“I shouldn’t have given you a hard time, when you were with Caleb,” Frieda said. She looked down. “I didn’t understand how you felt.”
Emily colored. “We all make mistakes.”
She put the thought aside as they walked down the corridor and into the opened dorm. Someone had already drawn a sketch of a female figure, then cast a ward intended to keep the men from entering by accident. The Gorgon, Emily guessed. Gorgons liked their privacy and had no qualms about petrifying people who violated it. The Gorgon hadn’t found it easy to adapt to Whitehall, even though she’d wanted to study. Emily understood. She hadn’t found sharing a room easy either.
The dorm itself reminded her of Mountaintop, although it was actually larger than the dorm she remembered. There were twenty metal beds in the chamber, all lacking mattresses and blankets. They looked uncomfortable, even though she knew that meant nothing. A skilled or desperate student could use all sorts of spells to make their rest more comfortable. She stepped through the rear door and peered around the bathroom. A line of showers sat at the front, a handful of toilet stalls behind them. Someone had helpfully curtained off a pair of buckets, surrounding them with privacy spells. Emily felt her stomach churn at the thought of using them. It was funny how those details were left out of the adventure stories too.
“The blankets are in the corner,” Frieda said, as Emily walked back into the dorm. “Just get one and claim a space.”
“Don’t go sneaking out in the middle of the night,” Emily warned. She hadn’t sneaked out to be with Caleb, but... it was just the sort of thing Frieda would do. “You never know what you might encounter.”
“Perhaps someone should stay awake,” Frieda said. She picked up a blanket and tossed it to Emily. “You want to take first watch?”
Emily shook her head. “Just set up the wards,” she said, as she laid the blanket on the ground and took another. “They should wake us if something happens.”
She lay on the ground, shifting uncomfortably. She’d slept in worse places, but... it was hard to remember that when she was this uncomfortable. She reached out with her senses, gingerly touching the wards. Master Highland had been trying to experiment, setting up a handful of subroutines to monitor magic use within the castle and... she frowned as she realized that one of his subroutines kept an eye on mundanes, tracking them wherever they went. It could be a good idea, but it didn’t sit well with her. They might not even know they were being tracked.
And they wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, if they did, Emily mused. There were plenty of spells a magician could use to confuse watching eyes, even powerful wards, but they relied on magic. What will they say when they find out?
She gritted her teeth, silently promising herself she wouldn’t let it get out of hand. The wards would not be abused. Once the school had been searched from top to bottom, she would ensure that only the staff could use the wards to monitor people. And even they would only be able to access the records if there was an emergency. It would not be abused.
Sure, her own thoughts mocked her. Do you think the mundanes will believe it?
Emily looked at the mirrors, her own reflections looking back. She looked terrible... it was a wonder that no one, not even Frieda, had said anything. She felt another twinge of unease as she studied the mirrors, even though they weren’t magical. They didn’t have to be to worry her. There was something about them that set her teeth on edge.
“Good night,” Frieda said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Emily closed her eyes. Her body ached and her skin felt grimy. Perhaps she would go to Dragon’s Den tomorrow, just to get a shower... no, it wasn’t fair to those who couldn’t teleport. She started to put together a portal diagram in her head, working out the spellware piece by piece, then realized it would take time to use the wards to start channeling power into the portal. She wondered how Lord Whitehall’s successors had done it. Portals had been invented well after his time.
There must be a book on it, somewhere in the library at Whitehall, she told herself, as she drifted off to sleep. But Gordian won’t let me read it...
She jerked awake, unsure of when she’d actually fallen asleep. The room was dim, barely illuminated. She sat upright and looked around. Frieda slept soundly, lips moving as she breathed in and out. The Gorgon was visible on the other side of the room, wrapped in the faint haze of a privacy ward. Yvonne slept on the bare floor, without even a blanket, snoring loudly. The mirrors scattered their reflections everywhere.
Emily frowned. Something had disturbed her, but what? There was nothing there.
She lay back and closed her eyes, but it was a long time before she managed to go back to sleep.
Chapter Ten
WHEN EMILY OPENED HER EYES THE following morning, she felt terrible. Her body felt like it had been brutally beaten, every last muscle screaming in protest when she tried to stand. She nearly fell before she managed to stagger to her feet, using all her strength to keep from screaming. The blanket hadn’t provided anywhere near enough comfort and protection. She gritted her teeth as dust billowed. Sergeant Miles would not be impressed.
She grunted something—she wasn’t sure what—to Frieda and stumbled into the bathroom. Someone—probably Yvonne—had put a large tub of water in the center of the room, along with a set of sponges, a pile of towels and a strict note reminding users to purify the water after they washed. It was hard, very hard, to undress and sponge herself, let alone charm the water back into the tub. Her fingers refused to cooperate. She was surprised her entire body wasn’t black and blue.
Frieda joined her, carrying a spare robe. “They brought your trunk up this morning,” she said. “Do you want me to fetch you anything?”
“I’ll get it myself,” Emily said. Her towel was covered in dust. It would need to be cleaned before she could use it again. “Have a wash yourself, then get dressed.”
And put showers right at the top of the list, she told herself, as she donned the robe and headed back into the dorm. Otherwise we’ll all go crazy.
There was no sign of Yvonne. Emily wasn’t surprised. The craftswoman would be used to rising with the dawn. She put the thought out of her head as she walked to her blanket. Her trunk was waiting, as Frieda had promised. She opened it, removed a handful of clothes and closed it again. No one would care—except Master Highland, perhaps—if she wore a shirt and trousers instead of robes or a dress. Besides, these particular shirt and trousers were charmed to stay clean. It was probably a losing battle against the dust, but it might offer some relief. Her skin still felt dirty. It was hard to believe she’d ever feel clean again.
A proper bath might help, she thought. She’d learnt to swim at Whitehall. If there wasn’t a pool at Heart’s Eye, she could make one. And then I might feel a little cleaner.
She dressed quickly, altered the spells around the dorm in the hope they’d become slightly more resistant to dust, then waited for Frieda to join her before they went down to breakfast. The Great Hall was open, a handful of apprentices unloading the boxes and cataloguing their contents while they waited for workshops to be opened. A pair of young men glanced at her, realized who she was and hastily bowed. Emily nodded, trying not to roll her eyes as she walked into the dining hall. She would never be comfortable with people bowing and scraping. She didn’t deserve that much respect.
“Praxis and I traced back the plumbing this morning,” Yvonne said. She was sitting at one of the tables, daring the chair to do its worst. “There’s a giant lake under the school. Someone closed the pipes, ten years ago, but it was fairly simple to fix. No real magic in the pumping at all.”
Emily allowed herself a moment of relief. “That’s very good news.”
“They certainly spent a lot of money on the plumbing,” Yvonne continued. “I’ve seen worse jobs. We’ll have to continue tracing out the system, if only so we can repair broken pipes, before we actually start to use it. It looks to be a decentralized model, but... we’re n
ot sure yet.”
“Do it,” Emily said. “We need those showers.”
Yvonne didn’t look concerned. Emily reminded herself that Yvonne had probably grown up in a house without pumping. Mundane—magic-less—pumping was a relatively new invention, even though it had predated her by several centuries. King Randor had been one of the richest kings in the world, before his descent into madness and death, and his plumbing had been terrible. Yvonne understood the importance of washing regularly, but it wasn’t an emotional issue for her. Emily had never really appreciated modern plumbing until she’d ended up in a world without it.
“I’ll see to it,” Yvonne said. “We do have to open the workshops too, of course.”
“Hoban and I will do that,” Frieda said. “Emily...?”
“I’ll come too,” Emily said. They really didn’t want to leave any active traps in the workshops. “And then we can get started.”
“This place has a lot of potential,” Yvonne said. “I look forward to it.”
Emily nodded, slowly. “Did you have any... troubles... last night?”
“I slept like a log,” Yvonne assured her. “A couple of my apprentices went sneaking out, but fortunately they got chased back to bed instead of being caught by something deadly.”
“Tell them to be careful,” Emily said. “Really.”
“I drilled it into them this morning,” Yvonne said. “But nothing happened to them.”
As far as we know, Emily thought. We really are going to have to search the school from top to bottom.
She finished her breakfast, spoke quickly to Master Highland about bringing more supplies from the city, then joined Hoban and Frieda as they headed down to the workshops. The doors they passed on the way led to classrooms, most of which were open and seemingly undisturbed. Emily felt cold as she inspected a charms classroom, which looked as if the class and teacher had simply popped outside a few minutes ago. But the room was cold and silent, without any bodies.
They didn’t find anything interesting until they peered into an alchemy classroom. The stench of decay—of rotting potions ingredients—was so strong, it drove them back into the corridor.
“The preservation wards must have failed,” Hoban said. “I’ll have to get a team together and clean the entire room.”
“Please do.” Emily wrinkled her nose, casting spells to remove the smell. Dua Kepala must have been experimenting. Or... someone had been in the midst of brewing something when the wards fell. “And make sure it doesn’t pose any danger to the rest of us.”
“Will do.” Hoban shot her a jaunty salute. “They didn’t have so much time to booby trap this section.”
Emily frowned as they passed a mirror. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “I really hope you’re right.”
The workshop doors were solid stone, held in place by magic. Charms had been woven into the stone, keeping them closed despite everything Dua Kepala could do. She frowned as she watched Hoban go to work, wondering why Dua Kepala hadn’t managed to blast down the doors. He’d certainly tried. Traces of his magic pervaded the corridor, faint hints that suggested he’d brought most of his power to bear on the doors. It was a surprise he hadn’t managed to open the workshops.
“Interesting hex on the lock,” Hoban commented. “I’d say it was put together by an experienced sorcerer, not just a schoolteacher.”
He paused. “And it was locked from the outside too,” he added. “There wasn’t anyone inside—I hope—when the doors were closed.”
Emily frowned. “The teachers here weren’t experienced?”
“Oh, they would have been.” Hoban didn’t look up from his work. “But anyone who teaches, who demonstrates spells in a classroom, tends to develop a style that lacks... individuality. It’s the difference between theory and practice. Here... I’d say the person who barred the door hadn’t been teaching long, if they’d been teaching at all. There’s a certain flair to his work that you don’t normally find in a school.”
“I’ve never heard that before,” Emily said. “Does it cause problems?”
“It can.” Hoban looked up long enough to give her a wintry smile. “A sorcerer who uses common spells, spells that everyone knows and understands, is one who will have his spellwork hacked and taken apart from the inside. A sorcerer who develops his own style will be a harder target, but... he’ll find it harder to teach because of the variants he’s inserted in his spells. And once you get out of the habit of using such variants, it’s quite hard to get back into it.”
The door clicked and opened. “Ah.”
Emily stepped past and looked inside the workshop. It hadn’t been torn apart, like some of the other chambers, but someone had ransacked it in a tearing hurry. Tools were clearly missing, along with pieces of wood, metal and gemstones. Others lay in piles on the floor, gathering dust. Doors leading further into the workshop sat open, revealing offices and private workrooms that were normally sealed. She sniffed the air and tasted a strange mixture of sawdust, metal and the stink of human fear. The people who’d abandoned the chamber had feared for their lives.
“I can’t sense much magic,” Hoban commented. “But go carefully anyway...”
“You stay here,” Emily said. She pretended not to see the look Frieda and Hoban exchanged. “I’ll check the room.”
She ignored the sounds from behind her as she slowly swept the outer workshop. The chamber was immense... and there were three more just like it, their doors gaping invitingly. She kept her senses open, spotting a pair of traps—both surprisingly non-lethal—as she peered through the doors. One workshop was completely empty, looking more like an abandoned gym than a place someone had lived and worked while crafting wonders from raw materials; the other two had clearly been ransacked, just like the first. She inspected the wooden tables without touching them, trying to determine what was missing, but it was impossible. If she hadn’t known how careful artificers and enchanters were with their tools, she wouldn’t have been so certain that tools were missing too.
And they went somewhere, she mused. She found another door, barred and hexed shut from the outside. It looked as if there was more than one entrance to the workshops. That was odd, but perhaps understandable. Where did they go?
She looked around, feeling a vague sense that something was missing, something right in front of her. It should have jumped out at her, but it took her several minutes to place it: There were few mirrors. The walls were bare, where they weren’t covered with spell diagrams or bookshelves. The ceiling was solid stone, completely bare save for a handful of crystals that—once upon a time—had probably illuminated the entire room. She felt her eyes narrow. There was only one mirror in the third room, positioned against the far wall. Her reflection gazed back, forebodingly, when she tested it for magic.
“Nothing,” she said.
Frieda’s voice echoed. “Emily?”
“Just woolgathering,” Emily called back. She turned and paced back through the chamber. There was a mirror in each of the rooms, even the offices, but just one. She found it something of a relief, even though it puzzled her. Why the change? Why here? “Why...?”
She forced herself to think. Mirrors were fragile, no matter how carefully they were charmed. It was possible that the mirrors had been broken—or simply removed to keep them from breaking. Or... someone had made a deliberate decision to keep the workshops largely free of mirrors. That wouldn’t have puzzled her so much if she hadn’t seen the rest of the school. There were so many mirrors that the workshop stood out for having so few.
And for having less lethal traps, she mused, as she carefully removed a handful of concealed hexes. There was something more... playful about their positioning, as if they were designed to give unwary students a fright rather than actually hurt them. They’ll still be dangerous to the mundanes, if we leave them in place.
She made sure to tap her feet as she walked back to the first room, giving Hoban and Frieda time to separate before she saw them. The
y looked mussed, as always; she smiled at them both, then indicated the room. Hoban went to work, sweeping for charms she’d missed; Frieda shot her a sharp look before checking the next room. Emily felt a hint of pity, mingled with amusement. Frieda had never liked either of her boyfriends. She’d given Caleb quite a hard time.
“It’s surprisingly clear,” Hoban called. “I don’t think they expected to fight here.”
“I think so,” Emily agreed. There were at least four ways into the workshops. It would be difficult to defend the chamber, even with powerful magic. The occupants might have decamped for somewhere safer. She wondered why none of them had tried to leave the school. Or, if they had, why they hadn’t made it. “What do you make of the workshop itself?”
“Pretty high-quality tools and shit,” Hoban said. “I’d want it for myself if I swung that way.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Finish clearing the floors, then seal the classrooms between here and the Great Hall until we can clear them too,” she ordered. The alchemy classroom was going to require special attention. She’d have to see what Dram said about it, when he finally showed his face. He hadn’t made an appearance at breakfast. “Then they can start bringing stuff down here.”
Hoban emerged. “I think it’s clear already, but I’ll give it one final sweep.”
“Good,” Emily said. She heard voices from the corridor and looked up. Yvonne and Enchanter Praxis walked towards her. They were just a little too close. “We’re just finishing.”
Yvonne looked impressed as she walked into the workshop. “This is pretty good, for a castle.”
“It was a school, first and foremost,” Emily reminded her. Most castles were relatively small, compared to Whitehall or Heart’s Eye. “There had to be enough space for everyone.”
“I’ll seal the doors,” Hoban said. “And then you can start bringing stuff down here.”
“I’d like to take out the mirrors,” Yvonne said. “They’ll be broken if they stay here.”
Mirror Image (Schooled in Magic Book 18) Page 10