Infinite Regress (12 page)

“Blue group,” Melissa said. She smiled, rather wanly. “I thought they looked like a decent set of kids, myself.”

Emily shrugged. She hadn’t been paying enough attention to the sorting to pick out who had been assigned to the green group; even if she had, their names and faces wouldn’t have meant much to her. But she’d learn their names soon enough. She’d never been very good at matching names to faces, but she’d improved since coming to Whitehall. She hadn’t really had a choice.

“I’ll see you afterwards,” she said, glancing at Caleb. “Good luck with your students.”

“And you with yours,” Caleb said.

Melissa smiled. “Just remember, you’re not allowed to play games with their heads,” she said. There was an odd note to her voice. “If they’re anything like my siblings, the urge to mess with them will be overpowering.”

“I know the feeling,” Caleb said. “I’ll just keep reminding myself that they
aren’t
my siblings.”

“Good idea,” Emily said.

E
MILY COULDN’T HELP FEELING NERVOUS AS
she stepped into Study Room One and looked around, making sure that the servants had placed a steaming pot of Kava and seven mugs on a table by the side of the room. She’d never had siblings, as far as she knew; she wasn’t sure how she should relate to students who were only four years younger than her, yet effectively children by magical law. Their understanding of the world they’d just entered was very limited, even for those who had grown up in magical households. Whitehall was simply a dangerous place for the unwary.

She worked the problem out in her head, feeling unsure of herself. How should she treat them? Should she try to act like a big sister, or should she try to be their friend? But if they were anything like some of Frieda’s classmates, they would be uncomfortable with the idea of an older girl trying to be their friend. Should she try to keep a distance between herself and the newcomers? Or would that make it harder for them to confide in her if they had problems? She couldn’t help them unless she knew what they needed.

Someone—probably Aloha—had put a set of books by the sideboard. Emily picked one up and glanced at the title, smiling as she realized it was a guidebook to Whitehall.
She
hadn’t been given one, when she’d entered the school; it hadn’t been so easy to produce books before she’d introduced the printing press.
But it would have come in handy,
she thought, as she flipped through it. There was no plan of the school—a pointless endeavor when the corridors were known to shift around randomly—but there were plenty of other little details she’d taken far too long to learn.

Maybe Gordian has a point
, she thought, ruefully.
Some of his changes needed to be made
.

Emily looked up as the door opened, revealing Aloha. She forced herself to stand straight as the newcomers entered, their faces suggesting they were as nervous as Emily herself. They were all girls, of course, but their appearances were very different. It depressed her, on some level, that she could tell rich from poor so easily. The latter were thin, so thin it looked as if they might blow away; their clothes were cheap, probably passed down from older students.

She smiled, despite herself, as she recognized one of the newcomers. Jasmine—it
had
to be Jasmine, the singer she’d met at the Traveller Camp. Emily had liked her and felt sorry for her; she’d even offered to pay the girl’s fees if she wanted to go to Whitehall. Jasmine stared back at her, her dark eyes opening wide with astonishment. Her face—she looked vaguely Asian—was far too pale. To her, a cramped building like Whitehall had to be a nightmare made flesh.

“This is Emily,” Aloha said. The newcomers stared at Emily, shocked. “She will be your mentor for the next two months.”

Jasmine’s mouth dropped open. Emily hid her amusement with an effort. She’d called herself Millie at the time—the name
Emily
was almost unknown in the Allied Lands—and Jasmine had probably never connected Millie with the Necromancer’s Bane. How could she have? Even if she’d suspected the truth, Emily didn’t look anything like the monstrous figure beloved of bards and heralds. She’d probably have dismissed the connection as impossible and left it at that.

“They’re all yours,” Aloha said. “Talk your charges through the basic rules, then take them down to dinner. They’ll need to get an early night.”

“Of course,” Emily said.

She gathered herself as Aloha slipped out the door. The students stared at her, some of them clearly uncomfortable and others obviously wishing they were somewhere—anywhere—else. Emily didn’t really blame them. Jade and Aloha could put people at ease, with a few well-chosen words, but it wasn’t one of
Emily’s
talents. And yet, she was all they had. They were
depending
on her.

“Welcome to Whitehall,” she managed. She indicated the sideboard with her hand. “Please, take a drink if you need one. We have much to discuss.”

She waited until the students had each taken a mug of Kava and sat down, then leaned forward. “I don’t know what you want to be called,” she continued, keeping her voice as gentle as possible. “Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves? You may call me Emily.”

Jasmine looked nervous. “I am called Jasmine of the Diddakoi Travellers,” she said. “My parents are dead; my aunt and uncle sent me to Whitehall.”

“Welcome, Jasmine,” Emily said. Did Jasmine know she’d paid her fees? If Jasmine didn’t know and Emily asked, she’d feel embarrassed and obliged—perhaps—to find a way to repay the debt. “I hope you will have a long and happy career at Whitehall.”

The other five introduced themselves, one by one. Emily vaguely recalled Adana of House Ashworth from the Cockatrice Faire—she would be Melissa’s cousin—but the others were strangers. Tiega of House Worldweaver was a big girl, muscular rather than pretty; her face was unpleasant enough that Emily couldn’t help wondering why she didn’t use glamours or magical surgery to improve it. A curse? Or did her family not give a damn? Her brown hair was nice, Emily supposed—it was a shade or two lighter than Emily’s—but she’d hacked it short, giving her an oddly masculine appearance. Beside her, Lillian of House Augustus looked shy, unwilling to meet Emily’s gaze. Her blonde hair hung in pigtails that hung down to her shoulders.

Dulcet, Daughter of Oswald, was short and thin, with dark hair that fell in ringlets around her shoulders and a despondent expression. She said nothing about her background, which suggested her parents were peasants or—perhaps—slaves. It was unlikely that the daughter of slaves could go to Whitehall—if she’d been born while her parents were in bondage, she would belong to their owner too—but Gordian’s agents might have purchased her or her parents just to ensure they got another candidate. Julia, Daughter of Julius, looked far more elegant in her robes, even though she was the daughter of a merchant. Emily had to admit that the slight redheaded girl had more poise than Imaiqah ever had. Her voice was so resonant that Emily was
sure
she’d attended elocution lessons.

The thought made her smile as she contemplated her new charges. A lower-class personage could be identified by their dress and their voice; they were barred from wearing certain garments or learning how to speak like their betters. But Julia could probably pass for an upper-class girl, if she tried. She’d be a magician too, of course, yet having a talent for presenting herself to the world without magic would make it easier. No doubt her father planned to rise in the world, using his daughter as the key to a higher social rank.

She cleared her throat as she sensed the tension beginning to rise again. “Whitehall is a great place to learn,” she said, seriously. She’d fallen in love with the school from the moment she’d first set eyes on it and she’d be damned if she was leaving ahead of time, no matter what Grandmaster Gordian did. “But it can also be very dangerous to the unwary.
Magic
can be very dangerous. The rules set in place by the administration are there to protect you. I strongly advise you not to even
consider
breaking the rules.

“You will be given safety instructions in each of your classes,” she told them. “I
suggest
you heed those instructions, both inside and outside class. Certain spells and practices—alchemy in particular—can be very dangerous without supervision. If you are caught experimenting with such spells, without supervision, you will be lucky not to be expelled.”

She paused. “Some of you will know a handful of spells already,” she added. She would have been astonished if Adana or Tiega
didn’t
know any spells. “The remainder of you will learn spells quickly, including a number of practical jokes and pranks. You are allowed to play pranks on one another”—it was hard to keep the disapproval out of her voice—“but you are warned that preventing another student from attending classes or studying outside classes is grounds for severe punishment. Your tutors will not be pleased if your roommate misses class because you turned her into a statue or trapped her in an enchanted sleep. Do
not
push them on this, because you will regret it.”

Adana smirked; Dulcet paled. Emily sighed, inwardly. Whitehall tolerated far too much from its students, although she did have to admit that student pranks provided an excellent motive to learn how to defend oneself. But there were limits, and those limits had to be made clear before something went badly wrong. If she had nearly killed Alassa, after a bare month of magical education, who knew what
these
newcomers could do?

“There are also a number of pranks that are flatly forbidden,” she added. “Stripping someone naked or forcing them to strip—or engage in sexual behavior—is forbidden. Using love potions is forbidden. You...”

Adana looked up. “What’s wrong with love potions?”

“They make people do things they wouldn’t do, normally,” Emily said. Love potions were date-rape drugs, as far as she was concerned. Married couples might use them on the wedding night, just to ensure that nothing went wrong, but at least that was between consensual adults. “Using a love potion on anyone, for whatever reason, is grounds for expulsion. Again, do
not
test the patience of your tutors with such pranks. They’re not remotely funny.”

She ran through the remaining list of forbidden pranks, then added a warning she hadn’t heard until her second year. “Right now, older students are not permitted to start anything with you,” she told them. “But if you try to prank an older student, that student is permitted to retaliate in any way he or she sees fit. Furthermore, you are
not
permitted to prank the non-magical staff in any way whatsoever. It is hard to find staff willing to serve at Whitehall”—Madame Razz had made that clear, back when Alassa had done just that—“and anything you do that makes that harder will draw severe punishment. Madame Razz will not be amused.”

“She didn’t look easily amused,” Tiega noted.

“She isn’t,” Emily confirmed.

She glanced from face to face, wondering if they were a little overwhelmed. But she knew she had to go on, regardless. “You’ll each be given a guidebook to Whitehall,” she added, “which I advise you to study closely. There are rules regarding etiquette that you need to master, including some concerning your bedrooms. If you have any questions about those, ask me or Madame Razz. She will answer your questions, even if she makes you pay for the answers.

“But the most important rule, right now, is this; do not enter another bedroom without permission from the occupants.
All
of the occupants.”

Julia frowned. “What if I want my friend to enter and my roommates say she can’t?”

“She can’t enter, dumbass,” Tiega sneered. “Weren’t you listening?”

Emily cleared her throat, loudly. “That’s correct,” she said, before Julia could snap out a biting response. “You can’t bring your friends into the room unless all of the occupants agree.”

She paused. “You are expected to be in your dorms after eight bells in the evening and in your bedrooms after nine,” she added. “Sneaking around the castle after dark and trying to break into various offices is an old tradition, but being caught will ensure that you have to sleep on your bellies for the next couple of days. The tutors patrol the corridors randomly, so watch yourselves if you decide to leave the dorms. I
strongly
advise you not to try to break into another bedroom. You will
not
like the results.”

Adana smiled. “And what if we don’t get caught?”

“You get away with it,” Emily said. “But I would be very impressed if any of you managed to break into a tutor’s office, let alone a bedroom.”

She held up a hand. “There are two other points that need to be brought to your attention,” she warned. “First, the interior of the school is monitored closely. If you break one of the rules—like ensuring your roommate cannot attend classes—the tutors
will
know who to blame. If you manage to do something stupid, and you probably will, there is no point in running away from the scene of the crime. You
will
be caught and you
will
be punished.

“Second, as some of you probably already know, there are long-standing feuds and disagreements within the magical community. Your families may have rivalries with other families. You are not allowed to pick fights with members of those families inside Whitehall or engage in proxy battles with students from other countries or whatever. Whitehall is neutral in all political disputes. If you can’t find it in you to be friendly to people from different sides, then ignore them.”

She looked from face to face. Dulcet and Julia probably wouldn’t have any friends or enemies within the magical community—yet—but the other four, even Jasmine, might well see old feuds reasserting themselves at Whitehall. Hell, Adana might well be trouble. There were no Ashfalls at Whitehall, if she recalled correctly, yet it was quite possible that one or more of their client families were represented at the school. And
Melissa
was at Whitehall too, after being disowned by her family. Adana might have orders to try to make Melissa’s life difficult...