Schooled in Magic

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Emily tried to fight down her rising anger and failed. “I suppose that being turned into a frog from time to time does encourage someone to learn how to prevent it from happening again. Does that even work?”

  “There are rules,” the Warden said. “Rules which are largely unspoken; rules that you have broken, if accidentally. We do not seek to pit untrained first-years against sixth-years who should be qualified magicians. Those we allow to ... bully are stronger than their victims, but not insurmountably strong. You could have bested her after little more than a week of training.

  “But you acted badly–worse, foolishly - and you must be punished.

  “Some of the Senior Tutors wanted to expel you,” he added. “They said that you might never learn discipline, or that you now posed a demonstrable threat to other students, or even that your mana might be permanently slopping around you. Others wondered about the political issues. Should we throw you to the wolves, just to prevent a major political struggle in the Allied Lands? And several remembered who sent you here and asked if we should risk annoying him.”

  Emily flinched.

  “The Grandmaster concluded that you were a new student, that you were provoked badly and that Alassa had been allowed to get too far out of hand,” the Warden said. “She was learning nothing from her actions and indeed the only one of her victims who can be said to have learned anything is you. The lesson may have convinced her that there are limits to how far she can go, whatever she may have been taught by her parents. If not, it is unlikely that she will master enough magic to be secure on her throne.”

  Or, Emily thought, now that she has been publicly beaten, all of her old victims will be lining up to take shots at her.

  “There will be three punishments for you,” the Warden said. “First, you will be assigned to assist Alassa in passing Basic Charms. Your grade will be dependent upon how well she does on her next exam. Should she still fail to pass, you will keep tutoring her until she does. It is fortunate indeed”–his voice dripped irony–“that we are forced to run new Basic Charms classes constantly.”

  Emily shuddered. Trying to teach someone something when they didn’t want to learn - that was always horrific. And somehow she doubted that it would lead to friendship, whatever those dorky parenting manuals claimed.

  “Second, you will write a three thousand word essay, due in next Sunday, about just how many things could have gone horrifically wrong when you mixed two different spells together.

  Emily winced. Three thousand words! Writing all that out would be a nightmare without computers, or even typewriters.

  “Should your essay, which will be marked by Professor Lombardi personally, not reach a sufficient grade, we will have to talk again.”

  He stood up and walked around the desk, one hand holding a long thin stick. “Third,” he said, as Emily stared at the cane in horror, “bend over and place your hands on the desk.”

  “But ...”

  “Now,” the Warden ordered. Emily couldn’t believe what was happening, even though her hand had been struck to remind her to be careful with her spells. “I won’t ask you a third time.”

  Trembling, Emily obeyed, silently praying that her robe would offer some protection. The first stroke proved that it provided no protection at all. Pain flared across her rear as she yelled. She started to move backwards, only to discover that her hands were stuck to the desk. Five more strokes followed in quick succession, before the Warden stepped back and nodded for her to leave the room.

  Clutching her bottom, Emily fled. All she wanted now was to reach her room and cry.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “HOW ARE YOU FEELING?”

  Emily didn’t want to talk to anyone, least of all Aloha. Her roommate didn’t seem to like her–and resented her for being included in the Martial Magic class, even though that hadn’t been Emily’s own choice. And Emily hurt. The red-hot pain in her posterior had faded to a dull burning ache that made it impossible to do anything but lie on her chest and hope that it healed before she had to return to classes.

  Part of her mind insisted that it wasn’t fair! Alassa was a brat, plain and simple, and she’d provoked Emily too far.

  The rest of her pointed out that Alassa didn’t deserve to be killed–or nearly killed–just for being a brat. A better-trained magician could have slapped Alassa down without risking permanent side effects that would have destroyed Alassa’s future in a moment of hot anger. The world wasn’t fair ... but then, Emily had known that since she was a kid.

  “Go away,” she told Aloha, finally. She wanted to read, or to start thinking about the essay that the Warden had ordered her to write, but she couldn’t think straight. Pain and humiliation warred with the knowledge that she’d almost killed someone, and that the Warden had caned her buttocks. The entire school would know what had happened to her. “Go away and leave me alone.”

  Aloha ignored her. “There are some charms that are effective in reducing the pain,” she said, a faint hint of sympathy in her voice. “Or you can learn to make a numbing potion in Alchemy. There are some students who make a fair profit selling such things to the naughtier kids.”

  Emily looked up at her with tear-stained eyes.

  She patted Emily on the back. “Come on,” she added, lightly. “Do you think you’re the only one to ever have been punished by the Warden?”

  Emily flushed, embarrassed. “Was I the only one who nearly killed someone?”

  “Rumor has it,” Aloha said, “that you challenged Alassa to a formal duel and put her in the infirmary. The smarter idiots claim that the tutors stopped you before you killed her, as a formal duel always ends with the death of one of the participants. They think the reason you’re still here is because the duel was averted, which isn’t actually permitted, even to save a princess’s life.”

  Her voice shifted. “Or there’s the rumor where Alassa’s spell reflected off you and struck her instead. Apparently, your special nature as a Child of Destiny prevents you from being rendered completely helpless, so Alassa put herself in the infirmary. The reason they think you haven’t been expelled was that she cast the near-fatal spell.

  “Or there’s the claim that you were influenced by the necromancers, or Alassa’s political enemies, and manipulated into injuring her ...”

  Emily coughed, fighting to clear her throat. “It wasn’t anything like that,” she admitted. “I ... I lost my temper and almost killed the stupid bitch.”

  Aloha looked at her for a long moment. “What happened?”

  There was a long pause as Emily tried to think. How far could she trust Aloha? She might take whatever she heard to Sergeant Harkin and ... no, that was silly. The Sergeant would have heard from the Grandmaster and the rest of the tutors. If he wanted to boot her out of Martial Magic, he would have already decided to expel her. Shaking her head, Emily explained the whole story from beginning to end.

  Afterwards, Aloha started to giggle. “And you’re meant to be a Child of Destiny,” she said tartly. “May the gods help us.”

  Emily started to point out that she wasn’t a Child of Destiny–again–but settled for giggling instead. It had been a mistake–and she was confident that a trained combat sorcerer, or a necromancer, would have been able to brush aside her botched spells and kill her before she could cast something more workable. Alassa wasn’t that much more advanced than Emily, even if she’d had tutors teaching her spells by rote ever since Alassa’s magic had come to life.

  Emily shook her head. “Why do they tolerate her? They told me there are no politics in the school.”

  Aloha snorted. “They like to say that, don’t they?”

  She tapped Emily’s forehead sharply. “There is no way that they can avoid facing the fact that Alassa is the heir to one of the most powerful of the Allied Lands, or that her death would shift the balance of power.” She paused. “We may be supposed to learn to get along with our fellow magicians, even ones from rival countries, but Alassa is an extreme
case. If she hadn’t been the only child of her parents, I think she wouldn’t have been sent here at all. Her younger sibling–if she’d had one–could have become her Court Wizard. Or she might have had a brother who would be automatically first in line to the throne.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. She remembered Shadye and shivered. “And why are they so disunited when the necromancers are at the gates?”

  “Because they’re stupid,” Aloha said. “Or at least that’s what Professor Locke says, boiled down to its nub. The Allied Lands are afraid that someone might attempt to re-establish the Empire, so they watch their fellows as carefully as they watch the necromancers–and the necromancers are a great deal farther away. Unless you happen to live on the borders ...”

  “Idiots,” Emily said, flatly. “And they just let Alassa make enemies for herself?”

  “Kids have been fighting each other with magic since Whitehall was established,” Aloha said. “Alassa knows better, I think, than to pick on someone who might actually be important. Apart from you, I suppose. A Child of Destiny might up-end her Kingdom in passing.”

  Emily thought about the ideas she’d sent to Imaiqah’s father and went cold. None of them were particularly complex–some of them would probably need some modification before they actually produced something workable–but they would definitely up-end local society even if they never spread any further. A system that required accountants who had trained for years wouldn’t be happy when Arabic numerals made counting so much easier. And without patents, or at least any way to enforce them, the changes would spread rapidly.

  But you can’t overthrow a kingdom with a bra, she thought. She’d seen footage of topless protestors burning their bras, but she couldn’t remember them actually achieving anything beyond creating an internet sensation that lasted for a few hours. And you can’t use accountancy to count the King into surrendering his Kingdom.

  “And it also helps to build up friendships and gangs,” Aloha added, unaware of Emily’s thoughts. “By the time you get into second-year, you’ll discover that you have to work with your allies against other gangs, or you’ll be completely on your own. And outnumbered. You and Imaiqah had better start making other friends fast.”

  “Joy,” Emily said. She found herself touching her rear. She shuddered, angrily. “And did all this happen to you?”

  “I learned fast,” Aloha said. Her voice hardened. “Now tell me; what were you thinking when you cost us so many room credits?”

  Emily blinked. “Room credits?”

  “Whatever you do reflects on the room and your roommates,” Aloha coldly informed her. “I have no doubt that Madame Razz will deduct points from us based on what you did to Alassa.”

  “But that isn’t right,” Emily said. “Why are you being punished for my failing?”

  “Because roommates are supposed to help teach their fellows how to behave,” Aloha snapped. “You failed, so I failed, so the next visit to Dragon’s Den will be less ... pleasant than I expected. Or do you have enough coin to give me an advance?”

  Emily stared at her, confused. “Dragon’s Den?”

  Aloha gave her a surprised look. “I can understand that they sent you here when your magic blossomed into life, but why didn’t they give you even a simple introduction to the school?”

  “I...” Emily started to say, then stopped. If she told Aloha the truth about where she came from, what would it do to this world? Was it possible that the necromancers might eventually find out about it and invade Earth, or ... hell, who needed the necromancers? Alassa’s parents might just decide on a war of conquest themselves. “They were in a tearing hurry.”

  Or maybe the necromancers couldn’t go to Earth. Emily had magic, but her magic hadn’t come to life until she’d been transported to this mana-rich world. It was quite possible that the necromancers would find that they had no powers on her world, or the spells keeping them alive at such great cost would simply collapse and they’d die instantly.

  Unless, of course, there actually was a secret magical society back home, one that had never bothered to send her an owl inviting Emily to Hogwarts. But somehow, she doubted it.

  “Dragon’s Den is a free city ten miles west of Whitehall,” Aloha explained. “It used to be a trading hub before the necromancers pushed their borders up to the mountain. Now, it’s one of the first lines of defense against future incursions. We get to go there every three weeks to buy snacks, supplies and just get out of Whitehall for a few hours. But if we’ve lost room points over this, I won’t have so much to spend.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emily said, and meant it. Aloha had had nothing to do with the fight between her and Alassa, let alone the mixed spells that had nearly killed the silly brat. “If I can draw on some of my pocket money, I’ll try and make it up to you.”

  Aloha shrugged. “We’ll see what Madame Razz says, later.” She slapped Emily’s rear sharply, causing her to cry out in pain. “Just don’t do that to me again.”

  Emily glared at her resentfully, before somehow managing to pull herself to her feet and pick up her pencil. “The Warden also wants me to write an essay,” she said, bitterly. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “You could have been expelled,” Aloha said unsympathetically. “Or you could have been ordered to write out lines. Or ... you got away with nearly murdering a Royal Princess. Stop complaining.”

  “Thank you, Miss Mature,” Emily said, finally. Or maybe she was being unfair to her roommate. This wasn’t a world where childhood extended until well into one’s teenage years, but one where children had to become useful as quickly as possible. Imaiqah had told her that she’d worked for her father from a very early age. “I don’t know how to write an essay.”

  Aloha snorted. “You’ve had some formal schooling,” she said dryly. “Didn’t they teach you how to write essays?”

  They had, but they’d been written on computers. If Emily had a thought that would better the first paragraph, it could be rewritten with ease, while spelling and grammar was checked by the word processing program. Her handwriting had never been good, partly because she hadn’t been forced to practice time and time again.

  Here, even a short essay would be an absolute nightmare. Any mistakes would force her to rewrite the entire thing onto a new sheet of parchment, unless she could find an erasing spell. And she was certain that she would be marked down for every little spelling mistake. And she would have to write the essay in English and hope that their translation spells understood it properly. Her previous work had been enough to convince her that the spells had problems with certain figures of speech.

  “You’d better learn fast,” Aloha said, her voice still dry. “This is a punishment essay. Failing to complete it will only get you caned. Again.”

  Emily winced. Once had been quite bad enough.

  Aloha saw Emily’s face and took pity on her. “Work out what you want to say first, then draft out the essay on parchment,” she suggested. “And then write it down section by section, with spells to clear up any mistakes. With a little work, you can save yourself from having to do it over and over again.”

  Her face tightened. “And don’t leave it until the last minute. It will only cause you more trouble.”

  Emily nodded. “Is there no way to create an automatic pencil around here?” Aloha looked blankly at her. “I mean, a pencil charmed to write down whatever you say ... ”

  “There was a fourth-year who charmed his pencil into writing out ‘I will not cheat in class’ one thousand times after he was caught by Professor Thande,” Aloha said. “He was given an award for original thinking after he was severely punished. But all he wanted the pencil to do was repeat the same line, time and time again. I’ve never heard of a pencil that wrote what you told it to write.”

  Aloha’s voice lowered. “You want me to ask someone from an advanced class?”

  “If you could,” Emily said, “I would be grateful.”

  Her mind raced ahead, th
inking hard. What if someone could produce a computer made out of magic–or, more practically, something like those crappy word processors they’d had to use before the school had actually invested in computers? Maybe a key could be charmed to represent a single letter and, when pressed, the letter would be displayed in front of the writer. And then some programming would give her a workable word processor.

  But producing something like that might be difficult. Except that ... she had a feeling that it would be easier than producing an automatic pen. Lombardi had explained, time and time again, that the easiest way to produce anything magical was to break it down as completely as possible, making sure that every spell component worked perfectly.

  “And then I might have another idea for them,” she said. She’d have to write it all down on parchment. A twinge of pain from her rear reminded her that she didn’t dare start working on this project, all the while neglecting the punishment she’d been assigned. “I’ll have to write down the basic concept first.”

  “Do your essay first,” Aloha advised. “Go to the library now and start researching.”

  Emily hesitated, thought, and then nodded. But before she did anything else, she needed to know what showed on her face.

  Slowly, she walked into the washroom and glanced at the mirror. No one would ever believe that she hadn’t been crying; the entire school would know that she had been punished. She didn’t want to walk out of the bedroom, knowing that everyone else would know, and yet ... what else could she do?

  Carefully, she washed her face, wishing that they had some proper cosmetics. It was irony indeed that when she’d finally found a use for them, she could no longer buy the overpriced junk in stores. No doubt perfume, if it existed in this world, was hideously expensive.

  “Good luck,” Aloha said, when Emily walked back into the main room and headed for the door. “Don’t tell anyone else what happened. Let them wonder and fear you.”