Infinite Regress (37 page)

Emily nodded in agreement. Whitehall’s water was
safe
, filtered through the wards and cleansed of everything that might make a human ill—or dead. She’d been warned to always boil or filter water outside Whitehall, but she’d never had to do either
inside
the school. It was going to be hard to remember, even though she
knew
the dangers. And she had no idea what they were going to do for showers.

Perhaps use buckets and sponges
, she thought.
If we can’t get out of the trap, smelling bad will be the least of our problems.

Gordian frowned. “Make sure they all know the dangers,” he ordered. “Do we have a better map of the school yet?”

Emily cleared her throat. “Some of the corridors have become... dangerous,” she said, and outlined what they’d experienced. “I don’t know why it happened.”

“A rogue spell,” Sergeant Miles commented, when she’d finished. His lips quirked into a humorless smile. “That is, perhaps, the least disturbing possibility.”

Gordian looked at the chart on the table. “Much of the school seems
safe
,” he said. “It has merely been
rearranged
.”

“And may rearrange itself again,” Sergeant Miles added. “Or worse.”

“We will have to resume classes,” Gordian said. “The students will grow restless if they have nothing to do.”

Emily gaped at him, then conceded—reluctantly—that he might have a point. Whitehall had been driven to the brink of collapse by the Mimic, when classes had been cancelled and students had huddled together, paying off old grudges in what they’d believed to be their final hours. Keeping the students, particularly the younger students, busy might just prevent a second breakdown. And besides, if they made it out alive, they wouldn’t have to surrender a week or two of their holidays to make up for what they’d missed.

“That’s a good idea,” she said.

“Thank you,” Gordian said. His tone was heavy with sarcasm. “I’m glad you approve of my intentions.”

Emily felt her face redden, but stood her ground beside Caleb as another tutor—Professor Rooihemp, a man she barely knew—stepped into the chamber. He looked nervous, yet grimly determined as he held up his staff. Gordian looked past Emily to the newcomer, his face darkening with concern. Beside him, Sergeant Miles didn’t look any happier.

“I worked out the spells,” Professor Rooihemp said, grimly. “I should be able to teleport out of the school.”

“You might well be wrong,” Sergeant Miles pointed out. “The wards are not configured to allow anyone to teleport out—and we no longer control them.”

“If the wards are functional, I’ll end up in the oubliette,” Professor Rooihemp reminded him, curtly. “And if they are not functional, I will make it outside the school and can summon help. They can open a portal to us with the correct coordinates.”

“At the risk of your life,” Gordian said. “Are we that desperate?”

“With all due respect, Grandmaster, I believe we are,” Professor Rooihemp said. “If parts of the dimensional matrix are not stable, sir, it is only a matter of time before the entire structure collapses into nothingness. Every single one of us will die.”

Emily swallowed, hard.
She
had teleported within Whitehall, only to end up trapped... but at least she’d been rescued. Professor Rooihemp might be trapped too... or worse. Teleporting was hard enough outside Whitehall, but inside a multidimensional structure it was almost impossible. But, at the same time, she knew Professor Rooihemp was probably right. The school was almost certainly
not
stable. Time was slowly ticking away.

“You can make the attempt,” Gordian said, finally. “But carefully, very carefully.”

“And not from here,” Sergeant Miles added. “I suggest teleporting out of the entry hall.”

Professor Rooihemp nodded and left the chamber. Emily watched him go, wishing suddenly that she’d known him better. He was a Charms tutor, but she’d spent most of her lessons with Professor Lombardi. She reached for Caleb’s hand and held it tightly as the door closed, cutting off her view of the professor. She couldn’t escape the feeling that she would never see him again.

“I have completed my preliminary survey of the control room,” Professor Lombardi said, into the silence. He sounded irked. It took Emily a moment to realize that Professor Rooihemp would have been working with him, but instead he had decided to try to work out the spell for teleporting back to the Nameless World. “The spellwork is... odd.”

Gordian leaned forward. “In what way?”

“It is both fantastically complex and very primitive,” Professor Lombardi said. “Much of the spellwork is little more than brute-force spellware, rather than the more subtle spells we have devised over the years. There are spells held firmly in place by other spells. And yet, the shared matrix of spellware is so complex that, combined with the nexus point, there are few limits to what it can do. I have only just
started
unravelling the complexities, but I believe it’s only a matter of time before we unravel everything.”

Caleb nudged Emily. “Remind you of anything?”

Emily nodded.

Gordian turned to look at her. “Explain. Now.”

Emily groaned, inwardly. She’d known they would have to discuss their work eventually, if only to explain why they’d unilaterally changed their joint project without asking for permission from their supervisors, but she hadn’t been looking forward to it. Gordian might well use their decision as an excuse to fail both of them. And yet, with Professor Lombardi slowly poking away at the control room, necessity superseded their private project.

“We started to experiment with self-maintaining spellwork,” she said, carefully. “It...”

Master Tor rubbed his forehead. “Only you,” he said. “Why...?”

“The Mimic,” Sergeant Miles said. “
That’s
where you got the idea.”

Gordian turned to face him. “The Mimic?”

“Mimics are not
actual
creatures,” Sergeant Miles said. “They’re
spells
. Independent spells, operating with a complexity far beyond anything else known to exist.”

“Until now,” Emily said.

“Quite,” Sergeant Miles agreed. He nodded to her, cheerfully. “It was
Emily
who had the insight into their true nature.”

Gordian cocked his head, meeting Emily’s eyes. “And no one saw fit to bring this to my attention?”

“Your predecessor believed that common knowledge of their true nature would have adverse effects,” Sergeant Miles said, earning Emily’s eternal gratitude. “He feared that the Mimics gained their power through a form of necromancy. The results of making such a technique public might be disastrous.”

“I see,” Gordian said. He seemed torn. “If we get out of this... this lobster pot, please rest assured that we will discuss this in
great
detail.”

He scowled at Emily. “And we will...
consider
... the precise status of your joint project too,” he added.

“We can finish the original project,” Caleb said. “It has its uses too.”

“I’m sure it does,” Gordian said. Oddly, he sounded sincere. “However...”

“Unlocking the spellware within the chamber may be the key to escaping the trap,” Professor Lombardi said. “I have already asked Professor Locke to review every last manuscript saved from Old Whitehall, now that we have the context for some of the wilder statements found within the tomes.”

“It will also keep him out of trouble,” Gordian commented.

“Quite,” Professor Lombardi said. “I would also like to have Emily and Caleb assigned to my research program.”

“Out of the question,” Gordian said.

“They both have more experience with this type of spellware than anyone else,” Professor Lombardi said, bluntly. “I don’t think we can afford to dismiss it lightly.”

Gordian eyed Emily for a long moment, then nodded curtly. “Very well,” he said. “But you can start tomorrow. Right now, everyone needs a rest.”

Emily nodded in agreement. She felt tired and drained; Caleb, she suspected, felt pretty much the same way. Far too much had happened over the last few hours. But she needed to raise another issue before finding her bedroom or bedding down in one of the classrooms for the night.

“Sir,” she said. “There’s another problem.”

“Another problem,” Gordian repeated. He sounded as tired as she felt. “And it is...?”

Emily hesitated, then plunged onwards as Caleb squeezed her hand. “I have a theory about how my magical signature was found near the library,” she said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to carry on—Gordian might decide to lock her up, all for her own good—but pressed ahead anyway. “If someone had a sample of my blood, they could use it to manipulate me... couldn’t they?”

Gordian’s face darkened. “And does
anyone
have a sample of your blood?”

“I don’t think so,” Emily said. “But if they did, would I know about it?”

Sergeant Miles scowled. “Even if someone took control of you and used you to get the books,” he said, “would you have time before you were caught?”

“That’s what I said,” Caleb said. “There wasn’t time!”

“There might have been,” Gordian mused. “It would depend on how the spell was cast.”

Emily shook her head, slowly. “I don’t
know
,” she admitted. “Is it possible to
check
?”

Gordian exchanged a glance with Sergeant Miles. “Perhaps,” he said. “We’d need a soul magic ritual... I’ll have to give it some thought.”

Professor Lombardi snorted. “And until then, we will just keep an eye on you,” he said. “We don’t have time to worry about outside influences, not now.”

“We would have to set up the ritual,” Gordian said. He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “Is there anyone in this school you trust completely?”

Emily swallowed. She didn’t trust
anyone
completely, save perhaps for Lady Barb. But Lady Barb was far away, almost certainly unaware of what had happened to Whitehall. A soul magic ritual meant intimacy, enforced intimacy, with at least one other person. She wasn’t sure she could do that with anyone.

But there was no choice. “Frieda,” she said. “I trust her.”

Caleb squeezed her hand. When she glanced at him, she saw a hurt expression crossing his face before it vanished behind a mask. She shook her head at him, then mouthed "later" when he raised his eyebrows. She’d have to explain they didn’t dare risk such intimacy. They were already partners. Who knew what touching souls would do? She’d studied soul magics at Mountaintop and learned enough to know they were not to be taken lightly. A mistake could bind her to Caleb permanently or blur their souls together into one entity...

“A third year student,” Sergeant Miles said. “Emily, do you think she would be willing to
try
to touch your soul?”

“I trust her,” Emily repeated. “If she says no, we can look for someone else.”

Sergeant Miles looked at Gordian. “It will be tricky,” he said. “We don’t have a SoulHealer in the school.”

“There are only a handful within the Allied Lands,” Gordian agreed. “We can make the ritual work, can’t we?”

“Perhaps,” Sergeant Miles said. His eyes met Emily’s. “There are risks, young lady. Are you sure you want to embrace them?”

“I have to
know
,” Emily said. “If I have been under outside control...”

Her throat was dry. She swallowed, hard, as the implications struck her. What would they do if she
had
been influenced? Blood magic wasn’t a simple compulsion spell, one that could be easily broken. It could be woven into her very
soul
. Shadye hadn’t done any long-term damage, as far as she knew, but he’d only been interested in breaking into Whitehall. Someone with more skill and less immediate need for power could slowly turn her into a monster—and she’d never know it. She’d keep rationalizing it to herself until it was far too late to turn back.

“We will find out,” Gordian said, awkwardly. He cleared his throat as he glanced at his watch. “I want you to bed down with the first years—the students in your charge. Keep them comforted at night.”

“Yes, sir,” Emily said. She’d seen her students briefly, in the Great Hall; it struck her, suddenly, that they must be bored. There was nothing to
do
in the Great Hall. “Where are they?”

“In two of the classrooms,” Gordian said. “Sergeant Miles will show you the way.”

He glanced at Caleb. “Same for you, Caleb,” he added. “Try not to let them sneak out at night. It’s no longer a game.”

Caleb nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Nothing is the same any longer.”

“Hex them to their sleeping bags, if necessary,” Gordian said. “And don’t hesitate to smack them if they try to sneak out.”

“Yes, sir,” Caleb said.

Emily started as a dull quiver ran through the school, followed by a heart-rending scream that chilled her to the bone. “What...”

“It came from the hall,” Sergeant Miles said. He hurried towards the door, followed by Gordian and Professor Lombardi. “
Quickly
!”

Emily and Caleb exchanged glances, then followed the tutors as they ran down the stairs and into the entrance hall. Normally, it was empty; students would unload carriages and leave their trunks on the floor, then transport them up to their rooms. Now... she stared in horror at the sight before her, her mind fighting to grasp what it was seeing. Professor Rooihemp was floating in the center of the chamber, his body frozen even as it started to explode, as if someone had pushed
pause
. She had to fight from throwing up at the look of agony on his disintegrating face, convinced—deep inside—that Professor Rooihemp remained conscious even as his body died. He knew what was happening, yet he could neither save himself nor die.

“Oh, hell,” Caleb breathed.

“He’s isolated from us,” Professor Lombardi said. He held a wand in one hand, waving it thoughtfully towards Professor Rooihemp. “I’m not sure what happened to him...”

“He failed to make it out,” Sergeant Miles said, sharply. “
That’s
what happened to him.”