banned her from learning from Sergeant Miles, but he hadn’t said anything about learning from someone else.

And I need to learn, she told herself, firmly. There’s no choice.

Chapter Fifteen

EMILY STILL FELT QUIETLY OPTIMISTIC THE following morning, when she had breakfast early with Cabiria and Caleb before making her way to the common room near the First Year dorms. It was deserted, save for an oversized white rat in a cage that eyed her through beady black eyes. Emily tested the rat, wondering if it was actually a student who had been transfigured by another student, yet it was just a normal rat. It was unusual for young students to have familiars—she touched the snake-bracelet, wishing there was more time to spend with the Death Viper—but Madame Razz might want them to learn how to take care of a pet before they had a chance to bond with a familiar.

She took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs and waited, patiently, for her students to arrive. Lillian and Jasmine entered first, both showing shy smiles as they stepped into the room and saw her. Emily waved them to chairs and nodded politely to Tiega as she entered, feeling a flicker of sympathy for the ugly girl. Behind her, Adana looked irked as she stormed into the room, but she had the wisdom to say nothing. Emily hadn’t minced words when she’d spoken to the younger girl.

“Julia and Dulcet are on their way,” Adana said, shortly. She seemed to be having problems meeting Emily’s eyes. “They were just delayed at breakfast.”

Emily leaned forward. “Delayed?”

“Professor Lombardi wanted to discuss their progress with them,” Adana explained. “I don’t think they’re in trouble.”

“I certainly hope not,” Emily said. But it was odd. Professor Lombardi wouldn’t normally talk to students on a Saturday. “Take a seat, please.”

The door opened again, revealing Julia and Dulcet. The former had a wide smile on her face, the latter was expressionless. Emily made a mental note to speak to Julia and Dulcet privately afterwards, then motioned for her charges to take their seats and pull them up around her. She had booked the common room, but she took the precaution of casting a mild locking charm on the door anyway. It would help prevent unnecessary interruptions.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. She had told them that it wasn’t compulsory, but she had a feeling they thought otherwise. “Before we start, does anyone have any questions or issues they want to raise?”

Adana held up her hand. There was an angry red mark covering her palm. “Is Professor Lombardi always so... so picky?”

“He’s seen far too many spells go wrong through carelessness,” Emily said. She’d had her palm rapped a few times during her first two years at Whitehall too. “What did you do?”

“Left off an endpoint,” Adana said. “He said it would ruin the spell.”

“He was probably right,” Emily said. “You could have lost the mana before the spell completed its work.”

She looked from face to face. “Any other questions?”

Julia held up her hand. “I would like to trade bedrooms with Jasmine,” she said. “She does not have any objection to this.”

Emily looked at Jasmine. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Jasmine said, quietly. “I would prefer to room with Lillian.”

“You’ll also be rooming with Dulcet,” Emily said. “Did you ask Madame Razz?”

“She said we should ask you,” Julia said.

Emily frowned. She hadn’t realized she had the last say in room assignments. As far as she knew, it was the Year Heads who made those choices. Master Tor had flatly refused to allow her to change rooms, pointing out that she needed to make friends with other students, as well as Alassa and Imaiqah. He’d had a point, she suspected; she just hadn’t been in any state to acknowledge it at the time. And yet she’d always thought the room assignments for a student’s first year at Whitehall were random. She’d never believed that any real thought went into the process.

She considered it for a long moment. Master Tor might argue that Tiega and Adana needed to learn how to get along—and Jasmine could learn a great deal from both of them. And yet, she couldn’t fault Julia for wanting to room with the other two girls. They were both from magical families. Julia could gain access to magical society through them. But there was a bit of her that simply didn’t like Julia...

Jasmine would be happier rooming with her friend, she told herself. And no one will seriously object for their first year.

“Very well,” she said, finally. “Tell Madame Razz that I have agreed you can swap rooms.”

She shrugged. “I can’t guarantee that you’ll be allowed to share rooms next year,” she added, warningly. “They didn’t let me share with my friends either.”

Julia smiled. It was a very calculating smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Emily said. She looked at Dulcet and frowned, inwardly. Maybe keeping her away from Julia was the best possible thing to do. “Are there any other issues to raise?”

Jasmine frowned. “Professor Thande is wrong about the use of ragwort,” she said. “My aunt uses it for more than just potion bases...”

“I wouldn’t tell him that,” Emily said. Professor Thande was far more affable than Professor Lombardi, which had always struck her as worrying because his class was often a great deal more dangerous, but he had his limits. “You’ll be scrubbing cauldrons for the next few weeks.”

“But he is,” Jasmine insisted. “It can be used for...”

Emily shook her head, firmly. “Any other issues?”

There were none. “What I’m going to show you,” she said, “are very basic wards and protective spells. You cast these on yourselves. Unlike the more complex protections, which you will be taught later, these do not draw directly on your magic field and as such need to be renewed every two or three days.”

She paused. “They also only work once,” she added. “One ward will cope with one prank spell, at the cost of losing the ward. What does that mean?”

Julia leaned forward, interested. “If you had three wards and someone tried to turn you into a frog four times, they’d get you with the fourth spell,” she said. “Am I right?”

“More or less,” Emily said. Making protections was second nature to her now, but the new students would need time to cast even one such spell. “It’s generally better to dodge hexes hurled at you by another student. If you are transfigured—or frozen—you will find it a great deal harder to cast the counterspell.”

“Yeah,” Adana said.

Tiega shot her a smug look, then shifted uncomfortably. Emily reminded herself to get the notations for the spell she’d used but pressed on.

“It’s not easy to cast a spell on yourself,” she warned. “However, protections cast by someone else are almost always less reliable. They simply lack the affinity with your magic that one of your own spells would have.”

She paused. “How many of you can now cast basic spells reliably?”

Adana, Tiega, Lillian and Jasmine held up their hands. Dulcet and Julia looked unhappy, their gazes shifting down to the floor. Emily was surprised—she’d learned to cast fairly quickly—but Professor Lombardi had too many students in his class to give them all the individual attention they needed. She wondered if she should be working with them too, then dismissed the thought. Professor Lombardi would not be pleased if she accidentally taught them something they needed to unlearn.

She looked at Julia. “What happens when you try to cast?”

“It doesn’t always work,” Julia said. “I can make it work once, then the second time fails...”

“You push it too hard,” Adana said. For once, she sounded as if she was genuinely trying to help. “The magic slops everywhere, ruining the spellwork.”

“That sounds about right,” Emily said. Mistress Irene—and later, Void—had hammered it into her head. “You need to learn to channel the magic through the spellwork.”

Julia looked frustrated. “It just doesn’t work right!”

“It will come,” Emily said. “There are exercises you can do, if you speak to Professor Lombardi. He will help you.”

She looked at the other four students. “This is a basic protection ward,” she said, holding out a sheet of paper. She’d written out the notation last night, then convinced Caleb to check it for her. “See if you can cast it.”

Adana didn’t look impressed. Emily rather suspected she’d already mastered the ward. Her family would have wanted her to have some protections when she went to Whitehall. And yet, whatever protections she knew hadn’t protected her from Tiega’s spell. It had to be very—very—powerful for her age. Her anger had probably given the spell additional power.

“I can do this,” Adana said. “It’s useless.”

“You have to learn to walk before you can run,” Emily said, firmly. “Now, try and cast it.”

She passed copies of the paper to Julia and Dulcet. “Try and cast it yourselves,” she ordered, calmly. “See how you do.”

Julia nodded and cast the spell. The ward sparkled with power, then came apart in a shower of sparks. Emily scowled. Too much power, definitely too much power. She could remember some of the exercises Void had taught her, but she didn’t dare teach those to Julia without Professor Lombardi’s blessing. She’d have to have a word with him. There were so many students in his classes that Julia might just have fallen by the wayside.

“Try again, with less power,” she said, gently. “Dulcet?”

Dulcet cast the spell. The ward shimmered for a long moment, then settled down. Emily reached out with her senses and smiled, openly, as she sensed the ward protecting the younger girl. It wouldn’t last longer than a day, she suspected, but it was definitely a step forward. Dulcet gave her a shy smile in return. She looked as though she couldn’t believe her own success.

“Lucky,” Julia sneered.

“Be quiet,” Emily snapped.

She took a breath to calm herself, then nodded to Julia. “Try and cast the spell again.”

Julia obeyed. This time, the ward shimmered into existence and stayed there. Emily tested it lightly, then nodded in approval. Julia looked relieved, despite herself. Being the last to master the ward—the very basic ward—had clearly embarrassed her. Emily would have been more sympathetic if Julia hadn’t clearly been trying to put Dulcet down.

“Very good,” she said. The other four had all cast the ward easily. “Now, a handful of basic spells...”

She ran through five different prank spells, ranging from the freeze spell to a basic transfiguration spell. They’d find more—many more—in the library, including ones she had no intention of showing to anyone. Meddling with a person’s body was bad enough, but messing with their minds was far worse. If it were up to her, such spells would be added permanently to the forbidden list, with dire punishments for anyone who dared break the rules. Convincing someone they were a dog was only funny as long as it happened to someone else.

“I need to point my finger at someone to freeze them,” Adana said, thoughtfully. She’d frozen Jasmine almost as soon as she’d learned the spell. “Why can’t I cast it without pointing?”

“Because the pointing finger tells the spell where to go,” Emily said. It was a little more complex than that, but it would do for the moment. Advanced magical theory would be covered in Third Year. “Without it, the spell might freeze you instead.”

She unfroze Jasmine, then ducked as Jasmine hurled a transfiguration spell towards Adana and missed. It struck the wall and splashed off, harmlessly. Adana snorted rudely, then threw a spell of her own at Tiega. The girl let out a yelp as her body morphed into a tiny statuette. Emily couldn’t help feeling a chill run down her spine, even though she’d grown accustomed to magic after four years in Whitehall. People could be changed into inanimate objects and just abandoned, unless they managed to muster the skill to turn themselves back to normal. And no one would ever find them...

Unless they knew what to look for, Emily thought, as she undid the spell. But even then it would be chancy.

“That will do, for the moment,” she said. “Remember what I said the last time we were all together. If you do something that keeps one of your fellows from attending class, you will regret it.”

Adana gave Tiega a smirk. Emily resisted—barely—the urge to roll her eyes. Clearly, the trauma of being transfigured and then locked in a cupboard hadn’t lasted. She sighed out loud, giving the younger girl a warning look. It might be better to separate Adana and Tiega, instead of swapping Jasmine and Julia, but she didn’t think she could order them to change rooms. She’d have to check the rules, just to be sure.

Lillian muttered something under her breath. Tiega whirled around, one hand raised in a casting pose. “Enough,” Emily said, sharply. “Lillian, you can apologize for that or you can go see the Warden. Which one do you choose?”

“I’m sorry,” Lillian said, shortly. “I...”

“Good,” Emily said. She hoped Lillian would have the sense not to pick a fight when Emily wasn’t around. It wasn’t as if any of the other mentors would discourage Tiega from doing something unpleasant to Lillian. They’d consider it a suitable lesson. “Tiega, stay behind with me. The rest of you can go enjoy the rest of your day.”

She waited until the others had departed before turning to Tiega. “Try not to make her late for class.”

Tiega shrugged, listlessly. “Who cares?”

“You might, if you are sent to the Warden for the same offense,” Emily pointed out. “He will not be gentle.”

“He wasn’t gentle,” Tiega said. She rubbed her forehead. “Would anyone care if she missed class?”

“If she missed it on her own, everyone would consider it her fault,” Emily said. Whitehall believed that if a student didn’t want to learn, they didn’t have to learn. They’d fail their exams and get absolutely no sympathy at all. “But if you make her late, it will be your fault.”

“It always is,” Tiega said. She rose and started to pace the room. “Everything is always my fault.”

“Not always,” Emily said. She cleared her throat. “I want you to teach me the spell you used on Adana.”

“I don’t know how to write it out,” Tiega said. “My mother hammered it into my head and made me cast it over and over again until I could do it on demand.”

“And you don’t know how to alter it,” Emily guessed. Tiega nodded, shortly. “I wonder... cast the spell on me.”

Tiega stared. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Emily said. She’d rebuilt her protections after visiting Mistress Danielle. “Cast the spell on me, now.”

The younger girl hesitated, perhaps remembering Emily’s warnings about starting fights with older students, then lifted her hand and cast the spell. It was powerful, Emily realized as it struck her protections, powerful enough to be a problem for a student two or three years older than Tiega. And yet, it was also a very blunt spell. There was little hope of using it as anything other than a hammer, rather than a scalpel. It would have blasted through the basic wards she’d taught her charges, but it couldn’t worm its way through her more advanced protections. She studied it for a long moment, then pushed it away from her wards. It crackled out of existence a moment later.

“Mother said it would be enough protection for a while,” Tiega said.

“She was right,” Emily confirmed. No wonder Adana hadn’t been able to block or reverse the spell. “It’s a very powerful piece of work.”

She frowned as a thought struck her. “Can you undo it?”

“Mother always said I should never try to unravel it without taking its victim to her,” Tiega said. “But I think I can undo it.”

“Don’t use it again,” Emily said. She thought better of it a moment later. “Don’t use it unless your life is in very real danger.”

Tiega looked unhappy. “Why...?”

Emily sighed. “When I was your age,” she said, “I cast two spells simultaneously and mangled them together. The result almost killed... almost killed the target. I would have become a murderer, simply through carelessness. At the very least, I would have been expelled from Whitehall and handed over to her family for judgement.”

“They would have killed you,” Tiega breathed.

“Probably,” Emily said. King Randor, staring absolute disaster in the face, would not have been merciful to the silly little girl who’d killed his daughter and sole heir. The very idea was absurd. “You need to be careful casting spells you don’t understand.”

She dismissed Tiega, then sat back in the chair to gather her thoughts. Julia and Dulcet would require more training; the other four, at least, were well on the way. She just hoped she hadn’t unleashed a nightmare on the school. It was easy to imagine the four of them hexing their fellow students relentlessly until their victims learned how to fight back.

The door opened. Caleb stepped in. “Finished?”

“Yeah,” Emily said. She made a show of glancing at her watch. “There’re still at least two hours before lunch.”

“Then we may as well make the most of it,” Caleb said. He held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Tomorrow, your real work starts.”

Emily nodded, slowly. Part of her looked forward to exploring the tunnels under Whitehall. But the rest of her remembered, all too well, the horror she’d found under Mountaintop. Was Whitehall built on a similar secret? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

But Professor Locke wants to know, she thought. And he won’t hesitate to tell the world.

Chapter Sixteen

“YOU SEEM TO HAVE EVERYTHING YOU need,” Sergeant Miles said. “I must congratulate you.”

Emily concealed her wry amusement at Professor Locke’s flustered face. It had been her suggestion to prepare properly after Caleb had pointed out some of the possible dangers they might face. Professor Locke had just wanted to walk into the tunnels; Emily had talked him into preparing for a long expedition. The knapsacks Cabiria and she carried contained everything from rope to chalk and several days’ worth of food, drink and magic-less candles to provide light. If something went wrong, deep below Whitehall, they should be able to last long enough for help to arrive.

“The lower levels will remain sealed, once you have passed the nexus chamber,” Gordian said, sternly. The Grandmaster was ignoring both of them in favor of talking to Professor Locke. “In the event of you failing to return, Sergeant Miles will lead a recovery team down to the gates.”

“That’s good to hear,” Professor Locke said. “But I’m sure it won’t be necessary.”

Emily was far from sure. There had been almost nothing in the source materials about the lower levels, true, but her imagination had provided all sorts of details. Lord Whitehall might have rigged dozens of traps, tying them into the nexus point to ensure they remained active... or the gates might lead them straight into tunnels that weren’t truly part of the castle. If the tunnels under Mountaintop had been filled with deadly creatures, who knew what might be lurking under Whitehall?

“Very good,” Gordian said. “May the gods go with you.”

Emily kept her thoughts to herself as they slowly descended the stairs to the very lowest level of Whitehall—the very lowest accessible level, she reminded herself. She could feel the nexus point thrumming in the distance, sending out waves of magic that pulsed through the school before fading back into the ether. It was rare for her to sense it on the higher levels, but here it was impossible to ignore. The nexus point called to her and, at the same time, repelled her. She glanced at Cabiria, wondering if the older girl had the same problem, but there was no trace of any internal struggle on her face. Maybe only people who had touched the nexus point could sense it.

“This is as far as I go,” Sergeant Miles said, when they reached the second-last level. His gaze passed over all three of them, lingering for a long moment on Emily. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Professor Locke said.

The thrumming of the nexus point grew stronger as they descended the final set of stairs into a network of stone corridors. Emily wanted to cover her ears, but she knew it would be pointless. The entire school seemed to vibrate with power. Gritting her teeth, she followed Professor Locke down the corridor towards a blank stone wall. There was nothing there, nothing at all. It was quite ordinary...

Emily stopped, dead, as she sensed the spell billowing around them. One hand went to the rune on her chest, but it remained dormant. The spell wasn’t subtle magic, she realized, as she closed her eyes against its effects. It worked along the same lines, but it was vastly more powerful—and dangerous. She was aware of its effects now—she could feel it plucking at her thoughts, trying to erase all knowledge of the gates—yet her awareness wasn’t enough to stop the spell from doing its work. It was trying hard to push her away.

She gritted her teeth, then opened her eyes and stared. The wall wavered, as if the illusion was on the verge of coming apart and melting back into nothingness. And yet the spell still fought, still tried to convince them that there was nothing there. Emily struggled, holding the line desperately as she took a step forward, then another; the spell only redoubling its efforts to hold her back. She’d wondered how the gates had been forgotten for so long, but now she knew. The spell guarding them was so powerful that there wasn’t a hope of seeing them unless one already knew they were there.

The Grandmaster should have known, she thought, as the gates finally shimmered into visibility. And yet he forbade all exploration.

She’d expected something fancy, but the gates were nothing more than stone and iron, covered in runes. A number were completely unfamiliar to her, even though she’d been studying and memorizing runes for the past three years. Professor Locke let out a cry of excitement and stepped forward, pressing his hand against the gates. They opened smoothly, revealing utter darkness. The spell stopped trying to drive them away at the same moment, as if it had given up.

Emily sagged, suddenly feeling exhausted. Sweat trickled down her back as she stumbled forward and leaned against the gates. It was hard, so hard, to keep her eyes open. Only the grim awareness that a secondary defense system might be causing her tiredness kept her awake. If she fell asleep, there would be plenty of time for the first spell to erase her memory and push her away.

Professor Locke summoned a light globe and sent it drifting forwards, into the darkness. It lit up the surroundings, revealing a long stone corridor sloping downwards towards a second door, seemingly identical to the first. He walked down the corridor, one hand holding a divining rod; he beckoned Emily and Cabiria forward as soon as he reached the bottom. The tiredness started to melt away as they walked down, keeping a wary eye out for traps. Emily had spent too long fighting her way through Blackhall to trust that a seemingly empty corridor might be actually empty—or safe.

Unsurprisingly, Professor Locke seemed delighted, practically dancing as he turned to face them. “That spell would have driven us away, if we’d let it,” he said. “Have you heard of anything that can do anything like it?”

Cabiria looked as tired as Emily felt. “A nightmare hex, perhaps,” she said. Her voice sounded drained. “But they don’t have such power.”

“Exactly,” Professor Locke said. “Who knows what else might be lurking down here?”

He pushed his hand against the second door. Emily tensed, but it opened easily, revealing another set of corridors. A moment later, she took a breath and gagged as musty dry air filled her lungs. She choked violently, fighting the urge to vomit, as she hastily cast a spell to filter the air. Dust billowed around them, so thick that she couldn’t imagine anything surviving under the school for hundreds of years. She’d wondered if the tunnels had truly been left untouched for so long, but the layers upon layers of dust proved it.

“Water,” Cabiria gasped.

Emily unhooked a canteen from her belt and passed it to Cabiria, then took a long swig herself when she passed it back. Her throat felt dry, unpleasantly dry. Only Professor Locke seemed unbothered. He took a step forward, dust billowing around his feet, then stopped dead as the lights came on. Emily tensed again, half-expecting a lethal trap to greet them, but nothing happened.

“Someone turned on the lights,” Cabiria observed, dryly. “Are we expected?”

“Some of the older parts of the school turn off the lights if there’s no one there,” Professor Locke said. He sounded delighted. “The spellwork in this part of the school is still intact.”

He grinned at them both and led the way down the corridor. Emily exchanged a glance with Cabiria, then made certain to mark their route on the dusty walls as they followed the professor. The chalk, despite being charmed, didn’t stick very well. It worried her, even though their pathway was clearly visible in the dust. She couldn’t help comparing it to walking through snow.

“Old Whitehall,” Professor Locke called back. Dust floated down from the ceiling as his words echoed back to them. “All the secrets we seek are in here!”

Emily frowned. She could still sense the nexus point, but the thrumming had faded to a dull awareness at the back of her mind. And yet, when she reached out with her mind, she could sense flickers of magic passing through the stone walls. She reached out and brushed away some of the dust, revealing runes—runes she didn’t recognize—that had been painstakingly carved into the stone. Magic spun around them, heading onwards to a space directly under the nexus point. She was awed—and terrified—that the spells had lasted so long.

Cabiria caught her arm. “How many more levels are there?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said. She’d touched the nexus point, but there hadn’t been any time to feel out the contours of the school. “If...”

“Come on, girls!” Professor Locke shouted. “This way.”

Emily sighed and led the way down the corridor, following the dusty footprints. There didn’t seem to be anything dangerous in the lower levels, but she couldn’t help thinking that Professor Locke was allowing his enthusiasm to override his common sense. At the rate he was running, he was likely to run straight into a trap before realizing it was there...

He’s following the magic, she thought, as they stepped into a larger chamber. But where does it lead...?

The corridor warped around them. Emily recoiled in shock, just for a second, as it seemed to stretch into directions at right angles to reality. Her mind refused to grasp what she was seeing; she closed her eyes, hastily, as the world spun around her. She heard Cabiria cry out in pain and opened her eyes, just in time to see another room opening in front of them.

“Shit,” Cabiria said. Emily glanced at her. “What was that?”

Emily shook her head. She knew that Whitehall sometimes reconfigured itself, but she’d never been in a corridor when it decided it needed to lead somewhere else. She’d always assumed that the school didn’t reconfigure itself when there was someone inside. And yet, maybe the lower levels didn’t have any safety precautions...

Or maybe they change more, she thought, as she led the way into the new chamber. And...

“We lost the professor,” Cabiria said. “Where are we?”

They stared at each other in horror, then looked back. The corridor they’d been in was gone, completely gone. A new corridor yawned open, waiting for them, but there was no trace of their passage in the dust. Emily swore inwardly, suddenly very glad she’d listened to Caleb and brought supplies. If they had to go wandering through the lower levels just to find the gate back to Whitehall, they’d need them.

“He could be anywhere,” Emily said. She looked up at the chamber. “But right now I think we have other problems.”

She gritted her teeth, then led the way forward into the chamber. It was huge, easily as large as the Great Hall, a circular structure that reminded her of King Randor’s dance hall. Exits were spaced evenly around the room, leading to unknown destinations, so dark and shadowy that she was reluctant to try walking down them. The lights, it seemed, weren’t turned on in those sections. She felt ridges beneath her feet and glanced down to see runes carved in the stone floor. They were devoid of magic now, she thought; the dust had clogged them so badly that they were completely ineffectual.

“A circle,” Cabiria said. She sounded awed. “This whole room is a spellchamber.”

“Maybe,” Emily said. She wasn’t so sure. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, something oddly familiar about the whole setting. And yet it refused to come forward and allow her to recognize what she saw. “It’s a very odd spellchamber. I would have said it was far too big.”

“Professor Locke did say the ancients knew magics that were long lost,” Cabiria pointed out, thoughtfully. “Perhaps they knew a way to make a bigger spellchamber.”

“But if they had more powerful magic, surely they would have needed more powerful spellchambers,” Emily pointed out. “They’d have real problems safeguarding students without them.”

“If they bothered,” Cabiria said. “My uncle used to say that there was no gain without risk.”

“And yet a mistake could kill a student, if she practiced outside a spellchamber,” Emily countered. “She wouldn’t deserve to die, but it would be the end.”

“Maybe they had a different attitude,” Cabiria said. “It isn’t as if the tutors safeguard everything for us.”

Emily nodded. Whitehall’s attitude to student safety was sometimes terrifyingly lax. She understood the reasoning behind it, but she doubted she would ever approve. Surely, students could learn without taking so many risks. A single mistake during alchemy could kill someone effortlessly, if the tutor wasn’t always alert. And charms...

Cabiria frowned. “It could be a dueling circle.”

Emily hesitated. It was possible, she conceded, yet her mind kept insisting it was something else, something she’d seen before. She removed a sheet of paper from her belt and started to sketch what she was seeing. Maybe Professor Locke or one of the other professors would be able to work out what it was.

If we ever get back, she thought, numbly. We could die down here.

She shuddered at the thought. She’d found it hard enough to even see the gates on the school side; now, she wasn’t even certain where to start looking to find the gates to return. If the corridors kept changing on them, too, they might never find Professor Locke, let alone make it back to the upper levels. And how long would it be before Sergeant Miles came after them? Hell, did he even have a hope of finding them? He might just get lost himself.

“There’s a light at the end of that tunnel,” Cabiria said. She pointed one finger towards a tunnel on the far side of the chamber. Sure enough, the tunnel was dark but there was a light at the end. “You want to go down it?”

Emily shrugged. It wasn’t as if she had any better ideas. She cast a light globe and sent it down the tunnel ahead of them, then followed it while watching for traps. The corridor was decorated with more and more unfamiliar runes, including a number that looked too elaborate to be real. She sketched out a couple and added them to her collection of drawings as Cabiria made her way further down the corridor. At the end, it opened into a giant chamber dominated by a map. Someone had painstakingly carved it into the wall.

“My God,” Emily breathed.

There were two continents and some significant island chains on the Nameless World, she’d learned in history; a north continent and a south continent, the latter largely dominated by the necromancers. But the map in front of her showed a third continent, far to the west. Emily recalled wondering if there was something out there, but she’d learned that anyone who attempted to sail out into the oceans never came back. The Nameless World was round—no one believed the planet was actually flat—yet no one had ever managed to sail around the world.

“A third continent,” Cabiria said. She shook her head slowly. “How old is this map?”

Emily shrugged. “If the tunnels were sealed after Whitehall,” she said, “the map is at least seven hundred years old.”

Cabiria stared at her. “How does one lose a whole continent?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said.

She contemplated possibilities for a long moment. The Vikings had discovered America, if she recalled correctly. But they’d never settled the continent—indeed, they might never have realized what they’d found. Even Columbus hadn’t grasped it. The Native Americans had been branded Indians because Columbus had believed he’d discovered India, rather than a whole new continent. If the Nameless World had a third continent and contact had been lost, somewhere between Lord Whitehall’s era and her arrival, it might have rapidly become a myth.

And Professor Locke believed a great many records had been destroyed, she thought, recalling their first talk. If the records of the third continent were also destroyed...

Cabiria headed to the next room as Emily sketched out the map, hoping they had a chance to get word back to the sailors. Perhaps, with the prospect of a whole new continent, they’d be willing to try to sail across the open sea. Or maybe they’d be worried about unfriendly natives. It was quite possible that the ships that had tried to circumnavigate the world had been sunk with all hands. Or worse. Who knew what lay on the other side of the world?

It would be interesting to go see, she thought. If nothing else, it would provide a refuge from the necromancers.

“Emily,” Cabiria called. Her voice echoed back from the next chamber. She sounded astonished. “Come and look at this!”

Emily tucked the notebook under her arm and hurried into the next chamber. It was larger than the map room, but bare. There were no runes on the stone walls. The only object of interest was a marble statue, standing in the exact center of the circular chamber. A young woman, her hair tied back in a long braid that hung down to the small of her back, a large book tucked under each arm. The detail was fantastic, she had to admit. She’d never been a fan of the arts—she’d always preferred reading to looking at paintings and sculptures—but every crease in the young girl’s odd-looking dress was visible. Even her individual hairs stood out perfectly...

“It’s impressive,” she said. She reached forward in wonder, but some instinct told her not to touch the stone. If it had survived so long, deep below Whitehall, it must be protected by powerful magic. “It’s...”

Cabiria let out a spluttering sound. “Emily,” she said. “Don’t you recognize her?”

Emily frowned. “I...”

“Emily,” Cabiria said. She gave Emily an incredulous look as Emily turned to face her. “It’s you!”

Chapter Seventeen

EMILY STARED.

She’d grown far too used to portraits of herself that bore little resemblance to reality. But the statue before her was perfect, right down to the snake-bracelet on her wrist. The detail was so incredible that she would have wondered if the statue was actually a petrified girl... if she hadn’t been standing right in front of it. It was just perfect.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s me!”

“Well, it could be a statue of someone who just happened to look like you,” Cabiria said, mischievously. “I have a cousin who looks alarmingly like me.”

Emily shook her head. It could be a coincidence, she supposed. If artists could paint portraits that made her look like Melissa, why couldn’t sculptors do a statue of someone that looked exactly like her? And yet, the level of detail was far too perfect. Up close, the only real difference—save for the clothes—was a scar marring her left cheek. Hardly anyone knew she had the snake-bracelet...

She reached out to touch the statue, ignoring her instincts, but her fingers skittered over the stone, as if they couldn’t quite make contact. Her senses, attuned to magic after four years in the Nameless World, sensed... nothing. But she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was looking at something significant. What was it?

“Maybe the Grandmaster had it buried here,” Cabiria suggested, as Emily stepped back. “It might be a lot newer than we think.”

Emily doubted it. The Grandmaster hadn’t hesitated to hang several portraits of her—or at least portraits claiming to be her—up in the school. Why would he hide a statue? And why would he bury it under the school when all the evidence suggested the gates had been sealed for hundreds of years? No, it made no sense. But neither did the presence of the statue.

“Emily,” a voice called, echoing down the corridor. “Cabiria!”

“Professor Locke,” Cabiria shouted back. “We’re coming!”

She scooped up her knapsack, then turned and ran down the darkened corridor towards the voice. Emily took one last look at the statue before following, hoping desperately that they were running in the right direction. Tunnels could play merry hob with sounds, she knew from bitter experience; they might be running away from the professor. But when they turned the corner, they practically ran straight into Professor Locke. He didn’t look pleased, his face twisting into a worried scowl.

“What happened to you?”

“We got lost,” Cabiria said, before Emily could say a word. “You have to come and see this, professor!”

“I found something very interesting,” Professor Locke said. He seemed torn between irritation and an almost childlike delight. “What have you found?”

“This way,” Cabiria said.

She led him back down the corridor, following the footsteps they’d left in the dust. Emily brought up the rear, silently puzzling over the mystery of the statue. What was it? She wanted to believe that it was just a coincidence, but the statue was too perfect to be anyone else. Cabiria turned the corner that should have led them into the chamber and stopped, dead. The statue was gone.

We blinked, Emily thought, stunned.

“It was there,” Cabiria insisted. She waved a hand at their footprints. “It was there!”

Professor Locke scowled at her. “What was there?”

“A statue of Emily,” Cabiria said. “It couldn’t have been anyone else!”

“That’s what we saw,” Emily confirmed, when Professor Locke turned to look at her. “It was me.”

“It was probably an illusion,” Professor Locke said, curtly. He stepped up to where the statue had been, waving a wand in the air. “What you saw wasn’t what was actually there, obviously.”

Emily and Cabiria exchanged glances. They’d been so certain. And yet, there was no denying that the statue had vanished. Emily couldn’t help glancing behind her, as if the statue could move when they weren’t looking, but there was nothing. Even the layer of dust on the floor remained untouched...

“It doesn’t matter,” Professor Locke said, impatiently. “Come and see what I found.”

“We saw a statue,” Cabiria insisted. “Professor...”

“Come and see what I found,” Professor Locke repeated, sharply. “I think you’ll find it even more interesting.”

Emily took one last look at where the statue had been, then followed him through the maze of corridors, her stomach churning with unease. The statue had looked too real. And yet, she hadn’t been able to touch it—and it was now gone. Maybe Professor Locke had been right and it had been an illusion. There were constant flickers of magic in the background, after all. But why would an illusion take on such an odd form? She would have expected an exact duplicate, not one that had a handful of tiny flaws.

The thrumming in the background grew stronger as Professor Locke led them into another huge chamber. Giant crystal structures stretched from floor to ceiling, glowing with an eerie light that threw the remainder of the chamber into utter darkness. They had to be right below the nexus point, Emily realized, remembering the structures she’d seen in the chamber itself. The sense of power was so appallingly strong that it was all she could do to step into the chamber. She had to fight to keep from turning and running for her life.

“Look at this,” Professor Locke said. “This is how they tapped the nexus point!”

Emily nodded, wordlessly. As her eyes became more accustomed to the odd light, it was easier to pick out more details. The crystals hadn’t been carved, she thought; it looked as if they’d been grown, propelled forward by the nexus point. She’d grown crystals at school, on Earth, but this was on a far greater scale. The floor itself, dark and silent compared to the crystals, hummed with power. It struck her, suddenly, that they were walking on glass, not stone...

Power hummed through the giant crystals, pulsing in tune with the thrumming echoing above them. The light rose and fell too, sending jagged shadows flickering around the chamber as they walked closer. Emily felt her hair trying to stand on end as she walked up to one of the crystals, not daring to touch it. There was so much power in close proximity that she felt trying would mean death.

“They must have learned how to embed spells in crystals here,” Professor Locke breathed. It was easy to tell why he hadn’t been too worried about the statue. The ancient magics he’d wanted to study were right in front of him. “I believe the original techniques were developed here, at Whitehall, but this is on a far greater scale.”

It was more than that, Emily thought. She was slowly growing accustomed to the chamber—and the more she looked at it, the more she became convinced that the spellware was oddly familiar. A virtual spell, she thought, anchored in place by the sheer power of the nexus point. Anything lesser would have disintegrated long before. And she’d seen something like it before. But where?

“This is how they did it,” Professor Locke added. “They tapped the nexus point...”

His voice trailed away for a long moment. “And the power goes down into the earth, grounding the nexus point,” he breathed. “They must have been like gods!”

“There’s a nexus point at Rose Red,” Emily pointed out. “Don’t they have similar techniques?”

“Nothing on the same scale,” Professor Locke reminded her. “The techniques used to make Whitehall have been long lost.”

He reached out to touch the crystals, his face strikingly calm.

“Wait!” Emily shouted. She hastily mustered a shield. “Don’t...”

Too late. A brilliant flash of light flared through the chamber—she covered her eyes, desperately, as she sensed a surge of magic—but nothing happened. Professor Locke looked giddy, but otherwise unharmed. Cabiria, behind him, looked terrified. Emily didn’t blame her.

“Great plunging stratas of power,” Professor Locke breathed. Emily shuddered, despite herself. He sounded drunk; he staggered around as though he’d lost his balance. “Reaching down to... down to where?”

“We need to go back,” Emily said. If Professor Locke had been harmed, he needed immediate medical attention. She glanced at Cabiria. “Take his arms.”

Cabiria nodded. Together, they helped the stumbling professor out of the chamber and back down the corridor, following the trail they’d left in the dust. Professor Locke, it seemed, had followed the traces of magic right into the chamber. Emily rubbed her eyes—everything seemed dim, now they’d left the light behind—and prayed silently that they could find the gates without trouble. Much to her relief, there were no spells blocking their way when they finally returned to the gates.

The builders wouldn’t want to discourage us from leaving, she thought, as they stumbled up the passageway. They just wanted to keep people from breaking in.

Professor Locke seemed to return to normal as soon as they reached the top of the passageway, turning around as if he wanted to walk straight back down into the lower levels and continue exploring. Emily had to fight the urge to stick his feet to the ground or paralyze him, even though she knew assaulting a tutor would probably guarantee her expulsion. But what else could she do?

She heard the doorway opening above her and turned, just in time to see Grandmaster Gordian and Sergeant Miles enter the chamber. Neither looked very happy. Gordian’s eyes passed over her, then fixed on Professor Locke, held between his two students. Behind him, Sergeant Miles looked deeply worried.

“Professor,” Gordian snapped. “What happened?”

Sergeant Miles leaned forward. “And what did you do down there?”

Emily felt a shiver running down her spine. They hadn’t been down in the tunnels for very long, had they? She doubted it. Her watch insisted that they’d been underground for no more than two hours. And yet, there were stories of students who’d walked down some of the older corridors, only to emerge a year or two later. She’d always assumed the tales were rumors, designed to scare younger students, yet it was possible. God knew she’d crafted a pocket dimension where time ran at a different rate...

“I found a piece of their spellwork,” Professor Locke said. Thankfully, he sounded sober—and composed. “There’s another chamber further below. I sensed it when I touched the crystals...”

Gordian looked angry. “Yes, but what did you actually do?”

Emily looked at him. “Sir, what happened?”

“The entire school reconfigured itself,” Gordian snapped. He didn’t sound angry with her, much to her relief. “Nothing is the same any longer.”

“That happens,” Cabiria said.

“Not on this scale,” Gordian said. “Everything has been changed. We’re just lucky no one was in class or the confusion would have been a nightmare.”

Emily stared. Whitehall reconfigured corridors from time to time—it was why students were taught to feel their way through the wards—but changing everything? Had it happened when Professor Locke touched the crystals? If so, why? Had they stumbled across a back-up system for the user interface in the nexus chamber? But if they had, why had Professor Locke ordered the school to reconfigure itself?

Her blood ran cold as the answer ran through her mind. He didn’t know what he was doing...

“So we found something of great importance,” Professor Locke said. “We need to go back there, immediately.”

Emily swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. “Is that wise?”

Professor Locke swung round to glare at her. “The secrets of the ancients are lying in front of us, just waiting for us to learn how to use them,” he insisted, loudly. “We have to go back!”

“But if your touch reconfigured the entire school,” Emily began, “surely...”

“Hold your tongue,” Professor Locke snapped. “This is a vitally...”

“Enough,” Gordian said, firmly. He held up a hand when it looked like Professor Locke was prepared to carry on. “Right now, all three of you need a shower and your clothes need to be burned. Afterwards, I want a full report covering everything that happened from the moment you walked through the gates to when you returned. Write them separately, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Professor Locke said. “But we do have to go back down there.”

“We will,” Gordian assured him. “There’s no harm in taking a day or two to consider our next step.”

His face twisted into an odd little smile. “And I think you should use the showers in the martial magic changing rooms,” he added. “You’ll be treading dust all over the school.”

Emily glanced down at herself as Gordian swept out of the room. Her shirt and trousers looked as if she’d been rolling in the dust. It caked her body, drying out her skin. She was suddenly very glad there wasn’t a mirror in the room. Cabiria looked as if she were a walking statue and Emily doubted she looked any better. The thought sent chills running down her spine. Professor Locke might not believe them about the real statue, but she knew what they’d seen.

“He’s right,” Sergeant Miles said. “You really don’t want to be seen covered in dust.”

He led them up three flights of stairs and down towards the armory. Emily was silently relieved it was a weekend, although it wasn’t uncommon for students to use the spellchambers or sparring rings to keep their skills sharp. She smiled inwardly, remembering how many times Jade had dragged her down to the armory back in First Year. He’d been a good friend, even though she was thankful their relationship hadn’t progressed any further. It was far easier to relax with Caleb.

And Alassa would have been disappointed, she thought. They do go together.

The corridors had definitely changed, she noted. They should have been able to walk straight to the armory, but instead they had to turn two corners and hop over a stuffed leopard that had been in the zoo. Sergeant Miles said nothing, yet she could tell he was annoyed. If he’d had students using the spellchambers it would have been harder for him to intervene if something had gone wrong. But they met no one as they reached the showers. Professor Locke, looking rather irked, hurried into the male showers without a backwards glance.

“There are spare robes in the changing room,” Sergeant Miles reminded them. “Make sure you return them once you’ve changed into something more comfortable.”

He turned to walk away, then stopped. “And I look forward to reading your reports.”

Emily said nothing as she followed Cabiria into the shower and started to tear off her clothes, cursing the dust as it stained the wet floor. She’d never liked undressing in front of her roommates, but for once she just wanted to get naked. Dust fell from her hair as she stepped into the shower, hoping desperately it wouldn’t choke up the plumbing. It had handled mud—and worse—before, yet she couldn’t recall ever coming back coated in quite so much dirt and grime. She could easily believe the tunnel network hadn’t been opened for well over seven hundred years.

“Professor Locke is crazy,” she said, as water cascaded over her body. It was such a relief to be clean again, even if she could still feel the dust on her skin. “If touching the crystals can change the school’s entire internal configuration, what will happen if he starts probing further?”

“He wants to unlock the secrets of ancient magic before he dies,” Cabiria reminded her. She didn’t seem concerned about being naked. Emily couldn’t help noticing that her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. “There’s no way he’ll let the Grandmaster forbid him from going back without a fight.”

“And to think I thought the Grandmaster’s will was absolute within the school,” Emily muttered. Not that she expected Gordian to forbid further exploration. He needed a big success to justify his promotion and learning to understand and duplicate ancient magics would be a step in the right direction. “This could go horrendously wrong.”

She scowled as she stepped out of the shower and used magic to dry herself, then summon a robe from the changing room. It felt dirty and stained as she pulled it over her head, but it would suffice until she returned to her bedroom and changed. Behind her, Cabiria finished washing herself and stepped out of the shower. Emily glanced at her, then sighed. They’d been told to write their reports separately.

“Help me clean the floor,” she said, casting a cleaning spell to remove the dust. “We don’t want to be blamed for the mess.”

Cabiria gave her an odd look. “It doesn’t clean itself?”

Emily shook her head. Their bedrooms might be spelled to remain clean—she’d put the spells against dust in place herself—but Martial Magic students were expected to clean everything themselves, from their weapons to their showers and changing rooms. Sergeant Miles was a decent man, far less terrifying than Sergeant Harkin, but she knew he’d be furious if they left a mess behind. They’d be lucky if he didn’t make them clean it up with their own toothbrushes.

“Be glad we’re not in the class,” Emily said. “We’d have to do it without magic.”

There was no sign of Professor Locke outside, much to Emily’s surprise. She wondered, briefly, what they should do, then decided that Sergeant Miles had effectively dismissed them anyway. They had reports to write.

“They won’t be interested in the statue,” Cabiria said, as they headed up the stairwell. It looked different too. “But we have to tell them about it anyway.”

“I know,” Emily said. Professor Locke might have dismissed it, but she had a feeling that it was important. “If you see it again, try not to take your eyes off it.”

Cabiria eyed her. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Emily said. There was no point in trying to explain the Weeping Angels to someone who had never heard of television, let alone Doctor Who. “I just heard stories of statues that moved—and killed—when they weren’t being watched.”

Chapter Eighteen

“YOU’RE IN DANGER OF FAILING THIS class,” Professor Lombardi said.

Emily sighed, inwardly. The seventh attempt at working a ritual had failed as badly as the previous six. She’d hoped that Cirroc would be able to work with her, but even his brashness hadn’t lasted when the ritual had begun. Professor Lombardi had told her to remain behind after dismissing the rest of his students.

“I know, sir,” she said.

“It isn’t solely your fault,” Professor Lombardi added. “But it is growing quite worrying.”

Emily bit down, hard, on the temptation to insist it wasn’t even remotely her fault, but she knew better. There was no way to hide her magic reserves from the other students, not once they joined hands. She’d thought about trying to expend as much as possible before the class, but she knew that could be dangerous. She needed a reserve to cope with any unexpected demands.

“I don’t know what to suggest,” Professor Lombardi stated. “You are not failing deliberately, yet you cannot progress.”

“I have an idea,” Emily said. “I assume that partnering with you is out of the question?”

“Quite,” Professor Lombardi agreed. “I need to supervise.”

Emily wasn’t surprised. “Then I would like to ask a Sixth Year student to serve as my partner,” she said. “She would have far greater control over her magic, as well as experience working rituals. I believe she would find it easier to cope.”

Professor Lombardi studied her for a long, cold moment. “There are people who would say that was a selfish suggestion,” he said, finally.

“I would be happy to pay for her time,” Emily said. He had a point. Aloha was already badly overworked. She could ask another Sixth Year, if Aloha refused, but she didn’t know any of them very well. “Or trade something for it.”

“It may well work,” Professor Lombardi said. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Aloha,” Emily said.

Professor Lombardi stroked his chin, thoughtfully. “She was a good student,” he said, after a moment. “And she has considerably greater power reserves than your compatriots. I will ask her myself.”

Emily frowned. “I can ask her...”

“And she will be alarmed,” Professor Lombardi interrupted. “I will ask her personally, confirming to her that any rituals will be carried out under my supervision. However, it will also be made clear to her that this is not compulsory. If she is not inclined to assist you, she will not have to do so.”

“I understand,” Emily said.

“And if I cannot find a Sixth Year to assist you, or you are unable to work with the student I choose, I will have no choice but to dismiss you from the class,” Professor Lombardi added, warningly. “You cannot proceed.”

Emily scowled down at his desk. She wanted to protest, to insist it wasn’t her fault, but she knew he had a point. If she couldn’t practice sharing magic with a fellow student, she didn’t have a hope of moving on to the more complex rituals. She wondered, briefly, if she could ask Mistress Danielle or Lady Barb for private lessons, but those would have to wait until the summer holidays. Professor Lombardi would be furious if he caught her studying rituals outside the school and Gordian would use it as an excuse to expel her.

“I understand, sir,” she said.

“Good,” Professor Lombardi said. “It will be through no fault of your own, Emily, but time is no longer on our side.”

He nodded towards the door. “We’ll discuss the matter further tomorrow afternoon.”

Emily rose and walked out of the classroom. Caleb waited there, talking to Cirroc in a low voice. Emily cringed inside, wondering what Cirroc might have told him, then reminded herself that Cirroc was unlikely to discuss rituals with her boyfriend. Caleb gave her a hug as soon as she closed the door, then took her hand and led her down the corridor.

“I booked a workroom,” he said. “And I want to hear about everything that happened yesterday.”

“Well,” Emily said. “I got up in the morning and...”

She grinned as he rolled his eyes, then slowly detailed everything that had happened, doing her best not to miss out a single detail. Caleb listened, opening the door to the workroom and waving her to a chair as she told him about the statue. He was a good listener, she knew from experience, one who reserved all questions for the end. It was a pleasant change from talking to some of her friends.

“It was a statue of you?”

Emily nodded. “It was me,” she confirmed. “I suppose it could have been my identical twin...”

Caleb shrugged as he fiddled with the tools on the workbench. “And it vanished when you looked away,” he mused. “It could have been an illusion.”

“Professor Locke said the same thing,” Emily said. She shook her head slowly. “But it was really too close to me to be an illusion.”

“It would depend on how it was spelled,” Caleb pointed out. “Your own imagination might have added details to it, if the spell was cast properly.”

“But it wouldn’t have added a scar,” Emily countered, dryly. She rubbed her cheek meaningfully. “Why would it add something I don’t have?”

“Point,” Caleb agreed. He looked down at the bench thoughtfully. “But if the statue was real, where did it go? Did you even go back to the right chamber?”

“There were footprints in the dust,” Emily said.

Caleb nodded. “Interesting,” he said. “But I have no answer.”

Emily sighed as she sat down facing him. The mystery had puzzled her as she wrote out her report, then handed it in to Professor Locke. She couldn’t think of anything that accounted for the statue, unless it was a very odd illusion indeed. And yet, something had definitely been there. Her fingers should have gone right through an illusion when she tried to touch it.

“We need to make some more tiles,” Caleb said. “Impressing the new Grandmaster might be a little harder than before.”

“True,” Emily agreed. She had a feeling that reserving the workroom hadn’t been easy. There was simply too much demand for them, even on the weekends. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Her mind wandered as she got to work, carefully carving out the tiles. Judging by what she’d seen, below Whitehall, there was far more than one spell embedded in the crystalline structures. Indeed, she was sure she’d seen something like it before. Not one spell; dozens, perhaps hundreds, of spells. And they were all interacting constantly, fed by the power of the nexus point. Logically, the whole edifice should have collapsed into nothingness long ago...

Whitehall is over eight hundred years old, she thought, and no one went into that chamber for decades. How did it last so long?

She yelped in pain as she cut herself, her blood staining the table. Caleb put down his tile and hurried over to help her heal the cut, then wipe up the blood for later disposal. Emily cursed her own carelessness as she dumped the ruined tile in the bin, knowing that she’d been distracted from her work. If she did that in Alchemy, even with the protective wards surrounding the classroom, she’d be lucky if she only blew off her hands.

“Wait for a while,” Caleb advised. “You need to relax before you go back to work.”

Emily nodded, watching in private admiration as Caleb bent his head back over the desk. His hands remained scarred, but he’d grown better—far better—at controlling them. She’d been right, she suspected; the twitching and shaking had been psychosomatic, rather than signs of injury the healers had been unable to fix. It was odd, by Earthly standards, but there was something about watching him use his hands that appealed to her. He was actually creating something tangible with his labor.

And something handcrafted would cost thousands of dollars, back on Earth, she reminded herself. All those eras where handcrafted work was the norm rested on the backs of countless workers...

She realized, a moment later, precisely where she’d seen such spellwork before. The Mimic hadn’t been a creature, the Mimic had been a spell—no, a number of fiendishly complex spells working together. She’d seen the network of spells that made it work—that gave it everything from limited intelligence to near-unstoppable power—seconds before throwing herself out of a window in a desperate bid to escape. And the spellwork below Whitehall had to work along the same lines!

The Mimic must have used a form of necromancy, she thought. It was the only way to account for how it drained its victims, using them as a source of power. But Whitehall draws on the nexus point.

Her mind raced. The Mimic had possessed a certain intelligence, quite apart from whatever it had drawn from its victims to allow it to impersonate them. And she’d often wondered if Whitehall had some limited intelligence of its own. The school had allowed her into the nexus point, when Shadye had been patiently hunting her down. Had it known she needed to use the power to kill the insane necromancer? Or had it merely recognized her as a student and allowed her into the chamber?

Caleb finished the tile and looked at her. “Emily?”

“I’ve had a thought,” Emily said.

She reached for a sheet of paper, then stopped. Did she dare tell Caleb what she knew? Only a handful of people knew the truth about Mimics. The previous Grandmaster had believed that others would try to duplicate the spellwork, once they knew it was possible; he’d ordered his staff not to talk. And yet, unlocking the secrets behind the Mimic might also unlock the secrets behind Whitehall. Emily didn’t share Professor Locke’s enthusiasm for pushing buttons, just to see what they did, but she had to admit she was fascinated. The prospect of uncovering magics from the distant past was very attractive.

Caleb frowned. “What sort of thought?”

“It’s... complicated,” Emily said. She swallowed. Etiquette was hardly her forte, but what she needed to ask was a serious breach of custom. “Can I ask for your oath of silence?”

Caleb looked hurt, deeply hurt. His voice, when he spoke, was angry. “Do you not trust me?”

Emily cursed herself, again. Merely asking for the oath was proof enough that she didn’t trust him, even though she’d let him hold her and kiss her... he had every right to be angry with her. Questioning the honor of someone on the Nameless World was practically a challenge to a duel. She didn’t think Caleb would issue a challenge, but she might just have blown their relationship out of the water.

“This is delicate and dangerous,” she said, silently pleading for him to understand. “The... the former Grandmaster was reluctant to discuss it at all.”

Caleb studied her for a long moment. “Very well,” he said, reluctantly. “You have my oath of silence until you release me from it, as long as you remain alive.”

Emily winced. She supposed she deserved it. Oaths were tricky things, particularly when they weren’t phrased very carefully. Caleb would not want to be oathbound to her even after her death. She could hardly grant him permission to forget the oath after she died, if he outlived her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But this could lead someone towards creating a Mimic.”

She ran through the whole story as quickly as she could, starting with her close encounter with the Mimic impersonating Sergeant Bane and ending with the handful of charred runes that had been left behind, after the Mimic had finally been destroyed. Caleb listened in silence, his eyes going wide as she outlined some of the implications. A Mimic was almost completely unstoppable, save for a spell so simple that hardly anyone would think to cast it when it was useless in a duel. And it had been sheer luck that she’d realized the Mimic’s true nature in time to deduce how to stop it.

“That’s... weird,” Caleb said. He didn’t sound annoyed or hurt any longer, which relieved her more than she cared to admit. Instead, he sounded fascinated. “It was a spell?”

“Yeah,” Emily said. She put the piece of paper down on the workbench and started to sketch what little she recalled of its spellware. “Each spell was perfectly balanced amidst the others, keeping the structure in place. It was an order of magnitude—perhaps several orders of magnitude—more complex than our spell tiles.”

“Clever,” Caleb breathed. “Who came up with this?”

Emily shrugged. Very little was known about Mimics. There was no way to find one unless it resumed its natural form—and no way to force one to resume its natural form, as long as it had mana to spare. She could vaguely grasp the complex entanglement of the necromantic and soul magics that allowed Mimics to function, but it wasn’t something she dared write down. If Lady Barb had thrown a fit at the prospect of magical batteries, Emily hated to think what she’d say if Emily built her own Mimics.

And yet, there are possibilities, she thought, looking at the notation. I wonder...

She cleared her throat. “Our main problem here is channeling magic through the tiles, right?”

Caleb nodded, impatiently. They’d gotten better at channeling the magic so it formed a makeshift spell, but every so often a tile would burn out or explode anyway, no matter what they did. Emily suspected that there were limits to how much mana could be pushed through the tissue-thin layer of Manaskol. If only she could put it together with a battery... but without a conscious mind governing the flow of magic, the result would probably be an immediate explosion.

“The spellwork here is solid,” she said, picking up one of the tiles for him to inspect. “What if the Mimic’s spells were virtual spells, built out of magic? If the spells have no real substance, and they don’t, can they overload?”

She frowned as Caleb looked doubtful. There was no way she could explain the concept of holographic computing to him, all the more so as she wasn’t sure she understood it herself. A computer could generate a virtual operating system, rather than something built out of firmware. She wished, again, that she’d spent longer studying computer programs while she’d been on Earth, but if she’d known she would be kidnapped by Shadye she would have memorized hundreds of thousands of other pieces of information.

And made sure I was carrying a couple of textbooks, she thought, ruefully. Even a copy of The Way Things Work would be very helpful.

“I suppose it could work,” Caleb mused. “But there would still be a great deal of leakage, wouldn’t there?”

Emily studied the spell diagram for a long moment. “Not if you tune the spells to reabsorb the mana,” she mused, finally. Mimics didn’t leak. If they did, they would be detected easily by magicians. She’d stood next to Sergeant Bane after he’d been replaced and sensed nothing wrong. “It should be possible.”

“You’d have a major leak,” Caleb protested.

Emily grinned at him. “Not if you told them you couldn’t,” she said. “It’s like pushing water down a straw.”

“When the water is part of the straw,” Caleb countered. He shook his head doubtfully. “The Mimic would be burning power just to keep its assumed form. Even keeping a trap spell suspended in time would be costly.”

“You’d need a constant loop,” Emily reasoned. She doodled on the paper for a long moment, trying to see how the spell might work. “As long as the cycle remained unbroken, the spell should remain in existence without much input.”

“There would still be some decay,” Caleb said. He gave Emily a long look. “This is dangerous.”

Emily sighed. “That’s what the Grandmaster thought.”

She met his eyes. “We could make something like this,” she said. “But it would have to remain our secret.”

Caleb looked at her for a long moment. “Until we actually made it work?”

Emily shrugged. If the virtual spellware could handle a surge of magic, all she’d need to do was hook it up to a battery and let the power flow. Indeed, there was no reason why the spellware couldn’t handle such a surge. The only real danger would be accidentally destroying the spell components and she was sure she could handle it.

“I’m not sure if we would ever want to release this,” she said. “But we could always cite the Sorcerer’s Rule.”

“Not if we wanted to prove what we’d done,” Caleb said. “We’d need to say how we’d done it too.”

“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Emily said, tiredly. She gave him a sidelong look. They’d need to reread the rules, very carefully, just to see how much detail they were required to provide. “We could keep working on the tiles instead and tackle the virtual network later.”

“But the virtual network would be much more flexible,” Caleb pointed out. “We should concentrate on that.”

Emily frowned. Changing their joint project now wouldn’t get them in trouble. It wouldn’t be hard for her to write out a project outline that would conceal the nature of the Mimic, not least because the Mimic had been fantastically complex. But there would also be a great many hard questions to answer. Professor Locke would probably accuse her of trying to duplicate the ancient magics...

“I suppose,” she said. She could always ask if Caleb could join them. “I...”

She glanced up as someone banged on the door, then hastily hid the paper she’d scribbled on as Caleb waved a hand, opening the door. Dulcet stepped inside, her face pale.

“My Lady,” she said. “Can you come now? Tiega is very upset.”

Emily frowned. “Upset about what?”

“I don’t know,” Dulcet said. “But she was crying.”

“Maybe she went to see the Warden,” Caleb said.

“She didn’t,” Dulcet insisted. “I was in class with her all day.”

“I’m coming,” Emily said, rising. She glanced at Caleb. “See you at dinner?”

Caleb smiled. “Why not?”

Chapter Nineteen

EMILY HADN’T BEEN SURE WHAT TO expect when she entered the First Year dorms, but they seemed reasonably normal. Unsurprisingly, there was hardly anyone in sight. Most of the students would be trying to catch a nap before dinnertime or studying books in the library, assuming they’d already learnt the value of hard work. Or perhaps they’d be down on the playing fields, watching the games and hoping to be spotted by one of the captains. It was unusual for a First Year to play, but it had been known to happen. She glanced into the common room and frowned as she spotted Adana and Julia, sitting on chairs, then headed down to their room. At least they’d left their roommate alone.

She stopped outside Tiega’s door and hesitated, then knocked gently and pushed the door open. The wards would allow her into their bedrooms, although she’d been warned—along with the other mentors—that she wasn’t supposed to use the permission without extremely good cause. A crying student might not be considered good enough, she suspected. Tiega might be upset because she’d been insulted or upset because one of the tutors had told her off in front of the entire class.

The room was brightly lit—and deserted, save for Tiega. Emily closed the door, glanced at the other two beds to make sure there was nothing wrong with them, then walked slowly over to Tiega’s bed. Tiega lay on the mattress, curled into a ball. There was something about the sight that grabbed at Emily’s heartstrings, even though Tiega seemed to veer constantly between being a despicable bully and a pitifully abused child.

“Tiega,” she said, quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Tiega rolled over to stare at Emily through watery eyes. Emily studied her back, looking for signs of unpleasant hexes or jinxes. Melissa had been fond of a particularly nasty hex that made a victim’s face turn blotchy and horrific, but Tiega looked normal. It certainly didn’t look as though she was having trouble moving. She was clutching a piece of paper in one chubby hand, holding it so tightly that the paper was threatening to crumple...

“Tiega,” Emily repeated. “What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tiega said. “You can’t help.”

Emily frowned. A fight with one of her roommates? Neither Adana nor Julia had seemed to be in pain, let alone turned into a frog or hexed into silence. Or a disagreement with one of the tutors? Surely that wouldn’t have bothered Tiega this much. She certainly hadn’t been given detention or she would have been kept behind after class. Or a note from home...

She allowed her voice to harden. “What happened?”

Tiega uncurled her fingers and passed Emily the note. It was nothing more than three sentences, written using English letters. UGLY FAT GIRL. USELESS FAT SMELLY GIRL. EAT SHIT AND DIE. Emily recoiled in shock, shaking her head in stunned disbelief. Bullying at Whitehall was normally physical, not emotional. She’d certainly never been sent any unsigned notes.

“I found it on my bed,” Tiega said. She sounded shocked. “Whoever left it here could get into my room!”

Her roommates, Emily thought. The housemother or a tutor could enter, of course, but she rather doubted a staff member would be leaving poisonous messages on Tiega’s bed. It had to be Adana or Julia.

She frowned. Maybe she was required to turn a blind eye to students hexing other students, but there were limits. If she was told off for intervening... well, she’d cope with it. She’d coped with worse in the last four years.

“You need to protect your bed,” she said. “Didn’t you ward it against intruders?”

“Just the bedside cabinet and the trunk,” Tiega said. She stood and reached for the trunk, positioned neatly at the foot of her bed. “Only a member of my family should be able to open it.”

Emily tested the clasp, gingerly. The trunk looked old enough to belong to Tiega’s grandmother, but there was nothing wrong with the spells protecting it from harm. Whoever had crafted the trunk had done a very good job, although she didn’t recognize the spellwork. She suspected that anyone less capable than Professor Lombardi—or a blood relative—would have real problems trying to break into the trunk.

“You probably need to protect the bed as well,” Emily said, as she tested the bedside cabinet thoughtfully. Tiega had used a set of very basic spells, but she doubted that anyone below Third Year could have unlocked the cabinet without being caught in the spell. “Someone could hex your bed if they wished.”

She sighed. It wasn’t something she’d had to endure, but Alassa had had problems with her first set of roommates and they’d hexed her bed a few times. Never enough to keep her from class, yet always badly enough to make her life uncomfortable. If Tiega was having problems with her roommates...

“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” she said. “I promise.”

Gritting her teeth, she tested the paper for hints of someone’s magical signature, but found nothing. That was odd. A skilled magician would be able to keep their power in check long enough to write the message without tainting the paper, yet she would have been surprised if any student below Fourth Year had that sort of precision. Adana, Lillian and Tiega herself had all been raised in magical communities, but none of them were that good. She frowned in bemusement, then tested for fingerprints. The only ones that appeared were Tiega’s and her own.

“Odd,” she said, puzzled.

She scowled. It was hard to imagine an older student writing poisonous notes to Tiega. If nothing else, they’d be lucky not to be expelled when they were caught. But she found it hard to believe that any of the younger students could write the note without leaving either traces of their magic or fingerprints. Hell, hardly anyone knew to watch for fingerprints. It had only been two years since the fingerprint spell had been invented.

“Someone hates me,” Tiega said. She sounded as though she was going to start crying again, her voice torn between anger and dismay. “They can’t even face me!”

Emily nodded. Hexing Tiega wouldn’t have been pleasant, but at least it would have been out in the open. Sending notes was far more cowardly. Tiega would feel worse because she had no idea who was sending them. But Emily would have bet good money that either Adana or Julia had sent the notes. No one else had access to the bedroom.

“I’ll deal with it,” she said, quietly. “You have a rest until dinnertime.”

She took the note and placed it neatly into her pocket, then rose to her feet and walked out of the door, back to the common room. Adana and Julia weren’t the only students there; five boys and six girls sat around a table, playing what looked to be an immensely complicated game of cards. Their eyes went wide as they saw Emily.

“You two,” Emily snapped, glancing at her charges. “With me. Now.”

Adana looked puzzled, but rose at once. Julia followed a little more slowly, her face so perfectly controlled that she betrayed no hint of reaction. Emily led them both down the corridor to one of the interview rooms, then stepped aside and motioned for them to enter the small room. There was really nothing inside, save for a table and a set of chairs. They were used, she’d been told, for private discussions between the housemother and her charges.

“Sit,” she ordered, as she closed the door and cast a privacy ward. “Which of you put the note on Tiega’s bed?”

Julia blinked, showing the first hint of an actual reaction. Adana’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Emily stared at them both, silently channeling Lady Barb. The older woman had shown no mercy to her charges and very few students would have dared to cross her. If she’d caught Emily doing something she shouldn’t, Emily would have confessed at once. There was no point in trying to claim innocence.

“I didn’t,” Adana protested. “I don’t know what she was so upset about.”

Emily met her eyes, silently daring her to try to lie. Adana had means, motive and opportunity. She could get into the room, she disliked Tiega and she probably had been in the room—alone—between lunch and the final class of the day. The only real question was how she’d written the note, with neither fingerprints nor magical signature, but if Tiega could master spells a year or two above her grade, surely Adana could do the same.

“I didn’t write the note,” Adana insisted. “I didn’t!”

“Right,” Emily said. Casting a truth spell wasn’t easy, certainly not without betraying what she was doing, but she managed it on her second try. “Tell me that again, please.”

“I didn’t write the note,” Adana said.

Emily blinked in surprise. Fooling a truth spell wasn’t easy. Professor Lombardi or Lady Barb could have done it, but she doubted Adana could. Hell, she would have had difficulty if Void hadn’t tilted the odds in her favor. She looked at Julia, wondering if she’d decided to place the note instead, even though her magical training was far less advanced than Adana’s...

“I didn’t put the note on her bed,” Julia said, quietly.

Emily scowled. Were they playing games with her? Or...

“Adana,” she said, quietly. “Did you have anything to do with the note?”

“No,” Adana said. “I didn’t!”

Julia echoed her a moment later. Emily had wondered, despite herself, if Julia had written the note and Adana put it on the bed, thus evading the spell without actually lying, but she doubted that anyone could have predicted what questions she would ask. It looked as though Adana and Julia were innocent, which bemused her. Either someone had managed to get through the door without permission or... or Tiega had written the note herself. But unless she was a far better actress than Emily believed possible, that was unlikely...

She cursed under her breath. Using the truth spell on her charges was likely to get her into trouble, if anyone noticed... the wards would definitely notice. She looked from one to the other, then stepped backwards. Adana looked indignant; Julia merely looked resigned, from what little showed on her face. Given her background, she probably wouldn’t be surprised if she was blamed for the note anyway.

“Leave Tiega alone until dinnertime,” she ordered, curtly. “And if you happen to find out who wrote the note, let me know.”

Adana nodded, then headed for the door. Julia cast one last look at Emily, as if she wanted to say something, but followed Adana silently. Emily sat down as the door closed, suddenly feeling very tired. Casting the truth spell shouldn’t have drained her, but it had been a very long day. She dispelled the remainder of the spell, then forced herself to relax. There was at least an hour until dinnertime.

I could go back to Caleb, she thought. The chair, thankfully, wasn’t comfortable. She would have fallen asleep if it had been. We have work to do.

She removed the note from her pocket and stared down at it, hoping to find something she’d missed the first time around. But there was nothing. The writing was blocky, the letters drawn so plainly that there was nothing distinctive about them; the paper itself was one of tens of thousands of sheets prepared for Whitehall each year. If she decided to suspect everyone who could have obtained a piece of paper, she’d have to suspect everyone in Whitehall. It wouldn’t get her anywhere.

The door opened. Aloha stepped in.

“I heard you dragged two of your charges out by their ears,” she said, as she closed the door behind her. “And then that you flogged them bloody. How much of that is actually true?”

“I ordered them to come with me,” Emily said. Flogging students bloody was harsh even for Mountaintop, let alone Whitehall. “Apart from that...”

She held out the note. “Tell me what you make of this?”

Aloha sighed. “We get one or two of these every year,” she said, resigned. She sat down on the chair facing Emily and crossed her legs. “Some bitch who thinks writing cowardly notes is funny.”

“Someone who managed to get through the bedroom door,” Emily pointed out. She ran through the details, one by one. “Is that normal?”

“No, but you won’t be able to convince a tutor to check the wards unless you have clear proof that it was a senior student,” Aloha said. She frowned. “Did it occur to you that Tiega might have written the note herself?”

“You didn’t see her,” Emily said, quietly. “She was very distraught.”

“It could have been a good job of acting,” Aloha said. “A person from that background would be schooled in how to conceal their true feelings almost as soon as they learned to walk and talk.”

Emily shook her head, firmly.

“But no matter,” Aloha said. “It will burn itself out, sooner or later. Leave it alone.”

“I can’t leave it alone,” Emily said. “This isn’t someone casting hexes in the corridors.”

Aloha met her eyes. “Magic requires a degree of mental toughness, a degree of adaptability, that cannot be forged if you hold their hands all the time,” she said, sternly. “You have already brushed against the limits of acceptable behavior by teaching them some basic defensive spells.”

“Which they needed to learn,” Emily snapped.

“Which they could have found in the library,” Aloha reminded her. “I believe that was what you did, when you first came to Whitehall. How many times do we have to have this discussion?”

She leaned forward. “This person—” she held out the note “—will eventually be caught by one of Tiega’s protective hexes. When she is, Tiega will no doubt mete out sufficient punishment—if the writer hasn’t already done something to earn punishment from the tutors. And they probably will, because this sort of attitude always leads to trouble.”

“Yes,” Emily said. “But...”

“But nothing,” Aloha said. “I understand how you feel, Emily. But tell me. How far is this going to go?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to hold their hands when they walk to class?” Aloha asked. “Are you going to measure alchemical ingredients for them, then whisper answers as they try to work their way through a research paper? Are you going to wrap them up in so many protective spells they can barely move? Are you going to undress them at night like dolls?”

“Don’t be silly,” Emily snapped.

“It’s a serious point,” Aloha said. She didn’t seem offended by Emily’s tone. “Are you going to dress them up nicely, like those silly useless girls who came to the wedding and fainted when all the excitement began? Are you going to hamper their development because you can’t bear to see them upset?”

“It’s not like that,” Emily protested.

“Yes, it is,” Aloha said. “You feel responsible for them. You want to protect them. But tell me. What’s going to happen after you’re gone?”

She rose and headed for the door, then stopped and turned back to Emily. “I’m not going to report your use of a truth spell,” she added. “But I strongly suggest you don’t do it again.”

Emily rose as Aloha left the room, thinking hard. It was a meaningless statement. Aloha might have checked with the wards, just to see what had happened in the interview room, but she wasn’t the only one with access. Gordian might not be able to use it to expel her, given the context, yet it could certainly be held against her. She shook her head, then left the room and headed for the Fifth Year dorms. If she was lucky, she’d have time to change into something more comfortable before heading down to meet Caleb for dinner.

And then we can go for a walk, she thought, hopefully. I...

“Emily,” a voice called. She turned to see Frieda running up behind her. “I haven’t seen you for years.”

“Days,” Emily corrected. She assumed Frieda had gone down to Dragon’s Den on Saturday, but she had no idea what she might have been doing on Sunday. “How was your weekend?”

“I had my first Martial Magic class this afternoon,” Frieda said. “I’m just glad Jade told me to work so very hard when we were talking before Alassa’s wedding. How did you manage to keep up in your first year?”

“With difficulty,” Emily said. It had been far from easy. She’d been the youngest student in the class by over a year. “Work hard; do whatever the sergeants tell you to do.”

“I will,” Frieda said, cheerfully. She linked her arm through Emily’s as they walked down the corridor, evading a pair of younger students with the ease of long practice. “Did you really find a monster under the school?”

“No,” Emily said. She shook her head in amusement. Was that the latest rumor going around the student body? “Just... just a few hints of the past.”

“Better to look to the future,” Frieda said. She squeezed Emily’s arm. “The past cannot be changed, can it?”

Emily shrugged. If she’d had a time machine, she would have gone back and kicked her father in the nuts for leaving her. And then forced a sobering potion down her mother’s throat. But no manipulation of pocket dimensions could produce a route backwards in time, as far as she knew. It seemed impossible.

“I don’t think so,” she said, finally. She didn’t blame Frieda for not wanting to think about her past, not really. “But that doesn’t stop us from trying to learn from it.”

Chapter Twenty

THE NEXT FEW WEEKS WOULD HAVE been enjoyable, Emily conceded privately, if she hadn’t been worked almost to death. Classes had started in earnest, with tutors driving their charges forward savagely, leaving her with very little time for anything apart from coursework. And yet, she’d almost enjoyed exploring the tunnels under Whitehall. The map they’d started to compose of the underworld was growing larger, including the map room, the lower hall and several other oddities. She would have been happier, though, if they’d located the statue—or at least come up with a convincing explanation for its existence.

And Aloha had been wrong. The notes hadn’t stopped.

She’d done everything she could think of to identify the writer, but found nothing. The notes—twelve in all—had appeared in places ranging from Tiega’s desk in history class to her locker outside Care of Magical Creatures. Emily had no idea how anyone could hide so many notes without being seen, even if they hadn’t managed to sneak another note back into Tiega’s bedroom. And Tiega was taking it badly, very badly. She’d grown more and more depressed as the notes kept coming, lashing out at her roommates and the rest of the students in her year. Emily had even been warned, privately, that if Tiega’s behavior continued to worsen, she might well be expelled. It was just another thing to worry about, quite apart from her own grades and Caleb...

“You’re not focusing,” Mistress Danielle said. “Concentrate.”

She threw a nasty hex that slashed against Emily’s protections, forcing her to jump to the side as a second—and darker—hex threatened to burn through her weakened protections and strike her bare skin. Emily threw back a hex of her own, only to see Mistress Danielle dodge it with almost contemptuous ease. Her third and final hex picked Emily up and threw her against the spellchamber wall; she gasped in pain as she struck the stone and slid down to the floor. Moments later, Mistress Danielle marched over and placed a foot to Emily’s throat.

“I win,” she said, firmly. “You’re still not casting your spells fast enough.”

Emily scowled, inwardly, as she pulled herself to her feet. It said something about how hard she’d been working that going to Dragon’s Den was something of a break, but Mistress Danielle had no concept of mercy. Her lessons were practical and demanding. She showed no inclination to go easy on Emily, merely to keep pushing her to develop her skills—or break. She’d even admitted, outright, that it would be preferable if Emily broke now than when she was in a real fight. Emily couldn’t help wondering if Danielle was taking a subtle revenge for the death of her former master.

“I’m trying,” she said. “It just seems that I can’t cast them any faster.”

She groaned in pain. Every inch of her body hurt. Her head throbbed from the effort of casting so many spells in such a short time. She had the power, but not—yet—the skill to use it effectively. Her spells might be unstoppable, Mistress Danielle had said, if she had the time to cast them properly, yet any opponent worth his salt wouldn’t give her the chance to try.

“You really have an odd little disadvantage,” Mistress Danielle agreed. She gave Emily the superior smirk Emily was coming to detest. “You developed magic of great power before you were genuinely ready to handle it.”

Emily nodded in agreement, feeling sweat trickling down her back. Most students grew into their power, learning to cast spells before they reached their full potential. It was almost like learning to drive, starting with a basic car before moving on to the sports car. But her power had been boosted by the duel. It was easy to cast one or two spells; casting dozens in quick succession was a great deal harder. Some of her spells just came apart when she tried to cast them too quickly.

“Better work on that,” Mistress Danielle said. She didn’t look remotely winded. “I would hate to see you fall to a lesser opponent.”

She turned and strode off, practically daring Emily to throw a hex at her back. Emily resisted the temptation, too winded to ward off the retaliation that would surely follow. Mistress Danielle seemed to want Emily to dislike her, perhaps assuming it would make it easier for Emily to strike at her. And the hell of it, Emily conceded as she leaned against the wall, was that she might well have a point. Once she got used to striking with lethal intent, Mistress Danielle had said, she would find it easier in future.

Mistress Danielle turned to face her once she reached the other side of the room. “Draw your dagger,” she ordered. “Now.”

Emily flexed her arm, sending the charmed blade falling into her hand. Alassa had taught her the trick, showing her spells that allowed her to carry a dagger in her sleeve without risk. She had even used a dagger to kill her own aunt, years ago; Emily had never used her dagger, not outside practice. But Mistress Danielle had insisted she carry a hidden weapon at all times.

“Better,” Mistress Danielle said, grudgingly. “Are you ready to stab a would-be rapist?”

Emily swallowed. “I think so,” she said. “But...”

“But nothing,” Mistress Danielle said. “Either you are or you aren’t. There’s no middle ground.”

Do or do not, Emily thought, as she studied the dagger. Alassa had called it a Virgin Blade, when she’d given it to Emily. There is no try.

“Apart from combat sorcerers, most magicians do not carry blades,” Mistress Danielle said, firmly. “And even a combat sorcerer will not rely primarily on his blade. Keeping a hidden weapon on you may make the difference between saving your virtue and losing it.”

Emily nodded. It would be a brave or foolhardy swordsman who challenged a magician—and a weak and foolish magician who lost! A sorcerer should have no trouble protecting himself against naked blades, although there was an ongoing arms race between enchanters and charms masters to develop blades that could cut through protections and newer protections against those blades. Sergeant Miles had once commented that the only way to be sure a swordsman wasn’t carrying a charmed blade was to inspect it, after the man was dead. A knife in the back, with a cursed blade, could kill even a Lone Power.

“You also need to work on your swordsmanship,” Mistress Danielle added, flatly. “If you are serious about becoming a Mediator, you will need to have reached at least the third level of mastery. Your future master may be unable or unwilling to teach you.”

Emily groaned inwardly, although she was not foolish enough to show any such reaction on her face. She was a good spellcaster—she knew that—but she was an appallingly bad swordswoman. Even carrying some of the blades Sergeant Miles had shown them was difficult, let alone wielding them in combat. She was stronger now than she had ever been in her life, a result of better food and better exercise, yet she needed to use a shorter sword in combat. And she had still been regularly beaten by the other students in martial magic.

“Do more exercises before you come, next week,” Mistress Danielle added. “You’ll be facing me with a blade.”

“Oh,” Emily said.

“You need it,” Mistress Danielle said. “I would really advise you to get more exercise outside class too.”

Emily barked a harsh laugh. “I don’t have the time,” she said. “There’s no time.”

“Then learn to manage it better,” Mistress Danielle said.

“I don’t know how,” Emily admitted. “When I’m not in class, I’m in the workroom or the library; when I’m not in the workroom or the library, I’m in the common room or trying to sleep. And I’m not getting enough of that either.”

“That is obvious,” Mistress Danielle said. She sounded oddly amused. “Perhaps you should consider dropping some of your responsibilities.”

Emily shook her head. She couldn’t abandon the mentoring scheme—despite herself, she’d come to care for her charges—and she couldn’t stop working with Professor Locke. Giving up one or more of her subjects might be doable, but she didn’t want to give up any of them. It had been hard enough to pass the exams that allowed her to take the subjects at such an advanced level.

And I’m finally getting used to working proper rituals, she thought. Aloha made a much better partner than any of the other students, even though Emily knew she’d pay for Aloha’s services one day. Aloha had insisted on a future favor rather than payment up front. I don’t want to stop now.

“Then learn to cope with the pressure,” Mistress Danielle said. “Rest assured, it only gets worse from here on.”

Emily sighed. “An apprenticeship is worse?”

“Of course,” Mistress Danielle said. “Your master will be watching you like a hawk, constantly. The slightest mistake will draw his attention. There will be no chance to make changes before he catches you and tells you exactly what you did wrong. He will be supervising you from dusk till dawn.”

“It sounds bad,” Emily said.

Mistress Danielle eyed her, reprovingly. “It can be very rewarding, if you make the most of it,” she said, sternly. “But it can also be hellish if you prove yourself unworthy of an apprenticeship.”

Emily swallowed. “How was your apprenticeship?”

It struck her, a moment later, that asking that question might have been a mistake. She’d read that a master was practically a father to his apprentice—and Emily had killed Mistress Danielle’s former master. But Mistress Danielle showed no reaction, other than a flicker of anger. Emily wasn’t even sure the anger was directed at her.

“Hard,” she said. “I slept on a stone floor, with nothing more than a blanket. I studied from breakfast to lunch, then practiced from lunch until dinner. For the first mistake, he would make me tell him why it was a mistake; for a repeated mistake, I would be beaten. And yet I would not have passed the trials so quickly if he hadn’t hammered my skills into my head.”

She shook her head, then glanced at the clock. “We can talk about that later, if you want,” she added, turning to head towards the door. “For the moment, we should shower and vacate the premises.”

Emily nodded and followed her into the changing room. Some enterprising magician had rigged up a shower system, but it was nowhere near as warm and welcoming as Whitehall’s, let alone a shower from Earth. Plumbing was one thing she did miss, she admitted to herself, even if she missed little else. It was astonishing just how many fantasy books completely overlooked the absence of indoor toilets and hot and cold running water. But then, she wouldn’t care to read about characters going to the toilet in the great outdoors either.

She undressed rapidly, then glanced into the mirror and swore under her breath. Her face was untouched, for once, but there were black and blue marks all over her body. There was nothing that could be done about them, either. Casting healing spells on one’s own body was dangerous and Mistress Danielle had told her, flatly, that she would just have to endure her lumps unless they were life-threatening. It built character.

“Better hurry,” Mistress Danielle advised. “We don’t want to be tossed out by the next person to hire this spellchamber.”

Emily nodded and hastily showered before donning her spare clothes. Her body still ached, but the warm water had helped. “Can I pick your brains a little?”

“It depends,” Mistress Danielle said. She smirked, again. “I may charge you for the answer.”

“If someone was sending malicious notes,” Emily said, “how would you catch them?”

Mistress Danielle contemplated it for a long moment. “I assume you’ve tried testing for a magical signature?”

Emily nodded, shortly.

“Then I’d put up tracking wards everywhere a note might be hidden,” Mistress Danielle said, after bouncing a pair of questions off her. “Not trapping wards, tracking wards. They often pass unnoticed if the person they’re tracking is unskilled. You could keep a record of whoever went past the hiding place, shortening your list of suspects.”

She shrugged as she wrapped her cloak around herself. “Or you could simply ignore them,” she added. “Anyone leaving notes lying around instead of hurling hexes isn’t worth anything.”

“It isn’t that easy,” Emily said.

“Life only gets harder,” Mistress Danielle said. “Learning to cope with difficulties now will only make it easier in the future.”

Emily sighed as she followed Mistress Danielle out to the street. Caleb was already there, reading a book as he waited for her. She felt an odd thrill at seeing him, even though she was still aching. Mistress Danielle nodded curtly to her, then hurried off down the street. Emily couldn’t help feeling a stab of envy. Mistress Danielle had a freedom far too many people in the Nameless World would envy.

“Welcome back,” Caleb said. He placed the book back in his bag, then hugged her. Emily winced. “Are you all right?”

“Just aching,” Emily said. “Did you have a good day?”

“I explored the bookshops, but there’s nothing new,” Caleb said. He sounded oddly annoyed about something. “Apparently, there will be a new consignment of books from Zangaria next week.”

Emily nodded as she took his hand and let him lead her down the street. Zangaria’s printing industry was the most advanced in the Allied Lands, although the city-states were catching up fast as kings and princes reacted to the changes she’d wrought. Most of the books they produced were absolute trash—no one had managed to write anything along the same lines as The Lord of the Rings—but they had powered an explosion of literacy. She had no idea where it would end, yet she was sure it would change the world forever. Perhaps it had been a mistake to throw so many changes out into the world...

The avalanche has started, she thought, wryly. Even if she didn’t introduce anything else, the innovations she’d already made would reshape the world. It is too late for the plebeians to vote.

He looked at her as they entered a small restaurant. “Did you have a good lesson?”

“I ache everywhere,” Emily said, only half in jest. “And I barely scored any hits on her.”

“Casper had the same complaint,” Caleb said. “He said his master kept bawling him out for miscasting spells.”

Emily winced. “Poor him.”

“Yes,” Caleb said, with suspicious affability. “Poor him.”

He ordered food while Emily sat back and studied him. The room was dark, but it was easy to see he was annoyed about something. Casper was his elder brother, after all; it would be unseemly for Caleb to leap ahead of him, if he took on an apprenticeship of his own. And yet, would it be right to allow respect for Casper to hold him back? Emily had no siblings, at least as far as she knew; she didn’t really understand what it was like to watch a younger sibling move ahead of you. Casper would not take it very well.

She leaned forward. “You have nearly two years at Whitehall left,” she said. “Surely he will gain his mastery by then.”

Caleb blinked, as if he wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about. “Casper? I hope so, desperately. Mother will not be pleased if he’s wasted five years of his life trying to get his mastery.”

“Five years?” Emily repeated. She put the dates together a moment later. “You mean, you want him finished before you start?”

“I won’t be taking a combat mastery,” Caleb said. “It’s a very different set of skills. But I will be in trouble if he doesn’t gain his mastery before I gain mine.”

Emily nodded in agreement. Apprenticeships nominally lasted between one to four years, but it would be a rare apprentice who took longer than three years to gain his mastery. Indeed, outside illness or serious family problems, it was rare indeed to stay an apprentice that long. A master who believed, sincerely, that his apprentice was unlikely to graduate, let alone make him proud, had no reason to keep up the pretense. It would be better to release the student than waste four years trying to teach him.

“If that happens,” she said, “what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb said. He shook his head. “Part of me insists that I should take my own apprenticeship and if I beat him to mastery... well, it’s his own fault for not paying more attention to his studies. And the rest of me warns that no good will come from provoking a family feud. Bad feeling on his part may make life complicated later.”

Emily sighed. It was rare for magicians to have no siblings. Indeed, almost everyone she knew at Whitehall was part of a large brood. Alassa and Emily herself were perhaps the only exceptions in their year. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to have so many people around the house, to love them even as one fought with them...

“I suppose it will,” she said, as the food arrived. “We’d better eat up fast. Professor Locke wants to start early tomorrow.”

“Joy,” Caleb said. “You’d think he’d recruit more helpers. I’m sure some of the other tutors would be happy to volunteer their time.”

“I think he’s enjoying being the one to explore the underground tunnels,” Emily said. “If he brings someone else in, he has to share.”

“Odd,” Caleb said. He smiled, rather wanly. “But I suppose I wouldn’t want to share either.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“HAVE YOU NOTICED,” CABIRIA SAID, “THAT the air is getting better?”

“The tunnels do seem to be adapting to us,” Professor Locke agreed. “But there’s just too much dust around for us to trust the air completely.”

Emily nodded in agreement. They’d cleared some of the dust out of the way using spells, but there were still countless unexplored tunnels coated in dust. Breathing it in would make them unwell, if it didn’t choke them to death. Better to keep using filtering spells than to risk death down in the lower tunnels.

“And we have work to do,” Professor Locke reminded them, as they reached the crystal chamber. “You two can explore, as we discussed. I’m going to remain here and keep probing the crystal matrix.”

“As you wish, sir,” Cabiria said. “But surely it would be better to recruit help...”

“This is my project,” Professor Locke snapped. “You two can map the corridors without help.”

Emily sighed as she picked up the notebooks and followed Cabiria down the corridor to the latest section of unexplored tunnels. Professor Locke was adamant that no one else was allowed down into the tunnels, even though a few extra pairs of hands would have made life so much easier. Cabiria had pointed out that he was worried about losing credit for whatever he discovered, but it still struck Emily as absurd. It wasn’t as if there would be a shortage of volunteers.

We’re looking at the very heart of Whitehall, she thought. Surely everyone would want to help.

She found herself looking around, uneasily, as they entered the latest section of the underground network. The corridors were caked in dust, again; there was no trace that anyone had walked through the tunnels for over a hundred years. She cursed under her breath—she would have been happier if someone had come up with a convincing explanation for the statue—as she opened the notebook and started to sketch. Professor Locke had devised a notation system to help her keep track of each part of the tunnels, even if they shifted position suddenly. Emily couldn’t help thinking that mapmaking was an exercise in futility, but it kept them busy.

And away from the crystal chamber, she thought, morbidly. What is he doing in there?

“The Grandmaster looked pleased at the last report,” Cabiria said. “What do you think he was thinking?”

Emily shrugged. Gordian could have overruled Professor Locke at any moment and insisted on allowing others into the tunnels, if he’d wished. Did he want to limit the number of people who knew what they’d found? Or was he more concerned than he wanted to admit about the possible dangers in mucking around under the school? But then, he could have resealed the gates and forbidden everyone from going down into the tunnel network at any moment. His behavior didn’t make sense.

“I suppose he’s balancing politics with practicalities,” Cabiria added, after a moment. “The person who cracks the secret of how Whitehall was built will become very important, if they keep the secret to themselves.”

“Perhaps,” Emily said. “Or perhaps he’s secretly hoping that Professor Locke will find nothing.”

Cabiria lifted her eyebrows. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Emily said. “Whatever he finds here will upset the balance of power.”

She’d given more thought to the implications than she wanted to admit. There were twelve nexus points within the Allied Lands, nine of them tapped using methods far inferior to Lord Whitehall’s. If Gordian managed to gain control of the secret, he could use that knowledge to boost his power and prestige. Or, if he wished, trade it for future favors. Having such complete control over their nexus points would be worth almost anything, to their owners. They’d agree to whatever Gordian demanded in exchange.

“It’s always political,” Cabiria said. “My uncle said as much.”

Emily nodded as she finished adding the tunnel to the map, then peered into the next set of rooms. They were empty, stripped bare of anything that might have pointed to what they’d been, once upon a time. The layers of dust were so thick it felt like wading through snow. She glanced around, just to make sure there was nothing hidden in the far corners, then turned to the door and hurried back into the corridors. All five of the rooms were exactly the same.

“That one could have been a classroom,” Cabiria mused. “But I would have thought it was really too small.”

“It’s barely any larger than a private workroom,” Emily agreed. Two people could work comfortably, barely, but three or more would have real problems. “Maybe that’s what they were.”

“Or they might have been bedrooms,” Cabiria added. “Perhaps the old servants slept here.”

Emily shrugged. It was possible, she supposed. The servants at Whitehall had a private section that was isolated from the rest of the school. Students were banned from entering, regardless of circumstances. Given how badly servants were treated across the Allied Lands, it was yet another reminder that Whitehall was strikingly progressive compared to everywhere else. Maybe the servants had bedded down here, once upon a time. She doubted she’d ever know for sure.

She led the way into the next set of corridors, then sucked in her breath as the tunnel started to slope downwards. Professor Locke had told them to watch for ways to go further under the school, but Emily hadn’t been too optimistic. If finding the first set of gates had been tricky, let alone opening and walking through them, she doubted it would be easy to find a second set. And yet, the tunnel definitely headed further underground.

“More runes,” Cabiria breathed. “And I don’t recognize half of them.”

Emily reached for her notebook and started to copy the runes onto the paper. She’d spent hours in the library digging through runic reference books, but two-thirds of the runes they’d spotted underground hadn’t been included in the books. Emily had no idea what that meant, although Professor Locke had merely chalked them up to yet another secret of the ancients that had been lost, somewhere in the mists of time. He’d needed to be talked into showing the runes to several other tutors at Whitehall.

“That one there is an old symbol for power,” Cabiria added. She was sketching out the runes, too. They’d compare their drawings afterwards. “And that one is...”

She paused. “What is that?”

Emily followed her pointing finger... and froze. A face was looking back at her, etched in the wall. She knew it. She’d seen it in countless movies and television shows. An outline of a grey alien face: hairless forehead, almond eyes, tiny mouth and a sharp pointy chin. It chilled her to the bone, even though it was nothing more than a drawing. There was no magic around it at all. And yet, it shouldn’t have been there. There was no way that it had made it to the Nameless World from Earth...

Unless there’s some truth in the stories of alien abduction after all, she thought. Or if their presence is a reflection of something buried in our racial memory.

She forced herself to think. There were no dragons on Earth, but she’d seen several on the Nameless World. Who knew where the stories of dragons had originally come from? Maybe there were grey aliens on the Nameless World too. She’d heard stories about dwarves, but she’d never met them. Could they be the little grey aliens?

Cabiria cleared her throat. “Emily? Are you all right?”

“Just... just shocked,” Emily managed. “Have you seen anything like it before?”

“No,” Cabiria said. She frowned. “I’ve no idea what it is.”

Emily sketched out the face despite her revulsion, then led the way further down the corridor. It leveled out a few moments later, revealing a handful of darkened tunnels leading into the shadows. Emily stepped forwards, but the lights didn’t come on. The magic that had kept the tunnels above them illuminated might have failed, she thought, or the lower levels might have been kept dark for a reason. She cast a light globe into the air and nudged it down the nearest corridor, watching grimly as the shadows drew back. They ebbed and flowed around the light like a tangible presence.

“A defense system,” Cabiria said. She added her own light globe, pushing the shadows back further. “I’ve seen this before, back home. Mundanes can’t hope to make their way through the darkness.”

She glanced back, then swore. “Emily...”

Emily turned. The passageway they’d come down was gone. She spun back, just in time to see the shadows vanish, revealing that the tunnels they’d seen were also gone. Cold ice ran down her spine as she realized there was no way out. They were confined to a tiny corridor, without any way to escape. She pushed against the wall, feeling nothing but stone. There was no hope of escape.

They were trapped.

“Fuck,” she breathed. She turned and checked the other wall, looking for secret passages, but found nothing. Cabiria did the same, knocking on the stone and listening for echoes. “What now?”

“It could be a trap for intruders,” Cabiria said. She sounded worried, although she was trying to hide it. Her face was impassive, but she was biting her lower lip nervously. “There’s one in my home, Emily. Intruders get shunted into the pit and held there until the patriarch can check on them. This might be just the same.”

Emily winced. The tutors used similar charms to protect their offices, she knew from experience, but they were alerted whenever one of the traps sprang. Here... she doubted Gordian knew they were trapped, even though he was linked to the wards. Professor Locke wouldn’t even notice they were missing, at least until lunchtime. He was too engrossed with studying the crystal network. And even if he came to look for them, there was no guarantee he would find them.

She sucked in her breath as she realized the danger. They were trapped in a reasonably small section of the corridor, without any air vents. It wouldn’t be long before they ran out of air and suffocated, no matter what spells they used. Or starved to death, if they managed to alter the spells to keep themselves alive. They had brought sandwiches with them, but nowhere near enough to stay alive indefinitely...

“We have to blast our way out,” she said. “If we use a blasting spell, we should be able to get through the stone.”

“I doubt it,” Cabiria said. She ran her fingers along the stone, testing it. “I bet the stone is reinforced with magic. I don’t think we can break it.”

“And if we don’t get out, we suffocate or starve,” Emily pointed out, tartly. “Stand back. I’ll try to blast a hole in the wall.”

She shaped the spell in her mind as she strode down to the far end of the corridor, then turned and hurled the hex towards the wall. There was a brilliant flash of light and a loud bang, but when the light faded it was clear that the wall hadn’t even been scratched. Emily swore under her breath, then threw a second hex. Cabiria threw one of her own, but again... the wall wasn’t even slightly damaged. It wasn’t even warm to the touch.

“We’re dead,” Cabiria breathed. Naked horror was clearly written on her face. “We are so dead.”

Emily slumped against the wall. She had a nasty feeling that Cabiria was right. There was no way out, no way to use magic to escape. Their only hope was being rescued, but unless the wards triggered an alert to the Grandmaster...

He wouldn’t even know where to find us, she thought. And that’s if he even looks!

“Brilliant,” Cabiria added, sitting down next to her. “I should have let myself be expelled.”

Emily gave her a tired smile. “Professor Locke would still have come exploring down here,” she said. “It would be someone else who died down here.”

She reached out, touching the magic surrounding them. It was weaker than she’d expected, but perfectly crafted to prevent her from blasting her way out. Her magic was strong, yet no amount of hammering on the walls would make a difference. And yet... a thought crossed her mind as she tested the wards. Perhaps, just perhaps...

“I’ve had an idea,” she said. She glanced at her watch. By her rough estimate, they’d been in the tunnel for barely ten minutes. “I could try to teleport us out.”

Cabiria stared at her. “Are you mad?”

Probably, Emily thought.

She cleared her throat. “We can’t break our way out,” she said. “And there’s little hope of being found and rescued. Do you have a better idea?”

Cabiria swallowed, hard. “Do you know what happens when someone tries to teleport into Whitehall? The wards stop them!”

“We’re already inside Whitehall,” Emily pointed out. “The wards may simply expel us from the school...”

“We’ll die,” Cabiria predicted. “No one will ever know what happened to us.”

Emily met her eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”

“I can’t teleport,” Cabiria added.

“I can,” Emily said. “Cabiria... I don’t see any other way out.”

“Wait for a while,” Cabiria said, after a moment. “Give them some time to find us.”

Emily nodded and leaned back against the wall, gathering her strength. She had no idea precisely what would happen when they started to run out of air. Spells could clear the air of dust and poisonous gas, but they couldn’t automatically turn carbon dioxide into a breathable air mixture. It should be possible to transfigure the atmosphere, yet doing it long enough for them to be rescued would be difficult. Even if she managed it, how long could she keep it up?

“Teleporting could kill us,” Cabiria breathed.

“So could staying here,” Emily said. Was it her imagination or were the walls looming closer? She hoped it was just an illusion, but she’d read enough horror stories about nasty traps guarding magical homes to fear the worst. “Cabiria, whoever programmed the trap didn’t want visitors.”

“Or merely wanted them held for inspection,” Cabiria breathed. “Like my family.”

Emily sighed and glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes. It felt longer, far longer.

“Tell me about your family,” she said, after a moment. “What are they like?”

Cabiria smiled. “What’s it like growing up with a Lone Power?”

“I didn’t see much of him,” Emily said. The lie fell easily from her lips. It was almost true, after all. “The people who raised me... didn’t have much to do with him. He only took an interest in me after I developed magic.”

“He must have thought you were a normal magician,” Cabiria said. There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. “Try growing up without magic.”

Emily kept her face expressionless. In a way, Cabiria had been lucky, even though she would probably never appreciate it. If she’d been born to a merchant family, like Imaiqah, she would have been married off by now; if she’d been born to a servant or serf family, she would have toiled from the moment she could walk. Or worse. Families were known to sell girl-children to strangers, just to save themselves the burden of feeding them. It was sickening, but she understood it all too well. A son would take care of his parents, in their old age; a daughter would marry and leave the household for good.

“I was lucky,” Emily said. “If I’d developed magic early, I would probably not have survived puberty.”

“True,” Cabiria agreed. “But magicians who do develop magic early—and survive—tend to be very strong.”

Emily shrugged. It seemed an unnecessary risk to her. The child would have problems controlling the magic—it would react to any stray thought or emotion—and probably not survive long enough to learn how to use it safely. But she knew just how far some families were prepared to go to ensure they had powerful magic running through their veins. Trying to bring magic out early—if they had plenty of other children—might seem a worthwhile risk.

She shuddered. If Caleb and I ever have children, she told herself, we won’t be taking any risks with them.

Cabiria started to speak, slowly and mournfully. “Allophone is the cleverest witch I know,” she said, after a moment. “She was Head Girl of Mountaintop and graduated with high honors before starting a brilliant charms apprenticeship. Her mistress said that she never made a single mistake before earning her mastery. She even has special permission to take on an apprentice early, rather than waiting until she turns thirty.”

Emily smiled. Growing up with such a sister had to be hard. “Has she taken an apprentice?”

“No,” Cabiria said. “Belladonna is the alchemist of the family—she took two years to earn her mastery. She was always a little insane about mixing things together, just to see what would happen. Uncle Alanson was talking about taking her on as an apprentice himself, even though she was his niece. No one would have seriously objected. Uncle Alanson was brilliant too.”

She sighed. “And she has more young men courting her than I’ve had hot dinners.”

Emily sighed, feeling a flicker of pity. Growing up in such a family would be hard, even with magic. Without it... Cabiria had been a cripple. Emily didn’t want to think about what Uncle Alanson had done—she had a feeling a demon might have been involved—but he’d saved Cabiria from an awful fate. She would have wound up little better than the aristocratic girls of Zangaria...

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She glanced at her watch, then at the walls—and froze in horror. They were definitely growing closer, moving faster and faster as she looked from side to side. Cabiria threw out a protective ward, but the sheer pressure instantly started to crush it; Emily hesitated, then made up her mind.

“I think we’ve run out of time,” she said. She fought down panic as she pulled Cabiria into a hug, holding her as close as she could. “Don’t do anything, whatever happens.”

Bracing herself, she began the spell.

Chapter Twenty-Two

AS SOON AS SHE BEGAN THE spell the wards flared around her, trying to rip the spellware apart and prevent the teleport. Emily hung on desperately to the threads of her magic, pushing power into the spell while holding it firmly in her mind. If the destination was clearly somewhere well away from Whitehall, she hoped, the wards might just let her go without a fight. But as the maelstrom of power grew stronger, it became clear that she’d been wrong. Teleporting within Whitehall was not easy.

Desperation gave her strength. She pushed with all her might, channeling all of her power into the spell. Something broke... no, she realized numbly; it had shifted, not broken. The world went white around her, the light burning so brightly that she still felt it after squeezing her eyes tightly closed, then dark. She lost her footing at the same instant, letting go of Cabiria as she crumpled to the floor. Her head pounded so badly that she nearly threw up. She tasted bile in her mouth, but she couldn’t even muster the urge to swallow.

“Emily,” Cabiria said. “Where are we?”

Emily wasn’t sure. It was still dark, so dark that Emily wondered—in her dazed state—if her eyes were still closed. But they weren’t. She’d aimed the teleport at Dragon’s Den, focusing on her gardens... these weren’t her gardens. It should have been daylight. She felt below her and touched cold stone. Had the spell failed completely? And yet, she was sure something had worked. They’d definitely moved...

“I don’t know,” she rasped. It hurt to talk. “I...”

She reached for her magic and swore, inwardly, as she touched only faint traces of her power reserves. Her magic would regenerate, she knew, but for the moment she was virtually powerless. It was hard to move, even. Teleporting out of King Randor’s castle had been far easier than escaping the trap in Whitehall. If, of course, they had escaped the trap. The room was so dark the walls could be closing in on them now and they wouldn’t know until it was far too late.

There was a scratching sound, followed by a flickering candlelight. Emily saw Cabiria, her face briefly illuminated, as she hastily lit another pair of candles. Somehow, Emily forced herself to turn her head, but saw nothing in the shadows. The walls didn’t seem to be getting closer... Cabiria rose and paced towards the walls, holding the candle in one hand. They seemed to have more room than they’d had earlier...

“I tried to cast a light spell,” Cabiria said. “It didn’t work.”

“Wards,” Emily croaked.

“This place must be designed to keep magicians prisoner,” Cabiria added, as she walked back towards Emily. “There are so many wards that casting any sort of magic is likely to be impossible.”

She removed a bottle of water from her bag and gently held it to Emily’s lips. Emily drank gratefully, her mind racing as she tried to determine where they were. She had nothing like a prison cell in her house, which meant the teleport had definitely dropped them somewhere else. Were Whitehall’s wards powerful enough to redirect a teleport spell, if they couldn’t stop it? She couldn’t think of any other possibility. The warning she’d been given had merely stated that teleporting within Whitehall was forbidden. It hadn’t discussed possible consequences.

Wonderful, she thought, as she battled to recover some of her strength. Gordian has all the excuse he could possibly need to expel me.

“Ah,” Cabiria said. She looked upwards. “We’re in an oubliette.”

Emily shivered. She’d seen King Randor’s oubliette. It was nothing more than a deep hole in the ground, with a grating high overhead to allow passing noblemen to peer down at the prisoners. Food would be dropped from above, every so often, if the prisoners weren’t being deliberately starved to death. Was there an oubliette in Whitehall? She’d never heard of one, but it was a castle. Combined with a network of wards to prevent magic, it would be pretty much the perfect prison.

A light flared, high overhead. Emily shielded her eyes as the light grew brighter, revealing two forms peering down at her. The oubliette was starkly revealed, a circular space barely five meters in diameter. There was nowhere to hide, even if she’d wanted to; the walls were so smooth that climbing would be impossible. She looked back at the forms as Cabiria called up to them, but it was impossible to make out their faces. Gordian and Master Tor? Or Sergeant Miles? If they had been redirected into a trap, they would probably have been taken for intruders...

Magic flared around her. It was suddenly impossible to move. Even her breathing seemed to have stopped. She wanted to grit her teeth, but even that was denied her as an invisible force lifted her off the ground and floated her upwards. The light seemed to fade as she grew closer, allowing her to see Gordian and Sergeant Miles. Gordian was expressionless, but Sergeant Miles seemed astonished. But he knew Emily could teleport, didn’t he? Lady Barb would have reassured him that the story hadn’t grown in the telling.

The spell placed them on the ledge, beside the pit, but refused to allow them to move. Emily tried to muster the strength to break the spell, but it was impossible. Gordian stepped forward, holding a long white wand in his hand; Emily felt the urge to flinch as he moved closer, waving the wand over her head. It struck her, suddenly, that she was practically defenseless. Her protections hadn’t survived the tussle with the wards. If Gordian wanted to hurt her...

“Well,” Gordian said. His cold gaze rested on Emily for a long moment, then moved to Cabiria before shifting back to Emily. “Perhaps you could explain to me precisely why you decided to teleport in my school?”

“We were trapped,” Cabiria said, as soon as the spell broke. She caught Emily, a second before she collapsed into a heap. “Teleporting out was our only hope.”

“A hope that could easily have killed you,” Sergeant Miles said.

“The walls would have killed us too.” Cabiria said.

She rattled through a full explanation, starting with the discovery of the sloping passageway and the horror of finding themselves trapped. Emily listened, nodding at all the right moments. She felt too tired and drained to say anything herself, even though she suspected that Gordian would want to ask her questions too. They’d been lucky, she knew; the wards could easily have scattered their atoms all over the entire planet, if they hadn’t blocked the teleport completely.

But they’d want to know who had the nerve to teleport into Whitehall School, she thought, numbly. Or capture someone trying to escape.

“Professor Locke is still down there,” Gordian said, thoughtfully. “I am unable to sense him within the wards.”

Emily shivered. Gordian hadn’t known they were trapped. If they’d waited for rescue, they would have died deep beneath the school. She wondered, absently, just why the lower set of wards weren’t connected to the main set, then dismissed the thought. It was quite possible they’d never get any answers.

“We need more people to explore the tunnels,” Emily said, quietly. She didn’t quite understand Professor Locke’s concerns, but the tunnels were far more dangerous than she’d dared fear. “Grandmaster, there could be anything down there.”

“Yeah,” Cabiria agreed. “Sir...”

“There are reasons, good reasons, to keep the number of people involved as low as possible,” Gordian said. “If nothing else...”

“This isn’t about credit,” Emily protested. “It’s about keeping people alive!”

Gordian gave her a cold look. Emily shivered. She’d never dared talk to the old Grandmaster like that. But then, she’d respected the old Grandmaster. Gordian was far less worthy of respect.

“Do you really believe,” Gordian asked coldly, “that I would put credit ahead of the lives of the students and tutors entrusted to me?”

Emily had to fight not to flinch. It was a nasty question, all the more so because part of her suspected that was the case. The fewer people who knew what was below Whitehall, the fewer people who could tell tales out of school—literally. But he had a point. There was no evidence beyond her dislike that Gordian would choose to put credit ahead of lives.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, forcing herself to stand upright. “But having more people involved...”

“Would also increase the number of people at risk,” Gordian snapped. “Or hasn’t that occurred to you?”

He held up a hand, cutting off her response. “You drained yourself quite badly jumping out of the trap, but fortunately you didn’t manage to burn yourself out,” he said. “Go report to Madame Kyla. She is to inspect your magic and verify that you are fit to continue with your studies. I imagine she will order you to take a day or two of rest before you return to class.”

Emily scowled. Missing two days of class would require her to work harder—much harder—to catch up. Even if Caleb or one of the other students brought her copies of the lesson plans, she’d need to struggle to catch up... she honestly wasn’t sure she could do it. Hell, she’d have to speak to Mistress Danielle and beg permission to miss a lesson. And, perhaps, stop tutoring the younger girls. Saturday was going to be very busy indeed.

“After she has released you,” Gordian added, “you will report to the Warden.”

He turned and strode out of the chamber. Emily winced, leaning against Cabiria. She supposed she deserved it—she’d really been dreadfully rude—but it was still a shock. And yet, she should probably be grateful he hadn’t sent her there immediately. Perhaps she’d misjudged him if he was giving her permission to get well first.

“I’ll walk you down to the infirmary,” Sergeant Miles said. “You too, Cabiria.”

“I don’t need any help, Sergeant,” Cabiria said. “It was Emily who teleported us out.”

“You need to be checked anyway,” Sergeant Miles said. He held out a hand to Emily, who took it gratefully. “And one other thing. Don’t try to teleport within Whitehall again.”

Emily frowned as he helped her towards the door. “What if we get trapped again?”

Sergeant Miles scowled. “You had no inkling the trap was there?”

“No, Sergeant,” Cabiria said. “There wasn’t even a hint of warning before the passageway was blocked.”

“It wasn’t a simple booby trap,” Emily said. She cleared her throat as Sergeant Miles gave her an odd look. “I mean, it wasn’t a hex hidden on the floor, waiting for an unwary passer-by to step on it. It was a complete reformatting of the local environment.”

Sergeant Miles lifted his eyebrows. “And that means?”

Emily sighed. She’d never grown out of using Earthly terms. But they fit.

“The walls shifted,” she said. “Just like the corridors up here do.”

“That isn’t reassuring,” Sergeant Miles commented, after a moment. “If there’s no opportunity to sense a trap before it’s too late...”

He shook his head. “I will discuss the matter with the Grandmaster,” he added. “Right now, you need to concentrate on getting better.”

Emily hesitated. “Sergeant... why is the Grandmaster truly reluctant to allow others to join the exploration?”

Sergeant Miles gave her a sharp look. “The Grandmaster is standing on a tightrope,” he said, finally. “There is a great deal to be gained from understanding just what Lord Whitehall did to create the school. At the same time, there are dangers that will work against him, if the exploration program costs lives or has unpleasant results.”

“You mean he grudgingly gave Professor Locke permission to explore, then starved him of resources,” Emily mused. “Or is credit a genuine problem?”

“A nexus point was destabilized to the point it exploded once, years ago,” Sergeant Miles reminded her. “Fiddling with the point here might be equally disastrous.”

Emily swallowed. “And if that’s the case,” she said, as they reached the infirmary, “why are we exploring at all?”

Sergeant Miles smiled, tiredly. “As I told you,” he said. “It’s a balancing act.”

Madame Kyla appeared from a sideroom as Sergeant Miles helped Emily through the door, her eyes going wide as she laid eyes on Emily. Emily had no time to protest before Kyla and Sergeant Miles half-carried her to a bed—Cabiria remained behind, sitting on one of the chairs—and started running all sorts of tests. Kyla made disapproving noises as she measured Emily’s remaining magic reserves, then turned and rattled off a long list of orders to her assistant. Melissa appeared a moment later, carrying a large tray of potion gourds. She blinked in shock when she saw Emily.

Melissa’s training to be a Healer, Emily reminded herself. And she’s getting experience.

“Drink all of these, one by one,” Kyla ordered sharply, as Melissa put the tray down by Emily’s bed. “You are to remain here for the next day, at least. I don’t want you leaving the bed for anything. And you are not to use magic without my express permission.”

Emily knew it would be futile to argue. Kyla wouldn’t be impressed if she tried, either. The first potion tasted awful and she had to fight to get it down, but the others—thankfully—tasted a little better. Even so, by the time she’d drunk them all, her head was starting to feel truly rotten. The room spun around her, her thoughts rapidly coming apart. And then she blacked out...

It felt like bare seconds before she awakened, unsure of where she was. She had to fight, parsing her most recent memories, before she remembered the trap, the teleport and the oubliette. Her magic felt wonky, as if trying to battle the wards had knocked everything off-kilter; she started to put a protection spell together before recalling that she wasn’t allowed to use magic. Darkness rose up again and swallowed her...

... And then she awoke, again.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice said. Melissa stood by the foot of her bed, carrying a breakfast tray. “How are you feeling?”

“Famished,” Emily said, after a moment. She could smell the eggs and bacon, even though her head still felt a little fragile. “Is that for me?”

Melissa nodded and placed the tray on a table, which she pushed over as Emily struggled to sit up. Her body felt weak, as if she was still tired, but she managed to start shoveling food into her mouth. Each bite made her feel hungrier, something that puzzled her until she remembered that food in the infirmary was often spiked with an appetite-enhancing potion to make sure the patients actually ate. They needed their food to help their bodies heal.

“There’s quite a few rumors going round,” Melissa said. She stood at the foot of the bed, watching Emily eat. “What actually happened?”

“Long story,” Emily said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss any of it with Melissa, let alone anyone else. “Did Caleb come to visit?”

“He did,” Melissa confirmed. “Last night. But as you were asleep at the time, Madame Kyla turned him away. I promised I’d let him know when you were awake.”

Emily glanced at the clock. It was seven bells, barely time to get out of bed. “I thought you’d be in bed?”

“My hours are a little erratic,” Melissa said. “Madame Kyla says I have to get used to odd hours if I want to be a Healer. It’s not easy, but...”

“You have to learn to cope,” Emily said. “Were you here all night?”

“I got here two hours ago,” Melissa explained. “And I had very little sleep.”

Emily nodded, reluctantly. “Can I leave the bed?”

“Not unless you have Madame Kyla’s permission,” Melissa said, firmly. She pointed a finger at the bedside cabinet. “Caleb brought you a handful of books, so you can read quietly if you wish without disturbing anyone. Hopefully, you’ll be able to leave the bed and shower after Madame Kyla’s finished her checks, although I think she would prefer to keep you here for another day. You burned up a lot of magic.”

“I know,” Emily said, quietly.

“You could have burned yourself out,” Melissa added. “What were you thinking?”

“That the alternative was worse,” Emily said, fighting off a yawn. She really felt too tired to argue. “Death was looking us in the eye.”

She glanced at Melissa. “Is Cabiria all right?”

“She was fine, apparently,” Melissa said. “Nothing that a few hours of rest wouldn’t cure, I think. She said she’d be back to see you later in the day.”

Emily felt oddly touched. Most of the students—the remaining students—seemed to be scared of her. It was nice to know that someone apart from Caleb was prepared to look in on her... but then, she had saved Cabiria’s life. Her roommate owed her a debt.

“Melissa,” she said, slowly. “What does it mean, magically speaking, if you save someone’s life?”

“They owe you,” Melissa said. She frowned, thoughtfully. “Probably very little, if they’re your blood relatives. Certain friendships might also fall into this category. Anyone else... they would owe you something, if you wished to call on it. Unless, I suppose, you took the right set of oaths. Only a complete fool would fiddle with life debts.”

She frowned, again. “Are we talking about anyone in particular?”

Emily shook her head, firmly.

“Get some rest,” Melissa advised. “The more you rest now, the sooner you can get back to class.”

“Understood,” Emily said. “Can you pass me one of the books?”

“If you wish,” Melissa said. She picked up a small textbook and held it out. “I’m sure this will put you to sleep very quickly.”

Emily glanced at the cover—Advanced Concepts In Runic Alphabets—and smiled. “I’m sure it will,” she said. “And thank you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“HOW ARE YOU FEELING?”

Emily winced as she sat down at the workbench, facing Caleb. “I’ve been better,” she said, shifting uncomfortably. “But it could have been worse.”

“I suppose,” Caleb said. He waved a hand at the door, locking it with a simple charm and then fixing the privacy ward in place. “Did you manage to get coursework notes for Monday?”

“Yes,” Emily said. Thankfully, she’d only missed one day of schoolwork, but it was still going to be a headache to catch up. “I don’t think we can go to Dragon’s Den on Friday.”

Caleb’s face shifted, slightly. “Just make sure you tell her,” he warned. “She will not be pleased if you skip a lesson without informing her.”

“I’ve already sent a note,” Emily said. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“You’re welcome,” Caleb said. He looked embarrassed. “I was worried about you.”

Emily blushed. “Thank you,” she said, again. “Did you... did you manage to get anywhere?”

“I think so,” Caleb said. He produced a notebook and held it out to her. “The spell-structure should work indefinitely, if my calculations are correct.”

She took the notebook and opened it, skimming through the diagrams and filling in the blanks. Caleb had balanced everything neatly, allowing the combined spell to endure far longer than any of its components would on their own. It wouldn’t do much, Emily noted, but it would be enough to prove the concept was workable. And then...

“Casting it is going to be a pain,” Caleb warned. “It isn’t one spell, it’s twelve. And they all have to be cast within the first thirty seconds.”

“I’ve been getting better at casting fast,” Emily said. The downside was that she couldn’t rewrite the spells, but Mistress Danielle had insisted that it was better to get a spell off quickly than waste time trying to match the perfect spell to the situation. “Still...”

Caleb frowned. “Are you feeling up to casting them?”

“I’m still a little tired, but I should be up to it,” Emily said. She picked up the piece of paper and read it again, carefully memorizing each section of the combined spell. It would be tricky to cast, she knew, but it should be doable. “We really need to find a way to keep the spell in being long enough to fiddle with it.”

“Infusing it into a crystal might work,” Caleb suggested. “But tampering with it afterwards would be tricky.”

Emily couldn’t disagree. What they really needed, she suspected, was a spell processor, something that could rewrite the spellwork on the fly. But they were so far from making a viable spell processor that she doubted her grandchildren would see it. Building a computer from stone knives and bearskins would be easier.

And we’re years from computers too, she thought. It might be decades before the Nameless World sees its first computer.

She shook her head as she closed her eyes, readying the spell. Producing gunpowder was easy, once the formula had been perfected; producing abacuses and printing presses was merely a matter of putting them together. But a computer? Even the most basic of computers was centuries away. She wasn’t even sure how to steer the engineers towards the concepts, let alone the actual hardware. It was so far beyond her that she didn’t even know where to begin.

“Here we go,” she said.

The spellwork glowed in her mind as she cast the first spell, followed by the second and the third. Caleb let out a hiss, a sharp intake of breath, as the whole series of spells followed, locking together into a seamless whole. Emily opened her eyes, just in time to see the entire structure glowing in front of her. Pearly white light illuminated the workroom, reflecting off the walls and casting the entire room into stark relief. Caleb looked back at her and smiled.

“They’re going to say it would be easier to cast a simple light spell,” he said. “Aren’t they?”

“Probably,” Emily said. She met his eyes. “Are you ready for the second part of the experiment?”

“Yeah,” Caleb said. “Here goes nothing...”

He reached out, his fingertips brushing—very gently—the lowermost spell component. Emily braced herself, half-expecting a surge of magic or an explosion, but all that happened, as Caleb went to work, was the light turning green. She grinned as Caleb removed his hand, revealing that the spell had worked perfectly. He’d altered the spell after she’d cast it, something everyone had known was impossible.

And the spell is still holding strong, she thought, as she carefully tested the outer edge of the spellware. Even the strongest of wards bleeds a little power.

Caleb glanced up at her, the green light washing over his face. “Do you want to try to switch it again?”

Emily hesitated, then reached forward. Tingles of magic ran down her arm as her fingertips brushed the spellware, carefully altering the setting. The changes flickered through the entire combined spell a moment later, turning the light blue. It grew brighter a second later—she recoiled, covering her eyes just in case it turned blinding—and then faded and died. The entire piece of spellwork collapsed and vanished.

“Drat,” Emily swore.

Caleb laughed. “We’ve already done something no one else has ever done,” he said. “A piece of semi-autonomous spellwork!”

Emily had to smile as he walked around the table and gave her a tight hug. “Do you want to try the second experiment?”

“We may need to find some way to reinforce the spell structure,” Emily mused. Caleb had flicked the color once, without destroying the spell, but her touch had broken too many pieces of spellwork for the spell to endure. Or had Caleb simply been gentler? “But yes, cast the second spell.”

She leaned back in her chair as Caleb returned to his, then cast the spell sequence for the second time. Emily watched, shaking her head in delight as the spell-structure took on shape and form. This time, she had a better view. It was perfect, a glittering network of components that worked together in unison. She hadn’t seen anything like it, save for the Mimic—and the spellwork under Whitehall School. The thought that they might be well on their way to duplicating the spellwork made her smile.

“Try and flip the colors first,” she said. If it had been her touch that had destroyed the previous spell, had it been because she hadn’t been delicate—or because she’d been the one who’d created the spell? “And be careful...”

“Of course,” Caleb said.

The light turned from white to green, then blue. Emily leaned forward, shaking her head in irritation. It had been her touch, then, that had destroyed the spellwork. She would have to force herself to be even more delicate... she cursed silently as Caleb changed the spell color one final time, casting a yellow light over the chamber. There was just too much power at her fingertips for her to be delicate.

“You may have to put in the next component,” she said, as she studied the spellwork. “My touch is too harsh.”

“Try anyway,” Caleb advised. “We have to prove that the spell can be switched from person to person.”

Emily nodded reluctantly. If the spell couldn’t be transferred to another person, or altered by that person, all they’d really done was reinvent the ward. Maybe a couple of minor innovations would be usable, in the long term, but they couldn’t claim to have discovered something entirely new. Bracing herself, she reached out and shaped a final spell component in her mind, pushing it forward and into the combined spell. It glowed brightly, just long enough for her to think they’d messed up, then fell into place. She heard Caleb gasp as the spell started to hum, like they’d planned. The new component had gone to work, without changing any of the older components or tearing the spellwork apart.

“They’re still going to say there are easier ways to do it,” Caleb pointed out.

“Yep, but this will endure,” Emily countered. The ebb and flow of mana leeched out of the spellwork, only to be returned to the network of spells and recycled. There was a slight outflow—she could measure it now—but by her calculations the spell should last for at least an hour before it fell apart. “An hour, perhaps?”

“Maybe a little less,” Caleb said. “There’s an entropic cycle affecting the inflow and outflow of mana. We get a little less back every time.”

Emily nodded and rose to her feet, watching as the spellwork performed its clockwork dance over the table. It would wind down eventually, true, but it was still something new and impressive. Linked to a nexus point—or a battery—it would allow for far greater flexibility in casting spells. They’d just have to find a way to lock the spell in place to prevent future adjustments from destroying the whole structure.

“I’ve got a preliminary list of other modifications,” Caleb said. “They’re all very low power, though.”

“The more we ask it to do, the less it can do,” Emily said. “The nexus has a near-infinite supply of power, keeping all the spellwork in being. Here...”

“It only has what we give it,” Caleb agreed. “But at least you’ve proved the concept.”

“We’ve proved the concept,” Emily corrected. She leaned forward in irritation as the spell started to come apart, even though it had been meant to last longer. “All we need now is a way to keep surges of magic from overpowering the spell and tearing the spellwork apart.”

“Without wasting power keeping the spellwork intact,” Caleb added.

Emily nodded, shortly. The power demands would rise, exponentially. Eventually, the demands would be so high that nothing short of a nexus point could meet them. Or necromancy, she admitted, privately. The Mimic had to have used a form of necromancy to power itself, combined with soul magics. And the reason the Mimic hadn’t gone insane...

It must have been capable of absorbing the excess power, she thought. The spellwork she’d seen holding the Mimic together had been fantastically complex. And that would mean...

Caleb rose and walked around the table. “Emily, we’ve done something remarkable,” he said. “This will change everything.”

Emily had to smile as she turned to face him. “If we can get it to last,” she said. It did offer a chance to turn her batteries into something more than a one-shot weapon, but the spellwork wasn’t anything like advanced enough yet. “If...”

“We will,” Caleb said. He took her in his arms and kissed her, hard. “I have faith in you.”

His kisses grew more passionate as she wrapped her arms around him. Emily felt her heart start to race as his hands stroked her back, then he drew back so his hand could caress her breasts. She shivered at his touch, feeling a conflicting wave of passion and fear. Her entire body tensed as his hand fumbled with the clasp at the back of her neck, threatening to remove her dress. She was torn, hopelessly torn, between running and just freezing...

It was Caleb, she told herself; it wasn’t someone who wanted to hurt her. Part of her wanted to let him touch her and to touch him in return. And yet, the thought of letting him undress her was terrifying. She pushed him back without quite realizing what she was doing until it was too late, her heart pounding so hard that she was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

His eyes went wide with hurt. “Emily...”

Emily found it hard to speak. “I...”

Caleb’s eyes met hers. When he spoke, it was clear he was trying to keep his voice under control. “Why not?”

“I...” Emily hastily readjusted her dress, trying to think. But she was too shaken to think clearly. Caleb was hurting... why? “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Caleb repeated. “Why are you...”

His voice hardened. “Why have you no time for me now?”

Emily felt a surge of anger that threatened to overwhelm her. How could he? She had to do her coursework, then work with the students she was supposed to mentor, then slave for Professor Locke and then take additional combat lessons from Mistress Danielle... she barely had any time to herself. He understood that, didn’t he?

“I’m here with you, right now,” she snapped. “I...”

Caleb’s eyes flashed. “Are we courting or aren’t we?”

Emily felt magic boiling beneath her skin, responding to her anger. She pushed it back down, savagely. “We’re courting!”

“Then why won’t you let me touch you?” Caleb demanded. “What are you going to do on the wedding night?”

Emily flinched, despite herself.

“I’ve convinced my family that we can make a courtship work,” Caleb snapped. He hadn’t missed her flinch. “But if you’re not serious about it, say so now! Because you’re not acting as through you’re serious!”

“Because I won’t make love to you?” Emily snapped back. “Or because I’m overworked?”

“Both,” Caleb said. “Emily, what is the problem?”

He made a visible effort to lower his voice, to calm himself. “I love you,” he said. “But it feels as if you’re not interested in me any longer.”

“I don’t have time,” Emily said, immediately knowing it was the wrong thing to say. “I...”

“You don’t have time,” Caleb snapped. “Am I so unimportant to you that you can’t be bothered making time?”

Emily felt her temper snap. “Would you rather I failed my exams? Or got expelled by the Grandmaster for not slaving for Professor Locke? Or got killed by someone because I didn’t know how to defend myself?”

“Of course not,” Caleb snapped. He reached for her, but she stepped backwards and he stopped. “I do want to spend time with you!”

“In my bed?” Emily snapped back. “I...”

Rage billowed through her. How dare he? She wasn’t Imaiqah! She wasn’t going to casually fall in and out of relationships, a new partner every week. It had been hard to bring herself to kiss Caleb, the first time, let alone sit on her bed and let him hold her. She wasn’t ready to go further! He could wait for her, surely. Had she really misjudged him so badly?

“Anywhere,” Caleb snapped back. “I want to spend the day with you in Dragon’s Den instead of wandering through the shops, waiting for you to finish your lessons!”

Emily felt a stab to the heart. She wouldn’t have liked being asked to wait for a couple of hours, even if she’d had a library or a bookshop to explore. And yet, she needed those lessons with Mistress Danielle...

“You don’t trust me,” Caleb snapped. He sounded more hurt than angry. “After everything we’ve done together, you don’t trust me!”

Emily wilted, just a little. It was hard for her to trust anyone male, certainly not someone the same age as herself. She trusted Void—and she’d trusted the Grandmaster—but they were both decades older than her. Professors Thande and Lombardi were in their sixties, she believed. Even Sergeant Miles was in his late forties.

“If you don’t trust me,” Caleb added, “how can this relationship work?”

Emily had no answer. She had been unfair to him. But, at the same time, she didn’t see any other choice. Should she have gone to Dragon’s Den on her own? Or tried to arrange matters so she only met Mistress Danielle every second week? Or even planned a meeting after hours, despite the risk of being caught?

She hadn’t had a choice, she reminded herself. Anger flared through her, again. She hadn’t had a choice!

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I don’t know either,” Caleb said. His face twisted, bitterly. “And I’m sorry too.”

He turned and stalked out of the workroom, slamming the door behind him. Emily stared after him, feeling power boiling through her mind and threatening to break loose. She followed him through the door and walked to the nearest spellchamber, silently relieved that they were so close to the armory. The training dummies at the far side of the chamber came to life as the door closed, raising their wands and advancing towards her with threatening intent. Emily felt the power boiling through her and lashed out, directing a stream of unshaped magic towards the first dummy. It shattered, blowing traces of magic and splinters of wood right across the room.

“Die,” Emily snarled, as the second dummy cast a training hex towards her. It stung, but she ignored the pain and threw a blasting hex of her own. The dummy flew backwards, knocking the two behind it to the ground. They scrambled to their feet, only to be smashed by hexes aimed at them. The dummies never even managed to get a second hex off before it was far too late. “Die, you...”

Magic raged through her, pressing against the spellchamber’s wards. The dummies didn’t stand a chance. She ripped them apart one by one, lashing out in a fit of fury and rage that refused to abate until the final dummy was nothing more than charred ruins. It crossed her mind that she might wind up paying for the dummies, but she was too angry to care. She gathered her remaining magic and hurled it at the wards, watching as they fought to contain her outburst. The entire chamber seemed to wobble, the wards quivering backwards and forwards...

She turned as she heard the door opening behind her. Sergeant Miles stepped into the room, his eyes showing no trace of a reaction. Emily felt her anger fading, to be replaced by horror at her own rage and a dull throbbing guilt. If she’d taken her anger out on a fellow student, that student would have been badly injured, perhaps crippled... or killed. Hell, she’d damaged a spellchamber. That didn’t happen every day.

“So,” Sergeant Miles said. He didn’t sound angry, but that only made it worse. “Boy troubles?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

EMILY STARED AT HIM, THEN SANK to the floor, feeling torn between the urge to start crying and an even worse numbness. Caleb and she had just had their first real fight... and, to make it worse, she’d practically destroyed a spellchamber. No one had ever destroyed a spellchamber, as far as she knew. The wards ensuring that students couldn’t hurt themselves and spells wouldn’t get out of control were formidable. It was difficult to unravel them even from the outside...

“Yes,” she confessed, finally. Perhaps she was about to be expelled for good. Or beaten to within an inch of her life. “I’m sorry.”

Sergeant Miles sat down on the floor, facing her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Emily said. She wiped her eyes, feeling too tired to cry. “I just feel... I don’t know how I feel.”

“Not uncommon,” Sergeant Miles observed, dryly. He rose and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Come to my office, Emily. We’ll talk there.”

Emily allowed him to help her up, taking one last look at the ruined dummies before she followed him through the door and out into the corridor. Smoke rose from one of the dummies, suggesting she’d overheated the spellwork that animated them. Sergeant Miles closed and locked the door behind them, slamming a complex ward Emily didn’t recognize into place, then led the way down to his office. Emily had only visited it once, two years ago; it hadn’t changed much from the very basic room she remembered. The only big change was a large map of the Allied Lands, hanging from one wall. Someone had sketched a set of notes regarding orc sightings near the Desert of Death.

Sergeant Miles closed the door, then turned to the sideboard. “Kava?”

“Yes, thank you,” Emily said. She took a seat and crossed her legs, feeling oddly isolated and alone. Caleb and she... were they still together? She wanted him to kiss her again. Or had they just separated for good? “I’m sorry.”

Sergeant Miles passed her a mug of Kava and she sipped it gratefully, wrinkling her nose slightly at the taste. He drank his Kava black, without any milk, cream or sugar. He’d even told his students to get used to it, if they genuinely wanted to be combat sorcerers. Emily hadn’t liked the taste, but she’d forced herself to endure it on camping trips. There had been no milk out in the field.

“So,” Sergeant Miles said. “What happened?”

Emily hesitated, then outlined the fight. “I don’t understand why he doesn’t understand,” she finished. “He... I thought he did understand.”

“There’s something of a difference between knowing something intellectually and believing it,” Sergeant Miles observed. “Caleb probably assumed you would have plenty of time for him, even though he should have known better.”

“He must have known better,” Emily protested. “Really...”

“I doubt he did,” Sergeant Miles said.

“And he tried to make love to me,” Emily added, after a moment. She cringed at the thought of discussing the problem with a man, even someone she liked and trusted, but she doubted she had a choice. “I... I wasn’t ready.”

“That would explain a bit,” Sergeant Miles noted. He didn’t seem judgemental. If anything, he seemed oddly amused. “Frustration can be a powerful force.”

“He shouldn’t be frustrated,” Emily said. She frowned. “Should he?”

Sergeant Miles snorted. “Would you like the polite answer to that or the honest one?”

“The honest one,” Emily said. Lady Barb had taught her that honesty was more important than politeness. “Please.”

“Let me tell you how a man—a young man—thinks,” Sergeant Miles said. “When he has a relationship with a woman, he feels possessive... but at the same time, he feels insecure, unsure of himself. That woman might turn her attentions to someone else at any moment.”

“I’m not going to find someone else,” Emily insisted.

Sergeant Miles held up a hand. “Let me finish,” he said. “The young man finds reassurance in physical expressions of love. On one hand, he doesn’t want the girl to surrender to him easily, because if she does it suggests she will surrender just as quickly to another man. But on the other hand, he does want the girl to surrender to him. He wants—he needs—that contact to convince him that the relationship is solid.”

He sighed. “Matters are not helped by the fact that young men brag—they lie—about sex,” he added. “Very few men will openly admit to being virgins. A young man will grow up hearing about all the escapades his fellows have, while knowing he has none of his own.”

Emily frowned. She wanted to believe the sergeant was wrong, but she’d overheard far too many conversations on Earth that supported his words. “Surely he’d know they were lying.”

“He doesn’t want to believe they’re lying,” Sergeant Miles said. “If they’re telling the truth, there’s a chance he might have the same experiences. And so he chooses to believe them.”

“That makes no sense,” Emily objected.

“You’re applying logic and reason to something that isn’t governed by logic and reason,” Sergeant Miles pointed out. “Deep inside, there’s a bit of Caleb that feels insecure because you’re not making love to him. And that little nugget of doubt is threatening to grow larger and rip your relationship apart. He knows, intellectually, that you have problems; emotionally, he doesn’t really believe it.”

Emily swallowed, torn between an odd amusement and outrage. Caleb shared a room with Cirroc, who had had at least three different girlfriends in the last two months. It couldn’t be easy for Caleb to deal with the fact that his roommate was moving from girl to girl, while his relationship seemed to have stalled. But at the same time, she was damned if she was sleeping with him just to preserve the relationship. She wasn’t even sure if she could undress in front of him. The idea of letting him touch her was hard to grasp...

“I feel like... I don’t know how I feel,” she said, finally. She’d wanted to say she felt like a fool, but she wasn’t sure if that was true. “What do I do?”

Sergeant Miles shrugged. “What do you want to do?”

Emily stared down at her hands, feeling miserable. She liked Caleb; hell, part of her was prepared to admit that she loved him. The thought of just pushing him away from her was unbearable. And yet, the notion of making love to him was hard to grasp—and the notion of having to make love to him unthinkable. A shudder ran through her body at the thought of letting him touch her, even though she was sure he wouldn’t try to hurt her...

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Then sorting that out would be a good first step,” Sergeant Miles said. “Barb would tell you the same.”

Emily looked up at him. “How did you and Lady Barb get together?”

Sergeant Miles shrugged. “We’re both a little older than you and considerably more mature,” he said. “We both knew what we wanted when we started the relationship.”

Emily wanted to ask for details, but she didn’t quite dare. Lady Barb would have torn a strip off her for asking, pointing out that it was none of Emily’s business. She’d never seen Sergeant Miles lose his temper, yet he had ample grounds to give her detention for the rest of her natural life for what she’d done to the spellchamber. There was no point in giving him a reason to demand her punishment.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

“Give him some time,” Sergeant Miles said. “A young man like that... the problem built up gradually, over time. Let him have the rest of the day to cool down and start thinking with his big head, instead of his little one. Then you can have a proper talk with him.”

“Thanks,” Emily said. “But what if...?”

Sergeant Miles reached out and clasped her shoulder, very briefly. “Relationships are hard work, if you want them to last,” he said. “And they rely on both parties doing their utmost for the other. If what you and Caleb have is strong, you will overcome this hitch and carry on; if it isn’t, you’ll have found that out before you actually married him.”

His eyebrows lifted. “What are you going to do on your wedding night?”

Emily blushed, furiously. It wasn’t a question she wanted to answer.

“You have to think about it,” Sergeant Miles warned. “He’s not going to want to wait.”

“You make it sound as though men are animals,” Emily objected.

“We’re all animals when it comes to sex,” Sergeant Miles said. “Our reactions are governed by our biology. It’s as simple as that.”

He rose and strode over to the desk. “What do you make of these?”

Emily scowled, inwardly, as she followed him. A handful of charmed items lay on the desk; five necklaces, several sheets of parchment and a single dagger. She reached out and touched the nearest necklace, blinking in surprise as she realized it carried a powerful tracking hex, one that would last for several weeks without replenishment.

“The Grandmaster insisted that Professor Locke take a few more safety precautions in the future,” Sergeant Miles informed her. “He was furious at what happened to you.”

“I thought he wanted to get rid of me,” Emily said, before she could stop herself. Her bottom still ached. “He certainly wasn’t happy...”

“You were very rude to him,” Sergeant Miles pointed out, mildly. “But I don’t think he wants you dead.”

He held up one of the necklaces. “There was a big argument yesterday over the whole affair,” he added. “Professor Locke wanted to continue exploring alone, but the Grandmaster overruled him. A number of other tutors and their students will be joining in the exploration.”

“That’s good,” Emily said. “But wouldn’t it be better to simply seal up the tunnels and pretend nothing ever happened?”

“We are dependent on the nexus point,” Sergeant Miles pointed out. “But we don’t understand its innermost workings, let alone how Lord Whitehall managed to take control of the power. Replacing the Warden was hard enough, Emily. I dare say that a single problem with the spellware would eventually lead to disaster.”

Emily swallowed. If the combined spells Caleb and she had created decayed slowly—and it seemed as though they did—she dreaded to imagine what would happen if something went badly wrong to the governing spellware in the nexus point. Whitehall might explode outwards as the pocket dimensions expanded... or the entire system might simply collapse in on itself, just like the dimension she’d used to trap and kill Shadye. She glanced at the walls, despite herself. Were they as solid as she believed?

“So we try to understand how the system works without breaking anything,” she said. “If we have more explorers... surely, there’d be a risk of something being broken.”

“Yes, there would be,” Sergeant Miles agreed, shortly. “Professor Locke made the same argument. But the Grandmaster feels that we should have more people involved in exploring the underground tunnels.”

He tapped one of the sheets of parchment. “I was hoping to sketch a map, using the magic traces as a guide,” he added. “But neither I nor Professor Lombardi can draw the details from the spellware governing the tunnel network. It’s deliberately designed to make it hard to trace.”

“Ouch,” Emily said.

“Quite,” Sergeant Miles agreed.

He turned to face her, his expression suddenly stern. “Now, about the spellchamber...”

Emily swallowed, bracing herself for the worst. Repairing a spellchamber was a hideously complex task at the best of times. It would probably be better to take the spellchamber apart and replace it completely. If nothing else, it would cost Sergeant Miles and Professor Lombardi—and several other charms tutors—a great deal of time, effort and money. And there was no way she could do it for them.

“You really don’t have time for detentions,” Sergeant Miles said, after a moment. “And you’re already sore.”

He shrugged. “I’ll arrange something unpleasant after your first set of exams,” he added, darkly. “Probably using you as a teaching assistant in martial magic. It will teach you a number of useful skills as well as a lesson or two.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Emily said.

“Don’t thank me,” Sergeant Miles said. “I have every intention of working you to death when you have a free moment. Playing at being a hostage is not fun.”

He smiled, then nodded toward the door. Emily turned and hurried out, feeling oddly disconcerted as she walked slowly up the stairs. Part of her wanted to go find Caleb, even though it might lead to another fight; the rest of her just wanted to follow the sergeant’s advice and give him time. But how long should she wait before she spoke to him? She had no idea.

“Emily,” a voice called.

Emily scowled, inwardly, as she saw Tiega sitting on the stairs, looking unhappy. “Tiega,” she said, finally. It was hard to keep the irritation out of her voice. “What’s happened?”

“Another note,” Tiega said, grimly. “It was on my bedside cabinet.”

“Show me,” Emily ordered.

She followed Tiega into the dorms, thinking hard. She’d checked both Adana and Julia, neither of whom had planted any of the notes... she didn’t know how the writer had managed to hide even one note in Tiega’s room, let alone two. It was easier to imagine how one might have been hidden in the classrooms, despite the risk of being caught. The bedroom was empty when they entered, much to Emily’s relief. Tiega picked up the note and passed it to her, her face crumpling. Emily felt a stab of bitter sympathy, even though she knew Tiega had been scrubbing caldrons for the last week after throwing an herb into Lillian’s alchemical project, causing a giant explosion. No one deserved to be tormented by a coward who could only write rude notes.

“It was here when I returned from detention,” Tiega said. Her hands were red and raw, even though she would probably have worn gloves. Professor Thande didn’t give many detentions, but the ones he did give were savage. “No one else was in the room.”

Emily scowled as she checked the note. Again, it was written in blocky letters, without either a magical signature or fingerprints. And it had somehow wafted through the wards protecting the bedroom. Only Adana or Julia could have entered the room... yet she’d checked them both. Unless they’d decided to start writing notes after the first one had been written... it was possible, she supposed. She’d have to check with them again.

“Damn it,” she said. “How are they doing it?”

“I don’t know,” Tiega said. “But I...”

Emily cast—very carefully—a truth spell. “Are you writing the notes yourself?”

“No,” Tiega said. “I... I don’t know who’s writing them!”

“And all the suspects have already been checked,” Emily muttered. She thought fast, considering different options. Rounding up all the first year students and interrogating them one by one was impossible. The tutors would flatly refuse her permission to try, if she asked, and she’d get in hellish trouble if she did it on her own. “Can you leave the room for a few minutes? There are some detection spells I want to try.”

Tiega nodded and headed for the door. Emily watched her go, then cast the most powerful detection spell she could, hoping to sense a magical signature that was out of place. But there was nothing, save for the ever-present wards thrumming gently in the background. Emily wasn’t too surprised. It was unlikely, really, that any of the students in the bedroom had enough of a presence to leave a signature floating around for hours.

Shaking her head, she cast a tripwire spell over the bed and keyed it to herself. If anyone, apart from Tiega, went close enough to the bed—and the cabinet—to leave a note, the tripwire would sound the alarm. It wouldn’t trap the perpetrator, unfortunately, but it would leave a very tiny trace on their magical field. She’d be able to identify the writer with a quick sweep through the dorms.

The door opened. Tiega stepped back into the room. Emily took a moment to check the spell was working as advertised, then turned to face the younger girl. She didn’t look to be coping well, she saw. Tiega could have hexed—or thumped—anyone who confronted her face-to-face, but fighting a shadow depressed her. Emily found it hard to blame her.

“Nothing,” she said. Tiega shouldn’t be able to sense the tripwire—and Emily wasn’t about to tell her it was there. The fewer people who knew, the greater the chance of catching the writer in the act. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell my parents,” Tiega said. “What if I fail my exams?”

“You have enough time to catch up,” Emily said, as reassuringly as she could. “It’s only the first set of exams.”

“My parents will kill me if I don’t do well,” Tiega said. She sounded bitter. “Jasmine is already ahead of me and Julia is catching up.”

“You only have a year or two of practical magic ahead of her,” Emily pointed out. “And you do have more raw power.”

“Power without control is nothing,” Tiega said. “My parents already hate me.”

“No, they don’t,” Emily said. She wasn’t really sure it was true, but it had to be said. “I’m sure they’re proud of you.”

“I’m not,” Tiega said. “They didn’t really want to keep me.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

EMILY HAD HOPED, DEEP IN HER heart, that everything would return to normal the following morning, that Caleb would join her for breakfast and all would be well with the world. But as she made her way through the day, it became clear that nothing had returned to normal overnight. Caleb ate his breakfast with Cirroc, not even looking at her as she entered the dining hall, then sat next to Sven in their shared classes. Emily was aware, all too aware, of other students glancing between her and Caleb, clearly wondering just what had happened between them. By the time classes finally came to an end, she was nursing a growing headache and a sense of bitter resentment, combined with grief and anger.

“You’re quite distracted,” Professor Armstrong said, catching her before she could make her escape. “You may have to replace your hearthstone.”

Emily scowled. The spells she’d attempted to infuse into the hearthstone had damaged it, even though she’d tried hard to keep the power under control. Thankfully, it hadn’t cracked, but she’d need to sand the rock down if she didn’t replace it completely. A damaged stone would weaken her spells, leaving a chink in her defenses a skilled opponent could exploit...

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“I would also advise dealing with your personal problems,” Professor Armstrong added, sharply. “Anger and hate lead to the dark arts.”

The dark side, Emily thought. There was some truth in it, too. Spellwork cast with emotion, tainted with emotion, could be very dangerous. I need to talk to Caleb.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

She walked back up to the dorm, wondering if she should change out of her school robes before dismissing the idea. Caleb needed to know she’d come straight to him... or was that a mistake? She’d used the chat parchment extensively the previous night, discussing the problem with Alassa and Imaiqah, but neither of them had been able to offer her any good advice. Maybe it would be better to make him wait, yet she needed to know—now—if they still had a relationship. She could come to terms with losing him, if necessary, but hanging in the open, unsure where she stood, was wearing her down.

And I’m tired, she thought, as she stopped outside his door. I didn’t get much sleep last night.

She knocked, loudly. The door swung open a moment later, revealing Caleb sitting at his desk and Cirroc lying on his bed, gazing up at nothing. Caleb turned slowly, his eyes going wide as he saw her. He hadn’t expected her, Emily realized. He’d probably assumed she would expect him to chase her, not the other way around. And maybe that was what she should have done.

“We need to talk,” she said. Alassa—Jade, she suspected—had advised her to be blunt, rather than coy. “Cirroc, can you give us an hour or two to chat?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Cirroc said, sitting up. “Should I leave the two of you alone?”

“Yes,” Emily snapped. Magic boiled around her for a long second, no longer hidden within her wards. Cirroc started backwards, stunned. Just for a second, Emily reflected, all the stories about her had to seem very real indeed. “Leave us alone.”

Cirroc hesitated, then stepped past her with icy dignity and walked through the door, closing it behind him. Emily felt a flicker of shame and guilt—she’d intimidated him, as casually as King Randor had tried to intimidate her—and then forced it down. Caleb still sat at his desk, his face an expressionless mask. Had she been wrong about him? Or was he terrified of showing any weakness in front of her? Or...

“He’ll complain to the housemother,” Caleb observed, finally. “Kicking someone out of his own bedroom.”

Emily snorted. She doubted Cirroc would do any such thing. No matter her reputation, she was still a student, a younger student. Cirroc would be too prideful to admit that she’d intimidated him. And even if he wasn’t, she found it hard to care. Madame Rosalinda could bawl her out afterwards, if she wished. Talking to Caleb privately was more important.

But now they were together, she found it hard to speak.

“We need to talk,” she admitted.

“Yes,” Caleb agreed. “We do.”

He wasn’t going to make it easy for her, Emily noted. And part of her didn’t really blame him, even though the rest of her was angry with him. It was hard, so hard, for her to push herself forward. There was a part of her that would be happy to come to a halt, to just stay where she was...

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then cast a series of privacy wards, one after the other. The first set were standard, the type any student learnt in her first year if she wanted to keep any secrets; the remainder, a great deal stronger, had been hammered into her head by Lady Barb and, later, Void. If Gordian was using the school’s wards to keep an eye on her, he wasn’t going to find it very productive.

And if he isn’t, she thought, he isn’t going to know that I’ve cast more than one ward.

Caleb’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know that one,” he said, as the last ward fell into place. “Where did you learn it?”

“Lady Barb told me there’d be no dinner until I mastered it,” Emily said. “I can teach you, if you like.”

She finished casting the wards and sat down on his bed, feeling the magic settling uncomfortably around her. It felt as if she were wrapped in invisible cotton wool, pressing in against her body. Caleb looked as comfortable as she felt.

“I need to tell you something,” she said. Perhaps she should have told him earlier, even though she’d been worried about his reaction. “And... I need your word it won’t go any further.”

Caleb studied her for a long moment. She wondered if he was going to accuse her, again, of not trusting him, but instead he merely nodded. Emily allowed herself a moment of relief, then swallowed hard. In truth, she wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I... I didn’t come from here,” she said.

Caleb blinked. “From Whitehall? Or the Allied Lands?”

Stupid, Emily told herself. How many magicians know that alternate dimensions even exist?

She looked down at her hands for a long moment. Void hadn’t shown any reaction to her arrival, but Lady Barb and Alassa had been astonished. King Randor, when he’d pulled the secret from his daughter’s unwilling lips, had had real problems comprehending what he was being told. The former Grandmaster had been keen to keep the number of people who knew the truth as low as possible, pointing out the dangers of fiddling with interdimensional barriers. If Emily alone had turned the world upside down, who knew what someone with genuine training and experience could do?

“I’m not from this world,” she said. She cringed, inwardly. How would Caleb react to that little titbit? She was no longer a baroness, nor was she the daughter of a Lone Power. He had to be wondering, right now, just how well he really knew her. “Shadye kidnapped me from my world. Void saved my life.”

Caleb stared at her. “Another world?”

Emily nodded. “More or less,” she said. She had no idea how much of the many-worlds theory was accurate, but she was living proof that there was at least one alternate dimension. And if there was one, why not hundreds, or thousands, or millions? “Void took me in, found I had magic and sent me to Whitehall.”

“Shadye kidnapped you,” Caleb said. “Why?”

“He felt I could help him,” Emily said. She wanted to explain more, but she didn’t want to discuss possible ways to break through the barriers. “I killed him before he could put me to work.”

“Saving the lives of everyone in the school,” Caleb pointed out.

“It gets worse,” Emily said. She had to force herself to go on. “When I was... when I was back home, I had a very bad experience with men. When we started dating, it was hard for me to kiss you or let you kiss me...”

“I remember,” Caleb said. He sounded grim. “What happened?”

Emily hesitated. It was lucky, she suspected, that she’d told him about Earth before going on to her stepfather or he might have sworn vengeance against Void. At least he wasn’t pushing her away, claiming she’d been defiled forever. There were girls, shamed girls, among the aristocracy of Zangaria who had no hope of marrying, simply because they’d been raped—or given themselves to the wrong man. Caleb was a better man than their fathers.

“It’s not something I want to talk about,” she admitted. “It was never... physical. But it left me feeling vulnerable.”

“You killed two necromancers and a combat sorcerer,” Caleb said. “I’d hardly call you vulnerable.”

“It’s not the same,” Emily said. Shadye had almost killed her, but she’d never thought he intended to ravish her first. “I don’t know how to describe it.”

She stared at Caleb for a long moment. “I’m trying to get better,” she added, after a moment. “But I don’t know how long it will be before...”

Her face reddened. She had to force herself to speak. “Before we can go any further.”

Caleb flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Emily said. She reached out and touched his hand, wondering if he would push her away. “I love you, but...”

She had no idea how to explain that she wanted him and, at the same time, she wanted to run as fast and as far as she could. The idea of being naked in front of him was terrifying, even though part of her wanted it. And yet, what was she going to do on the wedding night? She had no illusions. Caleb would want to consummate the marriage... hell, their marriage wouldn’t even be legal until they had sex for the first time. It was why Jade and Alassa had hurried away so quickly after their formal ceremony.

Alassa admitted she was nervous too, Emily thought. But she was raised to know she might wind up with someone she neither liked nor loved.

“I understand,” Caleb said. “But...”

Emily understood precisely what he meant. He wanted her too. And that bothered her even as it flattered her.

She closed her eyes in pain, unsure what to say or do. It had been hard enough to kiss him, the first time. There was no way she could lower her defenses so completely, not when they’d had their first real fight only a day ago. And yet... she didn’t want to lose him either. The thought of seeing him with someone else... it gnawed at her. Maybe it would have been easier to decline his offer of a courtship...

You can’t undo the past, she told herself, sharply. All you can do is learn from your mistakes and move on.

“If you don’t want to court me any longer,” she said, despite a sudden tightness in her chest, “I will understand.”

“I do want to court you,” Caleb said. “Emily...”

He reached out and wrapped her in a hug. Emily hugged him back, somehow. It was hard, so hard, to keep herself calm. It was a gentle reassuring hug, not a romantic hug... it scared her almost as much as it reassured her. Had she lost him? Or was he willing to give her time?

And what, she asked herself for the umpteenth time, will I do on the wedding night?

“I can wait,” Caleb said, as he released her. “But... it’s hard to know what to do.”

Emily nodded. Imaiqah had once pointed out, rather sarcastically, that boys and girls practically spoke different languages. A man could mean one thing and a woman would hear something entirely different, or vice versa. She could say something to Caleb, in all innocence, which he would hear as an invitation or an insult. It was why she’d been advised to be blunt.

“We have to be open with one another,” she said. “I...”

She broke off as Caleb quirked an eyebrow, feeling her cheeks redden. She hadn’t been open with him. He had every right to call her on it. But she’d had a reason...

Of course you did, her own thoughts mocked her. Everything you did looked right, at the time you did it. But being right at the time doesn’t save you from having to deal with the consequences.

Caleb leaned forward, his eyes meeting hers. “Are there any more secrets?”

“Not about me,” Emily said. In hindsight, she should have told him earlier, at the same time she’d told Imaiqah and her other friends. But Caleb hadn’t been there. “The others aren’t really mine to share.”

“Good,” Caleb said. “Tell me about your world?”

Emily hesitated. “It’s very different,” she said, finally. “I think you’d hate it.”

She sighed inwardly as she tried to outline the basics. No magic, but technology; no kings and princes ruling by divine right, but democracy and a political elite; countries so big that Zangaria would vanish almost without trace. The Allied Lands were barely larger than Europe and the United States put together. And while she had no reason to look back on Earth with any fondness, she knew all too well that much of the Allied Lands would consider it a place of marvels.

“I don’t understand,” Caleb said. “How does it even work?”

“Barely,” Emily said. “But it does work.”

“And all of your ideas came from Earth,” Caleb said. “You’re reinventing stuff you knew from home.”

Emily laughed. “I haven’t even scratched the surface,” she said. “And there are a great many pieces of technology that will take years to be invented here.”

Caleb cocked his head. “Why?”

“The machines to make the machines that make the machines work will need to be invented first,” Emily explained. “Here...”

She shook her head slowly. “The basic skills—farming, hunting, craftsmanship—are very common here,” she added. “There isn’t a town in Zangaria that doesn’t have a blacksmith or a woodcarver, but most peasants can master those skills for themselves if they wish. On Earth, very few people know how to do such things for themselves. Nearly every family has a computer”—there was no point in trying to explain what a computer was—“but none of them could hope to build one, let alone repair it if it went bust.”

Caleb frowned. “There isn’t a farmer who doesn’t know how to mend his tools.”

Emily shrugged. “Their tools are relatively simple,” she said. There was no way to know for sure, but she suspected that a single American state could feed the entire Allied Lands with the produce of its farmland. “On Earth, tools are so complicated they need to be replaced when they break.”

“Madness,” Caleb said.

He didn’t sound as though he believed her, not completely. Emily didn’t blame him. Earth’s technology was completely outside his context. He could understand some parts of her world, if he had ended up there, but other parts would be completely beyond his comprehension.

“We could go for a walk,” Emily suggested, putting the issue aside. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly an hour until dinnertime... although, she supposed, they could always teleport down to Dragon’s Den for dinner. It wasn’t as if she had another appointment with Mistress Danielle for a week or two. “And... and you can’t tell anyone about my world.”

“I understand,” Caleb said. He looked down at the bed for a long moment, then leaned forward. “Emily, have you ever thought about going back and recovering information we could use?”

“I don’t know how,” Emily said. She shook her head. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

Caleb gave her an odd look. “Even if it’s something really useful?”

Emily shook her head, again. She’d read a book, years ago, about someone who’d been sucked into an alternate world. One of its sequels had involved the hero traveling back to Earth for a short period, only to find himself nearly trapped on his old homeworld. She couldn’t recall the rest of the details—the book had been very religious, she thought, and she hadn’t liked it—but the whole idea was nightmarish. Why would she ever want to go back to Earth? What would she do there, after spending so long learning magic? She wasn’t even sure if magic worked on Earth.

You could punch your stepfather in the face, a voice at the back of her mind whispered. Or turn the bastard into a slug and step on him.

She ignored it. “We might get stuck there,” she said. She knew roughly what Shadye had done, but Shadye hadn’t risked traveling to Earth himself. Hell, he hadn’t really understood that he was searching through alternate worlds. “It isn’t worth the risk.”

Caleb nodded, then rose and held out a hand. “Let’s go,” he said. “Race you to the top of the mountain?”

“Just a gentle walk,” Emily said. “Please.”

She dispelled the privacy wards and followed Caleb out of the room and down the stairwell to the main doors. A handful of coaches were heading down to Dragon’s Den, but they walked past them and out towards the edge of the grounds. She took Caleb’s hand as soon as they were past the outermost wards, torn between relief that he hadn’t rejected her and fear for the future. Whatever he might think, she trusted him.

... But telling him the truth risked letting yet another cat out of the bag. If someone forced Caleb to talk...

Forget about it for the moment, she told herself, as they walked up the path. The sun was just starting to sink, high overhead; a cool breeze blew around them as they walked higher. Just relax and enjoy yourself.

Chapter Twenty-Six

PROFESSOR LOCKE LOOKED EXASPERATED WHEN EMILY and Cabiria entered the chamber closest to the gates. Sergeant Miles had not only gone through all the new precautions with them, he’d made it clear that any further explorations were to be done in teams of three. Emily had half-hoped that one of the other students would join Cabiria and her, but Professor Locke had insisted on leading them personally down the new series of tunnels he’d located.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, as they gathered their supplies and readied themselves for the walk. “And don’t talk to anyone else on the way.”

Emily and Cabiria exchanged glances as he led them through the gates and down into the tunnel network, but said nothing. The dust was almost completely gone; the air was surprisingly clear, although there a musty stench still hung in the atmosphere. A handful of students, mainly Third Years, copied the runes on the walls, supervised by Professor Eleas and Professor Lombardi. Professor Eleas had to be delighted and bemused, Emily thought, at discovering so many new runes. Figuring out what they all did would take a lifetime.

“I was following the traces of power flowing within the walls,” Professor Locke said, as they slipped away from the students. The floors grew increasingly dusty as they made their way further into the tunnel network. “The power runs downwards to a still lower level. And if my deductions are correct, the next set of gates should be down here.”

Emily frowned, inwardly. They had been trying to map the tunnel network, but several other explorers had reported the tunnels shifting and changing too. No one else had been trapped, thankfully, yet it made map-making rather pointless. There was no way to be sure that Professor Locke’s set of doors were anywhere near them, assuming they existed at all... and, if they were protected as heavily as the first set of gates, finding them would be pretty much impossible. But there was no point in trying to bring that to Professor Locke’s attention. His determination—his madness—to unlock the secrets of the ancients himself had only grown stronger after he’d been forced to allow others to enter the tunnels too.

Cabiria touched her hand, lightly. “Did you make up with Caleb?”

“Sort of,” Emily muttered. It had been awkward over the last few days, even though she’d done her best to make time for him. There was a rift between them that hadn’t existed before, no matter what they said or did. It depressed her, when she forced herself to think about it. She didn’t know how to proceed. “I don’t know if we’ll get over it.”

“My parents used to row a lot, when I was a child,” Cabiria admitted. “Over me, mainly. My father even wondered if my mother had stepped out on him, even though the blood test confirmed that he had fathered me. They made up eventually.”

She shrugged. “Men,” she added. “I wouldn’t have one in my life, personally.”

Emily glanced at her. “You don’t like men?”

“I have my work,” Cabiria said, primly. “My sisters will carry on the family line without me, I am sure. And if not... well, I can find someone suitable and ask him to father my children, then leave me in peace.”

Emily honestly wasn’t sure what to make of that. Lady Barb had told her that most female magicians had at least two or three children before they turned thirty, although she had no children of her own. Emily understood the importance of having children, of expanding the number of magicians, but she couldn’t understand how anyone would simply give birth and then practically abandon the children. But then, the rich and powerful had been leaving their children in the care of others for centuries. King Randor had done the same with Alassa.

But if I had children, she thought, I would want to bring them up myself.

“There’re quite a few clever newborn magicians my age,” Cabiria added. “One of them would make good breeding stock...”

“Be quiet,” Professor Locke snapped, without looking back. “We’re approaching the gates.”

Emily rolled her eyes at his back—she heard Cabiria suppress a giggle—and then started to study the stone walls. There was no trace of any gates—or runes, for that matter. Pure, unblemished stone formed the walls. She reached out to touch them and felt a flicker of magic passing through the stone, heading onwards... she followed it with her eyes and saw a faint shimmer covering part of the wall. Professor Locke let out a cry of triumph and ran forward, the gates shimmering into existence as he approached. The doorway swung open at his touch, revealing a stairwell leading downwards into the earth.

“Ha!” Professor Locke said. He plunged onwards, practically slipping and sliding down the dusty stairwell. “Come on!”

Emily hesitated, then used one of the chat parchments to alert Sergeant Miles to their discovery as Cabiria followed Professor Locke down the stairs. The sergeant acknowledged a moment later, warning her to be careful. Emily tensed as she entered the stairwell herself, almost gagging at the dust in the air, but the gates stayed open behind them. All things considered, she noted as she walked gingerly downwards, finding the second set of gates had been suspiciously easy.

“Finally,” Professor Locke said, as she reached the bottom. “Where have you been?”

“I was alerting Sergeant Miles,” Emily said. She had a feeling Professor Locke would be upset, but Gordian had ordered them to keep the sergeant informed. “He has to know where we’re going.”

Professor Locke gave her a nasty look, but said nothing. Instead, he turned and held up a hand, sensing the ebb and flow of magic in the air. It was stronger here, Emily noted; the strands of magic led further into the tunnels, rather than plunging further underground. Odd-looking runes covered the walls once again. One wall, covered in so many runes that it looked like a giant mural, drew her attention. The runes were drawn up around a spidery shape that looked malevolent, even though the drawing was oddly blurred. She reached out to touch it, but yanked her hand back as she felt a flicker of magic keeping the drawing preserved.

“Those two are the ancient runes for warning and danger,” Cabiria commented. She’d taken her sketchbook from her bag and started to copy the runes. “What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea,” Emily said. She’d heard stories about giant spiders—wild magic had mutated spiders to the point where entire towns had been overrun by creatures the size of small cars—long before Shadye had sent them against Whitehall. They represented little threat to magicians. Fire killed giant spiders as surely as it killed their smaller brethren. “But if they thought it was a danger.”

She joined Cabiria in sketching out the runes as Professor Locke paced the chamber, tracing out the magic patterns as they hummed through the stone walls. The runes were easy enough to copy, but the spider-creature seemed to change shape every time she looked at it. She felt an odd shiver running down her spine, remembering the statue... what had it been, really? It had been so perfect that, if it had been anyone else, she would have wondered if someone had been petrified and abandoned, hundreds of years ago. But she knew she was alive and well...

“This way, I think,” Professor Locke said, pointing to a corridor. “Come on.”

Emily felt her head swimming as soon as she entered the corridor, the world twisting and turning around her until she had no idea if she was coming or going. She gritted her teeth and advanced forward, walking straight into Professor Locke’s back when he stopped. The impact knocked the professor forward, breaking him out of his trance. He held a hand in the air and muttered a spell, his voice too low for her to make out the words. But the sensation vanished so abruptly that she almost fell over and had to grab his arm to keep her balance.

“Interesting,” Professor Locke said. He didn’t seem to notice her problems. “Very interesting indeed.”

Cabiria coughed as she kicked up great clouds of dust. “What was that?”

“A labyrinth spell,” Professor Locke said. Oddly, he sounded disappointed. “They were quite common as a defensive spell for several hundred years, until someone came up with a relatively simple counterspell. A magician would cast it on his house, secure in the knowledge that any intruders would be trapped within the spell until he came to inspect and release them. It was simple enough to key it to the magician’s bloodline.”

Emily nodded, inwardly, as they reached the end of the corridor. There was no spell, she’d been told, that didn’t have a counterspell, nothing so powerful that it simply couldn’t be stopped. One day, she felt sure, the wards she used to protect her home and notebooks would be broken as casually as Professor Locke broke the labyrinth spell. By then, she hoped, society would have advanced to the point where there were countermeasures to some of her more dangerous ideas. If anyone with magic could blow up a city, which they could with the nuke-spell, she doubted society would last more than a few years.

The corridor opened into a small chamber, with doors leading in three different directions. Professor Locke strode to the middle door, then stopped as he glanced at the door to the right. Emily blinked in surprise as he turned and practically ran into the chamber, moving with astonishing speed for a man of his age. She hesitated, unsure if something hadn’t lured him inside to a grisly fate and then hurried forward when she heard a cry from inside the room. Bracing herself, she walked forward...

... And felt her mouth open with delight.

The chamber was a small library. A stone bookshelf had been carved into the wall, holding thirty to forty manuscripts so ancient she doubted they could be touched safely without magic. Nearby, a wooden desk and chair had been placed against the wall, clearly designed to allow a reader to study the books without removing them from the chamber. Indeed, if some of the stories about old libraries Lady Aliya had told her were true, trying to remove the books would prove fatal. The Librarians Guild had no hesitation in cursing or hexing anyone foolish enough not to return their borrowed books on time.

Professor Locke started forward, but stopped as magic flared in the air. He muttered a vile word, just loudly enough for Emily to hear, as he produced a silver wand from his belt and waved it towards the wards. Spellwork flickered in and out of existence, revealing a complicated network of wards that both preserved and protected the books. Emily had seen Lady Aliya cast similar wards, back when she’d been working in the school library, but these were an order of magnitude more complex. Taking them apart would take hours, she suspected, even for Professor Lombardi. She had no idea if Professor Locke could crack the protections himself.

She exchanged another look with Cabiria, then cleared her throat. “Professor...”

Professor Locke swung round to glare at her. “What?”

“Wouldn’t it be better,” Emily asked, “to allow Professor Lombardi to study the ward network before you try to break it?”

“These books could hold the answers to everything,” Professor Locke snapped. His eyes blazed with a wild light. “The answers to the questions I have been asking for years could be right in front of us!”

“Yes, but the protections might destroy them if they think they’re under attack,” Emily pointed out. She understood his feelings all too well. “The ancients might have keyed the wards to keep their knowledge out of unfriendly hands.”

“Inconceivable,” Professor Locke thundered.

“They wanted to keep their secrets,” Cabiria added, as if to the enfeebled. “Professor, they didn’t know that we would be the first people to set foot in this chamber for centuries.”

Professor Locke’s face darkened, but he nodded ruefully and led the way back out of the chamber. “No one is to go in there without my authorization,” he said, firmly. “And you are not to mention the books to anyone. Each of those manuscripts is literally priceless. I know men who would cheerfully sell their entire families to the necromancers just to get their hands on one of those books.”

Emily nodded in understanding as they walked through the middle door, down a long corridor that pulsed with magic. She wanted the books too, wanted to know their secrets and understand just how Whitehall had been created... she wanted them desperately. But she doubted the secrets in them would ever become public, even though the printing press could produce hundreds of copies relatively easily. Gordian would want to keep everything under control as long as possible.

She frowned as she felt a strand of magic pushing against her protections, testing her. Her blood turned to ice as she realized, to her horror, that someone had designed the corridor to keep out intruders, somehow crafting the spell to keep it hidden until it was too late. And it definitely was too late...

“We’re dead,” she breathed.

She thought fast, but nothing came to mind. There was no way that any of them were on the authorized list, given that the list had been created hundreds of years ago. And while it was possible that Cabiria or Professor Locke were distant descendents of one or more of the ancients, there was no way she was related to anyone on the Nameless World. They were dead...

The spell probed her for a long, chilling second, then withdrew. She blinked in surprise as Professor Locke kept walking through the arch at the end of the corridor. How the hell had they passed through the defenses? They should have been ejected, at the very least, or frozen in their tracks until someone came to investigate... someone who would never come. Had the defenses developed problems? Or had one of them been close enough to a very distant ancestor to be presumed to have permission? She honestly didn’t see how that was possible. Eight hundred years of genetic drift would ensure there was very little connection between the ancients and their descendents.

There’s no one claiming descent from Whitehall, she recalled. Professor Locke had been very clear on that, asserting that Lord Whitehall had either never had children or his descendents were keeping their heads down. Or, perhaps, that they had no idea that they’d had such an illustrious ancestor. If they knew, they might even have a claim on the school.

She stepped through the arch and stopped, dead. The chamber was glowing with light; giant crystalline structures were scattered everywhere. There was something oddly familiar about it, she noted, as Cabiria pushed her forward, into the chamber. It nagged at her mind, puzzling her as she studied the spellwork running through the crystals. She was sure she’d seen something like it before.

“This is the heart of Whitehall,” Professor Locke breathed. He stood very close to one of the crystalline structures, his hand almost touching it. “Can’t you sense the power?”

Emily nodded. Power ebbed and flowed through the chamber, drawn down from the nexus point and directed through the spellware. She’d thought the Mimic was complex, but the spells surrounding her were far worse. A dull thumping, like the beating of a giant heart, echoed through the chamber as Professor Locke sat down on one of the wooden chairs. And, suddenly, Emily knew precisely where she’d seen something like it before.

A starship bridge, she thought, remembering innumerable movies and television shows. This is a control room.

She looked around with new insight, feeling everything clicking into place. The crystalline structures weren’t just pieces of spellware, they were control systems. Professor Locke was right. This was the heart of Whitehall School. A person who stood in this chamber, she realized numbly, could do anything. Lord Whitehall hadn’t just tapped the nexus point, he’d tamed it.

The systems I used to kill Shadye must have been added later, Emily thought. She’d wondered why the Grandmasters hadn’t been able to see below the school, but now she thought she knew the answer. The control system had never been designed to rest its power in one man. Someone else, many years ago, must have modified the system. It would keep people from trying to open up the underground network.

“This is beautiful,” Professor Locke exclaimed, grinning broadly. He cast a whole string of analysis spells, one after the other. “Look how small their spellwork is... and yet it works!”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. The spellwork was far too small to work. It should have been swept away and destroyed the moment someone tried to force magic through it. And yet, there was an odd sort of permanence about it, as if it were held firmly in place by an outside force. Her head swam, again, as she peered at the spellwork. There was something about it that nagged at her mind, something that bothered her more than she cared to admit.

“It shouldn’t work,” Cabiria said. She sounded perplexed. “Professor, how did they make it work?”

“The secrets are here,” Professor Locke said. He took out his notebook and began to copy down the spellwork, smiling in honest delight as the ancient mysteries unfolded in front of him. “This is where Lord Whitehall worked!”

He reached out and touched one of the crystalline consoles. Emily opened her mouth to shout a warning—last time he’d touched something had been quite bad enough—but it was already too late. A dull tremor ran through the ground, just as the room darkened for a long second. Up above, she thought she heard someone cry out in shock, the sound cut off a second later. And then the lights came back, dimmer than before...

“I think we need to get out of here,” Cabiria said.

“I think you’re right,” Emily agreed. “What have you done?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

EMILY HALF-EXPECTED TO DISCOVER THAT they were trapped within the control chamber, or find it impossible to get back up to the school, but it was surprisingly easy to retrace their steps to the upper level and make their way to the gates. Someone—she suspected Sergeant Miles—had ordered the underground network to be evacuated, sending dozens of students hurrying back up the tunnels into Whitehall. Emily felt her blood run cold—again—as they reached the top of the corridor. The chamber past the gates was different, the stone walls now covered with angry-looking runes, while a number of statues glared towards the gates. Everything had changed...

She turned as she heard angry footsteps behind her and saw Gordian storming towards Professor Locke. “What have you done?”

Emily stared in disbelief as the Grandmaster caught the older man by the lapels and lifted him into the air. “What have you done?”

“I found the secrets of the ancients,” Professor Locke stammered. “Grandmaster...”

“You’ve killed us all,” Gordian snapped. “You utter... what did you do down there?”

Emily swallowed, unsure what to say or do. She didn’t blame Gordian for being angry, although she had no idea what had actually happened. But she didn’t want him to summarily strangle Professor Locke either. She opened her mouth, but Cabiria elbowed her before she could say a word. Despite herself, Emily was almost grateful. Gordian looked mad enough to expel both of them and worry about the consequences later.

She looked past Gordian as Sergeant Miles and Master Tor hurried into the room, both looking deeply worried. Emily shuddered inwardly, wondering what could worry Sergeant Miles. He’d always seemed calm and composed, even when the Mimic was slowly making its way through the school, killing students and tutors with abandon. But now his face looked pale and wan. It didn’t bode well for the future.

“Emily,” Sergeant Miles said. “What happened down there?”

Emily stepped past Gordian, who was demanding answers from Professor Locke. “We found a room that appears to be at the heart of Whitehall—a control room,” she said, carefully. “Professor Locke touched one of the controls and the entire complex shuddered.”

“Careless oaf,” Master Tor bit out.

“We hurried back here at once,” Emily continued. “Sergeant, what happened?”

Surprisingly, it was Master Tor who answered. “The castle has rearranged itself and the doors and windows are gone,” he said, grimly. “There’s no way out.”

Cabiria gasped. “Are you saying we’re trapped?”

Emily swallowed, hard. Whitehall was a pocket dimension in its own right, far larger on the inside than the outside. Lord Whitehall had been a genius to harness the nexus point, let alone craft a pocket dimension that had remained stable for over eight hundred years. And yet, if they were trapped inside the castle... what would happen if the pocket dimension began to collapse? Or snap out of existence...

I know what will happen, she thought, numbly. We’ll all die like Shadye.

“Correct,” Sergeant Miles said. “We are unable to leave the school. We don’t even know if every student is accounted for.”

Master Tor rubbed his forehead. “What did he do?”

“Meddled with the control system,” Emily said, bluntly. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

“There are books,” Professor Locke insisted, loudly. Emily turned to see that Gordian had let go of him, although the Grandmaster’s face remained thunderous. “We can figure out how to fix the damage and return to the normal world!”

“My connection with Whitehall has been lost,” Gordian snapped. His gaze fell on Emily for a long moment, then he looked past her. “We can’t even find out how to move from one specific room to another!”

Emily closed her eyes, silently querying Whitehall. Normally, the wards easily imparted directions, but they no longer responded. Her blood ran cold as she thought through the implications. A dozen students could be trapped in rooms that no longer had doors, just like Cabiria and herself; no one would know about it, let alone be able to free them, until it was far too late. She doubted that many students could teleport out.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Quite,” Gordian agreed. “Tell me about these books?”

“A collection of textbooks, hidden away near the control room,” Professor Locke said. He rubbed his neck as he spoke, as if Gordian actually had tried to strangle him. “They were protected, but they can be recovered.”

“With help from Professor Lombardi,” Emily said, quickly. “The charms protecting them were strong.”

Gordian nodded, curtly. “Sergeant, escort Professor Locke and Professor Lombardi back down there and recover the books,” he said. “If that fails, I want Professor Lombardi to take a good look at the control room and figure out how it works. If we can’t get out of the pocket dimension, we’ll either suffocate or starve.”

Emily nodded to herself. She’d looked up ways to transfigure oxygen from carbon dioxide, but it was a challenging spell. Getting oxygen itself was easy—she’d used similar spells during her duel with Master Grey—yet getting the right atmospheric mix was considerably harder. Pure oxygen would be poisonous, as well as a fire risk. And transfiguring food was even harder.

“Master Tor, escort Emily and Cabiria to the waiting room near my office, assuming it’s still there,” Gordian added. “I want them both to remain there until we recover the books.”

“Of course, Grandmaster,” Master Tor said. He glanced at Emily. “If you’ll come with me...?”

Emily sighed inwardly, but followed him as he led her through the door and up a long flight of stairs. Everything had changed, she realized numbly as they reached the top of the stairwell. What should have led them to the main corridor now went straight to the upper floors, without any way to get off below the fifth level. A handful of deeply confused students milled around, unable to find their bedrooms. Master Tor ordered them to head to the Great Hall and then led Emily and Cabiria down two more flights of stairs. The Grandmaster’s office had gone down a level, Emily saw, and was now flanked by a charms classroom and the Warden’s chamber. She glanced through the open door and shivered as she saw the unmoving homunculus. The Warden had clearly been disabled too.

“The waiting room seems to have gone,” Master Tor said. He sounded uneasy, deeply uneasy. It took Emily a moment to remember he’d been at Whitehall when the Mimic ravaged the school. There was no sign of Griselda either. “We’ll wait in the classroom.”

“We’re lucky we found the classroom, sir,” Cabiria said, as they entered the room and sat down at the nearest desks. “Will the Grandmaster be able to find his office?”

Emily shuddered at the thought. If the school kept randomly changing its interior, she suspected, getting from place to place would be impossible. How could students hope to go to classes if the classroom might be in a different place every day... assuming, of course, that the pocket dimension didn’t simply collapse. They were trapped. Or were they?

“The doors may have simply changed position,” she said.

Master Tor scowled at her. “What do you mean?”

“The doors may not have been closed,” Emily pointed out. “They may simply have moved position.”

“That’s a good point,” Cabiria agreed. She smiled, tiredly. “The doors might be accessible through the changing rooms.”

“I shall discuss it with the Grandmaster,” Master Tor said. “Now tell me. What happened down there?”

Emily sat back and listened as Cabiria outlined everything that had happened, from the moment they’d entered the tunnels to their hasty retreat from the control room. Master Tor listened, asking questions from time to time, barely even looking at Emily as Cabiria described the control room. Emily used the time to consider just how the control room might work, recalling how the spellwork had channeled the power of the nexus point and shaped it into magic. It might be so advanced that it was effectively a computer in its own right. Someone could push the reset key on a laptop and lose their work without ever understanding how the laptop worked.

Hell of a coincidence, him pushing the reset key, she thought. Or was it keyed to only accept input from a handful of people, people who died hundreds of years ago?

Nearly two hours of increasing boredom—there was nothing to read in the classroom—passed before the door burst open, revealing Gordian, Professor Locke and Sergeant Miles. Gordian looked angry and Professor Locke looked murderous, while Sergeant Miles looked grim. Professor Locke stamped towards her, magic crackling over his hands. He was so angry that Emily found herself checking and rechecking her protections as he loomed over her.

“Emily,” Professor Locke snarled. “Where are the books?”

Emily stared at him, shocked. “The books?”

Professor Locke leaned forward, his face twisting with anger. “The books,” he thundered, reaching for her. “The books we found and left down there. The books that are now gone, with your magical signature scattered all over the room...”

He drew back his hand, as if to slap her. Sergeant Miles caught his wrist before he could let fly. “Enough,” he said, quietly but firmly. “Calm down. Now.”

Emily swallowed hard, concentrating on calming herself. But it made no sense. The books were gone? How? She knew she hadn’t taken them, but no one else should have been able to duplicate her magical signature. Maybe it was a mistake... except Professor Lombardi and Sergeant Miles would both be quite familiar with her signature. They’d have no difficulty isolating her magic from the other traces in the room.

“Get up,” Professor Locke ordered. Emily had never seen him so angry, not in all four years she’d known him. “I’ll thrash the truth out of you...”

“No, you won’t,” Sergeant Miles said. “Sit down and calm yourself, now.”

Cabiria cleared her throat. “Grandmaster,” she said. “What’s happened?”

“The books are gone,” Professor Locke snapped, before Gordian could say a word. “And her signature is all over the room.”

“Emily was with us ever since we entered the underground network,” Cabiria pointed out, calmly. “She was with you until you went back underground, then she was with Master Tor and me. Precisely when is she supposed to have stolen the books? Even a skilled Wardcrafter would need hours, perhaps, to crack those protections and take the books. There is no way that she had enough time to do it without being noticed.”

“Shut up,” Professor Locke snapped. “Emily, get up and...”

“Enough,” Sergeant Miles said, with surprising force. “Cabiria is correct. Emily did not have the means or the opportunity to take the books.”

“She certainly has the motive,” Professor Locke insisted.

“I must confess that Emily does have a habit of acting before thinking,” Master Tor injected, smoothly. Emily cast him a doubtful look. “But I dare say that even she could not be in two places at once.”

“She could have cast a bilocation spell,” Professor Locke said. “If she split herself into two entities...”

Sergeant Miles snorted. “There are very few magicians who can successfully manage a bilocation spell,” he said, rudely. “And Emily does not have the skill to cast it, let alone hold it in place for more than a few seconds.”

“She has the raw power,” Professor Locke said.

“But not the discipline,” Master Tor said.

Emily stared from one to the other, confused and deeply worried. Just what had happened? And why?

“It’s impossible to duplicate a magical signature,” Professor Locke said. He sounded calmer now, but with an undertone of bitter frustration in his voice. Emily would have felt sorry for him, if he hadn’t been threatening to torture her. Losing the books before he’d even had a chance to read them had to sting. “And that chamber is drenched in her magical signature. How do you explain its presence?”

“The ancients were supposed to have arts that are now long forgotten,” Cabiria mused, out loud. “For all we know, one of the wards surrounding the control room copied her signature and used it as a distraction while it hid the books.”

“Impossible,” Master Tor snapped.

“One would hope so,” Sergeant Miles agreed. “A ward capable of sensing and duplicating a magical signature would be a grave security risk.”

Emily nodded in agreement. Most personal wards used blood for identification, but protective wards over schools like Whitehall relied on magical signatures. The spells that guarded her bedroom tested her signature before they allowed her to enter... she wondered, suddenly, if one of the older families did have a way of fooling such a ward. Was that how the letter-writer had managed to get into Tiega’s bedroom? Somehow, she doubted it. There was no way someone like Fulvia would have taught such a trick to a mere schoolgirl, knowing that the trick might be exposed at any moment...

“Use a truth spell,” Professor Locke said.

“She is immune to truth spells,” Master Tor commented. “Her father saw to that. Indeed, even the darker compulsion spells would have little effect on her.”

Emily frowned, then remembered that Master Tor—and Grandmaster Hasdrubal—had tried to interrogate her after the Mimic had begun its rampage. Void’s spell might have protected her mind, but it hadn’t made her life any easier. Rendering oneself immune to truth spells raised a simple question—what was one trying to hide? But Void had been right. There were hundreds of people who wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap and interrogate her if they thought they could get away with it.

Gordian cleared his throat. “It occurs to me that there is a simple way of settling this dispute,” he said, calmly. “Emily. Did you take the books from the underground library?”

“No, sir,” Emily said.

“Are you prepared to swear an oath to that effect?”

Emily heard Cabiria gasp in shock. Sergeant Miles, standing next to Professor Locke, looked outraged. Asking for an oath was a blatant insult, a refusal to accept that her word was good.

“Grandmaster,” Sergeant Miles said. “Demanding an oath from a student is not done.”

“These are extraordinary circumstances,” Gordian pointed out. He sounded oddly amused by his words. “We cannot account for her magical signature being there, even though she didn’t have the time to steal anything from the library. Therefore, we need to rule out any possibility that she stole the books, either through bilocation or some other spell.”

His gaze fixed on Emily. “Are you willing to swear such an oath?”

“Grandmaster,” Master Tor said. “I...”

Emily took a breath. “I am,” she said. There was no point in trying to avoid it. Besides, she knew she was innocent. She held up her hand, shaping the spell in her mind. Magic spun around her, binding her words. “I swear by my name, I swear by my blood, I swear by my power that I did not steal any books from the underground library.”

“Well,” Sergeant Miles said. He gave Professor Locke a nasty look. “You nearly beat an innocent girl to death.”

“This is serious,” Professor Locke snapped. “Without those books...”

“Without those books, we will have to crack the secrets ourselves before we run out of food or air,” Gordian said. He sounded tired. “Professor Lombardi has already started studying the spellwork. I have no doubt that he will solve the riddle before too long.”

“The secrets of the ancients are not so easily unravelled,” Professor Locke insisted. “I must demand...”

“You demand?” Gordian snapped. He rounded on the older man, his eyes flashing fire. “I am the Grandmaster. Who are you to demand anything of me?”

“This is my project,” Professor Locke snapped back. “The rules...”

“But my school,” Gordian said. He made a visible effort to calm himself. “Agreeing to let you run wild underground was a mistake on my part, for which I bear full responsibility. If—when—we regain contact with the outside world, I will pay for that. Until then, you are not to re-enter the tunnels. Go back to your office and see if you can pull anything useful from your papers.”

Professor Locke wilted. Emily felt a stab of sympathy, despite herself. Locke had been desperate to unlock the ancient secrets before he died, yet when he’d finally had his chance he’d blown it. Losing the books was bad enough, but collapsing the links between Whitehall and the outside world was disastrous. He might die in the next few days, if the dimension collapsed... and if they did manage to escape, he would go down in history as the man who’d destroyed Whitehall. Even Shadye had never managed to bring the school to the very brink of complete disaster.

“Yes, Grandmaster,” he said, finally.

Gordian watched him balefully until he left the room, then looked at Sergeant Miles. “We will gather the students in the Great Hall,” he said, curtly. “We need to do a proper headcount, if nothing else. All classes are cancelled for at least the next two days. I’m sure they’ll be very upset to hear it.”

Sergeant Miles nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Escort Emily and Cabiria to the Great Hall,” Gordian added. His eyes fixed on Emily for a long, cold moment. She couldn’t help wondering if he blamed her for the looming disaster, even though it hadn’t been her who’d touched the console. “Keep a sharp eye on them. I don’t want either of them out of your sight for a moment.”

“As you command,” Sergeant Miles said. He nodded to Emily, then Cabiria. “Come on, please.”

Emily rose and followed him out of the room, feeling Gordian’s eyes burning into her back as she left. There had been no apology for forcing her to swear the oath, no apology for how she’d been treated... it made her wonder just what would have happened if Sergeant Miles hadn’t been there. She’d be damned if she’d let Professor Locke try to beat a confession out of her, no matter how angry he was. It would be thoroughly pointless...

But I shouldn’t expect to be treated any better, she thought, grimly. If we can’t fix the damage, the school is doomed.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

THE GREAT HALL WAS ALMOST DESERTED when Sergeant Miles led Emily and Cabiria into the chamber, save for a pair of fourth-year boys who were roughhousing on the floor. The sergeant motioned the girls to a pair of seats, then hurried over to separate the two boys before they could do any real damage to themselves or the hall. Emily sagged into the seat, suddenly feeling exhausted. Too much had happened in too short a space of time for her to feel anything but weary.

“The Grandmaster really doesn’t like you,” Cabiria said. “And to think I thought I got it bad.”

“You just broke into the library,” Emily pointed out. “He sees me as a walking disaster area.”

She forced herself to sit upright and think as students began to filter into the Great Hall, talking to one another in low voices. Normally, the staff could call an emergency assembly through the wards at any time, but now the wards were non-responsive. It would take hours, perhaps longer, to gather all the students in one place and do a headcount. And even if they did, she couldn’t help doubting its worth. The interior could shift again and again, quickly rendering the headcount worthless.

“Emily,” Caleb called. He looked relieved to see her. “Are you all right?”

“Just tired,” Emily said, as he sat down next to her. “You?”

“I was in the workroom,” Caleb said. “And then I walked out the door into the sixth-year common room. They were not pleased to see me.”

“I bet they weren’t,” Emily said. She snuggled up to him, sighing in relief as he wrapped an arm around her. “How badly did you get hexed?”

“They were too busy being shocked that I walked out of their toilets,” Caleb said. He smirked. “I have no idea where their toilets have gone.”

Emily snickered. She couldn’t help herself, even though she knew it was serious. Her bedroom could be anywhere, from the lower levels to the battlements; hell, she might never find it. And even if she did find it before bedtime, who knew what all the shifting had done to the security wards? She might not even recognize her room when she found it.

“Everything has changed,” she said, as more and more students filed into the room. Sergeant Miles marched from row to row, sorting the students out by year and glaring particularly annoying chatterboxes into silence. The Great Hall was normally as large as it needed to be, but now it felt cramped. It took Emily a moment to realize that the walls were no longer expanding to accommodate the crowds. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Silence fell, sharply, as Gordian marched up to the podium and turned to face the gathered students, his staff carrying out a quick headcount. Emily glanced from side to side, silently counting the fifth year students. Everyone seemed to be present, save for Pandora. It struck her, suddenly, that some students might well have been in Dragon’s Den when the pocket dimensions were separated from the castle doors. They’d be unable to re-enter the school... what the hell would they do?

At least Mistress Danielle will hear rumors, she thought. She’ll know what happened to me.

“There has been an... incident,” Gordian said, without preamble. “The school’s interior has been rearranged, again, and we have been cut off from the outside world. We hope to fix this problem as quickly as possible, but for the moment all classes have been cancelled”—a low hum of approval ran through the hall—“and first to fourth year students will remain on this level until we have a better idea of the scale of the crisis. Fifth and sixth year students will assist the staff in handling the situation.”

Caleb nudged Emily. “What does he want us to do?”

Emily shrugged. Some of the older students might be able to assist with the charms work, although she rather doubted they’d have the chance. Gordian would prefer to leave matters in Professor Lombardi’s hands. Perhaps he’d want the older students to keep the younger ones under control. Four hundred students, from sixteen to twenty, trapped in the hall... it was going to be chaotic, even if the hexes didn’t start flying. She looked for her charges, sitting near the front of the hall and sighed, inwardly. Their backs were facing her, so she couldn’t see their faces, but their postures showed they were clearly worried. Did they understand just how bad matters had become?

And once lines start developing to go to the toilet, she thought, all hell will break loose.

“All fifth and sixth year students are to proceed to the dining hall,” Gordian added. “The remaining students are to remain here.”

“Come on,” Caleb said.

He held her hand as they walked through the door, down a corridor that was suddenly four times as long as she remembered, and into the dining hall. It was a mess; hundreds of plates and glasses lay broken on the floor, where they’d been thrown when the entire building shook. The staff clearly hadn’t had time to begin tidying up the mess... hell, she wasn’t even sure what had happened to the kitchens. She peered towards the hatches where food was served and saw nothing but bare walls. The kitchen had been relocated somewhere else.

Crap, she thought. There were some sandwiches and a bottle of water in her knapsack—she’d kept hold of it, despite everything—but it wouldn’t last very long, even if she refused to share with anyone. What do we do if we can’t cook food?

“If I could have your attention,” Master Tor said. He stood on one of the tables, using magic to amplify his voice. “The situation is dire.”

He paused as silence fell over the room. “It has been suggested that the doors to the outside world may have been relocated,” he continued, after a long moment. “You students will search the castle for the remainder of the day or until they are found.”

Emily frowned, inwardly, as he detailed how he wanted them to chart the castle’s new dimensions and the precautions he expected them to take. He’d definitely put more thought into the whole affair than Professor Locke, but she had the feeling that trying to chart the castle was a waste of time. The corridors could shift at any moment, rendering the charts worse than useless. But at least it would keep the students occupied. They were far from stupid. It wouldn’t be too long before the hopelessness of their situation dawned on them.

And if they knew what I did to Shadye, Emily thought, as she collected her supplies from Master Tor, they’d be even more terrified.

“Good luck,” Master Tor said. He didn’t seem inclined to credit her for the idea of searching for the doors, which she appreciated. She didn’t want to be blamed for the whole crisis—again. “Check in regularly, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb said, briskly. He’d insisted on accompanying Emily, leaving Cabiria to join Cirroc. “We’ll be very careful.”

“They thought I stole the books,” Emily said, as soon as they were heading up to what had once been the fourth floor. She ran through the whole story from start to finish. “They even made me swear an oath...”

Caleb caught her arm. “They made you swear an oath?”

Emily nodded, sullenly. “Yeah.”

“He must be out of his mind,” Caleb said. “Your father... you’re...”

He hesitated. “Asking someone to swear an oath is terrifyingly rude!”

“I know,” Emily said. She shook her head. “I still don’t know how my magical signature turned up down there.”

“Maybe they made a mistake,” Caleb said, doubtfully.

Emily shrugged as they reached the top of the stairwell and walked slowly into the darkened corridor. Normally, the charms classroom would be in front of them, as soon as they left the stairwell, but this time they found themselves peering into an alchemy lab. The faint, but unpleasant, smell emanating from the cupboard in the far corner suggested that a number of containers had shattered or otherwise leaked when everything shifted position. They should have been unbreakable, she knew, yet no one had ever anticipated an earthquake. She’d have to warn Professor Thande to dispose of the chemicals before it was too late.

“I don’t think they would,” she said, glumly. “Professor Lombardi was teaching me how to work magic from day one. Sergeant Miles had me for three years of martial magic. I think they’d know me by now.”

Caleb shook his head. “Could someone have duplicated your signature?”

“I don’t know how,” Emily said, miserably. “It’s supposed to be impossible.”

“So is defeating a necromancer one-on-one,” Caleb pointed out. “You’ve done it twice.”

“I cheated,” Emily said.

She shook her head slowly, then walked on through the bewildering maze Whitehall had become. The corridors twisted and turned in a manner that reminded her of crawling through the tunnels under Mountaintop; the lights brightened and dimmed, seemingly at random. She felt certain that some of the shadows acted oddly, as if they had lives and minds of their own. And yet, no matter how she tried to catch them moving, they never moved when she looked straight at them. She found herself holding Caleb’s hand tightly, all the while bracing for a sudden attack. Beside her, Caleb looked—and felt—just as tense.

The corridors moved when Shadye attacked, she thought, grimly. Maybe he damaged them in some way...

“They might have been able to duplicate your signature if they had some of your blood,” Caleb said, slowly. “I’ve never heard of it actually being done, but it should be possible.”

Emily looked up at him. “How do you mean?”

“Your blood is intimately linked to you,” Caleb reminded her. “You could be cursed from halfway across the Allied Lands if someone had a sample of your blood. Perhaps, if they used the blood to taint their magic, it would feel like your magic.”

“I don’t think there are any samples of my blood left around,” Emily said, slowly. She had been asleep in the infirmary, but Healers were under oath not to allow their patients to be bled. And when she’d slept in her bedroom, she’d been surrounded by her own protections. “I...”

She broke off as a nasty thought occurred to her. “I wonder...”

Caleb frowned. “Emily?”

Emily shook her head, slowly. “Can I tell you another secret?”

“Another secret?”

“You were here when Shadye invaded,” Emily said. “I...”

“I came afterwards,” Caleb corrected. “I was here for the Mimic.”

Emily squeezed his hand, tightly. “Shadye took some of my blood,” she said, bitterly. It had simply never occurred to her that she, rather than Alassa, had been the kidnapper’s target, rather than the innocent bystander. Since then, she’d studied blood magics, but it was hard—very hard—to defend against them. “He used it to make me lower the school’s defenses.”

“Everyone wondered about that,” Caleb said, softly. “No one worked out how the bastard managed to get into the school.”

“Through me,” Emily confessed. “Caleb, everything went blurry. It wasn’t direct compulsion, not really. He had me so confused about what was going on that I felt as if I were in a dream. I didn’t really grasp that something was wrong until it was far too late.”

“You were being attacked on a very intimate level,” Caleb said. “Stronger and more experienced magicians have been beaten when their own blood was turned against them.”

“I know,” Emily said. She shuddered, feeling sick. “What if someone’s using blood magic against me now?”

Caleb stared at her. “Who?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said. “But... what if I did steal the books? I just don’t know I did it.”

“That... would be awkward,” Caleb said, after a moment. “Did you have time to steal the books?”

Emily hesitated, considering it. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But what if someone used blood magic to make me think I didn’t have time?”

“If someone did,” Caleb said slowly, “how would he have gotten his hands on your blood?”

“I don’t know,” Emily confessed.

She shook her head slowly. Shadye had made sure she understood the dangers of leaving samples of her blood lying around. She’d always been careful, afterwards, to clean up any bloodstains and dispose of the remnants. But if she’d been stunned, somehow, and her memory wiped... she might never know what had happened. Hell, she’d never realized that Shadye had stolen a sample of her blood until it was far too late.

“They’d have to control—or at least influence—Professor Locke and Cabiria too,” Caleb pointed out, holding her as she began to shake. “They would need samples of blood from both of them too.”

Emily sighed, fighting down the urge to just bury her head in his shirt. Caleb made sense, she knew, but a nagging doubt lingered at the back of her mind. And she knew, from bitter experience, that she should listen to those feelings. They were often warnings from her subconscious mind.

She pulled back from him, gently. “Is there a way to check?”

“I’m not sure,” Caleb said, thoughtfully. “Blood magics aren’t really covered until you reach Sixth Year. My mother exploded with rage when Casper asked her about some of the more... interesting uses for blood, so I never dared ask her myself. You’d really have to check with Sergeant Miles or the Grandmaster.”

He sighed. “Do you have any reason at all to think that you might have lost some blood without noticing?”

Emily shook her head as she started to walk down the corridor, still holding his hand. “No proof,” she said. “But... I could have scratched myself and not noticed.”

Caleb reddened. “I suppose there are other possibilities,” he said, quietly. “But I don’t see how anyone could make it work without controlling all three of you. Frankly, it’s a great deal more likely that they used your blood to fake your magical signature and even that’s a stretch.”

He squeezed her arm lightly. “Take it to Sergeant Miles,” he advised. “The worst he can do is give you a million push-ups for wasting his time.”

Emily snorted. The sergeants never sent anyone to be caned. They had plenty of other ways to punish their students, all of which helped prepare them for a military life. Endless push-ups, races from one end of the field to the other... hair-raising climbs up trees she would have sworn were impossible to climb... the list went on and on. But she had a feeling that Sergeant Miles would take her concerns seriously. He’d known her for over four years.

“I suppose,” she said. She peered into the next darkened classroom and frowned, unable to place it. The desks and chairs looked clean, but utterly unused. A large statue of a man in a Roman-style toga dominated the room. “Where is this?”

“I think it’s one of the disused classrooms,” Caleb said. He stroked his chin as he studied the statue. “I’ve no idea what it taught.”

Emily made a note on the piece of paper and led the way further down the corridor. The shadows drew closer as the lights dimmed, then blinked out completely. Emily shivered as darkness suddenly enveloped them, a darkness so complete that it was almost a living thing. She wouldn’t even have known Caleb was there if he hadn’t been holding her hand...

Something poked her side, hard. “Ouch!”

“Emily?” Caleb said. “What happened?”

“Something just poked me,” Emily said. She tried to cast a light globe, but nothing happened. The darkness seemed to soak up the magic before it could take form. “I...”

Caleb swore. “It poked me too,” he said. He sounded disturbed. “I...”

Emily shuddered as she felt invisible fingers poking and prodding at her, jabbing into her side and crawling over her face. Something passed through her hair, caressing it in a mockery of intimacy, then ran down her back and stroked the back of her legs. She lashed out with her free hand, but hit nothing. The touches seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere...

“Walk backwards,” Caleb urged. “We...”

He started to walk, pulling Emily with him. Moments later, Emily heard a thud as he walked into a wall that hadn’t been there before the lights had failed. Panic echoed at the back of her mind as she tried to cast another spell, wondering if she would need to teleport them out for a second time. But the magic refused to take shape and form...

“Try forward,” she said, as a pair of icy fingers pinched her bottom. She gasped in pain as she pulled him forward. “I...”

She walked straight into another person, sending them both tumbling to the ground as the lights came back on. The Gorgon stared up at her, the snakes on her head hissing ominously. Emily hastily closed her eyes and rolled off the Gorgon, then looked around in surprise. Hadn’t they been on a different level? But then, everything had been rearranged...

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Me too,” the Gorgon said. She pulled herself to her feet, her snakes hissing in distress. A nasty bruise marred her greenish cheeks. Pandora lay on the ground beyond her, moaning in pain. “I was caught in darkness and pinched.”

“Us too,” Caleb said. He helped Emily up, then smiled at the Gorgon. “If the castle keeps rearranging itself, who knows what will happen next?”

“Not me,” the Gorgon said. She rubbed her cheek gingerly. “We’re running around like rats in a maze.”

Emily nodded, wordlessly.

“We’d better report to Master Tor,” Caleb said. He glanced at Emily. “And after that, you can discuss your... other concerns.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

EMILY HAD HOPED TO SPEAK TO Sergeant Miles alone, but when they reached the classroom nearest the dining hall she discovered that he was in consultations with Professor Lombardi, Master Tor and Grandmaster Gordian. Master Tor was reading from a large sheaf of notes, while Professor Lombardi looked bored and Sergeant Miles seemed concerned. Only the Grandmaster showed no trace of his innermost feelings.

“We have enough food for nearly two months, assuming we start strict rationing,” Master Tor said as she entered the room. “The staff believe they can stretch it out for longer, but we won’t have the energy to cast spells if they do.”

He paused. “Water is a more urgent problem,” he added, “but we can use spells to filter it before drinking.”

“Our students are too used to not filtering it,” Sergeant Miles warned.

Emily nodded in agreement. Whitehall’s water was safe, filtered through the wards and cleansed of everything that might make a human ill—or dead. She’d been warned to always boil or filter water outside Whitehall, but she’d never had to do either inside the school. It was going to be hard to remember, even though she knew the dangers. And she had no idea what they were going to do for showers.

Perhaps use buckets and sponges, she thought. If we can’t get out of the trap, smelling bad will be the least of our problems.

Gordian frowned. “Make sure they all know the dangers,” he ordered. “Do we have a better map of the school yet?”

Emily cleared her throat. “Some of the corridors have become... dangerous,” she said, and outlined what they’d experienced. “I don’t know why it happened.”

“A rogue spell,” Sergeant Miles commented, when she’d finished. His lips quirked into a humorless smile. “That is, perhaps, the least disturbing possibility.”

Gordian looked at the chart on the table. “Much of the school seems safe,” he said. “It has merely been rearranged.”

“And may rearrange itself again,” Sergeant Miles added. “Or worse.”

“We will have to resume classes,” Gordian said. “The students will grow restless if they have nothing to do.”

Emily gaped at him, then conceded—reluctantly—that he might have a point. Whitehall had been driven to the brink of collapse by the Mimic, when classes had been cancelled and students had huddled together, paying off old grudges in what they’d believed to be their final hours. Keeping the students, particularly the younger students, busy might just prevent a second breakdown. And besides, if they made it out alive, they wouldn’t have to surrender a week or two of their holidays to make up for what they’d missed.

“That’s a good idea,” she said.

“Thank you,” Gordian said. His tone was heavy with sarcasm. “I’m glad you approve of my intentions.”

Emily felt her face redden, but stood her ground beside Caleb as another tutor—Professor Rooihemp, a man she barely knew—stepped into the chamber. He looked nervous, yet grimly determined as he held up his staff. Gordian looked past Emily to the newcomer, his face darkening with concern. Beside him, Sergeant Miles didn’t look any happier.

“I worked out the spells,” Professor Rooihemp said, grimly. “I should be able to teleport out of the school.”

“You might well be wrong,” Sergeant Miles pointed out. “The wards are not configured to allow anyone to teleport out—and we no longer control them.”

“If the wards are functional, I’ll end up in the oubliette,” Professor Rooihemp reminded him, curtly. “And if they are not functional, I will make it outside the school and can summon help. They can open a portal to us with the correct coordinates.”

“At the risk of your life,” Gordian said. “Are we that desperate?”

“With all due respect, Grandmaster, I believe we are,” Professor Rooihemp said. “If parts of the dimensional matrix are not stable, sir, it is only a matter of time before the entire structure collapses into nothingness. Every single one of us will die.”

Emily swallowed, hard. She had teleported within Whitehall, only to end up trapped... but at least she’d been rescued. Professor Rooihemp might be trapped too... or worse. Teleporting was hard enough outside Whitehall, but inside a multidimensional structure it was almost impossible. But, at the same time, she knew Professor Rooihemp was probably right. The school was almost certainly not stable. Time was slowly ticking away.

“You can make the attempt,” Gordian said, finally. “But carefully, very carefully.”

“And not from here,” Sergeant Miles added. “I suggest teleporting out of the entry hall.”

Professor Rooihemp nodded and left the chamber. Emily watched him go, wishing suddenly that she’d known him better. He was a Charms tutor, but she’d spent most of her lessons with Professor Lombardi. She reached for Caleb’s hand and held it tightly as the door closed, cutting off her view of the professor. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she would never see him again.

“I have completed my preliminary survey of the control room,” Professor Lombardi said, into the silence. He sounded irked. It took Emily a moment to realize that Professor Rooihemp would have been working with him, but instead he had decided to try to work out the spell for teleporting back to the Nameless World. “The spellwork is... odd.”

Gordian leaned forward. “In what way?”

“It is both fantastically complex and very primitive,” Professor Lombardi said. “Much of the spellwork is little more than brute-force spellware, rather than the more subtle spells we have devised over the years. There are spells held firmly in place by other spells. And yet, the shared matrix of spellware is so complex that, combined with the nexus point, there are few limits to what it can do. I have only just started unravelling the complexities, but I believe it’s only a matter of time before we unravel everything.”

Caleb nudged Emily. “Remind you of anything?”

Emily nodded.

Gordian turned to look at her. “Explain. Now.”

Emily groaned, inwardly. She’d known they would have to discuss their work eventually, if only to explain why they’d unilaterally changed their joint project without asking for permission from their supervisors, but she hadn’t been looking forward to it. Gordian might well use their decision as an excuse to fail both of them. And yet, with Professor Lombardi slowly poking away at the control room, necessity superseded their private project.

“We started to experiment with self-maintaining spellwork,” she said, carefully. “It...”

Master Tor rubbed his forehead. “Only you,” he said. “Why...?”

“The Mimic,” Sergeant Miles said. “That’s where you got the idea.”

Gordian turned to face him. “The Mimic?”

“Mimics are not actual creatures,” Sergeant Miles said. “They’re spells. Independent spells, operating with a complexity far beyond anything else known to exist.”

“Until now,” Emily said.

“Quite,” Sergeant Miles agreed. He nodded to her, cheerfully. “It was Emily who had the insight into their true nature.”

Gordian cocked his head, meeting Emily’s eyes. “And no one saw fit to bring this to my attention?”

“Your predecessor believed that common knowledge of their true nature would have adverse effects,” Sergeant Miles said, earning Emily’s eternal gratitude. “He feared that the Mimics gained their power through a form of necromancy. The results of making such a technique public might be disastrous.”

“I see,” Gordian said. He seemed torn. “If we get out of this... this lobster pot, please rest assured that we will discuss this in great detail.”

He scowled at Emily. “And we will... consider... the precise status of your joint project too,” he added.

“We can finish the original project,” Caleb said. “It has its uses too.”

“I’m sure it does,” Gordian said. Oddly, he sounded sincere. “However...”

“Unlocking the spellware within the chamber may be the key to escaping the trap,” Professor Lombardi said. “I have already asked Professor Locke to review every last manuscript saved from Old Whitehall, now that we have the context for some of the wilder statements found within the tomes.”

“It will also keep him out of trouble,” Gordian commented.

“Quite,” Professor Lombardi said. “I would also like to have Emily and Caleb assigned to my research program.”

“Out of the question,” Gordian said.

“They both have more experience with this type of spellware than anyone else,” Professor Lombardi said, bluntly. “I don’t think we can afford to dismiss it lightly.”

Gordian eyed Emily for a long moment, then nodded curtly. “Very well,” he said. “But you can start tomorrow. Right now, everyone needs a rest.”

Emily nodded in agreement. She felt tired and drained; Caleb, she suspected, felt pretty much the same way. Far too much had happened over the last few hours. But she needed to raise another issue before finding her bedroom or bedding down in one of the classrooms for the night.

“Sir,” she said. “There’s another problem.”

“Another problem,” Gordian repeated. He sounded as tired as she felt. “And it is...?”

Emily hesitated, then plunged onwards as Caleb squeezed her hand. “I have a theory about how my magical signature was found near the library,” she said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to carry on—Gordian might decide to lock her up, all for her own good—but pressed ahead anyway. “If someone had a sample of my blood, they could use it to manipulate me... couldn’t they?”

Gordian’s face darkened. “And does anyone have a sample of your blood?”

“I don’t think so,” Emily said. “But if they did, would I know about it?”

Sergeant Miles scowled. “Even if someone took control of you and used you to get the books,” he said, “would you have time before you were caught?”

“That’s what I said,” Caleb said. “There wasn’t time!”

“There might have been,” Gordian mused. “It would depend on how the spell was cast.”

Emily shook her head, slowly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Is it possible to check?”

Gordian exchanged a glance with Sergeant Miles. “Perhaps,” he said. “We’d need a soul magic ritual... I’ll have to give it some thought.”

Professor Lombardi snorted. “And until then, we will just keep an eye on you,” he said. “We don’t have time to worry about outside influences, not now.”

“We would have to set up the ritual,” Gordian said. He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “Is there anyone in this school you trust completely?”

Emily swallowed. She didn’t trust anyone completely, save perhaps for Lady Barb. But Lady Barb was far away, almost certainly unaware of what had happened to Whitehall. A soul magic ritual meant intimacy, enforced intimacy, with at least one other person. She wasn’t sure she could do that with anyone.

But there was no choice. “Frieda,” she said. “I trust her.”

Caleb squeezed her hand. When she glanced at him, she saw a hurt expression crossing his face before it vanished behind a mask. She shook her head at him, then mouthed "later" when he raised his eyebrows. She’d have to explain they didn’t dare risk such intimacy. They were already partners. Who knew what touching souls would do? She’d studied soul magics at Mountaintop and learned enough to know they were not to be taken lightly. A mistake could bind her to Caleb permanently or blur their souls together into one entity...

“A third year student,” Sergeant Miles said. “Emily, do you think she would be willing to try to touch your soul?”

“I trust her,” Emily repeated. “If she says no, we can look for someone else.”

Sergeant Miles looked at Gordian. “It will be tricky,” he said. “We don’t have a SoulHealer in the school.”

“There are only a handful within the Allied Lands,” Gordian agreed. “We can make the ritual work, can’t we?”

“Perhaps,” Sergeant Miles said. His eyes met Emily’s. “There are risks, young lady. Are you sure you want to embrace them?”

“I have to know,” Emily said. “If I have been under outside control...”

Her throat was dry. She swallowed, hard, as the implications struck her. What would they do if she had been influenced? Blood magic wasn’t a simple compulsion spell, one that could be easily broken. It could be woven into her very soul. Shadye hadn’t done any long-term damage, as far as she knew, but he’d only been interested in breaking into Whitehall. Someone with more skill and less immediate need for power could slowly turn her into a monster—and she’d never know it. She’d keep rationalizing it to herself until it was far too late to turn back.

“We will find out,” Gordian said, awkwardly. He cleared his throat as he glanced at his watch. “I want you to bed down with the first years—the students in your charge. Keep them comforted at night.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said. She’d seen her students briefly, in the Great Hall; it struck her, suddenly, that they must be bored. There was nothing to do in the Great Hall. “Where are they?”

“In two of the classrooms,” Gordian said. “Sergeant Miles will show you the way.”

He glanced at Caleb. “Same for you, Caleb,” he added. “Try not to let them sneak out at night. It’s no longer a game.”

Caleb nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Nothing is the same any longer.”

“Hex them to their sleeping bags, if necessary,” Gordian said. “And don’t hesitate to smack them if they try to sneak out.”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb said.

Emily started as a dull quiver ran through the school, followed by a heart-rending scream that chilled her to the bone. “What...”

“It came from the hall,” Sergeant Miles said. He hurried towards the door, followed by Gordian and Professor Lombardi. “Quickly!”

Emily and Caleb exchanged glances, then followed the tutors as they ran down the stairs and into the entrance hall. Normally, it was empty; students would unload carriages and leave their trunks on the floor, then transport them up to their rooms. Now... she stared in horror at the sight before her, her mind fighting to grasp what it was seeing. Professor Rooihemp was floating in the center of the chamber, his body frozen even as it started to explode, as if someone had pushed pause. She had to fight from throwing up at the look of agony on his disintegrating face, convinced—deep inside—that Professor Rooihemp remained conscious even as his body died. He knew what was happening, yet he could neither save himself nor die.

“Oh, hell,” Caleb breathed.

“He’s isolated from us,” Professor Lombardi said. He held a wand in one hand, waving it thoughtfully towards Professor Rooihemp. “I’m not sure what happened to him...”

“He failed to make it out,” Sergeant Miles said, sharply. “That’s what happened to him.”

“Enough,” Gordian said. He glanced at Professor Lombardi. “Can you get him out?”

“I don’t know,” Professor Lombardi said. “Grandmaster, this isn’t a freeze spell. I’ve no idea how he’s even caught in it.”

Gordian ran his hands through his hair. “If trying to teleport out was enough to shake the entire school...”

His voice trailed off, but Emily knew what he meant. Whitehall was perched on the brink, between safety and utter disaster. If they stayed where they were, their doom was assured... but if they tried to fight their way out, they might only precipitate the final disaster, triggering the final destruction of the school. And because they knew so little of the wards—and of how the school had been built—they would end up experimenting with something equally disastrous.

We’re a car, trapped halfway over a cliff, she thought. One wrong move will send us plummeting, but the cliff face is already crumbling. And staying where we are will also kill us.

Gordian turned to Emily. “Sergeant Miles will escort the pair of you back to the classroom,” he said. “Get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said.

Professor Lombardi cleared his throat as Emily and Caleb headed for the door. “I think he’s trapped in a twisted dimensional fold,” he said, softly. “If we poke it, Grandmaster, it might be enough to free him.”

“And let the poor bastard die,” Gordian said.

“Except doing that might do further damage to the school,” Sergeant Miles said, grimly. He held up a hand before Gordian could say a word. “He’s trapped forever in a moment of time.”

“He’s aware,” Gordian said. His voice grew stronger. “I can feel it. He knows what’s happened to him.”

Emily frowned. Gordian had that feeling too?

“We can’t take the risk,” Sergeant Miles said. His voice held no give at all. “There’s no way we can justify risking everyone else in the school...”

Another quiver ran through the building. Emily saw Professor Rooihemp’s body twisting in strange directions and realized, in a moment of horror, what was about to happen. She put up a shield, just as the body disintegrated, throwing a sheet of blood and gore over the hall. Gordian and Sergeant Miles had raised shields of their own, but Professor Lombardi was drenched in blood and looked ghastly. Emily heard Caleb retching behind her and had to swallow, hard, to keep from joining him. Blood dripped down the edge of her shield and pooled on the stone floor.

“Tell everyone that this chamber is to remain sealed,” Gordian said, harshly. He sounded deeply shocked. Emily didn’t blame him. She’d seen death before, but she’d never seen anyone ripped apart by warped dimensions. “And spread the word. No one is to attempt to teleport out again.”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Miles said. “I’ll make sure everyone knows.”

Gordian threw a sharp look at Emily. “Go clean up, then see to your charges,” he ordered. “And not a word about this to anyone.”

Emily nodded. For once, she wasn’t inclined to argue.

Chapter Thirty

THE CLASSROOM LOOKED ODD WITH THE desks pressed against the far wall and the chairs piled atop them, clearing a space for thirty first-year girls and their mentors. She waved at Melissa as she entered the room, then looked around for her own charges. Jasmine and Lillian were talking in one corner, their voices hushed; Adana, Julia and Dulcet were playing some kind of card game with four other girls. Only Tiega was alone, reading a book as she sat hunched against the wall. Emily’s heart went out to the younger girl: she felt a pang of bitter guilt that she’d yet to catch the letter-writer. That... person, she vowed to herself, was not going to get away with it forever.

“Emily,” Melissa said. She’d been helping one of the other girls with her textbook, but she rose to her feet as Emily walked over to her. “There’s been no real trouble, save for a couple of idiots who tried to sneak out of the room.”

Emily winced as she followed Melissa’s pointing finger. Sneaking out might be a grand old tradition, but only when the only real danger involved being caught by a prowling tutor. Now, with the corridors warped and twisted and classrooms relocated at random, it would be all too easy to get lost—or killed. The two girls standing in the corner, their feet firmly stuck to the floor, would be embarrassed and humiliated, but at least they were alive and well.

“Ouch,” she said. Her watch insisted that it was early evening, but it felt more like the middle of the night. “Did they get something to eat?”

“The staff brought ‘round sandwiches,” Melissa said, pointing to a tray. Her lips quirked into a smile as she nodded at Adana. “One of yours threw a terrible fit until I threatened to silence her. The others were quite well behaved.”

“She was probably trying to embarrass you,” Emily said. Adana was Melissa’s cousin, after all, even though the older girl had been disowned. “Do you want me to have a word with her?”

“She’s always been a little spoilt,” Melissa said. “The thought of not having what she wants for dinner... horror of horrors!”

Emily nodded. Melissa was probably right. Adana was almost certainly the most privileged girl in her class, even though she wasn’t the only child of a magical family. The others would be more used to eating what they got and feeling glad to have it, particularly Dulcet and Jasmine. They hadn’t always had enough to eat.

“Let me know if she gives you a hard time,” Emily said. Her own stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The rations she’d been given lay uneaten in her knapsack. “I’ll just have a bite to eat, then I’ll join my group.”

The lights seemed dimmer, somehow, as she walked over to the younger girls. Adana’s game of cards was growing louder, the girls laughing and shrieking as they played with savage intensity. They were scared, Emily realized; they were scared and trying to hide it. She watched the game for a long moment, then looked at Jasmine and Dulcet. It didn’t look as if they needed help or support. Finally, she sat down next to Tiega. The younger girl barely looked at her.

“Hi,” Emily said, gently. “How are you?”

“Professor Thande had me scrubbing caldrons yesterday,” Tiega said, tonelessly. “He was mad at me for blowing up two potions in a row. I just couldn’t focus on what I was doing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Emily said. Tiega was in trouble, she knew, yet she wasn’t sure how to help. Asking a tutor to help track down the letter-writer would be more than an admission of failure. It would be useless. “Did he promise to supervise when you tried to brew the potion again?”

Tiega shook her head, mournfully. Emily winced. That was not a good sign. She promised herself that, as soon as they regained contact with the outside world, she would go to Professor Thande and request permission to supervise Tiega’s brewing herself. It was unlikely the professor would agree, despite his somewhat lax attitude to safety, but it might convince him to give Tiega another chance. Denying her the option of trying to brew the potion for a second time suggested, very strongly, that he’d given up on her.

“We’ll see what we can do,” she said, wrapping her arm around the younger girl and trying to give her an affectionate squeeze. Tiega showed no reaction at all, neither leaning in towards Emily nor trying to lean away. Was she so starved for affection that she didn’t even recognize it when it was offered? “And your other classes?”

“Not good,” Tiega said. She smiled, suddenly. “But I did enjoy Magical Creatures. The unicorns were lovely.”

“They are,” Emily agreed. She smiled at the memory of having the creatures nuzzling her palm, even though she generally disliked horses. They’d shown no hesitation in approaching her either, although they’d been reluctant to allow Imaiqah anywhere near them. “Did they let you pet them?”

Tiega colored. “They did,” she said. “I...”

“I’m sorry,” Emily said. She meant it, too. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“As if they wouldn’t,” Tiega said, bitterly. “Who would be interested in me?”

Emily kept her thoughts to herself. Tiega was the daughter of a magical family—the youngest, perhaps, but still a daughter. She might be ugly, she might be bad-tempered, yet there would be no shortage of suitors after she completed her first year at Whitehall. Her parents would probably accept the first serious offer for their daughter’s hand, then arrange the marriage for after Tiega’s graduation... if they let her stay in Whitehall. God alone knew what they’d do if Tiega got expelled.

“I thought the same way myself,” Emily said, instead.

“You’re beautiful and smart,” Tiega said.

Emily shook her head. No one had called her beautiful before she’d come to the Nameless World... and even afterwards, it had been a long time before anyone other than a maid had said it. And who could trust a maid’s opinion when their livelihoods often depended on flattering their employers? Alassa might have insisted that Emily was pretty, yet Emily found it hard to believe her. Being beautiful had never been part of her self-image.

“Maybe not that pretty,” she said, finally. “Really.”

There was a tap on the door, which opened to reveal Madame Razz. “Get into your sleeping bags now,” she ordered, bluntly. “And remember, don’t go sneaking out at night.”

“That’s not a joke,” Emily warned, as she chivvied the girls into their sleeping bags. “If we catch you trying to sneak out, we’ll freeze you until tomorrow morning.”

Adana muttered something, just loudly enough for Emily to hear the sound without actually managing to make out the words. She glowered at the younger girl anyway, while Melissa freed the two prisoners and pointed them to their sleeping bags. Both girls looked a little cramped, unsurprisingly. Standing still for so long would be painful. Emily winced in sympathy, then shook her head as she looked at her charges. Now that the card games were over, and the books had been put away, they seemed terrified. They might not know the truth behind their predicament, but the prospect of death hung over them like a shadow...

“Jasmine,” she said, quietly. “Why don’t you sing us a song?”

Jasmine frowned. “My aunt told me not to show off.”

Emily bit down the response that came to mind. Jasmine’s singing had been the highlight of the Faire, as far as she was concerned. And Jasmine had earned more, she suspected, than many of the other non-magical performers. What was that, she asked herself, if it wasn’t showing off?

“Your singing may help your schoolmates fall asleep,” she said, instead. “It would be very useful.”

Jasmine nodded, then sat upright and started to sing a song Emily vaguely remembered from the first Faire, back when her life had been—marginally—less complicated. The words echoed in the air as the song grew lighter, a sweet little ballad about a magician who fell in love with a mermaid and ended up building a home with her by the seaside. She couldn’t help feeling a tear at the corner of her eye as Jasmine finished the first song and moved smoothly into another, a bolder ditty about an old washerwoman who challenged a magician king to a battle of wits and beat him handily. It sounded a little like a warped version of The Tortoise and the Hare, Emily decided, one where the Tortoise cheated constantly and somehow came out ahead.

But that fits, she thought. How could a washerwoman win fairly?

She was reluctant to ask Jasmine to stop, after a sad little song about a family that had been forced to flee the necromancers and a lovelorn song about a couple that could never be together, but the clock was slowly ticking towards midnight. Half the girls were asleep, she noted as she gently put Jasmine to bed and set the wards, before climbing into her own sleeping bag. She hoped—prayed—that none of the girls would try to leave the room, even to answer the call of nature. The buckets by the far wall, barely hidden by a privacy ward, might be embarrassing, but they were safer.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Melissa said, sitting down near the door. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Emily blinked in surprise, then nodded in understanding. Some of the students were going to try to sneak out of the classrooms. They’d been told, from day one, that sneaking around was fine, as long as they didn’t get caught. She would be surprised if some of the boys didn’t see the whole affair as a chance to sneak into the female dorms and cause havoc, despite the certainty of punishment. She’d heard enough horror stories from Alassa and Imaiqah—when their defensive magic classes had gone on field trips—not to take the prospect lightly.

“Fine,” she said, lying down and closing her eyes. She would be cranky when she woke, but it couldn’t be helped. “Wake me at four bells.”

Sleep didn’t come easily, despite the meditations she’d been taught. She’d always thought of Whitehall as solid and reliable, even though the school had been invaded by everything from mad necromancers to demons. Whitehall had always felt safe to her, the first place she’d ever felt safe. She’d never been able to lose that impression, despite Nanette spying on her and the Mimic hunting students and devouring their souls. Now... now she knew, all too well, that the walls could crumble at any moment. They could die as easily as Shadye had, once she’d boxed him up in the pocket dimension...

Don’t think about it, she told herself. Despite her exhaustion, her mind refused to settle and allow her to rest. Just try to sleep.

... Emily stands in front of the crystalline console, a book in her left hand as she rests her right hand against the crystal. Her feet are resting in blood, a reddish glow pervading the room as she does... something... to the spellware. It dances around her, bobbing back and forth as she issues her commands...

... A... creature... sits on her shoulders, peering up at her with malicious eyes. No matter how closely she looks at it, it refuses to take on solid form. All she can sense from it is unblinking malice and a dark, sadistic glee...

... Someone is screaming in the distance...

... A spider-like creature, maddeningly out of focus, looms over her suddenly. She draws a knife from her belt and hurls it at the creature, causing a backwash of magic that picks her up and hurls her across the room...

... Someone is screaming in the distance...

... The room is permeated by a blur of multicolored lights...

“Emily,” a voice snapped. For a long moment, Emily was unsure if she was still dreaming or awake. “Emily, wake up!”

Emily opened her eyes and found herself looking up at Melissa. Instinctively, she tried to lash out, but her hand was caught in the sleeping bag. Her body was drenched in sweat, her head throbbing with pain... she’d been having a nightmare. She hadn’t had such a bad nightmare, she recalled as she forced herself to sit upright, since after Master Grey’s death.

“Emily,” Melissa whispered. She’d cast privacy wards, Emily realized. Her screaming might have disturbed the other girls, if Melissa hadn’t acted quickly. “What happened?”

Emily fought to recall the nightmare, but it was already slipping from her mind into a blurred haze of strange images and sensations. She had been in the control room, hadn’t she? Had someone made her go there again? But Melissa wouldn’t have let her leave without a fight, surely? She tested the room gingerly, hunting for traces of magical residue, but sensed nothing. Nothing suggested that she’d stunned and frozen Melissa before sneaking out and down into the tunnel network.

It will be guarded, she thought, as she stood. Her clothes felt unclean, stained with dust and sweat. There’s no way down into the tunnels.

“I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I had a nightmare.”

“I’m not surprised,” Melissa said, bluntly. “You’re not the only one to have problems.”

She waved a hand towards Tiega, who shifted uncomfortably in her sleeping bag and Dulcet, who seemed ill at ease. Emily eyed the two girls for a long moment and then headed for the door. She needed to breathe. Melissa took a sharp breath as Emily opened the door, but made no move to stop her. Emily wasn’t sure if she realized Emily merely needed some space or if she suspected Emily would get in trouble, when she was caught outside the classroom. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she needed to be alone for a few minutes.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. The air was cold, colder than she’d expected... the wards, naturally, ensured that the school stayed the same temperature all year round, regardless of the season. Now, the wards weren’t maintaining the temperature or cleaning the air. She shuddered as the implications struck her, again. They might just run out of air if they didn’t manage to transfigure carbon dioxide back into oxygen. She hoped, desperately, that Professor Lombardi could produce the right mix of oxygen and nitrogen to allow them to continue to breathe.

“Emily,” Aloha said, from further down the corridor. “Is there a reason you’re out of the classroom?”

Emily jumped. She hadn’t heard the Head Girl sneaking up on her. Sergeant Harkin would have bawled her out for not being better aware of her surroundings, particularly when the entire school was in danger. She dreaded to think what Lady Barb or Mistress Danielle would have said, if they’d caught her. Hell, Aloha was hardly likely to be polite about it.

“I had a nightmare,” Emily admitted. She tried, again, to recollect the dream, but the last memories were gone. “I couldn’t sleep for long.”

“A common problem,” Aloha said. “You’re not the only one with bad dreams.”

Emily nodded, shortly. She wasn’t too surprised. The students of Whitehall seemed to be tougher than the students she recalled from Earth—they certainly were more willing to solve problems themselves, rather than go to a higher authority—but being trapped in a collapsing pocket dimension would give anyone nightmares. Maybe she hadn’t been the only student who’d woken, screaming.

“Professor Locke was raging,” Aloha added. “He was down in his office, tearing through manuscripts and screaming in rage.”

“He thinks all the credit for uncovering the secrets of the past will be stolen,” Emily said, shortly. She wondered if she should be more concerned about the priceless—and irreplaceable—documents stored in Professor Locke’s office. They might be useless when it came to unlocking the secrets, but they were unique. “And he blames me for stealing the books.”

Aloha gave her a sharp look. “What books?”

“Long story,” Emily said. She shook her head, slowly. She’d liked Professor Locke, right up until the moment he’d started to threaten her. He was growing increasingly unstable, driven by his obsession. And yet, she knew what it was like to lose something she wanted desperately. “He genuinely wanted to unlock those secrets.”

“And if he hadn’t,” Aloha said curtly, “we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Yeah,” Emily agreed.

She scowled at the thought. Grandmaster Hasdrubal had known, she suspected, that meddling with the control systems would be disastrous. Or maybe his early life had conditioned him not to rock the boat too much. Either way, he’d preserved Whitehall... without ever leaving a note for his successor explaining what he’d done.

And Gordian had authorized Professor Locke to explore the tunnels, starting the slow collapse of the entire school.

“There are some basins and buckets of water in the next classroom,” Aloha told her, breaking into Emily’s thoughts. “Go wash your face and hands, then go back to bed. Mornings always come too soon.”

Emily smiled. “Is it really morning,” she asked with tired humor, “if we can’t see the sun?”

“The clocks still work,” Aloha said. She cleared her throat, loudly. “Go get yourself a wash, then sleep. You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Emily said, sourly. “I feel terrible too.”

Chapter Thirty-One

MELISSA LET HER SLEEP UNTIL FIVE bells, Emily discovered when she woke for the second time, but she didn’t feel any better. She dragged herself awake and settled down to watch the students while Melissa took a quick nap. The entire room was drenched in silencing wards, ensuring that a student who had a nightmare wouldn’t be able to disturb anyone else. Even so, she still felt tired, thirsty and headachy when Madame Razz knocked at the door to wake the students. It was almost a relief to chivvy the younger girls into the Great Hall and collect a mug of Kava and a breakfast of porridge and fried sausages.

“Emily,” Caleb said. He looked pale, but otherwise fine. “Are you all right?”

“Bad dreams,” Emily admitted. She’d never told him about her nightmares. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

“A couple of young idiots tried to sneak out in the middle of the night,” Caleb told her. “I didn’t sleep very well either.”

Emily winced, then caught Professor Lombardi’s eye. The tutor waved them both over, so Emily said her goodbyes to Melissa and led Caleb to Professor Lombardi. Two other charms tutors—Professors Jayne and Ronald—were standing nearby, carrying wands, staffs and a collection of manuscripts so ancient that the only things holding them together were a number of preservation spells. Emily wasn’t surprised when the manuscripts were passed to Caleb and her, freeing up the tutors to carry their tools. The only real surprise was a grim-faced Professor Locke walking in to join them before they could leave the hall.

“It has been made clear to me,” Professor Locke said, “that I owe you an apology for my harsh words.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. Part of her still hurt at the memory of his accusations, but there was no point in pushing the matter. “I accept your apology.”

“Good,” Professor Lombardi said to everyone. “Now, follow me.”

He led the way out of the hall and down towards the gates. Emily and Caleb found themselves bringing up the rear, Caleb eying Professor Locke’s back with an unfriendly gaze while Emily brooded. Who had told Professor Locke he should apologize? Sergeant Miles? Professor Lombardi? Or Gordian? The Grandmaster had to be having second or third thoughts about the whole project. But he had no choice, Emily knew. Unlocking the secrets of Whitehall was all that would keep them from ending up like Professor Rooihemp—or worse. They might all be crushed out of existence if the walls collapsed in on them.

“I’ve been going through my papers,” Professor Locke said, as they reached the gates. The spells that had concealed them seemed to have vanished completely, leaving them easily visible to the naked eye. “There’s very little concerning the control room itself, but there are a number of vague hints that might be useful.”

“We’ll go through them once we get down there,” Professor Lombardi said. He glanced back at Professor Locke, then at Emily. “None of you are to touch anything. I do not want to rearrange the interior of the school again.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said.

Caleb leaned forward. “Were our bedrooms ever located?”

“They’re right at the top of the school,” Professor Ronald said. He turned to wink at Caleb, then smile at Emily. “You’ll have to climb all the way up to recover your trunks.”

He smiled as he turned back to Professor Lombardi. Emily eyed him, thoughtfully. She had never seen him before starting Fifth Year, suggesting he was a new hire. He was a short man with jet-black hair, his face so free of blemishes that she suspected he used magic to alter his appearance. It was impossible to deduce his age, but he had to be in his early thirties at the very least. Come to think of it, he might well be considerably older. Whitehall’s staff was supposed to have at least a decade of experience before any of them started to teach.

She pushed the thought out of her head as they walked through the gates and down the flight of stairs to the control room. The dust seemed to have been stirred up by something; it lay in rows, as if someone had tried to plough the dusty floors without sweeping up or otherwise removing the dust. She used a charm to cover her mouth, glancing into the library chamber as they passed. The books were indeed missing, but she couldn’t taste her magic in the air. It had already faded into the background.

If it was there at all, she thought. She doubted either Sergeant Miles or Professor Lombardi would make such a mistake, but she knew she hadn’t been there. Caleb’s theory—that someone had faked her signature—might be right after all. But the nightmare worried her, all the more so because she couldn’t remember the details. Shadye had used a nightmare to warp her perceptions too. There’s no way to know for sure.

Professor Lombardi led the way into the control room, then stopped. “Do not touch anything,” he repeated, sternly. A dull thrumming echoed through the room, forcing him to raise his voice. “I’ll have the hide of anyone who does.”

Emily glanced around. The crystalline consoles definitely reminded her of a starship bridge, perhaps one of the alien ships from Babylon Five... or, perhaps, the starship Enterprise, if the bridge had been made out of crystal instead of touch-screens. She could see pieces of spellware drifting within the bigger crystals, each one dancing around with a multitude of others that seemed perfectly in harmony. It was almost like watching a coordinated dance; the dancers moved in harmony, as long as they all remembered their steps. Indeed, just watching the spellware was almost hypnotic.

“We will start by copying the spellware,” Professor Lombardi informed them. “You all know how to analyze a piece of spellwork, so we’ll merely follow the same procedure.”

He motioned for Emily and Caleb to put the manuscripts down against the wall, and then passed out large sheets of paper. Professors Jayne and Ronald started work at once, sketching detailed spell diagrams that were both vastly more complex—and yet more simplistic—than anything Emily had seen before, save for the Mimic. Indeed, she suspected the Mimic was far more complex. Perhaps it had been created later, by the same person who’d created Whitehall...

If Lord Whitehall created the Mimics, she thought, as she started to draw her own diagram, what does that say about him?

“This piece of spellwork is simple, but it interacts with four more,” Professor Jayne said, thoughtfully. She was easily the oldest magician—at least in appearance—that Emily had met, her body withered and her hair as white as snow. Emily had no idea why she hadn’t used spells to regain her lost youth, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. “I think that tampering with one piece of spellware will create a domino effect that will damage several more.”

“And they’re so small,” Professor Ronald added. “How do they even work?”

Professor Lombardi glanced at Emily. “Care to offer a suggestion?”

Emily swallowed. Between them, the three charms tutors could have well over two centuries of experience. They’d forgotten more than she’d ever learned. The thought of lecturing them on anything was terrifying. But she’d done more practical work on such spells than anyone else, save the creator of the Mimics...

“It’s like a house,” she said, looking up from her diagram. “Each brick relies on the bricks above and below it, sharing the weight. Here, a number of very small spells work together to produce an effect that might be produced with a single larger spell, but with much less flexibility.”

She looked back down, feeling oddly nervous. As far as she knew, she and Gordian were the only living people who’d actually held control of Whitehall’s wards, working through the user interface in the nexus chamber above them. The system had been astonishingly flexible, flexible enough to allow her to craft a pocket dimension within Whitehall, without risking the destruction of the entire school. And yet, Master Tor had been utterly horrified when she’d started to experiment with pocket dimensions herself. The wards had to be capable of adjusting themselves to handle a new pocket dimension, provided the dimension was attached to the wards.

But I used the control interface, she thought. The wards must have thought I had authority to do whatever I liked.

Caleb winked at her as he passed her his paper, covered with spell diagrams and notations outlining how the different components might go together. Emily took it and compared his work to the spellwork bobbling within the crystalline structures while he checked hers, then passed them both to Professor Lombardi. The professor checked their work, then carefully added the notations to his own growing diagram of the spell network. It was far more complex than Emily had realized.

“We’ll need to set up a workplace in the next room,” Professor Lombardi said. “This is going to take a great deal of work to unravel.”

Emily couldn’t disagree with him. The complexity in front of her nagged at her mind, reminding her of the time she’d been forced to code in basic HTML at school. One of the cheerleaders had tried to cheat by using a WYSIWYG editor, which had added plenty of extra HTML to her work and probably fooled her tutor for no more than a second, if that. It was hard to escape the feeling that much of the complexity was superfluous, but she knew better than to take it for granted. The more she looked at it, the more complex it seemed...

“This should be impossible,” Professor Ronald grumbled. “They’re too small.”

Emily looked at him. “Are they?”

Professor Lombardi looked up from his work. “Explain.”

“You can craft a pocket dimension large enough to store everything you could possibly want, then carry it around with you easily,” Emily reminded him. “You could live in a trunk, if you were willing to take the risk of accidentally destabilizing the dimension. Like...”

She broke off. Whitehall operated on the same principle... and now Whitehall had been destabilized. They might well never make it home, even if the dimension didn’t collapse completely. They’d run out of food, or drink, or breathable air... something would get them, even if they managed to cope with all the immediate problems. Hell, for all she knew, they might even start running out of magic. There was no ambient magic in the pocket dimension for the school to tap as a backup power source.

“Continue,” Professor Lombardi ordered.

“The crystals are larger on the inside, like Whitehall itself,” Emily said. She pointed at the nearest crystal. “All the small spells you see are actually huge, as big as they need to be, but they look small because they’re wrapped in a pocket dimension.”

“It sounds possible,” Professor Lombardi said. He scowled and stroked his chin as he studied the crystals. “But if that’s the case...”

He looked back at his notes. “Pulling all of this together into a coherent whole must have been near-impossible,” he said. “A ritual on a colossal scale.”

“Impossible,” Professor Ronald said. “Even casting a single spell through a ritual is difficult enough. Doing hundreds of thousands of spells would be incredibly hard.”

“Not if the pieces were assembled one by one,” Emily said. “The pocket dimension could be tuned to prevent contact, if contact between the two pieces threatened disaster.”

“Too much could go wrong,” Professor Ronald insisted. “Whoever did this...”

“... Had access to the secrets of the ancients,” Professor Locke said. Emily winced. She’d forgotten he was there. “He knew things about magic we can barely imagine.”

“That may be true,” Professor Lombardi said. “But our first priority is getting a link back to the outside world. Our search for the doors was unsuccessful. There may, however, be another way out.”

Emily glanced at him. “How?”

“We are not completely cut off from where we were,” Professor Lombardi said. “If we had been, young lady, the nexus point would have vanished, presumably left behind in the outside world. And we would probably have died in a split second as the entire school crashed in on itself.”

Emily stared at him. She could have kicked herself. Of course they still had a connection to the outside world! Unless, of course, they’d somehow taken the nexus point into the pocket dimension with them. It was possible, she supposed, although she thought it was unlikely at best and impossibly dangerous at worst. What little she’d read about nexus points in the various school libraries had insisted that moving or disabling one was either futile or terrifyingly destructive.

“Then there’s a way out,” she said. She looked at the spell diagram in front of them. “It’s merely a matter of finding a connection to the outside world and opening a door.”

“Or perhaps opening a portal,” Professor Lombardi said. “Our portals closed, of course, as did the chat parchments. It may take us some time to establish where we are, relative to the outside world, and then open a portal.”

Emily nodded, unable to keep the sense of exultation and relief bubbling up inside her. They had a chance to escape! It wouldn’t be easy, but perhaps Professor Locke had merely changed the settings rather than started a collapse. If altering one set of components changed a number of others...

“We need to stop to eat and drink something,” Professor Jayne said, practically. “The problem is not going to be solved overnight.”

“Good point,” Professor Lombardi said, reluctantly. “Emily, please share out the food.”

Emily bit down a comment on his expectations—she was the youngest person in the room by at least a year—and opened the bag, removing the flasks of Kava and pouring them into the mugs. Caleb came to help her, handing around sandwiches as the professors stepped back from the crystals and took their food. Emily held back a ham and cheese sandwich for herself, eating it as she sat against the wall and watched the spellwork dancing through the crystals. There was definitely something almost hypnotic about it.

“We’ll keep charting the spellwork,” Professor Lombardi said, after lunch. “Perhaps Emily and Caleb would like to explore the nearby chambers.”

Professor Locke started, then subsided when Professor Lombardi gave him a sharp look. Emily hesitated before rising to her feet and leading Caleb out of the room. The thrumming of the nexus point quieted once they were through the doors, surprising her. She’d grown so used to its presence that the absence of sound bothered her. Outside, she stepped into the library and reached out with her senses. There were no traces of either her spells or the protections surrounding the books.

“Gone,” she muttered.

“I can’t feel anything either,” Caleb said. He caught her hand and pulled her down a side corridor. “Emily, you do realize that the spellwork in that chamber is very like what we created?”

“Yeah,” Emily said. “And whoever created that chamber might also have created the Mimics.”

“Probably,” Caleb agreed. He frowned, thoughtfully. “How many Mimics do you think existed, at one point?”

Emily hesitated. There was no count of the number of Mimics sighted, not least because very few people happened to encounter one in its natural form and survive. How could there be a count? It was quite possible that there had only ever been one Mimic... and it had been destroyed at Whitehall, two years ago. And yet, she found it unlikely that a single Mimic could account for all of the sightings.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t even know why they were created.”

“Weapons,” Caleb said. “They’re highly resistant to spells, aren’t they?”

That was quite plausible, Emily conceded, as they peered into an empty room. It had been nothing more than sheer chance that had tipped her off, when she’d barely survived her first encounter with the rogue spell. Who would think to cast a basically-harmless spell on the most dangerous creature known to exist? Even a full-grown dragon couldn’t match a Mimic for sheer lethality.

“Could be,” she said. She shook her head slowly. “If we don’t find a way out, Caleb, we could die here.”

“Death is inevitable,” Caleb said. “My father always said that it was more important to die well than live badly.”

He pulled her into a hug, his lips descending upon hers with a passion that surprised her. She held him tightly, feeling solid muscles enveloping her. For once, it wasn’t terrifying; she felt his kisses grow more and more passionate as he gently pushed her against the stone wall. His hands stroked her back, inching downwards...

Someone cleared his throat, loudly. Caleb let go of Emily and jumped backwards.

“Ahem,” Sergeant Miles said. He sounded amused, rather than angry, but Emily blushed anyway. They’d been caught making out when they should have been charting the tunnels, probably a shooting offense as far as Professor Locke was concerned. “This really isn’t the best time or place for anything.”

Emily lowered her eyes, knowing she was blushing bright red. Being caught was quite bad enough, even if they weren’t punished. Sergeant Miles would never let them forget it.

“As it happens, the Grandmaster wishes to see Emily,” Sergeant Miles continued. His voice hardened, slightly. “I suggest you take the opportunity to adjust your clothing, then follow me. Caleb can continue to work with Professor Lombardi until the day comes to an end.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Caleb said.

“Very good,” Sergeant Miles said. He turned and headed to the door, tossing a final remark over his shoulder. “Emily, you’re with me.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“SOUL MAGIC IS PERHAPS THE LEAST-UNDERSTOOD magic in the world,” Gordian said, as Sergeant Miles escorted Emily into the spellchamber. Frieda was already there, standing against one wall and looking nervous. “The potential dangers should not be underestimated.”

“I know,” Emily said.

She swallowed, hard. Her throat was dry. Her first experience with soul magic had left her drained, after reminding her of the oath she’d sworn to the fairies, but all she’d really been doing was studying the ebb and flow of her own magic. Here, Frieda would be looking straight into her soul. Emily would almost sooner have undressed in front of the entire school than allow someone to peer into her mind. But there was no choice.

“I will be providing the bridge,” Gordian added, as he placed a large crystal in the middle of the spellchamber. “Frieda does not have the talent to form a bridge for herself.”

“It will also provide a margin of safety for her,” Sergeant Miles added, before Emily could object. “If anything goes wrong, it will be easier for her to break free if there isn’t a direct connection between your soul and hers.”

“Correct,” Gordian said. “Take Emily into the next room and get her dressed. I need to have a long chat with Frieda.”

Emily frowned, but said nothing as Sergeant Miles escorted her into the next classroom, passed her a bundled-up robe and headed for the door. “Undress completely, then don the robe,” he ordered, without looking back. “I want you to wait here until you’re called.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Emily said. She hadn’t changed for her first experience with soul magic, but then she’d only looked at herself. “Is this necessary?”

“Yes,” Sergeant Miles said, flatly. “Ideally, you would be naked.”

He walked out of the room and closed the door before Emily could muster a response. Being naked in front of Frieda would be bad enough, but being naked in front of Sergeant Miles and Gordian? Hastily, she unfolded the robe—it was more of a long white nightgown than a school robe—and then undressed, rubbing the dust from her hands as she placed her old clothes on the nearest table and pulled the white gown over her head. It felt like silk, she decided, as she glanced at herself in the mirror. Just wearing it made her feel naked.

Which must be the point, she thought. She forced herself to sit down and meditate. Symbolism is important.

She tried hard to think about the spellware they’d seen in the control room—and the growing diagram Professor Lombardi had sketched from their work—but her thoughts kept returning to Frieda. What was Gordian saying to her? Was he warning her of the dangers of soul magic? Or suggesting that Frieda dig deeper into Emily’s mind?

Nearly half an hour later, Sergeant Miles knocked on the door. Emily rose, her bare feet cold against the stone floor, and opened the door. The sergeant looked her up and down—Emily felt her face redden as he nodded in cold approval—and then beckoned for her to follow him. Emily picked up her bundle of clothes and followed, feeling oddly reluctant to leave the room. She hadn’t felt so exposed since Alassa’s ill-fated hen night, when she’d worn something so thin that she might as well have been naked. At least Sergeant Miles didn’t seem interested in staring at her.

Gordian was still talking to Frieda as they entered the spellchamber, a privacy ward smothering their words and blurring their faces. Frieda had changed too, into a long white robe practically identical to Emily’s. Her twin pigtails had been undone, allowing her hair to flow down her back. It struck Emily, suddenly, that Frieda might be growing her hair out in the hopes of looking more like Emily herself. She’d grown her hair out over the years since she’d first come to Whitehall and never bothered to do more than trim it.

“Emily,” Gordian said. He dispelled the privacy ward with a wave of his hand. “This is your last chance to back out.”

Emily shook her head, refusing to hesitate in front of Frieda. Emily could tell she was nervous. She’d just be looking at Emily, without trying to actually do anything, yet there was still a chance for a nasty accident. Gordian had been right. Soul magic was definitely the least-understood magic in the world. A single mistake could do unlimited harm.

And blood magic is a form of soul magic, she reminded herself. No wonder it’s so hard to block.

“Very well,” Gordian said. He didn’t sound pleased or displeased by her decision. “Then we will proceed.”

Emily glanced back, just in time to see Sergeant Miles sneak out of the room. She shivered, feeling oddly exposed, as Gordian sat in the middle of the spell chamber, his hands resting on the large crystal. It began to glow a second later, pulsing with an eerie white light that cast flickering shadows all over the chamber. Emily could feel the magic, a low thumping beating in time with her heartbeat. She couldn’t help feeling utterly naked as Gordian looked at her. The white light gave his features a distantly Satanic impression.

“Frieda, kneel to my left,” he ordered. “Emily, kneel to my right.”

Emily had to force herself to move. All her instincts told her to run, and run far. A faint glimmer of pain glittered between her breasts, the rune sensing the presence of subtle magic, as she gingerly lowered herself to her knees. Frieda looked equally nervous as she knelt on the other side of the crystal, the light turning her pale face even paler. Emily reminded herself—again—not to fight. This was going to be hard enough even without resistance.

“Emily, touch the crystal,” Gordian said. “Once you’re touching the crystal, your hands will be held in place.”

It was hard, so hard, to reach forward. The light seemed to grow brighter, even as she squeezed her eyes shut, as soon as she touched the crystal. It felt warm to the touch, pulsing with magic that seemed to pervade her very being. And yet, its mere presence made her try to flinch away. If her fingers hadn’t been stuck to the crystal, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the contact for more than a few seconds. Instead, she was helplessly pinned in place.

She shuddered, remembering some of the medical procedures she’d watched with Lady Barb, procedures carried out by Chirurgeons rather than Healers. They’d strapped their patients down, knowing that their anaesthetic was pathetic and that their patients would scream and thrash around as soon as they started amputating their wounded limbs. No wonder patients feared Chirurgeons, she’d thought at the time. They might be trying to help, but even the best of them couldn’t hope to compete with a Healer...

A modern doctor could, though, Emily thought numbly. The light was getting to her, sending her into a trance. She felt helpless, hopelessly exposed. They couldn’t mend everything, but they could do a better job.

“Frieda,” Gordian said. “Touch the crystal.”

The magic surged as soon as Frieda learned forward and pressed her fingertips against the crystal. Emily was suddenly very aware of Frieda’s presence, of her genuine love and respect... and of her fear of doing something terrible. Her heartbeat echoed through the magic, pounding in unison with Emily’s. Emily couldn’t help feeling dirty and ashamed, as if she’d spied on Frieda when the younger girl thought she was alone. But it was worse than that, far worse. Frieda should be looking at her, yet the strength of the link allowed her look back at the younger girl...

She could sense Gordian too, she realized suddenly. His presence was stronger than she’d realized, stronger than hers, yet kept under tight control. It was harder to sense anything from him, but she thought she could feel a growing concern and fear under his facade. Not for himself, she realized. It was for the school, for the students and tutors in his charge. She felt oddly ashamed, again, as she pulled back from the edge of his mind. Soul magic made voyeurs out of everyone.

“Frieda,” Gordian said, very quietly. “Look at Emily.”

The magic shifted. Frieda’s presence loomed forward, towering over Emily until she felt pinned beneath her gaze: naked, helpless and very alone. And yet, she sensed Frieda’s shock at just how vulnerable she was. A person could be attacked on such a level, the attack thrust deep into their very soul, and they would have no idea what had happened, or even that something had happened. They would change, their innermost personality rewritten, and they would never know it.

“I’m sorry,” Frieda said. Or perhaps she thought it. Her words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “Emily...”

Emily gritted her teeth, her mind flashing back to the moment Shadye had pinned her helplessly to the altar and planned to drive his knife into her chest, killing her to seal his deal with dark forces. The Harrowing would have been angered, Void had said; Shadye had promised them a Child of Destiny, unaware that Emily simply didn’t fit the bill. She wondered, idly, just what would have happened if Shadye had killed her. Would he have been killed himself, by the Harrowing, for his imprudence? Or would the ironclad laws of magic have recognized it as a good-faith attempt to keep his side of the bargain?

Frieda looked closer. Emily was aware, all too aware, of her mental touch pervading every aspect of her mind and soul. Caleb had been hurt when she’d named Frieda over him, she knew, but it had been no mistake. Such intimacy—Frieda could see everything she was, laid out right in front of her—would destroy their relationship completely. Even the most dedicated of lovers would flinch away from such exposure.

“I see an oath,” Frieda said. “But it’s an old one.”

“It hasn’t been called in,” Emily said. “Not yet.”

She drew back as best as she could, hoping Frieda would take the hint. She didn’t want to talk about it. Even telling Frieda what had happened, instead of allowing her to lift the information from Emily’s mind, might be lethal. She’d wondered, from time to time, why the oath hadn’t been called in, but the fairies might be playing a long game. Their sense of time—and morality—was different from humanity’s.

“There’s nothing else,” Frieda said. “There are no other oaths, no traces of compulsions... not even a little prank spell. Nothing.”

Emily felt a wash of relief that left her feeling weak. Her knees buckled. If she hadn’t been touching the crystal, her hands frozen to the glowing light, she would have collapsed into a puddle. She hadn’t been influenced. At such a level, she was sure, any outside interference would be easily noticeable. She had no explanation for her magical signature being there—perhaps it had been faked, as Caleb suggested—but at least she hadn’t been made to remove the books and then forget what she’d done.

“Pull back now,” Gordian said. Emily couldn’t help wondering what he’d seen, although she hadn’t felt his presence probing her soul. She would have fought, if she had, even though it would probably have been futile. “Pull back as gently as you can.”

Emily shivered as Frieda’s presence withdrew from her mind, torn between relief and an odd kind of yearning that chilled her to the bone. Such enforced intimacy was terrifying, but it was also a relief. There was no need to hide herself, no need to lie or dissemble. Frieda could have no illusions about her any longer... she almost began to cry as the last traces of Frieda’s presence slipped out of her mind, her fingertips coming away from the crystal as soon as Frieda had gone. There was a part of her that wanted to call Frieda back.

A strong hand rested, very briefly, on her shoulder. “Take as long as you need to compose yourself,” Gordian said, gently. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Emily opened her eyes, just in time to see Gordian pick up the crystal and carry it out of the spellchamber. Frieda stared at her, tears running down her pale cheeks. Emily reached for her and pulled the younger girl into a tight hug, tears brimming at the corner of her eyes as Frieda hugged her back. It felt like hours before she could bring herself to let go and, when she did, her gown was sodden with tears.

“You’re a better person than me,” Frieda said. She reached out and clasped Emily’s arms, very lightly. “I couldn’t have done that, not in a million years.”

Emily nodded, wiping her eyes. If she hadn’t been so desperate to know if she’d been influenced—or not—she wouldn’t have done it herself. Gordian might have gleaned something from her mind, even if he hadn’t looked directly into her soul. Frieda would have seen hundreds of images from her memory, including dozens from Earth. Who knew what she’d make of them?

“We’d better dress,” Frieda said. She seemed to have composed herself completely, but then she hadn’t been the one having her mind and soul examined. “And then wipe our tears away.”

“Yeah,” Emily said. “Thank you.”

“You saved my life—and more,” Frieda said. She stood, moving very gingerly. “It was the least I could do.”

Emily rose too, feeling her legs threatening to buckle under her. She wasn’t physically tired, but mentally tired. It was hard to force her fingers to cooperate long enough to remove the gown, then don her undergarments. She found herself seriously considering just wearing the robe and going commando—no one else would know—but she’d feel odd if she did. Frieda seemed to be having problems dressing too.

“I don’t know everything you saw,” Emily said, as she smoothed the robe down and tested her magic reserves. She’d done almost nothing, but she still felt drained. “If there’s something there you didn’t understand...”

“I saw... things,” Frieda said. “Is that where you came from?”

“I think so,” Emily said. Alassa had seen cars and airplanes in Emily’s memories, back when they’d touched minds. She’d thought they were dragons. “We can talk about it later, if you like.”

“Your stepfather was as bad as my father,” Frieda added, after a moment. “But at least he didn’t beat you.”

I could have taken bruises to the police, Emily thought numbly. And that would have seen him thrown into jail.

She shook her head. Her stepfather had been far worse than Frieda’s father. He’d grown up in the Cairngorms, where a daughter was always less useful than a son. Frieda would have left the farm as soon as she married—or was sold to a traveling slaver—if she hadn’t been discovered by a wandering magician, depriving her father of any return from the support he’d given her. It was cold and heartless, an attitude that disgusted her, but the dictates of survival in the Cairngorms mandated it. An extra mouth to feed could make the difference between life and death for the whole family.

But my stepfather had no such excuse, she told herself. I was just in his way.

She took a breath, and walked out the door. Gordian, as promised, stood outside, flanked by Master Tor and Sergeant Miles. The former looked relieved, while the latter flashed her a brilliant smile that warmed her heart. And Gordian himself looked surprisingly pleased with her. In some ways, she realized, she’d actually won a shred of respect.

“You’re clean,” Gordian said, without preamble. “We still have no explanation for your magical signature being found there, but we now know you neither took the books willingly nor were forced into taking the books. I thank you for your cooperation.”

Emily nodded, feeling too tired to speak.

“Professor Lombardi assures me that he is within days of finding ways to manipulate the spellware in the control room,” Gordian continued. “As large parts of the castle seem reasonably safe right now, I have decided that we will attempt to return to normal—or what passes for it, given where we are.”

“Normal?” Frieda repeated. “Grandmaster...?”

“The only other option is keeping the student body penned up for the next couple of weeks,” Gordian told her, patiently. “There have already been a few nasty incidents. They’ll be killing each other in the next couple of days.”

Emily nodded. It sounded absurd, but she had to admit that Gordian had a point. Classes had been cancelled when the Mimic had been on the loose, leaving students at loose ends, snapping and sniping at one another. Trying to re-establish some semblance of normality might just keep students from going mad with cabin fever.

“Go get some rest,” Gordian added. “Your bedrooms have been located, so Master Tor will show you to them. I’ll have food sent to you later. You can both resume classes—save for charms, I believe—tomorrow.”

“But if you’re not feeling up to it, stay in bed,” Master Tor added. “You’ve both been through a very rough time.”

“Thank you,” Emily said.

“No, thank you,” Gordian said. He turned, then looked back at her. “There are very few students who would willingly do what you just did.”

And that, Emily knew, was all too true.

Chapter Thirty-Three

IF GORDIAN HAD GENUINELY BELIEVED THAT things would return to normal, Emily decided over the next few days, he’d been wrong. A number of classes ran, as planned, but many of the students walked to and from the classrooms in fear. The corridors seemed relatively stable, yet some of them stretched into apparent infinity and others into directions that no human mind could comprehend. Emily found herself and her classmates recruited for several more mapping missions, in-between classes of their own. She’d tried to argue that she should dedicate all of her time to assisting Professor Lombardi and his team, but Gordian had reminded her that she had other responsibilities. She needed to spend time with her charges.

But even that wasn’t easy. Tiega had received two new notes over the last four days, after a brief pause when the students had been forced to sleep in the Great Hall. Emily had checked and rechecked the ward she’d concealed within Tiega’s room, but she’d been forced to admit that it hadn’t been tripped—or subverted. It made her wonder if either of Tiega’s roommates had managed to fox the truth spell, although that should have been impossible for such inexperienced magicians. Had one of them been given similar protections as Emily herself?

They would be obvious, she thought grimly, as she contemplated the latest notes. Once again, there was no trace of either fingerprints or a magical signature. Just using a truth spell on someone with such protections would be visible.

She cursed the letter-writer under her breath as she rose to her feet. Her charges seemed to be coming apart at the seams, the pressures of being trapped in the castle slowly driving them insane. They couldn’t play Ken or anything else that would burn off a great deal of energy, save for running around like lunatics. And that had been forbidden, save for a handful of corridors that had been checked and declared safe. It wasn’t enough. Adana and Julia had been severely punished for hexing two other students in the middle of class, while Tiega had been kicked out of history for punching Lillian hard enough to break her nose and nearly breaking Jasmine’s leg. Emily, all too aware of the frustrations building up inside the younger girl, had read her the riot act. Tiega was right on the brink of being expelled.

“It’s time for Alchemy,” Cabiria reminded her, rising from her bed. “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” Emily said. She had to set a good example for the younger girls, even though it was running her ragged. Classes—the few that were still running—in the morning, followed by endless work on the ancient spellware in the afternoon and working with her charges in the evening. “How are you coping with your charges?”

“Master Tor made me write out a thousand lines yesterday,” Cabiria said. “I gave one of the little brats lines to write, and she had the nerve to complain that her wrist was aching.”

“It probably was,” Emily said. She’d had to write lines once, a punishment from a professor for forgetting the difference between two potions ingredients; one which would complete the potion and one which would turn the mixture into a deadly poison. “A thousand lines is nothing to laugh at.”

Cabiria shrugged. “Neither is hexing one’s friends into a stupor because their snoring is too loud,” she said, picking up her bag. “Let’s go.”

Emily followed her out of the door and towards the alchemy classrooms. Professor Thande and his subordinates had spent the last couple of days cleaning up the mess left behind by hundreds of broken or spilled containers and making the rooms safe for students once again, but the classroom remained messy. Several workbenches had been removed, but not replaced. It looked as though they’d have to team up or share a number of workspaces. Emily couldn’t help thinking that would be a pain.

She nodded to Cabiria, then headed over to join Caleb, standing behind one of the workbenches. He looked tired, his eyes haunted; she knew she probably didn’t look any better. The long hot showers she usually took were gone, replaced by brief washes that didn’t leave her feeling any cleaner. Water had to be rationed, she knew, but it still bothered her. And it made her wonder just where the water had come from, originally. If Whitehall had been built on top of a spring, which was quite likely, was it still there?

“Hey,” Caleb said, quietly. “Did you sleep well?”

Emily shook her head. She’d hoped to spend more time with him, outside working on the ancient spellware, but one or more of her responsibilities consumed almost all of her time. Gordian had been wrong, she suspected. She was spending more and more time with her charges and she had a feeling that was true of most of the other mentoring students too. But then, they were trapped in a pocket dimension. The younger students needed extra support.

Caleb touched her arm, gently. “We’ll get out of this, somehow,” he said. “The spellware is finally starting to make sense.”

“Maybe,” Emily muttered back. “But every time I think I have a handle on it, something changes.”

She rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache throbbing under the skin. She was sure she could follow the logic of the original magician, but there were so many idiosyncrasies within the spellware that she was starting to think there had been more than one magician. It definitely behaved like a computer program, one created by several different programmers. Not for the first time, she wished she’d paid more attention in computing lessons at school. A nerd who’d studied computing would probably be able to use magic to make himself all-powerful.

Or at least make himself unbeatable, she added, mentally. He’d know far more about the underlying logic than me...

She looked up as Professor Thande strode into the classroom, wearing a shirt and trousers instead of his normal lab robe. As always, he reminded her of the Tenth Doctor, right down to the oddly maniacal smile and slight hints of insanity. But then, most alchemists were reputed to be slightly odd. The really intelligent and dangerous ones were told to take themselves off to isolated parts of the globe and do their experiments there, well away from innocent bystanders.

“Greetings,” Professor Thande said. “There is a problem, as you may have sensed, with the protective wards in this classroom. They don’t work. It is a gross inconvenience.”

Emily sucked in her breath. Alchemy was dangerous enough with the protective wards, ready to warn of lethal combinations or redirect the force of an explosion. Without the wards... she didn’t think she wanted to brew anything. But she doubted she’d have a choice.

“There is a secondary problem with a number of alchemical supplies,” Professor Thande continued, without giving them time to react. “The protective spells that should have kept them frozen until they were needed have failed. Decay has already set in. Therefore, I have decided to spend this class harvesting what can be salvaged from the supplies rather than brewing alchemical potions. Boring, I know, but necessary.”

He paused. “Those of you who intend to follow alchemical careers will probably find it useful practical experience,” he added. “Follow me.”

Emily allowed Caleb to lead her towards a door that had just opened up in the side of the wall, leading directly into one of the storage chambers. The air smelled of earth and rotting vegetables, making her want to gag as she forced herself to keep breathing. Hundreds of harvested plants lay on the tables, dozens of tools placed next to them. Professor Thande paired them up—Emily was relieved to be staying with Caleb—and jabbed his fingers at the tables, splitting up the class. Their table was covered with roots that looked, very much, like green baby carrots. A small textbook—A Guide to Plants of Alchemical Value—sat next to them.

Professor Thande cleared his throat. “How many of you have harvested your own supplies before?”

Four students, including Cabiria, Melissa and Caleb, put up their hands. The others, including Emily, did nothing. Emily glanced at Caleb in surprise, then frowned as Professor Thande split up Cabiria and Melissa, ensuring that two experienced students were paired with two inexperienced students. She honestly wasn’t sure if she was experienced or not. She’d never harvested plants or suchlike for alchemy, but she had foraged for supplies during martial magic. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Do nothing until I speak to you individually,” Professor Thande ordered. He cleared his throat, loudly enough to silence two chatterboxes at the rear of the room. “Those of you who are content to purchase your supplies from an apothecary know, of course, that their supplies are often checked and rechecked before they’re bagged and sealed. Apothecaries know better than to risk supplying their buyers with something they haven’t checked carefully. It tends to lead to angry magicians blasting down their doors and demanding recompense.”

He smiled, then went on. “Here, you will be doing the preliminary harvesting yourself,” he added. “I will be giving each of you precise instructions for handling and preparing your supplies, then checking them afterwards. Those of you who offer me more than five flawed or otherwise imperfect ingredients will be cleaning caldrons for an hour after class. Always err on the side of caution. Cleaning caldrons is unpleasant and messy work, but trying to use poorly-prepared ingredients can be lethal.”

“That means we can put them out if we’re the slightest bit unsure,” Caleb muttered to Emily.

“Quite right,” Professor Thande said. The class tittered. “It is much better to throw away a perfect ingredient than try to use an imperfect one.”

He marched from table to table, demonstrating the correct way to harvest useful ingredients from the roots. When he came to Emily’s table, he forced Caleb to show Emily how to isolate the useful part of the root—the seeds within the vegetable—and then check them for impurities. Caleb pulled seven seeds from the root as Emily watched, but four of them had to be discarded into the bin. They washed the remainder carefully, then bagged and placed them at the far end of the desk.

“I’ll be checking your work afterwards,” Professor Thande warned. “Carry on.”

It was surprisingly difficult, Emily discovered, to cut into the roots without damaging the seeds—and even a simple cut could render the seed useless. Or worse than useless, as Caleb explained. A seed that leaked into the potion would trigger an explosion, if they were lucky, or poison the brew. It was much safer to throw out a seed if there was the slightest flicker of doubt about its validity.

She elbowed Caleb after cutting open the third root, only to discover that all of the seeds were rotten. “How do you know how to do this?”

“Mother would take us all harvesting,” Caleb explained. “We’d leave the city and stay in an inn, near the forest. The people there plant all sorts of alchemically-useful seeds and then sell access to magicians. She made a game of it, rewarding the one who brought the most useful ingredients back to her. I used to love it.”

Emily had to smile. “At least she was trying to teach you something useful...”

“She thought that depending on the apothecaries was asking for trouble,” Caleb said. He shrugged. “But it’s never easy to get fresh supplies in Beneficence. Unless you want something harvested from a fish.”

“Yuck,” Emily said.

She shuddered at the thought. She had killed and cut open small creatures for alchemical supplies, a gruesome process only made unpleasant by Professor Thande’s insistence that some supplies had to be harvested while the creature remained alive. Touching a live crab was hard enough, but dissecting it while it struggled under her fingers was worse.

“It isn’t that bad,” Caleb said. “You get to eat what’s left of the fish afterwards.”

Emily grimaced as she cut into the next root, then removed all five of the seeds and inspected them. Four should be usable, she decided, so she cleaned and bagged them up before dumping the fifth seed and the remains of the root into the bin. Caleb was already dissecting his seventh root, moving with a practiced skill she could only admire. His hands no longer shook. She smiled to herself, knowing better than to call attention to it. He might lose his concentration if she did.

“Very good,” Professor Thande said, once the last of the roots had been seeded. “I will inspect your work now, then we’ll move on to the next set of ingredients.”

He moved from table to table, eying the bags with a sceptical eye. Emily braced herself as he told Pandora and Cirroc that they would be cleaning caldrons after class, but he merely picked out three unsuitable seeds from their bags. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief as Professor Thande checked Melissa’s work, then headed back to the front of the classroom. For once, he wasn’t smiling.

“Four of you are going to be cleaning caldrons,” he said. “But all of you, save Melissa and Johan, had at least one bad seed in your bags. What would have happened, I ask you, if that seed had been allowed to pass inspection?”

Emily swallowed as Caleb answered. “There would have been an explosion,” he said. “Or a poisoned brew.”

“Quite,” Professor Thande agreed. “There are easier ways to poison yourself, if you wish to try.”

Emily sighed, inwardly, as Professor Thande started to hand out more ingredients for them to dissect and prepare for use. He strode up and down the classroom, after telling them precisely how to cut open the roots, pointing out mistakes with a grim coldness that surprised her. But a glance at the textbook told her that a single mistake with these roots would ruin the entire brew... and that the roots were very expensive. Professor Thande had been forced to watch as several thousand gold coins worth of supplies rotted away in front of him.

Just having us do the work is going to cost him, she thought. Normally, he’d do it himself.

She felt unclean, her hands and robes covered in dirt, as the class finally came to an end and they made their escape. Thankfully, they wouldn’t be scrubbing caldrons for the next hour, unlike too many others. Emily wasn’t sure if she’d erred too much on the side of caution or not, but at least it had spared them an unpleasant detention. The only problem was that she wasn’t sure if there was enough water to clean their hands before they went to the next class.

“It could have been worse,” Caleb said.

Emily glanced at him. “How?”

“When I was eight or nine, Croce was seven and Karan was six,” Caleb said. “Marian was four and having a particularly bad time of it, for some reason. Mother took us harvesting, as always, but she didn’t have the energy to supervise us as closely as she would have done normally. Croce and Karan were sent out to pick mushrooms rather than look for anything she could use for magic—the people there use mushrooms for just about everything.”

He sighed. “They picked a whole bunch of them, then decided—because they were children—that uncooked mushrooms were safe to eat,” he added. “Both of them got very sick before mother managed to force some purgatives down their throats, which didn’t make them feel any better for a long time afterwards. I always think of that when I harvest, just to remind myself to be careful.”

Emily shuddered. Sergeant Miles had taught her class a great deal about testing unfamiliar plants to see what was safe to eat, but it required a considerable amount of mental discipline to keep from eating as much as possible. If she was starving, she doubted she’d have the patience to wait to see if there were any ill-effects before she started to stuff herself in earnest. Thankfully, she’d never had to try.

“They must have had a very bad time,” she said, sympathetically.

“They did,” Caleb confirmed. “Mother grounded them for the rest of the trip; she wouldn’t let them leave the house unless she escorted them. They threw a big fit as soon as they got home, whining to father about how mother was so mean to them. Father was not amused.”

“He wouldn’t have been,” Emily agreed. Poisonous mushrooms could be lethal. Better to be grounded than poisoned. “What did Casper say?”

“Complained that it had ruined his life,” Caleb said. “He was... friendly... with a girl in the nearest village, you see.”

“Oh,” Emily said.

She shook her head as she walked into the dining hall. The tables had been lined up; grim-faced staff stood behind the hatches, handing out barely enough food to keep a young magician alive for a few more hours. She wrinkled her nose as she took a serving of stew and mashed potatoes, then told herself not to be silly. There had been a time, only a scant few years ago, when she would have been glad to get it.

“I’ve got ritual magic after lunch,” she said, as they sat down. “You?”

“Free period,” Caleb said. “I thought I’d take another look at the spellware.”

“Good luck,” Emily said. She smiled, tiredly, as she started to eat. The stew tasted thick, almost oily. “See if you can get a copy of the diagram. I want to take another look at it.”

“I’ll try,” Caleb said. “But I don’t think Professor Lombardi will let it out of his sight.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

“EMILY,” ALOHA SAID, AS EMILY ENTERED the ritual magic classroom. “Did you get enough to eat?”

“No,” Emily said, flatly. She’d finished the plate of stew, but there had been no hope of seconds—or, for that matter, of almost anything else to eat. “Did you?”

“We have to stretch out our supplies,” Aloha reminded her. She paused. “Do you know who’s teaching this class?”

Emily frowned. Professor Lombardi was down in the control room, unless he’d been dragged back up and told to take his class. Indeed, she was surprised that the classes were being held at all. Professor Lombardi was busy, along with the remainder of the charms tutors. Who would take the class?

“I don’t know,” she said, finally. Ritual magic was important—but only if they managed to get out of the lobster pot. If they remained trapped—and starved to death—it wouldn’t matter if she took the class or not. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

She sat down and leaned against one of the cushions, feeling her stomach growling unpleasantly. She’d been told, like all other magicians, that she had to eat whenever she felt hungry, if only to recharge her magic. It was very—very—rare to see an overweight magician. But now, with so little food to go around, it wouldn’t be long before the students found their magic strongly limited. Gordian might be trying to keep things normal for now, but it wouldn’t be possible for long. The only upside was that it might make it harder for the younger students to start hexing one another.

The door opened. Gordian strode into the room.

Emily hastily got to her feet, along with the other students, as the door closed behind the Grandmaster. Gordian was teaching the class? She had no idea if he was qualified or not, although she doubted he’d be foolish enough to try and teach if he didn’t know what he was doing. It would be a good way to wind up with egg on his face in front of the entire class.

“I’ve reviewed Professor Lombardi’s notes,” Gordian said, as he reached the front of the room and turned to face them. “He informs me that you have all mastered the art of extruding magic while working with a partner.”

He paused. Emily frowned, inwardly. How closely had he reviewed the notes? Aloha was the only student she’d been able to share magic with, a student who was a year older and considerably more practiced than herself. And that would probably cost her later in life, if she couldn’t work with a student at the same level...

“We will be trying something a little different here,” Gordian continued, calmly. “We will be attempting to take that magic and cast a spell.”

He turned and walked towards the barren floor, beckoning the students to follow him. Emily couldn’t help noticing that someone had swept it clean, destroying all traces of previous runes and spellwork. Picking up a piece of chalk, Gordian started to draw a large circle with practiced ease, then surrounded it with a set of runes and tiny drawings. Emily recognized some of the runes, but not others. They all seemed to be concerned with directing power.

“Check the runes,” he ordered, as he added a second circle inside the first. “Tell me at once if you spot any errors.”

Emily frowned. Professor Lombardi had said the same thing—he’d been remarkably merciful to students who’d thought they’d seen a mistake, even if they’d been wrong—but she didn’t recognize some of the runes Gordian had added. Were they meant to recognize them—or admit they didn’t recognize them? Professor Lombardi would expect the latter, she knew, yet would Gordian?

She took the plunge. “Sir,” she said, “I don’t know several of those runes.”

“They’re part of the spell,” Gordian said. “Take out your notebooks.”

He pointed at each rune in turn, briefly outlining its function and how it interacted with the others. Emily felt her head starting to pound, again, as she tried to unpick the runic designs while Gordian finished his work and stepped backwards, carefully placing the chalk where he’d found it. Even something as minor as stepping on the chalk patterns would be enough to disrupt them beyond repair.

“I want eight of you to take positions inside the outer circle, but outside the inner circle, facing the center,” Gordian ordered. “Aloha, as you have done this before, I want you to be the master magician. Take your place inside the inner circle.”

“Yes, Grandmaster,” Aloha said.

Emily sucked in her breath as she sat down, uneasily aware that she was sitting between Prunella and Cirroc. Neither of them had worked well with her; Caleb had even told her, in private, that Cirroc was impressed that Caleb was dating her. She’d scared him more than she’d realized, she suspected. This time, at least, she wouldn’t be working with only one of them. Perhaps it would be easier.

“When I issue the command,” Gordian continued, “extrude magic towards Aloha. She will direct it into the spell.”

He paused, giving them a moment to center themselves. “Now.”

Emily gathered herself and extruded magic, allowing it to drift like smoke towards Aloha. It was hard to steer without pushing it along, yet trying to force it forward might send it haywire and spoil the ritual. The others did the same, directing their magic into the inner circle. And then Aloha worked the spell. A blaze of light flared overhead, a light globe far larger than Emily had dared to try for herself. It glowed a shade too brightly for her comfort, but at least the ritual had worked.

She smiled as the light dimmed, then faded completely into nothingness. A faint hint of burning touched her nose. When she looked down, she saw the chalk had turned to smoldering ash. Gordian had designed it that way deliberately, she realized. If something went wrong, no matter what, the spell wouldn’t last for more than a few seconds. It was, in hindsight, a sensible precaution.

“Very good,” Gordian said. He snapped his fingers. A gust of wind picked up the ash and deposited it on the far side of the room. “There are bottles of water in the cabinets. Take one and drink it, completely.”

Emily was only too glad to obey. Her throat felt parched and raw, as if she hadn’t drunk anything for hours, perhaps days. She took one of the bottles, opened it and drank quickly, frowning at the slightly-unpleasant taste. The water had been filtered and recycled, probably more than once. She didn’t want to think about what it had been used for before.

“That was very well done,” Gordian said. He sounded pleased. “Several of you extruded far too much mana towards Aloha, but she was able to compensate for the additional power. It will not be hard for you to learn how to regulate and control the flow of mana.”

Emily frowned, inwardly, as Gordian started to draw another circle and runic diagram on the floor. Controlling the flow of mana was difficult, something she’d discovered when she’d started to produce batteries. She could cast one overpowered spell, she knew, at the cost of expending everything in the battery. Even now, she had no time to experiment with the batteries and see if some of her more interesting theories were workable. She might never have the chance to try.

“This time, we’re going to try something more complex,” Gordian said. “How many of you have danced the Wizard’s Circle?”

Emily felt her frown growing deeper as all of her classmates nodded. The Wizard’s Circle was a complex dance, one that depended on the dancers knowing precisely how their six partners were going to move... and being ready to compensate, within seconds, for any mistakes. A single mistake that wasn’t countered instantly could send the entire group tumbling to the floor, with their audience laughing at them. She’d never been very good at the dance routine. It left her feeling clumsy and useless.

“Using this ritual is very much like it,” Gordian explained. “Instead of a single master magician directing the spell, like we did earlier, you’ll be working in unison to shape and direct the mana. You’ll find this a very difficult task, as you will be trying to compensate for any mistakes your partners might make...”

“Which will set off a chain reaction that might destabilize the entire spell,” Emily said, out loud.

“Quite right,” Gordian agreed.

Emily flushed. She’d been so wrapped in her own thoughts she hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.

“The spell here is a very basic spell,” Gordian said. He pulled a white feather from his robes and placed it in the exact center of the circle. “All you have to do is use the runes to channel the magic and lift the feather into the air.”

Aloha frowned. “Grandmaster...”

“You will sit this one out,” Gordian informed her. He clapped his hands. “Everyone else, take your places.”

Emily braced herself, nervously, as she took her place and sat down. The runes slowly gathered power, creating a faint network of wards that hovered right at the edge of her awareness. They were present, yet gossamer-thin, as if a single touch would send them crashing down into ruins. A spider’s web would have more substance...

It isn’t the power that matters, she reminded herself. It’s what you do with it.

“Begin,” Gordian ordered.

Emily gathered herself and started to extrude magic, pushing it towards the runes. Beside her, Prunella and Cirroc did the same, their magic blurring into hers and sending it spinning in all directions. Emily realized, as she sensed the spell starting to fail before it had even fairly begun, that they needed to keep a grip on their magic, yet not tight enough to ruin the entire spell. She leaned forward, trying to keep the magic going, but Prunella and Cirroc pulled back. Their trepidation left her steering their combined mana...

She pushed forward, silently willing them to help her. It was suddenly easy to sense Pandora on the other side of the circle, pushing forward like her, but the others were fading shadows. The magic started to spread out of control, blurring into a shapeless mass; desperately, she pushed forward as hard as she could. There was a brilliant flash of light and a colossal force picked her up and hurled her right across the room. She heard someone cry out in shock, just before her back slammed into the wall and she fell, crumpling to the ground. There was a final spark of magic from the remains of the circle, then silence.

“Too much power,” Gordian said, calmly. “And too little cooperation.”

Emily had to fight to keep from swearing at him as she struggled to her feet. Nothing felt broken, thankfully, but her back was sore. If she’d gone face-first into the wall it would have broken her nose, knocked her out, or killed her outright. She glowered at Gordian’s back as he inspected the remains of the chalk patterns, then schooled her face into passive immobility as he turned to face them. Aloha was bending over Pandora, whose leg seemed to be broken. She’d crashed right into the wall.

“Get her to the infirmary,” Gordian ordered. “Is anyone else seriously hurt?”

“I have a nosebleed,” Cirroc said. “Is that normal?”

Gordian ignored him. “So tell me,” he said. “What went wrong?”

“Too much power,” Emily said, repeating his words. She ached too much to keep her tone respectful, but luckily he didn’t seem to notice. “We weren’t cooperating.”

“Correct,” Gordian said. “You and Pandora were the only ones who even tried to steer the magic and direct it into the runic network. It was nowhere near enough to keep the spell in being. Instead, the magic flared and you were all thrown out of the circle. Next time, you will have to work harder to cooperate.”

“It’s not like playing a ball game,” Cirroc protested. Blood dripped from his nose, but otherwise he seemed fine. “We didn’t expect it to be like... like that.”

“No one ever does,” Gordian admitted. “Working in rituals is nothing like casting normal spells. It’s a skill that no amount of blether will prepare you for.”

He paused, his eyes scanning the classroom and resting, very briefly, on Emily. “I was not expecting a complete success, not on the first try,” he said. “Tomorrow, we will try again. We’ll keep trying until you can cast the spell successfully, then start working on altering the spellware to adjust the spell midway through the ritual. I’m afraid there is nothing easy about this.”

Emily groaned, inwardly. He was right. She wasn’t sure she could join another ritual, even if the others cooperated with her. It was nowhere near as intrusive as working with soul magic, but the prospect of either revealing something she shouldn’t or getting physically hurt was a great deal higher. And she had felt tired before she’d stepped into the classroom. Now, she just wanted to go back to her bedroom—up twelve flights of stairs—and catch some sleep.

You’re meant to be babysitting tonight, she reminded herself, sternly. Perhaps an hour or two of sleep would help. She needed it. I could set a spell to wake me at dinnertime...

“Emily,” Gordian said. “Pay attention.”

He went on, bluntly. “Mastery of rituals is very important, later in life,” he continued, sternly. “Those of you who fail to do it under reasonably controlled conditions will never be able to do it in the midst of a war.”

Emily looked up, interested. She’d heard a great deal about Battle Magic, but she hadn’t learned much about it, save for a few comments from Sergeant Miles and a number of books from Mountaintop. Aurelius had been more focused on teaching her spells she could use alone, rather than anything that required more than one person to cast. Battle Magic was the closest thing the Nameless World had had to Weapons of Mass Destruction, at least until she came along.

“I expect you all to be able to take part in rituals at the end of this year,” Gordian concluded, sternly. “Emily, remain behind. Everyone else, dismissed.”

“Hard luck,” Prunella muttered, as she headed for the door. “Bad idea to let him catch you not paying attention.”

Emily swallowed the response that came to mind, then stood upright as the last of the students left the room, closing the door behind them. Gordian studied her for a long moment, his eyes taking in every last detail. Emily had to fight to stare back at him, knowing all too well that he was trying to make her uncomfortable—or nervous. And yet she knew he had every right to be annoyed. She hadn’t been paying attention in his class, after all.

Gordian frowned. “Tired?”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said. “I didn’t eat enough at lunch.”

“No one did,” Gordian said. He didn’t sound annoyed, much to her surprise. “You do realize they’re flinching away from you?”

Emily nodded, reluctantly.

“You scare them,” Gordian said. “Too much power at too young an age.”

“I know,” Emily said. She found it hard to keep the frustration out of her voice. “How do older magicians cope?”

“They learn to trust one another,” Gordian said. “Or they try to gather enough power not to need to work with others.”

Emily winced. She could trust, but not completely. She had friends, and she trusted them; but there was just a part of her that would never let down all of its defenses, never allow itself to be naked. And yet she had, only a day ago. Frieda had seen the deepest depths of her soul.

“I don’t know how to cope with it,” she admitted, finally. “Is there any way to make it work?”

“Practice,” Gordian said. “I’m afraid there’s no way to pick up a skill like this without months of practice. Even being a contributor to a ritual can be tricky, if the spell is far more demanding than anticipated.”

Emily frowned. “What happens?”

“They die, normally,” Gordian said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “There was a set of magicians who believed they could use magic to... well, let’s just say they had a grand plan and the magical power to make it happen. Or so they thought. Midway through the ritual, the power demands spiked and all six of them burned themselves out trying to make it work.”

“They burned themselves out?”

“Their grand plan cost them every last spark of magic they had,” Gordian said. His face twisted, just for a long second, then returned to normal. “And it didn’t work, anyway. It might never have worked.”

Emily shuddered. To have such power, to use such power... and then lose it. Every sorcerer ever born would consider it their worst nightmare, particularly the ones who had lorded it over the powerless mundanes. Suicide, from what she’d heard, was a common response. No sorcerer wanted to live without power.

“What did they want to do?”

“Never you mind,” Gordian said. He sounded oddly irked by the question, although he’d been the one who mentioned the disaster. “I don’t want to give anyone ideas. They already have far too many of their own.”

He stepped backwards, then cast spells to clear up the ash and deposit it in the bin. “Go get some rest. I believe you have work to do tonight.”

Emily nodded, surprised she hadn’t been told off. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

“I BELIEVE THIS SHOULD WORK,” PROFESSOR Lombardi said. “It’s a very small change to the spellware, but it should re-establish contact with the outside world.”

Emily frowned as she studied the spell diagram. It was neat, it looked logical... and yet there was something about it that bothered her. She tried, desperately, to put her finger on it, but came up blank. Caleb, beside her, looked rather impressed. It had only taken four days for Professor Lombardi to come up with a viable way to alter the spellware in the control room.

She felt her scowl deepen as she worked through the diagram. Lombardi had assumed, perhaps correctly, that the pocket dimension’s links to the outside world had been closed, but they weren’t gone. If Whitehall’s pocket dimension operated like a normal pocket dimension, he’d said, the spellwork he’d insert into the matrix would convince it to reopen the doors long enough to evacuate the students and stabilize the school. Emily couldn’t fault his logic, yet there was something wrong with it. She felt sure there was something wrong.

Gordian cleared his throat. “Can you alter the spellware?”

“I believe so,” Professor Lombardi said. Professor Ronald nodded enthusiastically. “It may not last indefinitely, but I believe it should work long enough to allow us to regain control of the wards.”

“Then we have no choice,” Gordian said. “We have to get out of the trap.”

He looked haggard, Emily noted. But she couldn’t blame him. The entire school was threatened with collapsing into desperate anarchy, no matter what he did to keep the students occupied. There was no way to hide the water or food shortages, or the simple fact that a number of corridors had been sealed off. And the longer they remained trapped, the greater the chance of something happening that would spell their doom. She understood precisely why Gordian wanted to press ahead. Manipulating the spellware was their best chance of getting out of the trap.

But there have to be other options, she told herself. If only we knew how it worked.

She shook her head. Teleporting had failed, spectacularly. An attempt to reopen one of the portals had also failed, even though four tutors had combined their powers in an attempt to make the spell work. And it was starting to look as though she was wrong about the doors having merely been moved, instead of closed. No matter how desperately they searched, there was no trace of a way out. They were trapped.

“I believe it can be done immediately,” Professor Lombardi said. “Once the doorways are reopened, we can order the students out of the school...”

“We still don’t know everything down in the tunnels,” Professor Locke interrupted. He’d spent most of the day sulking, barely offering anything apart from sardonic remarks to the discussion. “I think we should search for those books before we do anything else.”

“The books have not turned up,” Professor Lombardi said, in some irritation. “And the tunnels below the school are still dangerously unreliable. They could switch at any moment, stranding someone...”

“We have to find those damned books,” Professor Locke snapped. “We know they couldn’t have been taken out of the school.”

He turned to the Grandmaster. “We should search everywhere,” he added. “If one of the students has them in their trunk, we could find them.”

“We have no proof that any of the students took the books,” Gordian said. “And searching their trunks would cause problems.”

“It would hardly matter,” Locke pointed out, “if we don’t make it back home.”

Emily winced. The hell of it was that Locke had a point. Someone had taken the books, someone skilled enough to fake her magical signature. That person could be hiding in one of the tunnels... or they could be a student, an unsuspected spy. Nanette had managed to sneak into the school to spy on Emily, back during her second year. Could someone else have done the same? Or perhaps a student from one of the magical families had stolen the priceless books, only to find herself trapped.

And doomed, if she’s caught, Emily thought morbidly. Gordian will not forgive her.

Sergeant Miles leaned forward. “He does have a point.”

“We will consider the matter afterwards,” Gordian said. “For the moment—” he looked at Professor Lombardi “—you may begin your work.”

He turned and swept out of the classroom, followed by Master Tor. Emily felt a flicker of sympathy that surprised her. Trunks were meant to be private. Forcing a student to open her trunk for inspection—or simply breaking into it—was a gross breech of etiquette, one that could cost Gordian his job. Grandmaster Hasdrubal had opened a handful of trunks, back in second year, but he’d definitely known where the bodies were buried. Gordian had yet to establish himself as a power in the Allied Lands.

And I didn’t lodge a formal complaint either, Emily thought. Nor did anyone else.

“We shall proceed,” Professor Lombardi said. He rose to his feet, folding up the spell diagram and tucking it under his arm. “Come.”

Emily caught Caleb’s hand as they walked down to the gates and then into the underground tunnel network. The air was surprisingly clean, the dust absent completely until they moved down to the second level. Even then, there was less dust. The spells that kept the corridors clean must have started working again, Emily thought. She didn’t think that anyone had been ordered to sweep the dust away. A chill ran down the back of her neck as she passed a set of closed doors—no combination of spells or physical force had proved enough to open them—and followed Professor Lombardi into the control room. The dull thrumming sounded louder, somehow. She rubbed her ears, knowing it was futile. The sound wasn’t entirely physical.

It touches our magic, she thought. There were stories of what happened to people—mundanes and magicians—who stayed too close to untamed nexus points. All of a sudden, those stories seemed entirely believable. We might find ourselves changed if we lose control of the spells.

“It feels different,” Caleb muttered. “Like it’s panting.”

He was right. The thrumming sounded rather like a tired old man, taking his last laboring breaths. She sucked in her breath as she realized she didn’t know what was making the sound. She’d assumed it was the nexus point, but what if it was the spellware governing the control room? Was it a way to link their minds to the spells? Lord Whitehall had created the ward network, after all. He’d want a way to make direct contact with his work.

The wards above us worked on the same principle, she thought. What if we got it wrong and there’s no need to use the consoles?

She cleared her throat. “Professor,” she said. “What if we’re meant to make mental contact with the spells?”

“I don’t think it could be handled safely, by anyone,” Professor Lombardi said. “The spellware here is fantastically complex.”

“So is the spellware in the nexus chamber itself,” Emily said. “And yet the Grandmaster can touch and control the wards through his mind.”

Professor Lombardi frowned. “It would need to be an authorized user,” he said, putting the spell diagram down on the table and opening it up. “And trying to make contact without being an authorized user is asking to have your brains melted—or worse.”

Emily cursed under her breath. She had made contact—unauthorized contact—with the user interface above them. But no one knew it, save perhaps for Grandmaster Hasdrubal. It would be revealing, far too revealing, for her to confess what she’d done. Someone with a little imagination might just work out what she’d done to Shadye...

And while that wouldn’t be a bad thing, she thought, it would make the necromancers more willing to attack Whitehall in the future.

She sighed. “I did touch the wards,” she said. She could insist that everyone in the chamber swore an oath of secrecy later. “And they let me work.”

Professor Lombardi gave her a sharp look. “Four years ago?”

Emily nodded, hoping she hadn’t just made a dreadful mistake.

“The Warden was still active at the time,” Professor Lombardi said. He sounded as if his mind was elsewhere. “It’s quite possible that you were regarded as an authorized user, particularly as the school was under attack at the time. Your signature was definitely authorized to be present within the school.”

Caleb frowned. “Why, sir?”

“It would be pretty silly for us to rest all our defenses on one man,” Professor Lombardi said, dryly. “Haven’t you read about Lord Faversham?”

“No,” Emily said. She’d met far too many lords in the last few years. “What happened to him?”

Caleb laughed. “They made us study his story at Stronghold,” he said. “He was a powerful magician, barely below a Lone Power. His castle was a gathering point for the great and good of the time, where his magic ensured that enemies could meet in peace, without fear of assassination. He would hold discussion groups with people from all over the Allied Lands, often encouraging disputes to tease out new viewpoints.”

A Renaissance man, Emily thought.

“He had enemies,” Caleb added, after a moment. “His monarch didn’t like the fact that Faversham was holding such discussions, but Faversham was too powerful for the king to attack directly. So he sent a woman to seduce Faversham and trick him into drinking a potion to suppress his magic. When he was helpless, the castle was attacked and Faversham was unable to mount a defense. He and his guests were brutally slaughtered to a man.”

He paused. “That was over a hundred years ago.”

“And if he’d given the wards some leeway, or assigned someone else as a backup controller, his castle would never have fallen,” Professor Lombardi said, briskly. “Whitehall would have problems if the Grandmaster were the sole controller of the wards.”

We have problems now, Emily thought.

She mulled over his words as the professors turned to the nearest crystalline column, running through the spells they planned to use. Lombardi had a point, she had to admit; it would be pretty dangerous if Whitehall’s defenses rested solely on one man. The Grandmaster’s deputy would probably have some degree of access to the wards, even if he couldn’t override the Grandmaster’s will. And yet, there was no logical reason why she would have that kind of access. She had been a student, one of many; a first-year student. There was no way she should have been on the list of authorized users.

Unless everyone is on the list, she thought. And those above me were unable or unwilling to get to the nexus chamber.

“The spellware is prepared,” Professor Lombardi said. “Emily, Caleb, stand near the door. If something goes wrong, I want you both to turn and run.”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb said.

They exchanged glances as they walked to the door, while the charms professors surrounded the crystalline column and Professor Locke watched from the wall. There was no way they could escape a surge of wild magic, not if the spells governing the nexus point failed; they’d be overwhelmed long before they realized that something had gone badly wrong. The wild magic would move faster than thought, faster—perhaps—than light itself.

All those horrific stories, she thought, as she clutched Caleb’s hand. There might be some truth in them after all.

“Stay behind me,” Caleb muttered. He squeezed her hand, gently. “And don’t hesitate to leave me behind.”

Emily shrugged. It was nice of Caleb to want to put his body between her and harm, but she knew better than to think it was anything more than a gesture. A surge of wild magic would strike her microseconds after it struck Caleb, killing or warping them both. He might as well have tried to block a firestorm. But she loved him for being protective.

“Concentrate on the spellware,” Professor Lombardi said. He glanced at Emily. “Can you follow what we’re doing from over there?”

“Barely,” Emily said. The spells glimmered in front of her, but she stood too far away to make out the details. “We could come a little closer.”

She scowled, inwardly. She had her doubts about all three tutors attempting to cast the spell in unison, although they were far more experienced than she was. The rituals had become a little easier, as Gordian had promised, during the second and third times her class had tried to use them. No doubt the tutors were used to casting ritual spells. They would know each other’s strengths and weaknesses very well.

“Stay where you are,” Lombardi ordered. “I want you ready to run.”

Emily felt her scowl deepen as the professor turned back to his work. He couldn’t be as confident as he sounded, then. She wanted to argue, to insist that they did more work, but she knew they wouldn’t listen. They simply didn’t have time to analyze every last thread of spellwork running through the network. They’d be running out of food within the next couple of weeks.

“Focus,” Lombardi ordered. “We commence... now.”

Emily leaned forward, fascinated despite herself, as the ritual began. The three professors linked hands, their magic thrumming on the air as they cast the spell, each one putting forward and maintaining a small part of the combined whole. It was fantastically complex, far more difficult than anything she’d seen before, let alone managed to do in class. And yet they made it look easy. She felt a flicker of envy, mixed with an odd flurry of regret. It was unlikely she would ever be able to trust someone so deeply, so completely, to allow her to cast such a spell with them. A single mistake would be enough to do real and lasting harm.

“They’re good,” Caleb muttered. “Very good.”

His grip tightened as he watched them. Emily couldn’t tear her eyes away as the spell glimmered in the air, then slowly wafted towards the column. Professor Lombardi was treating it like crafting a ward, altering the spell within the hearthstone. Perhaps he was right... and yet, she couldn’t quite get the sense that he’d made a terrible mistake out of her mind.

“Now,” Professor Lombardi said.

The spell wafted forward and touched the crystalline column. Emily braced herself as it passed though the crystal, but nothing happened. She relaxed, just for a second... and then the building shook, violently. The crystalline light turned an ominous red for a long moment, then dimmed before slowly returning to normal. She heard something behind her and turned, just in time to see the corridor lights flicker and die. The absolute darkness chilled her to the bone.

“Get it back,” Professor Lombardi said. “Get...”

Another quiver ran through the chamber, followed by a wave of magic that threw the professors away from the column. Emily barely had a second to realize what had happened before it slammed into Caleb, picking him up and throwing him into Emily, knocking them both to the ground. She almost panicked as he landed on top of her, pushing hard to get him off her before anything could happen. The ground shuddered, one final time—she heard something crashing in the distance—and then lay still. Emily had to force herself to stand up.

“Caleb,” she said. Her legs felt unstable. “Caleb?”

She bent over his unmoving form. He’d been stunned, she realized; rendered comatose by the spell. It had to be a defense system, she decided, as she cast a basic counterspell. The spellware had interpreted Professor Lombardi’s hacking as an attack and responded with force, enough force to stun all of the professors. Caleb moaned, but otherwise showed no response to the spell. She had to try four more times before he finally jerked awake, eyes wide with horror and shock.

“You shielded me,” Emily said, as he sat upright. “If you hadn’t been there...”

She kissed him, feeling a flood of relief and gratitude that surprised her in its intensity. If Caleb hadn’t been there, she would have been stunned too... and who knew what would have happened then? How long would it have been before Gordian sent someone down into the tunnels to look for them? She kissed him again, then helped him to his feet and turned to check the tutors. They were all stunned, despite their protections. The sheer level of raw power behind the spell was staggering.

“The counterspell seems to need repeated tries to work,” Caleb said, bending over Professor Locke and casting the spell again. “It’s as if they were hit several times with the same spell.”

“Odd,” Emily said. “Turning someone into a frog time and time again doesn’t make it any harder to use the counterspell.”

She frowned at the thought. Turning someone into a frog—and then turning them into a frog again, without bothering to change them back—was pointless. Layering stunning spells over a helpless victim should be equally pointless. Maybe it was just a side-effect of an overpowered spell... or perhaps she was missing something. Professor Lombardi might be able to understand it, after he recovered from the spell. She woke him, then dug out the water from her knapsack. They all needed a drink.

“The spell went wrong,” Lombardi said, as he took a long swig. “And I don’t know why.”

“Then we’d better find out,” Professor Ronald said, curtly.

“You meddled in the secrets of the ancients,” Professor Locke said. “That’s why it reacted so badly to your touch.”

“Your spell wasn’t tuned to fit into the pocket dimension,” Emily guessed.

“Maybe,” Professor Lombardi said. He rose. “We’d better get back to the surface and report to the Grandmaster.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

NOT ENTIRELY TO EMILY’S SURPRISE, GETTING back to the surface was an immensely difficult task. The corridors had not only been plunged into darkness, they’d been rearranged; all the maps they’d drawn, in the months since they’d started exploring the tunnels, were completely useless. And, just to make matters worse, the wards seemed to be randomly attacking their light globes, snuffing some of them out with casual ease while leaving the others strictly alone. By the time they reached the gates and made their way up to the castle, none of them were in any fit state for a conversation.

“Everything’s changed up here,” Sergeant Miles said. He was waiting at the gates, his face illuminated by a non-magical lantern. “The entire school has gone dark.”

Emily shivered. It was bitterly cold, far too cold to be natural. The combination of five light globes and the lantern drove the shadows back, but they refused to stay beaten for long. They swarmed around the pools of light like living things, watching and waiting for the chance to swallow up the handful of surviving humans. She eyed them nervously, keeping one hand ready to cast a spell while holding Caleb’s hand with the other, knowing the darkness itself wasn’t the problem. The real concern was what lurked in the darkness.

“There are spells to let us see in the dark,” she said, trying not to think about the possibilities of freezing to death. The cold might get them long before they ran out of food. “Can’t we use them?”

“They seem to be unreliable,” Sergeant Miles said. “I’ve tried to cast one twice and neither spell worked.”

“The wards have gone rogue,” Professor Lombardi said. He sounded deeply concerned. “If they’re attacking spellwork at random, they might start working away at the spells holding everything in place.”

“I saw something similar at Mountaintop,” Emily added. “They keyed their wards to make it impossible to see in the dark.”

“And our wards seemed to have developed the same trait,” Sergeant Miles said. He turned, motioning for them to follow him. “I don’t like this.”

Anything could be out there, she thought, as Sergeant Miles led them back to the Great Hall, gathering up a handful of students on the way. Who knows what’s sharing the darkness with us?

She shuddered at the thought, gritting her teeth as they stepped into the hall. A number of students were already there, constantly casting and recasting light spells, but others were missing. There was no sign of Cabiria, the Gorgon, Cirroc, Lillian, Jasmine, or Melissa. Frieda sat against the stone wall, her eyes wide with fear. Emily winced in sympathy, then headed over to the younger girl. The flickering darkness had to be bringing back memories of Mountaintop for her.

“I was in the charms classroom,” Frieda muttered, as Emily sat down next to her. “The doors just vanished, then reappeared in a different place.”

Emily nodded. If everything had changed, again, it was not going to be easy for the remaining students to find their way to the Great Hall. Nothing would be where it had been, barely an hour ago. They’d traced safe routes from bedrooms to classrooms and back again, but those could no longer be trusted. Some of the remaining first-year students had to be scared out of their minds.

She glanced around the room as several new students entered, but she didn’t see Lillian or Jasmine. Adana and Julia were playing cards with several other students in their year, while Dulcet and Tiega seemed to be reading. But it was clear, by the way they were hunched over their textbooks, that they were scared. Emily sighed, intending to stand and take the two girls into her care. But Gordian strode into the room and cleared his throat for attention before she could rise.

“The school has changed again,” he said, curtly. “A number of students and staff remain missing. However, it is possible that the doors can now be located. Therefore, you will be paired up into search parties and distributed through the school. Should you encounter any of your fellow students, you will direct them back towards the Great Hall; should you discover the doors, one of you is to make an immediate escape while the other is to return to the Great Hall to alert the staff. Sergeant Miles will brief you on search procedures and distribute the remaining supplies.”

Emily glanced at Caleb, then nodded at Frieda, indicating she would prefer to be paired with the younger girl. Caleb nodded back in understanding. As an older student, he would probably be paired with someone younger too, although the First Years were being left in the Great Hall to wait for their fellows. Sergeant Miles passed her a bottle of water and a couple of sheets of paper, reminding her to make notations about how the corridors had changed and where the classrooms were now located. Emily privately suspected it was a waste of time, but she didn’t bother to argue. If nothing else, it would keep the students occupied.

“I’ll be talking to you later,” Gordian said, as she led Frieda towards the exit. “Once you return, leave your friend here and report to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said.

Whitehall looked different as they left the Great Hall and edged slowly down the corridor, disturbing flickers of movement constantly visible from the corner of her eyes. The shadows were definitely moving, changing position whenever she wasn’t looking; the suits of armor lining the hallway took on nasty appearances, even though she would have been hard-pressed to say what had actually changed. She found herself glancing from side to side constantly, convinced she was being watched by unseen eyes. Frieda, walking beside her, didn’t seem to feel any better.

“All the angles are slightly wrong,” Frieda said, quietly. “Look at them.”

Emily nodded. Frieda was right. The corridor looked as if it had been taken apart, then put back together by a slightly-different set of plans. And yet, whenever she looked directly at one of the altered angles, it seemed normal. It was just everything else that was wrong.

The school is partly built out of raw magic, she thought. It would be a staggering feat—conjuring even a tiny item out of raw magic, and nothing else, was incredibly difficult—but Lord Whitehall had had access to a nexus point. And now the spellware holding it together is beginning to fade.

She gritted her teeth as they found a stairwell and peered upwards, into the darkness. The stairwell looked crooked, utterly uneven, each of the steps larger or smaller than the one behind it. She wouldn’t have cared to run down the stairs, not when missing her footing could send her flying into the darkness... she wasn’t sure she wanted to walk up them, even though her bedroom was in the upper levels. Or, at least, it had been a couple of hours ago. Who knew where it was now?

“The builder was an incompetent buffoon,” Frieda said, trying to make a joke. “And an idiot.”

“He should have been given the sack,” Emily agreed, as she slowly picked her way up the staircase. The steps felt unstable, as if the slightest misstep would be enough to break the marble and send her plunging into the unknown. “Everything is just a little out of place.”

The stairwell should have led all the way to the uppermost levels, but instead it came to a halt in front of a large pair of wooden doors. Emily glanced at Frieda, then tested them gingerly, expecting to find them impossible to open. Instead, they opened smoothly, revealing a long corridor lined with portraits. Emily shook her head in disbelief as she floated a light globe down the corridor, wondering just who had decorated the chamber. The walls were utterly covered in portraits: large paintings of famous wizards, smaller ones of men and women she didn’t recognize. Dozens of others leaned against the wall, turned away from her. It looked like a dumping ground.

“I’ve been here,” Frieda said. “This is where they store the portraits they don’t want to display and they don’t want to throw out.”

Emily glanced at her. “Where was it?”

“On the fifth level,” Frieda said. “Madame Beauregard caught us playing freeze tag and sent us up to dust all the portraits. She must have been feeling particularly sadistic that day.”

“I think that was probably the fifth or sixth time she caught you playing,” Emily said, as she inched down the corridor. “It certainly isn’t on the fifth level now.”

Frieda looked at her. “How would you know?”

Emily shrugged. In truth, there was no way to know.

She paused as they reached the end of the corridor, frowning as she realized just how badly the entire section had been twisted out of shape. There was another stairwell, leading up and down; it looked, very much, as though the entire portrait corridor had been split into three levels. She peered down into the darkness, then glanced at Frieda. The younger girl didn’t seem any more enthused about walking into the shadows than Emily herself.

“I meant to ask,” Frieda said, as they started up the second set of stairs. “How are you getting along with your Shadows?”

“I’m mentoring them,” Emily said. “They’re not my Shadows.”

She sighed. “One of them is receiving nasty notes from someone else,” she added. “And I can’t figure out who’s sending them.”

Frieda shrugged. “Probably one of her fellows,” she said. “An older student wouldn’t take the risk, I think.”

“That’s what I thought,” Emily said. “But the notes are just too constant, too clean, for one of the younger students.”

She glanced at Frieda. “You’re not sending them, are you?”

Frieda elbowed her. “And risk getting expelled?”

Emily flushed. Frieda had been jealous, when she’d started to date Caleb, but there was a marked difference between trying to provoke a fight between two older boys and deliberately tormenting a younger girl. The former would be laughable, if the staff ever found out about it, yet they’d take a very dim view of the latter. Frieda would be expelled, with a report that would practically guarantee she wouldn’t be able to gain admission to any of the other magical schools. Unless she found a private tutor, which was unlikely, her magical education would come to a complete stop.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was a bad joke.”

Frieda stuck out her tongue. “So you should be.”

Emily sighed as they reached the top of the stairs. “Who would you suspect?”

“The person you would least suspect,” Frieda said. She stuck out her tongue, again. “I bet it’s Caleb sending the notes.”

“I’m sure he has better things to do with his time,” Emily said. She supposed she deserved that, even though Caleb was a far less likely suspect than Frieda. Picking on a student six years younger than himself? His mother would disown him. “Who would you really suspect?”

“It would depend on where the notes were found,” Frieda said. The next corridor was lined with stacks of portraits, almost all of them covered in thin layers of dust. “If they were only found in her room, I’d suspect one of her roommates. Or both of them. But if they were found everywhere else, I’d suspect one of her classmates.”

“They were found in both,” Emily said. She glanced at one of the paintings and smiled, despite herself, as she realized it was one of the grossly-inaccurate portraits of her. Gordian had ordered them all taken down and dumped in the corridor. “And yet, her roommates are innocent.”

“So it seems,” Frieda said. “The question then becomes... who else has access to her room?”

Emily shook her head. She had access, but she knew she wasn’t sending the notes; Madame Razz and the staff had access, yet they wouldn’t be sending notes to a student. A mundane servant? It was possible, she supposed, but they wouldn’t have access to the rest of the school. No, all the evidence pointed to one of the first year students. She just didn’t know which one.

“I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I...”

A dull quiver ran through the school. She glanced up, surprised, as the lights came on, driving the shadows away. The entire corridor was suddenly illuminated, allowing her to see right down to the bottom. There was a solid wall at the far end, yet—as the lights grew brighter—it became clear that there was something wrong with it, something her eyes refused to see. It bulged in impossible directions...

“Emily,” Frieda said. The entire corridor was starting to shake, dust rising from the paintings and floating in the air. It was even growing warmer... Emily felt sweat prickling down her back as the temperature rose, sharply. She swallowed, suddenly, as she realized just how many flammable paintings were right next to them. “Emily, what’s happening...?”

Emily stared. The corridor ahead of them was twisting, moving backwards and forwards like a hose. It was hard to see, but everything seemed to bend in unnatural directions, warped out of shape like a concave mirror. She saw a painting of a long-dead Grandmaster twisted and warped as the wall shifted around it, then torn to pieces as it fell from the wall and crashed in tatters to the ground.

“Run,” she snapped. The shaking was growing worse. A chandelier crashed from the ceiling and smashed on the floor, sending fragments of glass flying everywhere. “Hurry.”

She caught Frieda’s hand and yanked her backwards, feeling the gravity shift below their feet. The entire corridor started to tip, as if a giant had decided to turn it sideways. They were running up the inside of a chimney, she realized numbly; gravity itself was no longer reliable. She glanced backwards as a stack of paintings started to fall sideways, past them and down the corridor; she saw everything twisting into a pocket dimension—or a black hole. Even light was bending around it, twisting around the darkness before taking the plunge.

The gravity twisted badly, then reversed itself, throwing them off their feet and hurling them down the corridor towards the stairwell. Emily hastily cast a spell to keep them from slamming straight into the wall, only to have the spell come apart within seconds. She barely managed to cast it again—successfully this time—before they struck the wall and bounced back towards the black hole. Frieda cast a spell herself, pulling them back and tossing them down the stairwell. Emily yelped in pain as she banged her leg, feeling a trickle of blood running down her skin, but there was no time to stop. The shaking was only getting stronger... a large portrait flew past her and vanished into the distance...

“It’s gone,” Frieda shouted. She waved towards the wooden doors they’d used to enter the corridor. It was gone. In its place, there was nothing but bare stone. “Emily!”

Emily looked around. The entire section was shattering, coming apart into a hailstorm of stone, chunks of wood and other pieces of debris. Was this it? Was this the end of Whitehall School? She reached out with her magic, hoping desperately to find a way to gain control of the wards, but nothing happened. It was almost as if their section was completely cut off from the rest of the school—or, perhaps, that the remainder of the school was gone.

She heard someone cry out and looked up. The ceiling was disintegrating; she saw a young student, a second-year by his robes, falling through the air and plummeting towards the black hole. She tried to catch him with a spell, but it was far too late; he fell into the darkness and vanished, completely. And yet, there was now a way out. Emily grabbed hold of Frieda, then cast a spell to hurl herself into the air, throwing them towards the gash in the ceiling as it threatened to crumble to dust. If only she could fly!

The gravity pulled at them, threatening to yank them into the black hole. She poured more and more power into the spell, pushing herself to the limit. The world seemed to twist around them, then the gravity let go. Her spell propelled them forward at terrifying speed...

“Catch on to something,” she shouted, as they plunged through the gap and bounced off the ceiling, rolling down the corridor before finally coming to a halt. The spell came apart seconds later, leaving her feeling tired and drained. She sagged on the floor, unable to move or rise. Her limbs refused to listen to her. “Now...”

The ground rumbled loudly, one final time. Emily sensed the floor below her disintegrating, but she couldn’t muster the energy to run. Frieda grabbed her arm, pulled her to her feet and half-dragged her down the corridor, just as the rumbling finally came to a halt. Emily glanced behind her, just in time to see the gash in the floor widen, as if it were chasing them down the corridor. And yet, it looked as though it was finding it harder to make progress... perhaps, she thought desperately, the collapse was more localized than she’d thought. The remainder of the wards were still in place.

But we’re still in danger, she told herself.

She forced herself to run as the shaking resumed, the corridor walls suddenly looming closer and closer. But it was hard to keep going... Frieda gave her a shove when they could no longer run side by side, then slammed a force punch into her back. Emily flew forward and landed badly, rolling over and over in a desperate attempt to absorb the force of the blow. But when she caught herself and turned back to Frieda, there was no sign of her friend. There was nothing behind where she’d been, but bare stone...

Frieda was gone.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

EMILY STARED AT THE BARREN STONE, unable to believe her eyes. Frieda couldn’t be dead, not like that... she deserved so much better than to die in the collapsing remains of the school. And yet... Emily tapped on the stone, praying desperately that Frieda was alive, merely trapped on the far side. If she was, if she answered, they could blast her out...

... But there was no reply. Either the walls were too thick, or Frieda was in no state to reply. Frieda couldn’t be dead; she’d been too full of life to die. And yet Emily had learned, all too often over the past five years, that death could come for anyone, at any time. There was no way to guarantee that someone would remain alive.

She sank to the floor, kneeling as she wiped tears from her eyes. Frieda was dead—or trapped, somewhere behind the wall—and it was her fault. If Emily had not accompanied her, Frieda might well be alive... it was silly, she told herself, but it might be true. Her entire body shook with grief and a dull, bitter frustrated sorrow, one that burned her very soul. Frieda had been her friend... she told herself, again, that no proof Frieda was dead, but she had no proof Shadye was dead either. The black hole she’d seen was the final bitter jest, mocking her. She didn’t want to go on.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to rise and mark the wall, before turning to look for a way out. The doorway opened into a history classroom—she bit off a savage curse aimed at Professor Locke—that had been turned into a debris field by the earthquake. If he hadn’t been exploring the tunnels under Whitehall, if he hadn’t touched something that should have been left untouched, Frieda would be alive. She threw a fireball at the desk, just for the satisfaction of watching it explode, then walked through the second door. It led to another corridor, one that led down. She listened, hearing voices below, then walked down to the bottom. Master Tor and Sergeant Miles stood there, talking together in low voices.

“Emily,” Sergeant Miles said. It looked as though he was standing in front of the doorway to the Great Hall, but it was firmly closed. “Are you all right?”

“Frieda isn’t,” Emily said, bitterly. She looked around for Caleb, but saw no sign of him—or of anyone else. Bracing herself, she ran through a complete explanation. “She’s... she’s trapped.”

“She isn’t the only one,” Sergeant Miles said. He sounded worried. Somehow, that bothered Emily more than she cared to admit. “The recent change cost us half of the rooms and corridors we’d rediscovered. If this goes on...”

“Whitehall is doomed,” Master Tor said. He looked as ghastly as Emily felt. “Two-thirds of the students are unaccounted for, along with at least a quarter of the staff.”

“We may relocate them,” Sergeant Miles said. But he didn’t sound optimistic. “It’s clear that at least some of the wards are still working...”

Emily sighed, leaning against the wall. She just wanted to sit down and cry, then think of something—anything—that would allow her to find her friend. Maybe she could find those damned books, wherever they were, or maybe there was something hidden away in Professor Locke’s collection of manuscripts. He hadn’t found anything, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t. She wondered, vaguely, if he knew where his office was now. If he did, she could go there...

“The Grandmaster wanted to speak to you,” Master Tor reminded her. “He’s currently inspecting the bedrooms. They’re just down the corridor.”

Emily shook her head, fighting off the urge to start laughing hysterically. The bedrooms! They’d found their bedrooms, again! What about the books and tools they needed to escape?

“Thank you, sir,” she said, instead. “How... how many students are still in the Great Hall?”

“Only the first-years and a handful of second-years,” Sergeant Miles said, grimly. “If you meet any of the search parties, send them back here.”

Emily nodded and started to make her way to the bedrooms. Whatever was reorganizing the school, she decided, had an odd sense of humor; the sixth-year dorms were right next to the first-year dorms, while the fourth-years were paired up with the second-years. No one would be very pleased, she knew, if the new arrangement lasted more than a few days. The first-years would hate having the sixth-years so close, while the sixth-years would mutter darkly about being matched up with the “children.” She rolled her eyes at the thought, then gasped in surprise as she felt a sensation at the back of her mind. The ward she’d hidden in Tiega’s room, by her bed, had been tripped.

She gasped. Now?

For a moment, she hesitated, unsure what to do. Gordian had asked her to meet him, after all, and she didn’t want an argument, not now. And yet, she felt responsible for Tiega... hell, she was responsible. She’d already failed Frieda. She was damned if she was failing Tiega too.

She turned and walked into the first-year dorms, striding down the corridor to Tiega’s bedroom. The doors were still marked—the first-years had carved their own names into wooden plaques, rather than use the wards to indicate their rooms—and Tiega’s door was firmly closed. Emily hesitated again—she didn’t like going into someone’s bedroom without their permission, then pushed open the door. A slight form was bending over Tiega’s bed, her back to Emily. She jumped and spun around as Emily entered, hurling a freeze spell at her head. Emily deflected it with ease.

“Jasmine?”

Jasmine stared at her, shocked. “Emily!”

Emily took a moment to find her voice. “You’ve been leaving those notes?”

She looked past Jasmine to see the scrap of paper, placed neatly on Tiega’s pillow. “How could you?”

Jasmine’s face crumpled. “I... I had to.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “You had to?”

She watched the younger girl carefully for a long moment, unsure just what Jasmine would try to do. Deny everything? Try to escape? Or explain herself? Jasmine shouldn’t be able to beat her in a fight, no matter what she might have learned from the Travellers, but she might be too desperate to care about the odds. How the hell had she even gotten into the room, let alone evaded the wards and trap spells?

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Jasmine said. “I just...”

Emily’s patience snapped. “Jasmine, you have been sending Tiega those damned notes for nearly three months,” she said. It was hard to keep from shouting. “You have come far too close to driving her out of Whitehall altogether! And you didn’t mean to hurt her?”

She reached out and picked up Julia’s hairbrush, lying on her bedside cabinet. “My friend may just have died,” she added, hardening her voice as she slapped the back of the hairbrush against her palm. “The rest of us may be about to follow her. I do not have the time to deal with your excuses. Tell me what you did—and why—or I’ll thrash your bottom black and blue before I hand you over to the Grandmaster!”

Jasmine stared. “The Grandmaster?”

“You could be expelled for writing those notes,” Emily reminded her. “Tiega’s family will certainly see to it, even if the Grandmaster is reluctant.”

She sighed inwardly as Jasmine wilted. Tiega’s parents were neglectful, at the very least, if not abusive. She doubted they would bother to lift a finger to make sure Jasmine faced some kind of justice for her actions, although arranging for her expulsion probably wouldn’t cost them more than a few hours of their time. But Jasmine wouldn’t know that, she hoped; she’d been caught red-handed. The threat of expulsion was very real.

“I... she kept tormenting Lillian,” Jasmine said, finally. Her brown eyes—only a shade or two darker than Emily’s—looked down at the floor. “Hitting her, poking her, belittling her... she used to keep turning her into things until Lillian learned a few basic protections. She just wouldn’t stop.”

Emily eyed her, darkly. “And you didn’t think to ask for help?”

“Students hexing other students is perfectly fine,” Jasmine said, bitterly. “I couldn’t stop her.”

“And so you started writing those notes,” Emily said. The hell of it was that she agreed with Jasmine. Whitehall tolerated far too much from its younger students. “How did you even slip into her room...?”

She stopped as the answer occurred to her. “You swapped rooms,” she added, sourly. In hindsight, that was blindingly obvious. “You used to have permission to enter this room. It was just never revoked.”

“Madame Razz showed us how to swap rooms,” Jasmine said. “I was careful not to erase my access rights to this room.”

“Very clever,” Emily said. “You were planning this for a while, I see.”

She could have kicked herself. She’d spent a great deal of time and effort trying to find a way someone could have outfoxed the wards, when Jasmine had merely walked through them. Lady Barb would have been disappointed, while Sergeant Miles would have bawled her out—publicly—if she’d made such a mistake during Martial Magic. She dreaded to think what Mistress Danielle would have done.

“I hoped things would get better if I was sharing a room with Lillian,” Jasmine admitted, quietly. She looked up, trying to meet Emily’s eyes. “Julia wanted to share a room with Adana and Tiega. I hoped...”

She shook her head, chewing on a strand of hair. “It didn’t make things better.”

“No, I suppose it didn’t,” Emily said. “How did you write the letters?”

“I used a charmed pencil,” Jasmine said. “There were no traces of my signature anywhere near the paper.”

“Very clever,” Emily said, again. “It’s a pity you weren’t using that intellect for something more... useful.”

“If Tiega was kicked out of school, Lillian would be happy,” Jasmine insisted. “We would all be happy.”

“You should have brought it to me,” Emily said. She shook her head, tiredly. “I could have had a word with Tiega...”

“You couldn’t have done anything to her,” Jasmine said. “She wasn’t breaking the rules, was she?”

“Probably not,” Emily conceded. “But you could have brought it to me anyway.”

But what would be the point? Tiega hadn’t been caught keeping other students from classes, not since the first time. Everything she’d done to Lillian had been mean, but perfectly in keeping with tradition. The worst Emily could have done was told her to behave herself—or issued a punishment, knowing that she would share it. Perhaps it would have been worthwhile...

She cleared her throat. “What you did was thoroughly unpleasant,” she said, sharply. “What would your aunt and uncle think of it?”

“They wouldn’t care,” Jasmine said. “After I insisted on going to Whitehall, they practically disowned me. If someone hadn’t paid my fees, I wouldn’t have been able to go.”

And you don’t know I paid your fees, Emily thought. Lady Barb had promised she would handle it, back when she’d first met Jasmine. Or did Lady Barb arrange for a scholarship?

“Clever,” she said, instead. “And now... what will happen to you if you get expelled? You won’t get your fees refunded, so you’ll be penniless. And you’ll have some very powerful enemies. What were you planning to do if everything went wrong?”

“I could sing,” Jasmine said, stubbornly.

“You would find it hard to join another band of traveling performers,” Emily said. Lady Barb had told her that most traveling performers were families, part of a vast extended network that stretched over the Allied Lands. If Jasmine’s aunt and uncle had disowned her, she might not be welcome anywhere else. “And while you could sing at inns, you’d discover—very quickly—that you’d be expected to do more than sing for your supper.”

She reached out and tapped Jasmine’s shoulder. “And what do you think Tiega’s family might do to you? Hex you so you can no longer sing? Blind you? Mutilate you? Curse you into permanent obedience and sell you into slavery? They would have ample cause to make your life as miserable as possible... and no one would be interested in defending you.”

Jasmine blanched. “I didn’t think...”

“No, you didn’t,” Emily snapped.

She took a breath. “How long did you expect to get away with it, anyway?”

Jasmine said nothing. Emily studied her for a long, tired moment, wondering why she understood the girl all too well. The weak couldn’t afford to fight openly against the strong, not when Tiega was tough enough to beat Jasmine—and Lillian—either magically or physically. Hitting Tiega where it hurt—her fragile sense of self-worth—was all Jasmine could do, yet it had almost destroyed Tiega and turned Jasmine into a monster. Even if Emily hadn’t hidden a trap in Tiega’s room, Jasmine would have been caught eventually. The staff might have decided to take action if Tiega’s parents demanded a full inquiry.

If things had been different, Emily thought, Jasmine could have been me.

She understood. Yes, she understood. But that didn’t mean Jasmine was in the right.

“I’ll give you a choice,” she said, carefully. “And I want you to listen before you make up your mind.

“First, you will apologize for what you’ve done. The notes will stop, of course. You and Tiega will work together over the next few weeks”—if we get out of the trap, she added silently—“until you have learned to tolerate one another. I will make it clear to Tiega that she isn’t to seek revenge afterwards”—Jasmine looked rather doubtful of that—“or to spread the word about what you have done, which will ensure that things return to normal rather quickly.”

“She’ll kill me,” Jasmine said.

“I won’t let her kill you,” Emily said. Tiega might punch or hex Jasmine, but she probably wouldn’t try to kill her. “She won’t be very pleased, of course...”

“Of course not,” Jasmine said, miserably. “And the second option?”

Emily met her eyes. “I take you to the Grandmaster,” she said. “He will not be pleased if such a matter comes before him, certainly not one that’s festered for months. You will certainly be placed on probation, if you’re not immediately expelled. If you’re lucky, you’ll be in detention until you graduate; if you’re unlucky, you’ll find yourself penniless, jobless and hunted by Tiega’s family.”

“Those aren’t good choices,” Jasmine said.

“Tell me,” Emily said. “After everything you have done, after the hell you inflicted on an insecure young girl, what do you deserve?”

Jasmine flinched.

“She inflicted hell on us,” she said, finally. “Did we deserve it?”

“That was then,” Emily said. “What about now?”

She dumped the hairbrush on Julia’s bed, then sat down next to Jasmine as the younger girl began to cry, her body wracked with great heaving sobs. Part of her was tempted to just march Jasmine back to her room and leave her there, but instead she wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her tightly. She did understand Jasmine... she shook her head, tiredly. Something would definitely have to change. Hell, Frieda had all kinds of problems at Mountaintop too...

... And Frieda was gone.

“Stand up,” she ordered, finally. She stood as soon as Jasmine leaned back, then helped her to her feet. “You’re meant to be in the Great Hall, along with the other students. If we survive the next few weeks”—Jasmine flinched, again—“you can make your choice.”

Jasmine leaned on her, tiredly. “Will you be there?”

“When you confess?” Emily shook her head. “This is something you have to do for yourself.”

“It isn’t fair,” Jasmine said. “Nothing about this is fair.”

“No, it isn’t,” Emily agreed. She felt a hot flash of anger, which she had to suppress. “It isn’t fair that one young girl should pick on another, only to be picked on in turn. It’s not fair. It’s not fair! But the world isn’t fair.”

She picked up the note and dropped it into her pocket, then helped Jasmine to the door and peered outside. The corridor was deserted, thankfully. She wasn’t sure what she would have said to Madame Razz, if she’d caught them leaving Tiega’s room. The housemother might not be aware of the notes—although Emily knew she did keep a close eye on her charges—but she would know that neither of them had any legitimate reason to be there.

“Clean yourself up,” she ordered, passing Jasmine a handkerchief. It wasn’t enough, but there was no time for a shower. “Once you’re in the Great Hall, do what you’re told.”

Another dull quiver ran through Whitehall as they made their way down to the door and stepped out into the corridor. A sixth-year student walked past, his face pale; Emily asked him to escort Jasmine to the Great Hall, then turned back to find Gordian. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have realized that Emily had been waylaid on her way to find him. And if he did...?

She sighed. Right now, she would welcome almost anything that would keep her mind off Frieda. Trying to sleep would be futile, even though she was hellishly tired. An argument would be very welcome...

Dust floated down from high overhead as yet another tremor echoed through the school, followed by a series of distant crashes. Emily glanced up, then hurried through the maze of corridors. No matter what she did, she couldn’t escape the sense that the school was coming apart...

... And it was only a matter of time before the end finally came.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“THE ANSWER HAS TO LIE IN here, somewhere,” Professor Locke said. “Keep looking.”

Emily rubbed her eyes. Gordian had listened to her explanation of Frieda’s disappearance—she tried to keep herself from thinking of Frieda as dead—and then sent her to work with Professor Locke. Emily didn’t think he knew she’d stopped to confront Jasmine on the way, but she couldn’t help thinking of the assignment as a punishment. Cabiria was missing, leaving her alone with a professor who alternated between urging her onwards and glaring nastily at her.

“Professor Lombardi thinks we have no choice, but to push on,” Gordian had said. The school had rumbled, ominously, at his words. “If you can dig up something—anything—from the archives, it may be helpful.”

“I will,” she said to Professor Locke, feeling too tired to care about her tone. “But surely you have been through these documents before?”

“I didn’t know half as much as I do now,” Professor Locke snarled. He picked up a roll of dusty parchment and thrust it towards her. “See if you can make any sense out of this.”

Emily sighed, but took the scroll and opened it carefully, using the spells she’d been taught to ensure it wasn’t damaged. She made a mental note to try and talk Gordian into having the scrolls copied, now that printing was a fast-growing trade within the Allied Lands, then bent her head over the document. The writing was so small that she couldn’t help wondering how the original writer had managed to produce it, at least without computers and printers. She had to use a magnifying spell to pick out the words, which made it impossible to use a translation spell. Whatever language had been used to write the scroll, it seemed to have little in common with High or Low Imperial.

They must have known about translation spells when the scroll was written, she thought, as she started to copy the words one by one. The original writer deliberately created the document to make it difficult to translate, unless the reader made a copy or already knew the language.

She shook her head, fighting a yawn and bitter tears. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t forget Frieda, couldn’t forget that her friend was missing, perhaps dead. She tried hard to focus on the document, but Frieda’s face kept popping up in her mind. There had been no time to come to terms with her death, let alone hold a remembrance ceremony for her. How could they, when the remainder of the castle might collapse at any moment?

Damn you, she thought, eying Locke’s head as he studied yet another document. This is all your fault.

The document slowly revealed its secrets, one by one. It was a set of tales from the very early years of Whitehall; some familiar to her, others new and disturbing. Surely Lord Whitehall had not turned an entire invading army into pigs, then dined on their hams! It would take a fantastically-powerful magician—or a nexus point—to cast such a spell on so many people, then hold it in place long enough to have dinner. The whole story sounded more like vicious slander, written after Whitehall was safely dead. She worked her way through the entire scroll, but the more she looked at it, the more convinced she became that it was absurd.

“There’s nothing here,” she said, finally. “I think it’s useless.”

She rolled up the scroll and put it to one side. There were descriptions of great arts performed by Lord Whitehall and his allies, but nothing practical, nothing to suggest how those spells had actually been cast. Indeed, some of the spells were so powerful—and so unlike any she’d seen at Whitehall—that she couldn’t help wondering if Whitehall had been a god among men. Even Void, she was sure, couldn’t have cast such spells.

“Take this one,” Professor Locke ordered. He passed her a manuscript book, tightly bound with a strap. A nasty-looking hex hovered over the clasp. “If my source is correct, it was written by Master Keldor in the last years of his life.”

Emily frowned as she tested the spell, trying to find a way to undo it without destroying the book. Master Keldor had been mentioned in a handful of books, but most of what was known about him was third or fourth-hand at best. The only thing known for certain—and that only because every source agreed on it, even if they disagreed on everything else—was that he’d been a member of the Whitehall Commune. But the spell was surprisingly persistent for one that had lingered for centuries. It shouldn’t have been able to do that at all.

“It didn’t,” Professor Locke said, when she asked. He sounded more like his old self as he took the book back, then undid the spell. “According to my source, who claimed to be the last descendent of Master Keldor, the manuscript was written on his skin. Any of his descendents could renew the spell, if they wished. I had to be shown how to remove the hex before I could read it myself.”

Emily winced. She’d come across quite a few books that were written on human skin, the words etched out in blood; they’d always been listed amongst the darkest of tomes. And yet, how could Master Keldor have written the book on his own skin? It sounded more like an attempt to make the manuscript seem more important than it actually was, rather than a genuine remark. And yet...

This is the skull of John the Liar, she thought, recalling a con artist she’d seen at the Cockatrice Faire. And this, the smaller skull right beside it, is the skull of John the Liar as a child.

She smiled at the memory—she found it hard to imagine anyone falling for the trick—then carefully opened the manuscript. It felt clammy to the touch, a faintly unpleasant whiff of something drifting up from the pages as she smoothed them down. The words were written in the same language as the earlier scroll, but there had been no attempt to make it difficult to use a translation spell. She cast the spell and watched, feeling an odd sense of relief, as the letters shimmered into something she could read.

The writer, she decided as she slowly read her way through the first few pages, had been as mad as a hatter. He started out by talking about the castle—she assumed he meant Whitehall—and then jumped into a long and complicated story about three witches and a king who would never claim his throne. It made Macbeth sound tame, Emily thought, but she didn’t see the relevance. She’d wondered why the book’s owners would allow Professor Locke to take it—if it dated all the way back to Lord Whitehall, it was literally priceless—but it didn’t seem as if there was anything useful within its pages. The handful of mentions of names she recognized were interspersed with snide remarks about people she’d never heard of and long discourses on the nature of life, the universe, and everything. She honestly couldn’t decide if she was looking at genius or madness.

She turned the page and froze. The writer had drawn a picture of a spider-like creature, practically identical to the drawing she’d seen in the tunnels below Whitehall. There were no words written beside it, save for the ancient rune for danger. It was drawn so badly that she couldn’t help thinking the writer had been terrified out of his mind. Beneath it, there was another drawing, a spiral blurring in the air. It looked oddly familiar... she puzzled over it for a long moment, then realized—to her horror—that she was looking at a drawing of a Mimic. If the spell wasn’t obscured by a misty glow, she thought, it might look a little like the drawing in front of her.

The lights dimmed, just for a second. Emily looked up—Professor Locke hadn’t even stirred as he pored over another scroll—then returned her attention to the manuscript. The owners hadn’t realized what the drawing was, she suspected. It was unlikely they knew anything about the Mimics, certainly not their true nature. If they had, they would never have let Professor Locke take the book. Or had he even bothered to ask permission first...?

She eyed Professor Locke thoughtfully, feeling suspicion gnawing at her. The professor had been desperate to unlock the school’s secrets, even when it had started to look like a really bad idea. Had he stolen the book? How many of the manuscripts piled up in the office were stolen? Or was she merely being paranoid?

She swallowed—there was no way she could ask, not now—and turned her attention to the remainder of the book. Large parts of it seemed to be nothing but ravings; she shook her head in droll amusement at a long rant against schooling women in magic. Master Keldor seemed to believe that teaching girls to use magic was a bad idea—an attitude she’d heard before—although he did have a different set of justifications. Witches, he felt, had problems having children. Emily hadn’t heard anything about that in five years on the Nameless World.

Caleb’s mother had children, she thought, tartly. Perhaps it was just another excuse to deprive women of their rights. God knew Alicia wouldn’t have had so many problems if her father had Confirmed her when she’d turned sixteen, as he would have done for a boy. How many other female magicians have children?

“Professor,” she said, looking up. “How many of the female staff have children?”

Professor Locke blinked at her. “Madame Razz and Mistress Irene have children,” he said, shortly. “You’ve found the claim that witches can’t have children, then?”

Emily nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Master Keldor—or whoever wrote the book—seems to have considered witches a separate group from magicians,” Professor Locke said. “It’s possible that some aspect of witchcraft did dull their fertility. Certain rites and rituals used today do have such an effect. But we may never know for sure.”

“I see,” Emily said.

She sighed as she returned to the remainder of the manuscript, frowning as she thought she sensed a deeper meaning in some of the ravings. Maybe she was too tired to think properly, but the line about Whitehall pressing his head into the nexus point might refer to him communing with the spellwork he’d crafted. And the maddeningly imprecise references to jigsaw puzzles might just be linked to the spell matrix. It was a kind of jigsaw puzzle, one where putting the wrong piece in the wrong place would mess up the remainder of the spellware. In hindsight, Professor Lombardi’s attempt to alter the spellwork had probably caused a whole series of other problems...

The door opened, revealing a pale-faced serving girl. Emily rose and took her tray, then thanked her as she smelled the hot Kava. There was no milk, she noted, merely a small pot of sugar. Gritting her teeth—Kava tasted bitter without milk, no matter how much sugar she ladled into the mug—she poured two mugs and passed one to Professor Locke, then took the other one back to her desk. She’d get the jitters soon, but it would keep her awake for a while longer.

She frowned as she read through the final section. Whitehall, according to Master Keldor, hadn’t just stuck his head in the nexus point—it was written in a tone that suggested he might as well have stuck his head in a toilet—he’d locked it in place. He actually said the same thing over and over again, repeating it at least four times before changing the subject. Was it important? Or...

Emily froze as it clicked into place. She’d always considered casting spells to be very similar to computer programming, but she hadn’t thought through the implications of a genuine magical computer. Altering some of the settings through the consoles was presumably easy, yet actually repairing the damage required direct access to the programming itself. And Professor Lombardi, for all his skill, hadn’t realized the sheer complexity of the system. His changes had only made matters worse.

She put the book aside, then picked up the spell diagrams and began to work, hastily. When he’d touched the consoles, Professor Locke had altered one of the settings... and, instead of trying to put them back to normal, Professor Lombardi had effectively taken an axe to the computer and clobbered it. She cursed herself under her breath as she realized just how badly she’d stumbled. There was no one else on the Nameless World that knew anything about computers, yet she’d missed the clue that had been right in front of her. It should be relatively simple, she saw, to fix the damage and then reopen the doors.

Unless it’s too late, she thought, numbly. The collapse might already be too far advanced.

“Professor,” she said, rising. “I have to go.”

Professor Locke stared at her. “Go? Go where?”

“The control room,” Emily said. She cursed her tiredness a second later. It might have been smarter to claim she was going to find the nearest chamberpot. Now the facilities had stopped working, the staff had established makeshift toilets. “I think I know how to get us out of the trap.”

“You have done quite enough damage,” Professor Locke snarled. His expression hardened, suddenly. “You’re staying right here, as the Grandmaster ordered.”

Emily stared at him, then glanced up as a dull quiver ran through the school. Was Professor Locke going mad? To have all of his dreams turn into nightmares, to have his proudest accomplishment snatched away, to watch helplessly as the finest example of ancient magic collapsed into rubble... it was enough to drive anyone crazy. Surely, he had to know what would happen if the pocket dimension collapsed. There would be no hope of survival. They’d be crushed into nothingness.

“I have to go,” she said, turning towards the door. There was no time to argue. She could deal with the consequences later, if there were consequences. Professor Lombardi would probably argue in her favor, if nothing else. “Professor...”

A hex flared over the door. “You are not going anywhere,” Professor Locke snapped. Emily turned, just in time to see him rise to his feet. His face was red with fury. “Where are the books?”

Emily stared at him. “I swore an oath...”

“You’re crafty,” Professor Locke snarled. A hex—a torture hex—glimmered over his fingertips, casting a sickly yellow light over his face. “You could evade an oath, if you tried.”

He held up his hand in a casting pose. “Where are the books?”

Emily hesitated, thinking hard. Professor Locke had snapped completely. There was no way he would be allowed to remain at Whitehall if he tortured a student, even if it didn’t get him executed or transported to the Garden of Stoned Philosophers. Gordian could never allow him to stay, let alone teach. And Locke no longer cared...

She winced as she backed into the wall. There was nowhere to run.

“Tell me,” Locke snarled. “Where are the books?”

Emily threw a force punch at him, slamming him backwards. Sickly light flared around the older man as he tumbled to the floor, screaming in pain. His spell had backfired, Emily realized in horror. If she could feel it, even at a distance, he had to have massively overpowered the spell. She’d been tortured before, but this was different. It might have killed her—or driven her mad—if he’d cast it.

The spell faded. Locke stumbled into a sitting position, blood pouring down his nose, and struggled to raise his hand. Emily found herself torn between trying to help him and running for her life. Locke had definitely snapped if he was more concerned with trying to hurt her than repairing the horrendous damage he’d inflicted on himself. Torture spells could cause nerve damage, she’d been taught, dooming the victim to a pain-racked life if they didn’t receive immediate medical attention. It was one of the many reasons they were banned...

Locke cast a spell at her, a spell she didn’t recognize. Emily sidestepped it, then threw a stunning spell back. Locke’s protections seemed to have been warped out of shape, rather than destroyed; the stunner should have just knocked him out, but instead it picked him up and threw him against the far wall. He crumpled to the ground and lay there, stunned.

Shit, Emily thought.

For a long moment, she could barely move. She’d attacked a tutor! It hadn’t been a duel, it hadn’t been a test of her skills... she’d attacked a tutor. He might have been preparing to cast a torture spell... or had he? Had he been hoping to intimidate her? She had no doubt he’d try to claim he had no intention of actually casting the spell... if Gordian still wanted to expel her, she’d just given him enough excuse to kick her out as soon as the gates reopened. No one could argue with him now.

Another quiver ran through the school. She cursed, then turned to the door and tore it open, stumbling out into the corridor. It had changed; now, it looked like the corridor outside the private workrooms, heavily warded to protect the students and their secrets. But when she closed her eyes and centered herself, she could feel the nexus point below her. It felt different...

Gritting her teeth, drawing on the last of her reserves, she started to run.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

SHE HEARD SOMEONE CALLING OUT BEHIND her as she ran downwards, but she ignored them. The corridors were in ruins, pieces of debris lying everywhere; she had to force herself to keep running when she had to jump over chunks of stonework and pieces of statues that had been shattered by the constantly-shifting corridors. The tremors grew stronger as she plunged down a corridor that had been lined with suits of armor. Now, the suits of armor lay on the ground, in pieces. She tripped over a breastplate and swore as she nearly fell to the ground, then caught herself and kept moving. Everything was different.

Keep focusing on the nexus point, she told herself, as she plunged down a long and winding set of stairs, then along a darkened corridor. The lights brightened and dimmed, seemingly at random. She did her best to ignore the shadows as they crept forward, without ever touching her. Let it guide you down.

She tore past a handful of younger students, ignoring their shouts and the hex one of them hurled at her back. There was no way to know what they were doing there, if they’d escaped the Great Hall or if they’d been trapped—elsewhere—by one of the changes. Oddly, the thought gave her a flicker of hope. Frieda might have been trapped, but she might also have been freed. She clung to it as she reached the final stairwell, then hurried down to the lower spellchambers. They looked to be in ruins, the spellware torn and broken. She smiled, despite herself. The spellchamber she’d damaged was hardly a problem now.

Something moved ahead of her. A handful of dummies, advancing towards her. She slowed, then cursed as she saw a student’s body lying on the ground. The dummies had gone rogue... why? There was no time to find out. She gathered her strength and cast a series of blasting spells, pushing all the power she could into them. The lead dummy barely had a chance to cast a spell of its own before it disintegrated into rubble, followed by the others. It crossed Emily’s mind, as she started to run faster, that Sergeant Miles would not be pleased at losing the remainder of his dummies. But they shouldn’t have gone rogue in any case.

They draw their power from the wards, just like the Warden, she thought, as she reached the gates to the tunnel network. But they need much less power to function. The Warden was disabled; the dummies went rogue.

She pushed the thought out of her mind as she slowed to a halt in front of the gates. Someone—probably Professor Lombardi—had placed a spell on the gates, making it impossible for any student to enter the underground tunnel network without a tutor. Emily swore under her breath. Perhaps she should have dragged Professor Locke down with her, even though it would have been impossible to carry him without using magic. There was no hope of finding a tutor...

The school shook, again. Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward and rammed her magic into the spell, drawing on all of her reserves. The spell flared—Professor Lombardi had done a very good job—and tried to lash out at her, attempting to freeze her in place. It would have caught her, she knew, if Lady Barb hadn’t forced her to spend weeks practicing untangling wards and hexes from the inside. As it was, she barely managed to deflect its first attempt and rip it to shreds before it could make another. She sagged as the spell disintegrated, then forced herself onwards, down into the tunnels. The tunnel was dark, but when she reached the bottom the lights were almost painfully bright. Something was definitely very wrong.

His attempt to hack the spellware only disrupted all of the other settings, she thought, as the temperature began to rise again. Her shirt and trousers suddenly felt very heavy as she started to sweat. They no longer know the correct settings for anything.

Emily kept moving, despite the lights growing brighter and brighter. The gravity seemed to shift too, although she had no idea why; one moment, it was so strong she could barely walk, the next it was so light that she almost banged her head on the ceiling. She forced herself onwards, staggering past the former library and blinked in surprise when she saw two students kneeling together outside the control room. They were both alive, she noted, but they looked to have been entranced. A quick spell confirmed that someone had cast a powerful compulsion on the students, rendering them utterly helpless—and obedient. But they were both sixth year students. She was surprised it had worked...

Professor Lombardi might have been able to take control of them, she thought. But even he would have difficulty keeping the spell in place indefinitely.

She studied them for a long moment, trying to parse out the spell, then hurried past them and into the control room. There would be time to unlock that mystery later.

The crystalline consoles and columns flickered with unhealthy light, as the door closed behind her. Professor Lombardi was bent over one of the consoles, while Professor Jayne studied the spellware displayed within the nearest column. A large statue—it took her a moment to realize it was Professor Ronald—had been placed against the far wall and abandoned. It was so bizarre that it took her longer than it should have to work out that he’d triggered another defense and been turned to stone.

Professor Lombardi turned to face her, his eyes wide. “Emily,” he said. He sounded surprised to see her. No doubt he’d assumed Professor Locke would keep her out of trouble—and vice versa. “What are you doing here?”

“I know how to help,” Emily said, panting. The sense that time was slipping away was growing stronger. She’d collapse soon, even if the school didn’t. No amount of Kava could keep her awake indefinitely, particularly not after everything she’d done. It felt as if she’d been awake for days, if not weeks. “Professor...”

“No matter what we do, everything is spiraling out of control,” Professor Lombardi said, grimly. Sweat ran down his face. He started to turn back to the console, then changed his mind, looking at Emily. “All we can do is try to keep the school stable for a few more hours...”

“And you’re not even doing that,” Emily said. It was the sort of rudeness that would get her in trouble, in the classroom, but there was no time to be polite. She had the feeling that Professor Lombardi’s work was about as effective as kicking a computer that had frozen up. Satisfying, perhaps, but futile. “The corridors are still changing overhead.”

She forced herself to stand upright. “Professor,” she said, “let me try.”

“I can’t,” Professor Lombardi said. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Neither do you,” Emily said. She gazed past him, looking at the glowing columns. If the system was anything like the set-up in the nexus chamber, touching the column would give her access to the user interface. There was no point in trying to implant commands through the consoles if the underlying spellware was slowly breaking apart. “Let me try, please.”

Professor Lombardi shook his head. “I can’t take the risk...”

Emily blasted him, the force punch slamming straight into his protections and hurling him across the chamber. His protections held—she hurled a hex at Professor Jayne, although she doubted it would do more than slow her down for a few seconds—but he was out of her way, just long enough for her to hurl herself forward. It crossed her mind that she’d just assaulted two more tutors, that her expulsion hearing was going to be the shortest formality on record, but it hardly mattered. If they survived the next few hours, she could make her excuses and argue her case; if they didn’t, they were dead anyway.

I’m sorry, she thought, as her fingers made contact. Please...

She thrust her magic forward. The spellware opened up in front of her, a dazzlingly complex pattern of components that was slowly coming apart. There was a logic to it that surprised and pleased her at the same time, considering she’d seen far too many older spells that had idiosyncrasies that magicians had inserted to show off their power. As complex as it was, there was little wasted space. Everything had a purpose.

Gritting her teeth, she allowed her awareness to widen as she looked for the user interface, feeling her way through the network. The nexus point was a source of power, flaring so bright that she couldn’t directly look at it; the spellware itself was brilliantly logical, yet there was no user interface. It should have come when she looked for it, but it hadn’t... it was either already disabled or had never existed in the first place. She paused, trying to study the spellwork, then looked back at the nexus point. It was flaring...

A gaping emptiness at the heart of Whitehall, she recalled. A demon had given her those words, two years ago; a warning of a future that might be realized. There is a gaping emptiness at the heart of Whitehall.

And yet, she told herself firmly, there was no emptiness. The nexus point was there. She could feel it, even when she wasn’t looking at it; it felt like the sun on a warm day, beaming down from high overhead. It was just... there.

The nexus point exists in all moments of time, a voice said. She wasn’t quite sure where the voice was. It seemed to be all around her. It will always exist. It has always existed.

Emily started, blindly hunting around for the person who had spoken. Was someone else connected to the network? She couldn’t help thinking of how she’d heard Frieda... perhaps, deep inside, there were traces of soul magic within the spellware. But how was that possible? Gordian had lost his connection to the wards as soon as Professor Locke had hit the console, unless he’d lied about that. Had he had a long-term plan of his own? But somehow, she found it hard to believe. Gordian would have taken oaths of his own. He would have died if he’d deliberately compromised the school.

There was no sign of the speaker. She opened her mind as far as she dared, but sensed nothing apart from the spellware and the nexus point. Turning her attention to the spellware itself, she finally saw how it went together. It was complex, yet understandable if one stood far back and took in the whole. Professor Lombardi, she saw, had only tried to tinker with a very small section, heedless—and unaware—of how it related to the rest of the spellware, while Locke...

Professor Locke had touched the console and yanked control back from the Grandmaster, she thought, as more and more of the network revealed itself to her. No wonder the chamber was sealed. The Grandmaster could be overruled—or killed—by someone who sat down and started to type instructions into the system.

She scowled, mentally, as she saw the changes someone had made to the network, centuries ago. The Warden, to serve as a walking user interface; the Grandmaster’s connection, to allow him to issue orders to the wards. And the control room itself had been closed-off and forgotten, deliberately forgotten. It was quite possible that the various Grandmasters had known there was something under the school, but they’d just been warned not to meddle with it.

Gordian didn’t get the message, she thought, numbly. She’d been more impressed with Gordian over the last few days than she wanted to admit, at least outside the privacy of her own head. She found it hard to believe that he would deliberately endanger the school, even if his oaths allowed it. There was no warning for him—or he disregarded it.

She pushed the thought aside and traced the remaining connections through the network, marveling at just how well her concepts—concepts she’d barely begun to develop—had worked in practice. Whoever had crafted the spellware before her was a genius, a man who outshone her as the sun outshone the moon, but the idea was the same. Each separate component was held in place by at least two more, trapped within a network of pocket dimensions that bled off excess magic and rechanneled it back into the wards. It was easy to see, suddenly, why the gates had closed. Professor Locke had accidentally triggered an emergency function intended to protect the school.

And then Professor Lombardi compounded the error, Emily thought. She could see everything he’d done wrong, although by his standards he’d done everything right. He set off a cascade failure through the network.

Bracing herself, unsure just how much time had passed since she’d plunged her mind into the network, she carefully formulated replacement pieces of spellware for the damaged sections, then pushed them forward. It wouldn’t have been possible with a normal spell, she saw, but here it was just a matter of rebuilding the damaged sections piece by piece. Indeed, the whole system was designed to make it easy to repair the damage, as if the original designers had anticipated the need. But they’d assumed, she suspected, that whoever would try to modify the system in the future would know what they were doing. They’d never realized that their descendants would literally forget how the original spells had been cast.

Professor Lombardi’s hackwork snapped out of existence, as if it had never been. Her replacements fitted into the network, the spellware making a number of very tiny adjustments to account for differences between her spells and the original programming. She’d expected as much—both the Mimics and the Warden had a kind of intelligence—but it was still impressive to watch. Moments later, the entire system began slowly repairing itself, expanding back through the school network. Her mind recoiled from her sudden glimpse into just where some of the missing corridors had gone—the spellware didn’t seem designed to actually react to what it was doing—but at least they were there. Whitehall was damaged, badly damaged, yet the school was intact. It could be repaired.

Frieda might be alive after all, she thought. It was something to cling to, now the school was heading back to normal. That black hole might be something very different...

Emily sent her mind roaming through the network as it settled down, looking for the gates back to the outside world. They were odd, as if parts of Whitehall’s interior existed in a pocket dimension and other parts were part of the outside world, but the gates matched up as she’d expected. She felt a quiver running through the entire system—she wasn’t sure if it was physical or not—as the doorways reopened, allowing the staff and students to escape. It made her wonder just how many of them would want to return, even though it was safe again. If student enrollments had been reduced, sharply, after Shadye... what would happen if prospective students thought there was a very real risk of being trapped in Whitehall?

There was no list of authorized users, she thought, as she took one final look at the spellware governing the control room. No wonder the room was sealed off. Anyone who managed to get inside could take complete control of the school.

A thought struck her and she started to scan the school for the missing books, hoping she’d be able to locate them before the thief took them out of the school. But the moment she started to look, a force slammed through the spellware and threw her back into her own body, tossing her right across the room. She landed badly, banging her head against the far wall. Dazed, confused, her eyes hurting, she barely grasped what had happened before she felt a hand grab hold of her. It was hard, so hard, to think clearly. The combination of too much Kava, too little sleep and a blow to the head made her feel dizzy, as if she were about to throw up...

“Emily,” Professor Lombardi said. His voice echoed in her head, as if he were talking from a very far distance. She thought he was kneeling beside her, but she couldn’t be entirely sure of anything. “Emily, can you hear me?”

Emily’s entire body shuddered with pain. It was dark... no, her eyes were closed, tightly closed. She fought hard to open them, but the light outside was so bright that it felt as though someone was jamming needles into her eyes. Her gorge rose... she was barely aware of someone rolling her into the recovery position before she threw up everything in her stomach, then dry-retched so hard it was painful.

“Emily,” Professor Lombardi said. She remembered, suddenly, that she’d assaulted him—and that she was defenseless. If he wanted to hurt her, or kill her, he had every opportunity to do whatever he liked. She’d attacked a tutor! “Emily, I’m going to have to put you to sleep.”

Panic surged within Emily’s mind. Put her to sleep? More like kill her... she fought to open her eyes and stand upright, but her body refused to obey her. Her thoughts slid in all directions, as if she was badly concussed. Perhaps she was; she’d banged her head, the throbbing a constant reminder that she might be very badly hurt. Her magic seemed to slip and slide around her, refusing to come when she called. It was mocking her...

And then, almost gratefully, she fell straight into the darkness.

Chapter Forty

“EMILY,” A VOICE SAID, AS EMILY fought her way up from the darkness. “Emily, can you hear me?”

Emily nodded. Her eyes still hurt, but at least she could open them and peer up at Madame Kyla. The Healer was bending over her bed, waving a wand over Emily’s chest. Behind her, Emily could see Melissa and Frieda, the latter looking tired. A surge of relief ran through her and she tried to sit up, only to discover that someone had wrapped cloth restraints around her wrists and ankles. She was trapped.

“Lie still for the moment,” Madame Kyla ordered. “You thrashed around quite badly over the last two days.”

She frowned as she pulled the wand away from Emily. “How do you feel?”

Emily hesitated. “Like I’ve been beaten half to death,” she said, morbidly. Her entire body ached, while her head felt as if it were full of cotton wool. “What happened?”

“You saved us all,” Frieda said. She gave Emily a brilliant smile. “I knew you could do it.”

“More or less,” Madame Kyla said, giving Frieda a sharp look. “I believe the Grandmaster wishes to speak with you as soon as you are awake, then that young man of yours has been trying to sneak in here.”

Emily swallowed. Her memories were hazy, but she was sure of one thing. She’d assaulted three tutors. If Gordian wanted to expel her, he could. She’d made certain of that when she’d committed herself. She wondered, absently, if she was restrained to keep her in place, although that felt absurd. It would have been easy for Madame Kyla to keep her sedated until Gordian made his decision.

“I know,” she said. Madame Kyla held a bottle of water to Emily’s lips and let her sip it. “I... can I sit up?”

“If you feel you can,” Madame Kyla said. She snapped her fingers and the restraints unwrapped themselves. “I expect you to lie back down at once if you feel the merest discomfort.”

Emily nodded, then glanced at Frieda. “How long was I out?”

“Five days,” Frieda said. “I’ve been waiting here all that time.”

“Except when you went to eat,” Melissa said. She smirked as Frieda glowered at her. “We got emergency shipments of food from Dragon’s Den.”

Emily nodded. Oddly, the more she moved, the better she felt. Frieda stood beside her and talked about what she’d seen while she’d been trapped, then helped Emily to swing her legs over the side of the bed and stand. Her legs felt a little wobbly at first, as if she’d forgotten how to walk properly, but it wasn’t long before she was striding up and down the chamber confidently. Melissa clapped, rather sarcastically, as soon as Emily finished her first walk around the room.

“I advise you to be careful for the next few days,” Madame Kyla said, once she checked Emily’s condition for the second time. “You do seem to have a habit of ending up here, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Emily muttered.

“Frieda will escort you to the Grandmaster’s office,” Madame Kyla said, briskly. “I’ll be checking up on you tomorrow, again, so be careful.”

Emily nodded, feeling cold ice settling in her stomach. Gordian was going to be furious, and perhaps a little pleased too. The school had been saved... and he could expel his most troublesome student. It wasn’t as if anyone could argue that she hadn’t assaulted three tutors. Hell, they’d say that she was getting off lightly for what she’d done.

“Thank you,” she said, sincerely.

“I believe we should be thanking you,” Madame Kyla said. “Good luck.”

Caleb waited outside, looking worried. He swept Emily up into a hug as soon as he saw her, holding her tightly. Emily leaned against him for a long moment, feeling weaker than she cared to admit, then allowed him to help her down the stairwell to the Grandmaster’s office. The walls had returned to normal, but the floors were covered in debris. It would be weeks, even with every tutor and student working 24/7, before the school returned to something resembling normal. She could feel the wards, thrumming in the background, as they stopped outside the office. Caleb and Frieda wouldn’t be allowed to accompany her further.

“We’ll wait for you,” Caleb said.

Emily smiled, rather sadly, then knocked on the door. It opened at once, revealing that the doorway to the Grandmaster’s inner office was also open. There was no sign of Madame Griselda. Emily took a moment to gather herself, then strode forward into Gordian’s office and closed the door behind her. Gordian sat behind his desk, his hands folded neatly in front of him; he nodded toward a chair placed in front of his desk. Emily sat, surprised by the consideration. She’d expected to be forced to stand, even though she doubted she could have remained upright for long.

“Emily,” Gordian said. “What am I going to do with you?”

Emily said nothing. She doubted she could say anything that would influence his judgement one way or the other, even if she hadn’t been tired and worn. Madame Kyla and Melissa had forced her to drink a number of foul-tasting brews, but she knew the only real cure for what ailed her was sleep. And sleep wasn’t going to come quickly.

“On one hand, you saved the school,” Gordian said. “And on the other, you attacked three tutors. If we hadn’t found evidence that Professor Locke intended to cast a torture spell on you, Emily, we would be having a very different conversation.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily whispered.

“Professor Lombardi and Professor Jayne have forsaken their right of vengeance,” Gordian added, after a long moment. His lips quirked. “They could hardly do otherwise, given that you are a student and they are experienced tutors. Explaining that you managed to get past them would prove very embarrassing.”

He smiled, rather thinly. “Not that you won’t be paying a price for it, of course.”

Emily nodded. The rules that had forced Master Grey to manipulate her into challenging him, instead of the other way round, would keep both of the professors from seeking revenge, but she suspected she’d be hammered with punishment exercises and detentions for the rest of term. Gordian would probably look the other way, as long as matters didn’t get out of hand. She just hoped that the rest of the school didn’t know the exact details.

“Professor Locke is currently in the Halfway House,” Gordian added. “The... curse he intended to cast on you, the curse that exploded in his face, did a considerable amount of damage to his health. It is unlikely that he will survive, let alone recover.”

Emily winced. She couldn’t have let him torture her, but she hadn’t meant to inflict permanent harm. And yet, he’d been the one who’d cast the torture curse. It wouldn’t have broken through his protections if he hadn’t been the one who’d cast it.

“And that leaves me with a question,” Gordian said. “What am I going to do with you?”

Emily met his eyes. “I saved the school.”

“You did,” Gordian agreed. “And I cannot really blame you for causing the disaster.”

“No, sir,” Emily said.

“On the other hand, you did assault two tutors without provocation,” Gordian added. “There are grounds to expel you, Emily.”

“I know,” Emily said. The bastard was dragging it out, deliberately. She just wanted to get it over with. “Are you going to?”

“I don’t think so,” Gordian said. He gave her a thin smile. “Personally, I believe that your actions make up for your crimes. This time. The exact details of what happened are unknown to the student body, so there is no need to make an example of you. Still”—he looked pained—“you will remain a probationary student for the moment.”

Emily nodded. It was the best she could have expected.

“Go back to your bedroom and get some rest,” Gordian ordered. “Your roommate has already been reassigned to another room, at least for the next few days. I’ll have a tray of food sent to your room, later.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, surprised.

She paused. “There was something else, sir.”

Gordian lifted his eyebrows, waiting.

“I was thrown out of the network when I tried to scan for the books,” Emily said. “Whoever took them knew how to use the network too.”

“Worrying,” Gordian said. “The control room is currently sealed and we’re checking every trunk taken out of the castle. They have to be somewhere within the building.”

He shrugged. “That isn’t your problem,” he added. “Go get some rest. Report to Master Tor when you feel up to going back to work.”

Emily nodded, rose and walked through the door. There was still no sign of the Grandmaster’s secretary as she passed through the outer office and into the corridor. Caleb waited for her, but Frieda was missing.

“Sergeant Miles demanded she help him clean up the mess,” Caleb said, as she took his hand. “Where do you want to go?”

“My bedroom,” Emily said. She felt grimy, even though someone had changed her clothes and wiped her down while she’d slept. “Are the showers working?”

“They are,” Caleb confirmed. He helped her up the stairs, passing a small pile of broken and discarded paintings. “You should rest, though.”

“I know,” Emily said. A wicked thought struck her. “Would you like to join me? I mean...”

Her face reddened. “I mean, share a bed,” she added. “Just... sleeping together.”

Caleb looked astonished. “If you’ll let me,” he said, finally. “Will you?”

Emily nodded, firmly, as they reached her room. Her trunk was on the far side of the chamber, for no apparent reason, but the rest of the room seemed intact. She scooped up a nightgown—one of the heavier ones she’d purchased, rather than the silken gowns Queen Marlena kept sending her—and hurried into the bathroom while Caleb sat on the bed. What had she agreed to do? She’d never shared a bed with anyone before, save Alassa. And she wouldn’t have done that if the Princess hadn’t just survived an assassination attempt.

And it isn’t uncommon for girls to share beds—boys, too—without there being anything sexual about it, she thought, as she lingered under the warm water. It was easy to forget how wonderful hot running water was until one no longer had it. But this is different.

She dried herself, then pulled the heavy nightgown over her head and walked back into the bedroom. Caleb had removed his shoes and transfigured his robe into a long nightshirt, his bare knees visible to her gaze. Emily tensed, then forced herself to walk to the bed. It struck her, a moment too late, that the bed was really too small for both of them, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Just hold me,” she said, as she settled down next to him. It felt odd to have a warm body pressed against her, with her body torn between enjoyment and panic. “Please.”

“I will,” Caleb said. She felt him kiss the back of her neck as sleep overcame her. “I love you...”

Her eyes snapped open. It was dark, save for a faint lunar glow from the window. Caleb slept next to her, snoring gently. His arm was wrapped around her, touching the underside of her breasts. It was odd, she thought, that she felt so comfortable, even though physical intimacy scared her. She didn’t want to move away...

And then she felt a call, pulling at her.

She shifted Caleb’s arm gingerly, somehow aware she didn’t want to wake him. The call grew stronger; behind it, she heard the thrumming of the nexus point. It crossed her mind, as she pulled on her slippers and headed for the door, that something was very wrong, but she felt nothing. The door opened and she stepped out into the corridor, moving in a daze as if sleepwalking towards the door back into the school. It felt almost as if she were watching herself from a far distance, her body no longer under her control. And yet she felt no trace of alarm.

This is wrong, she told herself, as she picked her way down the stairwell. The very dulling of her emotions was wrong. She knew, at some level, that she was being controlled, that someone was manipulating her body, but she found it hard to care. This is wrong...

The gates to the nexus chamber loomed up in front of her, the hexes that had guarded them no longer present. She wafted down the corridor, trying hard to keep her feet from moving any further, but it was futile. The nexus point itself unfolded in front of her, a shimmering haze that seemed both infinitely huge and infinitely small. Her mind refused to grasp what she was seeing, even as her feet carried her towards the nexus...

No, she thought, desperately. Her thoughts cleared, long enough for her to panic; the shock snapped the spell controlling her body. NO!

Emily stumbled, nearly falling over before she caught herself. The call was gone, yet the nexus point was still in front of her. It was hard to tear her gaze away from the shimmering magic, even though it made her head hurt. The power ebbed and flowed in directions she couldn’t even begin to grasp. There was something about it utterly beyond her comprehension. She started to turn, intending to walk away...

Something moved behind her. She had no time to react before she felt a shove, pitching her forward into the nexus point. And she fell.

A jagged set of impressions assaulted her mind. She was falling downwards, the world spinning around her. Something scratched at the edge of reality, demanding entrance; she was suddenly aware, very aware, of necromancer-red eyes peering at her. And yet, there was something about them that told her a necromancer would be preferable. She felt naked, horribly violated, merely by meeting their gaze. They were utterly inhuman...

... Creatures scuttled past her, their forms so hard for her to grasp that she was barely even aware they were there. Her mind recoiled, refusing to look at them; she tried to close her eyes, but she couldn’t move a muscle. She wanted to scream as she felt them running over her body. Her fall seemed to pick up speed, yet... yet she thought, in some way, that she hadn’t moved at all. She wanted to scream as the nexus point billowed around her, brilliant white light burning into her eyeballs...

... And then she landed on cold stone.

Someone shouted in surprise, but she barely heard them. All that mattered was the torrent of power behind her, the torrent of power and the handful of spells that were trying to gain control of the nexus point. It was a ritual, like the one Gordian had made her do, yet it was failing. The nexus point was about to discharge enough energy that the survivors, if there were any survivors, would envy the dead. Instinctively, she reached out to add her power to the ritual, showing the casters how to keep the nexus under control. The nexus point drew back, just long enough for the sorcerers to slam spell after spell into place.

And then, the room was suddenly very quiet.

Emily knelt, blinking desperately. Her eyes hurt, the afterimage so bright that she could barely see. But she could hear men in the chamber, men talking in a language she didn’t recognize. She managed to cast a translation spell, despite the pain, as she heard the sound of echoing footsteps approaching her. Someone was right in front of her...

Somehow, she managed to speak. “Who... who are you?”

“I am Lord and Master Whitehall,” the man said, gravely. “Who are you?

End of Book Nine

Emily Will Be Back (In Time) In

Past Tense

Coming Soon

Afterword

This probably requires some explanation—and an apology.

As a reader, I have grown to detest books that are really nothing more than oversized chapters; Game of Thrones, Wheel of Time, Safehold, etc. I feel they are unfair to readers, who are constantly promised a payoff that never truly materializes. That’s why I have worked hard to make sure that my series books are separate stories in their own right, even though they fit into an overall story arc.

Infinite Regress/Past Tense is the first exception.

When I drew up the plot, it became clear that it couldn’t fit into a single normal-sized Schooled in Magic book. One half of the plot would be overwhelmed by the other half, depriving my readers. Therefore, I decided to split the plot into two books, which would allow me to explore other aspects of the new Status Quo. By way of compensation, I intend to write Book Ten next month.

Thank you for reading!

Chris

Appendix: Education in The Allied Lands

Education within the Allied Lands is profoundly different from the current generation of education on Earth. Almost all of it is strongly practical, rather than theoretical; the students may not want to work, but their parents demand results. Given that most education is costly, certainly by the standards of the average freeman, most teachers are happy to comply.

Students are expected to work hard, but also to find their own motivation. Tutors will not hesitate to fail a student who fails to show up, repeatedly, for lessons or is unable or unwilling to do the work. In that case, the tutors are free to pocket the fees. While tutors are regularly authorized to distribute corporal punishment at will, this is normally only used in cases of blatant disobedience or deliberate mischief. A tutor cannot be blamed, legally, for refusing to teach a student who does not want to learn.

There are no qualifications within the Allied Lands for teaching, in and of itself. Tutors are expected to demonstrate competence within the field, then supervised during their first few months in a classroom. The Allied Lands feel that a tutor is not qualified to teach unless he’s worked with the subject matter himself. Tutors who do not produce results—by their students passing practical exams—are not stripped of their titles (there’s no authority to do the stripping) but they find it impossible to gain posts as word spreads.

The Allied Lands divides education into three categories: basic, vocational and magical, which is in a class of its own.

Basic education consists of practical lessons in reading (short form), writing (short form) and basic arithmetic. A number of schools do exist in the bigger towns and cities, but the vast majority of such lessons come from traveling tutors (girls very rarely attend mundane schools, certainly outside the largest city-states) who are hired to give lessons to boys and girls. Some tutors do handle more advanced subjects—music and suchlike—but such lessons are normally well outside a freeman’s price range.

Most kingdoms will issue a certificate (the “cert”) to any student who sits for and passes a practical exam, although this is of questionable value. Mostly, the Allied Lands look for competence rather than paperwork.

It is unusual (where it isn’t forbidden) for the children of peasants, serfs and slaves to be educated. Indeed, many freemen feel that the cost of educating their children is too high... particularly when they fear it might give their children airs above their station.

As a general rule, students selected for magical education—where they weren’t already educated—will receive six months to a year of basic education, paid for by their school’s funds.

Vocational education covers specific training to hold down a job and ranges from skills like advanced reading and writing (the scribes), advanced arithmetic (the accountants) to craftsmanship (blacksmiths, carpenters, etc.) These are either offered by schools run by the guilds—places are normally offered to the children of guildsmen, although some guilds do offer scholarships—or offered by a master who is looking for an apprentice. In the case of the latter, the apprentice works for the master while gaining a practical education and the eventual right to claim a cert.

If a student is passed by his (or, very rarely, her) master, he will be given a cert signed by the master. The cert’s value often depends on just how respected the master is. A student at one of the guildhouses will be tested by his superiors, then issued a cert. If he does not receive his cert, he cannot take up a place in the guild. (In theory, a cert cannot be revoked; in practice, the guild can often prevent someone in bad grace from finding employment.)

A cert from one kingdom is rarely useful in another.

Magical education is a little more complex.

Prospective students either come from known magical bloodlines (like Melissa), are taken to be tested by their parents (like Imaiqah) or are identified by traveling magicians (like Frieda). Once discovered, a student will be assigned a place at one of the five major magical schools—Whitehall, Mountaintop, Stronghold, Laughter and [classified]—and offered basic education, if they haven’t received it already. Certain unusually strong students—or ones in unpleasant or unwelcoming homes—are offered the chance to enroll at once, but mostly students travel to the school towards the end of summer.

Save for Stronghold, which concentrates on combat-related magic, all of the schools follow the same basic pattern. First year provides an introduction to magic, as well as background details on magical society. Second year allows the students to take additional classes and discover their particular interests. Third and fourth years consist of the preparation for the first set of exams, after which the students can call themselves certified magicians. Fifth and sixth years consist of secondary exams in preparation for an apprenticeship, although a handful of students choose not to find (or are unable to find) a master.

Students who choose to advance to fifth and sixth years (and then to an apprenticeship) are expected to swear oaths to their school and to the Allied Lands as a whole. These oaths impose obligations on both parties; a student may not turn against the Allied Lands, but the school may not arbitrarily expel them or otherwise tinker with their education. They must also be released from the oaths if they leave the school (save for Healers, who are permanently bound by their oaths).

The master/apprentice relationship in studying magic is very similar to the relationship in vocational education; the apprentice works for the master in exchange for further education and practical training. However, the oaths binding the pair cast a long shadow over the arrangement. A student effectively takes the master as a parent (with all the rights and responsibilities) and contains to have a parent-child relationship even after the apprenticeship formally concludes. The master is expected to do his/her level best to ensure the student graduates, but must release the student if he/she is unable to do the work or simply does not enjoy a good rapport with the master.

Once the master believes the apprentice is genuinely ready to earn the mastery, he/she will take the apprentice to be tested by a number of other masters. An apprentice who passes will be released from most of the apprenticeship oaths (the main exception is the secrecy oath, binding them not to share any secrets that belong solely to their master) and earn the right to call himself “master,” as well as take his own apprentices (although it is common for the new master to wait a few years before taking any students of his/her own). It is unusual for an apprentice to fail as the oaths prevent masters from putting their students forward ahead of time.

The term “master” is not sex-specific. A female magician can call herself a “master.”

Overall exams in magic are conducted by the White Council, which ensures a degree of uniformity amongst the different schools. (Exams can also be taken by students who received private tutoring; the student merely needs to show up on exam day, regardless of his or her prior history). The exams are almost always thoroughly practical, putting students in positions where they have to use their magic; cheating is extremely difficult and largely regarded as impossible. (Although someone who did come up with a new way to cheat might earn a great deal of respect).

Outside exams, the five schools have a great deal of leeway in how they can approach education. Whitehall, for example, insists that its students carry out a joint project in third-fourth year, putting forward a proposal in third year and actually carrying it out in fourth. A particularly interesting project may well be carried over into fifth or sixth year. Mountaintop, by contrast, does not consider the joint project to be mandatory, although students may carry out one for extra credit if they wish.

Schools also vary considerably in their approach to discipline. Mostly, however, a student who does not find himself motivated to learn will be failed, eventually, when he cannot pass his exams. (A failure will generally force the student to re-sit the year, but a particularly bad failure means expulsion.) A student who does not attend classes regularly may be banned from the classroom by the tutor (although he will still be permitted to take the exams). Students who disrupt class, prevent other students from attending class, use forbidden prank spells or torment non-magical staff will face punishment.

In Whitehall, students can be only expelled for a handful of offenses, including bullying younger students, dating students more than a year above or below them, seriously harming or killing their fellow students or studying forbidden magic. Stronghold adds striking tutors to the list of expulsion offenses. Once expelled, a student may be able to apply to another magical school. However, as the school will make inquiries first, this happens very rarely (and almost always when the student has powerful connections).

About the author

Christopher G. Nuttall was born in Edinburgh, studied in Manchester, married in Malaysia and currently living in Scotland, United Kingdom with his wife and baby son. He is the author of twenty novels from various publishers and thirty-nine self-published novels.

Current and forthcoming titles published by Twilight Times Books

Schooled in Magic YA fantasy series

Schooled in Magic — book 1

Lessons in Etiquette — book 2

A Study in Slaughter — book 3

Work Experience — book 4

The School of Hard Knocks — book 5

Love’s Labor’s Won — book 6

Trial By Fire — book 7

Wedding Hells — book 8

Infinite Regress — book 9

Past Tense — book 10 (forthcoming 2016)

The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire military SF series

Barbarians at the Gates — book 1

The Shadow of Cincinnatus — book 2

The Barbarian Bride — book 3

Chris has also produced The Empire’s Corps series, the Outside Context Problem series and many others. He is also responsible for two fan-made Posleen novels, both set in John Ringo’s famous Posleen universe. They can both be downloaded from his site.

Website: http://www.chrishanger.net/

Blog: http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Afterword

Appendix: Education in The Allied Lands