But I wouldn’t have acted like that, she told herself. Would I?
She reached for an argument, then stopped herself. Gordian wouldn’t be impressed by all the times she’d followed his orders, even before she’d known she was one of the founders. He’d believe she could bide her time, at least for a while. No one would throw away such a magnificent advantage just to get out of being caned. It was why Fulvia had reasoned that Emily wouldn’t offer Heart’s Eye to Master Highland.
And I have to keep my side of the bargain, Emily thought, ruefully. If he’d voted the other way, or simply abstained, Frieda would be dead by now. Or I’d be a prisoner.
She cleared her throat, coming to a resolution. “I will leave Whitehall. My father” - the word sounded odd to her ears - “has offered me an unconditional apprenticeship and I intend to accept. I will not tell anyone about my link to the wards, leaving your position intact. And I will not return to the school unless the situation is truly urgent.”
Gordian lifted his eyebrows. “And in exchange, you want ... what?”
“You will ensure that Frieda gets the best possible treatment so she recovers as quickly as possible, then whatever tutoring she needs to ensure she can continue her studies,” Emily said. Gordian had already offered that, but it wouldn’t hurt if he saw it as his side of a bargain. “If Melissa returns to the school, you will turn a blind eye to her departure and, again, ensure she has whatever tutoring she needs to continue her studies. And you will ... advise ... Jacqui to find somewhere else to finish her education.”
Gordian’s lips quirked. “You do recall she’s an Ashworth client? Melissa owns her now.”
“Ouch,” Emily said. That was going to be awkward. But it wasn’t her problem. Jacqui could formally renounce her patron, if she wished. Fulvia would make an excellent scapegoat, if only because she was dead. And Melissa had other things to worry about. “My point stands, Grandmaster. Jacqui should not return to classes, not after alienating the entire school.”
“True,” Gordian agreed. “I expected better from her.”
Emily shrugged. “In the event of anyone questioning my qualifications, you will ensure that they know I was offered an unconditional apprenticeship,” she concluded. “That should make up for not taking or passing the final exams. And if I want to take the exams at some later date, you will ensure that I have the chance.”
“You could take them now,” Gordian said. “There are provisions for students who wish to graduate early.”
“I think you’d be happier if I was away from Whitehall,” Emily said. And so would she, she thought. It hurt less than she’d expected. She leaned back in her chair. “I’ll get a good night’s sleep, then say goodbye and depart tomorrow. Will that be suitable?”
“I was wrong about you,” Gordian said. “And I apologize.”
Emily nodded, curtly. She wasn’t sure she was wrong about him. Gordian had handled the inquest reasonably well, under the circumstances, but he’d done his level best to ensure there wouldn’t be an inquest. She understood his concerns - whatever happened, he might lose everything - yet she wasn’t inclined to forgive him. Frieda wouldn’t have survived a week if Gordian had managed to cut her loose before Fulvia swooped for the kill.
“‘You are neither hot nor cold, but lukewarm,’” she quoted. She didn’t finish the quote, even though it was apt. “You assumed a responsibility to your students. And you were prepared to abandon that responsibility because it could have cost you everything.”
Gordian’s eyes flashed, but his voice was calm. “I acknowledge your criticism,” he said, evenly. “Given the state of politics, it is perhaps inevitable that one must pick one’s battles carefully.”
“Some battles have to be fought,” Emily said.
“And winning a battle could cost you the war,” Gordian countered. “There would have been a price to pay, Lady Emily, if I’d rejected Fulvia’s claim. And I might not have been able to pay it.”
He paused. “I thank you for your service,” he added. “And I hope you find success.”
A long way from Whitehall, Emily finished. That sounds about right, doesn’t it?
She rose and dropped a curtsey. “I’ll leave tomorrow, after breakfast. And thank you.”
Jade was waiting outside the office, looking frantic. Emily stared at him in surprise as he caught her arm and pulled her into the corridor, then down into an empty classroom. She’d thought he’d been planning to go straight back home, without waiting long enough to say goodbye. She didn’t blame him, not really. If Alassa truly was pregnant - this time - Jade wouldn’t want to stay away for long.
“Emily,” Jade said. He sounded frantic too. “I just received word from ... ah, I just received word from one of my sources in Zangaria. Alassa has been arrested!”
Emily blinked. “Arrested? Who by?”
“Her father,” Jade said. He sounded as though he was on the verge of panic. “Emily ... all hell’s broken loose! The kingdom is on the verge of civil war.”
Emily didn’t hesitate. Alassa was her friend. She wasn’t going to leave Alassa in prison, even if it meant going back to Zangaria. She owed Alassa and Jade too much to stay on the sidelines. And if King Randor tried to stop her, she’d make him regret it.
“Then we’ll go break her out,” she said. She held out a hand. “Let’s go.”
End of the Second Arc
Emily Will Return In
The Princess in The Tower
Coming Soon
Afterword
And so we come to the end of Emily’s time at Whitehall.
One of the problems facing the average ‘boarding school’ series is that most of its stories are told within the school and attempts to move outside the school - by depicting the characters’ holidays, for example - don’t always work very well. The school itself is part of the attraction, although - as someone who has actually been to boarding school - I can safely say that I don’t see any attraction. Hogwarts is more true-to-life than the sickly-sweet Malory Towers. Being in a community is part of the “fun.” And trying to escape the strictures of the traditional framework can bring down an entire series.
I was determined to make sure that the Schooled in Magic universe extended beyond Whitehall, right from the start. There’s a whole world for Emily to explore, an endless series of possible changes propelled by ideas she introduced from Earth. And so half of the books have been set away from Whitehall School. (Past Tense might or might not count, given that the past school is very different from its future self.) The stories are about Emily and her impact on the world, rather than about a particular school (Malory Towers) or about an ongoing conflict (Harry Potter).
I have to admit that I went backwards and forwards on the issue of even giving her a sixth and final year. On one hand, I wanted to explore some aspects of the school now that Emily is in her final year and, as such, a figure of authority. On the other hand, she is well beyond most of her peers in raw ability - she is so freaked out by what happened to Jacqui because it never quite occurred to her that she was vastly stronger than the other girl - and doesn’t gain that much from a final year in school. And yet, on the gripping hand, it provides room for both a very different challenge - and a fight that takes place on a battleground designed to negate her advantages.
Emily did not graduate in the traditional sense - she didn’t sit her final exams, receive her certificate and leave the school with her head held high. But she did graduate in another, more important sense; she realized, deep inside, that she no longer needed the school. One may argue that Emily’s growth as a character has slowed. But that is only true, at least in part, because Emily is still bound by the strictures of boarding school. The greater part of her future growth will come outside Whitehall ...
And Emily has many more adventures to come.
Christopher G. Nuttall
Edinburgh, 2017
Appendix: Trials and Justice in the Nameless World
It is importan
t to bear in mind that the legal system in the Nameless World bears very little resemblance to either the British or American system, even though there are a few superficial similarities (because legal traditions in both worlds flow from similar sources.) The existence of a Prosecutor and a Defender, for example, can lure people into believing that trials are very similar to the earthly concept, where the side with the preponderance of evidence on its side wins. That is simply not true.
In Britain and America, the state has reserved to itself the power to administer justice and punish suspects. There is, in effect, an implicit deal between citizens and the courts: the former will renounce the right to seek personal revenge, while the latter will provide the force to keep the guilty in check, the jury to pass judgement and the jails to keep the guilty imprisoned. On one hand, this works because the level of force available to the state is vastly superior to any individual criminal; on the other, this works because the accused is given a fair trial, conducted by people who have no personal involvement in the case. Once a decision is made, it can be enforced. The state’s overwhelming predominance makes that relatively easy.
That is not true of the Nameless World. The level of power available to its denizens fluctuates wildly, from powerless commoners (who can be killed, raped or enslaved at will) to extremely powerful sorcerers who are effectively entire militaries in their own right and noblemen who possess private armies of their own. King Randor, for example, may possess the greatest military force in Zangaria, but he doesn’t have the only one. If he was to strike at one of his barons without very good cause, the other barons will band together against the king.
Making matters more complicated, the Nameless World is practically governed by ties of feudal obligation and patron-client relationships. These ties go in both directions: a client is expected to support his patron (by advancing his interests or fighting for him), but the patron is also expected to support the client. Indeed, a patron who cannot support the client - or appears unwilling to support the client - is one who will rapidly lose clients as they look elsewhere for protection. This tends to force patrons to support clients even though they know the client is guilty as sin (and they’re thoroughly displeased about the whole matter). They simply cannot afford to look weak.
Fulvia, for example, sits at the center of a complex web of patron-client relationships that are the true source of her power. Her close family - like Melissa - are obviously part of it, but there are many more who have far weaker connections to House Ashworth. Celadon’s family is actually a subset of House Ashworth, which makes his parents both part of Fulvia’s network and patrons in their own right. The relationship also means that the person in the center of the web - Fulvia - has the right and duty to punish offenses against the family. She could not simply turn a blind eye to Frieda attacking Celadon, regardless of her personal feelings. House Ashworth’s relationship with House Sunrise would not survive.
Melissa was disowned, at least in part, because she chose to abandon her responsibilities to House Ashworth; Fulvia lost power, at least for a while, because she pushed Melissa into a position where she either had to surrender completely - not a good precedent for Fulvia’s probable successor - or walk away from her obligations. Fulvia’s return to power happened, at least in part, because she was able to manipulate her personal connections to get back behind the wheel.
King Randor has a patronage network of his own, one composed of junior noblemen (Nightingale) and titled commoners (Paren, Imaiqah). Nightingale, for example, is utterly dependent on the king, as everyone else - including the Crown Princess - hates his guts. This makes it impossible for him to betray Randor, while making Nightingale a convenient scapegoat if things really get out of hand. (Historically, Thomas Cromwell served Henry VIII in a similar manner.) Randor would have no hesitation in throwing Nightingale to the wolves if it became necessary and everyone knows it.
Indeed, this is true throughout the nameless world. The City Councillors of Beneficence are small men, by the standards of King Randor or Fulvia, but they have patronage networks of their own that spread throughout the city. Smaller networks exist everywhere, even in peasant villages. A son in a village is the client of his father, for example; a wife is the client of her husband. Those who stand outside the patronage networks (however defined) do not have an easy time of it. No one will protest if they are killed.
Lone Powers are, in some ways, the sole exception. They are powerful enough to defend themselves against any reasonable threat, but - at the same time - they are not all-powerful and can be brought down by a combination of other sorcerers. Void lacks the skill to build a patronage network of his own (as they are based on mutual self-interest), which actually leaves him with relatively few clients. Emily is technically considered to be his client - as everyone assumes she’s his biological daughter - but this imposes other limitations on their relationship. Void cannot solve everything for her without weakening her position as an individual.
What makes this social system so dangerous (and unstable) is the intersection of three different factors. First, the different patronage networks believe that they have a right to seek and administer justice on behalf of their clients. (And also that they, not outsiders, have the right to punish their clients.) Second, the patrons can (and sometimes do) resort to force if judgement goes against them. (A somewhat warped version of ‘democracy is two wolves and a sheep voting on what to have for dinner, liberty is a well-armed sheep contesting the vote.’) Third, and perhaps the most important, the tangled web of networks and obligations can and does force clients to decide which of their patrons to support. A junior noblemen in Zangaria, for example, might owe homage to both his baron and the king ... ensuring that siding with one will earn the enmity of the other. Politics, therefore, resembles something of a minefield ... where there is no way to tell which of the mines is actually dangerous until you step on it. People are often afraid to scratch their nose for fear that someone else will take it as a sign to start something violent.
Indeed, relationships between the different patronage networks often look like international relationships on modern-day Earth. If Saudi Arabia was to ask Britain to arrest and extradite a known terrorist, the British Government would hesitate. On one hand, the government doesn’t have any reason to want to keep the terrorist; on the other hand, the government does have an obligation to its citizens and - more importantly - doesn’t want to look like it’s doing a foreign power’s bidding. This obviously gets more complicated if the person the Saudis want is not doing anything against British law - criticizing the Saudi Royal Family, for example - or certain to be executed if he’s handed over. The British Government needs a viable excuse to hand him over or it will run the risk of political backlash.
When Frieda attacked Marian and Celadon, she created a situation where their patrons could demand that she be handed over to them for justice. This created a political nightmare for Gordian, who might not care for Frieda but couldn’t afford to appear weak. (His attempt to expel Frieda would have removed her from his jurisdiction before anyone got around to filing demands for her surrender, thus washing his hands of the problem.) Gordian hoped that the respective patrons would agree to allow Whitehall to handle it (as it was handled when Emily nearly killed Alassa, back in Schooled in Magic) but he knew better than to expect it. Frieda had stepped well over the line.
Gordian was, in fact, caught in a bind. There was nothing he could do that wouldn’t have earned him odium from someone. His solution was to organize an inquest, with nine outside jurors, and publicly pledge that Whitehall would abide by the inquest’s decision. (Somewhat akin to monarchs used to appeal to the Pope.) This ensured that Fulvia would either accept the inquest herself, as most outside observers would consider it a reasonable suggestion, or withdraw her demand. Either way, Gordian would have handled things reasonably well.
The purpose of the inquest - a trial, in all but name - is not primarily about proving Frieda’s guilt or innocence. Rat
her, it is about providing a figleaf of justification for:
-Frieda’s patron (Emily) to abandon her.
-Frieda’s custodian (Whitehall) to hand her over to Fulvia.
-Frieda’s accuser (Fulvia) to back down without weakening her reputation as a dependable patron.
In one sense, Frieda’s guilt or innocence doesn’t matter. Upholding the rights and responsibilities of a patron is far more important. There must be an extremely good justification for Whitehall to allow Fulvia to take Frieda or for Fulvia to back down. This requires both sides to conduct a creditable narrative that the jurors can pretend to accept, thus providing political cover for the losing side.
Very few people genuinely expect “justice” - in some abstract sense - to be done. They expect something that will prevent a more serious conflict between two different patronage networks. No one would be surprised to discover that Fulvia (and Emily) were making deals with the jurors behind the scenes. (Indeed, what happens behind the scenes is often more important than the inquest itself.) Nor will they object if one side has a weaker case, but wins anyway.
If Frieda is found guilty, Emily can withdraw her patronage and Whitehall its protection ... and no one will blame them for it. If Frieda is declared innocent, everyone will agree that Fulvia has done her duty as a patron, even if she failed to convince the jury. There will not, in the eyes of the watching audience, be a significant defeat for either side.
The true purpose of the inquest is to defuse a potential clash that could lead to a far wider war, potentially dragging in everyone else. Everything else is window dressing.
About the author
Christopher G. Nuttall was born in Edinburgh, studied in Manchester, married in Malaysia and currently living in Scotland, United Kingdom with his wife and baby son. He is the author of twenty-six novels from various publishers and over fifty self-published novels.
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