Infinite Regress

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Fine,” she said, lying down and closing her eyes. She would be cranky when she woke, but it couldn’t be helped. “Wake me at four bells.”

  Sleep didn’t come easily, despite the meditations she’d been taught. She’d always thought of Whitehall as solid and reliable, even though the school had been invaded by everything from mad necromancers to demons. Whitehall had always felt safe to her, the first place she’d ever felt safe. She’d never been able to lose that impression, despite Nanette spying on her and the Mimic hunting students and devouring their souls. Now... now she knew, all too well, that the walls could crumble at any moment. They could die as easily as Shadye had, once she’d boxed him up in the pocket dimension...

  Don’t think about it, she told herself. Despite her exhaustion, her mind refused to settle and allow her to rest. Just try to sleep.

  ... Emily stands in front of the crystalline console, a book in her left hand as she rests her right hand against the crystal. Her feet are resting in blood, a reddish glow pervading the room as she does... something... to the spellware. It dances around her, bobbing back and forth as she issues her commands...

  ... A... creature... sits on her shoulders, peering up at her with malicious eyes. No matter how closely she looks at it, it refuses to take on solid form. All she can sense from it is unblinking malice and a dark, sadistic glee...

  ... Someone is screaming in the distance...

  ... A spider-like creature, maddeningly out of focus, looms over her suddenly. She draws a knife from her belt and hurls it at the creature, causing a backwash of magic that picks her up and hurls her across the room...

  ... Someone is screaming in the distance...

  ... The room is permeated by a blur of multicolored lights...

  “Emily,” a voice snapped. For a long moment, Emily was unsure if she was still dreaming or awake. “Emily, wake up!”

  Emily opened her eyes and found herself looking up at Melissa. Instinctively, she tried to lash out, but her hand was caught in the sleeping bag. Her body was drenched in sweat, her head throbbing with pain... she’d been having a nightmare. She hadn’t had such a bad nightmare, she recalled as she forced herself to sit upright, since after Master Grey’s death.

  “Emily,” Melissa whispered. She’d cast privacy wards, Emily realized. Her screaming might have disturbed the other girls, if Melissa hadn’t acted quickly. “What happened?”

  Emily fought to recall the nightmare, but it was already slipping from her mind into a blurred haze of strange images and sensations. She had been in the control room, hadn’t she? Had someone made her go there again? But Melissa wouldn’t have let her leave without a fight, surely? She tested the room gingerly, hunting for traces of magical residue, but sensed nothing. Nothing suggested that she’d stunned and frozen Melissa before sneaking out and down into the tunnel network.

  It will be guarded, she thought, as she stood. Her clothes felt unclean, stained with dust and sweat. There’s no way down into the tunnels.

  “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “I had a nightmare.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Melissa said, bluntly. “You’re not the only one to have problems.”

  She waved a hand towards Tiega, who shifted uncomfortably in her sleeping bag and Dulcet, who seemed ill at ease. Emily eyed the two girls for a long moment and then headed for the door. She needed to breathe. Melissa took a sharp breath as Emily opened the door, but made no move to stop her. Emily wasn’t sure if she realized Emily merely needed some space or if she suspected Emily would get in trouble, when she was caught outside the classroom. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she needed to be alone for a few minutes.

  Closing the door behind her, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. The air was cold, colder than she’d expected... the wards, naturally, ensured that the school stayed the same temperature all year round, regardless of the season. Now, the wards weren’t maintaining the temperature or cleaning the air. She shuddered as the implications struck her, again. They might just run out of air if they didn’t manage to transfigure carbon dioxide back into oxygen. She hoped, desperately, that Professor Lombardi could produce the right mix of oxygen and nitrogen to allow them to continue to breathe.

  “Emily,” Aloha said, from further down the corridor. “Is there a reason you’re out of the classroom?”

  Emily jumped. She hadn’t heard the Head Girl sneaking up on her. Sergeant Harkin would have bawled her out for not being better aware of her surroundings, particularly when the entire school was in danger. She dreaded to think what Lady Barb or Mistress Danielle would have said, if they’d caught her. Hell, Aloha was hardly likely to be polite about it.

  “I had a nightmare,” Emily admitted. She tried, again, to recollect the dream, but the last memories were gone. “I couldn’t sleep for long.”

  “A common problem,” Aloha said. “You’re not the only one with bad dreams.”

  Emily nodded, shortly. She wasn’t too surprised. The students of Whitehall seemed to be tougher than the students she recalled from Earth—they certainly were more willing to solve problems themselves, rather than go to a higher authority—but being trapped in a collapsing pocket dimension would give anyone nightmares. Maybe she hadn’t been the only student who’d woken, screaming.

  “Professor Locke was raging,” Aloha added. “He was down in his office, tearing through manuscripts and screaming in rage.”

  “He thinks all the credit for uncovering the secrets of the past will be stolen,” Emily said, shortly. She wondered if she should be more concerned about the priceless—and irreplaceable—documents stored in Professor Locke’s office. They might be useless when it came to unlocking the secrets, but they were unique. “And he blames me for stealing the books.”

  Aloha gave her a sharp look. “What books?”

  “Long story,” Emily said. She shook her head, slowly. She’d liked Professor Locke, right up until the moment he’d started to threaten her. He was growing increasingly unstable, driven by his obsession. And yet, she knew what it was like to lose something she wanted desperately. “He genuinely wanted to unlock those secrets.”

  “And if he hadn’t,” Aloha said curtly, “we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “Yeah,” Emily agreed.

  She scowled at the thought. Grandmaster Hasdrubal had known, she suspected, that meddling with the control systems would be disastrous. Or maybe his early life had conditioned him not to rock the boat too much. Either way, he’d preserved Whitehall... without ever leaving a note for his successor explaining what he’d done.

  And Gordian had authorized Professor Locke to explore the tunnels, starting the slow collapse of the entire school.

  “There are some basins and buckets of water in the next classroom,” Aloha told her, breaking into Emily’s thoughts. “Go wash your face and hands, then go back to bed. Mornings always come too soon.”

  Emily smiled. “Is it really morning,” she asked with tired humor, “if we can’t see the sun?”

  “The clocks still work,” Aloha said. She cleared her throat, loudly. “Go get yourself a wash, then sleep. You look terrible.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said, sourly. “I feel terrible too.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  MELISSA LET HER SLEEP UNTIL FIVE bells, Emily discovered when she woke for the second time, but she didn’t feel any better. She dragged herself awake and settled down to watch the students while Melissa took a quick nap. The entire room was drenched in silencing wards, ensuring that a student who had a nightmare wouldn’t be able to disturb anyone else. Even so, she still felt tired, thirsty and headachy when Madame Razz knocked at the door to wake the students. It was almost a relief to chivvy the younger girls into the Great Hall and collect a mug of Kava and a breakfast of porridge and fried sausages.

  “Emily,” Caleb said. He looked pale, but otherwise fine. “Are you all right?”

  “Bad dreams,” Emily admitted. She’d never told him abou
t her nightmares. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

  “A couple of young idiots tried to sneak out in the middle of the night,” Caleb told her. “I didn’t sleep very well either.”

  Emily winced, then caught Professor Lombardi’s eye. The tutor waved them both over, so Emily said her goodbyes to Melissa and led Caleb to Professor Lombardi. Two other charms tutors—Professors Jayne and Ronald—were standing nearby, carrying wands, staffs and a collection of manuscripts so ancient that the only things holding them together were a number of preservation spells. Emily wasn’t surprised when the manuscripts were passed to Caleb and her, freeing up the tutors to carry their tools. The only real surprise was a grim-faced Professor Locke walking in to join them before they could leave the hall.

  “It has been made clear to me,” Professor Locke said, “that I owe you an apology for my harsh words.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said. Part of her still hurt at the memory of his accusations, but there was no point in pushing the matter. “I accept your apology.”

  “Good,” Professor Lombardi said to everyone. “Now, follow me.”

  He led the way out of the hall and down towards the gates. Emily and Caleb found themselves bringing up the rear, Caleb eying Professor Locke’s back with an unfriendly gaze while Emily brooded. Who had told Professor Locke he should apologize? Sergeant Miles? Professor Lombardi? Or Gordian? The Grandmaster had to be having second or third thoughts about the whole project. But he had no choice, Emily knew. Unlocking the secrets of Whitehall was all that would keep them from ending up like Professor Rooihemp—or worse. They might all be crushed out of existence if the walls collapsed in on them.

  “I’ve been going through my papers,” Professor Locke said, as they reached the gates. The spells that had concealed them seemed to have vanished completely, leaving them easily visible to the naked eye. “There’s very little concerning the control room itself, but there are a number of vague hints that might be useful.”

  “We’ll go through them once we get down there,” Professor Lombardi said. He glanced back at Professor Locke, then at Emily. “None of you are to touch anything. I do not want to rearrange the interior of the school again.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  Caleb leaned forward. “Were our bedrooms ever located?”

  “They’re right at the top of the school,” Professor Ronald said. He turned to wink at Caleb, then smile at Emily. “You’ll have to climb all the way up to recover your trunks.”

  He smiled as he turned back to Professor Lombardi. Emily eyed him, thoughtfully. She had never seen him before starting Fifth Year, suggesting he was a new hire. He was a short man with jet-black hair, his face so free of blemishes that she suspected he used magic to alter his appearance. It was impossible to deduce his age, but he had to be in his early thirties at the very least. Come to think of it, he might well be considerably older. Whitehall’s staff was supposed to have at least a decade of experience before any of them started to teach.

  She pushed the thought out of her head as they walked through the gates and down the flight of stairs to the control room. The dust seemed to have been stirred up by something; it lay in rows, as if someone had tried to plough the dusty floors without sweeping up or otherwise removing the dust. She used a charm to cover her mouth, glancing into the library chamber as they passed. The books were indeed missing, but she couldn’t taste her magic in the air. It had already faded into the background.

  If it was there at all, she thought. She doubted either Sergeant Miles or Professor Lombardi would make such a mistake, but she knew she hadn’t been there. Caleb’s theory—that someone had faked her signature—might be right after all. But the nightmare worried her, all the more so because she couldn’t remember the details. Shadye had used a nightmare to warp her perceptions too. There’s no way to know for sure.

  Professor Lombardi led the way into the control room, then stopped. “Do not touch anything,” he repeated, sternly. A dull thrumming echoed through the room, forcing him to raise his voice. “I’ll have the hide of anyone who does.”

  Emily glanced around. The crystalline consoles definitely reminded her of a starship bridge, perhaps one of the alien ships from Babylon Five... or, perhaps, the starship Enterprise, if the bridge had been made out of crystal instead of touch-screens. She could see pieces of spellware drifting within the bigger crystals, each one dancing around with a multitude of others that seemed perfectly in harmony. It was almost like watching a coordinated dance; the dancers moved in harmony, as long as they all remembered their steps. Indeed, just watching the spellware was almost hypnotic.

  “We will start by copying the spellware,” Professor Lombardi informed them. “You all know how to analyze a piece of spellwork, so we’ll merely follow the same procedure.”

  He motioned for Emily and Caleb to put the manuscripts down against the wall, and then passed out large sheets of paper. Professors Jayne and Ronald started work at once, sketching detailed spell diagrams that were both vastly more complex—and yet more simplistic—than anything Emily had seen before, save for the Mimic. Indeed, she suspected the Mimic was far more complex. Perhaps it had been created later, by the same person who’d created Whitehall...

  If Lord Whitehall created the Mimics, she thought, as she started to draw her own diagram, what does that say about him?

  “This piece of spellwork is simple, but it interacts with four more,” Professor Jayne said, thoughtfully. She was easily the oldest magician—at least in appearance—that Emily had met, her body withered and her hair as white as snow. Emily had no idea why she hadn’t used spells to regain her lost youth, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. “I think that tampering with one piece of spellware will create a domino effect that will damage several more.”

  “And they’re so small,” Professor Ronald added. “How do they even work?”

  Professor Lombardi glanced at Emily. “Care to offer a suggestion?”

  Emily swallowed. Between them, the three charms tutors could have well over two centuries of experience. They’d forgotten more than she’d ever learned. The thought of lecturing them on anything was terrifying. But she’d done more practical work on such spells than anyone else, save the creator of the Mimics...

  “It’s like a house,” she said, looking up from her diagram. “Each brick relies on the bricks above and below it, sharing the weight. Here, a number of very small spells work together to produce an effect that might be produced with a single larger spell, but with much less flexibility.”

  She looked back down, feeling oddly nervous. As far as she knew, she and Gordian were the only living people who’d actually held control of Whitehall’s wards, working through the user interface in the nexus chamber above them. The system had been astonishingly flexible, flexible enough to allow her to craft a pocket dimension within Whitehall, without risking the destruction of the entire school. And yet, Master Tor had been utterly horrified when she’d started to experiment with pocket dimensions herself. The wards had to be capable of adjusting themselves to handle a new pocket dimension, provided the dimension was attached to the wards.

  But I used the control interface, she thought. The wards must have thought I had authority to do whatever I liked.

  Caleb winked at her as he passed her his paper, covered with spell diagrams and notations outlining how the different components might go together. Emily took it and compared his work to the spellwork bobbling within the crystalline structures while he checked hers, then passed them both to Professor Lombardi. The professor checked their work, then carefully added the notations to his own growing diagram of the spell network. It was far more complex than Emily had realized.

  “We’ll need to set up a workplace in the next room,” Professor Lombardi said. “This is going to take a great deal of work to unravel.”

  Emily couldn’t disagree with him. The complexity in front of her nagged at her mind, reminding her of the time she’d been forced to code in b
asic HTML at school. One of the cheerleaders had tried to cheat by using a WYSIWYG editor, which had added plenty of extra HTML to her work and probably fooled her tutor for no more than a second, if that. It was hard to escape the feeling that much of the complexity was superfluous, but she knew better than to take it for granted. The more she looked at it, the more complex it seemed...

  “This should be impossible,” Professor Ronald grumbled. “They’re too small.”

  Emily looked at him. “Are they?”

  Professor Lombardi looked up from his work. “Explain.”

  “You can craft a pocket dimension large enough to store everything you could possibly want, then carry it around with you easily,” Emily reminded him. “You could live in a trunk, if you were willing to take the risk of accidentally destabilizing the dimension. Like...”

  She broke off. Whitehall operated on the same principle... and now Whitehall had been destabilized. They might well never make it home, even if the dimension didn’t collapse completely. They’d run out of food, or drink, or breathable air... something would get them, even if they managed to cope with all the immediate problems. Hell, for all she knew, they might even start running out of magic. There was no ambient magic in the pocket dimension for the school to tap as a backup power source.

  “Continue,” Professor Lombardi ordered.

  “The crystals are larger on the inside, like Whitehall itself,” Emily said. She pointed at the nearest crystal. “All the small spells you see are actually huge, as big as they need to be, but they look small because they’re wrapped in a pocket dimension.”