“It’s always political,” Cabiria said. “My uncle said as much.”
Emily nodded as she finished adding the tunnel to the map, then peered into the next set of rooms. They were empty, stripped bare of anything that might have pointed to what they’d been, once upon a time. The layers of dust were so thick it felt like wading through snow. She glanced around, just to make sure there was nothing hidden in the far corners, then turned to the door and hurried back into the corridors. All five of the rooms were exactly the same.
“That one could have been a classroom,” Cabiria mused. “But I would have thought it was really too small.”
“It’s barely any larger than a private workroom,” Emily agreed. Two people could work comfortably, barely, but three or more would have real problems. “Maybe that’s what they were.”
“Or they might have been bedrooms,” Cabiria added. “Perhaps the old servants slept here.”
Emily shrugged. It was possible, she supposed. The servants at Whitehall had a private section that was isolated from the rest of the school. Students were banned from entering, regardless of circumstances. Given how badly servants were treated across the Allied Lands, it was yet another reminder that Whitehall was strikingly progressive compared to everywhere else. Maybe the servants had bedded down here, once upon a time. She doubted she’d ever know for sure.
She led the way into the next set of corridors, then sucked in her breath as the tunnel started to slope downwards. Professor Locke had told them to watch for ways to go further under the school, but Emily hadn’t been too optimistic. If finding the first set of gates had been tricky, let alone opening and walking through them, she doubted it would be easy to find a second set. And yet, the tunnel definitely headed further underground.
“More runes,” Cabiria breathed. “And I don’t recognize half of them.”
Emily reached for her notebook and started to copy the runes onto the paper. She’d spent hours in the library digging through runic reference books, but two-thirds of the runes they’d spotted underground hadn’t been included in the books. Emily had no idea what that meant, although Professor Locke had merely chalked them up to yet another secret of the ancients that had been lost, somewhere in the mists of time. He’d needed to be talked into showing the runes to several other tutors at Whitehall.
“That one there is an old symbol for power,” Cabiria added. She was sketching out the runes, too. They’d compare their drawings afterwards. “And that one is...”
She paused. “What is that?”
Emily followed her pointing finger... and froze. A face was looking back at her, etched in the wall. She knew it. She’d seen it in countless movies and television shows. An outline of a grey alien face: hairless forehead, almond eyes, tiny mouth and a sharp pointy chin. It chilled her to the bone, even though it was nothing more than a drawing. There was no magic around it at all. And yet, it shouldn’t have been there. There was no way that it had made it to the Nameless World from Earth...
Unless there’s some truth in the stories of alien abduction after all, she thought. Or if their presence is a reflection of something buried in our racial memory.
She forced herself to think. There were no dragons on Earth, but she’d seen several on the Nameless World. Who knew where the stories of dragons had originally come from? Maybe there were grey aliens on the Nameless World too. She’d heard stories about dwarves, but she’d never met them. Could they be the little grey aliens?
Cabiria cleared her throat. “Emily? Are you all right?”
“Just... just shocked,” Emily managed. “Have you seen anything like it before?”
“No,” Cabiria said. She frowned. “I’ve no idea what it is.”
Emily sketched out the face despite her revulsion, then led the way further down the corridor. It leveled out a few moments later, revealing a handful of darkened tunnels leading into the shadows. Emily stepped forwards, but the lights didn’t come on. The magic that had kept the tunnels above them illuminated might have failed, she thought, or the lower levels might have been kept dark for a reason. She cast a light globe into the air and nudged it down the nearest corridor, watching grimly as the shadows drew back. They ebbed and flowed around the light like a tangible presence.
“A defense system,” Cabiria said. She added her own light globe, pushing the shadows back further. “I’ve seen this before, back home. Mundanes can’t hope to make their way through the darkness.”
She glanced back, then swore. “Emily...”
Emily turned. The passageway they’d come down was gone. She spun back, just in time to see the shadows vanish, revealing that the tunnels they’d seen were also gone. Cold ice ran down her spine as she realized there was no way out. They were confined to a tiny corridor, without any way to escape. She pushed against the wall, feeling nothing but stone. There was no hope of escape.
They were trapped.
“Fuck,” she breathed. She turned and checked the other wall, looking for secret passages, but found nothing. Cabiria did the same, knocking on the stone and listening for echoes. “What now?”
“It could be a trap for intruders,” Cabiria said. She sounded worried, although she was trying to hide it. Her face was impassive, but she was biting her lower lip nervously. “There’s one in my home, Emily. Intruders get shunted into the pit and held there until the patriarch can check on them. This might be just the same.”
Emily winced. The tutors used similar charms to protect their offices, she knew from experience, but they were alerted whenever one of the traps sprang. Here... she doubted Gordian knew they were trapped, even though he was linked to the wards. Professor Locke wouldn’t even notice they were missing, at least until lunchtime. He was too engrossed with studying the crystal network. And even if he came to look for them, there was no guarantee he would find them.
She sucked in her breath as she realized the danger. They were trapped in a reasonably small section of the corridor, without any air vents. It wouldn’t be long before they ran out of air and suffocated, no matter what spells they used. Or starved to death, if they managed to alter the spells to keep themselves alive. They had brought sandwiches with them, but nowhere near enough to stay alive indefinitely...
“We have to blast our way out,” she said. “If we use a blasting spell, we should be able to get through the stone.”
“I doubt it,” Cabiria said. She ran her fingers along the stone, testing it. “I bet the stone is reinforced with magic. I don’t think we can break it.”
“And if we don’t get out, we suffocate or starve,” Emily pointed out, tartly. “Stand back. I’ll try to blast a hole in the wall.”
She shaped the spell in her mind as she strode down to the far end of the corridor, then turned and hurled the hex towards the wall. There was a brilliant flash of light and a loud bang, but when the light faded it was clear that the wall hadn’t even been scratched. Emily swore under her breath, then threw a second hex. Cabiria threw one of her own, but again... the wall wasn’t even slightly damaged. It wasn’t even warm to the touch.
“We’re dead,” Cabiria breathed. Naked horror was clearly written on her face. “We are so dead.”
Emily slumped against the wall. She had a nasty feeling that Cabiria was right. There was no way out, no way to use magic to escape. Their only hope was being rescued, but unless the wards triggered an alert to the Grandmaster...
He wouldn’t even know where to find us, she thought. And that’s if he even looks!
“Brilliant,” Cabiria added, sitting down next to her. “I should have let myself be expelled.”
Emily gave her a tired smile. “Professor Locke would still have come exploring down here,” she said. “It would be someone else who died down here.”
She reached out, touching the magic surrounding them. It was weaker than she’d expected, but perfectly crafted to prevent her from blasting her way out. Her magic was strong, yet no amount of hammering on the walls would make a differenc
e. And yet... a thought crossed her mind as she tested the wards. Perhaps, just perhaps...
“I’ve had an idea,” she said. She glanced at her watch. By her rough estimate, they’d been in the tunnel for barely ten minutes. “I could try to teleport us out.”
Cabiria stared at her. “Are you mad?”
Probably, Emily thought.
She cleared her throat. “We can’t break our way out,” she said. “And there’s little hope of being found and rescued. Do you have a better idea?”
Cabiria swallowed, hard. “Do you know what happens when someone tries to teleport into Whitehall? The wards stop them!”
“We’re already inside Whitehall,” Emily pointed out. “The wards may simply expel us from the school...”
“We’ll die,” Cabiria predicted. “No one will ever know what happened to us.”
Emily met her eyes. “Do you have a better idea?”
“I can’t teleport,” Cabiria added.
“I can,” Emily said. “Cabiria... I don’t see any other way out.”
“Wait for a while,” Cabiria said, after a moment. “Give them some time to find us.”
Emily nodded and leaned back against the wall, gathering her strength. She had no idea precisely what would happen when they started to run out of air. Spells could clear the air of dust and poisonous gas, but they couldn’t automatically turn carbon dioxide into a breathable air mixture. It should be possible to transfigure the atmosphere, yet doing it long enough for them to be rescued would be difficult. Even if she managed it, how long could she keep it up?
“Teleporting could kill us,” Cabiria breathed.
“So could staying here,” Emily said. Was it her imagination or were the walls looming closer? She hoped it was just an illusion, but she’d read enough horror stories about nasty traps guarding magical homes to fear the worst. “Cabiria, whoever programmed the trap didn’t want visitors.”
“Or merely wanted them held for inspection,” Cabiria breathed. “Like my family.”
Emily sighed and glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes. It felt longer, far longer.
“Tell me about your family,” she said, after a moment. “What are they like?”
Cabiria smiled. “What’s it like growing up with a Lone Power?”
“I didn’t see much of him,” Emily said. The lie fell easily from her lips. It was almost true, after all. “The people who raised me... didn’t have much to do with him. He only took an interest in me after I developed magic.”
“He must have thought you were a normal magician,” Cabiria said. There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. “Try growing up without magic.”
Emily kept her face expressionless. In a way, Cabiria had been lucky, even though she would probably never appreciate it. If she’d been born to a merchant family, like Imaiqah, she would have been married off by now; if she’d been born to a servant or serf family, she would have toiled from the moment she could walk. Or worse. Families were known to sell girl-children to strangers, just to save themselves the burden of feeding them. It was sickening, but she understood it all too well. A son would take care of his parents, in their old age; a daughter would marry and leave the household for good.
“I was lucky,” Emily said. “If I’d developed magic early, I would probably not have survived puberty.”
“True,” Cabiria agreed. “But magicians who do develop magic early—and survive—tend to be very strong.”
Emily shrugged. It seemed an unnecessary risk to her. The child would have problems controlling the magic—it would react to any stray thought or emotion—and probably not survive long enough to learn how to use it safely. But she knew just how far some families were prepared to go to ensure they had powerful magic running through their veins. Trying to bring magic out early—if they had plenty of other children—might seem a worthwhile risk.
She shuddered. If Caleb and I ever have children, she told herself, we won’t be taking any risks with them.
Cabiria started to speak, slowly and mournfully. “Allophone is the cleverest witch I know,” she said, after a moment. “She was Head Girl of Mountaintop and graduated with high honors before starting a brilliant charms apprenticeship. Her mistress said that she never made a single mistake before earning her mastery. She even has special permission to take on an apprentice early, rather than waiting until she turns thirty.”
Emily smiled. Growing up with such a sister had to be hard. “Has she taken an apprentice?”
“No,” Cabiria said. “Belladonna is the alchemist of the family—she took two years to earn her mastery. She was always a little insane about mixing things together, just to see what would happen. Uncle Alanson was talking about taking her on as an apprentice himself, even though she was his niece. No one would have seriously objected. Uncle Alanson was brilliant too.”
She sighed. “And she has more young men courting her than I’ve had hot dinners.”
Emily sighed, feeling a flicker of pity. Growing up in such a family would be hard, even with magic. Without it... Cabiria had been a cripple. Emily didn’t want to think about what Uncle Alanson had done—she had a feeling a demon might have been involved—but he’d saved Cabiria from an awful fate. She would have wound up little better than the aristocratic girls of Zangaria...
“I’m sorry,” she said.
She glanced at her watch, then at the walls—and froze in horror. They were definitely growing closer, moving faster and faster as she looked from side to side. Cabiria threw out a protective ward, but the sheer pressure instantly started to crush it; Emily hesitated, then made up her mind.
“I think we’ve run out of time,” she said. She fought down panic as she pulled Cabiria into a hug, holding her as close as she could. “Don’t do anything, whatever happens.”
Bracing herself, she began the spell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
AS SOON AS SHE BEGAN THE spell the wards flared around her, trying to rip the spellware apart and prevent the teleport. Emily hung on desperately to the threads of her magic, pushing power into the spell while holding it firmly in her mind. If the destination was clearly somewhere well away from Whitehall, she hoped, the wards might just let her go without a fight. But as the maelstrom of power grew stronger, it became clear that she’d been wrong. Teleporting within Whitehall was not easy.
Desperation gave her strength. She pushed with all her might, channeling all of her power into the spell. Something broke... no, she realized numbly; it had shifted, not broken. The world went white around her, the light burning so brightly that she still felt it after squeezing her eyes tightly closed, then dark. She lost her footing at the same instant, letting go of Cabiria as she crumpled to the floor. Her head pounded so badly that she nearly threw up. She tasted bile in her mouth, but she couldn’t even muster the urge to swallow.
“Emily,” Cabiria said. “Where are we?”
Emily wasn’t sure. It was still dark, so dark that Emily wondered—in her dazed state—if her eyes were still closed. But they weren’t. She’d aimed the teleport at Dragon’s Den, focusing on her gardens... these weren’t her gardens. It should have been daylight. She felt below her and touched cold stone. Had the spell failed completely? And yet, she was sure something had worked. They’d definitely moved...
“I don’t know,” she rasped. It hurt to talk. “I...”
She reached for her magic and swore, inwardly, as she touched only faint traces of her power reserves. Her magic would regenerate, she knew, but for the moment she was virtually powerless. It was hard to move, even. Teleporting out of King Randor’s castle had been far easier than escaping the trap in Whitehall. If, of course, they had escaped the trap. The room was so dark the walls could be closing in on them now and they wouldn’t know until it was far too late.
There was a scratching sound, followed by a flickering candlelight. Emily saw Cabiria, her face briefly illuminated, as she hastily lit another pair of candles. Somehow, Emily forced herself to turn her head
, but saw nothing in the shadows. The walls didn’t seem to be getting closer... Cabiria rose and paced towards the walls, holding the candle in one hand. They seemed to have more room than they’d had earlier...
“I tried to cast a light spell,” Cabiria said. “It didn’t work.”
“Wards,” Emily croaked.
“This place must be designed to keep magicians prisoner,” Cabiria added, as she walked back towards Emily. “There are so many wards that casting any sort of magic is likely to be impossible.”
She removed a bottle of water from her bag and gently held it to Emily’s lips. Emily drank gratefully, her mind racing as she tried to determine where they were. She had nothing like a prison cell in her house, which meant the teleport had definitely dropped them somewhere else. Were Whitehall’s wards powerful enough to redirect a teleport spell, if they couldn’t stop it? She couldn’t think of any other possibility. The warning she’d been given had merely stated that teleporting within Whitehall was forbidden. It hadn’t discussed possible consequences.
Wonderful, she thought, as she battled to recover some of her strength. Gordian has all the excuse he could possibly need to expel me.
“Ah,” Cabiria said. She looked upwards. “We’re in an oubliette.”
Emily shivered. She’d seen King Randor’s oubliette. It was nothing more than a deep hole in the ground, with a grating high overhead to allow passing noblemen to peer down at the prisoners. Food would be dropped from above, every so often, if the prisoners weren’t being deliberately starved to death. Was there an oubliette in Whitehall? She’d never heard of one, but it was a castle. Combined with a network of wards to prevent magic, it would be pretty much the perfect prison.
A light flared, high overhead. Emily shielded her eyes as the light grew brighter, revealing two forms peering down at her. The oubliette was starkly revealed, a circular space barely five meters in diameter. There was nowhere to hide, even if she’d wanted to; the walls were so smooth that climbing would be impossible. She looked back at the forms as Cabiria called up to them, but it was impossible to make out their faces. Gordian and Master Tor? Or Sergeant Miles? If they had been redirected into a trap, they would probably have been taken for intruders...
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