She nudged Brier as her eyes wandered over the girls she’d met. “Who are they?”
Brier shrugged. “Dionne, Bernadette and Hannalore, the uncrowned queens of the fifth,” she said. “All from magical families of long standing, all wealthy and powerful beyond measure... at least as far as the remainder of the students are concerned. They’re far from stupid, but they tend to bring out the worst in each other. They’d be better off if they were split up, if you ask me. No one ever did.”
Emily nodded. “I know the type.”
She looked up as the remainder of the teachers entered the hall. The junior teachers looked only a year or two older than the students, glancing at her with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Emily made a mental note to get to know them later, if she had a chance. It was quite likely they’d already formed friendships, like the students they’d been only a few short years ago. She hoped they’d be mature enough to accept newcomers. It was easy to believe they hadn’t matured quite that far...
Damia sat next to her. “Emily,” she said. “I trust you slept well?”
“Well enough,” Emily said. She couldn’t remember any dreams, which was a good thing. She’d had too many nightmares since Rangka had snapped her neck... she shivered, helplessly. The memories kept flaring up and flashing in front of her eyes. “I’m ready for the day.”
“No one is ever ready,” Damia said, caustically. She raised an eyebrow as she spoke. “We’ll be taking the fifth years after breakfast, then two more classes after lunch. I’ve had to reorganize the schedules to ensure your first classes are not unsupervised, at least until I’m sure you can handle them. Did you reread the lesson plans?”
“Yes,” Emily said, with a flicker of irritation. “You saw me going over the lesson plans last night.”
“You may find yourself covering material that was already covered,” Damia said, as if Emily hadn’t spoken. “Don’t worry about it. Better to cover it twice than not cover it at all. You’ll have enough time to cover everything before the exams. Hopefully, you’ll be able to handle the classes long enough for me to start training up another replacement. You’re not planning to spend the rest of your life here.”
“No,” Emily said. “I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
“I’m currently looking for possible candidates,” Damia said. “Lady Barb would have been ideal, if she’d been able to stay with us. The majority of the other possibilities are too inexperienced or too set in their ways. They’re not capable of teaching here without supervision.”
“And the candidates have to be female,” Emily mused. “You couldn’t offer the job to a male candidate.”
“Men are rarely permitted within these walls,” Damia said, as if she hadn’t told Emily the same point time and time again. “A male teacher will distract the girls.”
Emily nodded slowly, although she wasn’t convinced that was true. She’d certainly never heard of any girls getting crushes on their tutors, male or female alike. None of the tutors at Whitehall had ever struck her as particularly attractive. And yet...
Her heart sank. She’d wondered why Lady Barb - and herself - were the prime candidates. It hadn’t made much sense, not at first. But... there weren’t that many combat sorceresses in the Allied Lands, certainly not ones who’d taught at other schools. The younger ones would have a shortage of experience and the older ones would be too stubborn to change their style to match the school’s needs. Damia hadn’t said so outright, but the list of candidates had to be very short. Emily couldn’t think of many women who both fit the criteria and might be willing to teach at Laughter. Aloha was the only one who came to mind and she was too busy with her apprenticeship.
Damia glanced at the huge wall-mounted clock. “Report to the Defense Classroom in twenty minutes,” she said. “You have to be there when the students arrive.”
Emily nodded. “I’ll go freshen up first,” she said, standing. “And I’ll see you there.”
Brier followed her as she left the dining hall. “Lady Damia is a traditionalist of the worst possible kind,” she commented. “I sometimes wonder how she managed to embrace such a radical notion as witches.”
“She doesn’t want things to change,” Emily said. “Why not?”
“She was a foundling, from what I heard,” Brier said. “Raised in the school, more or less. I don’t think she left for more than a year or two before she returned to serve as a junior teacher. She’s been teaching here longer than I’ve been alive. Everyone knows she’ll be headmistress, when the Old Woman leaves her post. There’s no doubt of it in her mind.”
“I see,” Emily said. “Which way to the washroom?”
“This way,” Brier said, leading her down the corridor. “The wards are designed to mislead students who rely on them too much. It’s supposed to be good for their character.”
“I’ve heard that argument before,” Emily said, as they found a washroom. “I’ve never believed it.”
“Me neither,” Brier said. “The firsties generally learn their way around the lower levels in the first few weeks, then start exploring the rest of the school. You’ll do it, too.”
Emily scowled as she splashed water on her face. “Do you know why Scarlett Robyn left in such a hurry?”
“If you ask me, and no one did, I think she couldn’t handle the job,” Brier said. “Lady Damia is a very demanding woman. It’s rare for her to keep a junior tutor for more than a handful of years. They do their time and then leave, without bothering to hang around long enough to write a forwarding address. I heard a rumor the Old Woman tried to call a couple of them back, to replace Scarlett, but they refused.”
“They didn’t think they’d step into Damia’s shoes?” Emily glanced at Brier. “If Damia becomes Headmistress, is she going to keep teaching?”
“It’s hard to say,” Brier said. “The Old Woman takes one class a week, mainly for the firsties. Damia... wouldn’t be good at that job. But she can’t run the school, any more than she already is, and keep the defense post too. My guess is that she’s hoping to rehire one of the older teachers when she finally gets promoted.”
“Ouch,” Emily said. It struck her as asking for trouble. “I’m glad I won’t be sticking around.”
Brier clapped her on the shoulder. “Petty politics are a way of life,” she said. “And I’m sure that’s true of Whitehall, too.”
Emily frowned. Grandmaster Gordian hadn’t wanted her for Head Girl. He’d made that clear, without ever coming right out and saying it. He hadn’t wanted to offer her the post and she hadn’t wanted to accept it... her lips quirked, sourly. She wasn’t aware of precisely what had happened, when the nominations had been made, but she knew the staff had voted for her practically unanimously. The politics must have been intense. And yet... they’d ended with her getting a position she hadn’t wanted and lost, quickly enough, when all hell had broken loose.
Heart’s Eye will be different, she promised herself.
“Probably,” she said. She looked at herself in the mirror, then shrugged. “I’ll see you after class?”
“I’ll be in my chamber,” Brier promised. “See you.”
Emily smiled and left the washroom, carefully finding her way to the defense classroom. The corridors seemed to twist and turn, the wards confusing her no matter how carefully she focused her mind. She thought she was going in circles, walking around and around in an endless loop, before she stepped into the defense section and peered into the nearest classroom. There were two more next door, followed by a pair of spellchambers and a dueling circle. Emily hoped she wouldn’t have to teach the students how to duel. She knew from grim experience that dueling was poor preparation for a real fight.
The classroom was surprisingly large - the twenty desks and chairs looked oddly lonely, as if the room had been designed for a bigger class - with plenty of room for testing spells. The side walls were decorated with unrealistic paintings of famous magicians - all female; the rear wall was covered w
ith magical and mundane weapons, ranging from charmed daggers to a lone mirror. Emily eyed it warily, even thought she was sure it wasn’t that dangerous. The events at Heart’s Eye were still fresh in her mind. A handful of animated skeletons stood in a corner, ready to jump out at unwary students. Blasting them was always fun.
She heard a sound and turned. Lady Damia stepped into the room. “What do you think?”
“It looks good,” Emily said. She nodded to the mirror. “What does it do?”
“There’s a mild curse on it, to demonstrate the danger of someone putting a nastier curse on it,” Damia told her. “We’ll be talking about it later in the week.”
She nodded to the edge of the desks. “I’ll be giving the lecture. You stand and listen, then help me demonstrate the spells once we begin the practical section. Tomorrow, you’ll be giving the lecture yourself. Thankfully” - her lips thinned - “the firsties didn’t have many lessons with your predecessor. You’ll have some room to maneuver. If you have any questions, ask me after the lesson. Don’t interrupt unless it’s truly urgent. Understand?”
“I understand,” Emily said.
“Good.” Damia seemed to pause, just for a second. “I’ll be asking you to give a talk, later, on fighting a necromancer. The girls need to hear it.”
Emily nodded. The necromancers weren’t all gone. The necromantic rite was so easy it was certain there’d be more, sooner or later. The students hopefully knew better than to risk madness by using it, but... she winced, inwardly. They did need to know how to handle the threat before it was too late. And if that meant telling them what she’d done...
The only way they can save themselves is by running, she thought, grimly. They couldn’t hope to take on a necromancer one on one and survive.
The bell rang. She tensed. The students were about to arrive.
Chapter Ten
THE STUDENTS WERE PUNCTUAL, EMILY NOTED, as they formed a line outside the classroom. The papers she’d read had made it clear that the doors would be closed and locked five minutes into the class, and anyone who arrived after that would be denied entrance and marked absent. She’d heard students complaining about it, at Whitehall, but the staff had simply ignored them. It wasn’t easy to catch up if one missed a lesson, particularly if one didn’t have a good excuse. The tutors felt no inclination to help students too rude to show up on time.
She felt the girls looking at her when Lady Damia allowed them into the room. Dionne, Bernadette and Hannalore swaggered in as if they owned the place, followed by a handful of cronies who formed a protective wall around them. Emily guessed the cronies were either low-ranking magicians or newborns desperate to trade service for status. She’d seen the same thing at Whitehall, although it was rarely so blatant. The other students looked different, more isolated. A young girl shot Emily an unreadable glance, then sat in the chair furthest from the others. She almost looked as if she recognized Emily.
Emily clasped her hands behind her back and stood, ramrod straight, as the class settled down. The students were messing with chat parchments - still - but put them away as Lady Damia’s gaze wandered over the room. A couple of stragglers arrived, panting as they ran into the room. They nearly tripped over the desks as they hurried to the rear and sat down. Emily was mildly amused to note the students were cramming the desks nearest to the teacher. They were the best, if one wanted to follow what the teacher was actually saying.
The door slammed shut with an ominous thud. Lady Damia stood by her desk, her gaze hardening as the class quieted. Emily thought she sensed someone outside, someone who’d arrived just a moment too late to join the class. She felt a twinge of pity, mingled with irritation. The missing girl should have shown a little more respect by arriving on time...
“Good morning,” Lady Damia said. She nodded to Emily. “As you may have heard, Lady Emily has agreed to join us as a junior defense teacher. She is immensely capable, despite her young age; she has killed more necromancers, directly and indirectly, than anyone else in recorded history. You will treat her with all the respect and honor due to an older and more experienced teacher.”
She paused. Her tone rankled and yet... Emily tried not to blush as a handful of girls turned their heads to look at her. A couple glanced at one of the paintings, then at her, then back at the painting again. Emily sighed, inwardly, as she looked at the portrait. The artist had got the hair color right, which put him above many others, but little else. The face was wrong, the eyes were wrong, the body was wrong... she kept her thoughts to herself as eyes started to drift back towards Lady Damia. The tutor nodded curtly and continued.
“This will be a little bit rough for the next two weeks. We dislike switching teachers in midterm. However, we have no choice. Please remain focused on your work. There’ll be time to catch up with anything missing prior to the exams.”
Damia tapped the book on her desk. “In earlier lessons, we looked at more advanced forms of personal defense charm,” she said. “We will now...”
Emily did her best to listen, even as she paid more attention to the students than the lecture. Lady Damia was good, outlining the basic concept of defensive charms before demonstrating how the charms could be improved for enhanced defense. There was nothing new - Emily was almost disappointed - but the students had to understand the basics before they could proceed. She’d had that drilled into her head time and time again. She silently readied a pair of charms to demonstrate the spell, when the time came.
“You’ll notice the spells are lodged within your personal magic,” Damia said. “This is both a strength and a weakness. Why?”
There was a long pause. The isolated girl finally held up her hand.
Damia nodded. “Yes, Lillian?”
“Ah... you can twist the spell,” Lillian said, “but you can’t discard it if it starts to break.”
Dionne snorted. “That’s a crappy answer...”
Lillian tensed. Emily didn’t need to see her face to know she was flushing. She felt a hot flash of shared embarrassment and bitter memory... and something she didn’t want to look at too closely. Lillian was very much like she’d been - or Frieda had been - before she’d come into her magic. The sense of kinship was almost overwhelming.
Damia didn’t seem impressed. “Perhaps you could elaborate, please?”
“If you keep the spell closed, you can modify it to cope with unexpected threats,” Dionne said, smoothly. “However, the spell is drawing directly on your magic. If it gets broken, the recoil will strike you” - she shot Lillian a lazy smile - “as if you’d been punched in the face while wearing a mask.”
“True,” Damia said. “It is vitally important to remain in touch with the charm, when it flares to life, and to be prepared to throw it aside if necessary. That is not easy. The spell tends to suck up magic, forcing you into a contest you might well lose. You will find yourself, playing with your analogy, trying to keep the mask on while being repeatedly punched in the face. It is therefore important to adapt the spell so you can remove it in a hurry. And what is wrong with that?”
Another girl held up her hand. “Yes, Lenore?”
“The spellwork you need to toss away from the charm will actually weaken it,” Lenore said. She was a short girl who looked remarkably studious. “You might speed up your own defeat.”
“But if you keep the spell in place, you might be beaten too,” Dionne pointed out. “Right?”
Damia nodded. “Balancing the art is not easy, either,” she said. She paced through the desks, walked past Emily and stood at the rear of the room. “As you can see, I am working out a spell to defend myself” - unmasked magic crackled around her - “and Emily is going to try to break it with a fireball.”
Emily waited for the nod, then created a fireball and threw it at Damia. The spell struck the shield charm and exploded, a wave of heat rushing out in all directions as the fireball came apart. Emily glanced at the students and noted how few of them were impressed. Fireballs were basic, so basic
they were studied in first year. Sergeant Miles had called them boring, but practical. Emily was inclined to agree.
“The charm handled the spell, easily,” Damia said. She nodded to Emily. “But if Emily tried again with a lightning strike...”
Emily summoned the magic, then aimed it at Damia. A beam of crackling white light darted from her fingertips and crashed into the shield charm. It flared brightly as lightning danced around the shield, trying to break through the spell. Emily had the impression that Damia could have made it a great deal tougher, but... the shield started to fragment, threatening to shatter completely. Damia thrust the shield forward and stepped to one side. A moment later, the shield shattered completely. The lightning cascaded through the empty space and splattered harmlessly against the wards.
“As you can see, Emily’s spell would have seriously hurt me if I’d left the shield tied into my magic,” Damia said. “It is therefore important to judge the threat properly before you find yourself, as Dionne said, being punched in the face repeatedly. If you get it wrong, you will be in trouble. Do not make the mistake of thinking you can handle direct contact with an enemy’s magic. It will not bend to your will.”
She nodded to Emily, then looked at the class. “Partner up,” she ordered. “One partner casts the charm, the other tries to break it. Level four spells only - nothing higher. Is that clear?”
Little Witches (Schooled In Magic Book 21) Page 10