Infinite Regress

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Emily nodded, slowly. Part of her looked forward to exploring the tunnels under Whitehall. But the rest of her remembered, all too well, the horror she’d found under Mountaintop. Was Whitehall built on a similar secret? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  But Professor Locke wants to know, she thought. And he won’t hesitate to tell the world.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “YOU SEEM TO HAVE EVERYTHING YOU need,” Sergeant Miles said. “I must congratulate you.”

  Emily concealed her wry amusement at Professor Locke’s flustered face. It had been her suggestion to prepare properly after Caleb had pointed out some of the possible dangers they might face. Professor Locke had just wanted to walk into the tunnels; Emily had talked him into preparing for a long expedition. The knapsacks Cabiria and she carried contained everything from rope to chalk and several days’ worth of food, drink and magic-less candles to provide light. If something went wrong, deep below Whitehall, they should be able to last long enough for help to arrive.

  “The lower levels will remain sealed, once you have passed the nexus chamber,” Gordian said, sternly. The Grandmaster was ignoring both of them in favor of talking to Professor Locke. “In the event of you failing to return, Sergeant Miles will lead a recovery team down to the gates.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Professor Locke said. “But I’m sure it won’t be necessary.”

  Emily was far from sure. There had been almost nothing in the source materials about the lower levels, true, but her imagination had provided all sorts of details. Lord Whitehall might have rigged dozens of traps, tying them into the nexus point to ensure they remained active... or the gates might lead them straight into tunnels that weren’t truly part of the castle. If the tunnels under Mountaintop had been filled with deadly creatures, who knew what might be lurking under Whitehall?

  “Very good,” Gordian said. “May the gods go with you.”

  Emily kept her thoughts to herself as they slowly descended the stairs to the very lowest level of Whitehall—the very lowest accessible level, she reminded herself. She could feel the nexus point thrumming in the distance, sending out waves of magic that pulsed through the school before fading back into the ether. It was rare for her to sense it on the higher levels, but here it was impossible to ignore. The nexus point called to her and, at the same time, repelled her. She glanced at Cabiria, wondering if the older girl had the same problem, but there was no trace of any internal struggle on her face. Maybe only people who had touched the nexus point could sense it.

  “This is as far as I go,” Sergeant Miles said, when they reached the second-last level. His gaze passed over all three of them, lingering for a long moment on Emily. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you,” Professor Locke said.

  The thrumming of the nexus point grew stronger as they descended the final set of stairs into a network of stone corridors. Emily wanted to cover her ears, but she knew it would be pointless. The entire school seemed to vibrate with power. Gritting her teeth, she followed Professor Locke down the corridor towards a blank stone wall. There was nothing there, nothing at all. It was quite ordinary...

  Emily stopped, dead, as she sensed the spell billowing around them. One hand went to the rune on her chest, but it remained dormant. The spell wasn’t subtle magic, she realized, as she closed her eyes against its effects. It worked along the same lines, but it was vastly more powerful—and dangerous. She was aware of its effects now—she could feel it plucking at her thoughts, trying to erase all knowledge of the gates—yet her awareness wasn’t enough to stop the spell from doing its work. It was trying hard to push her away.

  She gritted her teeth, then opened her eyes and stared. The wall wavered, as if the illusion was on the verge of coming apart and melting back into nothingness. And yet the spell still fought, still tried to convince them that there was nothing there. Emily struggled, holding the line desperately as she took a step forward, then another; the spell only redoubling its efforts to hold her back. She’d wondered how the gates had been forgotten for so long, but now she knew. The spell guarding them was so powerful that there wasn’t a hope of seeing them unless one already knew they were there.

  The Grandmaster should have known, she thought, as the gates finally shimmered into visibility. And yet he forbade all exploration.

  She’d expected something fancy, but the gates were nothing more than stone and iron, covered in runes. A number were completely unfamiliar to her, even though she’d been studying and memorizing runes for the past three years. Professor Locke let out a cry of excitement and stepped forward, pressing his hand against the gates. They opened smoothly, revealing utter darkness. The spell stopped trying to drive them away at the same moment, as if it had given up.

  Emily sagged, suddenly feeling exhausted. Sweat trickled down her back as she stumbled forward and leaned against the gates. It was hard, so hard, to keep her eyes open. Only the grim awareness that a secondary defense system might be causing her tiredness kept her awake. If she fell asleep, there would be plenty of time for the first spell to erase her memory and push her away.

  Professor Locke summoned a light globe and sent it drifting forwards, into the darkness. It lit up the surroundings, revealing a long stone corridor sloping downwards towards a second door, seemingly identical to the first. He walked down the corridor, one hand holding a divining rod; he beckoned Emily and Cabiria forward as soon as he reached the bottom. The tiredness started to melt away as they walked down, keeping a wary eye out for traps. Emily had spent too long fighting her way through Blackhall to trust that a seemingly empty corridor might be actually empty—or safe.

  Unsurprisingly, Professor Locke seemed delighted, practically dancing as he turned to face them. “That spell would have driven us away, if we’d let it,” he said. “Have you heard of anything that can do anything like it?”

  Cabiria looked as tired as Emily felt. “A nightmare hex, perhaps,” she said. Her voice sounded drained. “But they don’t have such power.”

  “Exactly,” Professor Locke said. “Who knows what else might be lurking down here?”

  He pushed his hand against the second door. Emily tensed, but it opened easily, revealing another set of corridors. A moment later, she took a breath and gagged as musty dry air filled her lungs. She choked violently, fighting the urge to vomit, as she hastily cast a spell to filter the air. Dust billowed around them, so thick that she couldn’t imagine anything surviving under the school for hundreds of years. She’d wondered if the tunnels had truly been left untouched for so long, but the layers upon layers of dust proved it.

  “Water,” Cabiria gasped.

  Emily unhooked a canteen from her belt and passed it to Cabiria, then took a long swig herself when she passed it back. Her throat felt dry, unpleasantly dry. Only Professor Locke seemed unbothered. He took a step forward, dust billowing around his feet, then stopped dead as the lights came on. Emily tensed again, half-expecting a lethal trap to greet them, but nothing happened.

  “Someone turned on the lights,” Cabiria observed, dryly. “Are we expected?”

  “Some of the older parts of the school turn off the lights if there’s no one there,” Professor Locke said. He sounded delighted. “The spellwork in this part of the school is still intact.”

  He grinned at them both and led the way down the corridor. Emily exchanged a glance with Cabiria, then made certain to mark their route on the dusty walls as they followed the professor. The chalk, despite being charmed, didn’t stick very well. It worried her, even though their pathway was clearly visible in the dust. She couldn’t help comparing it to walking through snow.

  “Old Whitehall,” Professor Locke called back. Dust floated down from the ceiling as his words echoed back to them. “All the secrets we seek are in here!”

  Emily frowned. She could still sense the nexus point, but the thrumming had faded to a dull awareness at the back of her mind. And yet, when she reached out with her mind, she could sense fli
ckers of magic passing through the stone walls. She reached out and brushed away some of the dust, revealing runes—runes she didn’t recognize—that had been painstakingly carved into the stone. Magic spun around them, heading onwards to a space directly under the nexus point. She was awed—and terrified—that the spells had lasted so long.

  Cabiria caught her arm. “How many more levels are there?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily said. She’d touched the nexus point, but there hadn’t been any time to feel out the contours of the school. “If...”

  “Come on, girls!” Professor Locke shouted. “This way.”

  Emily sighed and led the way down the corridor, following the dusty footprints. There didn’t seem to be anything dangerous in the lower levels, but she couldn’t help thinking that Professor Locke was allowing his enthusiasm to override his common sense. At the rate he was running, he was likely to run straight into a trap before realizing it was there...

  He’s following the magic, she thought, as they stepped into a larger chamber. But where does it lead...?

  The corridor warped around them. Emily recoiled in shock, just for a second, as it seemed to stretch into directions at right angles to reality. Her mind refused to grasp what she was seeing; she closed her eyes, hastily, as the world spun around her. She heard Cabiria cry out in pain and opened her eyes, just in time to see another room opening in front of them.

  “Shit,” Cabiria said. Emily glanced at her. “What was that?”

  Emily shook her head. She knew that Whitehall sometimes reconfigured itself, but she’d never been in a corridor when it decided it needed to lead somewhere else. She’d always assumed that the school didn’t reconfigure itself when there was someone inside. And yet, maybe the lower levels didn’t have any safety precautions...

  Or maybe they change more, she thought, as she led the way into the new chamber. And...

  “We lost the professor,” Cabiria said. “Where are we?”

  They stared at each other in horror, then looked back. The corridor they’d been in was gone, completely gone. A new corridor yawned open, waiting for them, but there was no trace of their passage in the dust. Emily swore inwardly, suddenly very glad she’d listened to Caleb and brought supplies. If they had to go wandering through the lower levels just to find the gate back to Whitehall, they’d need them.

  “He could be anywhere,” Emily said. She looked up at the chamber. “But right now I think we have other problems.”

  She gritted her teeth, then led the way forward into the chamber. It was huge, easily as large as the Great Hall, a circular structure that reminded her of King Randor’s dance hall. Exits were spaced evenly around the room, leading to unknown destinations, so dark and shadowy that she was reluctant to try walking down them. The lights, it seemed, weren’t turned on in those sections. She felt ridges beneath her feet and glanced down to see runes carved in the stone floor. They were devoid of magic now, she thought; the dust had clogged them so badly that they were completely ineffectual.

  “A circle,” Cabiria said. She sounded awed. “This whole room is a spellchamber.”

  “Maybe,” Emily said. She wasn’t so sure. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, something oddly familiar about the whole setting. And yet it refused to come forward and allow her to recognize what she saw. “It’s a very odd spellchamber. I would have said it was far too big.”

  “Professor Locke did say the ancients knew magics that were long lost,” Cabiria pointed out, thoughtfully. “Perhaps they knew a way to make a bigger spellchamber.”

  “But if they had more powerful magic, surely they would have needed more powerful spellchambers,” Emily pointed out. “They’d have real problems safeguarding students without them.”

  “If they bothered,” Cabiria said. “My uncle used to say that there was no gain without risk.”

  “And yet a mistake could kill a student, if she practiced outside a spellchamber,” Emily countered. “She wouldn’t deserve to die, but it would be the end.”

  “Maybe they had a different attitude,” Cabiria said. “It isn’t as if the tutors safeguard everything for us.”

  Emily nodded. Whitehall’s attitude to student safety was sometimes terrifyingly lax. She understood the reasoning behind it, but she doubted she would ever approve. Surely, students could learn without taking so many risks. A single mistake during alchemy could kill someone effortlessly, if the tutor wasn’t always alert. And charms...

  Cabiria frowned. “It could be a dueling circle.”

  Emily hesitated. It was possible, she conceded, yet her mind kept insisting it was something else, something she’d seen before. She removed a sheet of paper from her belt and started to sketch what she was seeing. Maybe Professor Locke or one of the other professors would be able to work out what it was.

  If we ever get back, she thought, numbly. We could die down here.

  She shuddered at the thought. She’d found it hard enough to even see the gates on the school side; now, she wasn’t even certain where to start looking to find the gates to return. If the corridors kept changing on them, too, they might never find Professor Locke, let alone make it back to the upper levels. And how long would it be before Sergeant Miles came after them? Hell, did he even have a hope of finding them? He might just get lost himself.

  “There’s a light at the end of that tunnel,” Cabiria said. She pointed one finger towards a tunnel on the far side of the chamber. Sure enough, the tunnel was dark but there was a light at the end. “You want to go down it?”

  Emily shrugged. It wasn’t as if she had any better ideas. She cast a light globe and sent it down the tunnel ahead of them, then followed it while watching for traps. The corridor was decorated with more and more unfamiliar runes, including a number that looked too elaborate to be real. She sketched out a couple and added them to her collection of drawings as Cabiria made her way further down the corridor. At the end, it opened into a giant chamber dominated by a map. Someone had painstakingly carved it into the wall.

  “My God,” Emily breathed.

  There were two continents and some significant island chains on the Nameless World, she’d learned in history; a north continent and a south continent, the latter largely dominated by the necromancers. But the map in front of her showed a third continent, far to the west. Emily recalled wondering if there was something out there, but she’d learned that anyone who attempted to sail out into the oceans never came back. The Nameless World was round—no one believed the planet was actually flat—yet no one had ever managed to sail around the world.

  “A third continent,” Cabiria said. She shook her head slowly. “How old is this map?”

  Emily shrugged. “If the tunnels were sealed after Whitehall,” she said, “the map is at least seven hundred years old.”

  Cabiria stared at her. “How does one lose a whole continent?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily said.

  She contemplated possibilities for a long moment. The Vikings had discovered America, if she recalled correctly. But they’d never settled the continent—indeed, they might never have realized what they’d found. Even Columbus hadn’t grasped it. The Native Americans had been branded Indians because Columbus had believed he’d discovered India, rather than a whole new continent. If the Nameless World had a third continent and contact had been lost, somewhere between Lord Whitehall’s era and her arrival, it might have rapidly become a myth.

  And Professor Locke believed a great many records had been destroyed, she thought, recalling their first talk. If the records of the third continent were also destroyed...

  Cabiria headed to the next room as Emily sketched out the map, hoping they had a chance to get word back to the sailors. Perhaps, with the prospect of a whole new continent, they’d be willing to try to sail across the open sea. Or maybe they’d be worried about unfriendly natives. It was quite possible that the ships that had tried to circumnavigate the world had been sunk with all hands. Or worse. Who knew what
lay on the other side of the world?

  It would be interesting to go see, she thought. If nothing else, it would provide a refuge from the necromancers.

  “Emily,” Cabiria called. Her voice echoed back from the next chamber. She sounded astonished. “Come and look at this!”

  Emily tucked the notebook under her arm and hurried into the next chamber. It was larger than the map room, but bare. There were no runes on the stone walls. The only object of interest was a marble statue, standing in the exact center of the circular chamber. A young woman, her hair tied back in a long braid that hung down to the small of her back, a large book tucked under each arm. The detail was fantastic, she had to admit. She’d never been a fan of the arts—she’d always preferred reading to looking at paintings and sculptures—but every crease in the young girl’s odd-looking dress was visible. Even her individual hairs stood out perfectly...

  “It’s impressive,” she said. She reached forward in wonder, but some instinct told her not to touch the stone. If it had survived so long, deep below Whitehall, it must be protected by powerful magic. “It’s...”

  Cabiria let out a spluttering sound. “Emily,” she said. “Don’t you recognize her?”

  Emily frowned. “I...”

  “Emily,” Cabiria said. She gave Emily an incredulous look as Emily turned to face her. “It’s you!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  EMILY STARED.

  She’d grown far too used to portraits of herself that bore little resemblance to reality. But the statue before her was perfect, right down to the snake-bracelet on her wrist. The detail was so incredible that she would have wondered if the statue was actually a petrified girl... if she hadn’t been standing right in front of it. It was just perfect.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s me!”

  “Well, it could be a statue of someone who just happened to look like you,” Cabiria said, mischievously. “I have a cousin who looks alarmingly like me.”