***
Charity flinched as she felt a wand touching the spot between her eyes, feeling old memories bubbling up inside her. The last person who had touched her with a wand had been her father, casting the charm she’d asked – demanded – that he cast on her. Because she’d been young and foolish and ... there was a flash of magic and she could suddenly see again. But there was still something wrong with her eyesight. She – and the Inquisitor – were surrounded by a protective bubble ... and, beyond the bubble, there was a growing storm of grey dust. It was so thick she couldn’t see anything beyond the bubble.
She gripped her wand tightly in one hand, unsure what to do. A banishing charm should have been sufficient to get rid of the dust – it smelled funny, part of her mind noted absently – but the Inquisitor could have done it himself, if he’d thought it was a good idea. Her skin crawled as the dust pressed closer, right up against the bubble of air. It seemed somehow uncanny to her gaze, as if it wasn’t quite right. But there was nothing right about a storm of dust blocking her view.
“Idiots are multiplying the cloud,” the Inquisitor muttered, as magic rippled through the air around them. “The charms holding it in the air are sucking material from the pavement below our feet.”
Charity looked down. The Golden City’s streets weren’t paved with gold – rumour to the contrary – but they were among the best-kept in the Empire. A thousand cleaners brushed them every day, according to her father, scooping up everything from waste paper to human litter and the occasional sleeping drunk. It was considered a major scandal to have even a single paving stone out of place. But now, the stones looked decayed and rotting. As she watched, a line of dust broke free and drifted into the swarm surrounding them.
She gulped as the implications struck her. “What’s to stop them sucking material from us?”
The Inquisitor gave her a sharp look. “They used modified prank spells,” he said. “I don’t think they left out the safety precautions.”
Charity gulped again. What sorcerers considered a prank was considered a nightmare by anyone else. Prank spells might prevent permanent physical harm, but they did nothing to stop the mental trauma suffered by the victim. Jamal had used similar spells on her, more than once, but Johan – the only one who couldn’t fight back – had been his main target. And Johan had spent most of his time plotting to leave home for good. It was hard to blame him, really.
And if he’s still alive, she thought, what is he doing?
A shape loomed out of the dust and came right at them. Charity had only a moment to cast a protective spell to shield her eyes, nose and mouth as the bubble snapped, then stared in horror as the Head Librarian walked right into her. The impact threw her to the ground, hard enough to make her cry out in pain. Moments later, the Head Librarian also fell, her hands and feet bound by a powerful spell. Charity pulled herself to her feet, giving silent thanks to the household gods that Jamal had never learnt that charm, then peered down at the stricken girl. Elaine No-Kin looked different, somehow. There was something odd about her face ...
The Inquisitor bit off a curse. Moments later, the face snapped out of existence, revealing an angelic stone face that smiled at them both beneficently. Charity stared, then shuddered – she’d heard stories of stone angels that moved when no one was looking – as the Inquisitor straightened up. Despite the howling of the storm, growing stronger and stronger, she could still hear people shouting and cursing. Everyone caught out in the open, it seemed, thought they’d captured the fugitives. Instead, they seemed to have caught more damned statues.
“They’re the ones from just inside the library,” the Inquisitor said. “Crafty bastards, definitely.”
He waved his wand and cast a series of cancelling charms, one after the other. Charity hesitated, then joined him. The dust might not be so easy to remove, but the charms that kept it in the air – and sucked more material out of the ground – were easier to banish. Slowly, the dust started to fall back, then drop to the ground as the sorcerers cast more and more spells to rid themselves of the nuisance. And Charity found herself looking out on a scene from any of the innumerable hells.
The pavement looked rotten, as if a team of workmen had dug up hundreds of randomly-selected paving stones and discarded them somewhere out of sight. Indeed, it had been totally destroyed in places. Water was spurting up from burst pipes and mixing with the dust to produce a form of mud that seemed suspiciously sticky, clinging to clothes and starting to set. A careful glance revealed a handful of very tiny spells, each one largely harmless in and of itself, but working together to produce a very odd effect. Charity would have been impressed if she hadn’t been sure, as the last of the dust faded away, that the Head Librarian and her friends had made their escape.
“I caught her,” a voice shouted, in a thick accent that reminded her vaguely of the Emperor. “She’s here ...”
“She’s another statue,” the Inquisitor snarled, looking down at the prone girl. He waved his wand and the illusion shattered, revealing a stone face. “They’ve got clean away, you moron.”
The sorcerer gritted his teeth. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he snapped. “I am a trusted servant of the Emperor ...”
Charity turned away, leaving them to their argument. She shook her head in disbelief as the wardcrafters pulled themselves up from the ground, some rubbing at their eyes and cursing as the mud started to set around their clothing. Giving the cursing men a wide berth, she walked towards the Great Library, up to the doors she’d once entered every day of her student life. A ward should have blocked her access, but there was nothing. She pushed at the stone door and forced it open, stumbling into the building. It was as dark and silent as the grave.
They’re gone, she thought. The lights were out, the magic that should have protected the building against cheaters and thieves alike had faded ... although she knew better than to try to take something out of the building, even if the magic seemed weaker than before. They’ve left this place for good.
She stopped in the centre of the entrance lobby as the Inquisitor followed her in, ordering the wardcrafters and the combat sorcerers to remain outside. Charity was almost relieved. The Emperor had given her no orders concerning the stockpile of knowledge in the Great Library, but she was sure he wouldn’t want just anyone walking in off the streets and taking a few irreplaceable books. Sorcerers who hadn’t gone to the Peerless School – and she was sure they hadn’t, because some of them were young enough to have shared classes with her if they had – would want the books, very badly.
“They’re gone,” she said. “But where?”
“We will find them,” the Inquisitor said.
Charity swallowed. It would be her task to bring the news to the Emperor. Her father had never taken bad news very well, even if it had been something as minor as her marks not being as high as he’d expected. Unless it had been Jamal bringing it, of course. His marks had never been as high as hers, but he’d somehow managed to avoid the lectures and humiliating punishments that had been piled on her. Not for the first time, she cursed her wretched brother under her breath. If her father had held him to account for his misbehaviour, he might not have grown into such a monster.
“Summon the Deputy Librarian,” she said, carefully. “I will have some good news, at least, to present to the Emperor.”
She found a chair, then sat down and waited. It was nearly thirty minutes before the Deputy Liberian – a woman she recalled seeing behind the desk, when she’d been a student – was escorted into the lobby by two uniformed guards. She looked strong and confident, very much the opposite of her superior, and yet there was something about her that indicated she was nervous. But it was hard for anyone to blame her, Charity reminded herself. The Golden City had been turned upside down.
“You will swear loyalty to the Emperor, then assume control of the wards,” she said, once the woman was sitting facing her. “Or you will never work in the library again.”
&
nbsp; Vane eyed her for a long moment, then closed her eyes in surrender. Charity listened, without pleasure, as Vane submitted herself to the Emperor, then reached out with her mind to the wards. Magic flickered and flared through the building, but the lights refused to come on. After a long moment, Vane opened her eyes and peered fearfully at Charity. It took Charity several seconds to realise that Vane was actually afraid of her.
Or what I represent, she thought, grimly. The Emperor who claimed the Golden Throne.
“The wards have been altered,” she said. “I can’t take control.”
Charity blanched. “You can’t? Or anyone can’t?”
“I think they’ve been programmed to reject anyone assuming ultimate control,” Vane said, quickly. “It wasn’t my fault!”
“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Charity said. She wasn’t blaming Vane for anything, but she was uneasily aware that the Emperor might think differently. “What sort of link do you have?”
“I had a limited link from the Head Librarian,” Vane said. Her voice turned pleading as she willed Charity to understand. “That link is still there, but it won’t expand into a full merge without her permission.”
Charity cringed, her mouth suddenly dry. The Emperor was not going to be happy.
“Work out what you can and cannot do,” she said. At least they could give the Emperor a full report. Maybe that would please him enough to spare their lives. “And then we will take it to the Imperial Palace.”
And continue the search for the Head Liberian, she thought, bitterly. Because, without her, the Great Library is useless.
Chapter Twenty
“This is where you grew up?”
“We only moved here seven months ago,” Johan said, as House Conidian came into view. “I used to live on an estate a few hundred miles from the Golden City.”
He couldn’t help a little wistfulness sinking into his voice. The estate hadn’t been completely isolated, but his father had been less strict about keeping Johan in his room, out of sight of anyone who might use him against the family. There had been horse-riding and swimming and even a chance to spend a few nights in a tent, away from his siblings. In hindsight, he should have enjoyed it more than he had.
“It looks impressive,” Daria added. She gave him a droll look. “No wonder you’re such a spoilt brat.”
“The last house was bigger,” Johan said. “And cheaper too.”
Beside him, Elaine rolled her eyes. Housing costs in the Golden City were astronomical. The house his father had purchased, then warded heavily, had cost him half of his savings ... and it was small, compared to some of the other buildings. But it was a status symbol he hadn’t been able to decline. A house on the other side of the mountains would have been half the price, yet wouldn’t have carried the social cachet.
“No doubt,” Cass agreed. “Are you sure you can get into the house?”
“I think so,” Johan said. He stepped up to the door and pressed his hand against the warding crystal. “My father keyed me into the wards when I developed power. My ... my sister thinks I’m dead. She wouldn’t have bothered to remove me from the list of people permitted to open the door.”
A faint tingle ran through his hand, then the door unlocked, allowing him to lead the way into the building. He was expecting a mess, after his last visit to the house, but Charity had evidently paid through the nose to have the damage repaired within a couple of days. The paintings had been changed – a large painting of the entire family, including Johan, now dominated the hallway – but there were no other signs that anything had changed. Johan snorted to himself, then stepped aside to allow the others to enter the building. As long as they were with him, the wards wouldn’t think they were intruders and attack.
“Well protected, but lacking any flair,” Cass announced, waving her wand in the air. “Your sister is evidently not a wardcrafter.”
“My father never had time to specialise in anything, but running the family,” Johan said. Charity would merely have inherited his work. “He used to encourage the younger children to study the more specialised branches of magic, just so the family would have experts it could actually trust.”
Elaine smiled. “And did they?”
“They haven’t reached the point in their schooling when they can choose a specific path,” Johan said, feeling a twinge of the old pain. He’d once thought he would go to the Peerless School, just like his older brother. But, as time wore on, it had become an unattainable dream. “But now ...I don’t know what Charity would urge them to do.”
Daria sniffed the air, suddenly. “We’re not alone,” she said, sharply. There was a flurry as Elaine and Cass lifted their wands. “Three people in the house; all young girls.”
“No servants?” Johan asked. “I don’t think Charity would have dismissed them.”
“Just three girls,” Daria said. Her nose wrinkled, slowly. “The other scents aren’t fresh.”
There was a clatter from up the stairs, then a young girl came into view, clutching a wand so tightly that her knuckles were white. Johan sucked in his breath as he recognised Jolie, his fourteen-year-old sister, looking strikingly like a younger version of their mother. Behind her, Chime and Chanel were holding their own wands, their eyes wide with fear. Johan was surprised to see them, as surprised as they were to see him. They should all have been at the Peerless School.
He felt a sudden mix of emotions as his younger siblings stared down at him. Fear, because they’d often used him as a plaything; glee, because he could now pay them back in their own coin ... and shame, for thinking about tormenting them as they had tormented him. It hadn’t been fair when they’d done it to him and it wouldn’t be fair if he did it to them. He started as he felt someone slip a hand into his and turned to see Daria, looking up at him with worried eyes. She had to have picked up on his emotions as he stared at his younger siblings.
“Johan?” Jolie asked, nervously. “What are you doing here?”
Johan grunted. “What are you doing here? You should be at school.”
“Charity brought us home to help with the repairs,” Jolie said. “You made quite a mess of the house.”
“I wanted to burn it down,” Johan said. “What happened to the servants?”
“They fled,” Jolie said. “And Charity hasn’t come home. And we’re starving ...”
“Charity has other problems,” Johan said, flatly. Naturally, there had been no suggestion that the magical children could learn to cook. His father had had servants to do the hard work of actually keeping everyone fed. “Go back to your rooms and stay there.”
“They do need to be fed,” Daria said, quietly.
“I know,” Johan muttered. He cursed his siblings under his breath. Why couldn’t they have stayed at the Peerless School? It was unlikely they’d be harmed by the Emperor, not when Charity was already his devoted slave. The Great Houses would never stand for it. “And now I don’t know if we can stay here after all.”
“Take me to the kitchens,” Cass ordered, firmly. “We’ll see what there is in the way of food.”
“Of course,” Johan said. He opened the door to the visitor’s room, then peered inside. It hadn’t been touched when he’d smashed his way into the house, he decided, because hardly anything had been moved from where his father had put it. “Elaine and Daria can wait here for us. Don’t let the kids bully you into doing anything.”
Elaine gave him a sharp look. “Are they that bad?”
“They’re little monsters,” Johan said. “Maybe not as bad as Jamal, but still pretty awful.”
“They’re kids,” Daria protested.
“They’re kids who were allowed – nay, encouraged – to pick on the powerless from the moment they could wield a wand,” Johan snapped. “I don’t think a term or two at the Peerless School will have cured them of that ... bad habit.”
He turned and marched out of the room, through a long corridor and down a flight of stairs into the servants rooms. Jamal had once t
hought it a great joke, he recalled sourly, to turn Johan into something immobile and leave him in their rooms, just because he thought a Powerless would never amount to anything more than a servant. His father had not been amused, but he had never properly punished Jamal. The older boy had been the apple of his father’s eye.
Cass followed him, her footsteps so quiet that Johan could barely hear them. He hardly heeded her as he stepped through the door and into the kitchen, then looked around. The servants had clearly fled in a hurry; they’d left a colossal mess behind them. Johan sighed to himself, then peered into the preservation chamber. Thankfully, the spells keeping the food fresh had remained intact.
“Get the bread from the breadbox,” he ordered, as he pulled a large chunk of cheese out of the chamber. “I’ll make them bloody cheese sandwiches. There’s no time to make anything more complex.”
“Understood,” Cass said. If she picked up on his innermost thoughts – that he didn’t want to waste effort making anything better than sandwiches for the brats – she didn’t comment on it. “I can boil some water too, if you would like.”
“They’ll turn their noses up at adult drinks,” Johan said. “Pour them each a glass of water, then place the glasses on a tray.”
He finished slicing the bread and cheese, then rapidly prepared the sandwiches as Cass poured water into glasses. “I’ll take half of these for us,” he said, “and take the other half up to the brats. You can carry the water.”
“I could,” Cass agreed, dryly. “You don’t want to help them, do you?”
Johan turned to face her. “Do you have siblings?”
“Not any longer,” Cass said. “Inquisitors tend to snap family ties once they don the skull rings. If anyone stays in touch with their families, they don’t make a big issue of it.”
Bookworm III Page 19