Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) (42 page)

“Probably a good idea,” the Grandmaster said. “Have you spoken to the other staff members?”

“It’s hard to work up a list of suspects,” Lady Barb said. “Logically, it was someone who had to be alone long enough for the Mimic to kill and replace them, but how long does it take to do that?”

“Not long,” Emily said, slowly. The Mimic had tried to take her place in an open corridor. It must have known that it could deal with her quickly, before anyone else came along. “Maybe bare minutes at most.”

Lady Barb nodded, tartly.

“We haven’t managed to identify the student who went after Emily and Imaiqah either,” she said. “Whoever it was used high-level magic, including an invisibility charm, and was a short girl. But that still leaves us with several hundred possible suspects. Even if we narrow it down by only looking at students in Martial Magic, we still have at least twenty suspects.”

The Grandmaster scowled. “Have them all interrogated under truth spells,” he ordered. “A near-murderous attack on younger students? I’m not laughing.”

“Neither am I,” Lady Barb said. “But I think it’s only going to get worse. Everyone is stressed, Grandmaster, and
very
fearful. I think we might have to consider moving students out of the bedrooms and into larger dorms, somewhere we can keep an eye on them.”

Emily shivered at her tone.

“Go get some proper rest,” Lady Barb ordered. “You’ll be one of the first students to be tested tomorrow, just to help convince the others to walk into the wards and expend their magic. And we thought we’d let you explain the blood sample procedure to the servants afterwards.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, sourly. “I’ll try and think of some good words.”

Blood. No one would be happy about giving out a blood sample, even if they weren’t magicians. Emily had had blood magic used against her and had studied it afterwards, even using it herself once. There were hundreds of spells that involved making use of someone’s blood...and most of them were as evil as anything the necromancers had ever done. No, the servants would not be happy about giving up some of their blood. Rules or no rules, they were already far more exposed to the student body’s sense of humor than they would have preferred.

“I’ll escort you and Imaiqah to your room,” Sergeant Miles said. “You should
not
be alone any longer. Too many idiots are still blaming you for everything.”

Emily nodded, bitterly. If she hadn’t been in Whitehall, Shadye would never have broken in...and the Mimic would never have escaped. But there had been no choice.

What else could she have done?

Chapter Thirty-Four

T
HE CLANGING OF THE BELL WOKE
Emily from a restless sleep, where she had dreamed of Shadye and Mimics and the strange pull of the nexus point. She had dreamed twice of stepping through the door and walking up to the pillar, only to snap awake when her fingers actually touched the crystal. It was a relief to wake up and dress for breakfast.

“I heard that two more students were killed,” the Gorgon said. “And someone else is dead and doesn’t know it.”

Emily nodded, wordlessly. Could the Gorgon have been consumed and replaced by the Mimic? It was impossible to ask—and the Gorgon might not know. There was so little actually
known
for sure about the Mimics . She tugged her robe over her head, then tied her hair back into a ponytail. This wasn’t a day to let it all hang free.

“Wake up, Lin,” the Gorgon called, sharply. “You have to come to breakfast with us.”

Lin didn’t look much better than Emily felt. She sat upright in bed, clinging to the covers as if she wanted to bury herself beneath them and pretend the world didn’t exist. Emily understood the impulse; she would have liked to forget about the Mimic too, even though it was pointless. Bad things didn’t go away if someone wished them gone.

Madame Razz rapped on the door. “Breakfast in twenty minutes, girls,” she hollered. “Be out by then or you will be unable to eat until lunch.”

“I think she hates us,” Lin muttered, as she pulled herself out of bed. She wore a nightgown that looked as if it could pass for regular clothes. “And she definitely hates me.”

Emily shrugged. “I think she has high standards,” she said. “And besides—just think of all the mischief we get into.”

“You, perhaps,” the Gorgon said, tartly. Her voice was thoroughly irritated. “I don’t dare.”

They finished dressing and walked out of the room, heading down towards the dining hall. Emily let out a sigh of relief as she saw Imaiqah waiting for her, then walked ahead to join her friend. The Gorgon followed her at a distance, catching more than a few sidelong glances from the other students. Emily felt a flash of shame and pity at their reactions and resolved to try to be nicer to the Gorgon in future. She didn’t deserve to be picked on for being what she was.

Inside, there were large caldrons of porridge and small helpings of fresh fruit. Emily heard grumbling from boys—and not a few girls—who were used to starting the day with bacon and eggs, but there was none to be had. She couldn’t understand where they’d bought the fresh fruit until she remembered the preservation spells she’d learned about during the long hikes they’d taken for Martial Magic. The kitchen staff probably preserved the fruit as soon as they bought it from Dragon’s Den.

She finished the food and sat back, unsatisfied. There wasn’t enough to keep her going for long, which might have been the point. Did the Mimic use food to produce energy too? Even if it didn’t, underfeeding the students might speed up the process of draining their magic. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the sixth years guarding the doors. No one was being allowed to leave the dining hall. One particularly obnoxious fourth year had wound up with his feet firmly stuck to the floor to keep him inside.

The Grandmaster strode inside, a wave of magic announcing his presence, followed by a line of grim-faced staff and servants. A faint ripple of surprise ran through the room as the students saw the servants and wondered what it portended. It was rare for the servants to enter the larger rooms while the students were there.

Emily looked up as he stood in front of the room, waiting until he had their undivided attention.

“We have gathered everyone in the building in this room,” the Grandmaster said, quietly. “One of us is the Mimic.”

There was a rustle of panic, which quieted quickly as the Grandmaster scowled at them.

“We have been able to deduce that the Mimic uses up energy faster than normal by using magic,” the Grandmaster continued. He didn’t mention Emily’s involvement, for which she was grateful. If her fellow students realized that the whole concept was her idea, she might as well try to leave Whitehall before they took their fury out on her. “When it runs short of magic, it reverts to its normal form and searches for the next victim. Our plan is to force it to do that in a place where we can trap it.”

Emily frowned, puzzled. Why was he telling them the plan? Didn’t he realize that he was telling the
Mimic
what he intended to do? And then it struck her. Anyone who attempted to leave ahead of time might well
be
the Mimic. It might save them some trouble if the Mimic identified itself so conveniently.

“One by one, you will go into the Great Hall and expend your magic,” the Grandmaster continued. “Once drained, you will be escorted into the Dance Hall and told to wait there. Some additional food and replenishment potions will be provided. Do
not
attempt to leave the room until after everyone has been tested. This is our best chance at isolating the Mimic and we are not going to waste it.”

He paused. “We found one more body last night,” he concluded. “This is deadly serious. If we fail to trap the Mimic, we will be unable to lower the wards and escape. Whitehall will become a school of the dead.

“I know that many of you will object to the exercise, but we have found no other way to test for the Mimic. Please do not argue, but cooperate completely with the staff.”

There was a long pause.

Emily tried to see how the other students were taking it. Some looked relieved at having a solution,
any
solution. Others seemed angry; they knew that they were going to be expending their magic, ensuring they couldn’t work any spells for the next few hours. Emily wondered, coldly, if they included the person who had attacked both her and Imaiqah, but it was impossible to know. The ones shooting nasty glances at her might not include the one who had attacked them.

“When Master Tor reads out your name,” the Grandmaster said, “walk through the South Door into the Great Hall. Do
not
attempt to go anywhere else.”

Master Tor stepped forward as the Grandmaster, Lady Barb and several other staff members exited through the South Door. There was a long pause as he unfurled a roll of parchment and peered at the first name, then he looked up and shot Emily an unreadable look.

“Lady Emily of House Cockatrice,” he said, flatly.

Emily felt all eyes on her as she stood and walked towards the South Door, fighting the urge to clench her fists or show any other sign of nervousness. The door suddenly seemed very large in front of her; she placed her hand on it and pushed it open, hearing a strange noise behind her as she stepped through. Were they admiring her bravery or were they convinced that the Mimic was about to expose itself? There was no way to know.

The interior of the Great Hall had been covered in runes and wards. Emily could feel the magic crackling around her as she stepped forward, growing stronger with every step. She could almost
see
a spider-web of magic hanging in the air, glowing with power and potential. And to think they’d assembled it overnight...

“In there,” Lady Barb ordered, pointing to the very center of the Great Hall. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

Emily winced as the magic closed in on her. She felt trapped; there was no way to escape, not without necromancer-level powers. Indeed, there was so little space inside the wards that unleashing such power might destroy her when it bounced off the barrier. Shadye had never tried to break down Whitehall’s wards directly, but what would have happened if he had attempted to unleash his full power against the school?

“Very good,” the Grandmaster’s voice said. “Now, start casting spells.”

Emily hesitated, bracing herself, then cast the first of the most power-intensive spells she knew. Magic crackled around her, growing brighter and brighter as she pushed more magic into it, lighting up the entire chamber. She concentrated, closing her eyes as she drew on her deeper reserves of magic, feeling time slowing to a crawl...and then the magic slowly faded away. She found herself kneeling on the floor with no clear awareness of how she’d fallen—or why. Her body seemed suddenly very frail.

“Well done,” the Grandmaster said. “You appear to be human.”

“Thank you,” Emily muttered.

She was weak, so weak that it was hard to move, but she did manage to look at her bare hand. The nightmares about actually
being
the Mimic had chilled her to the bone. Had she suggested the test, she asked silently, because she had subconsciously worried that she might have been the Mimic herself? Once again, there was no way to know.

“Come here,” Lady Barb said. She was standing right next to Emily...how had she gotten there without Emily noticing? “It’s all right. You’re human.”

Emily couldn’t say anything as Lady Barb helped her to her feet and pulled her out of the wards, then—instead of going into the Dance Hall—pushed her into a small seat at one end of the Great Hall and pressed a small glass mug into her hand. The replenishment potion smelt ghastly—she recalled Professor Thande telling her that potions were deliberately made to taste awful, simply to ensure that the users didn’t become addicted—but she felt better the moment she downed it.

“You might want to stay here,” Lady Barb said. “It was your idea.”

The next few students were all sixth years, including Cat and Bran. Emily watched, wondering why she had never been
scared
of any of them, as they expended vast amounts of power before sagging to their knees. But then, she had met Shadye—and Void. The students didn’t have anything like their raw power, or experience. Not yet.

Better not let Alassa get into another fight with Cat
, Emily thought, as Lady Barb helped him into the Dance Hall.
Next time he might overwhelm her with ease.

The thought made her scowl. There was a rule against seniors picking fights with juniors, but if the juniors started it the seniors were allowed to put them in their place. In hindsight, if Alassa hadn’t hurt Cat so badly in the opening round, she might just have ended up as a frog—or worse. But then, that game had brought out the worst in everyone.

Sergeant Miles came over and knelt down beside her. “They found Bane’s body in a closet,” he said, grimly. “The general theory is that he went inside...and the Mimic was behind him. And that was the end.”

Emily nodded. Mimics were rare...but everyone was scared of them, with good reason. If a powerful combat sorcerer like Sergeant Bane could be overwhelmed, no one was safe—not even rogue talents like Void or necromancers like Shadye.

The next set of students looked more reluctant to take part in the tests, but the Grandmaster left them no option. Emily quietly made mental notes of their power levels and what sort of spells they used, noting that two of them seemed content to hurl spell after spell rather than picking one and pushing as much power into it as they could. Did that imply a lack of discipline, a shortage of imagination...or what? She couldn’t help glancing at her watch and scowling as yet another student walked into the Dance Hall. At this rate, they were going to spend the entire day performing the test.

She looked over at Lady Barb as a thought occurred to her. “What happens to all the magic?”

“It gets vented out into the wards,” Lady Barb said, tightly. Perhaps she remembered the experiments Emily had had in mind. “We can’t leave so much residue in such a small place.”