Her head spun again as she tried to figure out all the angles. If what Alassa had told her was true, there were times in the Royal Court where you didn’t dare scratch your nose for fear that someone would take it as a sign to start something violent.
“Follow me,” Mistress Irene said. “And keep your hands to yourselves. It was hard enough to convince them to let you enter the building.”
They walked up a long flight of stone stairs and into a corridor that led towards a pair of marble doors, guarded by men wearing shining silver armor and carrying short swords. One of them insisted on taking the sword Emily had been carrying ever since she took it off the bandit, the other took the dagger and ran a wand over the two girls.
A detector of some kind, Emily guessed, as the guard nodded to his comrade to open the door. They’d been classed and rated as harmless.
Inside, the nine City Fathers of Dragon’s Den looked down upon them with varying levels of disapproval. Unsurprisingly, they were all men, all old enough to be Emily’s grandfather. Appearances could be deceptive in this world, she reminded herself; hard-working people could look seventy when they were actually thirty, and someone wealthy enough to buy rejuvenation spells could easily be over a hundred. They wore black shirts and trousers, along with golden medallions hanging from their necks. It was impossible to escape the sense that they were well aware of their own importance.
On the far side of the room, she saw the guardsman who had met them as soon as they escaped the sorcerer’s house. She studied him, trying to decide if it had been a coincidence that he’d been right outside, or if someone had set up the whole encounter. But none of her theories as to why anyone would bother to waste time with such an absurd plot made sense.
Maybe someone had just wanted to embarrass the City Fathers. It seemed as good a theory as any.
“Make your report,” one of the City Fathers said to the guardsman. “We must know what happened.”
“We searched the building where the Princess was held,” the guardsman said. He didn’t mention Emily, for which she was both grateful and a little insulted. Didn’t she count in a world that included aristocrats and monarchies? “We found the bodies of Bruno and Ambrose, a father and son team of conmen, thugs, kidnappers and cutthroats. They were both killed by magic.”
Mistress Irene stepped forward. “How do you know they were killed by magic?”
“You have no right to ask questions in this chamber,” one of the City Fathers said quickly. “You may submit your questions through us and ...”
“Don’t be silly,” another City Father interrupted. “She speaks for Whitehall.”
“And the Heir of Zangaria was kidnapped in our city,” an elderly City Father quavered. “We do not wish to seem obstructive.”
“We do not kiss the buttocks of royals,” the objecting City Father said. “We value our independence.”
“Which may not last if this leads to war,” Mistress Irene said, her cold voice cutting through the chatter. “Guardsman, how do you know the bandits were killed by magic?”
“Their hearts had exploded inside their chests,” the guardsman said. “We were fortunate enough to get a forensic sorcerer to the building before the vibrations had faded away and he confirmed that it was the work of a Dark Wizard. The only one whose current location cannot be confirmed is the Sorcerer Malefic.”
The City Fathers exchanged glances. “He would not stoop so low,” one of them said. “I believe him to be a true son of the city.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the guardsman said, “but it is my observation that Malefic would do anything for gold.”
Emily nudged Mistress Irene. “Who is Malefic?”
“A practicing magician who claims to be a full-fledged sorcerer whenever he can get away with it,” Mistress Irene said. “I’ve seen his work before; husbands hexed by their wives, wives spelled to be obedient, workers convinced to work for nothing ... Like the guardsman said, he would do anything for a gold coin. But he should have had more sense than to challenge the Grandmaster, let alone your patron.”
“And my family,” Alassa added. “They will send men after Malefic.”
“They’d do better to send combat sorcerers,” Mistress Irene said tightly. “Even a low-level magic user has to be taken seriously. You make sure they know that before they send a small army to be slaughtered.”
“We are continuing to hunt for Malefic,” the guardsman continued, ignoring the interruption. “However, we have no idea where he might be hiding.”
“He may have left the city,” one of the City Fathers said. He looked around the table, finally looking directly at Mistress Irene. “I think we can declare the matter closed, can’t we?”
“No,” Mistress Irene said. “Two of my students were kidnapped–however briefly–while in your city. One of them is a Royal Princess that could have started a war between Dragon’s Den and Zangaria–and Zangaria would have the support of Whitehall. We expect your thorough cooperation in tracking down the miscreants and handing them over for punishment.”
“The citizens of a free city cannot be handed over to anyone,” a City Father objected. “It goes against our most basic principles.”
“Then I suggest you decide if your principles mean more to you than fighting a hopeless war,” Mistress Irene said sharply. “Do you really wish to push this any further?”
There was a long uncomfortable silence. “We will try them when we catch them,” one of the City Fathers said after several minutes. “And if they are proved to be guilty, we will hand them over to you. However, we cannot surrender anyone until their guilt has been confirmed. We have no proof that it was really Malefic who provided the magic and potion for their capture and confinement.”
“There was someone behind the two thugs,” the guardsman said. “Neither Bruno nor Ambrose were known for high intelligence. Someone–either Malefic or another sorcerer–was pulling their strings.”
He hesitated. “There is a limit to how far we can pressure the sorcerers in this city,” he added. “Perhaps Whitehall could offer to provide support if necessary.”
Emily hesitated, then spoke out into the chamber. “You said you have magicians working for you. Can’t you ... can’t you do something like summoning their ghosts and interrogating them?”
There was immediate uproar. Mistress Irene’s face darkened, one hand lifted as if she were about to slap Emily across the face before thinking better of it. The City Fathers were all talking rapidly, as if she’d just suggested something horrifying, perhaps even on the verge of necromancy itself ... Even Alassa looked shocked, although she also looked amused.
Emily’s mistake had been so basic that she hadn’t even realized it was a mistake until it was too late.
“You dare bring someone like her into this chamber?” One of the City Fathers said. “Take her out; take her for punishment and...”
“That will do,” Mistress Irene overrode him, in a tone that brooked no dissent. “The young sorceress is from a faraway country and knows not of what she speaks. It will be dealt with when we return to Whitehall.”
Her gaze swept the room. “We will expect to receive regular reports on your progress,” she said, addressing the senior City Father. “Should you require any support from us, you only have to ask. I will see that you receive it directly.”
She nodded, once. “Emily, Alassa; come. We have to return to Whitehall.”
They recovered their weapons, then descended the steps and headed for the main door. The young men outside stared at them again as they passed. Oddly, Emily found that their attention no longer bothered her.
Mistress Irene sniffed as she took a look at Emily’s sword, before suggesting that she show it to the Sergeants and ask for their opinion on carrying it. The sword’s former owner was dead and there was no point in leaving it in the city, where just anyone could use it. She said nothing else until they were in the carriage and rattling out of the gates, back onto the road to Whitehall.
“You should have kept your mouth shut,” Mistress Irene said without heat.
Emily flushed.
“Those who traffic with the dead come to bad ends,” Mistress Irene went on. “Even the most insane of necromancers would think twice before attempting to penetrate the veil between the mortal world and the land of the dead. Your suggestion ... you could have questioned their legitimacy and the status of their mothers and received a less unpleasant response.”
“You could desecrate a temple and receive less of a whipping,” Alassa said. The Princess grinned at her, although there was no real malice in her voice. It seemed that the experience might have changed Alassa for the better. “I’m surprised they didn’t push the demand that you be immediately punished for your carelessness. You could hardly have suggested anything worse.”
Emily looked down, feeling ashamed. She should have thought, and the fact that she was tired, hurting and stripped of magic wasn’t a very good excuse. None of the books she’d read had discussed any form of magic that could traffic with the dead in detail, but they had warned her that such spells were considered taboo. And then she hadn’t taken the taboo seriously.
“They’re always careful about dealing with students from Whitehall,” Mistress Irene said absently, but with an odd cold anger behind her voice. “We have been sending students to Dragon’s Den for years and this is the first kidnapping we’ve ever had. The normal problems are students playing jokes on the citizens or discovering that they don’t have enough money to pay for their food after eating themselves silly.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Emily said.
“I can tell my parents that it wasn’t your fault,” Alassa added. She gulped, as if she had just realized something unpleasant. “They’re going to want to discuss it with me, aren’t they?”
“Of course,” Mistress Irene said. Her voice was soft, but somehow wrong. “And you can tell them whatever you like. I don’t think that it would make much difference.”
Emily nodded sadly as she looked out of the hatch, towards the darkening sky. It looked as though it was going to rain. As the dark clouds advanced towards the city, strange flickers of multicolored light danced high overhead as mana discharged into the lightning. She was sure that the peasants in the fields were already taking their animals into their barns, preparing for the coming downpour. Emily wondered if the coach would be safe as they headed further up the mountains, before realizing that Mistress Irene would have other problems.
Mistress Irene could be fired over this.
Back home, there always had to be someone to blame. Accidents happened, but it was human nature to search for a scapegoat–and there were lawyers ready to make money off someone’s misfortune. Teachers, drivers, farmers...someone would be singled out, cast as the villain and chased until they lost everything. The fact that Whitehall had done everything they could to ensure safety would be lost in the general witch-hunting atmosphere created by the lawyers. Emily still remembered all the petty little rules and regulations created by people desperate to avoid a lawsuit, rules that had never made much sense. And no other school she’d ever visited had included royalty.
She looked away as thunder crackled in the dark sky, followed by a sudden shower of raindrops that grew rapidly into a deluge. Brilliant flashes of lightning illuminated the distant mountain peaks as the rain grew heavier and the carriage started to slip and slide on the muddy road. Emily braced herself and glanced back outside, seeing a small stream of water rushing down from the higher mountains and running under the carriage’s wheels. Small animals were running down with the water, tiny rodents that reassembled mutated hamsters. She couldn’t tell what–if anything–they truly were. A faint squeaking followed them for long moments after the animals had faded away into the growing darkness and mist.
The trip seemed to last for hours before the carriage finally rattled to a stop, outside Whitehall. “You’ll need to go to the Infirmary,” Mistress Irene said, before she opened the door and stepped out into the rain. No charm deflected rainfall as they started to follow her towards the school. “The building will take you there.”
Emily looked at her, despite the water soaking her hair and robes. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I do not know,” Mistress Irene said. There was a bitter hopelessness in her voice that stung Emily’s heart. Emily hadn’t planned to be kidnapped, but what would that matter? “The Grandmaster will decide my fate.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I HOPED NOT TO HAVE TO SEE you again,” a middle-aged woman with prematurely grey hair said, to Alassa. “And who exactly is this?”
“Emily,” Emily said tightly. She was too busy worrying about Mistress Irene to be polite. “And who exactly are you?”
The woman smiled. “I am Kyla, Healer of Whitehall.” She pointed one long finger towards a pair of doors. “Each of you, pick a door and go inside. When the door is closed, remove all your clothes and lie down on the bed. Whatever that half-baked potions brewer fed you stinks badly enough to poison the entire ward.”
Emily hesitated, then did as she was told. The small room was barely large enough for a bed, a handful of magical tools of unknown purpose, and a single light blazing down from high overhead. She had never been comfortable removing her clothes for a doctor back home, but with her robes drenched in an unfamiliar potion she realized she had no choice. Stripping naked, she lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. She hadn’t recognized it earlier, yet there was something almost comforting about the pearly white light.
The door opened and she flinched, hands racing to cover herself. Kyla snorted at her as she closed the door, opened the bag she was carrying and took out a metal wand. She waved it over Emily’s body. Strange lights flickered into existence for long seconds, before fading back into nothingness.
The lights meant nothing to Emily, but they clearly meant something to the healer.
“Someone definitely slipped you a faulty potion,” she said. “The fool’s pretty lucky that it worked as well as it did. A few more drops of Extract of Ebon and it would have killed the pair of you.”
Emily winced. “Can - can you remove it?”
“Most of it has already spent its mana and is on the way to passing out of your body,” Kyla said. “I think a simple cleansing potion should speed up the effect, but I’d prefer to have Professor Thande analyze the stains from your robe before we try to feed you anything. A potion that wasn’t properly prepared could react oddly with any standard cure.”
She shrugged as she held her wand over Emily’s head for a long moment. “You know you have a cut here, on your cheek?”
“No,” Emily said, reaching up to touch her face. The sorcerer–Malefic - had slapped her, hard. “Is it infected?”
Kyla shot her a sharp look. “It should be fine,” she said after a moment. “The same goes for the bumps and scratches on your hands and wrists. Whatever you did to break free wounded you. I’d suggest a day or two of rest before you return to your studies.”
Emily looked down at her hands and winced. She’d been so relieved at escaping her bonds that she hadn’t noticed the pain, or the marks on her arms. Kyla passed her a small gourd of lotion and instructed her to rub it on her arm, making most of the damage simply fade away into nothingness. She hoped that the other signs of trauma would fade just as quickly.
“I’ll do my best,” Emily promised. She had to speak to the Grandmaster, and perhaps to Void. “I –“
“You’ll stay right here until I let you go,” Kyla interrupted. “I’ve known plenty of young magicians get themselves badly hurt because they thought they were healed when the hard work had only just begun. Your magic may make you feel better, but it is nothing more than an illusion.”
Emily opened her mouth to protest as Kyla started waving the wand over her again. “You’re definitely not from around here,” Kyla said after another moment. “There are some interesting traces in your bloodstream ... one day, I
must study your blood and determine if it could be harnessed. And someone has given you a spell to boost your system against disease and perhaps even bodily harm. A very good precaution, I’d say.”
“Oh,” Emily said. She was really too tired to care, even though she knew it was important. “What else can I expect as the potion wears off?”
“Stay near a toilet,” Kyla advised. “And when your magic starts to flicker back to life, resist the impulse to use it until I give permission. You are in a very delicate state.”
She passed Emily a loose shift–Emily couldn’t help thinking of it as a hospital gown - and watched as she donned it automatically. “I’m going to assign you a bed in the sleeping ward. You will be next to your friend and you can have books sent up to you from the library, but you are not to try to leave the room without my permission. I am allowed to use charms to keep you in bed, if necessary.”
Emily stood up, feeling the room starting to spin around her. “I won’t leave,” she said, as the Healer took her arm and guided her through another door into a much larger chamber. The bed was small and simple, but right then it was just what she needed. “I just need something to eat.”
“Lie down,” Kyla said. “I will have something sent up as soon as I have seen to your friend.”
Emily closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, light streamed in through a side window and The Grandmaster sat next to her, leafing through an old parchment-bound book that he had to have taken from the library. She felt oddly flattered that the master of the school had taken such an interest in her, even though he was probably more interested in Alassa.
The Grandmaster looked up. His eyes met hers, then he placed the book on the table and leaned forward.
“I have heard from Dragon’s Den,” he said. “They have been unable to locate the Sorcerer Malefic.”
“I see,” Emily rasped. Her mouth tasted better than it had yesterday, but it was far from normal. The Grandmaster picked up a glass of water and passed it to her. She sipped it gratefully. “What happened to Mistress Irene?”
Schooled in Magic Page 28
