The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Gordian’s lips twitched, as if he’d scored a point. Emily silently conceded he had.

  “Very good,” Gordian said. “And you have drawn up the rules?”

  Emily reached into her pocket and produced a small notebook. “For the club itself, I modeled the structure on the kingmaker and fencing clubs. Members will be ranked according to wins, losses and draws ... insofar as there are draws. I’ve copied the rules from the dueling league, with the principle exception of no lethal combat. Ideally, the members will not be seriously injured in dueling.”

  “That might be tricky to enforce,” Gordian said. “The monitors might not catch any illicit moves.”

  Emily nodded. No one—apart from Sergeant Miles—had realized she’d deliberately given Casper an opening, when she’d dueled with him. Unless the others had realized and kept their mouths shut ... no, she couldn’t imagine Master Grave letting Casper prance about in celebration if he hadn’t won fairly. The man was a stickler for the rules. Casper himself certainly hadn’t known.

  “The arena will be spelled to keep combat as safe as possible.” She knew that wasn’t going to be easy. Small injuries happened all the time, no matter what the tutors said or did. Whitehall certainly wasn’t at risk of being sued if a student cut his finger or scraped her knee. “I was thinking that preparing the arena would make a useful project for some of the older students.”

  “And give you some practical experience,” Gordian said, slowly. He nodded in apparent approval. “I believe Professor Armstrong would be happy to assist you. You’re still with him this year, aren’t you?”

  Emily nodded. She’d passed her wardcrafting exam, somewhat to her surprise. Professor Armstrong wasn’t known for letting his students get away with anything. The theoretical part of the exam had been bad enough, but the practical side had been worse. She’d had to stand in the center of her own wards and watch, helplessly, as the examiners blasted away at them with powerful spells. She was honestly surprised they’d lasted long enough for her to pass the exam.

  “I have another year with him,” she confirmed.

  “I’m sure he will assist you.” Gordian cocked his head. “You may also wish to work with Professor Lombardi. The arena must come up to the league’s standards.”

  “I will.” Emily sighed, inwardly. That was going to be a great deal of work, even if she could shovel some of it onto her fellow pupils. Coming to think of it, she’d definitely have to get Professor Lombardi involved ... perhaps even Sergeant Miles. The Dueling League’s rules were very specific. “I wasn’t planning to have students join the league.”

  “They’ll want to join the league,” Gordian said. “And the less they have to unlearn, the better.”

  Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The Dueling League had never struck her as particularly logical. She’d fought two formal duels in her life, one of which had catapulted her to the top while the other had knocked her all the way down to the bottom. And yet, no one had questioned her right to the championship. They’d merely started making plans to challenge her after she left Whitehall.

  They won’t be doing that now, she thought. My ranking is no longer worth taking.

  She pushed that thought aside. “The contest will consist of three rounds. For the first one, everyone who wins their duel will proceed; for the second, we’ll keep dueling until we end up with a handful of candidates. And then they’ll battle it out for the championship.”

  “You’ll be knocking anyone who has a bad day out of the running,” Gordian pointed out, dryly. “There’ll be complaints.”

  “It depends on how many people want to duel,” Emily said. Frieda had been enthusiastic, but she didn’t know how many others wanted to compete. The Sixth Years were going to be very busy over the coming year. Caleb and the Gorgon certainly wouldn’t want to waste time ... Melissa might want to take part, but she had a lot of work to do. “If we only have a handful, we won’t really need to run three separate rounds after all.”

  “Magicians will want to compete,” Gordian said. “Don’t you?”

  Emily shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to compete. Nor had Lady Barb. Casper had, she supposed, but he was the only one she’d met who’d been genuinely enthusiastic. Even Master Grey had soured on dueling, though he’d been too prideful to give up his ranking without a fight. She wondered, absently, if Jade or Cat had ever been interested in dueling. It was something she’d have to ask Alassa, the next time they talked. Jade certainly had the skill to be a good duelist.

  “Others will want to compete,” Gordian said.

  He leaned back in his chair. “I’ll expect you to have the club organized within a month of term starting. You can set the contest dates as you see fit, but I advise you to wrap the third round up well before the final exams. Your classmates will probably try to lynch you if they have to choose between the duel and their exams.”

  Emily nodded. She wouldn’t want to take part in a contest while she was preparing desperately for her final exams either. She certainly wouldn’t have chosen to take part in a contest instead of her exams, but she could understand—she supposed—why some of her classmates would feel differently. Backing down—or out—was often seen as worse than standing up against insurmountable odds. It explained some of the odder moments of military and magical history. Better to die bravely, they reasoned, than be branded a coward.

  “I’ll try to wrap it up midway through the second term,” she said. Hopefully, she could abandon the whole concept afterwards and concentrate on her exams. “By then, the club should be running on its own.”

  “Very good.” Gordian gave her a look that suggested he knew precisely what she was thinking. “I’ll be announcing your election as Head Girl this afternoon. After that, you’ll be speaking to the Fifth Years tomorrow ...”

  Emily sighed. She wasn’t looking forward to that, either.

  “You defeated Shadye,” Gordian said. “I’m sure speaking to younger students won’t be that bad.”

  “Hah,” Emily muttered. She was already dreading speaking in public. Alassa could do it, easily. She couldn’t. “Shadye didn’t want me to speak to him.”

  Gordian nodded. “How did you beat him, anyway?”

  Emily refused to allow the question to throw her. Gordian was hardly the first person to ask, although she’d always suspected Grandmaster Hasdrubal knew more of the truth than he’d bothered to admit. She’d always hidden behind the Sorcerer’s Rule and refused to answer, even though she feared that was coming to an end. Dua Kepala had guessed too much of the truth.

  But she wasn’t going to tell Gordian. Not yet.

  “I harnessed the power of a dying star,” she said. It was true. Technically. “And I crushed him with it.”

  Gordian’s eyes darkened. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Do try not to be late.”

  Emily rose. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Six

  EMILY SPOTTED A HANDFUL OF UNFAMILIAR faces as she walked into the Sixth Year common room and took a seat on the sofa. Most of the students were known to her—by name, if nothing else—but there were a couple of newcomers who had to repeat their final year at Whitehall before graduating. A couple of others she knew were missing, having failed too many of their exams to be given a chance to retake them. They’d be back in Fifth Year ...

  At least they’d know how to mentor students, she thought. And they’d be aware of the pitfalls from last year.

  She leaned back and looked around the room. Caleb was standing by the bookshelf, reading a book so intently that she knew he wasn’t taking in a single word. Cirroc stood beside him, his eyes flickering from face to face. He shot Emily a sharp look when their eyes met, as if he blamed Emily for Caleb’s silence. Emily groaned inwardly, then ignored him. There had been too many rumors about her breakup with Caleb for her peace of mind, even if it had been almost a year ago. The whole story had been blurred into rumors about whatever had happened in Beneficence, emerging—as always—as something
that bore very little resemblance to the truth. She supposed she should be grateful. Given time, anyone who knew the truth could probably devise a god-spell of their own.

  “Emily,” a soft voice said. Emily looked up as the Gorgon sat down next to her, the snakes on her head hissing softly. Cabiria leaned against the armrest, looking as pale as ever. She and the Gorgon had become friends, Emily recalled. They had quite a bit in common. “I hope you had a good holiday.”

  “It could have been worse,” Emily said.

  It was true, she supposed. Compared to some of her earlier summer holidays, spending weeks revising before retaking her exams was almost restful. And besides, having Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles all to herself had done wonders for her comprehension. “Yours?”

  “I was back in the Gorgon Lands,” the Gorgon said. “My parents kept me busy all summer.”

  Emily nodded. “You’d be quite close to the Desert of Death,” she recalled. “Did you have any trouble with roving orcs?”

  “Not really,” the Gorgon said. “But we did have some trouble with military patrols.”

  “They probably thought you were hiding the orcs,” Cabiria said. “Bastards.”

  “Yes,” Emily agreed.

  She frowned as Melissa entered, followed by Jacqui and Cerise. Melissa’s former cronies glanced around the room, their eyes lingering on Emily for a long moment, then headed straight for the sideboard to pour themselves drinks. Emily wondered, absently, how they’d managed to pass their exams, although she had to admit they were both formidable magicians. They’d kept their distance from Melissa—and Emily—since Melissa had been disowned by her family, seemingly concerned about how their families would react if they continued the friendship. Emily couldn’t help wondering what it meant that they’d accompanied Melissa to the common room.

  Perhaps nothing, she thought, ruefully. We were all invited here, weren’t we?

  They made a striking couple, she had to admit as she watched them leaning against the wall. Jacqui was black, with dark eyes and white hair; Cerise was blonde, her hair curled into ringlets that fell around her shoulders. They’d both had their black robes tailored to show off their figures, even though it was technically forbidden. Emily couldn’t help wondering if they’d be ordered to change the first day they walked into a classroom. Wearing revealing clothes wasn’t permitted in class. No doubt they’d try to argue that they weren’t actually revealing any bare skin below their necklines.

  Melissa took a chair and nodded, politely, to Emily. She’d spent the summer with her husband, Emily recalled. She hoped Markus had had time to spend with his wife. His last set of letters had spoken of chaos in Beneficence, of savings wiped out and riots on the streets despite the best efforts of the bankers and councillors. It might be years, he’d warned, before the city recovered from Vesperian’s Folly and the Fists of Justice. The only upside was that the rules had been updated to ensure no one else could start a Ponzi scheme.

  Which probably won’t stop someone smart enough to find the loopholes and ruthless enough to exploit them, Emily thought, crossly. They can’t close everything without making it very hard to establish a business and turn a profit.

  She nodded back to Melissa, then resumed her survey of the room. Caleb was still pretending to read, but most of the others were chatting amongst themselves. She felt a twinge of the old regret—she’d never been good at socializing, not in large groups—and pushed it aside, sharply. Being isolated wasn’t that bad, was it? It wasn’t as if she wanted to chat about pointless social pleasantries.

  The wards shifted as Gordian strode into the room, followed by Master Tor. Emily sat upright, momentarily confused. Master Tor couldn’t be their Year Head, surely? He’d been their last Year Head. Coming to think of it, he’d been her Year Head back in Second Year too. She’d never really liked him and she was fairly sure the feeling was mutual.

  Her lips twitched as the chatter died away. He must be pretty sick of us by now.

  “Welcome back to Whitehall,” Gordian said, without preamble. His voice echoed in the quiet room. “You’ll be pleased to know that I won’t keep you long.”

  Emily kept her face expressionless with an effort. She’d heard that before—they’d all heard that before—and she’d believe it when she saw it. Gordian might not be as fond of the sound of his own voice as some of the others she’d met, but she was sure he’d taken the opportunity to pontificate as much as possible. If nothing else, he wanted—he needed—to stamp his authority on the school.

  “First, the staff met last week to elect a Head Pupil.” Gordian looked directly at Emily. “It was decided that Emily would serve as Head Girl for the year.”

  Emily felt herself flush as everyone looked at her. She forced herself to look back at Gordian, even though she wanted to hide. Caleb and Cabiria looked pleased, at least; Jacqui and Cerise didn’t look particularly happy. Melissa and the others didn’t seem to want to reveal their feelings. Emily might not have wanted to be Head Girl, but she was grimly aware that it made her practically unique.

  “As such, Emily will also serve as Head of Sixth Year,” Gordian continued. “I trust you will show her the same level of respect you’d show to any of your other Year Heads.”

  Emily felt her blood run cold. She hadn’t anticipated that. It certainly hadn’t been included on the list of official duties. Aloha hadn’t mentioned it to her either, although they hadn’t really had time to sit down and talk about being Head Girl. Perhaps Gordian was trying to do her a backhanded favor. She’d told him she wanted to be a teacher, after all. Serving as a Year Head would look good on her resume. It wouldn’t be a purely ceremonial post either.

  They won’t need that much help, she told herself, firmly. They’re not firsties.

  Gordian paused long enough to allow that to sink in, then continued.

  “Sixth Year is the hardest year, as some of you are already aware,” he added. “I expect each and every one of you to concentrate on your studies as much as possible. Those of you who spend time partying instead of studying will not impress your future masters, if you want apprenticeships. Nor will you pass your exams. You will be required to demonstrate a grasp of the material far in excess of what you have done over the past five years—yes, even last year. There are very few masters who will willingly take on an apprentice who has not shown a willingness to learn and master the material.

  “I advise you to put your studies first. Those of you who have personal concerns should put them aside for the year. Those of you who like partying should wait until you have passed your exams before returning to self-indulgence. And those of you who cannot act like adults should leave the school now. This is your last year of schooling. If you fail to take full advantage of it, you will fail.

  “In the outside world, you would already be considered adults. Here—now—you will also be considered adults. You will be held to account for mistakes—and malice—in a way you may find strange and even unbelievable. Those of you who act badly will not be caned, nor will you be given detentions. You will be suspended, perhaps even expelled. And if you are expelled, in this year, you will not be permitted to return. You will have great difficulty finding a place at another school of magic.”

  Emily swallowed, hard. She wasn’t the only one. Several students looked pale, as if they were hastily rethinking their plans. They’d grown used, perhaps, to being treated as overgrown children, in a world where a child of ten could be hanged as an adult. Now ... now they would be treated as adults.

  Then act like an adult, she told herself, firmly. And they can act like adults too.

  She sighed, inwardly. How the hell was she supposed to be Head Girl—and run the dueling club—when she was also supposed to be keeping up with her studies? She could shuffle some of the work onto other students, if she got volunteers, but she didn’t think she could put enough of it onto others to make a difference. Passing her exams was going to be a nightmare. What could she do, she asked herself silently, to
get out of the post? Nothing came to mind.

  And there are others who would have loved the job, she thought. I didn’t want it.

  “I could go on for hours,” Gordian said. She dragged her attention back to him. “I could list entire volumes of things you shouldn’t do, things that will get you kicked out of school. But I won’t, because I—we—expect you to use common sense. Those of you who think it’s funny to play puerile pranks on your fellow students can either rethink your approach or waste all your hard work over the last five years at school. You will face, for the first time, long-term consequences for your actions. Think carefully before you act.”

  Emily nodded. That, at least, she understood, even approved. Students at Whitehall were fond of playing terrible pranks on each other, pranks that were rarely punished. She’d been told, more than once, that it was better for students to learn to defend themselves than have the teachers protect them, but she’d never approved of it. Now, at least, the Sixth Years would think twice before pranking each other.

  Not that we’ll have the time, she thought. We’ll be far too busy to play games.

  “There are some other matters that require attention,” Gordian said, calmly. “One of them is that our Head Girl”—he nodded at Emily—“will be setting up a dueling club and running a contest. You are all welcome to take part, if you wish, both as duelists and assistants. I believe the Head Girl will handle registrations after the first week. Emily?”

  Emily took a breath. She hated speaking in public. Gordian hadn’t even warned her she would be speaking in public. She’d met people who had a talent for off-the-cuff remarks, but she wasn’t one of them. And the twenty-four people looking at her—twenty-six, counting the tutors—wouldn’t hesitate to remind her of any missteps or mistakes.

  “I need at least three assistants,” she said, slowly. She’d planned to approach a handful of students privately, but it seemed that was no longer an option. “I’ll also be passing sign-up sheets around later in the week. If any of you wish to duel, you’ll be welcome to sign up; if any of you want to assist, please let me know in the next couple of days.”