Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) (3 page)

But I have some friends here
, she reminded herself, firmly.
I didn’t really have friends on Earth
.

Mistress Irene had been right, she realized; most of the students
did
seem delighted to be back at Whitehall. But perhaps that wasn’t too surprising. Whitehall was staggeringly luxurious by the standards of most in this world, even if they
weren’t
allowed any individual servants or fancy clothes. Hot and cold running water alone was a vast improvement over what they would find elsewhere, enough to weaken their ties outside Whitehall. By the time they graduated, they would be used to a life of luxury they might have considered unimaginable. It would keep them loyal to Whitehall even after they completed their sixth year.

She looked up towards the high table as a ripple of silence ran through the air, calling their attention to the Grandmaster. He stood just in front of his table, flanked by Mistress Irene and a dour-faced man Emily didn’t recognize. She couldn’t help thinking, as she took in his bald head and dignified features, that he looked a little like Captain Picard. The thought made her smile inwardly as silence settled over the vast room.

“Welcome back to Whitehall,” the Grandmaster said. He was a short, wizened man, who wore a cloth wrapped around his eyes, but there was no mistaking the power in his voice. “Let us hope that we have a less exciting year this time.”

Emily felt her cheeks burning as several pairs of eyes glanced in her direction.

“The Allied Lands have decided to station several additional regiments of troops in the nearby lands, even pushing forward into the territory formerly occupied by Shadye,” the Grandmaster continued. “Most of the orcs and goblins have been rousted out of the mountains, but there remains a danger that they may attack unwary travellers—or students—as they grow desperate. If you go outside the wards, go in a group and make sure you inform the staff before you leave.”

His sightless eyes swept the room. “You should all understand the realities of the threat we face. I urge you all to be very careful. There are forces out there that would love to reduce our graduating classes—and not all of them are as unsubtle as a necromancer.

“On a different note,” he added, “I would like to welcome a handful of students who have transferred to Whitehall from Mountaintop Academy.” He nodded towards a handful of strangers, sitting at the rear of the room. “I hope you will make them all very welcome.”

There was a long pause, then he nodded towards the Captain Picard lookalike. “This is Master Tor, Master of Law and Head of Second Year,” he said. “I will leave you now in his capable hands.”

Master Tor stepped forward, his eyes moving from student to student. They seemed to linger on Emily longer than she would have expected, although perhaps it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Master Tor had presumably heard all about her, even if he hadn’t seen her in class or in the library.

“Your first year at Whitehall was somewhat chaotic,” Master Tor said, bluntly. “That is inevitable, simply because we need to start training newly-discovered magicians as soon as possible. Students come into schooling at all times and have to run through a series of classes to teach them basic skills. It is very disorderly.

“That is not true of second year,” he added. “Your second year serves as the basis for your third and fourth years, where you will complete the first level of training and either go on to fifth and sixth year or leave to find employment outside the school. We attempt to keep second year as orderly as possible, while giving you a chance to experience as much as possible. You will need that experience in order to determine which subjects suit your particular talents.”

Mistress Irene didn’t look too pleased, Emily realized, as Master Tor paused long enough for them to take it all in. But he was right; her first year at Whitehall
had
been rather chaotic, even without Shadye’s attack. With new students arriving at unpredictable intervals, it would be impossible for the staff to follow a regular syllabus. Students had to gain the basic skills before they could advance into second year.

“During the next week, you will have the opportunity to attend a sample class from each of the elective subjects,” Master Tor said, breaking into her thoughts. “Attendance in these classes, if you wish to take up the subject, is mandatory. The tutors will give you a brief introduction, demonstrate the value of the class and discuss what they hope to accomplish over the coming year. At the end of the week you will be able to decide what classes you wish to take over the year. I would advise you to consider what kind of career you intend to follow, once you leave Whitehall. Certain positions require high qualifications from Whitehall or another magical academy.

“Once term starts next week, you will have the opportunity to change classes for up to one month before becoming locked into them. If you realize that you have made a mistake
after
that, you may find yourself marked down or being forced to repeat the year. In any case, you will be listed as having failed the original class. I advise you all to be very careful in choosing your electives. A single bad choice can blight the rest of your term.

“In addition, you will be expected to choose an advisor,” he continued. “You’ll find a complete outline of the role that advisor is expected to play in your welcoming packet, but in general the advisor is supposed to act as a mentor. Should you fail to choose one, you will either be assigned an advisor or allowed to operate without one. This would mean, among other problems, that you would have no one to assist you if you got into trouble.”

He smiled, rather bleakly. “I strongly advise you to find one as soon as possible,” he warned. “The good advisors are often overwhelmed by requests.”

Pity I can’t ask Void
, Emily thought. But after what she’d discovered about Void from Lady Barb, she was no longer sure that she trusted him completely. She looked up at the other tutors, wondering which one of them she should ask. Professor Thande was fun, but also slightly insane; right now, he looked as if he had died and had then been dug up and put back to work. What had he been
doing
over the holidays?

“On a slightly different note,” Master Tor informed them, “
Ken
tryouts will be held in the latter half of the week and next week, should there be enough interest. Team Captains will post the schedules in the common rooms; if you’re interested in trying out, you may attend their sessions and see if you manage to impress them. Alternatively, if you wish to form your own team, you may do so. A copy of the rules and regulations for new teams can be found in your common rooms.”

There was a sudden surge of interest—mainly from the boys, Emily noted.
Ken
was a sport that seemed to combine football, basketball and dodge ball, not something her life had encouraged her to enjoy. Most of the students, however, loved it and attended every match religiously. Emily just found it tedious.

Alassa elbowed her. “We should found a team,” she said, mischievously. “And then we could just sit around in the arena devising new ways to cheat.”

“No, thank you,” Emily said, quickly.
Anyone
could found a team, if they could find enough players. There had been nineteen different teams last year, most of them composed of players from second to sixth year. Every year, the teams would have to look for new blood or risk being disqualified. “I don’t have the time anyway.”

“How true,” Alassa agreed.

Emily wondered, absently, what King Randor would make of his daughter playing in the arena. Would he approve or would he fear that she was placing her life in danger?
Ken
could and did turn nasty, particularly when the referee was looking the other way. Magic offered thousands of ways to cheat and many of the players were inventive enough to think of new ones on the fly. But it might be good for Alassa to learn to take orders before she gave them.

“But I could found a team,” Alassa added. “It wouldn’t be
that
hard to round up a handful of other players.”

“Oh,” Emily said. Of
course
Alassa wouldn’t want to enter a team at the bottom. And she might well be able to round up enough players to enter a new team. “Maybe you should start recruiting from first years.”

Alassa gave her a questioning look. “But they wouldn’t know what they were doing,” she pointed out. “Students in later years would know more spells and...”

“They can’t form a team on their own,” Emily pointed out. “If you were to invite them, however, they would be able to join—and then you would have a steady team for the next four years. Think of how many pupils leave each year.”

She left Alassa to think about it as Master Tor started to speak again.

“There will be a visit to Dragon’s Den this coming weekend,” he said. “If you are interested in traveling to the city, I suggest that you add your name to the lists in the common rooms. We may not be able to provide enough security to take
everyone
.”

Emily nodded, making a mental note to add her name to the list. Her trunk had disgorged the Cockatrice she’d captured, but it was now effectively useless. She’d been lucky to be able to recover most of her property before trapping the beast for the second time. The trunk would have to be taken back to Dragon’s Den, where she’d bought it, in hopes that the enchanter who’d constructed it would be able to make repairs. If not, she would have to buy a second trunk.

“Finally, there has been a change in policy. As you are all second years, you may wear something apart from robes outside classes,” Master Tor concluded. “Bear in mind,
please
, that the standard rules are still in existence. Those who break the rules will have the right to wear something apart from robes revoked.”

“That’s good,” Alassa muttered. “I can wear those dresses mother sent for me.”

Emily was less sure that allowing students to wear their own clothes was a good idea. Everyone wearing the same robes ensured that the richer students couldn’t purchase incredibly expensive outfits to show off their wealth. Back home, those who had been able to afford designer clothes had lorded it over those who couldn’t—like Emily. Now, she was wealthy by local standards, but she still didn’t want to wear anything apart from robes. The dresses she’d worn in Zangaria had been uncomfortable, to say the least.

She caught sight of Melissa and her cronies chattering away about what they would buy in Dragon’s Den. The announcement hadn’t been made earlier, she realized, because it would force the students to buy new clothes at Dragon’s Den—at least until they arranged for some of their clothes to be sent from home. Maybe someone at Dragon’s Den had bribed the school to make the announcement just before the first weekend visit...no, that didn’t seem too likely. Whitehall was far richer than Dragon’s Den.

The Grandmaster stood up again. “Thank you, Master Tor,” he said. No one, thankfully, seemed to be expecting applause. “There are a handful of minor matters that I need to cover and then we can eat.”

He seemed rather amused at the relief that swept through the hall. “As you know,” he continued, “we allow you students to practice certain kinds of spells on one another as pranks, believing that it encourages you to learn how to counter such spells without assistance from outside. Provided such behavior does not get out of hand—and provided that you have mastered the spells sufficiently—we do not intervene.”

Emily winced, remembering just how close she had come to killing Alassa. The locals might regard certain spells as little more than practical jokes, causing embarrassment and humiliation at worst, but she could never see them as anything other than loaded weapons in the hands of children. But they did have a point. Nothing provided incentive to learn cancelling spells like being turned into a frog by another student. Melissa was alarmingly inventive with transformation spells.

“However, you are now second years, with a year of experience under your belts,” the Grandmaster said. “You are absolutely forbidden to start
any
sort of prank duel with first years. They are unlikely to be able to counter your spells, or match you—and if they can, you should be ashamed of yourselves. If any of you start it, you will be severely punished; if they start it, we expect you to show restraint. Remember that you are older than the new students, remember that you should know much more magic and protections than they do—and if you can’t remember that, remember what it feels like to face the Warden.”

“Good piece of advice,” Alassa muttered.

Emily nodded. She
had
cast spells on her seniors—in Martial Magic, where she’d been the youngest pupil in the class. But they’d been under the watchful eye of the sergeants, who would have hammered anyone who acted badly. Outside the classrooms, she could easily imagine older pupils trying to dominate the younger ones...if they’d been allowed the chance. After what had happened to the three of them when they’d used magic on one of the servants, she had no doubt that the teachers kept a sharp eye on them through the building’s wards.

“There are also certain pranks which are on the banned list, at least in public,” the Grandmaster continued. “You’ll find the current list pinned up in the common rooms; I suggest that you study it carefully and remember not to use them, at least unless your life is in grave danger. Those who
do
use them, on
anyone
, will regret it.”

He smiled, pressing his hands together as if he were in prayer. “And with that completed,” he concluded, “we can eat.”

Emily smiled at the cheers that echoed through the room. A small army of servants emerged from the concealed doors, carrying giant platters of food. She felt her smile growing wider as one of the servants placed a large roast chicken at one end of the table and started carving it up into slices, which were then passed down the table to the students. Another started carving up roast beef, while a third cut up a faintly greasy meat she didn’t recognize. Others passed out potatoes, vegetables and steaming jugs of gravy.