Past Tense (Schooled in Magic Book 10) (6 page)

“Mine won’t allow me to use them either,” Bernard said, regretfully.

Robin smirked. “I have seven demons under
my
command,” he said. “Master Chambers allows me to use them for
anything
I wish.”

Bernard sighed.

“You should summon one secretly,” Robin urged. “I could show you how.”

Emily stared at him, shocked. His magic had felt oddly familiar ... was it because he had used a demon? And then she
saw
the little creature sitting on his shoulder. It looked humanoid, but it was barely larger than a finger ... and, the more she stared at it, the more she sensed a limitless malice hidden within the tiny form. The demon stared back at her, its eyes cold and sharp and very cruel. She had no doubt it would tear them apart if Robin ever lost control.

“You shouldn’t,” she said, unable to tear her eyes from the demon. “It would be very dangerous.”

“Life is dangerous,” Bernard said. He sounded tempted. “And demons could teach me so much.”

“You could never trust them,” Emily said. “Ever.”

Robin sorted. “And yet a demon led us to you.”

“I know,” Emily said. She forced herself to look away from the demon. “And what did it have in mind when it did?”

She changed the subject quickly, before Robin could talk Bernard into doing something incredibly stupid. “How many people are in the commune?”

Bernard looked relieved to be able to talk about something else. “There are seven masters and fifty apprentices,” he said. “I think ...”

“Seven of us are
real
apprentices,” Robin injected. “The remainder are just ... hangers-on.”

“They have some skills,” Bernard countered. Emily had the feeling that it was an old argument between the two of them. “And they can learn more.”

He cleared his throat. “There’re also two hundred others; workers and camp followers ...”

“And whores,” Robin added.

“And a number of children,” Bernard said, ignoring the interruption. “This is very much the largest commune in the world.”

“And also the biggest target,” Robin pointed out. “If something is hunting magicians, Bernard, this commune makes a pretty big target.”

Emily frowned, wondering just how far she dared probe. Magicians were being hunted? By what? And why couldn’t they defend themselves? Whitehall was a solidly powerful magician and she assumed the others masters were almost as good. But if they were on the run ... she recalled the refugee camp-like atmosphere and shuddered. The castle might be their last hope of survival against a powerful and deadly foe.

It could be the Faerie
, she thought. If the history books were accurate, she could have arrived just before the First Faerie War.
Or mundanes hunting dangerous magicians
...

She leaned back and listened as the two young men bickered. They seemed to be close friends, yet there were discordant flickers in their words that bothered her. Bernard seemed to envy Robin, while Robin seemed too conceited to care. Their magic flickered around them, pushing at their emotions ... they didn’t seem to know how to mask their powers, even if they cared enough to do it. The more she looked at it, the more it bothered her.

Bernard turned to look at her as she finished the last piece of bread. “Why
were
you trained?”

“My tutor believed I would be a good student,” Emily said, stiffly. “Why were
you
trained?”

“Touché,” Bernard said. “But still ... it’s unusual for girls to be trained.”

“I might just have noticed,” Emily said, dryly.

Robin laughed. “You’ve certainly done your tutor proud.”

“Thank you,” Emily said.

She allowed herself a moment of relief as a middle-aged man carrying a staff strode towards them. Bernard and Robin hastily stood and bowed; Emily followed suit, unsure if it was the right thing to do or not. The man gave her a long considering look, then turned his gaze on Robin.

“I want you to assist in clearing the upper levels today,” he stated. Emily had to fight to keep her expression under control as she recognized the voice. He was the speaker who’d doubted her, even after she’d saved them all. “I have too much else to do to teach you. Drake will show you what to do.”

Robin bowed his head. “Yes, Master.”

Master Chambers
, Emily thought. Up close, his magic was discordant, wilder than Whitehall’s. She thought she could sense the lurking presence of a demon as he peered back at her, although she couldn’t see anything.
A DemonMaster ...

She studied him, grimly aware of his eyes scrutinizing every inch of her. Master Chambers was tall and muscular, his brown hair cropped close to his skull. That, at least, explained why Julianne had wanted Emily to cut her hair. Demons had a nasty habit of grabbing hold of exposed hair and tugging, hard. Sometimes, she’d been warned, they yanked hard enough to pull the magician across the circle and into their hands. And no one, not even a Lone Power, could hope to escape.

And he didn’t like her. She could see the distrust in his eyes as he gazed back at her.

Of course he doesn’t trust me
, she thought, as Master Chambers finally looked away.
He knows nothing about me
.

“Bernard, your master will meet you outside in forty minutes,” he added. “Take ... Lady Emily ... with you.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Bernard said.

Master Chambers gave Emily one final look, then turned and strode away. Robin nodded politely to them both, then hurried off towards the nearest door. Emily felt an odd stab of sympathy. Having Master Chambers for a tutor, she rather suspected, wouldn’t be a comfortable experience. But then, anything involving demons was incredibly dangerous.

“Demons,” she said. “Is he really the most powerful of the DemonMasters?”

“He claims to have thirty-one demons in his thrall, bound to his power,” Bernard said. “I have no reason to doubt his claim.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Emily said. From what she’d been told, holding even one demon in thrall was hard enough. “Thirty-one?”

“He couldn’t fool my master,” Bernard said. There was a hint of obvious pride in his voice as Julianne reappeared and started to collect the plates, jug and honey pot. “Julianne’s father is not so easily fooled. He never lets me get away with anything.”

Emily concealed her relief with an effort. Bernard might
try
to summon a demon, if Robin gave him the instructions, but Lord Whitehall would never let him get away with it. The stink of demonic malice would give him away, long before he could come up with a plausible lie ... if, of course, there
was
such a thing. Could anyone hope to conceal a demon? Shadye had concealed a demon within a ring, she recalled, but he’d had the demon’s cooperation. She doubted that any demon would see value in assisting Bernard to stay out of trouble ...

And if he does get caught, he’ll be in deep trouble
, she thought.
Whitehall, if the stories are true, never liked demons
.

She watched Julianne leave—and watched Bernard, watching Julianne leave. He was smitten; the tenderness on his face made him look very different. She wondered, absently, just what
Julianne
thought about him. Maybe she should ask. She’d always found it hard to talk about such matters, but ...

“Forty minutes,” Bernard said. “What do you want to do until then?”

“Get clean,” Emily said. “Is there a place I can wash up?”

Bernard looked awkward. “I’ll have to ask Julianne,” he said. “She’s the person to ask if you want anything like that. We just had a basin of warm water.”

“That would be enough,” Emily said.

She frowned as she spotted one of the other masters entering the hall. “I meant to ask,” she said, remembering how they’d bowed to Master Chambers. “How
does
one address a master?”

Bernard considered it for a moment. “You were never taught etiquette?”

“Not enough,” Emily said. It was likely to have changed and evolved before she’d arrived at Whitehall. Besides, if nothing else, talking about etiquette would keep Bernard from asking more awkward questions. “I don’t know how to introduce myself, let alone ask for help without getting into trouble.”

“I imagine your tutor didn’t plan to introduce you,” Bernard said.

He paused, stroking his chin. “You address your master as
Master
or
My Master
,” he said, after a moment. “In conversation, you would call him Master Whitehall. All other masters are addressed as
Lord
or
My Lord
, unless you were friends before he reached his mastery. In that case, you can address him by name. Apprentices can be addressed by name, unless you have a reason to give their rank—in which case, you would address them as Apprentice Whatever.”

Emily nodded. “Why is Whitehall ...”

Bernard pointed a finger at her. “
Master
Whitehall.”

“Why is Master Whitehall called
Lord and Master
Whitehall?”

“He combines both titles,” Bernard said. “Address him as
Master
unless you’re being strictly formal or begging for mercy.”

He shrugged. “If a master approaches you first, make sure you rise and bow to him,” he added. “If you approach him, go down on your knees and wait for him to acknowledge you before rising. Should he offer something to you, take it with your casting hand. Do
not
offer your other hand, whatever happens, unless you need both hands ...”

Emily held up a hand. “My casting hand?”

“The hand you use to cast spells,” Bernard explained. His eyes narrowed. “How do you not know that?”

“I was taught to use both hands,” Emily said. She was right-handed, but her tutors had insisted on their students using alternating hands when they cast spells. Only a couple of students in first year had been unable to use both hands—and the problem had cleared up, she recalled, with practice. “Aren’t you?”

“That’s odd,” Bernard said. “I was always taught to use my right hand.”

He frowned. “I suggest you hold out both hands, then,” he added. “But be careful.”

Emily swallowed. Whitehall—
her
Whitehall—had been very different from Earth. But
this
Whitehall was familiar enough to be disconcerting. Something that would have passed unremarked in
her
Whitehall might start a fight here, hundreds of years in the past. She’d have to watch herself, but she wasn’t sure how.

“I will,” she said.

Bernard rose. “I’ll find you a place to wash,” he said. “And then my master will ...”

He paused, then bowed hastily as an older man hurried over to them. Emily bowed too, realizing that she was looking at yet another master. He looked to be in his nineties, although that proved nothing; he might well be no older than forty. She couldn’t help thinking of Albert Einstein as the man studied her. He had the same impression of being nothing more than a kindly old grandfather.

“Lady Emily,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

Bernard cleared his throat. “Lord Wolfe, Master Whitehall wishes to talk to her in thirty minutes,” he warned. “I ...”

“I will have her there for him,” Lord Wolfe said.

“Don’t worry,” Emily said. “I’ll be fine.”

Bernard nodded. “I’ll inform my master,” he said. “He may want to give you more time with Lord Wolfe.”

“That would be good,” Lord Wolfe said. He grinned at Emily. “This way, please.”

T
HE CAMP FOLLOWERS HAD DONE A
remarkable job at cleaning the dirt and grime from the floor, Emily decided as she followed Lord Wolfe through a maze of disconcertingly familiar corridors. It might not be anything like as clean as King Randor’s castle—at least, not yet—but the future school was starting to look livable. Small groups of workers swept the corridors, while apprentices—some throwing doubtful glances at her as she passed—prowled the corridors, searching for more traps.

Probably keeping them busy
, she thought, as they walked into a small room.
They will have cleared or triggered all the traps in this section, surely?

“I have no idea what this room was, once upon a time,” Wolfe said. He closed the door behind them, but made no move to cast a privacy ward. Was that technique still to be discovered too? “But it will suffice as an office, for the moment.”

Emily nodded. Someone had set up a rickety-looking wooden table and a single chair that seemed to be on its last legs, but otherwise the room was bare. The only source of light was a torch, burning merrily against the stone wall. It made her realize, again, just how lucky she’d been to live in a world where electric power was cheap and simple. Castles without magic were dark and gloomy places.

Wolfe motioned with his hands towards the table, which was covered in ancient books and pieces of parchment. One of the rolls of parchment was unrolled, with the four corners held in place by small stones. Emily took a look at the writing; her eyes widened as she realized she was looking at spell notations. Very primitive, compared to what she was used to, but clearly a step in the right direction. She took a step forward, wondering if Wolfe would seek to bar her from studying the parchment, yet he made no move to stop her. His eyes merely watched as she bent over the table, slowly tracing out the notations.

“You’ve seen something like it,” Wolfe said. It wasn’t a question. “What do you make of this?”

Emily hesitated, unsure how much she could say. It was hard to be certain—there were plenty of differences between the spell notation in front of her and the techniques she’d been taught by Professor Lombardi—but it looked as though Master Wolfe had been trying to unlock the secret of tapping a nexus point. She couldn’t think of any other explanation. The spells he’d detailed required a power source an order of magnitude more powerful than any living sorcerer.

“You’re trying to tap the nexus point,” she said, carefully. There was no point in pretending to be an idiot. She’d shown too much command of magic. “How long have you known the point was here?”