Emily winced, inwardly. There were thousands of protective and concealment spells woven into the tunnels. Professor Locke would never have found the control chamber without her, although neither of them had realized it at the time. Back then, the idea that she had helped found the school would have been laughable. They’d certainly had no reason to think that she had permission to go where she liked.
But anything could be concealed under the school, she thought. And we wouldn’t know anything about it until we stumbled over the hidden chamber.
“We do intend to look,” Akanke said. “I trust that will meet with your approval?”
“As long as you stay out of the control center,” Gordian said. “We decided to leave that well alone.”
He looked at Emily. “Perhaps you would care to escort them?”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t have time.” She wondered, briefly, if she could convince Gordian to let her pass the dueling club to Cirroc. If he wanted her to talk history with the history monks, something else would have to be put aside. “I’m going to be busy until after graduation day.”
Another thought struck her, making her wince. It had been nearly a year since she’d set foot in the underground complex, let alone made her way to the control center. She certainly hadn’t bothered to check for other hidden compartments. In hindsight, that might have been careless. Whitehall and Bernard might have lacked her knowledge, but they’d also been less reluctant to tamper with the nexus point. There might be a hundred sealed chambers below the school. Perhaps she should find them before anyone else.
And the control center should be checked too, she thought, grimly. It wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with Gordian. Grandmaster or not, she didn’t trust him that far. I should see to it before anything else.
“I’ll arrange for a couple of my staff to escort you,” Gordian said, addressing Akanke. He didn’t seem unhappy that Emily had declined to do it. “We can start tomorrow, if you wish.”
“That would be fine, I believe,” Akanke said. “We can spend the rest of the day compiling our notes. If we could borrow the office ...”
Emily was caught between amusement and offence. “This is my office,” she said, dryly. Did they think she’d let them kick her out of her own office? “But there are study rooms you could use.”
Gordian raised a hand to conceal a smile. “I’ve had the pair of you assigned to a guest suite,” he said. “There are offices attached, which you are welcome to use. And I look forward to the pleasure of your company for dinner.”
Oscine shot Emily an apologetic look. “That would be suitable. And thank you.”
“I’ll take you to them personally,” Gordian said. “Emily, thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“You’re welcome,” Emily lied. She was going to be second-guessing herself for the rest of the day. And she was going to have to sneak down to the catacombs. Frieda would probably want to come with her, too. Emily wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but at least it would keep Frieda out of trouble. “If you don’t mind, I have work to attend to.”
Gordian bowed. “Of course. I’ll send you a message if they require any further assistance.”
“We will want to discuss some secondary matters,” Oscine grunted. He put out a paw-like hand and shook Emily’s, firmly. “But we thank you for your time.”
Emily nodded, keeping her face expressionless. She’d considered becoming a historian, once upon a time. That dream hadn’t lasted, but she still had great respect for historians. Writing down what had really happened was important. And yet, she wasn’t sure what would happen if some version of the truth got out. Too many people would start asking too many questions about where the truth had come from. The only real consolation was that there weren’t any long-forgotten super-magics lurking in the past.
Unless you count demons, she thought. But the modern world doesn’t need them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“YOU NEVER TOOK ME DOWN INTO the tunnels,” Frieda muttered, as they walked down the stairs to the armory. “Is it anything like the tunnels under Mountaintop?”
“It’s very different,” Emily said. It was safer now, but she still felt tense as she approached the hidden door. The staff, including Gordian and Sergeant Miles, would be at dinner, yet there was still a risk of getting caught. “Give me a moment to work on the defenses ...”
She closed her eyes, reaching out to touch the wards. Gordian had been busy, she noted; he’d drawn on the school’s wards to conceal the entrance to the catacombs, but he’d also added a series of independent wards of his own. Her eyes narrowed as she studied them, wondering just what Gordian had in mind. The wards weren’t anchored to the school, let alone drawing power from the nexus point. Putting them in place must have cost Gordian a considerable investment in time and magic ...
And the only person they could be keyed against is me, Emily thought. She cursed under her breath, wishing—suddenly—that she’d kept a closer eye on the entrance. Anyone else would be deterred by a normal set of wards. Gordian wanted to be very sure he’d know about it if I went into the tunnels.
The wards were impressive, she admitted sourly. She could draw on the school’s wards and break them through brute force, but she was fairly sure that would set off any number of alarms. Gordian would hardly have missed that possibility. Instead, she carefully worked her way into the ward network—drawing a trickle of power from the school—and froze the wards in place. It wasn’t perfect—she was grimly aware that the history monks were planning to visit the catacombs, which meant that Gordian would have to let them in—but it would have to do.
She opened her eyes. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Frieda smiled as they slipped past the frozen wards and down the tunnel. Emily had expected to have to cast light-globes or night-vision spells, but the eerie radiance followed them as they reached the bottom and stepped into the catacombs. Someone had been busy. The dust she recalled from the previous year was gone. She peered up and down the corridor as she sensed trickles of magic plummeting towards the nexus point. It looked as though someone had been exploring.
“Keep very quiet,” she muttered to Frieda. She’d explored some parts of the catacombs, but she’d left other parts strictly alone. “We don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”
She drew on the wards as they made their way down to the hidden library. Someone had definitely been busy. The walls had been swept clean of dust, allowing the runes and diagrams to be copied ... she tensed as she caught sight of a complex runic diagram, positioned neatly above a drawing of a Manavore. She’d drawn up the power-draining runes, back in the past. Someone had copied them down and hidden them as a warning to future generations. And someone else had copied them down.
The thrumming of the nexus point grew louder, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. It wasn’t a physical sound, more like something beating against her magic. It was all she could do to think as the sensation pounded into her thoughts. She tried to use the wards to peer ahead, but it was like trying to look into the sun. There was too much stray magic flowing through the system for her to see through the charms.
Frieda caught her arm. “Look!”
Emily turned. A chamber—a large chamber—had been turned into a sleeping room. A number of blankets lay on the stone floor, while bags and food supplies had been placed against the far wall ... it looked like someone was on a camping trip. She peered inside, trying to determine how many people were living under the school. It was hard to be sure—the chamber appeared deserted—but she would have guessed that at least five men were using the chamber. And there were hundreds of similar chambers under the school. Were they all occupied?
She cursed under her breath. What the hell is going on?
“Watch the door,” she ordered. “And get ready to cast an invisibility spell.”
She slipped into the chamber and looked around. If there were notes lying about ... she saw nothing, save for a handful of blue b
ooks and a couple of magical texts. She picked up the nearest blue book, just in case it had been charmed to conceal something more interesting, but a glance at a couple of random pages told her that no one had bothered. A pair of unrealistic sex scenes ... whoever was under the school, she told herself as she replaced the book where she’d found it, had to be very bored.
Sergeant Miles had taught her how to read a campsite, years ago. She looked around, silently noting the absence of bras or other feminine clothing. They were men, probably. The handful of visible clothes certainly backed that up. But then, there could be a female campsite on the other side of the corridor. She took one last look, reluctant to start opening bags unless there was no other choice. A trained magician would have booby-trapped his bag, just to make sure no one stole from him. She’d done it herself while she’d been in the army camp.
Gordian’s been busy, she thought, as she slipped back to the door. No one could have gotten under the school without the Grandmaster’s permission.
Her mind raced. Gordian had told her that he’d sealed the catacombs. He’d lied to her. And that meant ... what? What were these people doing under the school? Checking to make sure there wasn’t a monster buried under Whitehall? Or something more sinister? She forced herself to put the matter aside for later contemplation as she met Frieda’s worried eyes. If they slipped further towards the control center, the odds of being caught would go up sharply.
And Gordian will need to clear these people out before the history monks start exploring, she reminded herself. Unless he plans to pass them off as staff ...
“We need to sneak closer to the control center,” she said, very quietly. “Get ready to turn invisible.”
She listened for a long moment, then inched down the corridor, keeping her senses peeled for magical traps. It wasn’t too likely that anyone would booby-trap the passageway, but it was better to be careful. The constant presence of the nexus point throbbed against her mind, yet she could hear nothing else. She could practically sense the spellware Master Wolfe and Lord Whitehall—and Emily—had devised to control the nexus point ...
Something moved, further down the corridor. Footsteps echoed up, towards them. Emily tensed, then pulled Frieda into an alcove and cast a glamour, drawing on the wards to make it stronger. Anyone who didn’t already know they were there shouldn’t notice them, she told herself firmly. The nexus point would make it harder for anyone to spot them if they were looking with magic.
Harder for us to see them too, Emily thought. We have to be careful.
Two men strode into view. They wore long robes and wardcrafter badges, carrying devices Emily didn’t recognize in their arms. A third man followed, holding a large notebook and a small wooden wand. Emily kept herself as still as possible, knowing that the slightest movement might draw their attention. And yet, she wanted to know what was in that notebook. What were the men doing under the school?
Understanding clicked. They’re studying the nexus point, she realized. And the spellware we created to take control.
She watched the three men stride into the distance as she fought down a sudden rush of sheer rage. Gordian had lied to her. He was tampering with the nexus point. Or, at least, studying the nexus point in hopes of finding a way to tamper with it. Perhaps he wanted to lock her out of the school’s control network ... he could, perhaps, if he found a way to get himself classed as one of the founders. Emily had always assumed that Lord Whitehall had done just that to any founder who’d declined to play ball, in later years. God knew that some of the early deserters had nearly brought the Whitehall Commune to its knees.
As soon as the men were out of sight, she led the way further down the corridor, adjusting the glamour to provide some concealment. People saw things close to a nexus point. If she was lucky, anyone who caught a glimpse of them would decide it was just another trick of their mind. And if she wasn’t ... a dull anger burned in her breast. She would almost have welcomed a confrontation, even if it would have pitted Frieda and her against an unknown number of fully-trained magicians. Gordian had lied to her.
He’ll definitely have to move them out before it’s too late, she thought, as she reached the control center. How many of the staff know he’s got a team working down here?
Two men were inside the control center, monitoring the spellware as it drew on the nexus point to maintain the school. Emily eyed their backs for a long moment, then glanced around the chamber. They’d been very busy, she noted. It looked as though they’d filled over a dozen notebooks with observations. She had no idea how long it would take them to untangle the web of spells that made up Whitehall—a number of grandmasters had clearly made their own modifications before the chamber had been buried and forgotten—but she didn’t think it would take that long. Gordian would hire the very best. And he had access to her notes on virtual spellware ...
She ground her teeth in sudden frustration. Gordian could have—he would have—shared her notes with his researchers. Given access to the nexus point, it would only be a matter of time before they unlocked its secrets. Hell, for all she knew, Gordian had only kicked the research program into high gear after she’d taken control of Heart’s Eye. He had ample reason to be ... concerned ... about the ill-understood spellware holding his school together. And if he feared what she could do with her control over the wards ... she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to lock her out, if he could.
Emily led Frieda away, down a set of corridors that had also been thoroughly cleaned. The map room—including the immense world map that showed a completely unknown continent—had been turned into another research center, with notebooks and study materials scattered everywhere. Other chambers had been given a sweep, then left to gather dust once it was clear there was nothing to be learned there. Emily understood, rather sourly, why Gordian hadn’t raised more objections to the history monks exploring the lower levels. If there was anything hidden by the wards, anything hidden so well his men couldn’t find them, the monks wouldn’t find it either.
And he can just move his researchers out for a few weeks, she thought. Who knows? It might even give them a rest.
Frieda caught her arm. “What was that?”
“That was the control center,” Emily said. “And ...”
She broke off. There was no one she could talk to about this, not even Frieda. Or Lady Barb or Sergeant Miles ... perhaps she would have confided in Void, if he’d been around, but she didn’t have the slightest idea how to contact him. He moved around a lot. A letter might reach him in a week ... or months. And even if she did contact someone, anyone she asked would want to know why she hadn’t told them about her trip to the past.
Because I thought it needed to be kept secret, she told herself.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, studying the collection of wards and concealment charms that pervaded the lower levels. Someone had definitely been busy, inserting their own pieces of spellwork ... it was hard to know when they’d done it—it was possible that it predated her arrival at Whitehall—but she couldn’t help finding it ominous. Gordian would know better than to touch the spells holding Whitehall’s pocket dimensions in place—she was sure of that—yet that left him plenty of room for mischief. Given time, he might be able to take the whole network over ...
“Fuck,” she muttered.
Frieda snickered. “Language.”
Emily ignored her. She was trying to think of what to do. It was sheer luck she’d stumbled onto Gordian’s plan, yet she had no idea how to react. She could sabotage his modifications, but she didn’t have complete control over the school’s wards. Too many grandmasters had added too many modifications for her to be entirely sure what would happen if she tried. Whitehall wasn’t intelligent, not as she understood the term, but it was definitely a learning system. God alone knew how it would react if she and Gordian engaged in a battle for control.
It might recognize me as the last surviving Founder, she thought. Professor Locke had told her stories of prospectiv
e masters who’d battled for control, but she had no idea how many of the stories were actually true. Or it might recognize him as the legally-appointed Grandmaster. Or it might turn on both of us.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, grimly. There was no point in searching for any more documents, not now. Anything Gordian hadn’t been able to find could stay there, for the moment. “Come on.”
She kept her senses primed as they made their way slowly back to the entrance. Now she knew what to look for, it was easy to spot more and more powerful charms inserted into the spellwork. It was a brilliant piece of work, she had to admit, combining functionality with plausible deniability. Every charm had a mundane use as well as a blatantly hostile one. She doubted she could construct an ironclad case against him in a court of law, if she ever had to try. He could just accuse her of being paranoid.
And he might be right, she thought. He needs to understand how his school actually works.
“We should explore further,” Frieda said. She didn’t sound discouraged by everything they’d seen. The risk of getting caught didn’t seem to bother her either. “How far down do the tunnels go?”
Emily shrugged. She didn’t know who’d carved the tunnels, let alone warded them. They’d been in existence, partly, before Lord Whitehall had arrived. That secret had definitely been lost in the mists of time. And then someone else had turned the school into a pocket dimension, years after Whitehall. Who knew what had happened then?
They reached the top of the tunnel and entered the school. Emily unfroze the wards, taking a moment to check them before hurrying Frieda to the showers. They weren’t covered in dust—she still shuddered when she recalled the dusty chambers from last year—but there was no point in taking chances. It was better that Gordian believe they’d gone for a walk in the mountains—and come back hot and sweaty—than work out where they’d actually gone before she was ready to confront him. Or ... she didn’t know what she’d do. And there was no one she could ask for advice.
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 23
