Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10)

by Christopher Nuttall

  She made a mental note to encourage Julianne to discuss the matter with Master Bones—if he would talk to her—and then watched as Bones and Wolfe carefully drew out the runes on the floor. Wolfe was a walking dictionary of runes and he was delighted to share, telling her what each of the runes did when they were drawn by a trained magician. Most of them worked on their own, like the rune on Emily’s chest; the magicians had barely begun to consider the possibilities for using one or more runes in tandem. Emily had a private suspicion that Master Wolfe would end up with rather more apprentices than he could handle, after the nexus point was tamed. And they would be the ones who would work out how to use five or six runes per spell.

  That might be why some of the runes went out of fashion, she told herself. The old runes weren’t mysterious—or long-lost keys to power. Professor Locke would have been disappointed, if he’d been with her. They were no longer necessary after newer techniques were developed.

  “This is a remarkable mess,” Master Keldor said, as he slipped into the chamber. He smelled unpleasant, his shirt stained with blood. Emily didn’t want to think about what he might have been doing, earlier in the day. “Are you sure it will work?”

  “I’m betting my life on it,” Master Wolfe said, waspishly. “You are welcome to check the equations, if you wish.”

  Master Keldor sniffed, exchanging a sharp look with Master Chambers. The masters had voted on Master Wolfe’s plans and they’d been outvoted, five to four. It might have been a mistake, Emily privately considered, for Master Chambers to allow Sake to be raised to mastery. If Sake hadn’t had a vote, it would have been tied. And somehow, she doubted Whitehall would have defied the others just to try to take control of the nexus point.

  Master Wolfe stepped back from the network of runes he’d drawn and motioned for Whitehall to check them, which he did in clinical detail. Emily checked too, comparing the drawn runes to the notations Master Wolfe had scribbled on the parchment. There didn’t seem to be any mistakes, as far as she could tell. Even Master Chambers, eying the runes balefully, didn’t find anything. And he would have been delighted to have an excuse to demand a second vote.

  “She shouldn’t be here,” Master Chambers said, instead. He didn’t bother to look at Emily as he spoke. The disdain in his voice couldn’t have been more obvious. “This is master business.”

  “I asked her to come,” Whitehall stated, bluntly. He shot Emily a reassuring look. “And she is qualified.”

  Emily felt her cheeks heat. Masters, she’d come to realize, had near-unlimited authority over their apprentices. One master couldn’t interfere with another’s apprentice, even if the apprentice was being abused—or was taking advantage of his master. Whitehall had every right to keep her with him, if he wished, despite the near-certainty that it would cause resentment and nasty rumors. She was tempted to leave the chamber, for his sake, but she knew she needed to be present. It was the only way to ensure she was part of the group that held control over the nexus point.

  “On your head be it,” Master Chambers said, firmly.

  Master Wolfe raised his voice. “Take your places,” he ordered. He shot Master Chambers a sardonic look. “This is your last chance to back out, if you wish ...”

  Master Chambers strode forward and took his place along the edge of the runic circle. “I know my duty,” he said. Emily shivered as she sensed the invisible demon sitting on his shoulder. It was hard to escape the feeling that the creature was staring at her. “And I will be there to support you.”

  Emily sighed, inwardly, as she took her place between Whitehall and Master Wolfe. It would have been better, she suspected, if Master Chambers had flatly refused to take part in the ritual, but he’d insisted on doing his part. Whitehall had told her, when she’d asked, that the masters had all sworn to honor the results when they’d voted, yet she would have been happier if Master Chambers had left. Not taking part in the ritual would have excluded him from the control group.

  But he might not have realized that he will be part of the control group, she thought. He certainly didn’t pay much attention to the equations.

  She shivered at the thought, dismissing it as she prepared for the ritual. Maybe Master Chambers hadn’t realized it, but she felt sure a demon would point it out, sooner or later. It would cause no end of trouble if Master Chambers started trying to control the planned wards, even if it didn’t help the demons directly. And perhaps it would. If one had nestled within the school’s wards ... surely, another could do the same.

  Demons exist outside the bonds of time and space, she reminded herself. They may already know the outcome of whatever we do.

  She contemplated it while Whitehall and Master Wolfe made the final checks. If everything she did was meant to happen, the demons would definitely know the outcome. But if the future was still in flux, her intervention might have created an alternate timeline. And who knew how many problems that would cause? Logically, nothing she did in the past would erase her from existence—she’d been born on an entirely different world—but her past self might find a very different school ...

  If she gets kidnapped at all, Emily thought. Shadye was a student at Whitehall, after all.

  “We will now begin,” Master Wolfe said. Emily could hear the strain in his voice as he took one final look at the runic circle. “Join hands.”

  Emily was silently grateful she wasn’t standing next to Master Chambers as she took Whitehall and Wolfe’s hands. They both felt oddly calloused, although she wasn’t sure why that surprised her. Even in her time, very few magicians enjoyed the luxury of only book-learning. Whitehall would have spent a lot of time working with his hands.

  And he’s scarred them too, when he experimented with magic, she thought. Just like everyone else.

  “We begin,” Master Wolfe said. “The spell starts ... now.”

  Emily braced herself as the spellwork shimmered into existence, drawing power from all seven magicians. She half-expected the older magicians to find it hard to share power and awareness with her, just as her fellow students had done in the future, but none of them seemed particularly intimidated by her power reserves. Their magic required vastly superior reserves to anything taught at Whitehall School, certainly anything she’d seen before starting her fifth year at school. They might be surprised by her power, but they wouldn’t be intimidated by it.

  She wished, grimly, that there had been a way to hold a rehearsal before starting the rite, but they hadn’t been able to devise a method to test their work without actually doing it. Wolfe had drilled them all mercilessly on what he wanted them to do, yet it had been nothing more than words. The reality ... she gritted her teeth as a surge of power battered against her wards, the runes glowing with light as the spell grew stronger. Convincing Master Bones to work with Master Wolfe had been a lucky break, she told herself. The chalk drawings Master Wolfe normally used wouldn’t have been able to handle the magic and would have disintegrated, leaving them exposed to the raw power of the nexus point. Even with it ...

  Someone grunted in pain as the magic grew stronger, the nexus point reacting to the spellwork and emitting a surge of power. She winced as Whitehall’s grip tightened, but forced herself not to pull free. The nexus point howled in rage as more and more magic spewed into the chamber, only to be sucked up by the runes and directed into the spell. She couldn’t escape the impression that the nexus point was actually alive on some level, as if it was a wild animal they were trying to tame. The howling grew stronger and stronger, power battering savagely against her shields ...

  ... And then it was gone.

  “Do not let go,” Master Wolfe ordered. “We have to be ready to hold the spell in place.”

  Emily sucked in her breath. The spell—the ritual spell—was spinning in front of them, tapping the nexus’s own power to keep it under control. She could sense Master Wolfe probing at the spell, hastily fixing cracks in the spellware before the nexus point burned through them and spat raw power into
the chamber. The other magicians felt tired and drained, yet there was an exultation glimmering in the air that surprised and delighted her.

  They’ve done something remarkable, she thought. And they know it.

  “Very well,” Master Wolfe said. “We will now commence the second stage ...”

  Emily’s mind expanded, rapidly, as the spellwork reached out and sucked her into a whirlpool. She was suddenly aware—terrifyingly aware—of every nook and cranny within Whitehall, of every last remaining trap concealed within the castle. The traps themselves weren’t linked directly to the nexus, but whoever had devised and emplaced them had designed the spellware so they drew on the higher levels of ambient magic surrounding the nexus point. She wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been between their emplacement and Whitehall’s arrival, but it looked as though the castle had been abandoned for nearly a hundred years.

  And I will have to hope they believe I arrived before then, she thought, as she studied the castle’s layout. Or they’ll be blaming me for the traps.

  She frowned, inwardly, as magic pulsed through the castle. It hadn’t been apparent, based on the maps, but now she could see—all too clearly—precisely why the corridors were so poorly designed. Indeed, they hadn’t been poorly designed at all! They were runes: the entire castle was a runic structure on an unimaginable scale. Whoever had built the castle had intended to use it as a spell-focus, but for what? If they were that advanced, why not tap the nexus point with spellware?

  Unless there was a reason they couldn’t tap the nexus point, she thought. But what?

  Master Wolfe went to work, carefully locking the spellware in place while the other masters held themselves ready to intervene, if necessary. Emily watched glumly as a multitude of pocket dimensions sprang into existence, each one balancing the previous one and holding it in place. She’d hoped—prayed—that she could use the nexus point to craft a pocket dimension to allow her to jump forward in time, but it was becoming increasingly clear that it wouldn’t be possible. Moving a few days—even a few years—forward might be doable, but nearly a thousand years ...?

  And if I keep popping out to check where—when—I am, she thought, I might damage history still further.

  The thought wasn’t reassuring. She had no way to know just how badly she was affecting history—if, indeed, what she was doing wasn’t what was meant to happen. And linking the pocket dimension to the nexus would certainly attract attention ... a Grandmaster, sometime between Lord Whitehall and Hasdrubal, might open the pocket dimension and pull her out ... and who knew what would happen then?

  There has to be another solution, she told herself, firmly. Staying in the past was not an option. Quite apart from just how badly she missed her friends, her mere presence was a danger to history. And she didn’t want to slip into the forest and vanish. I just need to find it.

  Yeah, her own thoughts answered her. And if it involves calling on demons...?

  She staggered backwards as the spellwork came to an end, letting go of the masters’ hands as she dropped to the stone floor. Her entire body was drenched in sweat, as if she’d been running for hours ... she wondered, suddenly, just how long her mind had been lost within the spellwork. It might have been hours—or days. Her hands hurt badly: they’d squeezed her fingers so hard she couldn’t help wondering if something was broken or dislocated. She heard someone grunting in pain and forced herself to sit upright, realizing dully that all of the masters had collapsed. If the spellwork failed, if there was a surge of raw power, they wouldn’t have a chance to flee before it was too late. And yet ...

  We did it, she thought, as a handful of servants entered with food and drink. We laid the groundwork for Whitehall School.

  And then she passed out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I THINK YOU IMPRESSED FATHER,” JULIANNE said. “You certainly impressed Bernard.”

  Emily shrugged, irritated. She hadn’t been the only magician to faint after taking part in the ritual, but that hadn’t stopped Master Chambers inquiring if women genuinely had the power to cast complex spells. He’d even suggested that it had been her presence that had made the other magicians faint, although Master Wolfe had insisted that it had been caused by disconnecting so sharply from the spellwork. And Robin had been absurdly solicitous over dinner, offering to walk her back to her bedroom afterwards. Emily still wasn’t sure if he was trying to help—and had no idea how to go about it—or if his master had put him up to it.

  Better to be mocked openly than talked down to, she told herself.

  “That’s something, I suppose,” she said.

  She leaned back in her chair and watched as Julianne chopped up a piece of ginger root, preparing to put it in a potion. The castle felt different now, the magic pulsing through the stone reminding her of her first days at Whitehall School. Master Wolfe had needed to be talked out of going straight back down to the nexus chamber after dinner and starting a whole series of experiments. Emily supposed she would have wanted to play with a new toy too, if she had one, but Whitehall was right to be cautious. The spellwork—and crystal structures—she recalled from her Whitehall were in their infancy.

  “Yeah,” Julianne said. “And Master Bones was bragging about the value of his work to anyone who would listen.”

  “He’s right,” Emily said. “You should listen to him.”

  Julianne shot her a sardonic look. Emily understood. Master Bones might have attracted a few new apprentices—he’d definitely played a vitally important role in controlling the nexus point—but it would be a long time before he considered a female apprentice. And yet, Julianne could listen, learn, and experiment herself. She’d already started teaching a handful of girls how to brew potions. Emily had hopes that two or three of the girls had enough of a talent for magic to brew even the more complex potions.

  “Maybe if I bat my eyelashes at him,” Julianne said. She smiled, humorlessly. “But Father would not be amused.”

  “No,” Emily agreed. It was hard to be sure, but she was fairly certain that Master Bones was old enough to be Julianne’s grandfather. He was definitely surprisingly sane, compared to Chambers, Keldor or even Drake. “Your father would definitely not be amused.”

  “Nor would Bernard,” Julianne said. She sprinkled the ginger root into the cauldron, then added water and several herbs. “But he might teach me more himself.”

  Emily hid her amusement. Bernard hadn’t been remotely sure what to make of the sudden changes in the commune, from Master Drake working with Master Wolfe to Master Bones actually knowing something useful. Emily rather suspected that he—and Robin—had their doubts, perhaps even wondered if their extensive education was about to become obsolete, although neither of them had said anything to her about it. Bernard was completely focused on Julianne, and Robin spent half of his time trying to flirt with Emily.

  “He might,” Emily said, finally. “But he will be worried ...”

  She sighed, inwardly, as Julianne cast a spell, lighting the fire under the cauldron. She’d grown more and more willing to use spells over the last few days, rather than struggle with tapers or ask one of the boys to light the fire for her. Emily didn’t blame her for that, but she did worry about Julianne absent-mindedly using magic in front of her father. She had no idea what Julianne intended to say to Whitehall, when he caught her, yet Emily knew he wouldn’t be pleased. And even if her theory about the Curse was correct ...

  “Yes, he will,” Julianne said. There was a new firmness in her tone. “But he will just have to get used to it.”

  There was a loud banging at the door. “Open up, now,” a voice snapped. “Julianne, open the door now!”

  Emily’s blood ran cold. That was Whitehall’s voice.

  Julianne glanced at Emily, her face suddenly very pale, then stood and walked towards the door. Emily realized, just as Julianne pulled back the latch and opened it, just how badly they’d screwed up. She’d grown too used to casting spells without any monitoring a
t all—without fearing that someone was going to complain about her practice—and forgotten that Master Wolfe had designed a ward to track magic within the castle. Locating the traps so they could be removed wasn’t its only use.

  Shit, she thought.

  Whitehall stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, his face icy cold. He’d probably missed the earlier traces of magic on Julianne—just as he had problems detecting Emily’s magic—but he could sense them now. Julianne had just used a very simple spell, after all, and the residue hung in the air. Emily wondered, numbly, just how he would react to Julianne’s magic. He had to believe—he still had to believe—that Julianne would pay a high price for her powers.

  “You used magic,” Whitehall said. It wasn’t really a question. “Didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Father,” Julianne said, tonelessly.

  Whitehall rounded on Emily. “Is this how you thank me? By teaching my daughter magic?”

  “I asked her to teach me,” Julianne said, pleadingly. “Father ...”

  “Be silent,” Whitehall snapped. The anger in his voice made Emily flinch. “Emily ...”

  “I will not be silent,” Julianne said. She met her father’s gaze evenly, resting her hands on her hips. “Father, I asked her to teach me magic ...”

  Whitehall’s face fell. No, he wasn’t really angry, Emily realized; he was too numb to be really angry. She’d expected everything from threats to beatings and banishments from the castle, but instead ... there was a dreadful numbness that left her feeling sorry for him, despite the certainty that they were both in big trouble.

  “I hope you know what it will cost you,” Whitehall said, quietly. “Your mother would have been furious ...”

  “She wouldn’t have been,” Emily said. “Master ...”

  “I am your master,” Whitehall said. His voice hardened. “I accepted you as an apprentice, over the objections of my commune. And you repay me by costing my daughter her chance at children.”