Infinite Regress (28 page)

Emily shrugged. It seemed an unnecessary risk to her. The child would have problems controlling the magic—it would react to any stray thought or emotion—and probably not survive long enough to learn how to use it safely. But she knew just how far some families were prepared to go to ensure they had powerful magic running through their veins. Trying to bring magic out early—if they had plenty of other children—might seem a worthwhile risk.

She shuddered.
If Caleb and I ever have children
, she told herself,
we won’t be taking any risks with them
.

Cabiria started to speak, slowly and mournfully. “Allophone is the cleverest witch I know,” she said, after a moment. “She was Head Girl of Mountaintop and graduated with high honors before starting a brilliant charms apprenticeship. Her mistress said that she never made a single mistake before earning her mastery. She even has special permission to take on an apprentice early, rather than waiting until she turns thirty.”

Emily smiled. Growing up with such a sister had to be hard. “Has she taken an apprentice?”

“No,” Cabiria said. “Belladonna is the alchemist of the family—she took two years to earn her mastery. She was always a little insane about mixing things together, just to see what would happen. Uncle Alanson was talking about taking her on as an apprentice himself, even though she was his niece. No one would have seriously objected. Uncle Alanson was brilliant too.”

She sighed. “And she has more young men courting her than I’ve had hot dinners.”

Emily sighed, feeling a flicker of pity. Growing up in such a family would be hard, even with magic. Without it... Cabiria had been a cripple. Emily didn’t want to
think
about what Uncle Alanson had done—she had a feeling a demon might have been involved—but he’d saved Cabiria from an awful fate. She would have wound up little better than the aristocratic girls of Zangaria...

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She glanced at her watch, then at the walls—and froze in horror. They were
definitely
growing closer, moving faster and faster as she looked from side to side. Cabiria threw out a protective ward, but the sheer pressure instantly started to crush it; Emily hesitated, then made up her mind.

“I think we’ve run out of time,” she said. She fought down panic as she pulled Cabiria into a hug, holding her as close as she could. “Don’t do
anything
, whatever happens.”

Bracing herself, she began the spell.

A
S SOON AS SHE BEGAN THE
spell the wards flared around her, trying to rip the spellware apart and prevent the teleport. Emily hung on desperately to the threads of her magic, pushing power into the spell while holding it firmly in her mind. If the destination was clearly somewhere well away from Whitehall, she hoped, the wards might just let her go without a fight. But as the maelstrom of power grew stronger, it became clear that she’d been wrong. Teleporting within Whitehall was not easy.

Desperation gave her strength. She pushed with all her might, channeling all of her power into the spell. Something broke... no, she realized numbly; it had shifted, not broken. The world went white around her, the light burning so brightly that she still felt it after squeezing her eyes tightly closed, then dark. She lost her footing at the same instant, letting go of Cabiria as she crumpled to the floor. Her head pounded so badly that she nearly threw up. She tasted bile in her mouth, but she couldn’t even muster the urge to swallow.

“Emily,” Cabiria said. “Where are we?”

Emily wasn’t sure. It was still dark, so dark that Emily wondered—in her dazed state—if her eyes were still closed. But they weren’t. She’d aimed the teleport at Dragon’s Den, focusing on her gardens... these weren’t her gardens. It should have been daylight. She felt below her and touched cold stone. Had the spell failed completely? And yet, she was sure
something
had worked. They’d definitely moved...

“I don’t know,” she rasped. It hurt to talk. “I...”

She reached for her magic and swore, inwardly, as she touched only faint traces of her power reserves. Her magic would regenerate, she knew, but for the moment she was virtually powerless. It was hard to move, even. Teleporting out of King Randor’s castle had been far easier than escaping the trap in Whitehall. If, of course, they
had
escaped the trap. The room was so dark the walls could be closing in on them now and they wouldn’t know until it was far too late.

There was a scratching sound, followed by a flickering candlelight. Emily saw Cabiria, her face briefly illuminated, as she hastily lit another pair of candles. Somehow, Emily forced herself to turn her head, but saw nothing in the shadows. The walls didn’t seem to be getting closer... Cabiria rose and paced towards the walls, holding the candle in one hand. They seemed to have more room than they’d had earlier...

“I tried to cast a light spell,” Cabiria said. “It didn’t work.”

“Wards,” Emily croaked.

“This place must be designed to keep magicians prisoner,” Cabiria added, as she walked back towards Emily. “There are so many wards that casting any sort of magic is likely to be impossible.”

She removed a bottle of water from her bag and gently held it to Emily’s lips. Emily drank gratefully, her mind racing as she tried to determine where they were. She had nothing like a prison cell in her house, which meant the teleport had
definitely
dropped them somewhere else. Were Whitehall’s wards powerful enough to redirect a teleport spell, if they couldn’t stop it? She couldn’t think of any other possibility. The warning she’d been given had merely stated that teleporting within Whitehall was forbidden. It hadn’t discussed possible consequences.

Wonderful
, she thought, as she battled to recover some of her strength.
Gordian has all the excuse he could possibly need to expel me
.

“Ah,” Cabiria said. She looked upwards. “We’re in an oubliette.”

Emily shivered. She’d seen King Randor’s oubliette. It was nothing more than a deep hole in the ground, with a grating high overhead to allow passing noblemen to peer down at the prisoners. Food would be dropped from above, every so often, if the prisoners weren’t being deliberately starved to death. Was there an oubliette in Whitehall? She’d never heard of one, but it
was
a castle. Combined with a network of wards to prevent magic, it would be pretty much the perfect prison.

A light flared, high overhead. Emily shielded her eyes as the light grew brighter, revealing two forms peering down at her. The oubliette was starkly revealed, a circular space barely five meters in diameter. There was nowhere to hide, even if she’d wanted to; the walls were so smooth that climbing would be impossible. She looked back at the forms as Cabiria called up to them, but it was impossible to make out their faces. Gordian and Master Tor? Or Sergeant Miles? If they had been redirected into a trap, they would probably have been taken for intruders...

Magic flared around her. It was suddenly impossible to move. Even her breathing seemed to have stopped. She wanted to grit her teeth, but even that was denied her as an invisible force lifted her off the ground and floated her upwards. The light seemed to fade as she grew closer, allowing her to see Gordian and Sergeant Miles. Gordian was expressionless, but Sergeant Miles seemed astonished. But he knew Emily could teleport, didn’t he? Lady Barb would have reassured him that the story hadn’t grown in the telling.

The spell placed them on the ledge, beside the pit, but refused to allow them to move. Emily tried to muster the strength to break the spell, but it was impossible. Gordian stepped forward, holding a long white wand in his hand; Emily felt the urge to flinch as he moved closer, waving the wand over her head. It struck her, suddenly, that she was practically defenseless. Her protections hadn’t survived the tussle with the wards. If Gordian wanted to hurt her...

“Well,” Gordian said. His cold gaze rested on Emily for a long moment, then moved to Cabiria before shifting back to Emily. “Perhaps you could explain to me precisely why you decided to teleport in
my
school?”

“We were trapped,” Cabiria said, as soon as the spell broke. She caught Emily, a second before she collapsed into a heap. “Teleporting out was our only hope.”

“A hope that could easily have killed you,” Sergeant Miles said.

“The walls would have killed us too.” Cabiria said.

She rattled through a full explanation, starting with the discovery of the sloping passageway and the horror of finding themselves trapped. Emily listened, nodding at all the right moments. She felt too tired and drained to say anything herself, even though she suspected that Gordian would want to ask her questions too. They’d been lucky, she knew; the wards could easily have scattered their atoms all over the entire planet, if they hadn’t blocked the teleport completely.

But they’d want to know who had the nerve to teleport into Whitehall School
, she thought, numbly.
Or capture someone trying to escape
.

“Professor Locke is still down there,” Gordian said, thoughtfully. “I am unable to sense him within the wards.”

Emily shivered. Gordian
hadn’t
known they were trapped. If they’d waited for rescue, they would have died deep beneath the school. She wondered, absently, just why the lower set of wards weren’t connected to the main set, then dismissed the thought. It was quite possible they’d never get any answers.

“We need more people to explore the tunnels,” Emily said, quietly. She didn’t quite understand Professor Locke’s concerns, but the tunnels were far more dangerous than she’d dared fear. “Grandmaster, there could be
anything
down there.”

“Yeah,” Cabiria agreed. “Sir...”

“There are reasons,
good
reasons, to keep the number of people involved as low as possible,” Gordian said. “If nothing else...”

“This isn’t about
credit
,” Emily protested. “It’s about keeping people
alive
!”

Gordian gave her a cold look. Emily shivered. She’d never dared talk to the
old
Grandmaster like that. But then, she’d
respected
the old Grandmaster. Gordian was far less worthy of respect.

“Do you really believe,” Gordian asked coldly, “that I would put
credit
ahead of the lives of the students and tutors entrusted to me?”

Emily had to fight not to flinch. It was a nasty question, all the more so because part of her suspected that
was
the case. The fewer people who knew what was below Whitehall, the fewer people who could tell tales out of school—literally. But he had a point. There was no evidence beyond her dislike that Gordian would choose to put credit ahead of lives.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, forcing herself to stand upright. “But having more people involved...”

“Would also increase the number of people at risk,” Gordian snapped. “Or hasn’t
that
occurred to you?”

He held up a hand, cutting off her response. “You drained yourself quite badly jumping out of the trap, but fortunately you didn’t manage to burn yourself out,” he said. “Go report to Madame Kyla. She is to inspect your magic and verify that you are fit to continue with your studies. I imagine she will order you to take a day or two of rest before you return to class.”

Emily scowled. Missing two days of class would require her to work harder—much harder—to catch up. Even if Caleb or one of the other students brought her copies of the lesson plans, she’d need to struggle to catch up... she honestly wasn’t sure she could do it. Hell, she’d have to speak to Mistress Danielle and beg permission to miss a lesson. And, perhaps, stop tutoring the younger girls. Saturday was going to be very busy indeed.

“After she has released you,” Gordian added, “you will report to the Warden.”

He turned and strode out of the chamber. Emily winced, leaning against Cabiria. She supposed she deserved it—she’d really been dreadfully rude—but it was still a shock. And yet, she should probably be grateful he hadn’t sent her there immediately. Perhaps she’d misjudged him if he was giving her permission to get well first.

“I’ll walk you down to the infirmary,” Sergeant Miles said. “You too, Cabiria.”

“I don’t need any help, Sergeant,” Cabiria said. “It was Emily who teleported us out.”

“You need to be checked anyway,” Sergeant Miles said. He held out a hand to Emily, who took it gratefully. “And one other thing.
Don’t
try to teleport within Whitehall again.”

Emily frowned as he helped her towards the door. “What if we get trapped again?”

Sergeant Miles scowled. “You had no inkling the trap was there?”

“No, Sergeant,” Cabiria said. “There wasn’t even a
hint
of warning before the passageway was blocked.”

“It wasn’t a simple booby trap,” Emily said. She cleared her throat as Sergeant Miles gave her an odd look. “I mean, it wasn’t a hex hidden on the floor, waiting for an unwary passer-by to step on it. It was a complete reformatting of the local environment.”

Sergeant Miles lifted his eyebrows. “And that means?”

Emily sighed. She’d never grown out of using Earthly terms. But they fit.

“The walls shifted,” she said. “Just like the corridors up here do.”

“That isn’t reassuring,” Sergeant Miles commented, after a moment. “If there’s no opportunity to sense a trap before it’s too late...”

He shook his head. “I will discuss the matter with the Grandmaster,” he added. “Right now, you need to concentrate on getting better.”

Emily hesitated. “Sergeant... why is the Grandmaster truly reluctant to allow others to join the exploration?”

Sergeant Miles gave her a sharp look. “The Grandmaster is standing on a tightrope,” he said, finally. “There is a great deal to be gained from understanding just what Lord Whitehall did to create the school. At the same time, there are dangers that will work against him, if the exploration program costs lives or has unpleasant results.”