Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) (34 page)

“For those of you who remain, you should watch yourselves carefully and try to remain in groups,” the Grandmaster concluded. “We will be teaching the first years emergency alert spells this afternoon. I suggest that later years join the classes unless you are confident that you have already mastered them. Those of you who
fail
to produce a proper emergency signal on demand will not enjoy the experience.

“The Mediators will be patrolling the school starting today. If they ask questions, do your best to answer them. Classes will be cancelled throughout the week, so I suggest that you spend the time writing essays and catching up on your reading.

His hidden eyes swept the room once more. “Check the lists, then go pack if your name is on them,” he said, holding up a hand. “We will not entertain requests to stay if your parents want you home.”

Emily looked over at Alassa as the Grandmaster walked off the stage, dismissing the students. Crowds were already gathering around the lists; it took several minutes before they could get close enough to scan for their names. No one had called Emily home, unsurprisingly; the closest thing to a parent she had in this universe was Void and
he
wasn’t likely to call her out of danger, if he even knew she was in trouble. But Alassa...

“My father wants me home,” Alassa said, bleakly. She glanced across the hall to where Lady Barb was talking to Kay. “Do you think she snitched to him?”

“I don’t know,” Emily said. Lady Barb hadn’t
said
anything about sending Alassa home...and she wasn’t a particularly subtle person. “But you might be a target here.”

“And if I die...etc, etc,” Alassa snarled. She looked up at the list again. “What about Imaiqah?”

“I can’t see my name,” Imaiqah said. “Most of the students listed are ones with aristocratic parents or other such connections.”

“Your father may not have been informed,” Alassa said, shortly. “I should stay...”

“No,” Mistress Irene said. They jumped. None of them had realized she was right behind them. “You will not be staying. Your father has summoned you home.”

Alassa held onto her temper with icy dignity. “I cannot go while my friends remain in danger...”

“That is the price you pay for being who you are,” Mistress Irene snapped. “You are more than just a person; you are the representation of an entire royal bloodline. I suggest, very strongly, that you take it up with your father when you reach Zangaria. Until then, go pack your trunk and make your way to the portal.

“And you two”—her gaze moved to Imaiqah and Emily—“go eat breakfast. Now.”

“We’ll be there to see you off,” Emily said to Alassa. She understood now precisely how Alassa must have felt when Emily ditched the
Ken
game. It was easy to feel abandoned, even though it wasn’t Alassa’s decision. Arguing would just get her pitched through the portal to explain herself to her father. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’d better keep the team practicing,” Alassa growled to Imaiqah. “I want to win the next game...”

“Games have been cancelled indefinitely,” Mistress Irene said. “Now,
go
.”

Emily obeyed, walking with Imaiqah into the dining hall. The students were already arguing over the Grandmaster’s words, although there were more fearful glances thrown in Emily’s direction when they thought she wasn’t looking. There was a dull undercurrent of resentment in the air, an awareness that an aspect of the Sorcerer’s Rule was about to be flouted openly. Emily wondered, as she sat down gingerly and took a bowl of porridge, if the resentment was about to turn into outright mutiny.

She saw Professor Lombardi making his way through the dining hall and realized, grimly, that he was heading straight towards her. “Lady Emily,” he said, when he stopped in front of her table. “I require your assistance after breakfast.”

Emily hesitated. “I need to see Alassa off...”

“Students are not allowed to be present unless they are leaving the school,” Lombardi said, cutting her off shortly. “You may say goodbye to her after breakfast, then report to my office immediately afterwards.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said, bitterly. There was no choice. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll stay with Alassa as long as I can,” Imaiqah said, reassuringly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Emily scowled.
None
of this was her fault and half the school blamed her anyway. The other half seemed to expect her to do something about it. At least the tutors didn’t seem to believe that Emily was their only hope.

They finished their breakfast and walked up to Alassa’s room. Their friend had her trunk open and was dropping clothes and a handful of books into it, although she seemed to be leaving half of her possessions at Whitehall. It was unlikely that anyone would steal from her—Emily hadn’t heard of outright theft at Whitehall, not while the Warden monitored the interior of the school—but Alassa seemed to like having her clothes with her. Besides, the searchers would eventually paw through her wardrobe.

“Not your fault,” Alassa said, although she still looked irked. “My father will have to explain himself to me. He should have called you two back to Zangaria as well.”

Emily frowned. She had a feeling that if King Randor had asked, the Grandmaster would have refused. Besides, King Randor wasn’t exactly her legal guardian.

“Don’t worry about us,” Emily said, giving her friend a hug. “We’ll be fine.”

Alassa’s blue eyes met hers. “Really? I do worry about you.”

“I know,” Emily said. It was astonishing to see how far Alassa had come since they’d first met...but then, Alassa was one of the handful of people who knew where Emily really came from. It wouldn’t be hard for her to deduce that the Necromancer’s Bane was really nothing more than propaganda, put forward by the Allied Lands. “I worry about you too.”

She gave Alassa one final hug and then walked out of the bedroom. Madame Razz shot her a cross look as she assisted two first-years to move their trunks down the stairs to the portal, so Emily walked past them and along the corridor to Professor Lombardi’s office. The door was wide open, a silver knife and a pair of stone knives lying on the table. Emily tapped on the door and stepped inside, looking around for the professor. He was standing in front of a corner table, studying a large textbook.

“Those are the murder weapons,” he said, without turning around. “What do you make of them?”

Emily shrugged. “One silver, two stone,” she said. She took a closer look. “And they’re unmarked. There are no runes.”

“There’s one carved into the handle of the silver knife,” Professor Lombardi said. He closed the oversized textbook and turned to face her. “It’s a fairly standard rune for a knife, intended to guide the blade towards the best possible place to strike. A werewolf may be unable to regenerate if pieced by a silver blade, but unless you hit a vital organ it may not die immediately. That would be...unfortunate.”

“Because the silver poisoning would drive it berserk,” Emily said. She’d read the textbooks, including one written by a man who seemed to consider himself a great huntsman. At least the werewolf would have a chance to fight back if attacked by a hunter. “It wouldn’t be a wise move.”

Professor Lombardi nodded. “The absence of runes on the other blades is rather curious,” he said. “A practiced necromancer would be able to make do without them, but a new practitioner would probably need them to drain power properly. The condition of the bodies might suggest that something went wrong with the process, but if that was the case it was remarkably restrained. A necromantic accident would normally cause a colossal discharge of power.”

Emily frowned. “Is it possible that someone could have mastered necromancy over the holidays and then returned to school?”

The professor quirked a sardonic eyebrow. “And somehow avoided detection, even with their magic spilling around them?”

He smiled at Emily’s sour expression. “Most necromancers have no finesse,” he said. “They have more raw power than they know what to do with—and tend to rely on brute force to compensate for the gaps in their knowledge. Even if the necromancer was sane enough to hide what he was, he would
still
have to learn to work with his newfound magic—and that would be extremely difficult. We do monitor your progress quite closely.”

Emily nodded, wordlessly.

“This is the fingerprint reading spell,” Professor Lombardi added, changing the subject. “If it worked properly, it should show us every fingerprint on the table.”

He cast the spell into the air. There was a long pause and then a glowing green image of a fingerprint appeared over the table. Several more followed, seemingly identical...but there were none from the knives themselves. The professor repeated the spell, yet nothing materialized. Emily realized, bitterly, that the knives had been wiped clean—or the killer had used gloves.

“Interesting,” Professor Lombardi stated. “We didn’t pick up any magical residue earlier either.”

Emily looked at him. “Magical residue?”

“Traces of the spells used by the killer,” the professor explained. “Most sorcerers have a unique signature of their own, matching their own specific way of casting spells. There isn’t anything on the blades at all, which simply doesn’t make sense. Destroying the Warden so quickly should have been impossible without powerful magic. And the blades should be drenched in power if they had been used by a necromancer.”

“I see,” Emily said, slowly. She took the parchment he’d used to write down the spell and studied it. It seemed to be perfect, although she knew better than to think she could match Professor Lombardi in
anything
relating to charms. “Did he take in
all
of the power?”

“Every necromancer we have known had problems containing
all
of the power,” Professor Lombardi said. “It’s rather like trying to drink from a bucket of water. Plenty of water goes into your throat—and more ends up spilling down your chest. Only the faerie, we assume, were able to contain it all.” He shook his head. “The only theory which seems to make sense is that someone is trying to
fake
a necromantic rite...but that doesn’t explain the condition of the bodies.”

Emily hesitated, then cast the fingerprint spell for herself. Nothing new was revealed. Carefully, she pressed her finger against the table and then repeated the spell. Her fingerprint appeared along with the others.

“This could have interesting applications,” Professor Lombardi said. “Or it could prove surprisingly easy to fool. I shall have to give it some thought.”

He looked at Emily. “You have a long essay to write,” he reminded her. “I suggest that you go to the library and start researching for it.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said, reluctantly. A quick glance at her watch told her that she was probably too late to wave Alassa off as she stepped into the portal room. “Can I keep the spell?”

Professor Lombardi shrugged. “I suppose it can’t do any harm,” he said. “By the way, how did you intend to complete the tests?”

Emily blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You suggested finding fingerprints,” the professor said, “which was a good idea even if it failed. But how did you intend to find out which fingerprints belonged to which person?”

“The normal procedure would be to test every suspect and see whose fingerprints matched the ones found at the crime scene,” Emily said. “Or if you don’t want to tip them off, you test something you know no one else has touched...”

“The Warden could have tested the entire school,” Professor Lombardi said, ruefully. “It may be months before a new one is ready to take his place.”

Emily scowled. How many students would be dead by then?

“Go to the library,” Professor Lombardi ordered. “If I can’t hold classes, I can at least insist on excellent essays.”

And you get mad if we make a tiny mistake
, Emily thought.

She shook her head. It was hard to blame the professor. Advanced Charms was a fundamental requirement for students who wanted to become full-fledged sorcerers and picking up bad habits, or even misconceptions, could make it impossible for a student to proceed. Even Void, who normally showed little interest in her education, had told her to make sure she did well at Advanced Charms.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Outside, there was a pair of Mediators patrolling the corridors. One was young, no older than Jade; the other looked old enough to be his grandfather. They both eyed Emily suspiciously, then nodded and let her pass. She felt their gazes burning into her back as she walked past them and up the stairs to the library. Inside, it was blissfully quiet and empty.

“Welcome back,” Lady Aylia said. “Do you want to help return some books to the shelves?”

Emily smiled. At least one person wasn’t paying attention to rumor. And sorting books was relaxing as well as educational.

“Sure,” she said. “I’d love to.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I
F THERE WAS ONE GOOD THING
about the whole situation, Emily decided over the next few days, it was that cancelling classes gave her a chance to catch up with the mountain of homework that had been handed out by almost all of her tutors. Most of the other students seemed to agree, although they still seemed torn between the conviction that Emily was a murderess and the belief that she would save them all. When she wasn’t dodging hexes aimed at her back, she was trying to avoid older students staring at her with disturbingly worshipful eyes.

She spent most of her time in the library while Imaiqah tried to keep the Upstarts practicing in the arena. Imaiqah didn’t quite have Alassa’s charisma or sheer bloody-minded determination to press on, no matter what, but
Ken
provided a distraction from the team’s worries, as well as the chance to be with a large circle of friends. Emily still preferred the library, or cleaning out the barracks. The work seemed never-ending.

The Mediators had questioned her the day after Alassa left, but none of their questions were anything other than routine. They, at least, seemed confident that Emily wasn’t the murderess—or a necromancer. She’d told them what she could, yet she doubted that it had been very helpful. And then they’d thanked her and told her not to leave Whitehall. Emily hadn’t been able to stop herself from laughing at the thought.