Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) (15 page)

Yodel smiled, making her wonder just who had gotten the better part of the deal.

“Perfectly suitable,” he said, simply.

Emily narrowed her eyes. “In addition, you will give me help and advice when I need it,” she added.

“While you have the book,” Yodel countered. “And if you should lose the book, you have to pay me the full four hundred gold coins.”

“Very well,” Emily said. She could afford it, if necessary. “When can I expect my new trunk?”

“I can have it ready within the week,” Yodel said. He turned and led her into the next room, where a handful of wooden trunks sat on benches. They all looked crude and unfinished, without the varnish and designs—runes, perhaps—that had been carved into her first trunk. “The interior dimensions are largely anchored; I just need to reshape the charms that allow you to remove whatever you want from the trunk, then decorate the exterior. Do you have any particular request? I could do your coat of arms, if you wanted.”

Emily shook her head. “Nothing that should tell someone who owns the trunk,” she said, flatly. “Just like the other one, basically.”

“I’ll copy the permissions from the old trunk to the new one,” Yodel said, “and have the new one shipped up to Whitehall. If there are problems, bring it to me on your next weekend here and I’ll fix it for you.”

He pushed a curtain aside, revealing a small bookshelf. “This is the standard introduction to enchantment,” he said, picking up a small book bound in black leather. “My master used to say that if you couldn’t handle everything in this book, you had no business pretending to be an enchanter. It took me six months before I could perform everything to his standards.”

Emily took the book, pressing her fingers against the cover. “Thank you,” she said. “I won’t lose it.”

“See that you don’t,” Yodel said. “It may be a long time before the printers start producing copies.”

Chapter Twelve

E
MILY WOULD HAVE PREFERRED TO GO
back to Whitehall at once and start reading the book, but there was no point in even trying. Both Alassa and Imaiqah were determined to find new outfits for themselves—and Emily—and she reluctantly allowed them to suggest several new outfits for her. Two pairs of light trousers that reminded her of jeans, although they were a little tighter than she would have preferred, would come in handy when she was jogging, while a simple dress would suffice for etiquette lessons and the promised dances later in the year.

“They’ll all be staring at you,” Alassa assured her, as Emily studied her reflection in the mirror. The white dress set off her brown hair nicely. “And all you need is a pretty necklace to direct their gaze to your face.”

“They already stare at me,” Emily reminded her, tartly. “And they stare at you.”

“So they should,” Alassa said, unrepentantly. “It’s just something you have to get used to as a baroness. Everyone who is lower on the social scale—which is just about everyone—will be taking their cue from you.”

“So if I went into the library instead of hosting dances,” Emily said, “they’d go into the library too?”

Alassa giggled, then sobered. “Or they’d think you weren’t keeping your eye on the ball,” she warned. “That’s a good way to get booted out of the arena.”

Emily nodded. Alassa might have wanted to found her own
Ken
team because it would give her a chance to lead, but it would also help prepare her for life as queen, where taking her eyes off the wrong ball might lead to worse than a few minutes in the penalty box. The ever-shifting patterns of allegiance and loyalty in court were exactly like the arena, where a wall might be there one moment and gone the next. It took more than physical skill to play
Ken
and win.

“Come on,” she said, as they paid for their purchases. “It’s time to go have something to eat.”

Dragon’s Den, like most of the city-states, had food stalls that included cuisines from all over the Allied Lands. Emily enjoyed eating at Whitehall, but the food rarely strayed from what the cooks thought enterprising young students should be eating to maintain their health and happiness. Eating in Dragon’s Den, on the other hand, allowed her to try foodstuffs that were never served at Whitehall. She didn’t always like it—one place had nearly made her throw up, after serving something that had smelt like rotting fish—but it was definitely an adventure.

They found a small grill and sat down. There were no printed menus yet; instead, the menu was written on a blackboard with chalk. Emily selected the mixed grill, while Imaiqah and Alassa ordered two different meals. They could share them so they all had a taste.

“I was looking for an outfit for the team,” Alassa said. “Maybe just something to mark us. But there wasn’t anything suitable.”

“It might not be legal either,” Emily reminded her. “Aren’t you supposed to draw your equipment from the stores?”

“Yes, but we are allowed to design our own uniforms,” Alassa said. “But I couldn’t find anything
original
.”

The food arrived before Emily could say anything else. It smelt spicy; she was relieved to see the small jugs of yogurt and other condiments, as well as the bread. The food seemed almost Indian, but the waiter seemed so pale as to be almost translucent. That, she vaguely recalled from her studies of geography, suggested that he came from the Ice Kingdom to the far north.

Or his family did
, she reminded herself. The Empire had encouraged trade and resettlement before its fall and, because everyone spoke the same language, fitting in hadn’t been too difficult. No wonder racism had barely existed in the Empire, at least racism against human beings. The racism against magical creatures seemed just as illogical.

“Not too bad,” Alassa concluded, as they finished the meal. “I’ll have to see about importing this into Zangaria.”

Emily snorted. The meals in Zangaria had been even less imaginative than the meals in Whitehall...at least at the formal receptions. She’d heard that private parties were much more imaginative, but she’d never been invited to any. Rumor had it that hostesses, desperate to keep themselves in the public eye, kept pushing the limits of what they could decently serve to their guests. Stuffed dormice and roast cat were the least of it.

“I received a request to immigrate today,” she said, and outlined briefly what Yodel had said. “Why would he want to move?”

“Could be that he expects great things from you,” Alassa said. “You’ve already reshaped the tax laws in your territory. What
else
might you do in the future?”

Emily scowled. The tax laws the previous baron had written—or enforced—seemed designed to spark off an eventual uprising and civil war. It wasn’t a question of what the baron would take, but what he would let the peasants
keep
. A single bad harvest could wipe out an entire village, particularly if the baron didn’t let them off their taxes. And it hadn’t taken long to realize that part of the reason takings were so low was because the baron’s henchmen all took their share—and more. Removing them had been necessary, just to ensure that she gained
something
from her holdings.

“I have no idea,” she said, tiredly. She looked down at her empty plate and smiled. “Perhaps I’ll introduce the burger or pizza to the world. Or fries.”

Alassa nodded and stood, leaving a handful of coins on the table. “Time to get back to school,” she said. “We have another practice session this evening.”

“Oh,” Emily said. “And how are you doing?”

“We’re learning,” Alassa assured her. “And we’re evolving our tactics.”

Imaiqah caught her arm. “You will come to our first game, won’t you?”

Emily hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. She didn’t want to waste her time watching a game when she could be reading or studying, but both of her friends deserved her support. Besides, it might give her a chance to relax.

“I’ll come,” she said. “Who are you playing?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Alassa admitted. “One of the older teams is having difficulty recruiting new players, so they’re trying to convince the tutors to give them additional time. If they don’t, the first set of games should be played in a week or so.”

Emily nodded. She hadn’t been interested, but she’d picked up a great deal of information about scoring anyway, enough to know that each team would play the others, then the scores would be somehow tabulated and a winner announced at the end of the year. It seemed confusing to her, but the simple solution—eliminate each team that lost a game—was probably cruel and unnecessary.

“Good luck,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

The drive back to Whitehall was hair-raising; more snow had fallen on the road, making it very hazardous. Emily couldn’t help wishing that they’d decided to walk instead—she’d walked further for Martial Magic—but neither Alassa nor Imaiqah took the class. By the time they pulled up in the courtyard and saw the line of animated snowmen forming up in front of the door, she was very relieved to be back.

“Look out,” Alassa snapped, as the snowmen started to throw snowballs towards the carriages. “Who made
those
?”

Emily ducked as a snowball thudded into the carriage, just above her head. “I don’t know,” she said, concentrating on raising a shield. The lecture on Construction had mentioned animation, but the tutor had explained that they wouldn’t touch on it until fifth year. “How do you get rid of them...?”

There was a flash of red light from Master Tor’s carriage and the snowmen started to melt with terrifying speed. Emily thought she heard groans as they faded into puddles and drifted away, even though she
knew
that they weren’t truly alive. Master Tor stepped over the water and led the way into the school, then stopped just inside. He caught Emily as soon as she entered the building herself.

“I’ll review your essay tonight at seven bells,” he informed her. “I hope you have it ready.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said, shortly. She didn’t need to eat dinner after eating in Dragon’s Den, which would give her time to review the essay before she took it down to him. She knew from experience what happened if the punishment essays were unsatisfactory. “I’ll be there.”

Alassa squeezed her shoulder as they made their way past him and up the stairs to the dorms. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re much better at writing essays than I am.”

Emily shrugged. It had taken her far too long to master the techniques she needed to use at Whitehall, even though she’d written essays on Earth. There were no computers, no spellcheckers...and a single mistake could force her to rewrite the whole sheet of parchment out again and again. It did teach precision, she had to admit, but it was also very frustrating—and torturous. Writing with a pencil for so long left her hands feeling numb.

“Let’s hope so,” she said. “But you probably know more than I do.”

She waved goodbye and stepped into her room. The Gorgon was absent—Emily hadn’t seen her in Dragon’s Den, which might not have been surprising—but Lin was lying on her bed, reading a large textbook on law. Emily wondered absently if Master Tor had written textbooks too. He certainly
looked
the type of professor who would force his students to buy books he’d written.

But he should know what he’s talking about
, she thought, as she sat down at her desk.
You can’t fake competence here
.

She found her essay and read it over for the final time, looking for problematic areas. There weren’t any that she could see, but she had a suspicion that there was plenty of common knowledge that had been left out of the books. No one apart from her, the sole immigrant from another
world
, had questioned the exclusion of werewolves and other magical creatures from human settlements. There had been more antislavery campaigners in the American South than that!

Shaking her head, she pushed the essay to one side and opened Yodel’s book. Unlike most textbooks, it seemed to be written with the completely ignorant in mind; it started with baby steps and went upwards from there. Emily sucked in her breath as she realized why; enchantment was fantastically complex, even when creating a basic pocket dimension. If she hadn’t had Whitehall’s nexus point to draw on, back when she’d fought Shadye, it wouldn’t have worked so well. Raw power had compensated for the shortcomings in her spellwork.

And it wouldn’t even work outside a nexus point
, she thought, slowly. Trapping the Cockatrice had been straightforward, if risky, but trapping another necromancer might be much harder. The imitation black hole she’d created might not be practical outside Whitehall...or require so much power that a single magician, even a necromancer, couldn’t duplicate it. And that meant...

Shadye’s lands on the other side of the mountains hadn’t been taken by another necromancer, Emily had heard. That was...
odd
; despite their madness, they had to believe that Shadye had been killed directly, rather than the more traditional method of poison or trickery. She’d intimidated them all...but she was effectively bluffing. What would happen when they called her bluff?

She muttered a curse under her breath and started to parse out a basic spell for crafting a pocket dimension. It was much harder than she had assumed; there were so many separate sections in the spell that making them all work together would be a nightmare. No wonder, she decided, that Yodel had been so horrified by her makeshift modifications to her trunk—or why they had rendered the trunk almost completely useless. Altering one variable might cause the entire spell to collapse.

Lin put down the textbook with a loud thud and headed off to dinner. Emily started, then rolled her eyes. It was easy to forget that Lin was there; the girl seemed to spend her time in classes, the library or the dining hall, nowhere else. Emily had tried to talk to her, but it had gone nowhere. Maybe she just needed more friends.

She stored Yodel’s book in her borrowed trunk, then stood and changed into a clean set of robes. It was a rule—a stupid one, in her opinion—that students visiting their tutors after normal school hours still had to wear their robes, even though the blanket ban on wearing anything else had been rescinded. She picked up her essay and a small bound notebook she’d been sent by Imaiqah’s father, then walked out of the room, feeling her heart starting to pound inside her chest.