Fantastic Schools, Volume 3

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  I was tempted to ask. But I doubted I’d get a straight answer.

  We kept walking, circumventing the edge of the town. Lilith hadn’t been too far wrong about the building practices, I decided as we passed a block of new flats. They were nothing more than a shell, being put together at terrifying speed. The workers looked surprisingly slapdash, compared to the ones I’d seen back home. But then, the guilds kept construction workers firmly under their thumbs. Here ... I had a feeling there simply weren’t any guilds. I certainly hadn’t seen any advertised.

  Lilith glanced at me. “You could live here?”

  I frowned. It was tempting, if I couldn’t go home. There was no shortage of work. I’d seen enough advertised to know there simply wasn’t enough labour to go around. The wages would be higher than anything back home, with demands for qualifications and experience correspondingly low. I still had the money I’d been given, enough to find lodging long enough to start earning. It would mean giving up the dream, but ...

  “Lilith,” I said. “Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course.” Lilith spoke like a haughty monarch bestowing a favour on a courtier. “You may ask anything you like.”

  “You didn’t like me from the start,” I said. It was true, but I didn’t know why. Oversleeping hardly deserved the death sentence. “You disliked and resented—perhaps even hated—me. You cursed me and ...”

  “Hexed you,” Lilith corrected, coldly.

  “Why?” I stopped and stared at her. “Why do you hate me?”

  Lilith said nothing for a long moment. “I don’t hate you,” she said. “You simply don’t belong here.”

  She started to walk, heading back up the road to the university. I followed her, a dozen questions running through my head. I didn’t belong ...? Master Pittwater had asked Master Landis to take me, and he’d agreed. Lilith ... Lilith didn’t have a say in it. Was that what she resented? I found it hard to believe. Apprentices were, legally, children. Lilith could no more boss Master Landis around than I could.

  I paced her. “What makes you say that?”

  “You have no magic,” Lilith said, flatly. “You cannot do even the simplest spells. All you can do is prepare ingredients and write spells, both of which I could do. Anyone could do, if they had magic. You just” —she scowled— “you just exist on our sufferance. You should not be here.”

  “Heart’s Eye is for mundanes as well as magicians,” I said. “Lady Emily ...”

  “Lady Emily is an idealist,” Lilith said, flatly. “I met her once, just before she left to take up her own apprenticeship. She doesn’t realise just how incompatible magicals and mundanes actually are. She has no grasp at all of the realities of the world.”

  “And I suppose you do?” It was hard not to sound mocking, even though I knew just what she could do to me. “You know better than the Necromancer’s Bane?”

  Lilith glared. Her hand raised—I braced myself to dodge—before she calmed herself. “What can you do,” she asked, “that I cannot do better?”

  I tried not to say something like father children. Lilith would not have taken that calmly, if I’d dared. Instead ... I tried to think of an answer. I knew plenty of magical theory, but Lilith presumably knew plenty herself. And she understood how magic worked on a level I’d never be able to match. What little I could do would be easy for her to match, if she put in the time and effort. I was quite sure she knew precisely how to prepare potion ingredients. Master Pittwater had drilled Matt as well as me.

  “I can find out,” I said. “Let me try.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Lilith said, darkly. A shadow crossed her face. “And Master Landis’s, too.”

  “It’s his time to waste,” I said.

  “He isn’t sure himself,” Lilith said. “You know why you have a bedroom, instead of one of the dorms? He doesn’t know you’ll be staying. He’s waiting to see if you’re truly useful … or not.”

  I winced. I wanted to believe she was lying, but ... it sounded true. Lilith didn’t strike me as a very good liar. It didn’t feel as if she’d ever had the need to learn.

  “Let me prove myself,” I said, finally. “Give me time.”

  Lilith smirked. “You don’t stand a chance.”

  I met her eyes. “You want to bet on it?”

  “Very well,” Lilith said. “I’ll give you two months. You impress me, and I’ll withdraw all objection to your presence. You don’t” —she leaned closer— “I’ll turn you into something small and slimy and drop you somewhere you’ll never be found.”

  She turned and walked off. I watched her go, feeling sick. What had I got myself into now?

  Chapter Five

  It didn’t take me too long to realise, as the first week of my semi-apprenticeship sped by, that impressing Lilith might be extremely difficult.

  She was an odd duck, even by magical standards. The male magicians, including the ones who looked around the same age as Lilith, went out of their way to avoid her. It was hard to be sure, as we were hardly confidantes, but it seemed to wear on her. She appeared to be almost completely isolated, to the point we hung out together a couple of times since our first visit to Heart’s Ease. I would have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t spent half of her time reminding me that I had only a few weeks to impress her, or else. Part of me was tempted to throw in the towel, tell Master Landis that I’d made a dreadful mistake in coming, and find somewhere to stay in the town. The rest of me was just too stubborn to quit.

  The hell of it was that I liked the university. It was bigger than I’d realised, with classes and lectures on every subject under the sun. I attended a speech on royal politics one day and a lecture on farming practice the next; I listened to a talk on how best to enchant objects from an enchanter and an explanation of how water was turned to steam to power a steam engine. The woman who gave the speech was a craftsman in her own right, according to Lilith; a formidable woman who looked tough enough to face down an army. Lilith sneered that the only reason she hadn’t been taken down a peg or two by a magician was that she was in a relationship with a powerful enchanter, but I didn’t believe it. A woman who became a full-fledged craftsman was clearly formidable enough to look after herself. If I hadn’t been so worried about proving myself, I would have loved to bury myself in the university and never come out.

  Lilith had been right about one thing, I realised dully. I hadn’t been assigned to an apprentice dorm and wouldn’t be unless I was taken on permanently. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I liked the idea of having my own room—I’d never had any privacy before, even in my garret—but it was a sign that I might not be there long. Perhaps that was another reason why I found myself alone when I wasn’t with her. No one wanted to befriend someone who wasn’t going to stick around. I’d seen that before, as an apprentice. It stung more than I remembered.

  I spent most of my working hours in the lab, assisting Master Landis and Lilith. He wasn’t a bad master, at least to me, although he showed no interest in curtailing Lilith’s misbehaviour. I didn’t understand it. An apprentice’s behaviour reflected badly on her master and yet ... it made no sense. No one would question him if he punished or dismissed her. Or would they? Who was she, really? A person with powerful connections? I found it hard to believe after the first week. In my experience, anyone with powerful connections would find themselves surrounded by sycophants and fair-weather friends. Lilith was practically alone.

  No wonder she spends time with me, even if she hates me, I thought. I don’t pretend she isn’t there.

  The thought mocked me as I chopped ingredients for the two magicians. It was important work, I knew, but it wasn’t what I wanted to do. And yet, what else could I do? I couldn’t brew anything but the most basic potions. Lilith reminded me of that, time and time again. I’d watched her put a handful of ingredients in her cauldron and produce miracles, while I couldn’t produce anything beyond sludge. It was immensely frustrating. I wanted to claim credit for half th
e work, but I couldn’t. Lilith could replace me overnight, if she wanted. I couldn’t replace her.

  “Done,” I said, once I’d finished preparing the roots. “There’s enough to produce two batches of potion.”

  “Good, good,” Master Landis said. “You appreciate the importance of cutting them perfectly?”

  I nodded, stiffly, as Lilith examined each and every root in cynical detail. She wanted to get me in trouble, I was sure. Perhaps Master Landis was quietly encouraging her. She wouldn’t slack on the examination if she thought the slightest problem would land me in hot water. She could be relied upon to rub my nose in any mistakes. I scowled as she finished her task, then passed the roots to her master. The look she gave me was sour. I wondered, idly, if she thought I was wasting her time.

  She’s not lazy, I thought, as Master Landis took the roots and started to line them up. She’s just ... unpleasant.

  I put the thought aside as Master Landis directed me to fetch the rest of the ingredients, weigh them out and line them up for use. Master Pittwater had taught me the importance of making sure everything was on hand, before one started to brew, but Master Landis took it so seriously it was practically a religion. I supposed it made sense. He worked with far more dangerous ingredients. Master Pittwater hadn’t had more than a tiny handful of dragon scales, while Master Landis had entire bags. A mistake with those could result in utter disaster. The university’s wards should be able to contain the blast, if my calculations were correct, but the three of us would be blown straight to the gods. I wondered if they’d be pleased to see me. It had been a long time since I’d made an offering at the family shrine.

  Master Landis bombarded me with questions as he checked and rechecked the ingredients. I tried not to sigh as I answered them, knowing it wouldn’t get me anything more than a sneer from Lilith. She leaned against the wall, pretending she wasn’t paying attention. It would have been more convincing if her green eyes hadn’t been boring into me. I did my best to ignore her as I struggled to answer the questions, silently noting aspects of magical theory I’d have to study. Lilith had shown me where to find the library. I could go there after I’d been dismissed for the day.

  “Very good,” Master Landis said. “You would have gone far, if you’d had the gift.”

  I didn’t let myself look at Lilith. I knew she’d be sneering. Instead, I watched as Master Landis heated the cauldron and started to brew. The memory potion was tricky—and dangerous. Master Pittwater had flatly refused to brew it, although I’d seen him brew far more complex potions. I didn’t understand his reluctance. It wasn’t as if the potion was beyond him.

  Master Landis glanced at me as the liquid started to simmer. “You have a question?”

  I blinked. How had he known?

  “Yes, Master,” I managed. I wished Lilith wasn’t there. I was sure she’d find a way to make fun of the question. “Why did Master Pittwater refuse to brew memory potion?”

  “Perhaps your master wasn’t as good a master as he claimed,” Lilith said. “Perhaps ...”

  She broke off as Master Landis skewered her with a glare. I stared, surprised. It was the first time he’d shown her anything beyond mild annoyance. I just didn’t understand it. Why didn’t he react to her prodding me but shut her down the moment she insulted Master Pittwater? Perhaps they really had been close friends, despite the age gap. Or Master Pittwater had taught Master Landis. I supposed it was possible.

  “Memory potions live up to their name,” Master Landis said. He returned his gaze to the shimmering liquid, his fingers beating out a timing pattern on his hand. “If you drink the potion, you will remember—in perfect detail—everything that happens while the potion is within your system. You will never forget. Go to a complex lecture and everything you hear will be recorded within your mind, allowing you to recall and think about it later. On the face of it, the potion is very useful indeed.”

  I nodded. I could have used a memory potion, when I’d been studying. It would have saved me trying to remember all the letters and sigils, all the runes and ingredients and everything else I’d been forced to commit to memory. Matt and Lilith didn’t know how lucky they were. They had an instinctive grasp of something I’d had to force myself to comprehend. It would have been easy, so easy, to simply dismiss it as something completely beyond my ken and find something else to do with my life. But I hadn’t.

  “The downside is that you will remember everything,” Master Landis said. The potion started to bubble. He reached for a jar of powder and poured it into the liquid. “Everything, and I mean everything. Break up with your partner? You won’t be able to forget every last cruel word. Get a lecture from your master? The words will linger in your mind until the end of your days. And if you’re unwell? You will never be able to truly get over it.”

  “I see,” I said, although I didn’t. “Why do you brew it?”

  “Because there are students who feel they need it,” Lilith said. “And they’re old enough to understand the risks and accept them.”

  I frowned as Master Landis kept working. It didn’t make sense. Master Pittwater had sold all sorts of potions, from simple contraceptives to healing balms. There was no reason he couldn’t sell memory potions. I could easily see scholars and engineers drinking the potion and using it to make sure they memorised something before the exam. Why had it been considered too dangerous to sell? It wasn’t as if it was a shape-changing or a love potion. They were banned, with good reason. Master Pittwater had called the City Guard on a lovesick young woman whose paramour had not returned her feelings.

  “There must be another downside,” I said. “Why ...?”

  “Good question,” Master Landis said. “Lilith?”

  Lilith gave me a look that promised vengeance. Painful, humiliating vengeance. I made a mental note to duck out of the lab as soon as working hours had ended for the day and head straight to the library. It would give her time to cool down and think better of whatever she intended to do. It wasn’t the bravest thing I’d ever done, but ... I scowled. It had been a lot easier dealing with Matt. He hadn’t been quite so difficult in his early days.

  “You cannot replace the memory,” Lilith said. “Whatever you learn, you cannot replace it.”

  I gave her a questioning look. “Replace it?”

  Lilith glared. “Suppose I told you that I was twenty, which is true,” she said. “You would believe me. You know it’s true. If you drank the potion, that fact would remain stuck in your head. But next year, I’ll be twenty-one. Right?”

  “Yes,” I said. I resisted the urge to point out that she was acting like a toddler. There was only a year between us, physically, but mentally we were worlds apart. “Unless something happens between now and then.”

  “Yes.” Lilith’s glare deepened. “But you wouldn’t be able to ... think of me as someone older than twenty. The fact—that I am twenty—would be so stuck in your head that you’d still think of me as twenty, even when I was two hundred. Logically, you’d know I couldn’t possibly be twenty. Emotionally, you would still believe me to be twenty.”

  “The problem is worse than that,” Master Landis put in. “You might memorise a recipe for a potion, then find yourself unable to replace it with a superior recipe.”

  I shook my head. “If that’s true ...”

  “Of course, it’s true,” Lilith snapped.

  “If that’s true,” I asked, “then why are we brewing it?”

  “Because the students here are supposed to be old enough to understand the dangers,” Master Landis said. “And there are certain fields of study that have enough ... near-certainties ,,, for the potion to be quite useful. A healer, for example, needs to memorise a vast array of facts about the human body. They can use the potion to remember the details. They’re generally isolated during the lecture and afterwards to limit the amount of accidental memorising they do.”

  The cauldron started to steam. Master Landis motioned to Lilith. She came forward, holding
a silver knife in one hand. I stared, unsure what they intended to do. I’d already sliced and diced everything he needed to brew the potion. Master Pittwater had taught me that there were some potions that required the brewer to perform all the steps himself, preparing him as well as the ingredients, but memory potion wasn’t one of them. Master Landis wouldn’t have asked me to help if it was. I frowned as Lilith held her hand over the cauldron, then blinked in shock as she pressed the knife against her bare skin. A droplet of blood fell into the liquid. It started to hiss ominously.

  I grabbed a cloth and held it out to Lilith. She shot me a nasty look as she snatched the cloth and pressed it against the cut. It had to have hurt, but ... she hadn’t made a sound. I was almost impressed. The blade probably wasn’t charmed. They didn’t want the blood tainted by outside magic ...

  My heart skipped a beat. Blood?

  I found my voice. “Master, why ...?”

  “Wait,” Master Landis snapped.

  I tried not to stare as he stirred the cauldron, muttering a spell under his breath. Blood magic was dangerous. Master Pittwater had warned me that anything involving blood was risky, even if it didn’t cross the line into dark magic. A sample of someone’s blood could be used against them, if they didn’t take the right precautions, And yet ... I stared at Lilith, wondering what the hell she thought she was doing. Blood magic? She was mad. She had to be.

  The cauldron blazed with light. I threw up a hand to cover my eyes. Lilith looked, just for a moment, as if she was caught in a storm. It struck me, as the light pulsed against the walls, that her senses weren’t such an advantage now. If the light was bright enough to hurt me, what was it doing to her? It snapped out of existence so quickly I was convinced, just for a second, she’d hit me with a blinding hex. The lab was suddenly very dark. Multicoloured spots drifted in front of my eyes.