“Yes, sir.”
“You are required to come up with something of your own, along the same lines,” Gordian said. “Something that actually benefits the school.”
Emily looked down at the floor. She couldn’t think of anything—offhand—that might actually benefit the school. The mentoring program was a good thing, but ... what could she do? More importantly, what could she organize that wouldn’t cut too much into her limited time? Everything she knew she’d needed, over the last five years, would be too difficult to implement for the entire school. And she doubted Gordian would let her implement some of her more radical ideas.
More experience outside the castle would be a good thing, she thought. She’d found herself hampered by a lack of proper experience. The Nameless World was nothing like Earth. And while she was the only student from another world, the upper-class students had little comprehension of the lives led by the lower-classes. But students already go out on work experience over the summer months.
“I understand that you might not have the time to find something suitable,” Gordian said, after a moment. “Fortunately, there is a project that you could implement without much additional work.”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. Gordian was unlikely to be doing her any favors out of the goodness of his heart. He might be pushing her to implement something he wanted, rather than something she’d devised for herself. Or he might be trying to ensure that she’d fail—or at least do something harmless. Or maybe he was just trying to keep her busy. He’d certainly tried to keep her busy last year.
“Whitehall has not competed in any of the dueling contests over the past two decades,” Gordian added. “Our failure to send contestants has ... weakened ... our position amongst the other schools. Many questions have been asked about our reluctance to take part in the noble sport. I believe that establishing a dueling club and running an in-house dueling contest would lay the foundations for a return to the dueling league. Ideally, we’d be sending an official dueling team next year and—perhaps—hosting a contest the year after.”
“I was under the impression that dueling had little in common with real warfare,” Emily said, carefully. She had dueled at Mountaintop—and fought both Master Grey and Casper—but both contests had been formalized. There were no rules in actual war. “I believe that was why Grandmaster Hasdrubal banned dueling circles.”
“There is some truth in that,” Gordian conceded. “But do we not play Ken even though it has nothing in common with actual life?”
He smiled, rather thinly. “No one would mistake a dueling circle for an actual war. But dueling is a game, not training for war.”
Emily nodded. Dueling—at least, the dueling she’d been taught at Mountaintop—was one-on-one. There were no teams, not in a formal duel. Each contestant won or lost by his own abilities. There were rules, strict limits on what spells could be used ... rules that had no place in war. Necromancers certainly didn’t bother to restrict themselves when they invaded new countries, not when there was nothing to be gained by holding back. She couldn’t help thinking that Grandmaster Hasdrubal had a point. Dueling taught bad habits for magicians who actually had to go to war.
Sergeant Miles is not going to be pleased, she thought, grimly. He’ll spend months teaching his students to forget everything they learnt in dueling club.
“You’ll be responsible for setting up the club and supervising the first set of contests,” Gordian told her. “You may request assistance from the staff, of course, but it may be held against you if it is something you should be capable of doing yourself. I suggest you model the club on what you saw at Mountaintop ...”
“If I can’t think of anything else,” Emily interrupted.
Gordian looked displeased. “If you can’t think of anything else.”
Emily shook her head, ruefully. She couldn’t think of anything else. And she had to admit that a dueling club—and contest—might be fun, at least for the younger students. She’d never cared for team sports, but that made her fairly unusual in Whitehall. They’d have a lot of fun drawing up dueling rosters and preparing for the interschool championships. But it was going to be a great deal of work for very little reward ...
Unless I can put it on my resume, she thought. It might work in my favor.
Her thoughts raced from point to point. She wanted to be a teacher, although she knew she needed to complete her mastery and gain more experience before anyone would consider her for a teaching position. This was a chance to gain experience, even if it was dueling rather than a more serious subject. Hell, it would be easier to teach dueling than charms or alchemy. She wouldn’t have to worry about screwing up the basics, ensuring her students couldn’t progress to the upper levels. Failing to master the fundamentals of charms, she knew from bitter experience, made it impossible to pass on to the more interesting levels.
“I’ll try and think of something,” she said, slowly. “How long do I have to decide?”
“You have a week to give me a proposal.” Gordian cocked his head. “If I accept it, you may proceed; if not, you’ll have less time to come up with something new.”
Or just accept the dueling club, Emily thought. It wouldn’t be that hard, she admitted privately. She could just copy the setup at Mountaintop for the club, then model the contest on the standard league rules. It might just work in my favor.
“I’ll let you know,” she said. She wished, suddenly, that someone had told her she might be elected Head Girl. A few weeks to think about it might have let her come up with something more interesting. “Do I still have to come up with a proposal for the dueling club?”
“You have to sketch out an outline,” Gordian told her. “But you don’t have to come up with a formal proposal.”
Good, Emily thought.
A thought struck her. Would it be cheating if I hired someone from the outside world to handle the club?
She shook her head, mentally. It probably would be.
Gordian cleared his throat. “There are a handful of other matters that we will discuss over the next few weeks.” He picked up another scroll and held it out to her. “Right now, your father has ... requested ... that we include you in Soul Magic classes. I have reluctantly granted this, as I believe you already have some basic training in Soul Magic.”
“Very basic,” Emily said. Aurelius—the original Aurelius—had shown her the basics, but he hadn’t taught her anything more. She’d assumed it was something she was going to have to study later, after she graduated. “I thought that only Healers studied Soul Magic.”
“Your father was very insistent,” Gordian informed her. “He appears to believe it would be useful.”
Emily frowned. Void—her father, as far as anyone outside a select group knew—wouldn’t have found it easy to convince Gordian to let her study Soul Magic. Soul Magic was extremely dangerous, even in the hands of a trained Healer. It was normally hedged around with all sorts of warnings and oaths, just to prevent accidents. She wasn’t even sure she could keep up with the other students in the class. Prospective Healers would have been studying it last year.
He thinks it might be useful, she thought. Why? She’d have to write to him, soon.
“Understood,” she said, finally. She was going to be very busy. Perhaps she could work her way through her schedule, then put some of her classes off until she had a grip on everything else. Or perhaps that was a little optimistic. “Is that the only major addition to my schedule?”
“For the moment.” Gordian shrugged. “You’ll have quite a bit of free time on your schedule, but ... you’re expected to actually use it for study. Running down to Dragon’s Den every day will cost you.”
“I know,” Emily said. She hadn’t had much free time over the past year, not since she’d returned to Whitehall. It had been easy to decline the handful of invitations to visit Dragon’s Den or go walking up the hillside. She supposed it would have been harder if she’d still been dating Caleb. “I’ll be spending most
of my free time in the library.”
“And running the dueling contest.” Gordian’s lips twitched. “And doing everything else a Head Girl is supposed to do.”
Emily groaned. “Is sleep included on the list?”
“I believe it’s an optional extra,” Gordian said, deadpan. “Pencil a nap in for some time next week.”
Emily had to smile. “Is there no spell that allows someone to go without sleep for a full year?”
“Only if you don’t mind seeing things after the first few days,” Gordian said. “I believe the hallucinations can be quite unpleasant.”
“I know,” Emily said. They’d been warned, time and time again, not to abuse wakefulness potions. One or two doses might be tolerable, but after that the side-effects turned nasty. It was better to sleep than risk stumbling around in a daze. Cabiria had taken five doses last year and wound up sleeping for a week when they’d caught up with her. “I won’t risk it.”
“Very good.” Gordian glanced at his watch. “We’ll discuss the other matters later, when we have time. Make sure you bring your proposal to me before term starts.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said.
“And one other thing,” Gordian added. His voice was suddenly very hard. “Do you recall what you were told, last year, about punishments for younger students?”
Emily had to force herself to recall. “We were told that if we issued unjust punishments to our mentees, we would share them.”
“Correct.” He pointed a finger at her. “That is also true—perhaps more true—of being Head Pupil. You have significant authority over your fellow pupils, even the ones your age. Abusing it will not be tolerated.”
Emily nodded. “I understand.”
“Very good,” Gordian said. “You may go now.”
Chapter Three
AS SOON AS SHE WAS OUTSIDE Gordian’s office—and antechamber—Emily leaned against the stone wall and closed her eyes. It was hard, so hard, to think clearly. Head Girl? She had never expected to be Head Girl. No one had even suggested she might be in the running for the nomination! Hell, if anyone had suggested it, she would have assumed that failing four of her eight exams would have disqualified her. God knew she wasn’t going to get full marks for the exams she’d retaken ...
She took a deep breath, centering herself as she clutched the two scrolls to her breast. Head Girl ... she could cope. She’d have to cope. It wasn’t something she’d wanted—she’d always assumed that her feelings would be taken into account—but there didn’t seem to be any way to get out of it. The election wouldn’t even have been a close-run thing, not if ten out of fifteen senior tutors had supported her. That was enough of a majority to ensure that Gordian couldn’t simply veto her election.
And that would be great, if I wanted the post, she thought. There were too many things she had to do to welcome more work. This is going to keep me very busy.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the first scroll. It was a list of duties, ranging from the simple to the complex. She would have to do all of them, while somehow keeping pace with the rest of her classmates. She’d assumed she’d have plenty of time to catch up and move ahead, now that she was single again. Instead, she was going to be wasting valuable time trying to handle the Head Girl’s responsibilities as well as her schoolwork. Patrolling the corridors, supervising trips to Dragon’s Den ... offering advice to younger students ... she had no idea how she was going to cope. She wasn’t even sure what she’d be asked. She’d never bombarded the Head Pupil with questions.
The second scroll was an updated timetable. Emily glanced at it, wondering just why nearly all of her classes were in the morning. It looked as though sleeping in was going to be impossible, even though—as a Sixth Year—she wouldn’t have the bed tipping her onto the floor if she didn’t get up before classes began. She wondered, absently, why the tutors were punishing themselves too. They could sleep in too ...
She put both of the scrolls in her pocket and walked back to the stairs, heading down towards the lower levels. The school was surprisingly quiet. She didn’t see anyone as she reached the bottom of the stairs, not even a handful of cleaning staff. No doubt the students she’d seen earlier had headed back to their bedrooms, if they’d finished their exams. The library wouldn’t be open until classes resumed, unfortunately. Emily had considered trying to sneak in herself, but she knew that would be far too revealing. Besides, she had no idea what protections Lady Aliya and her staff might have added over the last few months. They wouldn’t be connected to Whitehall’s wards.
They were trying to upgrade the whole system, after the entire school nearly collapsed, she reminded herself. The library had been a ghastly mess. Hundreds of students had worked hard just to put the books back on the shelves. They didn’t want to rely on the school’s wards again.
She frowned as she heard the sound of raised voices, dead ahead of her. Lady Barb was arguing with Sergeant Miles, their voices echoing down the corridor. Emily froze, unsure what to do. She couldn’t quite make out the words, but they sounded angry ... she shivered, remembering the one time she’d seen Sergeant Miles mad. He was so calm—normally—that his anger had been frightening.
The sound cut off, abruptly. A moment later, Lady Barb strode out of the office.
“Emily.” She looked like an angry cat. Her voice was so tightly controlled that Emily knew she was furious. “Come with me.”
She swept past Emily and headed down the corridor. Emily hesitated, then followed her into a small workroom. It was clean and tidy, the tools placed on the workbench or hanging from the walls. She wasn’t surprised. Anyone who was allowed to use the workroom would know that it had to be kept clean, that they had to tidy up after themselves. Sergeant Miles would not be pleased with anyone who didn’t take care of the school’s tools. They’d spend weeks on punishment duties.
“Have a seat,” Lady Barb said. Her voice softened, just slightly. “Just let me put up a privacy ward and I’ll be right with you.”
Emily eyed her, worriedly. Lady Barb didn’t seem to be angry at her, but it was clear the older woman was pissed. She strode up and down, her fingers curling into fists as she cast a trio of privacy wards into the air. Emily watched her, sensing the wards falling into place one by one. Lady Barb wasn’t just trying to keep their conversation private, Emily realized grimly. She was using the spellcasting to calm herself.
“That should do it,” Lady Barb said, finally.
Emily braced herself. “Are you all right?”
“No,” Lady Barb said, curtly. She shot Emily a look that warned her not to ask any more questions. “What did the Grandmaster want?”
“I’m Head Girl.” Emily looked up at her mentor. “Is there any way of getting out of it?”
Lady Barb rolled her eyes. “Only you would try to get out of it,” she said, her voice sour, as if she was still distracted. “Everyone else schemes to get in.”
“I didn’t want it,” Emily said.
“I suppose it wouldn’t look quite so good on your particular resume,” Lady Barb said, with a grimace. “Necromancer’s Bane, Baroness of Cockatrice, Savior of Farrakhan, Savior of Beneficence ... Head Girl.”
Emily had to smile. “It does look a little small,” she said. “But ... is there any way to get out of it?”
“Not without paying a price,” Lady Barb told her. “If nothing else, they’d have to meet and elect a new Head Pupil.”
“Ouch.” Emily met Lady Barb’s eyes. “He also wants me to set up a dueling club and run a contest.”
Lady Barb looked irked. “As your special project?”
Emily nodded. “I can’t think of anything better ...”
“It’s never easy to come up with something that hasn’t already been done,” Lady Barb admitted. “Finding something that will succeed is even harder.”
She sighed. “There has been a push to reopen a dueling club for several years,” she added, tiredly. “But it was never a possibility until a ne
w Grandmaster took up his office.”
“I was told it isn’t good training for war,” Emily said. “That’s true, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Lady Barb shrugged. “To be fair, it does teach some of the skills combat sorcerers need. Thinking on one’s feet, snapping off curses and hexes at speed ... they’re skills that are desperately required in combat. But duelists are also taught to hold back, something that can be disastrous in a real fight.”
Emily made a face. She knew hundreds of spells that couldn’t be used in a duel without—at best—forfeiting the match. The risk of maiming—or killing—her opponent would be far too high. And yet, in a real fight, she’d use those spells without a second thought. Training herself not to use them would hamper her in later life.
“It will be fun, for everyone who wants to take part,” Lady Barb added. “But not everyone will want to take part.”
“They’ll want to keep their skills a mystery,” Emily said. She’d been cautioned not to show everything she could do. “What happens when younger students want to go up against older students?”
“The younger ones will get their butts kicked,” Lady Barb said, dryly. “Or you’ll have the perfect excuse to humiliate the older pupils.”
Emily sighed. “I don’t want to do this. But I just can’t think of anything else.”
She looked up. “What about reorganizing the library?”
“That wouldn’t be quite so spectacular,” Lady Barb said. “You’d get more credit for something that lasted.”
“Like the mentorship program,” Emily mused. “But how much work did Aloha actually do after it got started?”
“Probably quite a bit,” Lady Barb said.
She held up a hand. “You shouldn’t have any trouble setting up a basic roster, perhaps selecting a few older students to serve as additional supervisors. That won’t take much work. Then you can run the club one day each week. I don’t think you’ll have to do that much work, once you get started. It’ll probably wind up running itself.”
The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13) Page 3