Fantastic Schools, Volume 3

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  “Lilith, bottle up the potion,” Master Landis ordered, curtly. He turned and headed for the door. “Adam, make sure to label every vial properly.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  Lilith looked pale, even in the dimmed light, as she carefully ladled the potion into the vials and pushed the stoppers into place. I watched her, wondering just what she was doing. There were rules covering apprenticeships, magical and mundane alike. I found it hard to believe Master Landis had the right to demand her blood, certainly not when she wasn’t the one brewing the potion. It was ... I shuddered. I’d heard horror stories about bad masters, but none of them involved blood.

  I cleared my throat. “What ... what was that about?”

  “My blood has powerful magic.” Lilith sounded a little more like her old self. I was almost relieved. “It gives the potion a boost.”

  “Your blood?” I gave her a sidelong look. “Why couldn’t he use his?”

  “Because the potion would have interacted badly with his magic if he tried,” Lilith said, curtly. “Using mine was a risk, but ...”

  She broke off. “Yours is useless, of course.”

  I scowled. “How so?”

  “You have no magic in your veins,” Lilith said. “It’s just ... blood.”

  “And yet, I got told to take care of my blood, too,” I said. “Why would anyone bother if my blood was useless?”

  Lilith snorted. “Your blood is linked to you. Someone could use it to brew you a healing potion, if they felt it worth the effort, or they could use it to curse you. They could put a spell on you from the other side of the world, if they had some of your blood. Mine? My blood can be used to power spells, because magic runs in my veins. There are magicians out there who sell their blood for money.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “What else do they sell it for?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Lilith said. “You really don’t.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I said. I’d look it up later, as well as a few other things. “Is your blood that powerful?”

  Lilith smirked. “I can perform spells that would leave you gasping in awe,” she said, as she finished sealing the vials. “What do you think?”

  Master Landis stepped back into the room before I could come up with a snappy comeback and headed for the kitchen. “Lilith, stay here,” he ordered. He picked up the vials, one by one, and checked the labels. I breathed a sigh of relief he didn’t find any fault with them. “Adam, I want you to go to the library after dinner and dig up some books for me. I’ll give you the references.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. I’d planned to go to the library anyway. “Potion recipes?”

  “Among others,” Master Landis said. He produced a sheet of paper and held it out. I took it and glanced at the list. The references included a list of names I knew by reputation, but never actually seen. “Read them carefully. I’ll be wanting your opinions afterwards.”

  Lilith sneered as I headed to the door. “Don’t forget you have to impress me,” she said, making a show of looking at the calendar. “How much time do you have left?”

  “Enough,” I said. It was a lie, and I feared she knew it. “Bye.”

  Chapter Six

  The library was a wonderful place.

  I couldn’t help staring as I walked into the giant chamber and looked around. The library was huge, far larger than the library I’d visited in Beneficence. There were giant shelves, row upon row of books; I found my eyes trailing from freshly-printed books to ancient tomes so old they were stored in glass—and presumably warded—cabinets. I wanted to drool as I saw a set of new potion books, including reprints of textbooks I’d had to borrow from Matt and his predecessors. There weren’t any warning signs, banning me from so much as looking at certain textbooks. Heart’s Eye was open to all.

  A young man sat at the desk, studying a ledger. He wore a simple grey tunic, rather than a robe, but I was fairly sure he was a magician. It was something about his attitude, although I couldn’t have put it into words. I had the impression he was a few years older than me. It was hard to be sure. Lilith was twenty—she’d said—and she looked and acted like she was eighteen.

  “Welcome to the library,” the librarian said. “Have you read the rules?”

  He held out a parchment before I could answer. I took it and ran my eyes down the list. It was fairly basic. No books to be taken out of the library without being signed out. All books to be returned or renewed before their due date ... or else. Borrowed books were to be returned upon demand, or else. Patrons to be as quiet as possible, particularly in the main chamber, or else. I had the feeling the consequences were likely to be dire. The library represented the greatest collection of knowledge and books within a thousand miles. It would be heavily protected.

  I met his eyes. “Or else what?”

  He smiled at me, coldly. “You don’t want to know.”

  I passed him the sheet of references. “Where do I look for these?”

  “Potion books are stored in Room Two,” he informed me. “Or I can have them brought out for you.”

  “I’ll look first,” I said. “I can ask if I need help.”

  The air was oddly silent as I made my way through the stacks and into the rear chambers. I guessed the wards were designed to keep the room as quiet as possible. The handful of students at study desks were quiet, even though they were clearly talking. I couldn’t hear a word. They gave me odd looks as I passed. I ignored them as I ran my eye along the giant shelves. There were so many books in view that I found it hard to understand how anyone could find anything. I doubted the librarians were experts in each and every magical field.

  And technological field, I thought, as I passed a stack of books on steam engines. It was hard to resist the temptation to stop and browse. A couple had fanciful pictures of giant flying sausages and bat-winged flying ... things. The librarians can’t hope to keep the system in order, can they?

  I put the thought out of my head as I walked into Room Two. The chamber was empty, save for a pair of younger girls who didn’t look up. I felt oddly dismayed as I turned to study the giant stacks. It would have been nice to talk—or at least make eye contact—with someone who wasn’t Lilith. And they were quite attractive ... I dismissed the idea as I raised my eyes. The really dangerous books had been placed well out of reach. I guessed they’d been placed there to make it harder for someone to get them without magic.

  Cheek, I thought. It isn’t as if I could do anything with a book on dark magic.

  I picked a table for myself, then started to hunt for the books. Master Landis had named a dozen ancient tomes, each one old enough to have been written by my great-grandfather. The world had been a very different place, or so I’d been told. It was hard to believe that people had really been that different. They lived and died, loved and hated ... I wondered, idly, what my great-grandfather would have made of Heart’s Eye. Would he have seen it as a chance for me to rise high? Or as a newfangled idea that would never get off the ground? Who knew?

  It was surprisingly easy to find the books, once I figured out how the system worked. The volumes were dusty and old, but whoever had bound them had charmed the leather to ensure the text remained legible and the pages remained intact. I gathered them, one by one, and started to dig out the references. They were nothing more than a set of recipes, all of which I thought had been superseded long ago. I had no idea why Master Landis was looking at them. They looked inefficient, compared to their modern counterparts. And yet ... I frowned as I realised it would be easier to get the ingredients. The modern recipes relied on supplies from all over the Allied Lands.

  Odd, I mused. If it’s cheaper to make the older recipes, why didn’t they stay in use?

  I mulled it over as I worked my way through the books, carefully copying the recipes into my notebook. They weren’t that hard ... if one had magic. My heart clenched as I realised there was no way I could simplify them to the point I could brew them m
yself. I’d be readying the ingredients for Master Landis or Lilith, not ... I groaned in dismay. It was suddenly very easy to believe I was wasting my time. There was no way I would be anything more than a glorified assistant.

  And she said I had to impress her, I thought. I agreed to an unwinnable bet.

  The thought mocked me as I pushed the books aside and stared down at my powerless hands. I was deluding myself. Perhaps it was time to surrender, to admit I couldn’t make it. Master Landis had promised me two years of work as an assistant, if nothing else. I could use the time to search for a new position, then move on. Lilith would be pleased, I was sure. She might even let me go without a final taunt. Or hex.

  I remembered the memory potion and frowned as I made my way back to the shelves. There had to be a book on blood-based potions somewhere. Master Pittwater had never let me study those potions, but ... I smiled as I spotted a book on blood magic and cracked it open. It wasn’t as detailed as I’d hoped—the writer constantly danced around the issue, as if he expected his readers to read between the lines—yet it was clear Lilith was right. Blood carried magic. Blood could be used to power a spell. Not for long, if I was reading the text correctly, but long enough. And yet ... it carried dangers. Lilith had to be very trusting or very stupid.

  She’s not stupid, I thought. It hurt to make that admission, but I couldn’t deny it. She has to have some reason to trust him.

  The thought nagged me as I kept looking through references. Apprentices traded their services for their education, but ... their blood? I didn’t think it was smart. I wasn’t even sure it was legal. I’d certainly never seen Master Pittwater claim blood from anyone. There was no point in trying to claim blood from me. Lilith had been right about that, too. My blood didn’t hold any magic. It was pointless. Anyone who wanted to curse me didn’t need to go to all the trouble of getting their hands on my blood. They could just walk up to me and turn me into a toad.

  I stopped, dead, as a thought struck me. Could my blood store magic?

  My eyes searched for more books as the concept danced through my mind. Once I’d had it, it refused to go away. Storing magic wasn’t easy. Even the strongest wards didn’t last forever. Master Pittwater had once commented that the simplest way to get into a sealed and warded tome was just to sit back and wait for the wards to fade. I’d heard a rumour that someone had found a way to store magic permanently, but nothing concrete. Lilith’s blood had magic. Did it have magic because Lilith was a magician? Or because it had absorbed her magic?

  I rubbed my forehead. I had to be tired. That had almost made sense.

  The books didn’t provide any clear answer. Everyone agreed that magical blood could be used in potions—mundane blood was far less useful—but no one agreed on why. It was almost as if they’d carefully not thought about the question. I thought I understood why. If you looked at something too closely, it stopped being wonderful. And yet, understanding how a steam engine worked didn’t make the locomotives any less fantastic. I still felt the urge to walk up to the railway manager and beg, on bended knee, for the chance to drive one of his trains.

  I smiled. Kings don’t want their people asking too many questions about how they and their ancestors became kings in the first place, I thought. I’d read a hundred pamphlets about King Randor and his daughter, ranging from the practical to accusations of incest, rape and crimes I hadn’t known were even theoretically possible. If someone realised the king became the king because his ancestor bumped off the previous king, they might start planning to bump off the current king.

  The thought drove me on as I worked through the textbooks. Perhaps people hadn’t looked too closely because they were afraid of what they might find. Perhaps people hadn’t wanted to think about the implications, when they figured out the answers. Perhaps ... it was certainly hard to believe in the divine right of kings when kings regularly assassinated each other. I snorted. Lilith and her fellows had magic. It wouldn’t go away if they looked at it too closely, would it? The thought was absurd.

  I read my way through a section on storing blood, frowning. The unknown writer insisted that blood lost its potency, if it wasn’t stored very carefully. It reminded me of the lectures on storing potions, although blood seemed to be less sensitive to magical taint. And it could be held in stasis for years, if necessary. And that meant ...

  Her blood stores magic, I thought. Does mine?

  I started to put the books on the trolley—there was a sign warning patrons not to try reshelving the books, or else—as I considered it. One of the books had insisted that, with the right sort of magic, a man could carry a child to term. It struck me as absurd—female bodies were designed to carry children, while males could not—but the writer insisted it was possible. And that meant ... my mind raced. If I could find a way to get a magic charge, could I do magic?

  Be careful, I told myself. You want to believe it.

  I yawned as I finished putting the books on the trolley. I really wanted to believe it. The gods knew there’d been times when I’d thought—when I’d deluded myself into thinking—that I had magic. And yet ... the theory was sound. Or was it? Lilith didn’t just generate magic. She channelled it, too.

  The librarian stepped into the chamber. “Did you have a good time?”

  I glanced at the clock and blinked. It was nearly midnight. I should be in bed. I was going to pay for it tomorrow. Lilith was going to rub my nose in it if I overslept again. Master Landis ... I yawned, again, as my stomach growled. Perhaps I could grab a bite to eat and then go straight to bed. It wasn’t as if there were strict dining hours in the university. Lilith had assured me that I could get something to eat any time I wanted, as long as I didn’t mind basic grub.

  “It was very interesting,” I said. “Can you help me find something?”

  “It is what we do here,” the librarian said, dryly. “And if we don’t have any books on the subject, we might be able to order them from somewhere else.”

  I was interested. “What happens if they refuse?”

  The librarian smiled. “The magical community keeps an index of old, rare or restricted books,” he said. “Their current locations are a matter of public record. Only a handful of them are truly unique. If one place refuses to either send their copy here, or let you read it there, we can look elsewhere. There’s even a project underway to copy the rarest volumes so everyone can read them.”

  “I see,” I said. I wasn’t sure that was a good idea - Master Pittwater had told me stories of dangerous books—but it wasn’t my problem. “I’m looking for books on channelling magic. Ambient magic.”

  “Interesting question,” the librarian said. “Background magic? Not a magical aura?”

  “Background magic,” I said. I didn’t have an aura to channel. Lilith wouldn’t help me, and I didn’t know anyone else, not at Heart’s Eye. “I thought it might come in handy for potions and alchemy.”

  “It can,” the librarian said. “You’d want to look up subtle magic. I think.”

  He led me through the darkened stacks and into a smaller room. “There aren’t many printed books on subtle magic,” he said. “It is not a commonly-discussed subject. Alchemists generally learn a little at school, then sharpen their skills in their workrooms. Be extremely careful if you experiment, as the results can be ... unpredictable.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Dangerous?”

  “That, too,” the librarian said. He found a textbook and pulled it off the shelf. “This is a good starter book. There are references in the back if you wish to continue your studies later.”

  I took the book, let him sign it out to me and hurried back to my room. The corridors felt as busy as always, even though it was midnight. The students didn’t seem inclined to go to their beds. I felt eyes following me as I walked: curious eyes, hostile eyes. I felt singled out, even though I’d barely been at the university for a week. Lilith seemed to have made me guilty by association. But guilty of what?

  I could ask
her, I thought, but I doubt I’d get a straight answer.

  I showered quickly—I was going to miss the washroom, when I moved to the apprentice dorms—climbed into bed and opened the book. It was fascinating, revealing a whole new field of magic. Master Pittwater had carved runes into his desk and chairs—and brewing tables—but he’d never revealed why. I understood now. He’d been trying to redirect the magic around the shop, steering it away from his work. The runes were easy. Too easy. I could have used them myself, if I’d known it was possible.

  It was hours before I managed to put the book down and get some sleep. The internal logic haunted me. It was easy enough to channel magic ... harder to direct it to a useful purpose, but I didn’t really need to direct it. If I was right ... I wanted to take the idea straight to Master Landis and ask for his advice and support, yet ... I didn’t know what he’d say. I knew what Lilith would say. She’d say it was too dangerous for a mundane like me. It certainly wouldn’t impress her.

  And that means I have to try the idea myself, I thought. If I can get hold of the right tools.

  It felt as if I hadn’t slept at all, when I jerked myself awake in the morning. The textbook—and my notebook—rested on the bedside table, waiting for me. I was tempted to skip breakfast and go straight to work, but my growling stomach reminded me that I hadn’t bothered to eat anything last night. I certainly didn’t want to faint midway through the day. Lilith didn’t need more excuses to make fun of me. Instead, I headed for the dining hall for breakfast. I’d put my plan into action later.

  Lilith met me when I reached the lab. “Master Landis has been delayed,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’ve got a bunch of preps to do.”