That was an understatement. The nexus seemed rather unfriendly now...perhaps it remembered how Shadye had manipulated her to attack it. Or, perhaps, how Shadye had almost taken it for his own. The thought of a necromancer wielding the almost unlimited power of a nexus was terrifying. Shadye might well have become a god—or a devil.
“Probably not a good idea,” the Grandmaster said. His tone was firm enough that she knew there was no point in arguing. “Too many such contacts might destroy your mind—or suck you into the nexus. No one who has been sucked inside has ever been seen again.”
Emily half-remembered the waves of endless power and shivered. It was possible that the people who had been sucked inside didn’t want to return. If they could, of course...but the nexus was so powerful that it could do almost anything. Surely it could rebuild their bodies if they wanted out. Or maybe they had long since been destroyed beyond hope of recovery.
The Grandmaster helped her to her feet. “Thank you for trying,” he said, seriously. “And I’m sorry you had to go through that experience. There was no other choice.”
“No,” Emily agreed. “Is there anyone else who might be able to touch the nexus?”
“Not in Whitehall,” the Grandmaster said. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “And substituting a different homunculus didn’t work either. The level of spellwork that went into the Warden was quite considerable, far more than any lesser entity. I still don’t understand how the Mimic managed to destroy it so quickly.”
Emily frowned, considering the problem. “What would happen,” she said slowly, “if the spells that gave the Warden life were drained?”
The Grandmaster turned to peer at her with sightless eyes. “Are you suggesting that the Mimic sucked the spells right out of him?”
“I can’t think of any other explanation,” Emily said. The only alternative was that the Mimic had replaced the Warden after the Battle of Whitehall...but if that had been the case, it should have had access to enough power to maintain its stolen form indefinitely. “Wouldn’t that have killed him?”
“It might well have done,” the Grandmaster agreed. “And if the spells that should have alerted the staff were destroyed too, there would have been no alert.”
Emily nodded, slowly. The Mimic had presumably believed that it was Travis after it had replaced him...but then, it hadn’t sounded the alarm over the destroyed Warden. What did that mean?
The Grandmaster led her through the door and closed it behind them. Emily watched as he replaced the spells, then added a twist or two that were completely beyond her comprehension. It was a droll reminder, she realized, of just how much more she needed to learn before she graduated from Whitehall. The tests in Blackhall were tough, but they were calculated to push the students to the limit. The Grandmaster’s wards on the nexus chamber were designed to keep intruders out.
She asked a question that had been bugging her for some time. “Shadye was a student at Whitehall, wasn’t he?”
“He used to be,” the Grandmaster admitted. He inspected his handiwork thoughtfully and nodded in satisfaction. “But then he went missing for a while...until he appeared out of nowhere and took over the Blighted Lands near Whitehall. That isn’t exactly uncommon, unfortunately.”
Emily nodded in understanding. A known magician who was slipping into necromancy might attract attention before he was too powerful to challenge directly. Shadye might well have absented himself from the Allied Lands a long time before he made the final transformation into a mad necromancer. His humanity had been sacrificed long ago.
What were you expecting? She asked herself, silently. To discover that he’d left a piece of his soul behind for you to find?
The Grandmaster turned and led the way back up the hidden staircase. “I should remind you not to come down here again without an escort,” he added. “The nexus can be seductive if you are unprepared for its pull. We always have to guard it carefully when newcomers are being trained.”
“And you wouldn’t want them in the chamber on their own anyway,” Emily said. She couldn’t blame the Grandmaster for being paranoid. If she had been able to create a simulation of a black hole without any prior training, what could someone do if they did have the training? “I won’t come down here again.”
But she felt the pull of the nexus growing stronger as she walked up the stairs, tugging at her very soul. It had hurt her and yet she wanted to go back and throw herself into the raging torrents of power that blazed beneath Whitehall. She felt her hands trembling and clasped them together, trying to keep them under control. The tug faded until it merged into the back of her mind, part of her ever-present awareness of the wards running through the school. And yet it was still there. She could feel it every time she remembered the nexus.
“Everyone who touches the nexus is changed forever,” the Grandmaster said, softly. “And sometimes the price can be quite high.”
Emily looked at him. How and why had he lost his eyes?
There were rumors, of course. Some students claimed that he’d plucked his eyes out and traded them for wisdom. Others believed that he’d been experimenting with a new practical joke hex—or perhaps something more offensive - and accidentally destroyed his sight permanently. And there were some who believed that he’d lost them battling a necromancer before taking over the position of Grandmaster. Emily wanted to ask, but she didn’t quite dare. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.
The Grandmaster led her through the main corridor and out into the Great Hall. Lady Barb was already hard at work, aided by Sergeant Miles and Professor Lombardi, both of whom were constructing wards to trap the Mimic. Behind them, Professor Eleas was drawing out runes on the wooden floor. Emily looked at the completed runes, but couldn’t discern their purpose. One of them seemed to be intended to urge someone to move in a particular direction; the others were completely unfamiliar.
“We may have to start tomorrow,” Lady Barb said, straightening up. “Professor Thande says that the remaining potions won’t be ready for several more hours.”
Emily looked over at the professor. He was standing in front of a table, messing around with a massive collection of test tubes, glass beakers and a tiny stove. Beside him, Imaiqah was watching with interest and passing him ingredients as directed. Emily had to smile at her friend’s intent expression. She had always been much better at Alchemy than Emily herself and Professor Thande had even made noises about offering her an apprenticeship. But that would have to wait until sixth year.
“Understandable,” the Grandmaster said, although he sounded cross. “Not the right ingredients?”
“Not for this level of replenishment potion,” Lady Barb said, flatly. “We’re going to need a dose for just about everyone, unless we get lucky and the Mimic happens to be caught very quickly. And there’s no way we can get more ingredients in time.”
Emily scowled inwardly. The greenhouses were on the other side of the wards—and they couldn’t be extended, not that far from the school. Nor could they go to Dragon’s Den or somewhere else where they might find more supplies. They would have to work with what they had—and if they didn’t have enough...
“Do not attempt to substitute anything else for the required ingredient,” Professor Thande had said, back during her first week of formal lessons in alchemy. “If you replace one with another, the alchemical reaction will be very interesting, but not what you’re trying to achieve. Leave experimenting until you get into fifth year.”
He’d followed up with a set of warnings, concluding with a dire threat that anyone caught deliberately altering the recipe would be severely punished—and anyone who wasn’t caught would probably wish they had been, after they drank the botched mixture.
“We may be able to find substitutes,” Lady Barb added, “but I wouldn’t take chances with something like this.”
“Probably a good idea,” the Grandmaster said. “Have you spoken to the other staff members?”
“It’s hard to
work up a list of suspects,” Lady Barb said. “Logically, it was someone who had to be alone long enough for the Mimic to kill and replace them, but how long does it take to do that?”
“Not long,” Emily said, slowly. The Mimic had tried to take her place in an open corridor. It must have known that it could deal with her quickly, before anyone else came along. “Maybe bare minutes at most.”
Lady Barb nodded, tartly.
“We haven’t managed to identify the student who went after Emily and Imaiqah either,” she said. “Whoever it was used high-level magic, including an invisibility charm, and was a short girl. But that still leaves us with several hundred possible suspects. Even if we narrow it down by only looking at students in Martial Magic, we still have at least twenty suspects.”
The Grandmaster scowled. “Have them all interrogated under truth spells,” he ordered. “A near-murderous attack on younger students? I’m not laughing.”
“Neither am I,” Lady Barb said. “But I think it’s only going to get worse. Everyone is stressed, Grandmaster, and very fearful. I think we might have to consider moving students out of the bedrooms and into larger dorms, somewhere we can keep an eye on them.”
Emily shivered at her tone.
“Go get some proper rest,” Lady Barb ordered. “You’ll be one of the first students to be tested tomorrow, just to help convince the others to walk into the wards and expend their magic. And we thought we’d let you explain the blood sample procedure to the servants afterwards.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, sourly. “I’ll try and think of some good words.”
Blood. No one would be happy about giving out a blood sample, even if they weren’t magicians. Emily had had blood magic used against her and had studied it afterwards, even using it herself once. There were hundreds of spells that involved making use of someone’s blood...and most of them were as evil as anything the necromancers had ever done. No, the servants would not be happy about giving up some of their blood. Rules or no rules, they were already far more exposed to the student body’s sense of humor than they would have preferred.
“I’ll escort you and Imaiqah to your room,” Sergeant Miles said. “You should not be alone any longer. Too many idiots are still blaming you for everything.”
Emily nodded, bitterly. If she hadn’t been in Whitehall, Shadye would never have broken in...and the Mimic would never have escaped. But there had been no choice.
What else could she have done?
Chapter Thirty-Four
THE CLANGING OF THE BELL WOKE Emily from a restless sleep, where she had dreamed of Shadye and Mimics and the strange pull of the nexus point. She had dreamed twice of stepping through the door and walking up to the pillar, only to snap awake when her fingers actually touched the crystal. It was a relief to wake up and dress for breakfast.
“I heard that two more students were killed,” the Gorgon said. “And someone else is dead and doesn’t know it.”
Emily nodded, wordlessly. Could the Gorgon have been consumed and replaced by the Mimic? It was impossible to ask—and the Gorgon might not know. There was so little actually known for sure about the Mimics . She tugged her robe over her head, then tied her hair back into a ponytail. This wasn’t a day to let it all hang free.
“Wake up, Lin,” the Gorgon called, sharply. “You have to come to breakfast with us.”
Lin didn’t look much better than Emily felt. She sat upright in bed, clinging to the covers as if she wanted to bury herself beneath them and pretend the world didn’t exist. Emily understood the impulse; she would have liked to forget about the Mimic too, even though it was pointless. Bad things didn’t go away if someone wished them gone.
Madame Razz rapped on the door. “Breakfast in twenty minutes, girls,” she hollered. “Be out by then or you will be unable to eat until lunch.”
“I think she hates us,” Lin muttered, as she pulled herself out of bed. She wore a nightgown that looked as if it could pass for regular clothes. “And she definitely hates me.”
Emily shrugged. “I think she has high standards,” she said. “And besides—just think of all the mischief we get into.”
“You, perhaps,” the Gorgon said, tartly. Her voice was thoroughly irritated. “I don’t dare.”
They finished dressing and walked out of the room, heading down towards the dining hall. Emily let out a sigh of relief as she saw Imaiqah waiting for her, then walked ahead to join her friend. The Gorgon followed her at a distance, catching more than a few sidelong glances from the other students. Emily felt a flash of shame and pity at their reactions and resolved to try to be nicer to the Gorgon in future. She didn’t deserve to be picked on for being what she was.
Inside, there were large caldrons of porridge and small helpings of fresh fruit. Emily heard grumbling from boys—and not a few girls—who were used to starting the day with bacon and eggs, but there was none to be had. She couldn’t understand where they’d bought the fresh fruit until she remembered the preservation spells she’d learned about during the long hikes they’d taken for Martial Magic. The kitchen staff probably preserved the fruit as soon as they bought it from Dragon’s Den.
She finished the food and sat back, unsatisfied. There wasn’t enough to keep her going for long, which might have been the point. Did the Mimic use food to produce energy too? Even if it didn’t, underfeeding the students might speed up the process of draining their magic. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the sixth years guarding the doors. No one was being allowed to leave the dining hall. One particularly obnoxious fourth year had wound up with his feet firmly stuck to the floor to keep him inside.
The Grandmaster strode inside, a wave of magic announcing his presence, followed by a line of grim-faced staff and servants. A faint ripple of surprise ran through the room as the students saw the servants and wondered what it portended. It was rare for the servants to enter the larger rooms while the students were there.
Emily looked up as he stood in front of the room, waiting until he had their undivided attention.
“We have gathered everyone in the building in this room,” the Grandmaster said, quietly. “One of us is the Mimic.”
There was a rustle of panic, which quieted quickly as the Grandmaster scowled at them.
“We have been able to deduce that the Mimic uses up energy faster than normal by using magic,” the Grandmaster continued. He didn’t mention Emily’s involvement, for which she was grateful. If her fellow students realized that the whole concept was her idea, she might as well try to leave Whitehall before they took their fury out on her. “When it runs short of magic, it reverts to its normal form and searches for the next victim. Our plan is to force it to do that in a place where we can trap it.”
Emily frowned, puzzled. Why was he telling them the plan? Didn’t he realize that he was telling the Mimic what he intended to do? And then it struck her. Anyone who attempted to leave ahead of time might well be the Mimic. It might save them some trouble if the Mimic identified itself so conveniently.
“One by one, you will go into the Great Hall and expend your magic,” the Grandmaster continued. “Once drained, you will be escorted into the Dance Hall and told to wait there. Some additional food and replenishment potions will be provided. Do not attempt to leave the room until after everyone has been tested. This is our best chance at isolating the Mimic and we are not going to waste it.”
He paused. “We found one more body last night,” he concluded. “This is deadly serious. If we fail to trap the Mimic, we will be unable to lower the wards and escape. Whitehall will become a school of the dead.
“I know that many of you will object to the exercise, but we have found no other way to test for the Mimic. Please do not argue, but cooperate completely with the staff.”
There was a long pause.
Emily tried to see how the other students were taking it. Some looked relieved at having a solution, any solution. Others seemed angry; they knew that they were going to be expending their mag
ic, ensuring they couldn’t work any spells for the next few hours. Emily wondered, coldly, if they included the person who had attacked both her and Imaiqah, but it was impossible to know. The ones shooting nasty glances at her might not include the one who had attacked them.
“When Master Tor reads out your name,” the Grandmaster said, “walk through the South Door into the Great Hall. Do not attempt to go anywhere else.”
Master Tor stepped forward as the Grandmaster, Lady Barb and several other staff members exited through the South Door. There was a long pause as he unfurled a roll of parchment and peered at the first name, then he looked up and shot Emily an unreadable look.
“Lady Emily of House Cockatrice,” he said, flatly.
Emily felt all eyes on her as she stood and walked towards the South Door, fighting the urge to clench her fists or show any other sign of nervousness. The door suddenly seemed very large in front of her; she placed her hand on it and pushed it open, hearing a strange noise behind her as she stepped through. Were they admiring her bravery or were they convinced that the Mimic was about to expose itself? There was no way to know.
The interior of the Great Hall had been covered in runes and wards. Emily could feel the magic crackling around her as she stepped forward, growing stronger with every step. She could almost see a spider-web of magic hanging in the air, glowing with power and potential. And to think they’d assembled it overnight...
“In there,” Lady Barb ordered, pointing to the very center of the Great Hall. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Emily winced as the magic closed in on her. She felt trapped; there was no way to escape, not without necromancer-level powers. Indeed, there was so little space inside the wards that unleashing such power might destroy her when it bounced off the barrier. Shadye had never tried to break down Whitehall’s wards directly, but what would have happened if he had attempted to unleash his full power against the school?
Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) Page 32