The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Emily did keep an eye on Frieda as half-term came to an end. The younger girl had been caned—of course—and then wrote an essay managing to combine an odd understanding of what she’d done wrong with a strange—and defiant—insistence that she’d somehow done the right thing. Emily read it and shook her head, unable to escape the sense that she was watching helplessly as a runaway train raced down the track towards disaster. If Frieda had been influenced by an outside power, it would have been understandable. Instead ...

  Instead, she was left wondering if she’d missed something. Or if she’d somehow failed Frieda.

  It was almost a relief when classes restarted, even though most of her classes spent the first day reviewing material they’d covered in the previous term. Emily didn’t blame Professor Lombardi and Professor Armstrong for wanting to make sure that everyone was on the same page, but she couldn’t help thinking of it as yet another waste of her limited time before the exams. She hadn’t gone home for the holidays. None of the older students had left the school for more than a quick walk up the mountains or a trip to Dragon’s Den. And yet they had to review material before moving on. The only teacher who didn’t seem inclined to hold a review was Gordian and she wasn’t inclined to relax in his class. She still had no idea what he knew ...

  “Emily, remain behind,” Gordian said, once his class finally came to an end. “Everyone else, dismissed.”

  Emily groaned inwardly, keeping her face impassive as the classroom hastily emptied. She had the feeling she would have enjoyed Ethics of Magic and Politics if Gordian hadn’t been teaching it—the class did raise a number of interesting questions—but as it was she just wanted to sit at the back and not make waves. Gordian didn’t let her, of course. He asked her questions more than anyone else, even the students who didn’t seem to be paying attention. It was hard to escape the feeling that he had something up his sleeve ...

  Maybe he just wants to embarrass me in front of the others, she thought. It would be petty, if that were the case, but Gordian would hardly be the first sorcerer to indulge in a little pettiness. Or maybe he thinks the Head Girl should be taking the lead.

  She sighed as Gordian sat down, facing her. She’d waited for five days, expecting the hammer to fall at any moment. And yet ... it hadn’t. She couldn’t decide if Gordian was trying to outlast her or if he’d simply decided that she’d handled the matter in a suitable manner. Maybe he didn’t know she’d been down to the catacombs. She knew they hadn’t been caught.

  “Lady Emily,” Gordian said. “Do you know why I asked you to remain behind?”

  Emily could make a number of guesses. But half of them would be revealing.

  “No, sir,” she said.

  “A disturbing report reached my ears,” Gordian said. “Your young friend assaulted a far younger student.”

  Reached your ears, Emily thought, sardonically. Gordian was connected to the wards. It would be hard for him to travel far from Whitehall without disconnecting himself and passing the wards to someone else. Doing that would be difficult, from what Gordian’s predecessor had said. You would have been alerted the moment the alarms went off.

  She kept her mouth shut. Gordian presumably had something to say. The sooner she let him say it, the sooner she could deal with it. Or just leave.

  “The healer reported that the damage was quite significant,” Gordian said, after a long moment. “Perhaps you could explain to me, young lady, why your friend should not be expelled?”

  “She was punished,” Emily said, flatly.

  “Perhaps the punishment was not sufficient,” Gordian said. “Perhaps it merits a far worse punishment.”

  Emily took a breath. Thankfully, she’d anticipated that question.

  “Five years ago, one student accidentally injured another student,” she said. “The wounded student had to spend several days in the infirmary. The student who cast the jumbled spells was caned, then forced to write an essay on the subject. I believe that is a suitable precedent for Frieda’s case.”

  “You may be right.” Gordian cocked his head. “Do you think that everyone will agree?”

  “The precedent has been set,” Emily said. It wasn’t perfect, of course. Frieda was three years older than Marian, rather than being the same age. “And I believed I should follow it.”

  “I see,” Gordian said. “I could, of course, overturn your decision.”

  “Not without calling my position into question,” Emily said. She had made sure to read the rules, after she’d been told she’d be Head Girl. “It was my duty to handle the situation and I handled it.”

  “You were also quite soft on her,” Gordian said, his voice surprisingly quiet. “Remind me, Emily. Which year is Frieda in?”

  “Fourth,” Emily said. “And Marian is a firstie. That does not change the fact that it was my task to handle the affair.”

  “No, but it does call your judgement into question,” Gordian pointed out. “What would you have done if it had been someone else?”

  “I think I would have done the same thing,” Emily lied. Gordian had a very good point, damn him. Frieda was a friend. She wouldn’t have been anything like so gentle with another student. “It was my call to make.”

  “It was, yes.” Gordian met her eyes, evenly. “I don’t think I have to warn you that this situation is already too far out of control. If Frieda does not shape up in a hurry, you may bear the brunt of the blame for her antics. And she will be expelled.”

  Because I didn’t convince her to stop, Emily thought, sourly. He has me whichever way I turn.

  “I understand,” she said, tonelessly.

  “She should also be removed from the dueling club,” Gordian added. “Or should she stay, because she’s one of the best duelists?”

  Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Frieda probably should be banned from the club, at least until her disposition improved. It wasn’t something Emily had thought about, but ... it was a good point. And yet, Gordian didn’t want her to go. The irony cut at Emily like a knife. Frieda was being offered the chance to get away with something bad because she was good at sports.

  And she’d hate to lose it, Emily told herself. She is a good duelist.

  She looked back at the Grandmaster. “If she behaves, she should stay,” she said. The club would give Frieda something to work for, if nothing else. “And if she misbehaves, she should go.”

  Gordian quirked his eyebrows. “Is that your decision, as Head Girl?”

  Emily sighed. “Yes.”

  “Very good,” Gordian said. “I believe the next contest is in a couple of weeks, right? Maybe she will do well enough to go into the final round.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said. That would be good for Frieda, wouldn’t it? Winning a contest on even terms, proving that she truly did have a place at Whitehall ... it would be good. But after all the rumors spreading through the school, it might turn to ashes in Frieda’s mouth. “I’m sure she will do well.”

  “She’ll have to work hard to overcome some of the older students,” Gordian said. “They won’t underestimate her any longer.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “I trust you will also try to keep your boyfriend from making matters worse. We don’t need angry parents descending on the school.”

  “No, sir.” Emily rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache starting to pound under the skin. She’d have to have a talk with Caleb, soon. But she didn’t want to take her attention off Frieda. “I’m sure that Marian will recover.”

  “Very good,” Gordian said. “You may go.”

  Emily bit down on a number of sharp—and unhelpful—replies as she rose and hurried out of the room. It had been a long day and she was too tired for word games. And she didn’t know what Gordian actually had in mind. She walked down the stairs, trying to parse out the problem. What was he doing? Trying to deal with too many conflicting issues ...

  ... Or trying to push her into making a mistake?

  She reached the bottom of t
he stairs and walked into the armory. Sergeant Miles was drilling a bunch of students in the correct use of the sword, alternatively encouraging or berating the younger boys as they took jabs at stuffed dummies. They wouldn’t be allowed to use real swords in training, Emily remembered from her own days. The practice blades were wood, charmed to deliver a nasty whack without causing real damage. She’d staggered back to her room covered in bruises more than once, back in the early days.

  Not that I’ll ever be a swordsmistress, she thought, reluctantly. She knew how to handle a sword, but she was no match for Jade or Cat, let alone Sergeant Miles. Many of these young men will surpass me.

  Sergeant Miles blew his whistle, scolded a young man who hadn’t put his blade down fast enough and then dismissed the class. Emily stepped to one side as a mass of sweaty students pushed past her, all male. It didn’t look as if there were any female students in this class, not entirely to her surprise. Men had always outnumbered women in Martial Magic.

  “Emily,” Sergeant Miles said, walking over to her. The training room was hot, but he didn’t seem to be sweaty. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to talk,” Emily said.

  Sergeant Miles nodded. “I’ll be in my office in five minutes,” he said. The sound of punching and kicking echoed down the corridor, coming from the changing room. “Go there and wait for me.”

  Emily nodded, feeling a flicker of sympathy for the younger students. Sergeant Miles could deliver a devastating reprimand without ever raising his voice. Roughhousing had its time and place, she’d been told, but not in the armory. She turned and hurried to his office, feeling the wards part as she reached the door. It was unchanged, save for a large map of Farrakhan stuck to the wall. Someone had sketched an outline of the first and second battles for the city, then covered it with notes.

  They’re learning more about using guns in combat, she thought. The Orcs had received a terrible surprise, the first time they’d encountered muskets. They’d have been slaughtered within seconds if they’d faced machine guns. Who knows what will happen next time?

  Sergeant Miles entered, looking grim. “Emily.” He walked over to the sideboard and poured a glass of juice. “Drink?”

  “Yes, please,” Emily said. “I ... I have a problem.”

  “You have many problems,” Sergeant Miles said. “Which one are we talking about here?”

  “Frieda,” Emily said. “You do know you’re listed as one of her guardians?”

  “Barb convinced me to add my name to the list,” Sergeant Miles said. “However, she is required to request my assistance if she needs it.”

  Emily sighed. “She needs help.” She went through the whole story, starting with Frieda’s increasing moodiness and ending with her assault on Marian. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Sergeant Miles considered it for a long moment. “She has taken on rather a lot. I believe she even had a nasty fight with her teammates, a month or so ago.”

  “I know,” Emily said. “Why did you let it happen?”

  “Sometimes, you have to let things happen,” Sergeant Miles said, curtly. “I didn’t approve of the rest of her squad giving her a beating, even though I knew there would be no permanent harm. But, by the same token, I had to make sure that everyone knew there would be punishment if someone stepped too far out of line.”

  Emily swallowed. “That could have happened to me ...”

  “Only if you weren’t trying. Or if you were making a fool of yourself. Or if you were costing the team its chance at victory.” Sergeant Miles took a sip of his juice. “Believe me, there have been worse incidents. When I was a young man, newly assigned to a regiment on the border, we had a thief in the barracks. When he was caught, he was forced to run the gauntlet.”

  “And died,” Emily finished.

  “He went on to be one of the bravest soldiers in the field,” Sergeant Miles said, quietly. “I believe he died in combat, ten years ago.”

  Emily felt sick. She’d seen a man run the gauntlet, back in the army camp. His beaters had not been gentle. He’d been covered in blood before reaching the end of the line. A healer could have fixed him up, if he’d been able to pay, but the lingering effects would have taken years to fade. How could a man who’d suffered like that go on to be a brave soldier?

  “Trust has to be rebuilt,” Sergeant Miles said softly, answering her unspoken question. “Sometimes, that means taking your lumps like a man.”

  I’m not a man, Emily thought. She remembered Lady Barb talking about respect, years ago. If you want respect, particularly from men, you have to earn it. And that means acting like a man.

  She pushed the thought aside. “What do you suggest I do?”

  Sergeant Miles looked back at her. “You cannot carry Frieda on your shoulders indefinitely,” he said, flatly. “You have to let her work her way through this herself.”

  “She can’t,” Emily said.

  “Then perhaps she shouldn’t be here.” He tapped his lips before Emily could say a word. “Frieda could learn a great deal from failure, Emily. And right now, she’s setting herself up for failure.”

  “She might have to retake the year,” Emily said. “Or even go back two years.”

  “Hopefully with the memory of her failure to sharpen her mind,” Sergeant Miles said. “Her project isn’t just about coming up with a great idea, Emily. It’s about learning to work together, learning how to use one partner’s skills to aid the other. Frieda will do better next time.”

  Emily sagged. “Are you suggesting that I just ... give up?”

  “I’m suggesting that you let her learn from her own failures,” Sergeant Miles said. He held up a hand, calmly. “She has a problem. She has a whole set of problems, most of which she brought on herself. And she needs to learn how to deal with them, not ... not try to get you to solve them.”

  “I can’t,” Emily said.

  “That’s the problem,” Sergeant Miles agreed. “You can’t save her from herself.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Emily said.

  “You’ve done all you can do,” Sergeant Miles told her. “All you can really do—now—is hope for the best.”

  Emily sighed. “What advice would you give her, if she came to you?”

  “I’d tell her to get her head out of her ass,” Sergeant Miles said, bluntly. “She can put some of her classes aside, for the moment. She can get tutoring from older students. She can limit her other commitments until after she passes her exams, if she even gets that far. At worst, she can go to the grandmaster and ask permission to retake the year. She has options, Emily, and she knows it. Right now, she’s too prideful to back down.”

  “I thought you said that backing down was a sign of weakness,” Emily said.

  “It depends on where you are,” Sergeant Miles said. “Showing weakness to the wrong person can be disastrous. But overestimating yourself can be equally bad.”

  He looked up as someone rapped on the door. “She has promise. But she’s not taking the time to develop it properly.”

  “They said that of me,” Emily reminded him.

  “Yes,” Sergeant Miles said. “And didn’t you have problems too?”

  Emily made a face as she headed for the door. The sergeant could be right. She knew he could be right. But she didn’t want to believe it.

  And yet, she didn’t know what to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “YOU LOOK LIKE SOMEONE IN NEED of a favor,” Cirroc said, as Emily approached his chair. He was sitting in the common room, reading a book. “What can I do for you?”

  Emily frowned, inwardly. Did she look like she needed a favor? Imaiqah had always insisted that she had no bargaining face. It was why Imaiqah regularly managed to convince storekeepers to lower their price, while Emily was forced to either pay the original price or walk away. But then, she hadn’t grown up in a country where bargaining was expected, let alone necessary. She doubted a Wal-Mart salesman would be impressed if she tried t
o haggle over the price of a box of chocolates.

  And he probably wouldn’t have the authority to offer a reduction anyway, she thought. The person manning a fish stall, on the other hand ...

  She pushed the thought aside as she surveyed the common room. Jacqui and Cerise were seated at a table, working their way through a large pile of books; Mathis and Pandora were sitting on a love-seat, looking unbearably lovey-dovey. Emily was tempted to tell them to get a room, but the common room was really for everyone. And there were too many listening ears for her peace of mind.

  “I do need a favor,” she said. Cirroc would want to bargain, of course. “Perhaps we could talk about it in your room.”

  Cirroc gave her a long look, then rose and led the way out of the common room. His bedroom was nearby, the door crawling with hexes that would take another student several hours to dismantle safely. Emily wondered, as Cirroc opened the door, precisely what Madame Rosalinda and her male counterpart made of it. They’d need to call on a wardcrafter if they wanted to open the door in less than twenty minutes. But then, Gordian could probably tear the wards down in a moment if he wished. The school’s wards reigned supreme.

  She found herself looking around with interest as they walked into the room. It was slightly smaller than hers, dominated by a large bed and a bookshelf groaning with textbooks. It wasn’t what she’d expected from a young man who was far too close to being a jock, but being good at sports wasn’t enough to get a student through Whitehall. Even the jocks had to study. A small basket of dirty laundry sat in the corner, waiting for someone to deliver it to the maids. The remainder of the room was surprisingly neat. She couldn’t help feeling a flicker of amusement. Every time she’d imagined a boy’s bedroom, she’d envisaged something that could have passed for a bomb site.

  “Please, be seated.” Cirroc sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands. “What can I do for you?”

  Emily sat on the chair, resting her hands in her lap. She was surprised at her own daring, even though cold logic told her she was being silly. Five years ago, she wouldn’t have willingly walked into a boy’s bedroom ... even if she knew and trusted him completely. And there hadn’t been anyone she knew and trusted completely. She hadn’t even spent much time in Caleb’s room after they’d started dating. Her room had seemed much safer.