Caleb waved to her from where he was standing, next to Cirroc and Melissa. Emily slipped over to join him, silently counting the new students as she moved. There were around a hundred and thirty, by her count, more than anyone had expected. Gordian must have worked hard to recruit new students, she thought; he must have started long before he’d been formally appointed to his post. Or maybe Mistress Irene had started the process and Gordian was merely taking credit for her success. She wouldn’t put it past him.
“He’s been talking for nearly thirty minutes,” Caleb muttered, using a privacy ward to make sure that only Emily could hear him. “I think they’re getting a little restless.”
Emily nodded as she cast her eyes over the gathered students. She couldn’t see anything beyond the backs of their heads, but it was clear that some of them were shuffling uncomfortably. Gordian paid no heed, even when a couple of the students started playing games with their fingers. Emily couldn’t help noticing that the students who were paying attention were almost all from non-magical families. Clearly, the others thought they’d heard the speech—or some variant on it—already.
She felt a stab of bitter envy. What would it have been like to grow up in a magical household? To learn magic from parents who actually cared? To be aware, right down to her bones, of just what magic could and couldn’t do? Everyone thought she had been given such an upbringing, from Void. They kept expecting her to know things she’d never even realized she had to know.
And yet, she’d met far too many magicians with a superiority complex, magicians who thought magic made them better than mundanes. Would she have changed the world, for better or worse, if she’d been born in it? Or would she never have known there was a box, let alone learned to think outside it? She might have wound up as unimaginative as Melissa’s former cronies, the silly girls who’d dumped her like a hot rock the moment she defied her grandmother and married Markus. Emily wasn’t really surprised that none of them had made it into Fifth Year. They might not have been stupid, but they weren’t very clever either.
You can’t change the past, she reminded herself, firmly. All you can do is make the most of what you have.
She leaned forward, interested, as Gordian’s speech finally came to an end. Master Tor stepped forward and ordered the newcomers to separate, boys to the right of the room and girls to the left. Emily saw a couple of students glance at her, their eyes passing over her as if she didn’t quite register. No doubt they’d seen some of the more... imaginative paintings of her, if they’d seen any at all. She’d seen portraits—portraits painted by artists who claimed to have known her personally—that made her look like Alassa, Aloha, Melissa or—in one case—the Mona Lisa. They’d be surprised, she thought ruefully, when they actually heard her name. Maybe they’d think she wasn’t so intimidating in person.
“You will be sorted out into groups, then escorted to your bedrooms,” Master Tor said, calmly. “The Head Girl—” he nodded towards Aloha, who still stood at the back “—will introduce you to your mentors, who will then cover the basic rules, regulations and safety requirements of Whitehall.”
“I didn’t know we cared about safety,” Cirroc muttered.
“I nearly blew my hands off,” Caleb muttered back. “Being careful isn’t actually a bad idea.”
Cirroc snorted. “What sort of attitude is that?”
“The attitude that cost you your first try at the exams,” Caleb jibed. “Did you forget to revise or something...?”
“Shut up, the pair of you,” Melissa snapped. “You’re attracting attention.”
Emily concealed her amusement with an effort as Master Tor aimed a death glare at Cirroc and Caleb. Several of the newcomers were also paying attention to them, rather than to the tutors gathered near the Grandmaster. She wanted to pull Caleb away, but she knew that would just draw more attention. Instead, all she could do was wait and hope the problem faded away. She breathed a sigh of relief as Master Tor turned back to the new students and started to pass out colored tokens at random. Emily assumed the tokens would—eventually—be matched with a Fifth Year student. It made as much sense as anything else.
“I’ll be taking them up to their dorms now,” Aloha said, as Master Tor handed out the last of the tokens. “Emily, you’re going to be in Study Room One in twenty minutes; Melissa, I want you in Room Two; Pandora...”
“Good luck,” Caleb said. “Tell them who you are and you won’t have any trouble at all.”
Emily rather doubted it, but kept that thought to herself as Aloha walked over to the newcomers, reintroduced herself and led them towards the stairwell. Madame Razz would be waiting for them upstairs, unless she too had been replaced; the students would be issued everything from spare robes to potions and guidance medallions before being escorted to meet their mentors. It all looked surprisingly orderly, but she suspected that most of the students were too overawed to cause trouble. That would start once they found their footing and mastered the art of casting spells.
“Emily,” Master Tor said. He held out a second bag. “Take a token.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out a green token, which glowed faintly as she held it up in front of him. It was charmed to do something, she sensed, although the charm was fading too rapidly for her to work out what it did. Perhaps it just confirmed that she was female, she reasoned, or maybe it had been spelled to ensure she took the green token instead of any of the others.
“You’re going to be mentoring the green group,” Master Tor said. “You’ll have six students in your care.”
With the goal of making sure they don’t need my care, Emily thought. They want me to teach the students how to do things, rather than doing their work for them.
“Blue group,” Melissa said. She smiled, rather wanly. “I thought they looked like a decent set of kids, myself.”
Emily shrugged. She hadn’t been paying enough attention to the sorting to pick out who had been assigned to the green group; even if she had, their names and faces wouldn’t have meant much to her. But she’d learn their names soon enough. She’d never been very good at matching names to faces, but she’d improved since coming to Whitehall. She hadn’t really had a choice.
“I’ll see you afterwards,” she said, glancing at Caleb. “Good luck with your students.”
“And you with yours,” Caleb said.
Melissa smiled. “Just remember, you’re not allowed to play games with their heads,” she said. There was an odd note to her voice. “If they’re anything like my siblings, the urge to mess with them will be overpowering.”
“I know the feeling,” Caleb said. “I’ll just keep reminding myself that they aren’t my siblings.”
“Good idea,” Emily said.
Chapter Nine
EMILY COULDN’T HELP FEELING NERVOUS AS she stepped into Study Room One and looked around, making sure that the servants had placed a steaming pot of Kava and seven mugs on a table by the side of the room. She’d never had siblings, as far as she knew; she wasn’t sure how she should relate to students who were only four years younger than her, yet effectively children by magical law. Their understanding of the world they’d just entered was very limited, even for those who had grown up in magical households. Whitehall was simply a dangerous place for the unwary.
She worked the problem out in her head, feeling unsure of herself. How should she treat them? Should she try to act like a big sister, or should she try to be their friend? But if they were anything like some of Frieda’s classmates, they would be uncomfortable with the idea of an older girl trying to be their friend. Should she try to keep a distance between herself and the newcomers? Or would that make it harder for them to confide in her if they had problems? She couldn’t help them unless she knew what they needed.
Someone—probably Aloha—had put a set of books by the sideboard. Emily picked one up and glanced at the title, smiling as she realized it was a guidebook to Whitehall. She hadn’t been given one, when she’d entered the s
chool; it hadn’t been so easy to produce books before she’d introduced the printing press. But it would have come in handy, she thought, as she flipped through it. There was no plan of the school—a pointless endeavor when the corridors were known to shift around randomly—but there were plenty of other little details she’d taken far too long to learn.
Maybe Gordian has a point, she thought, ruefully. Some of his changes needed to be made.
Emily looked up as the door opened, revealing Aloha. She forced herself to stand straight as the newcomers entered, their faces suggesting they were as nervous as Emily herself. They were all girls, of course, but their appearances were very different. It depressed her, on some level, that she could tell rich from poor so easily. The latter were thin, so thin it looked as if they might blow away; their clothes were cheap, probably passed down from older students.
She smiled, despite herself, as she recognized one of the newcomers. Jasmine—it had to be Jasmine, the singer she’d met at the Traveller Camp. Emily had liked her and felt sorry for her; she’d even offered to pay the girl’s fees if she wanted to go to Whitehall. Jasmine stared back at her, her dark eyes opening wide with astonishment. Her face—she looked vaguely Asian—was far too pale. To her, a cramped building like Whitehall had to be a nightmare made flesh.
“This is Emily,” Aloha said. The newcomers stared at Emily, shocked. “She will be your mentor for the next two months.”
Jasmine’s mouth dropped open. Emily hid her amusement with an effort. She’d called herself Millie at the time—the name Emily was almost unknown in the Allied Lands—and Jasmine had probably never connected Millie with the Necromancer’s Bane. How could she have? Even if she’d suspected the truth, Emily didn’t look anything like the monstrous figure beloved of bards and heralds. She’d probably have dismissed the connection as impossible and left it at that.
“They’re all yours,” Aloha said. “Talk your charges through the basic rules, then take them down to dinner. They’ll need to get an early night.”
“Of course,” Emily said.
She gathered herself as Aloha slipped out the door. The students stared at her, some of them clearly uncomfortable and others obviously wishing they were somewhere—anywhere—else. Emily didn’t really blame them. Jade and Aloha could put people at ease, with a few well-chosen words, but it wasn’t one of Emily’s talents. And yet, she was all they had. They were depending on her.
“Welcome to Whitehall,” she managed. She indicated the sideboard with her hand. “Please, take a drink if you need one. We have much to discuss.”
She waited until the students had each taken a mug of Kava and sat down, then leaned forward. “I don’t know what you want to be called,” she continued, keeping her voice as gentle as possible. “Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves? You may call me Emily.”
Jasmine looked nervous. “I am called Jasmine of the Diddakoi Travellers,” she said. “My parents are dead; my aunt and uncle sent me to Whitehall.”
“Welcome, Jasmine,” Emily said. Did Jasmine know she’d paid her fees? If Jasmine didn’t know and Emily asked, she’d feel embarrassed and obliged—perhaps—to find a way to repay the debt. “I hope you will have a long and happy career at Whitehall.”
The other five introduced themselves, one by one. Emily vaguely recalled Adana of House Ashworth from the Cockatrice Faire—she would be Melissa’s cousin—but the others were strangers. Tiega of House Worldweaver was a big girl, muscular rather than pretty; her face was unpleasant enough that Emily couldn’t help wondering why she didn’t use glamours or magical surgery to improve it. A curse? Or did her family not give a damn? Her brown hair was nice, Emily supposed—it was a shade or two lighter than Emily’s—but she’d hacked it short, giving her an oddly masculine appearance. Beside her, Lillian of House Augustus looked shy, unwilling to meet Emily’s gaze. Her blonde hair hung in pigtails that hung down to her shoulders.
Dulcet, Daughter of Oswald, was short and thin, with dark hair that fell in ringlets around her shoulders and a despondent expression. She said nothing about her background, which suggested her parents were peasants or—perhaps—slaves. It was unlikely that the daughter of slaves could go to Whitehall—if she’d been born while her parents were in bondage, she would belong to their owner too—but Gordian’s agents might have purchased her or her parents just to ensure they got another candidate. Julia, Daughter of Julius, looked far more elegant in her robes, even though she was the daughter of a merchant. Emily had to admit that the slight redheaded girl had more poise than Imaiqah ever had. Her voice was so resonant that Emily was sure she’d attended elocution lessons.
The thought made her smile as she contemplated her new charges. A lower-class personage could be identified by their dress and their voice; they were barred from wearing certain garments or learning how to speak like their betters. But Julia could probably pass for an upper-class girl, if she tried. She’d be a magician too, of course, yet having a talent for presenting herself to the world without magic would make it easier. No doubt her father planned to rise in the world, using his daughter as the key to a higher social rank.
She cleared her throat as she sensed the tension beginning to rise again. “Whitehall is a great place to learn,” she said, seriously. She’d fallen in love with the school from the moment she’d first set eyes on it and she’d be damned if she was leaving ahead of time, no matter what Grandmaster Gordian did. “But it can also be very dangerous to the unwary. Magic can be very dangerous. The rules set in place by the administration are there to protect you. I strongly advise you not to even consider breaking the rules.
“You will be given safety instructions in each of your classes,” she told them. “I suggest you heed those instructions, both inside and outside class. Certain spells and practices—alchemy in particular—can be very dangerous without supervision. If you are caught experimenting with such spells, without supervision, you will be lucky not to be expelled.”
She paused. “Some of you will know a handful of spells already,” she added. She would have been astonished if Adana or Tiega didn’t know any spells. “The remainder of you will learn spells quickly, including a number of practical jokes and pranks. You are allowed to play pranks on one another”—it was hard to keep the disapproval out of her voice—“but you are warned that preventing another student from attending classes or studying outside classes is grounds for severe punishment. Your tutors will not be pleased if your roommate misses class because you turned her into a statue or trapped her in an enchanted sleep. Do not push them on this, because you will regret it.”
Adana smirked; Dulcet paled. Emily sighed, inwardly. Whitehall tolerated far too much from its students, although she did have to admit that student pranks provided an excellent motive to learn how to defend oneself. But there were limits, and those limits had to be made clear before something went badly wrong. If she had nearly killed Alassa, after a bare month of magical education, who knew what these newcomers could do?
“There are also a number of pranks that are flatly forbidden,” she added. “Stripping someone naked or forcing them to strip—or engage in sexual behavior—is forbidden. Using love potions is forbidden. You...”
Adana looked up. “What’s wrong with love potions?”
“They make people do things they wouldn’t do, normally,” Emily said. Love potions were date-rape drugs, as far as she was concerned. Married couples might use them on the wedding night, just to ensure that nothing went wrong, but at least that was between consensual adults. “Using a love potion on anyone, for whatever reason, is grounds for expulsion. Again, do not test the patience of your tutors with such pranks. They’re not remotely funny.”
She ran through the remaining list of forbidden pranks, then added a warning she hadn’t heard until her second year. “Right now, older students are not permitted to start anything with you,” she told them. “But if you try to prank an older student, that student is permitted to retaliate in any way
he or she sees fit. Furthermore, you are not permitted to prank the non-magical staff in any way whatsoever. It is hard to find staff willing to serve at Whitehall”—Madame Razz had made that clear, back when Alassa had done just that—“and anything you do that makes that harder will draw severe punishment. Madame Razz will not be amused.”
“She didn’t look easily amused,” Tiega noted.
“She isn’t,” Emily confirmed.
She glanced from face to face, wondering if they were a little overwhelmed. But she knew she had to go on, regardless. “You’ll each be given a guidebook to Whitehall,” she added, “which I advise you to study closely. There are rules regarding etiquette that you need to master, including some concerning your bedrooms. If you have any questions about those, ask me or Madame Razz. She will answer your questions, even if she makes you pay for the answers.
“But the most important rule, right now, is this; do not enter another bedroom without permission from the occupants. All of the occupants.”
Julia frowned. “What if I want my friend to enter and my roommates say she can’t?”
“She can’t enter, dumbass,” Tiega sneered. “Weren’t you listening?”
Emily cleared her throat, loudly. “That’s correct,” she said, before Julia could snap out a biting response. “You can’t bring your friends into the room unless all of the occupants agree.”
She paused. “You are expected to be in your dorms after eight bells in the evening and in your bedrooms after nine,” she added. “Sneaking around the castle after dark and trying to break into various offices is an old tradition, but being caught will ensure that you have to sleep on your bellies for the next couple of days. The tutors patrol the corridors randomly, so watch yourselves if you decide to leave the dorms. I strongly advise you not to try to break into another bedroom. You will not like the results.”
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