Schooled in Magic 5 - The School of Hard Knocks

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Welcome back to Mountaintop,” Nanette said, without preamble. Her gaze swept the room. “I believe you have all spent time in other halls, so I won’t bother to explain anything you should have picked up last year. Your class schedules are on your beds, the rotas for everything from bathtubs to spellchambers are posted in front of them. Please bear in mind that while you can swap periods with other students, you cannot do this without their permission. I will be most displeased if you try to steal rota time from its proper owner.”

  She paused, then looked dispassionately at the kneeling Shadows. “As Third Years,” she added, looking back at the older students, “you are assigned a Shadow, a younger student who will serve you in exchange for tuition and education in how to become a part of magical society. Their duties have already been explained to them. I strongly advise you to be careful they don’t miss classes or anything else that might provoke the ire of their tutors. It will reflect badly on you.”

  Emily looked down at the kneeling girl. Was she Emily’s Shadow? Whitehall had nothing like it; hell, there was a strict ban on importing servants from outside the school. She had heard of a few older students offering money to the younger students in exchange for servitude, but no one had ever asked Emily to serve them. But then, she had defeated Shadye...

  She pushed the thought aside as Nanette kept speaking. “But we have a famous newcomer amongst us today,” she said. One hand indicated Emily, who suddenly found herself the center of attention. “Lady Emily, Void’s Daughter, Necromancer’s Bane.”

  Emily shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably as they stared at her. Magical lineage was important, she knew, and Void was among the most powerful magicians in the Nameless World. Their belief that she was his daughter would give her some prestige, she was sure, although it was very far from true. But it was better they believed she was a literal bastard than having them try to figure out the truth.

  “Emily is responsible for the deaths of two necromancers,” Nanette continued. “Her presence here is... reassuring.”

  She paused, then pointed her finger at a tall girl who didn’t seem too pleased to see Emily, for no apparent reason. “Claudia,” she said. She moved on to the next girl. “Olive. Janus.”

  She rattled through twenty names in just under a minute, leaving Emily hopelessly confused. She’d never been good at memorizing names–she barely knew the students in her classes at Whitehall–and these were completely new. The only name she managed to memorize was the name of her Shadow. Frieda, Daughter of Huckeba. That, Emily suspected, indicated she was a scholarship girl. Imaiqah had been introduced the same way too, back when they’d first met.

  “You know the basic rules, so follow them,” Nanette concluded. “Lights out is at twenty-two bells. You may keep private lights for yourself within privacy wards, if you wish, but you will be awoken at eight bells precisely if you are not already awake by then. I suggest you try hard not to be late for class”–her voice hardened–“as oversleeping is not accepted as an excuse. Do not mess around with someone else’s property, particularly their Shadow. If you have familiars, you are required to tend to their care and feeding yourself. Do not bring outsiders into the dorms without permission.”

  She paused. “And do not mess around with someone’s coursework,” she warned. “No excuses will be considered acceptable. Are there any questions?”

  One of the girls–Helen, if Emily had matched her name to face correctly–held up a hand. “Are we responsible for the care and feeding of Shadows, too?”

  There were some snickers from the older girls. Nanette glared them into silence.

  “You are responsible for making sure they eat, drink and appear presentable at all times,” she said, tartly. “I suggest you remember how you felt as a Shadow and adjust your behavior as you see fit.”

  She took a long breath. “Go back to your beds,” she ordered, “and unpack. You will be expected to attend High Tea in the Dining Hall, tonight, then sort yourselves out tomorrow before starting your classes. If your homework has eaten the dog again and had to be destroyed, I would strongly advise you not to go to classes without at least trying to recreate it.”

  Emily had to smile. Clearly, the my homework ate the dog excuse wasn’t confined to Whitehall.

  She sighed to herself as Nanette shoed them all back to their beds. Emily sat down on the coverlet and reached for the book, then looked up as Frieda cleared her throat. Standing upright, her hands twisting in front of her, the girl looked tiny, almost like a child. And yet Frieda had to have matured before she could use magic and go to a magic school. Her clothes were so drab and worn that Emily was sure they were at least third-hand. Emily sighed, inwardly. She’d never been a Shadow, and had no idea what to do with one. And she had never been comfortable with the small army of servants she’d inherited in Zangaria.

  “Go unpack,” Emily said, tiredly. It would probably be better for Frieda if she spent as little time with Emily as possible. Besides, it was quite possible that Frieda had been sent to spy on her. “Or go do whatever you have to do.”

  “I have to wash your clothes every week,” Frieda said. Her voice was quiet, too quiet. “And I have to change the bed, sort out your possessions and look after your books. And anything else you might want me to do.”

  Emily looked around the room. Several beds had vanished behind shimmering hazes, indicating the use of privacy wards, but she could still see several of the other girls ordering their Shadows around–or, in one case, berating one of them for some imagined offense. It didn’t seem that the life of a Shadow was a very pleasant one, even at the best of times. She thought about some of the girls she’d known on Earth–or Whitehall, for that matter–and shuddered, inwardly. There was too much temptation to abuse the system for anyone to be trusted with a Shadow.

  And besides, she was used to doing everything for herself.

  But was that true any longer? She had washed clothes during the trip to the Cairngorms, she recalled, but at Whitehall she’d had everything washed for her. But she’d washed her own clothes on Earth, too... in hindsight, that probably explained why some of her clothes had shrunk after she’d washed them in the sink.

  “Do whatever you want, at the moment,” she said, and paused. There were a pair of envelopes on her bed. One was addressed to her, the other to Frieda. “You might want to start by reading these.”

  She opened her letter and skimmed it quickly. It was nothing more than a timetable, organized along the same basic lines as Whitehall, although she noted that class periods were definitely longer. Some spaces had been marked for private study, others had been left completely blank. A note at the bottom stated that further classes would be assigned within a week or two, depending.

  Charms, Alchemy, Healing, Warding, Dueling, Life Magics, Death Magics and Rituals, she thought, reading the list twice. There was no mention of Subtle Magic, unless it was covered under Rituals. Thankfully, there was also no mention of Artwork. But what are Life and Death Magics?

  She shuddered. Necromancy?

  But it seemed unlikely, she was sure. Necromancy was hellishly dangerous, but it was also very simple, horrifically so. Any fool could be a Necromancer, as long as they mastered the basic rite. It was only then that trouble started.

  “You have to sign this,” Frieda said, interrupting her thoughts. “You have to say I read the list.”

  Emily took Frieda’s piece of paper and read it. She had the same basic classes as Emily had taken at Whitehall in her First Year, but with a couple of additions. Wandwork and Chanting. Emily was surprised that Mountaintop taught Wandwork to such young students, while she had no idea at all what Chanting was. Perhaps it was using music to work magic, she speculated, or perhaps it was something completely different. She’d have to ask Nanette when she had a moment away from the other girls.

  She signed it, then passed the paper back to Frieda and checked her watch. It was almost time for dinner. Afterwards...

  Sighing, she shook
her head. This was going to be harder than she’d thought.

  Chapter Eight

  EMILY COULDN’T HELP FEELING NERVOUS AND alone as she walked into the Charms classroom, only to discover that three quarters of Raven Hall had already chosen seats. The nervousness she understood, but the loneliness was something new–or very old. It had been strange to have friends at Whitehall, yet it was stranger still to miss them. If she had Alassa or Imaiqah at her side right now, she wouldn’t feel so isolated at Mountaintop.

  But they couldn’t have accompanied her, she knew all too well. It would have made it impossible for her to do her job.

  Her stomach churned as she sat down, picking a seat midway from the teacher’s desk. She had never encountered a Charms Tutor who wasn’t a stern disciplinarian, all too aware of just how much could easily go wrong. And when it did, it could be very difficult to fix.

  She watched as the remaining students filed into the room, inspected the books and equipment on her desk. The books were largely unfamiliar, apart from one she’d read at Whitehall, but the wand lying on the edge of the desk was an unpleasant surprise. She’d worked with staffs, in the past, and knew how dangerous they–and wands–could be.

  “Rise,” a sharp voice ordered. The students rose to their feet. Emily followed them, reluctantly, as a tall woman swept past her and took her place at the front of the classroom, her eyes scanning the room dispassionately. “Those of you who are new here, move to the front of the room. I like having my eye on new students.”

  Emily didn’t want to move, but she obeyed, joining two other girls and a boy. Up close, Mistress Mauve looked cold and hard, her face utterly stern and unforgiving. Emily felt her stomach clench as cold eyes met hers for a long moment, then looked past her as if she wasn’t really there. A moment later, the remaining students sat down, their eyes boring into Emily’s back. Mistress Mauve had reminded them, if they’d needed the reminder, that she was new at Mountaintop.

  “We will be spending the first four days reviewing material we covered last year, as most of you will have forgotten it,” Mistress Mauve said, once they were seated. Emily privately doubted that anyone would dare forget anything she’d taught them. “Once I am sure you have remembered the basics”–she stressed the word darkly–“we will commence with Third Year studies. In particular, we will be looking at ways to string successive levels of spells together to produce decision trees.”

  She paused, daring them to comment. When no one said anything, she went on.

  “These spells are an order of magnitude more complex than any you have worked with before,” she continued. “Many of you will be tempted to skip these lessons, as you will feel you do not need to know how to spend time comprehending the spells you use–or you do not intend to use them in your later lives. Such a decision would be immensely stupid. These spells are the backbone of higher magic... and refusing to learn how to use them will leave you at the mercy of other, more studious magicians.”

  Her gaze met Emily’s for a long moment. “You will need to learn, among other things, how to ward your own homes against all intruders,” she warned. “It will be impossible to produce your own wards without mastering these techniques.”

  There was a long pause. “Take the first sheet of parchment on your desks and start working your way through it,” she concluded. “I will be inspecting each and every one of your answers after they are handed in. Once done, you may read your assigned textbooks–and plan your raids on the library. Many of the textbooks on your reading lists are in very high demand.”

  Emily sighed, then reached for the first roll of parchment and unfurled it gently. As she had feared from Mistress Mauve’s lecture, it was nothing less than a complex exam, with questions ranging from difficult to extremely complex. If she hadn’t had additional tutoring from Mistress Sun over the last two years, she suspected she would have real problems trying to solve the questions. If Mistress Mauve was anything like Professor Lombardi, it would be safer to admit ignorance than attempt to solve a question she didn’t understand.

  She heard a muttered series of groans and curses as she bent her head to the parchment. Nanette had told her that Raven Hall’s occupants had been selected at random, but Emily was starting to have her doubts. It was clear they all shared the same basic origin–Emily was the only outsider, and would’ve been even if she’d truly been Void’s daughter–and perhaps the same level of academic achievement. Such a system, she decided, as she worked her way through the first question, would certainly make a great deal more sense than Earth’s system of assigning students to classes by age alone.

  The first question took nearly fifteen minutes to solve; the second seemed almost impossible. Emily had to fight down despair as she broke it into its component sections before putting it back together in a more workable form. This was no simple test where most of the spell components were useless, she realized dully. Each of the incants played a specific role in just how the spell worked, depending on circumstances. It was nothing less than a computer-style language in its own right.

  Shadye should have kidnapped a computer nerd, Emily thought as she finished writing down her answer and moved on to the next question. One of them would have been able to master the spellwork coding by now and turned himself into a master magician.

  She gritted her teeth as a headache built behind her temples, but forced herself to proceed. The next three questions were all deceptively simple, but they had nasty stings in the tail. One had the magical counterpart of ‘times zero’ midway through the spell structure, invalidating everything that had gone before. Another made no sense at all; finally, she gave up and admitted defeat. By the time the bell rang, signifying the end of the period, she had sweat trickling down her back. Had they sneaked her into a class for magical geniuses by mistake?

  “You will return here after refreshing yourself,” Mistress Mauve ordered. Her gaze showed no hint of mercy. “By then, I will have studied your answers and determined how much you have remembered.”

  Emily rose to her feet, noting to her relief that only a couple of students had started to read their textbooks. Several of the other girls looked as shell-shocked as Emily, muttering to themselves quietly enough to keep Mistress Mauve from hearing their words.

  The curriculum at Mountaintop couldn’t be that different from Whitehall’s, could it?

  “Um... hey,” a voice said. Emily looked up to see a girl she couldn’t place. “Do you want to join me for Kava?”

  Emily hesitated. The girl seemed too bright and cheerful, as if she were trying desperately to cover her nervousness behind a show of confidence. She’d seen girls like her before, when a famous singer had visited her school on Earth, but why would anyone show such an attitude towards her? The suspicious part of her mind, the one that had been hurt too many times, insisted that it was a trick. But the rest of her was curious.

  “Why not?” Emily asked. “What would you like to be called?”

  The girl blushed, brightly. “Lerida,” she said. Her voice stuttered as she tried to speak the next few words. “You’re my hero.”

  Emily felt herself blushing too as Lerida led her out of the classroom and down into a small study room. A large jug of Kava, spelled to remain warm and drinkable, sat on the table, which was surrounded by chairs and several bookcases. Emily hesitated, then sat down and poured them both mugs of the hot, foul-tasting drink. She’d never quite acquired a taste for it, but she had to admit it was good for keeping students awake. There was probably more caffeine in it than anyone on Earth would consider safe.

  “I’m not a hero,” she said, as she took a sip. “I just...”

  “You killed a Necromancer–two Necromancers,” Lerida insisted, sitting down far too close to Emily for Emily’s liking. “And you saved a Princess and won a throne. If that doesn’t make you a hero, I don’t know what does.”

  “I didn’t win a throne,” Emily pointed out. She wasn’t entirely clear on how the Barony of Cockatrice related
to the larger Kingdom of Zangaria, but she was fairly sure that she wasn’t an independent monarch. “And...”

  She sighed, inwardly, as Lerida continued to bubble on. She’d known there were people at Whitehall who admired her, but they’d also feared her. It hadn’t made her feel very comfortable, yet... part of her was almost pleased by Lerida’s straightforward hero-worship. It was almost like being a cheerleader, with the added bonus of actually having done something to make the worship deserved. But the rest of her disliked the thought of anyone fawning over her. Lerida had an ideal in her head that Emily knew she could never match in person. She was just... Emily.

  “There are so many people who admire what you’ve done,” Lerida was saying. Emily realized, to her embarrassment, that she’d tuned out the girl’s words. “You really should come and meet us.”

  Emily felt herself flush, again. If she didn’t already have a fan club here at Mountaintop, she was sure that Lerida would start one, given half a chance. The thought of an Emily Fan Club was horrific. There was no such organization at Whitehall, but everyone there knew she was as human as the rest of them. They’d seen her stub her toe and make mistakes just like everyone else. And she was grateful for that.

  “Maybe I will,” she said, knowing that her words would be taken as a firm commitment. She knew she should shoot the whole idea down, yet she couldn’t bring herself to be cruel–and it would be cruel. “But I have to do a great deal of catching up first.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about the exam,” Lerida said. “You’re the Necromancer’s Bane. You’ll pass it easily.”

  “I don’t feel like I passed,” Emily confessed. “I feel as though I failed.”