“Correct,” Lady Barb said. “Once a patient is keyed into the wards, they cannot leave without approval from the senior staff. One of those staff members is off-site at all times, making it harder for someone to escape.”
Emily nodded. The next room looked much nicer, although it still maintained the jailhouse ambience. There were no windows; illumination was provided by a handful of light globes floating near the ceiling, drawing power from the wards. The walls were decorated with small pictures, some clearly drawn by children. She caught her breath as she realized that one of them was from a young boy, practically begging his father to come home. Judging by the date, it was over ten years old.
“Greetings,” a voice said. Emily looked up to see a tall thin man wearing white robes. His face was angular - she couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Spock - while his head had been shaved bald, then tattooed with runes. “Welcome to the Halfway House. I am Healer Crane.”
He paused, eyeing them all darkly. “Should any of you cause any trouble,” he continued, “you will be returned to the waiting room” - he waved a hand around the chamber - “and held here until the rest of your class is ready to go. You will also be denied further access to the complex, unless you happen to become a patient. We have enough problems with the patients here without you adding to it.”
“You will also be severely punished when you return to Whitehall,” Lady Barb reminded them, sharply. “Your classmates will not thank you for making life difficult for them.”
Emily nodded, listening as Healer Crane launched into a detailed safety briefing. They wouldn’t be meeting any of the truly dangerous patients, he reassured them, but some of the ones they would meet could become violent. His advice was basically the same as Lady Barb’s, just more complex. He didn’t seem inclined to use one word where three would do.
“Follow me,” he concluded, leading them towards a stone wall. There was a shimmer and a solid metal door flickered into view, concealed by a cloak of magic. “Do not allow yourself to be separated from the group.”
He led them down a long corridor, then stopped in front of a pane of glass. Emily touched it lightly, marvelling at the cost; glass, true glass, was staggeringly expensive in the Nameless World. Someone had charmed it to be both unbreakable and one-way; they could look in, but the patient couldn’t look out. She peered into the room and frowned as she saw the patient, a middle-aged woman sitting on a comfortable chair. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her.
“Patient Current-37,” Healer Crane said. “The daughter of a famous alchemist; Current-37 was seven and wanted to be older, so she produced an aging potion and swallowed it, aging twenty years in three. She has the mind of an eleven-year-old trapped in the body of a grown woman. Her aging has slowed, but it is quite likely she will die within five years anyway, no matter what we do.”
Emily shuddered. “Why can’t she be helped?”
“We don’t know precisely what recipe she used,” Healer Crane admitted. “Even if we did, it would be impossible to undo the effects without risking further damage. Physically, she is a grown woman; mentally, she’s too young to cope with anything more elaborate than playing games. The only thing we can do is keep her here and study the problem.”
Imaiqah had a different question. “Don’t you even know her name?”
“We do, yes,” Healer Crane said. “But we are forbidden to share it with you. All medical files are strictly confidential without permission from the patient or their guardians.”
He turned and led the way down to the next window. Emily took one last look at the girl-woman and shuddered, again. She hadn’t enjoyed the experience of growing from a child into a young woman and she’d had it spread out over several years. To grow up so rapidly...no wonder the poor girl had to be kept in the Halfway House. She would be totally incapable of controlling the hormones unleashed by her aging body.
The next scene was far more disturbing. A young man - he couldn’t have been any older than Jade - was sitting on the floor, doodling with a set of crayons. The entire room was covered in drawings, all child-like stick figures with oddly disturbing proportions. Emily looked at them, then back at the drawer. There was a love-struck expression on his face that sent chills down her spine.
“Patient Current-45,” Healer Crane said. “There was a young woman who wanted him, so she dosed him with a love potion. Again, it was brewed inexpertly; the effects, unfortunately, became permanent. We altered his fixation to drawing, because it was the only way to keep him from killing himself after his lover was executed, but strands of the original fixation still bleed through. It isn’t a pleasant sight.”
No, Emily agreed. Love potions were akin to rape, banned on pain of immediate expulsion from Whitehall, but they were easy to find in back-alley brewshops. Lady Barb had told her that while most of them could be easily countered, some of them were so strong as to do permanent damage. It certainly isn’t a pleasant anything.
“He has issues in common with Current-17 and Current-47,” Healer Crane continued. “In the case of the former, the love potion - more accurately, a lust potion - spurs the poor girl to attack any man she sees within the right age group. The latter, as far we can determine, made the mistake of using an aged potion for his wedding night. His bride died - the brew had turned poisonous - while he became warped and twisted. He was sent here as an alternative to execution.”
“Sickening,” Emily said.
“Indeed,” Healer Crane said. Emily swallowed. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until he answered her. “Love potions, even when used under strict supervision and with full consent, can have unpleasant effects. We advise people, time and time again, to allow love to develop naturally, rather than seeking the quick fix.”
He sniffed before leading them down the corridor to another window. This one had a large sign hanging over the door, banning men from entering. Inside, Emily saw a young woman lying on the bed, her hands and feet chained to the railings. Her eyes were open, but she seemed utterly unaware of her surroundings.
“She would try to jump me, if I went inside,” Healer Crane said. “Only female Healers can tend to her and we’re nowhere near finding a cure.”
“Poor girl,” Imaiqah muttered. She raised her voice. “Do you have to keep her chained to the bed?”
“She tries to escape if she isn’t obviously restrained,” Healer Crane said. “Healer Sami got a broken nose after she made the mistake of undoing one of her hands. Magic is better, but she doesn’t seem to realize she’s under restraint and keeps struggling against it.”
“Some people have no sense for magic,” Lady Barb interjected.
Healer Crane nodded, and showed them the next room. A young man lay on the bed, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling. Emily frowned - there didn’t seem to be anything obviously wrong with him - and looked at Lady Barb. The older woman tapped her lips and motioned to the glass. There was still nothing obviously wrong with him.
“Current-51,” Healer Crane said. “He was cursed as a young child, cursed by a sorcerer we were never able to identify. All we really know is that he went to sleep when he was five and never woke up. A traveling sorcerer tried to crack the curse, failed, and brought him here for study. He’s been here eleven years, sleeping all that time. Nothing we do seems to be able to break the curse.”
Pandora snickered. “Have you tried true love’s kiss?”
“That is just a fairy tale,” Healer Crane said, reprovingly. “If the curse had been bound to a specific person, a lover, perhaps it would work. But at the age he was cursed, it would be impossible to determine who, if anyone, he would love. Stories in which someone’s true love just happens to come wandering by are nothing more than badly-written fantasy.”
Or romantic movies, Emily thought. She’d researched Sleeping Beauty once and discovered that the original version featured Sleeping Beauty being awakened by the birth of twins, after Prince Charming had come and gone. But magic doesn’t w
ork like that, not here.
Healer Crane scowled at them, then led them to the next window. It looked far more comfortable, as if it was designed for a child. Even so, Emily had to look around carefully before she spotted the occupant, curled up in a corner. Healer Crane tapped the glass and the occupant rolled over, revealing a young girl in shorts and a shirt. She sprang to life and gambolled - Emily could think of no better word - over to the window on all fours, leaping up like a dog. It was impossible to hear anything, but it was clear she was barking like a dog too. The desperation in her eyes chilled Emily to the bone.
“My God,” Emily muttered.
“We don’t know who cursed her, or why,” Healer Crane said. “She cannot talk, nor can she write. The curse has embedded so deeply into her mind that she can do nothing but act like a dog. She knows she’s human, she knows she’s bespelled, yet...there’s nothing we can do to break the spell.”
Emily looked at Lady Barb, understanding just why her mentor had turned down the chance to become a Healer. There were too many problems that couldn’t be fixed, no matter what the Healers did, and too many people who would get away with it if someone didn’t do whatever it took to hunt them down. She toyed with the snake-bracelet, recalling the horrors she’d seen in the Cairngorms. It wouldn’t be easy to take an oath that forced her to do nothing more than heal...
Healer Crane led them through a pair of doors and into a small common room. A dozen patients sat at tables, eating food from charmed plates; there was so much magic crawling through the room that Emily thought her hair would stand on end. They wouldn’t be able to hurt themselves or anyone else, she realized, as she studied the charms. Knife-blades would blunt, if used against human skin; plates would shatter into harmless dust rather than hit someone and cause injury. It was the most elaborately charmed room she’d seen.
“Talk to some of the patients, if you wish,” Healer Crane said. “Or sit back and wait to go home.”
Emily nodded, and looked around. One man sat in a wheelchair, without any apparent sensation below the waist. He gave her a wink before turning back to his meal without paying any more attention to her. A woman sitting opposite him had to work to eat her food, as if every morsel tasted too disgusting to chew, let alone swallow. Emily felt a stab of sympathy at the way she washed each tiny morsel down with a big swig of water. And then she looked at the third patient. He just sat in his chair, dead to the world.
“Come with me,” Lady Barb ordered. She led Emily over to a dark-skinned man sitting at a table, reading a book. He was the first man Emily had seen wearing silk, let alone something that resembled a ladies nightgown. Somehow, he still managed to look dignified. “Pablo, this is Emily.”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Pablo said. “I would shake your hand, but it would hurt me more than you.”
Emily looked enquiringly at Lady Barb, who shrugged.
“I was cursed in the Battle of Wanderer’s Light,” Pablo said. He muttered a number of words under his breath, just loudly enough for Emily to know he was saying something. “I deflected the first curse, but the second one bedded in before I could find help. These days, the mere act of touching something brings pain.”
“Pablo was a Mediator,” Lady Barb said. “He was caught up in a local skirmish...”
“Local skirmish my foot,” Pablo said. He shifted slightly, allowing Emily to see that he was practically surrounded with charms designed to insulate him from the rest of the world. “Sir Griffin the Unconquerable took exception to the ruling we made in the case and launched an invasion, hoping to seize and hold enough territory to force his neighbors to let him keep it.”
“And one of his pet sorcerers came up with something nasty,” Lady Barb added. “Even a Mediator can be brought low.”
Pablo eyed Emily sharply. “Are you thinking of taking up the job?”
“It’s a possibility,” Emily said. She looked back at Lady Barb. “Did you bring me here to meet him?”
“Yes,” Lady Barb said, flatly. Her blue eyes, just for a second, reminded Emily of Master Grey. “If you start training in earnest, you may wind up dead - or you may wish you were.”
“Never to feel the touch of a lover’s hand,” Pablo said. His voice became an exaggerated dirge. “Never to hold a weapon without dropping it moments later. Never...”
Emily winced, then covered her ears as she heard the sound of frantic barking from the doorway. The girl she’d seen earlier ran into the room on all-fours, followed by a tired-looking Healer. Emily felt another stab of pity, remembering the curses Mistress Sun and Lady Barb had taught her how to break. If the girl was incurable, the curse that had been cast on her must have been very strong indeed.
A thought struck her. “Was she forced to drink Dogbreath Potion?”
“They would have checked,” Lady Barb said. “It would have shown up in her bloodstream, when they ran charms to determine what she might have ingested. And it wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours or so.”
She patted Emily on the back. “It was a good thought, though.”
“Thank you,” Emily said.
“A very good thought,” Pablo agreed. He gave her a droll smile. “But you also need to be able to do much more than come up with theories and test them out.”
“I know,” Emily said. She looked around the room, noting just how many of the other students looked sick at what they’d seen. “I definitely don’t want to be a Healer.”
“Not everyone does,” Lady Barb agreed. “There’s far more reward to be had in protecting the innocent from the guilty.”
She shook her head. “We’ll be going back to Whitehall in an hour,” she said. “You can work on your research. I believe your career interview will be on Monday afternoon.”
Emily blinked. “That soon?”
“There’s no time to waste,” Lady Barb said. “It isn’t just Whitehall holding these interviews, you know.”
“And so they have to visit all the schools,” Emily said. She nodded, slowly. “I’ll be ready.”
Chapter Seventeen
EMILY HAD HALF-HOPED THAT LADY BARB had been wrong about her careers interview, but when she returned to Whitehall she found a note in her bedroom, inviting her to an interview on Monday and excusing her from Alchemy. Professor Thande wouldn’t be happy, Emily suspected, but she was privately relieved. If she didn’t have to go back to class after the interview, she could use the rest of the time to catch up on her reading and essay writing.
Maybe they expect my interview to be short, she thought, as she walked through the corridor on Monday to the designated chamber. Alassa’s interview was nothing more than a formality.
She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she tapped on the door and waited. The wards buzzed around her, confirming her identity, then the door opened of its own accord, revealing a comfortable office with a pair of chairs, a drinks table and a light globe glowing high overhead. A tall man she vaguely recognized was sitting in the chair, reading a set of parchment notes. It took Emily several seconds to place him as Master Gordian, a man she’d met briefly - very briefly - at the Cockatrice Faire.
“Lady Emily,” Master Gordian said, rising to his feet. “Thank you for coming.”
Emily shook his hand gravely and took the indicated seat, studying him thoughtfully. He was odd; there was something ageless about his face, as if he were young and old at the same time. It reminded her of Void’s ever-changing appearance, although there was none of the sense of power that surrounded the Lone Power. His hair was tied back in a ponytail that somehow added dignity to his face, drawing attention to the shape of his cheekbones. The Nameless World had different standards of beauty, Emily had come to learn, and she had a feeling Master Gordian would be considered handsome. Indeed, he was dressing to show off his character rather than his looks.
Which may mean nothing, she reminded herself, firmly. A nasty person could hide inside a handsome body.
“This may be a short in
terview, depending upon you,” Master Gordian said, as he poured them both a mug of Kava and placed them on the table. He seemed very determined to put her at her ease. “I assume you read the briefing papers?”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said. They hadn’t been that detailed; they merely stated that her careers adviser would offer neutral advice, depending on what career she wanted. “I prepared as ordered.”
“Good,” Master Gordian said. He sat, facing her, and crossed his legs. “You do realize you’re in something of an odd position? Your role as Baroness of Cockatrice both offers you guaranteed employment” - he smiled, as if at a joke only he knew - “and restricts your ability to work in any major role. You may feel that you merely want to go back to Cockatrice after completing your schooling and not seek outside employment. If so, please let me know now.”
“I don’t, sir,” Emily said.
She saw a flash of approval in his eyes, which vanished quickly. “Then I need to know your career objectives,” Master Gordian said. “What careers do you have in mind?”
“Mediator, Librarian and Teacher,” Emily said. It had been easy enough to decide on the first two, but she’d hesitated a long time over the third. If she hadn’t needed a third potential career, she would have left the final space blank. “Or a private tutor, if possible.”
“Private tutors are very much a mixed bag, these days,” Master Gordian muttered. He didn’t sound approving. “Some have excellent qualifications; others, unfortunately, have nothing beyond their own wits.”
He cleared his throat. “Why do you want to be a Mediator?”
Emily hesitated. She’d come up with several possible answers over the weekend, but now that she was facing Master Gordian, her mind had gone blank. It took her a moment to gather herself before she spoke.
“Because the job needs to be done,” she said, finally.
“It doesn’t have to be done by you,” Master Gordian pointed out. “Why do you feel you should do it?”
Trial By Fire (Schooled in Magic Book 7) Page 16
