Caleb shook his head. “Could someone have duplicated your signature?”
“I don’t know how,” Emily said, miserably. “It’s supposed to be impossible.”
“So is defeating a necromancer one-on-one,” Caleb pointed out. “You’ve done it twice.”
“I cheated,” Emily said.
She shook her head slowly, then walked on through the bewildering maze Whitehall had become. The corridors twisted and turned in a manner that reminded her of crawling through the tunnels under Mountaintop; the lights brightened and dimmed, seemingly at random. She felt certain that some of the shadows acted oddly, as if they had lives and minds of their own. And yet, no matter how she tried to catch them moving, they never moved when she looked straight at them. She found herself holding Caleb’s hand tightly, all the while bracing for a sudden attack. Beside her, Caleb looked—and felt—just as tense.
The corridors moved when Shadye attacked, she thought, grimly. Maybe he damaged them in some way...
“They might have been able to duplicate your signature if they had some of your blood,” Caleb said, slowly. “I’ve never heard of it actually being done, but it should be possible.”
Emily looked up at him. “How do you mean?”
“Your blood is intimately linked to you,” Caleb reminded her. “You could be cursed from halfway across the Allied Lands if someone had a sample of your blood. Perhaps, if they used the blood to taint their magic, it would feel like your magic.”
“I don’t think there are any samples of my blood left around,” Emily said, slowly. She had been asleep in the infirmary, but Healers were under oath not to allow their patients to be bled. And when she’d slept in her bedroom, she’d been surrounded by her own protections. “I...”
She broke off as a nasty thought occurred to her. “I wonder...”
Caleb frowned. “Emily?”
Emily shook her head, slowly. “Can I tell you another secret?”
“Another secret?”
“You were here when Shadye invaded,” Emily said. “I...”
“I came afterwards,” Caleb corrected. “I was here for the Mimic.”
Emily squeezed his hand, tightly. “Shadye took some of my blood,” she said, bitterly. It had simply never occurred to her that she, rather than Alassa, had been the kidnapper’s target, rather than the innocent bystander. Since then, she’d studied blood magics, but it was hard—very hard—to defend against them. “He used it to make me lower the school’s defenses.”
“Everyone wondered about that,” Caleb said, softly. “No one worked out how the bastard managed to get into the school.”
“Through me,” Emily confessed. “Caleb, everything went blurry. It wasn’t direct compulsion, not really. He had me so confused about what was going on that I felt as if I were in a dream. I didn’t really grasp that something was wrong until it was far too late.”
“You were being attacked on a very intimate level,” Caleb said. “Stronger and more experienced magicians have been beaten when their own blood was turned against them.”
“I know,” Emily said. She shuddered, feeling sick. “What if someone’s using blood magic against me now?”
Caleb stared at her. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said. “But... what if I did steal the books? I just don’t know I did it.”
“That... would be awkward,” Caleb said, after a moment. “Did you have time to steal the books?”
Emily hesitated, considering it. “I don’t think so,” she said. “But what if someone used blood magic to make me think I didn’t have time?”
“If someone did,” Caleb said slowly, “how would he have gotten his hands on your blood?”
“I don’t know,” Emily confessed.
She shook her head slowly. Shadye had made sure she understood the dangers of leaving samples of her blood lying around. She’d always been careful, afterwards, to clean up any bloodstains and dispose of the remnants. But if she’d been stunned, somehow, and her memory wiped... she might never know what had happened. Hell, she’d never realized that Shadye had stolen a sample of her blood until it was far too late.
“They’d have to control—or at least influence—Professor Locke and Cabiria too,” Caleb pointed out, holding her as she began to shake. “They would need samples of blood from both of them too.”
Emily sighed, fighting down the urge to just bury her head in his shirt. Caleb made sense, she knew, but a nagging doubt lingered at the back of her mind. And she knew, from bitter experience, that she should listen to those feelings. They were often warnings from her subconscious mind.
She pulled back from him, gently. “Is there a way to check?”
“I’m not sure,” Caleb said, thoughtfully. “Blood magics aren’t really covered until you reach Sixth Year. My mother exploded with rage when Casper asked her about some of the more... interesting uses for blood, so I never dared ask her myself. You’d really have to check with Sergeant Miles or the Grandmaster.”
He sighed. “Do you have any reason at all to think that you might have lost some blood without noticing?”
Emily shook her head as she started to walk down the corridor, still holding his hand. “No proof,” she said. “But... I could have scratched myself and not noticed.”
Caleb reddened. “I suppose there are other possibilities,” he said, quietly. “But I don’t see how anyone could make it work without controlling all three of you. Frankly, it’s a great deal more likely that they used your blood to fake your magical signature and even that’s a stretch.”
He squeezed her arm lightly. “Take it to Sergeant Miles,” he advised. “The worst he can do is give you a million push-ups for wasting his time.”
Emily snorted. The sergeants never sent anyone to be caned. They had plenty of other ways to punish their students, all of which helped prepare them for a military life. Endless push-ups, races from one end of the field to the other... hair-raising climbs up trees she would have sworn were impossible to climb... the list went on and on. But she had a feeling that Sergeant Miles would take her concerns seriously. He’d known her for over four years.
“I suppose,” she said. She peered into the next darkened classroom and frowned, unable to place it. The desks and chairs looked clean, but utterly unused. A large statue of a man in a Roman-style toga dominated the room. “Where is this?”
“I think it’s one of the disused classrooms,” Caleb said. He stroked his chin as he studied the statue. “I’ve no idea what it taught.”
Emily made a note on the piece of paper and led the way further down the corridor. The shadows drew closer as the lights dimmed, then blinked out completely. Emily shivered as darkness suddenly enveloped them, a darkness so complete that it was almost a living thing. She wouldn’t even have known Caleb was there if he hadn’t been holding her hand...
Something poked her side, hard. “Ouch!”
“Emily?” Caleb said. “What happened?”
“Something just poked me,” Emily said. She tried to cast a light globe, but nothing happened. The darkness seemed to soak up the magic before it could take form. “I...”
Caleb swore. “It poked me too,” he said. He sounded disturbed. “I...”
Emily shuddered as she felt invisible fingers poking and prodding at her, jabbing into her side and crawling over her face. Something passed through her hair, caressing it in a mockery of intimacy, then ran down her back and stroked the back of her legs. She lashed out with her free hand, but hit nothing. The touches seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere...
“Walk backwards,” Caleb urged. “We...”
He started to walk, pulling Emily with him. Moments later, Emily heard a thud as he walked into a wall that hadn’t been there before the lights had failed. Panic echoed at the back of her mind as she tried to cast another spell, wondering if she would need to teleport them out for a second time. But the magic refused to take shape and form...
“Try forward,” sh
e said, as a pair of icy fingers pinched her bottom. She gasped in pain as she pulled him forward. “I...”
She walked straight into another person, sending them both tumbling to the ground as the lights came back on. The Gorgon stared up at her, the snakes on her head hissing ominously. Emily hastily closed her eyes and rolled off the Gorgon, then looked around in surprise. Hadn’t they been on a different level? But then, everything had been rearranged...
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Me too,” the Gorgon said. She pulled herself to her feet, her snakes hissing in distress. A nasty bruise marred her greenish cheeks. Pandora lay on the ground beyond her, moaning in pain. “I was caught in darkness and pinched.”
“Us too,” Caleb said. He helped Emily up, then smiled at the Gorgon. “If the castle keeps rearranging itself, who knows what will happen next?”
“Not me,” the Gorgon said. She rubbed her cheek gingerly. “We’re running around like rats in a maze.”
Emily nodded, wordlessly.
“We’d better report to Master Tor,” Caleb said. He glanced at Emily. “And after that, you can discuss your... other concerns.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
EMILY HAD HOPED TO SPEAK TO Sergeant Miles alone, but when they reached the classroom nearest the dining hall she discovered that he was in consultations with Professor Lombardi, Master Tor and Grandmaster Gordian. Master Tor was reading from a large sheaf of notes, while Professor Lombardi looked bored and Sergeant Miles seemed concerned. Only the Grandmaster showed no trace of his innermost feelings.
“We have enough food for nearly two months, assuming we start strict rationing,” Master Tor said as she entered the room. “The staff believe they can stretch it out for longer, but we won’t have the energy to cast spells if they do.”
He paused. “Water is a more urgent problem,” he added, “but we can use spells to filter it before drinking.”
“Our students are too used to not filtering it,” Sergeant Miles warned.
Emily nodded in agreement. Whitehall’s water was safe, filtered through the wards and cleansed of everything that might make a human ill—or dead. She’d been warned to always boil or filter water outside Whitehall, but she’d never had to do either inside the school. It was going to be hard to remember, even though she knew the dangers. And she had no idea what they were going to do for showers.
Perhaps use buckets and sponges, she thought. If we can’t get out of the trap, smelling bad will be the least of our problems.
Gordian frowned. “Make sure they all know the dangers,” he ordered. “Do we have a better map of the school yet?”
Emily cleared her throat. “Some of the corridors have become... dangerous,” she said, and outlined what they’d experienced. “I don’t know why it happened.”
“A rogue spell,” Sergeant Miles commented, when she’d finished. His lips quirked into a humorless smile. “That is, perhaps, the least disturbing possibility.”
Gordian looked at the chart on the table. “Much of the school seems safe,” he said. “It has merely been rearranged.”
“And may rearrange itself again,” Sergeant Miles added. “Or worse.”
“We will have to resume classes,” Gordian said. “The students will grow restless if they have nothing to do.”
Emily gaped at him, then conceded—reluctantly—that he might have a point. Whitehall had been driven to the brink of collapse by the Mimic, when classes had been cancelled and students had huddled together, paying off old grudges in what they’d believed to be their final hours. Keeping the students, particularly the younger students, busy might just prevent a second breakdown. And besides, if they made it out alive, they wouldn’t have to surrender a week or two of their holidays to make up for what they’d missed.
“That’s a good idea,” she said.
“Thank you,” Gordian said. His tone was heavy with sarcasm. “I’m glad you approve of my intentions.”
Emily felt her face redden, but stood her ground beside Caleb as another tutor—Professor Rooihemp, a man she barely knew—stepped into the chamber. He looked nervous, yet grimly determined as he held up his staff. Gordian looked past Emily to the newcomer, his face darkening with concern. Beside him, Sergeant Miles didn’t look any happier.
“I worked out the spells,” Professor Rooihemp said, grimly. “I should be able to teleport out of the school.”
“You might well be wrong,” Sergeant Miles pointed out. “The wards are not configured to allow anyone to teleport out—and we no longer control them.”
“If the wards are functional, I’ll end up in the oubliette,” Professor Rooihemp reminded him, curtly. “And if they are not functional, I will make it outside the school and can summon help. They can open a portal to us with the correct coordinates.”
“At the risk of your life,” Gordian said. “Are we that desperate?”
“With all due respect, Grandmaster, I believe we are,” Professor Rooihemp said. “If parts of the dimensional matrix are not stable, sir, it is only a matter of time before the entire structure collapses into nothingness. Every single one of us will die.”
Emily swallowed, hard. She had teleported within Whitehall, only to end up trapped... but at least she’d been rescued. Professor Rooihemp might be trapped too... or worse. Teleporting was hard enough outside Whitehall, but inside a multidimensional structure it was almost impossible. But, at the same time, she knew Professor Rooihemp was probably right. The school was almost certainly not stable. Time was slowly ticking away.
“You can make the attempt,” Gordian said, finally. “But carefully, very carefully.”
“And not from here,” Sergeant Miles added. “I suggest teleporting out of the entry hall.”
Professor Rooihemp nodded and left the chamber. Emily watched him go, wishing suddenly that she’d known him better. He was a Charms tutor, but she’d spent most of her lessons with Professor Lombardi. She reached for Caleb’s hand and held it tightly as the door closed, cutting off her view of the professor. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she would never see him again.
“I have completed my preliminary survey of the control room,” Professor Lombardi said, into the silence. He sounded irked. It took Emily a moment to realize that Professor Rooihemp would have been working with him, but instead he had decided to try to work out the spell for teleporting back to the Nameless World. “The spellwork is... odd.”
Gordian leaned forward. “In what way?”
“It is both fantastically complex and very primitive,” Professor Lombardi said. “Much of the spellwork is little more than brute-force spellware, rather than the more subtle spells we have devised over the years. There are spells held firmly in place by other spells. And yet, the shared matrix of spellware is so complex that, combined with the nexus point, there are few limits to what it can do. I have only just started unravelling the complexities, but I believe it’s only a matter of time before we unravel everything.”
Caleb nudged Emily. “Remind you of anything?”
Emily nodded.
Gordian turned to look at her. “Explain. Now.”
Emily groaned, inwardly. She’d known they would have to discuss their work eventually, if only to explain why they’d unilaterally changed their joint project without asking for permission from their supervisors, but she hadn’t been looking forward to it. Gordian might well use their decision as an excuse to fail both of them. And yet, with Professor Lombardi slowly poking away at the control room, necessity superseded their private project.
“We started to experiment with self-maintaining spellwork,” she said, carefully. “It...”
Master Tor rubbed his forehead. “Only you,” he said. “Why...?”
“The Mimic,” Sergeant Miles said. “That’s where you got the idea.”
Gordian turned to face him. “The Mimic?”
“Mimics are not actual creatures,” Sergeant Miles said. “They’re spells. Independent spells, operating with a compl
exity far beyond anything else known to exist.”
“Until now,” Emily said.
“Quite,” Sergeant Miles agreed. He nodded to her, cheerfully. “It was Emily who had the insight into their true nature.”
Gordian cocked his head, meeting Emily’s eyes. “And no one saw fit to bring this to my attention?”
“Your predecessor believed that common knowledge of their true nature would have adverse effects,” Sergeant Miles said, earning Emily’s eternal gratitude. “He feared that the Mimics gained their power through a form of necromancy. The results of making such a technique public might be disastrous.”
“I see,” Gordian said. He seemed torn. “If we get out of this... this lobster pot, please rest assured that we will discuss this in great detail.”
He scowled at Emily. “And we will... consider... the precise status of your joint project too,” he added.
“We can finish the original project,” Caleb said. “It has its uses too.”
“I’m sure it does,” Gordian said. Oddly, he sounded sincere. “However...”
“Unlocking the spellware within the chamber may be the key to escaping the trap,” Professor Lombardi said. “I have already asked Professor Locke to review every last manuscript saved from Old Whitehall, now that we have the context for some of the wilder statements found within the tomes.”
“It will also keep him out of trouble,” Gordian commented.
“Quite,” Professor Lombardi said. “I would also like to have Emily and Caleb assigned to my research program.”
“Out of the question,” Gordian said.
“They both have more experience with this type of spellware than anyone else,” Professor Lombardi said, bluntly. “I don’t think we can afford to dismiss it lightly.”
Gordian eyed Emily for a long moment, then nodded curtly. “Very well,” he said. “But you can start tomorrow. Right now, everyone needs a rest.”
Emily nodded in agreement. She felt tired and drained; Caleb, she suspected, felt pretty much the same way. Far too much had happened over the last few hours. But she needed to raise another issue before finding her bedroom or bedding down in one of the classrooms for the night.
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