The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic Book 13)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Don’t tell anyone what we saw down there,” Emily warned, as they stepped into the changing room. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was deserted. She’d never liked changing and showering in front of others, even girls. “If anyone asks, we went walking.”

  “Of course.” Frieda undressed rapidly, dropping her shirt and trousers on the bench before hurrying to the shower. “I know better.”

  Emily smiled, then frowned as she saw the marks on Frieda’s bare back. “What happened to you?”

  Frieda froze. “I had a ... disagreement ... in martial magic,” she said, finally. She started moving again, heading into the shower. Emily couldn’t help noticing that there were fainter marks on her buttocks and the back of her legs. “The other students weren’t pleased with me.”

  “Oh,” Emily managed. She was no expert, but the bruises looked relatively new. Patches of her skin had clearly been broken, then healed. “What happened?”

  “We had a frank exchange of views.” Frieda rubbed a red mark on her leg. “I lost.”

  Emily stared at her back. She’d heard that some martial magic classes took matters into their own hands if a student was dragging the rest of the class down, but she’d never believed it was real. God knew she’d dragged down her class’s marks, back in first year ... the sergeants wouldn’t have intervened if the rest of the class had decided to give her a beating. Barrack room lawyers had no place in the military, she’d been told. Maybe Jade had intimidated the others into leaving her alone ...

  Or maybe Frieda is having even worse troubles, she thought. Some of the bruises looked nasty. Emily hated to think of what would happen if they got infected. What happens if she doesn’t improve?

  “I think we’ll start going over your work,” Emily said firmly, as she removed her own clothes and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt good, even though the changing room showers were deliberately underpowered. “And then you and I will sit down with Celadon.”

  “You don’t have to,” Frieda said. She sounded desperate. “Really ...”

  “I think this has gone on long enough,” Emily said, flatly. “And it really needs to stop.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  EMILY HAD HOPED, AS THE HALF-TERM wore on, that some kind of solution to one or both of her problems would present itself. Perhaps she could figure out just what Gordian was doing—she’d watched the historians and several others make their way down into the tunnels, now she knew what to look for—or help Frieda solve her problems. But neither one seemed willing to be solved. Gordian kept himself to himself, while Frieda seemed to veer wildly from being the playful girl Emily had befriended to a trigger-happy witch. The changes were so striking—and so sudden—that Emily found herself considering the possibility of outside interference, but—when she checked—she found nothing.

  She couldn’t help being grateful that her Head Girl duties shrunk with most of the students on holiday, as she’d had so little time to herself. Her studies were suffering too, even though the Gorgon and Cabiria were trying to help her. There was only so much their notes could do. Between her own work and trying to help Frieda, she felt as though she was running out of time. She was honestly tempted to take Void up on his offer and leave Whitehall, without bothering to sit the exams. But it would feel like giving up.

  And Gordian might be trying to drive me out of the school, she thought, as she sat in her office and worked her way through yet another set of notes. She needed to finish them before Frieda and Celadon arrived for their appointment. Professor Lombardi had given her two sets of detentions to supervise the following day, leaving her wondering just what she’d done to upset him. Who is actually being punished?

  She sighed, remembering Alassa and Jade’s last letter. There was trouble in Zangaria, real trouble. And yet it was so maddeningly imprecise! Rumors of rebellious peasants, rumors of civil war ... barons and aristocrats arming while King Randor worked to build up his army ... nothing seemed to have come out into the open yet, but it was just a matter of time. Emily was starting to wonder if she was seeing a joint offensive—one aimed at her, one aimed at her friends—although she had to admit it might just be coincidence. The problems in Zangaria had started a long time before anyone had heard of her.

  I probably just made them worse, Emily thought.

  She sighed. She probably had. The broadsheets alone—and reading and writing—allowed rumormongers to spread the word much further than they could by word of mouth alone. She wasn’t blind to the irony. Frieda had shown her a handful of papers containing the most scurrilous rumors about her relationship with four young men she barely knew. She wasn’t sure if she should be impressed by the unknown writer’s imagination or horrified. A couple of the sexual positions he described were probably impossible without strong magic or grievous bodily harm.

  There was a knock on the door. She pushed a handful of her papers into the drawer—cleaning up was something else that had taken a backseat to her work—and waved a hand in the air, casting an opening charm. It was something that would have awed her five years ago, even though it was a very simple spell. She couldn’t help wondering what Alassa or her other friends would make of Earth. Technology had made life so much easier that most of the inhabitants didn’t know how lucky they were.

  The grass is always greener on the other side of the hill, she thought, as Frieda and Celadon entered the office. Celadon was carrying a leather folder under one arm. And no one realizes what they have until they lose it.

  She rose as the door closed behind them, nodding politely to Celadon. He bowed in return, a formal bow that told her everything she needed to know about his origins. Someone who’d been taught magical etiquette had either grown up in a magical household or had been given a great deal of tuition. The former seemed more likely. His magic was clearly present—she could sense it, even at a distance—but carefully controlled.

  Celadon pressed one hand to his heart. “I greet you, Lady Emily.” His voice was formal, tinged with an accent that reminded Emily of Markus. “I pledge to hold my hand in your house.”

  Emily studied him for a long moment. He was handsome, she supposed, but in a vague kind of way. His face was just a little too soft, his short hair just a little too blond ... he held himself in a manner that suggested formal etiquette lessons, rather than military training. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white shirt that had probably cost him a great deal of money, but was carefully tailored to allow him to move freely. There was no sword at his belt, yet the way he held himself suggested there should be. It was hard not to feel a flicker of dislike. Celadon had never been truly tested in life.

  “I thank you,” Emily said, with equal formality. She didn’t miss the resentful look Frieda shot at Celadon’s back. “Please, be seated.”

  Celadon bowed again then sat, resting his folder on his lap. Frieda stood behind him, ramrod straight; her hands clasped behind her back. Sergeant Miles had been teaching her, Emily reminded herself. There was nothing technically wrong with her posture, nothing a senior officer could take exception to, but it clearly signaled her displeasure. Emily didn’t miss the message, yet ... she didn’t know if Celadon had picked up on it. Frieda wasn’t just unhappy, she was pissed. And, perhaps, reaching the end of her tether.

  Emily met Frieda’s eyes, silently willing her to sit down, then sat. Celadon looked back at her, his bright blue eyes not quite meeting hers. That too was magical etiquette, she reminded herself. Forcing eye contact was a challenge, of sorts. Maybe not one that would lead to a duel, but definitely one that could lead to trouble. Frieda remained standing, her hands out of sight. Emily hoped—prayed—she wouldn’t do anything stupid.

  “Frieda has requested that I go over your joint project with you,” she said, flatly. “Professor Lombardi has raised no objections.”

  She kept her face under tight control. Professor Lombardi hadn’t been pleased when she’d asked permission, although he’d granted it without more than a
handful of vague warnings and instructions. She could talk to them, she could attempt to meditate their disagreements, but she couldn’t do the work for them. Learning to work with other magicians was part of the point, he’d said. Emily couldn’t help feeling grateful that she and Caleb hadn’t had so many difficulties when they’d been working together.

  Celadon opened his folder. “I will talk you through it,” he said. Emily felt a flicker of annoyance at the assurance in his tone. If he spoke to Frieda like that, he was lucky she hadn’t already hexed him into next week. “Our original project was to find ways to improve channeling magic into potion brews. As you know, an alchemical brew requires a certain amount of magic to work ...”

  “I should know that,” Emily interrupted. His tone wasn’t winning him any friends. If nothing else, common sense should have warned him that Emily had passed all of her fourth-year exams. “Do you have a point?”

  Celadon had the grace to blush. “Controlling the influx of magic is one of the hardest aspects of alchemy. A relatively simple potion might forgive you if you push in too much magic, but a far more complex potion will not. There are even some potions that will turn to sludge if you give them too little magic, yet explode violently if you give them too much.”

  “A common problem,” Emily said. “I believe you managed to convince Professor Lombardi that it was worth trying ...?”

  “We did,” Celadon said. “He accepted our presentation last year.”

  Emily looked at Frieda, who scowled. “And then ... what?”

  Celadon produced a sheet of paper. “Our original work was relatively simple: a combination of stone, iron and crystal fingers ... ah, tools. We just called them fingers. They would allow a preset amount of magic to flow through, then burn out.”

  “There’d be blowback,” Emily said.

  “The magic could be reabsorbed or dispelled,” Celadon said. “It would have worked, Lady Emily. The real drawback was that each finger could only be used once.”

  “It would get costly,” Frieda said. There was a hint of desperation in her tone. “But they would have worked.”

  Emily nodded, slowly. She doubted Frieda had been the one to have the original idea. Frieda was imaginative, but not innovative. And yet ...given an idea, she could run with it.

  “I see,” she said. Cost would be a problem, although Whitehall’s budget was larger than Cockatrice’s. And she could see a handful of other problems too. Professor Lombardi might like the idea, but Professor Thande would be horrified. Magicians wouldn’t be able to learn precise control over their magic if they used tools. “So ... what happened?”

  Celadon smiled, a little shyly. “I found a way to make the fingers reusable. If there was a careful charm worked into the wood, I found, the magic would cut off without destroying the finger. But ...”

  “He didn’t consult me about it,” Frieda said. Her hands were out of sight, but it was clear she was flexing them. “He didn’t even bother to tell me that he’d had an idea until he’d done all the work!”

  “It’s a good idea,” Celadon said. For the first time, Emily heard passion in his voice. “You know the problem, you know we need a solution and you won’t listen!”

  “I do listen,” Frieda snapped. Emily sensed her magic flare. “You’re not answering ...”

  Emily cleared her throat, loudly. “Celadon,” she said. “Talk me through your idea, step by step.”

  Celadon blinked. “I keep trying,” he said. “And ...”

  “Do it for me,” Emily said. “Keep it as simple as possible.”

  “Hah,” Frieda muttered.

  Emily shot her a quelling glance, then looked at Celadon. “Begin.”

  Celadon took a breath. “As you know”—Emily was starting to hate that phrase—“you can use wood to store spellware and channel magic,” he said. “Wands work, put simply, because magic flows through the wood and into the embedded spell, triggering the spell. They’re seen as a bad habit because magicians can forget how to cast the spells for themselves.”

  “True,” Emily said. “And, later, you can tell me how you plan to evade that problem.”

  “I worked out a spell regulator that basically limits the amount of magic that flows through the wand.” Celadon produced a sheet of paper and held it out to her. “It is a fearsomely complex piece of magic, but quite understandable.”

  Emily gave him a sharp look. His tone was just one step below objectionable, but she knew it would grate on Frieda. It grated on Emily and she hadn’t encountered quite so much condescension in her life. Everyone had looked down on Frieda, once upon a time. Now ...

  “The excess magic would be drained into a simple light spell,” Celadon continued. “And the light would alert the caster that they no longer needed to expend magic.”

  Emily took the sheet of paper and slowly worked her way through the spell diagram. It was a complex piece of magic, she had to admit. The notation made it clear that Celadon had put it together from scratch, even though some aspects were similar to spells she’d cast in her first two years as a magician. She felt a flicker of respect, even though Celadon was starting to grate on her. Very few magicians would have thought of a flow regulator, let alone a magical valve. They would have considered the whole concept pointless.

  Her blood ran cold. A valve ... she’d designed a valve for her batteries. But it wasn’t quite the same. Her valve discharged all the magic in the battery at once. Celadon’s concept was better, if it could be scaled up ... she worked her way through the spell diagram carefully, testing and retesting every segment. It should work, if someone had the power and precision to cast the spell. Doing that would not be easy.

  She looked up at him. “Can you cast this spell?”

  “I believe so,” Celadon said. “It should be workable.”

  “Theoretically,” Emily said.

  She sighed, inwardly. She understood now. Celadon had come up with something new—something brilliant—and had run with it, rather than checking with his partner. And Frieda hadn’t been able to follow the spellwork, which had led to her getting angry and then Celadon had gotten angry too ...

  Frieda might not be able to cast the spell, Emily thought, numbly. She wasn’t sure she could cast the spell, certainly not on the first try. Can Celadon cast the spell?

  She looked down at the paper for a long moment, trying to think. Frieda hated to appear stupid. Emily didn’t blame her for that, not even slightly. But Frieda had also been illiterate only three years ago. It was easy to see why she might be behind her classmates, now the deficiencies in her education had finally started to catch up with her. And instead of understanding the problem and seeking help, Frieda was lashing out ...

  And Celadon was probably a bad choice for Frieda’s partner, her thoughts added. He doesn’t have the background to understand her weaknesses, let alone help her to overcome the limitations of her education.

  “It isn’t a bad piece of work,” Emily said. She did her best to ignore the betrayed look Frieda shot her. “But you really do have to simplify it.”

  “I have simplified it as much as possible,” Celadon said. “The spell cannot work as a collection of smaller charms. It would break up under the first influx of magic. There is no way to break it down further.”

  “Which would make actually casting the spell a nightmare,” Emily said.

  She rubbed her forehead. The whole situation was a nightmare. Celadon had stumbled across something brilliant, yet—if he couldn’t convince his partner to work with him—the joint project was going to crash and burn. Perhaps she should urge him to stick with the original version, the one Frieda understood ... except there had been too many limitations in the project. Gordian and the senior tutors might class it under the heading of ‘awesome, but impractical.’ Frieda and Celadon might get some marks for it, but ...

  “You need to actually cast the spell,” she said, “or you have nothing more than a theory.”

  “I was planning to practice nex
t term,” Celadon said. “It only takes one of us to cast it ...”

  Emily sighed. Gordian would insist on Frieda being able to cast it too. And he’d be right, damn him. A spell that could only be cast by a handful of magicians was of limited value.

  “Go to the spellchamber,” she ordered, firmly. “I want you to practice casting the spell until you succeed. If you can’t cast it by the end of half-term”—she made a show of looking at the calendar—“in two days, you need to rethink your project.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” Celadon said. There wasn’t even a trace of sarcasm in his words, but Emily narrowed her eyes anyway. “I’ll report to you as soon as I succeed.”

  “Good.” Emily nodded to the door. “Go.”

  Celadon rose and bowed, then turned and walked out the door. Emily watched him go, then looked at Frieda. The hatred was clearly visible on her face. She might have listened to Emily—or another older student—but not to someone who was no older than her. Emily could understand why. Celadon was no different, at heart, from the well-bred students who’d tormented Frieda at Mountaintop. Even if he was different, Frieda certainly wouldn’t see him that way.

  “Sit down,” Emily said, flatly. “You were very rude to him.”

  Frieda shrugged. “He’s been very rude to me,” she said, as she sat. “Can he cast the spell?”

  Emily sighed. Frieda wasn’t going to like what Emily had to say.

  “If he can, then he’s come up with something that will earn you both high marks,” she said, reluctantly. Celadon’s work would need to be fine-tuned. But she didn’t know if Frieda could do it. “He hasn’t done a bad job ...”

  “You agree with him?” Frieda’s face twisted with anger. “After everything, you agree with him?”

  “I think his work needs to be tested, but his ideas are sound.” Emily fought to keep her voice level. “If we break it down and examine each piece, section by section ...”

  Frieda rose. “He didn’t ask me,” she snapped. Magic flickered around Frieda’s fingertips as her voice rose hysterically. “He went ahead and did it without asking me and I don’t understand and you say he’s right!”