Infinite Regress

(Schooled in Magic IX)

Christopher G. Nuttall

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.
First Edition, July 2016
Cover art by Brad Fraunfelter

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
About the author

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 to 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 centimetre 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.”

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