Schooled in Magic 5 - The School of Hard Knocks

by Christopher Nuttall

  ...And then Emily found herself frozen, utterly unable to move.

  She almost panicked as she tried desperately to break the spell, hearing Mistress Hitam’s voice slowly counting up to ten, but it refused to let her go. How the hell had Mistress Putih done it? She’d blocked the spell completely. She was sure she’d blocked the spell.

  “Lady Emily is unable to continue,” Mistress Hitam said. “The contest is over.”

  Emily staggered as she was released from the spell, then looked at Mistress Putih, lifting her eyebrows questioningly. Mistress Putih smiled, then pointed one long finger behind Emily, indicating the wards. Emily shook her head in disbelief. Mistress Putih had reflected the spell off the wards and straight into Emily’s back.

  “Congratulations,” she ground out, annoyed at herself. She had seen some spells reflected off the wards. If students could do it accidentally, a tutor should be able to do it deliberately. “Well played.”

  “I’ve had twenty years of experience,” Mistress Putih pointed out. “I think you will need additional practice, though. You have a great deal to unlearn.”

  “I don’t want to fight duels,” Emily said. Sergeant Miles hadn’t said much about formal dueling, but he had warned them, enough that his students could repeat the speech in their sleep, that there were no rules in actual fighting. A Necromancer certainly wouldn’t follow any rules. “I need to fight Necromancers.”

  “You are a sorceress of growing power and influence,” Mistress Putih countered. “You will be challenged, sooner or later. And then you will need to know how to fight.”

  Mistress Hitam cleared her throat as the students gathered around her. “You will all have to practice the spells in the spellchambers,” she said. “Make sure you have an older student supervising you when you do. The prefects are expected to make time for it if you require their assistance. We will continue formal dueling training over the next few months in this room. Outside this room, you are not to engage in any duels. Do you understand me?”

  The students agreed, in chorus. “Emily, remain behind,” Mistress Hitam ordered. “The rest of you can go get washed and changed before your next class.”

  Emily watched the students go, then looked at the two teachers. Up close, she was sure it was a bilocation accident that had separated one person into two, although she was sure they had different personalities. Lady Barb had cautioned Emily not to even think about using the spell herself until she was much older, citing all the horrific things that could go wrong. Discovering that she suddenly had an identical twin was the least of it. Her magic could be ripped apart by the strain.

  “You should be testing yourself against students from Third Year,” Mistress Hitam said. “You shouldn’t be facing the younger students at all.”

  Emily frowned. “Why?”

  “Because they are no match for you,” Mistress Hitam said, with a hint of irritation. “It would be bad for their development to have you wipe the floor with them. And because we don’t want them to wipe the floor with you.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. The years were meant to be separate, after all. If she, a prospective Third Year, was soundly beaten by a First Year, it would reflect badly on her entire year. Given the degree of respect and deference given from lower years to the higher years, it would likely reflect badly on Mountaintop’s social system. “I’ll find someone to duel with, if I can.”

  “You will,” Mistress Hitam predicted. “There are no shortage of members in Dueling Clubs who practice intensely outside class.”

  Emily sighed. She would have to ask one of the other girls for advice.

  “Go get washed and changed,” Mistress Putih ordered. “Your next class is... when?”

  “Alchemy, after lunch,” Emily said. The next period had yet to be designated. “And then Charms to round up the day.”

  “Study the books on dueling challenges,” Mistress Hitam advised. “We expect the essay from you too, young lady. And you will need to know the basics as comprehensively as the other students, perhaps more so. Your father fought many challenges in his day.”

  Emily nodded. She knew that the link between her and Void–the supposed link between her and Void–was a form of protection. It also covered up her origins quite neatly. But it was also a major headache at times, either through people assuming she could influence him or through people taking her for her father’s daughter and being too afraid of her to speak. Killing two Necromancers hadn’t really helped with that, either.

  “I will,” she said, reluctantly. One thing she would happily introduce computers or even typewriters, if she could. Writing out a thousand words left her hands aching painfully, but her attempt at producing a magical typewriter had floundered on the high magic requirements. “And I’ll try to get it back to you before the end of the week.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  AFTER TWO MORE EXPLODED WOKS AND an accident that had come alarmingly close to burning her hair off, Emily was more than a little surprised that Zed hadn’t handed out a horrific detention or simply sent her to the Administrator’s office for more immediate punishment. But then, she had been trying, unlike one of the other girls. Helen had been talking to her neighbor when her mixture started to steam, and, before she’d even turned around to look at it, it had exploded with terrifying force. Zed had written Helen a slip and dispatched her to the office, and told her not to bother coming back. Emily found it hard to blame him.

  She sighed in relief as the class finally came to an end. It was no consolation that–so far–no one had managed to get further than the sixth step in making the alchemical concoction, even students who had plenty of experience with wands. Zed had warned them, after all, that making anything this complex took months to master. She cleaned up her table, placed her empty bottles in the disposal bin, and then stood with the rest of the class. But then, Zed caught her eye.

  “Remain behind,” he ordered. “Everyone else, dismissed.”

  Emily flinched inwardly as the room emptied with astonishing speed, no one caring to stick around when the teacher was obviously in a foul mood. Zed waved his hand in the air, dispelling the stink of burning chemicals, then nodded to Emily to follow him. Emily obeyed, clasping her hands together in the hope that it would keep them from shaking. Right now, Zed was the last teacher she wanted to be alone with in Mountaintop.

  She followed him into a smaller room that reminded her, all too clearly, of the office he’d used in Zangaria. It was a little larger than the one she recalled, with three cauldrons of potion bubbling merrily above a set of small fires and a large, leather-bound book sitting on the table. Emily glanced at the book, then frowned as she read the title. Potions of Light and Darkness. She’d heard something about that book once, years ago. It hadn’t sounded pretty.

  Zed’s eyes gleamed with an unholy light as he indicated the first cauldron. “Love potion,” he said, simply. “Or, rather, fixation potion. Brewed properly, fed to the right person, it will make him completely fixated on one other person, who will become the center of his universe. He will live and die for that person–and, once the target of his admiration is dead, he, too, will die. It has no cure.”

  Emily swallowed. His words sounded very much like a threat.

  Zed smiled cruelly, then indicated the second cauldron. “This potion is very definitely on the banned list,” he added. “We call it pain, liquid pain. A single drop of this potion would hurt the drinker far worse than the most unpleasant and fearsome of torture curses. And there is no cure for this, either. The victim would have to endure, suffering all the while, until the potion finally worked its way out of his body. They say the pain is worse than being burned alive by a dragon.”

  And how, Emily asked herself in a desperate attempt to remain calm, would they know?

  “Very interesting,” she said, through a suddenly dry mouth. “And what is the third?”

  “Boiled water,” Zed told her. “I prefer to have my cauldrons washed with water, rather than magic. It c
an cleanse them without leaving unfortunate traces of magic behind.”

  Emily wasn’t sure she believed him, although Professor Thande had taught them the importance of keeping stray magic away from their cauldrons as much as possible. It was why they used flames rather than charms to heat their potions, at least in the first two years of schooling. But she supposed it was reasonably possible.

  “Please, take a seat,” Zed said. He sounded as though he was trying to be civil, even though it was clear he wasn’t pleased to have Emily in his office. “There are some matters we have to discuss.”

  He walked around his desk and sat down, facing her. His expression was hard to read, but Emily was sure he was more than a little annoyed with someone, although–for once–she didn’t think it was actually her. She took the seat and waited for him to speak. Patience wasn’t her strong point, but she didn’t want to say the wrong thing and accidentally upset him.

  “You have problems combining magical spellwork and alchemical brewing,” Zed said, without preamble. “You also have problems judging the precise moment a potion is ready for the next stage–or is about to destabilize and explode.”

  Emily nodded, not daring to speak. She wasn’t the only one, if the constant stream of explosions from the other woks meant anything, but she knew Zed had a good reason to pick on her. The more advanced the brew, the greater the chance she would lose control and have it explode in her face. At least the wards had kept them all safe from serious harm, so far. That would change soon, she knew. There were stages in later brewing where the wards themselves would actively interfere with the alchemical process.

  “I have been... urged to give you private lessons,” Zed said. Emily suspected, by his tone, that he meant ordered. “Like many students with great magical potential, you have difficulty with the more subtle aspects of magic. Alchemy requires a light hand and a steady grasp on your magic, which is partly why we use wands at this stage of education. But you have almost no experience with wands at all.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  Zed eyed her darkly, as if he suspected she was trying to annoy him, but continued. “I believe Whitehall reaches this level of development later,” he added. “Mountaintop is more inclined to add Wandwork to the curriculum than Whitehall–and students your age would be expected to master a wand, rather than have a wand master them. If it had been entirely up to me, you would have entered Alchemy as a Second Year, not a Third. You need more experience than you actually have to pass this year.”

  Emily rather suspected that, if it had been up to him, the only place she would go would be somewhere on the other side of the world–or one of the myriad hells the different religions held in store for infidels, heretics, dissenters and those who didn’t show their rulers the proper respect. But she held her peace. Zed was at least trying to help her, even if he’d been forced into it by his superiors. It was more than could be said for some of the other teachers she’d met in her life.

  “If you still have free periods after my classes on Monday and Thursday, you will study with me immediately afterwards,” Zed said. “There may well be a requirement for more private study later, but it will depend on how your timetable shapes out over the next few weeks. And how well your studies go with me. I will not waste my time if you are unwilling to learn.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said. Briefly, she wondered if he intended to spend two or three classes with her, then tell his superiors that she was hopeless. “That would be satisfactory, but...”

  Zed eyed her, unpleasantly. “But?”

  “But I need to refresh myself after taking a two-hour class,” Emily said, carefully. She was sure he would need to refresh himself too. “And I...”

  “You would be able to have a cup of Kava and go to the washroom before returning, if you wish,” Zed said. Perhaps he considered it a reasonable request. “However, we would need to spend at least a full hour if we are to get anything worthwhile out of this class.”

  “I understand,” Emily said. She met his eyes. “I will do the best I can.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Zed grunted. He jabbed a hand into the corner. “There’s Kava in that kettle over there. Do you require the washroom now?”

  “Um... no, sir,” Emily said. “I...”

  “Then pour yourself a mug and sit down at the table,” Zed ordered. He nodded to a smaller, completely empty table. “We will go through one particular brew stage by stage.”

  Emily nodded, then did as she was told. Zed, whatever his other flaws, was efficient. By the time she’d poured herself a mug and tested it for unpleasant surprises, Zed had found a cauldron, a wand, several bags of ingredients and a parchment with written instructions, all of which he dumped on the desk. Emily sat down–Zed sat next to her, slightly too close for comfort–and motioned for her to begin.

  Reading the instructions, it became clear that the potion was a general anaesthetic used in Healing, one that all Healers learned how to brew. Unlike some of the simpler pain-relief potions, it actually required an antidote before the drinker awoke from his enforced slumber, an antidote that had to be brewed from the same batch of potion as the anaesthetic itself. Otherwise, they would sleep until they died. It was only used, Lady Barb had said, when there was no alternative. She’d also said that being able to brew it safely was a formal requirement for a Healing Apprentice.

  Under Zed’s watchful eye, she carefully sorted out the ingredients she needed, then worked her way mentally through the instructions. An ordered mind and attention to detail, Professor Thande had taught her years ago, was the key to successfully following the recipe and duplicating someone else’s potion work. It took a different kind of mind, one willing to gamble and experiment, to come up with something completely new.

  She picked up the wand and primed it with the spells she would need. Zed took it from her as soon as she was finished, inspected it carefully, nodded in approval and put it back on the table. Emily let herself have a private moment of relief, then poured a pint of water into the cauldron and lit the fire underneath. It wouldn’t be long before it started to bubble.

  “Tell me,” Zed ordered, suddenly. “Why do we use water as a base for potions?”

  Emily had to think to recall the answer. “Because water is magically neutral,” she said, finally. “It allows the ingredients to combine without warping them.”

  “Very good,” Zed said. His face flickered with approval. “And why don’t we use water when we make alchemical brews?”

  “Because the water dampens the magic... ah, it would dampen the magic if we used it,” Emily stumbled, slightly. “And because some of the ingredients would be dampened to the point of complete uselessness.”

  “Very good,” Zed said. “And why have we switched to woks in the classroom?”

  Emily froze. She didn’t know; hell, she’d never cooked with a wok on Earth. But she knew she would have to guess.

  “Because the mixture is spread out more evenly over the heat?” She hazarded. “Or...”

  “You should never guess,” Zed reproved her. “But you’re right. And what other problem does this cause for us?”

  Emily looked down at the bubbling cauldron. “You can only make anything that requires a wok in limited quantities,” she said, slowly. “There are always limits to how much you can make at a time.”

  “Correct,” Zed said. He nodded towards the cauldron. “You can start adding the ingredients now. Try not to use the wand until you definitely need it.”

  Emily nodded, found a spoon to stir the brew and went to work. Piece by piece, the potion built itself up in front of her, slowly turning an eerie yellowish color. Emily couldn’t help thinking of urine and shuddered, hoping she would never have to drink the potion in real life, no matter what happened. It smelt funny too, she decided, as she added the final ingredients and reached for the wand. She needed to be very precise as she released her magic...

  The potion started to bubble alarmingly, but she held her nerve. There w
as a long pause, just long enough for her to start to worry, before the mixture thickened as she stirred it with the wand. Emily took a sniff, recoiled at the smell, then removed the flame from under the cauldron. The potion would remain useable for several weeks, she knew, without any form of preserving charm.

  “Go back to the desk,” Zed ordered. He stood and bent over the cauldron, sniffing it carefully. “And think about what you did right–and wrong.”

  Emily felt her eyes narrow as she rose and walked back to the desk. The potion was perfect, certainly better than anything she’d brewed in classes at Mountaintop. But if he wasn’t satisfied...

  She shook her head, rested her hands in her lap, and forced herself to be patient. He’d tell her what he thought was wrong soon enough.

  “Your technique is serviceable, if uninspired,” Zed said, as he walked back to the desk and sat down facing her. “You will probably never make an Alchemist if you are unwilling to modify the techniques to suit yourself, although as a Third Year student it is impossible to be sure.”

  Emily scowled, rebelliously. She’d been taught, right from the start, to follow the instructions religiously. Changing something–anything–to suit herself might have been disastrous. But was she expected–at Mountaintop–to change her techniques if she found something that suited her better?

  Zed seemed to read her thoughts. “The way you were taught to approach Alchemy is the standard way,” he said. “They put safety ahead of daring recklessness. But if you want to become an inspired brewer, you will have to study the reasons behind each of the techniques and understand where you can cut corners or improve upon them. It is daring recklessness that produces the most advanced alchemical brews.”

  Or kills Alchemists without a healthy sense of self-preservation, Emily thought, rudely. She’d also been taught that Alchemists who kept pressing the limits were exiled to somewhere isolated to get over it–or at least carry out their experiences well away from everyone else. But she’d never really considered just how much of a margin of safety had been worked into the standard techniques. Not everyone wanted to become an Alchemist when they grew up.