Emily nodded, wordlessly.
“Master Tor seems to be really mad at you,” Aloha added. “He wasn’t so bad to me last year, even when I messed up an essay. I just had to redo it and then look up various examples to justify my case.”
“Wonderful,” Emily muttered. “It’s political.”
“I hate politics,” Aloha commented.
“No...ah, combat sorceress can afford to be a virgin where politics are concerned,” Emily misquoted. Trying to explain the origin of the quote would be a waste of time. “Politics is the root of wars.”
Aloha snorted. “Really? I thought it was power-mad necromancers.”
She pulled herself to her feet and walked towards the chest. “The key’s in the lock,” she commented, dryly. “Does that mean it’s safe, do you think?”
“No,” Emily said, sharply. Although, she supposed, if one of them was caught by a hex, the other could free the victim. “Check it for surprises first.”
“Nothing,” Aloha said, after a moment. “Check it yourself.”
Emily ran through the detection spells, but found nothing, either on the key or on the chest. Aloha flipped open the chest and saw the orb sitting on a velvet sheet, waiting for them. They exchanged glances—surely it couldn’t be so easy—and then Aloha reached for the orb and picked it up.
“Well, we got it,” she said. She sounded as puzzled as Emily felt. It wasn’t like the sergeants to just let them waltz out with the orb. “Why...”
There was a dull rumble behind them. Emily swung around to see the walls starting to close in on them. The door was gone. They stared around, looking at the window. It seemed impossible to get out in time to escape before they were crushed into pulp...
She remembered what Sergeant Miles had said and grabbed for the orb. Before Aloha could stop her, she threw it at the window, smashing it through the glass and out of the building, satisfying the terms of the challenge. Moments later, the walls stopped advancing and started to retreat. The door reappeared in front of them.
Aloha stared at her. “How...?”
“He told us that the orb had to be outside the building,” Emily said. She was just relieved it had worked. “He didn’t say we had to carry it out ourselves.”
“It seems to have succeeded,” Aloha said, slowly. She sounded rather doubtful. “Are you always looking for ways to cheat?”
“If you’re not cheating,” Emily said, quoting Sergeant Harkin, “you’re not trying.”
She smiled at the thought as they made their way down the stairs and out of the house. Magic was all about cheating, she’d come to realize, all about finding shortcuts to power and fame—or simply to get things done. Whitehall was designed to encourage them to master their powers and think of new applications...
“Well done,” Sergeant Miles said. He was holding the orb in one hand, studying it thoughtfully. “Quick thinking to get out of a lethal trap. You’d be surprised how many people go to pieces or freeze when they think there’s no way out.”
“It was Emily who saw it,” Aloha admitted. She sounded annoyed with herself. “I missed it completely.”
“But I wouldn’t have gotten through all of the traps without you,” Emily said. She’d frozen in Zangaria and it could have gotten her and Imaiqah killed. “I...”
“You’d better practice,” Sergeant Miles said. He passed Emily the orb. “The next test will involve much more teamwork...”
He turned to see Lady Barb running towards them. “Emily,” she said, “where were you for the last hour?”
“She was in Blackhall,” Sergeant Miles said, before Emily could say a word. “Why?”
“They just found a body,” Lady Barb explained. “Travis is dead.”
Emily stared at her in horror. “Travis is dead?”
“Yes,” Lady Barb said. Her tone was very grim. “And it seems that it was the work of a necromancer.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
GET THEM BACK TO THE SCHOOL,” Sergeant Miles said. “I need to go to the Grandmaster.”
“He’s ordered a full lockdown,” Lady Barb explained. “The students are being chased back into their dorms.”
And they’ll find a way to blame me for it, Emily thought, bitterly. Or...
She stopped. “So where is he?”
Lady Barb scowled at her. “Who?”
“The necromancer,” Emily said. “If he just sucked in power, he should be easily noticeable...”
“Good question,” Lady Barb said. “We don’t know.”
She nodded towards the path leading back to Whitehall. “That way,” she ordered. “Now.”
Emily mulled it over as they were chivvied down the path through the darkening forest. She’d been allowed to read books on necromancy and most of them agreed that a newborn necromancer was immediately noticeable. Even if they didn’t go insane at once, there should still have been a colossal surge of power. It would take an experienced necromancer to dampen the surge—and most of them saw no reason to hide.
And Travis was dead.
She’d never liked Travis; he’d been a jerk, abusing his power for his own amusement. But he hadn’t deserved to die. But...he’d also been a strong magician and student of Martial Magic. What sort of inexperienced necromancer would target him? Or had he been tricked somehow...
Lady Barb slowed as they approached the armory. “Aloha,” she said, “I’m going to take you to Mistress Irene’s office. She’ll escort you back to your room.”
Emily blinked in surprise. She wasn’t entirely sure where Aloha was sleeping—they were no longer roommates—but she had thought that her room wouldn’t be too far from Emily’s bedroom. In Whitehall, of course, that didn’t always mean anything. The interior just kept shifting around. But she took one look at Lady Barb’s grim face and kept her thoughts to herself. Lady Barb was good at concealing her feelings, but Emily was sure that she was deeply worried.
Mistress Irene didn’t look any better. She motioned for the two girls to wait while she had a brief discussion with Lady Barb, concealed behind a privacy ward. Emily couldn’t hear a word and she had never leant how to lip-read, but from their expressions and gestures it seemed that they were having a major disagreement. Finally, Mistress Irene cancelled the privacy ward and nodded for Aloha to accompany her. Emily watched her go, then turned to face Lady Barb. She looked quietly furious.
“You were in Blackhall for over an hour,” Lady Barb said. “It is unlikely that they can blame this on you.”
Emily sagged in relief. She’d been with Aloha in Blackhall—and Sergeant Miles could verify that they’d been inside the mansion—but it would have been harder to prove where she was earlier. There had been a free hour; Emily had been forced to use it to make more progress on cleaning the wretched barracks. The sooner she looked up some cleaning runes, the better.
She concentrated, trying to remember what little she could of police procedure. “Who found the body? And where?”
Lady Barb gave her an odd look, but answered the question. “Danielle,” she said. “Travis’s girlfriend. They were planning a quiet rendezvous in the upper levels of the North Tower; when she arrived, she found him dead.”
Emily felt a moment of pity for the girl, even though she had some problems imagining anyone wanting to date Travis. But then, many of the girls on Earth had dated absolute jerks too. It had never made any sense to her. Luckily, none of the boys had ever tried to ask her out. Jade had been the first to see her as a desirable person.
“She was very upset,” Lady Barb said darkly, “and went screaming through the castle. The entire school heard before the Grandmaster put the castle into lockdown.”
Emily nodded. They’d definitely try to blame her.
Lady Barb led her out of the office and through a twisting series of passageways that seemed to go up and down at random, finally coming out in a deserted corridor. Emily could hear someone speaking at the far end as she glanced out of the window and realized that they were in th
e upper levels of Whitehall. Lady Barb caught her arm and gently pulled her down into the tower room, where—rumor had it—older students were allowed some degree of privacy. Travis’s body lay on the ground, a stone knife stabbed through his heart.
Emily shuddered as she took in the condition of the body. Travis looked utterly desiccated, as if something had sucked all the life out of his body. It seemed to be on the verge of crumbling into dust; Emily was mildly surprised that it was even recognizable. She checked the blade protruding from his chest and frowned, inwardly. It was definitely a stone knife.
But there was no sense of necromantic power surrounding the corpse.
“Strange,” she said, out loud. She looked around, but none of the walls were scorched. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Neither do I,” the Grandmaster’s voice said. He was standing in the shadows, his expression grim. “The knife is stone, but there is no trace of power.”
“Or blood,” Lady Barb said. “There should have been some blood.”
Emily tuned them both out as she stared at the body. If there was a necromancer somewhere in Whitehall, he might well have killed the Warden to ensure that he remained undetected—and then started preying on the students. Travis, whatever else could be said about him, would have provided plenty of power for a budding necromancer. But from what she’d read, a necromancer’s victims just...died. They didn’t turn into dust.
It didn’t make any sense. If the necromancer was sane enough—despite drawing a vast torrent of power through his mind—to hide, why not destroy the evidence completely? The victim had been in Martial Magic; no one would have questioned Travis leaving the school and going for a hike, someplace where he might have had an accident. Or perhaps he would have run away from school...it wasn’t uncommon. God knew Emily had been seriously considering it after the third or fourth hex thrown at her unprotected back.
But if the necromancer was insane, why wasn’t he trying to tear the school apart?
“Good question,” Lady Barb said, when Emily outlined her thoughts. “But not all necromancers go completely insane at once.”
“But they do have problems thinking straight,” Emily countered. They wouldn’t even know that they weren’t thinking straight. A dangerously-flawed plan a five-year-old child would have laughed at might have seemed a work of genius to them. It was very difficult to overcome a problem inside one’s own head. “Nothing about this makes sense.”
She scowled. “Unless someone is trying to pretend to be a necromancer,” she added. “But why?”
Lady Barb shot a quick look at the Grandmaster. “Discrediting you,” she said. “A murder in Whitehall...that would be grounds for a formal investigation by the White Council.”
“It’s possible,” the Grandmaster agreed. He looked at Emily. “I’d like you to help with the investigation.”
Emily blinked in surprise. “I’m not a policewoman...ah, a forensic sorcerer,” she said. “I don’t know how I can help.”
“You’re the Necromancer’s Bane,” the Grandmaster pointed out. “Your assistance might help to strengthen confidence in the school’s defenses.”
And reassure people that I’m not killing students, Emily thought, feeling a confusing mixture of emotions. It was a relief to know that the Grandmaster wasn’t blaming her for the murder, but oddly worrying to realize that he wanted to use her fame to help him. She knew better than to think she could stop a necromancer by clicking her fingers—and he should know better too. But if it was the least she could do to help...
“If you think I can help, I will,” she said, finally. She owed the Grandmaster; at the very least, he’d prevented Master Tor from expelling her. “But I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
Lady Barb’s lips twitched. “Just try to look confident when someone asks what’s happening,” she said, dryly. “Fear will destroy us as surely as any necromancer.”
“We have a necromancer running loose in the school—or someone posing as a necromancer,” Emily said. “Shouldn’t they be very, very afraid?”
“Maybe,” Lady Barb said, tartly. “But we should do what we can to reassure them.”
She looked over at the Grandmaster. “Under the circumstances,” she added, “I believe that the restriction on unsupervised magic can be removed.”
The Grandmaster turned his face towards Emily, his hidden eyes seeming to scrutinize her thoroughly.
“Very well,” he said, finally. “But I would suggest that you behave yourself. No matter what we say, quite a few people will still consider you the primary suspect.”
Emily felt a surge of intense relief and joy that almost sent her to her knees. Magic had been her delight ever since Shadye had kidnapped her, the one skill she’d developed on her own—although reverse-engineering concepts from Earth had forced her to think along lines she’d never had to explore previously. Being banned from using it outside classes—at least openly—had been a terrible punishment...and it would have been terrible even if it hadn’t drawn a bulls-eye on her back.
“But you are not allowed to use magic directly to complete your detention,” the Grandmaster added. “I suggest that you bear it in mind.”
Directly, Emily thought, and nodded. Come to think of it, if she no longer had to avoid using magic outside class, she didn’t really need Aloha to produce the makeshift vacuum cleaners. But the older girl would probably have more success anchoring the charm in place.
“I will,” she said, out loud.
“Watch your back,” the Grandmaster warned. He turned back towards Lady Barb. “Take Emily back to her room. There will be a formal announcement later today.”
Lady Barb nodded. “This way, Emily,” she said. “Come on.”
Emily took one last look at the body, then followed Lady Barb out of the room and down into the network of secret passages. The school felt deserted again, completely empty; she wondered, suddenly, just what would happen if the murderer wasn’t caught. Could the White Council use it as an excuse to remove the Grandmaster?
But who would want to remove him?
She looked at Lady Barb. “Does the Grandmaster have any political enemies?”
“Hundreds of them,” Lady Barb said, sardonically. “The Grandmaster holds one of the most important posts in the Allied Lands. Of course he has enemies.”
Emily scowled at her tone. “Enemies who might be prepared to kill at least one student?”
She shook her head. Even if one accepted that the Warden wasn’t human—and that destroying him wasn’t murder—there was still the issue of someone being prepared to kill Travis. What sort of blowback would they experience if they were caught? Travis had been part of a great magical family; his murder would be, to all intents and purposes, a declaration of war. Or had he been targeted randomly?
“That is indeed the issue,” Lady Barb said. “Anyone sane would not have considered Travis a potential target.”
Emily winced. Imaiqah—before her ennoblement, at least—would have made an ideal target. Her family had no political power, nor any real connections to great sorcerers or powerful aristocrats. She could be killed without major repercussions. And she was hardly the only student in Whitehall who fit that particular bill. Why would someone pick on Travis when there were other targets? Unless it was a deadly gamble. Losing Travis might spur the White Council to act faster, but it would also push them to investigate thoroughly.
“I’m going to have your trunk moved back into your room,” Lady Barb said, as they stopped outside the bedrooms. “I would suggest, however, that you try not to be alone. And that you watch your back.”
She opened the door and led the way to Emily’s room. Madame Razz stuck her head out of her office and scowled at them; Lady Barb motioned for Emily to go into her room while she had a few quick words with the housemother. Emily hesitated, then obeyed; inside, the Gorgon looked up from her book and frowned at her.
“What happened now?” She hissed. “Why are we back in lock
down?”
“Travis is dead,” Emily said, as she closed the door. She didn’t bother to question if the Gorgon knew Travis. “And the Grandmaster wanted my help.”
The Gorgon’s face was hard to read, but she didn’t seem convinced. Emily shrugged, picked up a book from her bedside cabinet and sat down, trying to concentrate on legal precedents for crop-sharing along the borderlands. Maybe Master Tor hadn’t written the book, but it was just as boring as listening to him talk. What did it really matter which way the wind was blowing when it came to haggling over the exact border between two states?
Lady Barb opened the door and levitated the trunk inside, putting it down in front of Emily’s bed. “I’d check it carefully,” she advised, dryly. “And stay in the room until the Grandmaster makes his announcement.”
The Gorgon leaned forward. “Is she still on restriction?”
“Not any longer,” Lady Barb growled. “And I suggest that you pass that around the school.”
Emily scowled, inwardly. Had it been the Gorgon who had told everyone that she wasn’t allowed to do magic outside class? Perhaps; she might not have hexed Emily directly, but she’d certainly been mad enough at her to set her up for an endless series of humiliations. Except that was over now...she allowed herself a smile as she contemplated what she could do to Melissa, the next time she tried to hex her. Or one of the others who had seen a helpless target and lashed out.
She opened the trunk and recovered a handful of books, returning them to her desk. There were other essays to write; if nothing else, the enforced confinement should give her a chance to finish the first drafts. The makeshift typewriters they’d been trying to produce in Zangaria from her rough plans were yet to be completed. Irritatingly, they would probably have been able to produce them without her help, if they’d had the concept.
“I’d watch yourself,” the Gorgon growled, as she went back to her book. “I hate having my property searched.”
Emily nodded. She’d read up on the Gorgons and discovered that the desert clans, having very little privacy, valued what they had. Intruding into someone else’s possessions was regarded as worse than murder, which had struck her as curious before she’d realized just how much they were forced to share with one another. The Gorgon had to think that sharing a room with just two other girls was the very height of luxury.
Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) Page 22
