Her image winked at her, then started to change. Brown hair became blonde, then red; her blue dress became green, then thinned out and started to drop until she could see the tops of her breasts. Emily flushed, angrily, as the performer adjusted the size of her breasts until they became truly absurd. A handful of people laughed. They were drawing attention... unwanted attention. Her magic crackled under her skin...
“Look what I can do,” the performer said. He waved a hand at the image, which now resembled a bad parody of femininity. “A simple handful of spells and you’ll be a beauty to rival Lucinda herself...”
Emily flared her magic. The performer gaped, then stumbled back in shock. He’d taken her for... she wasn’t sure what he had taken her for, but it clearly wasn’t a powerful magician. The image shimmered and vanished. Emily allowed her gaze to harden, drawing on lessons she’d learnt from Lady Barb. The performer bowed a hasty apology and looked away. The crowd found something more important to do and started to disperse, leaving before the fireworks started. Emily didn’t blame them. There were too many horror stories of what happened to people who angered powerful magicians. Being turned into small, hopping things was the least of them.
She nodded at Frieda, who led her further down the street. Emily gritted her teeth, cursing the performer under her breath. He’d put her in a bad humor, all the more so because she dreaded to think of what would happen to someone without her power. He could do a great deal of damage to a powerless girl. Even if his spells worked correctly—and there was no way to be sure—his victims would have a lot of trouble afterwards. No normal girl could possibly have had a comfortable life if she looked like a Barbie doll.
The stalls faded away as they made their way into the residential area. There were fewer spells, but those she could detect were powerful. Very powerful. Magicians liked their privacy, even when they congregated in their communities. She felt a handful of wards pry at her, testing her magic although she hadn’t stepped across the wardlines. The residents had enemies. Some might try to attack in broad daylight. It wasn’t as if the city guard would intervene.
There’s no law here, not really, Emily reminded herself. Celeste was an armed society, to all intents and purposes. The people who weren’t armed—who had no magic—didn’t count. They couldn’t defend themselves. It’s a miracle the entire city didn’t tear itself apart a long time ago.
“Here,” Frieda said. She indicated a little detached house, practically indistinguishable from the rest of the street. A simple number—no name—hung on the wooden door. “Should I wait outside?”
Emily shook her head. “You’d better come in with me.”
She took a breath as she walked up the tiny lane, feeling the wards poke and pry. There was no point in trying the door, or even knocking. It would have opened if she was on the approved list. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back and waited. The wards wouldn’t have let her get so close if the occupant hadn’t been home. And if she did anything they took to be unfriendly, she might not survive long enough to explain herself.
The door opened, slowly. Mistress Irene stood there, gazing at them. Emily swallowed hard, feeling the years drain away to leave her as an innocent schoolgirl once again, trying to explain to her stern form mistress that she really did have a good excuse for late homework, poor performance or simple tardiness. Mistress Irene had always been intimidating, even though she’d never been anything other than helpful. She’d certainly been a great deal more educational than some of the teachers Emily remembered from Earth. It probably helped that she had both the power and inclination to punish misbehaving students.
“Emily.” Mistress Irene sounded mildly surprised. “And Frieda. What can I do for you?”
Emily took a moment to gather herself. She wasn’t a schoolgirl any longer, although—technically—she hadn’t taken her final exams. She didn’t have to. She already had an offer of apprenticeship from Void himself. And she certainly didn’t have to answer to Mistress Irene any longer.
“I have a proposition I would like to put to you,” she said, carefully. “Please, can we come in?”
Mistress Irene stepped to one side, an invitation that wasn’t—precisely—an invitation. A supernatural creature that required a direct invitation to actually enter a dwelling would have been unable to step inside. Emily was surprised to see it from an experienced and powerful magician, but perhaps she should have expected it. Supernatural vermin would be drawn to the city like moths to the flame. She stepped over the threshold and into the building. Frieda followed her a second later. Mistress Irene nodded and closed the door.
“This way,” she said, once they had exchanged formal pleasantries.
Emily looked around, interested, as she followed Mistress Irene down a short corridor and into a sitting room. It was surprisingly elegant, so neat and tidy she knew it wasn’t where Mistress Irene spent most of her time. Emily had been in Mistress Irene’s office often enough, but she’d never been invited to her teacher’s private rooms. No student had ever managed to crack those wards. A great many had got in trouble for trying.
“Please, take a seat.” Mistress Irene sat herself, on an armchair that looked too big. “What do you have in mind?”
Emily sat, never taking her eyes off her former teacher. Mistress Irene looked to be in her sixties, although she knew that could be an illusion. She’d met magicians who looked young, even though they were in their second century, and mundanes who looked two or three decades older than they were. Mistress Irene still looked every inch the prim schoolteacher, although she’d left Whitehall two years ago. Emily wasn’t sure if she’d left of her own free will, or if Gordian had pushed her out, but it hardly mattered now. The point was she was unattached.
“Two years ago, I came into possession of Heart’s Eye,” Emily began. “I killed...”
“I am aware of the story,” Mistress Irene said. Her tone gave nothing away. “What is the point?”
Emily took a breath. “I—I and a few of my friends—intend to turn Heart’s Eye into a university. Ah... a very different center of learning, concentrating on science as well as magic. It’s going to be a research institute”—an unfamiliar concept on the Nameless World—“rather than just a school. The people who attend will be trying to find new ways to do things, rather than merely studying magic.”
“There is nothing mere about studying magic,” Mistress Irene said, tonelessly.
“No.” Emily had to fight the urge to apologize. “But we will be studying more than just magic.”
“You are repeating yourself,” Mistress Irene said. It was impossible to tell if she was trying to offer constructive criticism or being sarcastic. “And I think you will find running a... research institute to be quite difficult.”
“Yes.” Emily recalled her disastrous tenure as Head Girl with a shudder. “I intended to start earlier, but... things... got in the way.”
“They have a tendency to challenge the less-ordered mind,” Mistress Irene commented. “I heard a rumor you were... ill.”
“Rumors of my powerlessness were greatly exaggerated,” Emily said. She didn’t dare lie outright. Everyone said that Mistress Irene could smell lies. A student who tried to claim the dog ate his homework—or his homework ate the dog, which wasn’t impossible—would regret it shortly afterwards. “As you can see”—she cast a light spell—“I have recovered.”
“Quite.” Mistress Irene studied her for a long, chilling moment. “Let us get to the point. What does this have to do with me?”
“Heart’s Eye needs a... a manager,” Emily said. The formal title was Schoolmaster, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep it. It had obvious connotations. “The staff and students will need someone to keep them in order. I was wondering if you would like the job.”
Mistress Irene let out a long breath. It was the first hint of actual emotion Emily had seen out of her. “Do you know what you’re asking? Or what you’re offering?”
“Yes.” Em
ily met her eyes. “I know.”
“Really.” Mistress Irene didn’t sound convinced. “If you did, you might want to keep it.”
Emily frowned. The Nameless World wasn’t Earth. Here, teachers were important. She knew, all too well, that headmasters were respected as well as powerful. Gordian wouldn’t have worked so hard to succeed Hasdrubal if he hadn’t been sure the position was worth the effort. And it was. The mere fact he ruled a school made him one of the most powerful people in the world. She was offering Mistress Irene a pearl beyond price.
“I don’t like dealing with people,” Emily admitted. There was no point in trying to hide it, not from someone who’d shepherded her through four years of magical education. “And a lot of older magicians don’t take me seriously, despite everything.”
“Which they should,” Frieda put in.
“Indeed.” Mistress Irene’s face was emotionless, again. “And you think they’ll take me seriously?”
“You spent decades in Whitehall.” Emily took a breath. “Let me tell you what I have in mind.”
She launched into her prepared speech, explaining—as much as she dared—the concept behind the university. It was more than just a college of magic; it was something new, something more for adults than immature teenagers. Her students would—hopefully—already be experienced in using magic, having grown out of the urge to sneak up behind an unsuspecting victim and turn him into a frog. The teachers would be researchers as well as teachers... in many ways, they would be students themselves. And mundane craftsmen and magicians would work together as equals.
“That might be a hard sell,” Mistress Irene pointed out. “They’re not equals.”
Emily couldn’t hide her irritation. Magicians tended to look down on mundanes, insisting that magic—the gift of the gods—made them superior. There were few magicians who sneered at newborn magicians, magicians born to non-magical families, but there were far too many who wanted to take them from their parents and have them brought up in proper magical families. She’d never shared the disdain—there was no way she could have shared it—yet... she winced, inwardly. It had been hard to develop her powers the first few months after she’d gone to Whitehall. How much harder would it be to be powerless at a magic school, to be the butt of everyone’s puerile sense of humor? She didn’t think she would have survived.
“Mundanes are not stupid,” she said, firmly. “And I expect them to learn to... tolerate each other, if they are unable to be friends.”
“That should be interesting,” Mistress Irene said. “What sort of authority do you propose to give me?”
“Enough.” Emily had given the matter some thought, then discussed it with Caleb before putting pen to paper. “You won’t have absolute authority—and the board will be able to overrule you, if necessary—but you should have enough.”
“I see.” Mistress Irene didn’t sound happy. “You do realize that anyone I expel for bad behavior will complain to the board?”
“I’ll be on the board,” Emily said. “You can hardly be blamed for expelling someone who breaks the rules.”
Mistress Irene laughed, suddenly. “You little... innocent.”
Emily felt her cheeks redden. “I don’t promise it will be easy. It won’t be easy. You’ll be setting a lot of precedents, although I intend to make sure that each case is judged on its merits, rather than what has gone before. There will be a lot of room for controversy. But... it’s also a chance to get in on the ground floor of something completely new.”
“People my age don’t like controversy,” Mistress Irene said. Her lips curved into a smile. “But you’re right. It should be interesting.”
She met Emily’s eyes. “When do you want my answer?”
“As soon as possible,” Emily told her. “I’m due to meet Caleb and the others at Farrakhan later this evening. We were planning to cross the desert in a day or so, depending on the weather, and set up base at Heart’s Ease before heading to Heart’s Eye the following morning. Ideally, I’d want to know in a couple of days.”
“Or now, you mean.” Mistress Irene nodded, slowly. “It isn’t as if I have much else to do with my time, so yes. I will come with you.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, relieved.
Mistress Irene held up a hand. “That said, I have some... matters … to finish first. I won’t be able to join you for at least two weeks, more likely a month. Is that going to be a problem?”
“We’re not planning to open for students for a while,” Emily said. She would have preferred Mistress Irene to come at once, but that was unfair. The older woman could hardly drop everything on a moment’s notice and move to Heart’s Eye. “As long as you’re established before I have to start my apprenticeship, we should be fine.”
“Then I accept your offer,” Mistress Irene said. She held out her hand. Emily shook it. “Thank you.”
Emily opened her pouch and removed the paperwork. “There’s an outline of what we have in mind here, along with a draft of the contract. Let us know what you think.”
“Naturally,” Mistress Irene said. “I’ll be reading them very thoroughly before I sign.”
“Of course.” Emily stood. Frieda followed. “And thank you for your hospitality.”
“It was scant enough,” Mistress Irene said. She escorted them to the door, then waved goodbye. “Good luck.”
“That went better than expected,” Frieda said. “Now what? Dinner?”
Emily felt her stomach rumble. “Why not? And then, we go to Farrakhan. Again.”
Chapter Two
THE HEAT STRUCK HER AS SOON as the teleport field snapped out of existence.
Emily steadied herself, taking a breath as sweat rolled down her back. Farrakhan had always been hot—the city sat on the very edge of the Desert of Death—but it was high summer now, so hot that most of the population was probably taking an afternoon nap before the city came alive again at sunset. She cast a handful of cooling and skin protection charms as she turned towards the city gates, even though she knew they wouldn’t be that effective. The sun was just too hot. She could practically feel her skin starting to burn. She’d be tanned before the end of the week.
Frieda stepped up beside her. “I think we should have worn something else.”
“True.” Emily nodded, tightly. The blue dress she wore wasn’t suited to the desert. But there was nothing she could do about that, not until she reached the warehouse. She didn’t want to risk transfiguring the garment in broad daylight. “Let’s go.”
She felt the day grow hotter—as impossible as it seemed—as they made their way towards the gates. The guards eyed them warily, although they made no demands for papers nor attempts to block their way. It had only been a year since the war, since the city had been attacked... it would be a long time before the city relaxed, if it ever did. The guardsmen were reassuringly professional, though Emily knew they wouldn’t stand a chance if another necromancer walked out of the desert and attacked the city. They would merely be the first to die.
Her dress clung to her, uncomfortably, as they walked through the city. They were nearly empty, save for a handful of shops and watering holes kept open by optimistic merchants and innkeepers. Even the beggars rested, sleeping in alleyways; they, too, would resume their trade at sunset. Emily felt a stab of pity as she saw a small family sleeping under a bridge, deprived of everything but the rags on their backs. She’d long since come to realize she couldn’t help everyone—all the money in her purse wouldn’t keep the beggars alive for long—but it still bothered her. She hoped—she prayed—it would be a long time before it stopped bothering her. The aristocrats of Farrakhan—and the Nameless World in general—normally didn’t care about beggars. They were just part of the scenery.
“You’d never know there was a war here,” Frieda said. “Where’s all the damage?”
“It was mostly on the northern side of town,” Emily told her. “But they’ve done a good job of repairing it.”
She winced inwardly, remembering when the city had been under siege. They’d been luckier than they deserved. The city fathers had made almost no preparations for a siege. Worse, they’d fed themselves and left most of the population to starve. She was surprised the city fathers hadn’t been overthrown after the war. But then, perhaps she shouldn’t have been. The allied forces had kept order long enough for the city fathers to resume control, then crush opposition with maximum force. Any rebellious factions were probably keeping their heads down and waiting for better weather.
They’ll be waiting a long time, Emily thought, as they passed a broadsheet stall. The weather here rarely changes.
She allowed herself a sigh of relief as the warehouse came into view. To the naked eye, it was no different to any of the other warehouses in the city, but to her there was no mistaking it. The wards surrounding the building were tinged with Caleb’s magic. She felt her heart skip a beat—the last time she’d felt his magic so strongly, they’d been lovers—before she caught herself. She and Caleb were better off as friends. Besides, it hadn’t been that long since she’d been with someone.
The thought cost her another pang. She’d heard nothing from Cat, not since he’d departed on his private quest to bring Jacqui to justice. Or kill her. Emily wasn’t sure what he had in mind. She wasn’t sure he knew himself. They’d been lovers, but... he’d been unable to cope with her loss of power. Or perhaps it had been her, fearful of exposing herself without protection, that had driven him away. She told herself, firmly, that she was being silly. Cat had made it clear, more than once, that he didn’t want a relationship. He couldn’t have a relationship. She’d had no reason to expect him to stay forever...
Frieda poked her. “You’re thinking about Cat again. I can tell.”
Emily shot her a sharp look. “Have you found a way to read minds?”
“Your face always goes maudlin when you’re thinking about him.” Frieda squeezed Emily’s hand, affectionately. “Do I look as silly when I think about Hoban?”
Mirror Image (Schooled in Magic Book 18) Page 2