“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 the
m 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.”
Infinite Regress Page 6
