Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) (5 page)

“I know almost nothing about your society,” she admitted. “Why are necromancers a problem?”

The Gorgon smiled, rather inhumanly. Emily could have sworn that she saw sharp teeth in her mouth.

“My tribe lives on the outskirts of the Desert of Death,” the Gorgon explained. “We don’t need as much water as you do, so we built our society there, well away from humans who might want to kill us. On the other side of the desert, the necromancers lurk. Ever so often, they come to try to kidnap a few of our children. You don’t want to know why.”

Emily could guess. The petrification spell the faerie had worked into their bodies would have altered their flesh radically, allowing them to serve as ingredients for potions and other alchemical products. She couldn’t see the necromancers considering the moral shortcomings of harvesting intelligent creatures for their flesh and blood, not when they were already sacrificing vast numbers of humans to keep their magic under control. And children wouldn’t really be able to fight back.

“If you could give us something we could use against them,” the Gorgon added, “we would be very grateful.”

“I wish I
had
something,” Emily admitted. The trick she’d used on Shadye might not be workable, outside Whitehall. It had drawn on the vast power of the nexus point under the school, something that wasn’t available elsewhere. But there were other tricks. “I’m working on it.”

“Work harder,” the Gorgon advised. “By the way, I think that’s your timetable on the bed.”

Emily turned and saw a parchment envelope lying on the bedding. It was addressed to her, so she broke the seal and opened it up. Inside, there was a large sheet of parchment detailing the various taster classes—and a stern reminder that attendance at one of the taster classes was mandatory before deciding to attend the class for the rest of the year. Emily couldn’t help smiling as she realized that Lady Barb’s class in Healing would probably be her first. She had little interest in Magical Artwork. It would be good to see Lady Barb again.

Perhaps she would be my advisor
, she thought, as she skimmed the rest of the parchment. She
had
said that she was only going to be at Whitehall for a year, but perhaps she could offer advice from a distance. Or maybe she would consider staying if teaching worked out for her. Emily made a mental note to ask, then planned out her week. A handful of classes threatened to be as boring as Artwork, but most of them looked mildly interesting.

“Master Tor is incredibly boring when it comes to law,” the Gorgon said when Emily asked, “but it is quite an important class. Sorcerers are not always bound by local law, but they are bound by the laws written and upheld by the White Council. You would probably need it in any case.”

Emily scowled, remembering the laws that her baronetcy had built up over the years since Zangaria had been founded. Many of them were completely contradictory. Others were so poorly written she couldn’t help wondering if the clerks had deliberately sought to sabotage their lord’s work.

“Probably,” she said, sourly. She couldn’t escape the sense that Master Tor simply didn’t
like
her, which was worrying. What had she done to
him
? “I see I’m still stuck with Alchemy.”

“It gets more interesting as you go on,” the Gorgon assured her. “But if you slip behind, you find it very hard to catch up. Professor Thande does classes for students who are smart enough to admit that they need help, but you really need the knack for Alchemy to become an alchemist.”

“And I don’t have it,” Emily muttered. She tapped her trunk, checking that the protection spells remained intact, then started to undress. She’d sleep in her underwear for once, then move into the next room...if Master Tor allowed her to move. “Hey—do
you
have to retake all of your classes?”

“Not really, but I have to work on the subjects I failed and retake the exams,” the Gorgon explained. “And I may forget half of what I knew over the coming year.”

Emily scowled. “You mean you have to retake
all
of the exams?”

“I’m afraid so,” the Gorgon said. She rubbed her forehead, causing the snakes to hiss ominously. “It isn’t going to be a fun year.”

She glanced over at Lin. “I think she’s a little surprised to meet you,” she added. “But she’ll get over it.”

“I hope so,” Emily muttered. She’d never really wanted to be famous. Now, an entire world knew her as the Necromancer’s Bane—and didn’t really know her at all. “Goodnight.”

She climbed into bed, then closed her eyes and cast a basic sleep charm. Moments later, she was asleep.

Chapter Four

T
HE ROOMS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE
soundproofed, but Emily was awakened the following morning by the sound of Madame Razz giving a student a sharp lecture on bringing
everything
on the list of required items. Opening her eyes, Emily realized that the door was propped open and Lin, her new roommate, was the recipient of the lecture. Swinging her legs out over the side of the bed, Emily stood and staggered towards the shower. A hot wash would wake her up.

Madame Razz had thankfully finished lecturing Lin when Emily emerged. Madame Razz might have had a heart of gold—Emily still remembered her showing kindness to homesick girls, who might never have left their home villages before—but she was also intolerant of mistakes, foolishness and horseplay. Or, as Emily had good reason to remember, mistreating the servants. Still, Lin didn’t look to have been in
real
trouble.

“I left a pair of robes behind,” Lin admitted, tearfully. “Madame Razz was not pleased.”

“I think they have supplies of everything,” Emily reassured her, as she pulled her robe on and checked her appearance in the mirror. Everything
looked
fairly normal—or as normal as possible, in a place like Whitehall. “I had my robes issued when I arrived last year.”

Lin nodded, then opened her trunk. “She said she would bring me something,” she said, flatly. “She won’t report it to Master Tor, will she?”

“I don’t think so,” Emily said. “But she will probably remind you about it, ever so often. She won’t let you make the same mistake again.”

She glanced at her watch, then walked out of the bedroom and down to the common room. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. Most of her fellow students, she suspected, would have stayed up half the night chatting away and would try to sleep in as much as possible. They were in for an unpleasant surprise if they kept trying to sleep in when term properly started, she knew; Lady Barb had told her that the beds automatically evicted anyone who was still asleep when the first bell rang for class.

One wall held a set of parchment sheets. The first told her that the Night Stompers, a
Ken
team with seventeen years of history, was holding tryouts later in the afternoon. All were welcome, apparently. Emily glanced over a handful of other parchments, which repeated the same message for different teams, until she found something different. The list of banned hexes and jinxes was surprisingly short, although there was a blanket prohibition on anything that was either lethal or would do serious injury.

She rolled her eyes as she took in the short list of banned spells. One of them caused a person’s clothes to fall off—she could just imagine the chaos
that
could cause in the dining hall—while another caused instant diarrhea. She hadn’t wanted to know that was even
possible
. The others were just as bad; one, a small love charm, could be abused easily, if the caster was completely unscrupulous. At the bottom, there was a short note that if anyone attempted to use them, at least without the victim’s permission, they would be lucky if facing the Warden was
all
that happened.

Shaking her head, Emily walked through the common room, out of the living quarters and down the corridor towards where the Head of Year was commonly housed. If Master Tor was anything like Mistress Irene, he would have an office near the dining hall, where he could eat and work at the same time. She hesitated outside Mistress Irene’s office, then walked onwards until she saw Master Tor’s name on a door. It was glowing faintly, informing her that he was inside. There were dark rumors about what happened to anyone who tried to break into a tutor’s office while they were absent.

She tapped the door and waited. A moment later, it swung open, allowing her to enter the room.

Master Tor’s office was large, larger than the Grandmaster’s office. All four walls were covered with bookshelves, groaning under the weight of thousands of texts, each one large enough to be difficult for a single person to carry. Two desks were covered with pieces of parchment and paper, while a third was almost completely empty, apart from a tiny textbook and a mug of kava. Apart from the chair Master Tor was sitting in, behind the third desk, there was nowhere for anyone else to sit.

“Lady Emily,” Master Tor said. The look of vague dislike on his face was still there. “What can I do for you?”

Emily bit down on her temper. Shouting at him wouldn’t help.

“I applied to share a room with Alassa and Imaiqah,” she said. It was fairly certain that he would know Alassa—and probably Imaiqah as well. “All
three
of us made the same request. I would like to know why we did not wind up sharing a room.”

“Because I changed the room assignments,” Master Tor said. There was something flat, utterly emotionless, in his tone. “As, I believe, Madame Razz was kind enough to explain to you last night.”

Emily felt her temper flare, forcing her to focus her mind to damp it down. There was something about his attitude that made her want to lash out at him, even though she knew that it would be disastrous. Assaulting a teacher wouldn’t be taken lightly, even at Whitehall. And Master Tor was almost certainly far more powerful and capable than her...

“I would like to know why you did it, then,” Emily said, as carefully as she could. “We
all
made the request.”

“Yes, you did,” Master Tor agreed. “But I
did
change it...”

Emily glared at him. She was
not
going to let him push her around, teacher or no. “I would be prepared to file an official complaint,” she said, although she had no idea of the procedure for complaining about a teacher at Whitehall. Did she address the Grandmaster, the Board of Governors or the White Council itself? “I would appreciate a
proper
explanation for your decision.”

For a long moment, he held her gaze, staring into her eyes as if he could peer into her very soul.

“You are a noblewoman of Zangaria,” he said, finally. “Your two friends are
also
noblewomen of Zangaria. However much we may regret your ennoblement, we must recognize it as fact. And we must also recognize that Whitehall serves more roles than merely teaching immature little girls about magic.”

Emily flushed at his scorn, but held her tongue.

“In particular, Whitehall serves as a place for you to make contacts and familiarize yourself with the people who will be high-ranking nobles and powerful sorcerers after they graduate,” he continued. “You will have to work with these people, no matter where you end up; meeting them here, without the strict protocol of official functions, allows you to form personal bonds that will last your entire lifetime.

“Allowing you to remain with your friends will not encourage you to make other friends and contacts,” he concluded. “Hence, all three of you have been assigned to different rooms—with different roommates. I trust that makes a certain kind of sense?”

“Put that way,” Emily said, bitterly, “it sounds almost logical.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Master Tor said, dryly. “And I suggest that you learn to moderate your tone before you speak to me again. I have no patience for spoilt brats.”

He looked down at the small textbook on his desk. “I have a lesson plan to complete,” he added. “The room assignments will stay as they are. I suggest that you learn to make friends with your new roommates, rather than staying with a small group. It is not good for your future development.”

It was clearly a dismissal. Emily nodded her head to him, turned and walked towards the door, which opened as she approached. She felt his gaze boring into the back of her head until the door closed behind her. What he’d said
was
logical, she couldn’t deny it, but she couldn’t escape the sense that it hadn’t been his
only
motive. He seemed to dislike her and she honestly had no idea why.

She stopped outside Mistress Irene’s office and considered asking her, then shook her head, dismissing the thought. No doubt she would find out why Master Tor hated her soon enough; she would have to attend a lecture on law within the week, just so she could decide if she wanted to stick with the subject. She didn’t want to, but she had to admit that it might be useful to know what the rules were, at least before she broke them. Heinlein’s advice still held true, even in a magical world.

The dining hall was almost deserted, not entirely to Emily’s surprise. A pair of students from Sixth Year—Emily recognized one of them from Martial Magic—were sitting in one corner, pushing pieces of paper around while making pointing and shoving gestures. Two more looked to be wrapped up in each other, while the person sitting next to them was studiously ignoring their antics. Emily snorted inwardly and walked over to the buffet table, finding a large caldron of porridge and a pile of fresh fruit. No doubt after the feast last night, the cooks had decided to go for the healthy option. Normally, they served bacon and eggs.

She was midway through her breakfast when Alassa walked in, wearing a long blue dress that set off her eyes nicely. Emily felt a flicker of envy—no matter what she wore, she would never be as stunning as Alassa—and then pushed it aside as her friend picked up a breakfast tray and sat down next to her.

“I got a pair of girls from the Western Isles,” she said, by way of greeting. “How about you?”