Infinite Regress

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  A strong hand rested, very briefly, on her shoulder. “Take as long as you need to compose yourself,” Gordian said, gently. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

  Emily opened her eyes, just in time to see Gordian pick up the crystal and carry it out of the spellchamber. Frieda stared at her, tears running down her pale cheeks. Emily reached for her and pulled the younger girl into a tight hug, tears brimming at the corner of her eyes as Frieda hugged her back. It felt like hours before she could bring herself to let go and, when she did, her gown was sodden with tears.

  “You’re a better person than me,” Frieda said. She reached out and clasped Emily’s arms, very lightly. “I couldn’t have done that, not in a million years.”

  Emily nodded, wiping her eyes. If she hadn’t been so desperate to know if she’d been influenced—or not—she wouldn’t have done it herself. Gordian might have gleaned something from her mind, even if he hadn’t looked directly into her soul. Frieda would have seen hundreds of images from her memory, including dozens from Earth. Who knew what she’d make of them?

  “We’d better dress,” Frieda said. She seemed to have composed herself completely, but then she hadn’t been the one having her mind and soul examined. “And then wipe our tears away.”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. “Thank you.”

  “You saved my life—and more,” Frieda said. She stood, moving very gingerly. “It was the least I could do.”

  Emily rose too, feeling her legs threatening to buckle under her. She wasn’t physically tired, but mentally tired. It was hard to force her fingers to cooperate long enough to remove the gown, then don her undergarments. She found herself seriously considering just wearing the robe and going commando—no one else would know—but she’d feel odd if she did. Frieda seemed to be having problems dressing too.

  “I don’t know everything you saw,” Emily said, as she smoothed the robe down and tested her magic reserves. She’d done almost nothing, but she still felt drained. “If there’s something there you didn’t understand...”

  “I saw... things,” Frieda said. “Is that where you came from?”

  “I think so,” Emily said. Alassa had seen cars and airplanes in Emily’s memories, back when they’d touched minds. She’d thought they were dragons. “We can talk about it later, if you like.”

  “Your stepfather was as bad as my father,” Frieda added, after a moment. “But at least he didn’t beat you.”

  I could have taken bruises to the police, Emily thought numbly. And that would have seen him thrown into jail.

  She shook her head. Her stepfather had been far worse than Frieda’s father. He’d grown up in the Cairngorms, where a daughter was always less useful than a son. Frieda would have left the farm as soon as she married—or was sold to a traveling slaver—if she hadn’t been discovered by a wandering magician, depriving her father of any return from the support he’d given her. It was cold and heartless, an attitude that disgusted her, but the dictates of survival in the Cairngorms mandated it. An extra mouth to feed could make the difference between life and death for the whole family.

  But my stepfather had no such excuse, she told herself. I was just in his way.

  She took a breath, and walked out the door. Gordian, as promised, stood outside, flanked by Master Tor and Sergeant Miles. The former looked relieved, while the latter flashed her a brilliant smile that warmed her heart. And Gordian himself looked surprisingly pleased with her. In some ways, she realized, she’d actually won a shred of respect.

  “You’re clean,” Gordian said, without preamble. “We still have no explanation for your magical signature being found there, but we now know you neither took the books willingly nor were forced into taking the books. I thank you for your cooperation.”

  Emily nodded, feeling too tired to speak.

  “Professor Lombardi assures me that he is within days of finding ways to manipulate the spellware in the control room,” Gordian continued. “As large parts of the castle seem reasonably safe right now, I have decided that we will attempt to return to normal—or what passes for it, given where we are.”

  “Normal?” Frieda repeated. “Grandmaster...?”

  “The only other option is keeping the student body penned up for the next couple of weeks,” Gordian told her, patiently. “There have already been a few nasty incidents. They’ll be killing each other in the next couple of days.”

  Emily nodded. It sounded absurd, but she had to admit that Gordian had a point. Classes had been cancelled when the Mimic had been on the loose, leaving students at loose ends, snapping and sniping at one another. Trying to re-establish some semblance of normality might just keep students from going mad with cabin fever.

  “Go get some rest,” Gordian added. “Your bedrooms have been located, so Master Tor will show you to them. I’ll have food sent to you later. You can both resume classes—save for charms, I believe—tomorrow.”

  “But if you’re not feeling up to it, stay in bed,” Master Tor added. “You’ve both been through a very rough time.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said.

  “No, thank you,” Gordian said. He turned, then looked back at her. “There are very few students who would willingly do what you just did.”

  And that, Emily knew, was all too true.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  IF GORDIAN HAD GENUINELY BELIEVED THAT things would return to normal, Emily decided over the next few days, he’d been wrong. A number of classes ran, as planned, but many of the students walked to and from the classrooms in fear. The corridors seemed relatively stable, yet some of them stretched into apparent infinity and others into directions that no human mind could comprehend. Emily found herself and her classmates recruited for several more mapping missions, in-between classes of their own. She’d tried to argue that she should dedicate all of her time to assisting Professor Lombardi and his team, but Gordian had reminded her that she had other responsibilities. She needed to spend time with her charges.

  But even that wasn’t easy. Tiega had received two new notes over the last four days, after a brief pause when the students had been forced to sleep in the Great Hall. Emily had checked and rechecked the ward she’d concealed within Tiega’s room, but she’d been forced to admit that it hadn’t been tripped—or subverted. It made her wonder if either of Tiega’s roommates had managed to fox the truth spell, although that should have been impossible for such inexperienced magicians. Had one of them been given similar protections as Emily herself?

  They would be obvious, she thought grimly, as she contemplated the latest notes. Once again, there was no trace of either fingerprints or a magical signature. Just using a truth spell on someone with such protections would be visible.

  She cursed the letter-writer under her breath as she rose to her feet. Her charges seemed to be coming apart at the seams, the pressures of being trapped in the castle slowly driving them insane. They couldn’t play Ken or anything else that would burn off a great deal of energy, save for running around like lunatics. And that had been forbidden, save for a handful of corridors that had been checked and declared safe. It wasn’t enough. Adana and Julia had been severely punished for hexing two other students in the middle of class, while Tiega had been kicked out of history for punching Lillian hard enough to break her nose and nearly breaking Jasmine’s leg. Emily, all too aware of the frustrations building up inside the younger girl, had read her the riot act. Tiega was right on the brink of being expelled.

  “It’s time for Alchemy,” Cabiria reminded her, rising from her bed. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. She had to set a good example for the younger girls, even though it was running her ragged. Classes—the few that were still running—in the morning, followed by endless work on the ancient spellware in the afternoon and working with her charges in the evening. “How are you coping with your charges?”

  “Master Tor made me write out a thousand lines yesterday,” Cabiria said. “I gave one of the little bra
ts lines to write, and she had the nerve to complain that her wrist was aching.”

  “It probably was,” Emily said. She’d had to write lines once, a punishment from a professor for forgetting the difference between two potions ingredients; one which would complete the potion and one which would turn the mixture into a deadly poison. “A thousand lines is nothing to laugh at.”

  Cabiria shrugged. “Neither is hexing one’s friends into a stupor because their snoring is too loud,” she said, picking up her bag. “Let’s go.”

  Emily followed her out of the door and towards the alchemy classrooms. Professor Thande and his subordinates had spent the last couple of days cleaning up the mess left behind by hundreds of broken or spilled containers and making the rooms safe for students once again, but the classroom remained messy. Several workbenches had been removed, but not replaced. It looked as though they’d have to team up or share a number of workspaces. Emily couldn’t help thinking that would be a pain.

  She nodded to Cabiria, then headed over to join Caleb, standing behind one of the workbenches. He looked tired, his eyes haunted; she knew she probably didn’t look any better. The long hot showers she usually took were gone, replaced by brief washes that didn’t leave her feeling any cleaner. Water had to be rationed, she knew, but it still bothered her. And it made her wonder just where the water had come from, originally. If Whitehall had been built on top of a spring, which was quite likely, was it still there?

  “Hey,” Caleb said, quietly. “Did you sleep well?”

  Emily shook her head. She’d hoped to spend more time with him, outside working on the ancient spellware, but one or more of her responsibilities consumed almost all of her time. Gordian had been wrong, she suspected. She was spending more and more time with her charges and she had a feeling that was true of most of the other mentoring students too. But then, they were trapped in a pocket dimension. The younger students needed extra support.

  Caleb touched her arm, gently. “We’ll get out of this, somehow,” he said. “The spellware is finally starting to make sense.”

  “Maybe,” Emily muttered back. “But every time I think I have a handle on it, something changes.”

  She rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache throbbing under the skin. She was sure she could follow the logic of the original magician, but there were so many idiosyncrasies within the spellware that she was starting to think there had been more than one magician. It definitely behaved like a computer program, one created by several different programmers. Not for the first time, she wished she’d paid more attention in computing lessons at school. A nerd who’d studied computing would probably be able to use magic to make himself all-powerful.

  Or at least make himself unbeatable, she added, mentally. He’d know far more about the underlying logic than me...

  She looked up as Professor Thande strode into the classroom, wearing a shirt and trousers instead of his normal lab robe. As always, he reminded her of the Tenth Doctor, right down to the oddly maniacal smile and slight hints of insanity. But then, most alchemists were reputed to be slightly odd. The really intelligent and dangerous ones were told to take themselves off to isolated parts of the globe and do their experiments there, well away from innocent bystanders.

  “Greetings,” Professor Thande said. “There is a problem, as you may have sensed, with the protective wards in this classroom. They don’t work. It is a gross inconvenience.”

  Emily sucked in her breath. Alchemy was dangerous enough with the protective wards, ready to warn of lethal combinations or redirect the force of an explosion. Without the wards... she didn’t think she wanted to brew anything. But she doubted she’d have a choice.

  “There is a secondary problem with a number of alchemical supplies,” Professor Thande continued, without giving them time to react. “The protective spells that should have kept them frozen until they were needed have failed. Decay has already set in. Therefore, I have decided to spend this class harvesting what can be salvaged from the supplies rather than brewing alchemical potions. Boring, I know, but necessary.”

  He paused. “Those of you who intend to follow alchemical careers will probably find it useful practical experience,” he added. “Follow me.”

  Emily allowed Caleb to lead her towards a door that had just opened up in the side of the wall, leading directly into one of the storage chambers. The air smelled of earth and rotting vegetables, making her want to gag as she forced herself to keep breathing. Hundreds of harvested plants lay on the tables, dozens of tools placed next to them. Professor Thande paired them up—Emily was relieved to be staying with Caleb—and jabbed his fingers at the tables, splitting up the class. Their table was covered with roots that looked, very much, like green baby carrots. A small textbook—A Guide to Plants of Alchemical Value—sat next to them.

  Professor Thande cleared his throat. “How many of you have harvested your own supplies before?”

  Four students, including Cabiria, Melissa and Caleb, put up their hands. The others, including Emily, did nothing. Emily glanced at Caleb in surprise, then frowned as Professor Thande split up Cabiria and Melissa, ensuring that two experienced students were paired with two inexperienced students. She honestly wasn’t sure if she was experienced or not. She’d never harvested plants or suchlike for alchemy, but she had foraged for supplies during martial magic. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

  “Do nothing until I speak to you individually,” Professor Thande ordered. He cleared his throat, loudly enough to silence two chatterboxes at the rear of the room. “Those of you who are content to purchase your supplies from an apothecary know, of course, that their supplies are often checked and rechecked before they’re bagged and sealed. Apothecaries know better than to risk supplying their buyers with something they haven’t checked carefully. It tends to lead to angry magicians blasting down their doors and demanding recompense.”

  He smiled, then went on. “Here, you will be doing the preliminary harvesting yourself,” he added. “I will be giving each of you precise instructions for handling and preparing your supplies, then checking them afterwards. Those of you who offer me more than five flawed or otherwise imperfect ingredients will be cleaning caldrons for an hour after class. Always err on the side of caution. Cleaning caldrons is unpleasant and messy work, but trying to use poorly-prepared ingredients can be lethal.”

  “That means we can put them out if we’re the slightest bit unsure,” Caleb muttered to Emily.

  “Quite right,” Professor Thande said. The class tittered. “It is much better to throw away a perfect ingredient than try to use an imperfect one.”

  He marched from table to table, demonstrating the correct way to harvest useful ingredients from the roots. When he came to Emily’s table, he forced Caleb to show Emily how to isolate the useful part of the root—the seeds within the vegetable—and then check them for impurities. Caleb pulled seven seeds from the root as Emily watched, but four of them had to be discarded into the bin. They washed the remainder carefully, then bagged and placed them at the far end of the desk.

  “I’ll be checking your work afterwards,” Professor Thande warned. “Carry on.”

  It was surprisingly difficult, Emily discovered, to cut into the roots without damaging the seeds—and even a simple cut could render the seed useless. Or worse than useless, as Caleb explained. A seed that leaked into the potion would trigger an explosion, if they were lucky, or poison the brew. It was much safer to throw out a seed if there was the slightest flicker of doubt about its validity.

  She elbowed Caleb after cutting open the third root, only to discover that all of the seeds were rotten. “How do you know how to do this?”

  “Mother would take us all harvesting,” Caleb explained. “We’d leave the city and stay in an inn, near the forest. The people there plant all sorts of alchemically-useful seeds and then sell access to magicians. She made a game of it, rewarding the one who brought the most useful ingredients back to her. I used to love it.
”

  Emily had to smile. “At least she was trying to teach you something useful...”

  “She thought that depending on the apothecaries was asking for trouble,” Caleb said. He shrugged. “But it’s never easy to get fresh supplies in Beneficence. Unless you want something harvested from a fish.”

  “Yuck,” Emily said.

  She shuddered at the thought. She had killed and cut open small creatures for alchemical supplies, a gruesome process only made unpleasant by Professor Thande’s insistence that some supplies had to be harvested while the creature remained alive. Touching a live crab was hard enough, but dissecting it while it struggled under her fingers was worse.

  “It isn’t that bad,” Caleb said. “You get to eat what’s left of the fish afterwards.”

  Emily grimaced as she cut into the next root, then removed all five of the seeds and inspected them. Four should be usable, she decided, so she cleaned and bagged them up before dumping the fifth seed and the remains of the root into the bin. Caleb was already dissecting his seventh root, moving with a practiced skill she could only admire. His hands no longer shook. She smiled to herself, knowing better than to call attention to it. He might lose his concentration if she did.

  “Very good,” Professor Thande said, once the last of the roots had been seeded. “I will inspect your work now, then we’ll move on to the next set of ingredients.”

  He moved from table to table, eying the bags with a sceptical eye. Emily braced herself as he told Pandora and Cirroc that they would be cleaning caldrons after class, but he merely picked out three unsuitable seeds from their bags. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief as Professor Thande checked Melissa’s work, then headed back to the front of the classroom. For once, he wasn’t smiling.

  “Four of you are going to be cleaning caldrons,” he said. “But all of you, save Melissa and Johan, had at least one bad seed in your bags. What would have happened, I ask you, if that seed had been allowed to pass inspection?”