by Nix, Garth
Somewhere along the way, Elinor told Sarge of her ambition to go into the Old Kingdom and was immediately dragooned into individual classes to help her improve her swordplay, particularly to overcome her tendency to default to the showier, theatrical techniques. She was already a fine archer, but Sarge helped her with shooting multiple times fast, and targeting weak spots in armor or hide. Though she did not have the mark, and did not talk about it, Elinor got the impression that Sargraya might have visited the Old Kingdom. She certainly did not discount its dangers.
Apart from her quickly all-consuming work, Elinor found her new living arrangements not markedly different from what they had been at Coldhallow House. There was a row of houses for the teachers behind the main school building. She shared one of these with two other teachers’ assistants, both of them much older and set in their ways. She ate her meals in the junior staff room, her place allocated and changed weekly by some unknown formula. It may have been intended to help the junior staff mix, but it did not help Elinor. She was well aware that news and gossip moved mysteriously but swiftly in the school, and she was not only an unknown newcomer but also one who had the Charter mark but was not welcomed by Mrs. Tallowe.
Nor was she allowed to make friends with the students. This had been drummed into her by every teacher, that she could not earn and keep their respect if she was too friendly. Even though she was only a year older than the Sixth Formers, she must act as if there was a great void of years between them.
“Otherwise they will take advantage,” said Madame Lancier knowingly. Sarge more bluntly on a separate occasion said, “The girls can be very cruel, and most consider the teachers as a form of common enemy, yourself included.”
It was very hard to remember this advice, particularly as Elinor liked most of the students she worked with, and she enjoyed their company working on the play. She particularly liked Corinna, and had felt an unusual sense of kinship for her, something that was explained when they were alone late one evening practicing the very difficult bushel of apples, bottle of wine, and loaf of bread in the coracle scene, where the Fool had to paddle the coracle, drink from the wine, eat the bread, and catch spilling apples while rowing across to the island bower where the Prince awaited Lady Heartsease, only to be told by the Fool she’d gone to the other island.
The coracle, for this performance, was a papier-mâché construction on a wheeled platform that would be drawn across the stage behind an illusion of the sea, created by sawing backward and forth three lines of waves. Moving the waves and the coracle would require a grand total of nine stagehands according to the plan devised by Elinor and Madame Lancier, but that was all to come. Tonight, the coracle sat in the middle of the gymnasium, surrounded by padded mats for the inevitable stumbles and falls.
Elinor was helping Corinna practice juggling the short paddle, the bottle, the bread, and an apple, kneeling and then standing up in the coracle. While juggling, the Fool delivered a soliloquy on why she shouldn’t drink the Prince’s wine, or eat his bread, or his apple, or misdirect Lady Heartsease, all of which she was doing. Corinna had learned the lines, but she couldn’t yet manage the very difficult juggle and talk at the same time.
“You make it look easy!” protested Corinna, dropping the apple and then the paddle. Attempting to catch them, she fell over the side of the coracle with the ominous sound of torn papier-mâché and a thump as she hit the mats. “Gosh! I’ve busted it!”
“Are you all right?” asked Elinor, hurrying to help her up. As she pulled the taller girl up, she saw her beret had slipped back, revealing a Charter mark, glowing in the dim light. “Don’t worry about the coracle, it’ll be easy to patch up.”
“I’m . . . I’m fine . . .” faltered Corinna, seeing Elinor’s surprised stare. She tugged her beret back down. “I hope you’re not one of the people who—”
“No!” exclaimed Elinor. She pushed back her own scarf, worn as a bandanna. The students had to wear the rather ugly uniform berets inside, and straw hats outside. Many of the teachers adopted similar if less uniform headgear. But everyone seemed to take Elinor’s own bandanna as a suitably theatrical affectation.
“Oh!” exclaimed Corinna. She scratched her ear and hesitated. “Er, my parents insist, if I meet someone who has the mark . . .”
“We must both check our marks are uncorrupted,” said Elinor. “Yes, I know.”
They both reached out, and touched their forehead marks at the same time. Elinor smiled as she felt the Charter wash over her, a welcome experience even if it was not the all-consuming rush she’d felt when she’d first touched Terciel’s mark. It was also a sharp reminder of her plan to go to the Old Kingdom. She wanted to fall into the Charter again, to learn how to do magic properly . . . the school was lovely, but she had to be careful not to get too accustomed to it. The Old Kingdom beckoned to her.
“That’s all right, then,” said Corinna with relief, pulling back her hand and pulling her beret down again. “Are you going to teach us magic instead of Mrs. Tallowe?”
“No,” replied Elinor, surprised. “I had hoped to learn from her myself, but she wasn’t interested.”
It was Corinna’s turn to be surprised.
“I thought you must be from the Old Kingdom! Your mark feels very strong.”
“No,” said Elinor. “Though my grandmother came from there. I didn’t even know what the Charter was a few months ago. My mother always told me the mark was a hideous scar.”
“Really?” exclaimed Corinna. “I guess there is a lot of prejudice and stupid talk. From Southerners, I mean.”
“Are you from the Old Kingdom yourself?” asked Elinor awkwardly. She was uncomfortably aware that this was the sort of personal question she was not supposed to ask the students.
“Oh, no. But we live . . . my family has a farm only six miles from the Wall,” said Corinna. “We all have the mark, and learn Charter Magic. At least, my brother and sister learned quite a lot and I’m supposed to, but it’s a bit hard when your teacher hasn’t got a clue . . .”
She stopped and put her hand over her mouth, and then mumbled through her fingers, “Sorry, Miss Hallett. I momentarily forgot myself.”
Elinor frowned, but couldn’t stop herself continuing the conversation.
“You mean Magistrix Tallowe?”
“Yes . . . no . . . I won’t get in trouble for badmouthing a teacher?”
“No,” said Elinor, aware she was making a decision that might have very negative consequences. But she needed to know. “Tell me.”
“Tallowe’s a terrible Charter Mage. She’s afraid of the Charter, I think. All we ever do in class is practice the same safe, basic things over and over again. Nothing very useful. I mean, I know more spells than Tallowe has ever shown us!”
“I asked her to teach me,” said Elinor ruefully. “I wondered why she was so hostile. I didn’t even think it might be because she doesn’t want to teach magic at all. We’re even some sort of cousins, of an Old Kingdom family, but she wouldn’t help.”
“She shouldn’t be called Magistrix,” said Corinna. “The old one, Mrs. Nestor, she was wonderful. Nestor taught my oldest sister, but she retired, too soon. Tallowe doesn’t even look after the message-hawks properly. Hazra has to do it for her.”
“Hazra Callot? She’s in my backstage crew. Is she one of the girls who are learning magic?” asked Elinor. “How many of you are there?”
“I guess there’s about sixteen of us who are supposed to be in magic classes—I mean, our parents pay for it. But since Tallowe’s been so useless, most of the Sixth Formers skip it. Tallowe never reports anyone. We’re not supposed to talk about it anyway, so I guess it’s easy for her to get away with not teaching. I mean, obviously since you’ve got the mark, we can talk, but not . . .”
“I wish it was talked about,” said Elinor. “It would have made a great difference to me. Anyway, we should get on with this practice. You’re doing very well with the paddle and the apple, Corinna.”
“I know!” laughed Elinor. “But very wisely, every part must be played by a student.”
They practiced in silence for some time, Elinor adjusting Corinna’s stance and giving her tips. When they stopped again to let Corinna take a breather, the student shyly said, “You know, Miss Hallett . . . even though Tallowe doesn’t teach us anything useful, we . . . the senior students . . . we sort of have our own lessons. Independently. I mean we practice, and Hazra has a family grimoire. You could come along, too.”
“It might get all of us in trouble,” said Elinor. Then, somewhat wistfully, “What’s a grim-wah?”
“A book of spells,” said Corinna. “There’s a way to write down Charter marks, or the most common ones anyway. Obviously there’s too many in general. You should come. I mean, if you really want to learn magic.”
“Mmm,” said Elinor, trying to sound as noncommittal as possible. Inside, she felt an almost irresistible urge to shout “yes, please” and “let’s start at once.”
“We meet every Thursday, after second prep,” said Corinna. “Tallowe plays bezique with Miss Amarand every Thursday night, and she never goes to the magic room out of the official class time anyway.”
“The magic room?”
“We call it that,” said Corinna. “It’s a kind of old cellar. There’s stairs down from the East Tower basement. It’s kept locked, but we have keys. It’s safe if anything goes wrong. Or safer, anyway.”
“Safer . . . what do you mean?”
“Oh, every magistrix—except Tallowe, of course, ’cos she’s useless—set spells of warding and so on in the place,” said Corinna. “Some of the old ones have worn out, but there are plenty still working. They’re interesting spells, though beyond anything any of us know.”
Elinor nodded thoughtfully, picked up the paddle, and handed it to Corinna.
“We’d better get back to it.”
“So you’ll come along?” asked Corinna.
“We’ll see,” said Elinor. “Now, put the paddle in your left hand and take up one apple. That’s it, have the basket by your knee. That’s it. Go!”
Elinor slept badly that night, wondering what she should do, the temptation of magic classes constantly intruding in her thoughts and behind that the lure of the Old Kingdom. This was exacerbated in the morning, when a letter came for her, an official communication in a red-striped envelope, with the “O.T.A.S.” for “On the Arbiter’s Service” stamp in the top left corner. It was a reply to an inquiry she’d sent on her first day at the school, as advised by Dr. Bannow, the necessary first step to entering the Old Kingdom.
Dear Miss Hallett,
Re: Miss Elinor Hallett File 026/845
Your application to pass the Border as defined by the Geographical Limitations (Northern Ancelstierre) Act of 1747 has been approved, subject to the approval of the Officer Commanding Fort Entrance at the time of your travel. This letter must be presented and be countersigned by OC(FE) before onward travel or you may not be permitted to reenter the Commonwealth.
You also must present OC(FE) with proof of permission to enter our neighboring state, typically a letter of passage from the appropriate authority.
A receipt for your application fee of £1.3.6 is enclosed.
I remain yr obedient servant
[an indecipherable signature in purple ink]
Assistant to the Second Personal Secretary (Adjustment)
Chief Minister’s Office
Corvere
Elinor read the letter after breakfast, in the half hour she had before first lesson, which that morning for her meant attending a full run-through rehearsal in the Great Hall. She’d been looking forward to this, because the Great Hall was the closest to a real theater she’d ever been in, though the actual stage was still to be built, and it wouldn’t be constructed at the western end until closer to the opening night, on Midwinter’s Eve.
But even without the stage, the vast hall with its high ceiling and wonderful acoustics was thrilling, and it was going to be the first complete rehearsal where the play would be eventually performed, albeit without final costumes and most of the technical stagecraft like the moving coracle and so forth.
She managed to forget the letter and what it meant in the intense rehearsal, with everyone involved forgoing a proper lunch and making do with sandwiches brought in by several disgruntled servants, a rare concession to the usual routine of the school.
It wasn’t until Madame Lancier clapped her hands and dismissed everyone at five o’clock that Elinor’s mind turned once again to the Old Kingdom. She hurried to her room to sit on the end of her bed, and forced herself into the inward focus taught to her by Ham, fighting back the relentless intrusion of memories. Mrs. Watkins tumbling down under the Dead, Ham thrown backward, slain in a single terrible moment. But she could make these memories subside only so far. They were always there, and she supposed they always would be, and she had to overcome them somehow or perhaps simply hold out long enough that they would begin to fade.
She did press them back far enough to clear her mind to think about the big question that faced her. Should she really leave this new life at the school for the uncertainties and dangers of the Old Kingdom? It was true she felt an incredible yearning to connect more strongly to the Charter. In part she knew that this was because it offered her peace, a refuge from what had happened, and as Mrs. Watkins always said, wanting something didn’t necessarily mean it would be good for you. Against that, Ham had argued that enjoying something was not a sin, and a passion for something was energy to be exploited, not thwarted.
Nothing needed to be decided soon, Elinor thought. She was only employed until the play finished its run, some eight weeks away. She thought there was a reasonable chance Madame Lancier or the Sarge or both together would want her to stay on, and Professor Kinrosh continued to be kind and supportive whenever Elinor crossed paths with her, which was not often, the headmistress having many duties.
But now she had the letter allowing her to leave Ancelstierre, it was a reminder she needed the other side sorted out as well. As the Assistant to the Second Personal Secretary said, “a letter of passage from the appropriate authority,” which meant, Dr. Bannow had told her, a letter from the Regent in Belisaere; or one from the Abhorsen; or one from the Clayr, who Bannow didn’t really know anything about.
Elinor wondered why the Ancelstierran letter didn’t refer to the Old Kingdom, or Belisaere, or use any actual names. It was probably part of the official pretense that there was nothing of importance to the north, the denial of magic and so on, but it was even more odd in an official document.
Seeking such a letter from the Old Kingdom meant sending a message-hawk, which in turn meant getting Mrs. Tallowe to do it. Or, Elinor supposed, sending a telegram from the nearest post office, which in practice meant the postal alcove at Wyverley Halt. But would Mrs. Tallowe even send it on, if Elinor’s name was on it? She never spoke to Elinor at all, and would look the other way if they happened to pass each other in a corridor, or were in the common room at the same time.
Then there was the tantalizing possibility raised by Corinna, who had mentioned Hazra was the one who actually looked after the message-hawks. Perhaps she knew how to send one as well? Elinor wasn’t sure how message-hawks worked, but it might be an alternative.
Amid all of this thinking, Elinor’s mind kept circling back to the central question. Whether she went to the Old Kingdom or not, she could learn Charter Magic from Corinna and her friends. But if she joined them, it would be against the rules, even if not written-down ones, and would put her employment in jeopardy . . .
Elinor sighed and scratched her head, her hand unconsciously trailing down so her fingers rested against her Charter mark. Professor Kinrosh had given her a wonderful chance. What would she think about Elinor sneaking off to join a group of students who were learn
ing magic without a teacher?
Mrs. Watkins would tell her not to go, Elinor knew. But she thought Ham would say she should. She missed them both terribly, and for the thousandth time fought back tears.
They were gone. She had to decide for herself.
It was Wednesday. Tomorrow night Corinna and her companions would be gathering in the magic room. Elinor had already gone and looked at the locked door at the foot of the tower. Several times. If she went through it, there would be no going back, and the unexpected haven of Wyverley College might be lost to her forever.
Through Wednesday night and Thursday the decision weighed upon her. She vacillated one way and another, but through it all, had the uncomfortable feeling that she would be unable to resist the temptation. Several times during their practice in the afternoon she thought Corinna was looking at her strangely, and some of the other girls she’d never paid particular attention to also seemed to be watching.
She started to wonder if it was all a schoolgirl prank, that Corinna was setting her up for something, that Madame Lancier and the Sarge were right. Against that, Elinor had felt the true Charter within Corinna, and did not doubt what she had said about Mrs. Tallowe—that all rang true.
When the bell tolled in the Scholars’ Tower to mark the end of second prep, followed a few seconds later by the clock in the West Tower chiming nine times for the hour, Elinor went to the magic room, knocked on the door, and when it was opened, went in.
Chapter Twelve
Tizanael was absent for almost three weeks, or rather Terciel kept missing her. He was fairly sure she was sleeping in her bedroom, but not for long, going to it after he was in bed, and rising before he got up. Whatever she was up to, it did not coincide with regular mealtimes or the schedule they normally followed when they were at the House. Nor could he find her in any of the usual places.
Puzzled by this, he searched all over for her without success, eventually concluding she must be somewhere below, in the subterranean levels she had not yet seen fit to share with Terciel. He knew two ways she might have entered this underworld, though there were probably more: a trapdoor in the kitchen storeroom that was spelled shut beyond his ability to open (and he didn’t even dare try); and a slanted door with strange silver hinges like spreading tree roots, in the cellar of the cottage known as Yezael’s shed on the south of the island. But this, too, was barred with strong spells, most of the marks unknown to Terciel.
