Infinite Regress (2 page)

He didn’t deserve to die
.

She braced herself, then walked slowly up the stairs towards the Grandmaster’s office, her footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Lady Barb had offered to teleport Emily and Frieda to Whitehall, but Emily had insisted on hiring a carriage, even though it took longer. She’d needed time to think about what Lady Barb had said, when she’d come to fetch her. But now there was no more
time
to think. The wards grew stronger as she reached the top of the stairwell and walked down the long corridor, glancing from left to right as she realized that the portraits hanging from the walls had been changed. She didn’t recognize any of the figures looking back at her—all with disapproving expressions.

At least they took down the picture of me
, she thought, wryly. She’d never liked that painting, although she did have to admit that anyone who used it to look for her was going to be disappointed. She’d never been that beautiful—or muscular—in her life.
But is the picture being taken down actually a bad sign?

A large portrait of the former Grandmaster hung at the end of the corridor, by the door to the Grandmaster’s office. Emily paused to study it, silently admiring the artist’s talent. The Grandmaster stood in the midst of a crowd of hooded inhuman creatures, holding his staff in one hand and a book in the other; it was hard to tell, somehow, if he was fighting the creatures or directing them. She smiled in sudden amusement as she realized the artist had never seen the Grandmaster in person. His eyes had been drawn in shadow, instead of covered with a blindfold. She still shuddered when she thought of the Grandmaster’s missing eyes.

Former Grandmaster
, she reminded herself, sharply. The man she’d come to see would not be pleased, Lady Barb had warned, if she treated him as a
temporary
Grandmaster.
He holds the post now
.

She braced herself, then cast a reflection spell and checked her appearance. Lady Barb had advised her to wear sorcerer’s black, a long dark robe that obscured her curves and made her look studious. It contrasted oddly with her pale skin, brown hair and dark eyes, yet it was probably better than wearing trousers or a dress. She’d considered wearing school robes, but that would have seemed presumptuous. Grandmaster Gordian didn’t want her here. The thought caused her another pang as she raised her hand and tapped once on the door, feeling a ward shimmering in response to her touch. Whitehall was the first
true
home she’d had, even before she’d come to the Nameless World. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving.

You’ll have to leave at the end of Sixth Year anyway
, she reminded herself, as the door swung open.
They won’t let you stay on as a teaching assistant until you have far more experience
.

The Grandmaster—the
former
Grandmaster—had allowed visitors to step directly into his office, but Grandmaster Gordian clearly felt differently. Emily stepped through the door into a waiting room, dominated by a horse-faced woman wearing red robes and seated behind a wooden desk. The former Grandmaster hadn’t had a secretary either. She couldn’t help wondering if that was a bad sign.

She stopped in front of the desk, resisting the urge to curtsey. On one hand, it would be a sign of respect; on the other, the secretary might think she was being mocked. There was no way to know just how close she was to her boss, but she wouldn’t have the post unless her master trusted her completely. Or had bound her to him with unbreakable oaths. Emily shuddered inwardly at the thought, then forced herself to meet the older woman’s dark eyes.

“Lady Emily,” the secretary said. Her voice was very cold. “Be seated. The Grandmaster will see you as soon as possible.”

Emily turned and saw a bench, placed neatly against the wall. She felt a flicker of irritation as she walked over to the bench and sat down, understanding that the Grandmaster was playing games. Alassa—and her father—had taught her more about such power plays than she’d ever wanted to know. By making her wait, he was making it clear that she was coming as a supplicant, putting her firmly in her place. She was tempted to pull a book out of her bag—either one of her textbooks or a novel Frieda had recommended—but she forcibly resisted the temptation. There was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the secretary or her master. Instead, she toyed with her snake-bracelet and ran through some of the mental disciplines Lady Barb had hammered into her head. She needed to be calm when she faced the Grandmaster.

Nearly ten minutes passed before a low chime echoed through the air. The secretary glanced up, her lips moving silently, then turned her head until she was looking directly at Emily. Emily resisted the urge to shrink backwards under the older woman’s gaze and merely looked back, neither resisting nor bending. There was a long moment of silence, then the secretary nodded curtly.

“You may enter,” she said, flatly.

Emily rose and paced through the door, clasping her hands behind her back as she entered the office. Gordian, sitting behind his desk, rose to his feet and nodded to her. He made no attempt to shake hands.

No chair for me
, Emily noted, as Gordian sat again. The room felt very cold.
And no Kava either
.

That
, she knew from her etiquette lessons, was a bad sign, a touch of calculated rudeness that made it clear she was far from welcome. A welcome guest would
always
be offered a drink, which could be politely declined. She pushed the flicker of irritation aside and studied Gordian for a long moment, wondering when the genial man she’d met last year had turned into a cold-hearted bureaucrat. But then, being given responsibility for an entire school
had
to change a man. And Whitehall was far more than
just
a school.

Her eyes flickered, briefly around the office. It had changed too; the room was bare, save for a large wooden desk and a chair. A single scroll rested on the desk, but otherwise it was empty. The bookshelves and paintings had been removed, leaving the walls completely bare of anything to catch the eye. It served a double purpose, she realized, as the door closed behind her. There was nothing that would tell her anything about the room’s occupant, no hint as to his personality and disposition; there was also nothing that would distract her from him.

Gordian studied her back with equal interest. “Lady Emily,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

I wasn’t aware I had a choice
, Emily thought.

She resisted the urge to say it aloud. Lady Barb had warned her to be on her best behavior, no matter what provocation she faced. The Grandmaster would seize on any excuse to expel her from Whitehall, casting her adrift to an uncertain future. Emily had no idea what she’d do, if she couldn’t return to Whitehall. Go to Mountaintop? Or try Stronghold? Caleb had told her too many horror stories about
that
school to make her want to go there unless she had no other choice.

“I do not want you at this school,” Gordian said, bluntly. She’d expected it, but his words still stung badly. “You are a disruptive influence. Whitehall’s
existence
has been placed in danger, because of you. The Kingdom of Zangaria has been turned upside down, because of you. The Allied Lands
themselves
have been changed, because of
you
.”

Emily kept her mouth firmly closed. It was true enough, she supposed, that Whitehall
had
been in danger because of her, but she hadn’t done any of it deliberately. She’d never even
known
about magic before Shadye had kidnapped her, let alone just how much power her knowledge—from a far more advanced world—gave her in the Allied Lands. And she had to admit that her ideas, her innovations, had wrought considerable change for good and ill. She’d unleashed forces that might never be tamed by the current ruling class.

“You are reckless, headstrong and dangerous,” Gordian continued. His voice was calm, but she had no difficulty in hearing the underlying anger. “If it were up to me, you would have been expelled back in your second year. You chose to ignore rules devised for your safety
and
the safety of your fellow students. Grandmaster Hasdrubal should have expelled you on the spot. It set a poor precedent for
later
disciplinary action. Challenging a
tutor
to a duel...”

“He manipulated me into challenging him,” Emily said, unable to keep her mouth closed any longer. “If he hadn’t wanted the duel, he could have refused the challenge...”

“Yes, he could have,” Gordian agreed. He made an odd gesture with his hand; it took her a moment to recognize that he’d conceded her point. “But a student challenging a tutor does set a grim precedent.”

Emily met his eyes. “And a tutor accepting a duel does...
what
?”

It was hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, the grim awareness that Master Grey had meant to kill her leaking through. He
would
have killed her too, if she’d lost. And it would have been perfectly legal. There would have been
some
consequences for him, she was sure, but he could never have been charged with her murder. As far as the Allied Lands were concerned, an idiotic student would have been killed before she got anyone else in trouble.

Gordian ignored her point. “And then you turned Zangaria upside down,” he said, repeating his earlier point. “Teleporting out of King Randor’s castle, tearing his wards down in the process... what do you think
that
did to his reputation?”

“You’re the one who told me to divest myself of my holdings in Zangaria,” Emily pointed out. Hindsight told her she’d been wrong; hindsight told her that King Randor hadn’t
intended
to order her to unleash a holocaust on countless rebels and everyone else caught up in the blast radius. But by then it had been far too late. “He thought he could use me to his own ends.”

“I’m afraid you will find that’s true of almost everyone,” Gordian said. “And you have not—quite—divested yourself of your holdings, have you?”

Emily frowned. Alassa had patched together a compromise, ensuring that while Emily was
persona non grata
in Zangaria for the moment, she wasn’t exiled for good. Imaiqah would rule the Barony of Cockatrice in Emily’s absence. In truth, Emily wasn’t sure
how
she felt about it. She’d never
wanted
to be a great feudal landholder, she’d certainly never
wanted
to rule the lives of countless people she would never meet. And yet, throwing the barony back in King Randor’s face almost
guaranteed
that whoever took her place would try to roll back her reforms. Imaiqah, at the very least, would hold the barony in stasis.

“They are no longer in my possession.” Emily said, flatly.

Gordian studied her for a long moment. “You should have been expelled several times over,” he said. “Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said. It struck her, suddenly, that she should have been calling him "sir" all along. Calling attention to it might have been a very bad move. But it wasn’t something she’d done with his predecessor. “I understand.”

“If Grandmaster Hasdrubal saw no reason to expel you, I have no
legal
right to do so,” Gordian added, slowly. “But I can refuse to allow you to return to Whitehall, if you refuse to attend on my terms.”

Emily waited, not trusting herself to speak.

“You will be a probationary student for a set period of time,” Gordian told her. “During that period, you will be under close supervision, from both myself and the other tutors. I will be keeping a very sharp eye on you. Should you do anything that concerns me, you will be formally expelled from the school. Your father will have no legal grounds for protest.”

She’d known it was coming. Lady Barb had warned her. But it still hurt.

“I understand, sir,” Emily said, quietly.

“A probationary student is apprenticed to a tutor, until they are either removed from probation or expelled,” Gordian continued. “That tutor will take responsibility for their conduct, in exchange for which they will work for him in whatever manner the tutor deems suitable. You will be apprenticed to Professor Locke. He has a...
research project
that could use your input. Your free time will be his as long as he has a use for you.”

Emily scowled. She would have preferred to be apprenticed to Lady Barb or Sergeant Miles, but Lady Barb was leaving Whitehall and Sergeant Miles had too much else on his plate. She liked the history professor, yet she knew from Aloha that Fifth Year was hard, very hard. If she spent all of her free time, such as there was of it, on his project, how would she manage to keep up with her fellow students? She wasn’t quite sure
what
she wanted to do with her life after leaving Whitehall, but she
did
know that higher grades would help open doors in the future.

And besides
, she thought, remembering the ring on her finger,
I don’t want to let Void down
.

“I understand, sir,” she said. She’d have to find a book on probationary students and read it quickly, just to discover what else she’d be expected to do. “What
is
his research project?”

“I believe he would prefer to tell you himself,” Gordian said. “It is
his
project, after all.”

He cleared his throat, then unwrapped the scroll. “Your exam results,” he said. “They would normally be sent out a week from today, but I made the decision to unseal yours early.”

Emily leaned forward, torn between anticipation and dread. She’d never cared about her exam results on Earth—it wasn’t as if they would have any bearing on her life—but on the Nameless World they were the difference between a brilliant career and remaining
just
another sorceress. She would never be poor—she could brew
Manaskol
, if nothing else—yet she wanted to do more with her life, even if she wasn’t quite sure
what
yet.