Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling (2 page)

No wonder Miss Prim fled the moment she could
, Elaine thought, ruefully.
She must have hated being convinced that she had birds nesting in her hair
.

Pushing the disconcerting sensations aside, Elaine studied the wards carefully. Hundreds of sorcerers had created them, piece by piece; few of them had really understood what they were creating. The Witch-King, before his fall from grace, had been one of them. No wonder he had been able to slip a booby trap through the wards – and no wonder no one had expected anything of the sort! They’d thought that all the magicians who might have built themselves a secret password to get through the wards were dead.

Elaine shivered at the memory. Barely six months ago, she had been a normal librarian, one of many who worked in the Great Library. And then she’d picked up the book that had been carefully steered to her, the book that had been primed to channel all of the knowledge in the library into her mind. And then things had
really
become complicated.

She smiled to herself as the wards flickered and danced around her. One thing the spell
had
done – something she doubted the Witch-King had meant it to do – was show her precisely how spells
really
worked. Most magicians used their raw power to cover up the gaps in their knowledge, doing it so naturally that they never really realised what they were doing. Elaine, on the other hand, had little power, but by disassembling spells and putting them back together again she was able to do much more than she
should
have been.

Carefully, she began to study how the Great Library’s wards went together ... and swallowed a curse as she realised that there were more holes in the library’s security than anyone had ever discovered. Most of them were countered by other wards, but someone with
real
knowledge might have been able to exploit them. She couldn’t help wondering if there had been more thefts from the library than had ever been officially acknowledged. The librarians would be reluctant to admit failure when every ambitious magician would try to take advantage of the library’s weakness.

All right
, she told herself.
Here we go
.

Piece by piece, she shaped tiny spells in her mind and uploaded them into the library’s wards, mapping them out
thoroughly.
By now, it would be impossible to disassemble the wards and recast them, no matter how much better they could have become with some careful fiddling and other improvements. They had simply become
part
of the library. But she could still make some improvements ...

She pulled herself out of the wards and opened her eyes, feeling drained. Unlike Miss Prim, her inherent magic wasn’t strong enough to sustain the contact indefinitely, not when the wards drew on her as savagely as any other spell she knew. Dread would probably have been able to hold the contact for hours – the Inquisitors were chosen for magical strength as well as skill and bloody-mindedness – but the wards would have rejected him. The only other person who could have manipulated them was the Grand Sorceress.

“Ready,” she said, as she sagged. Sweat was pouring down her back, despite the cool air. “The spell can be triggered at any time.”

Dread nodded, one hand on his staff. “Do you want to do it now or wait until later?”

Elaine hesitated. On the one hand, she
was
exhausted – and really needed to get some sleep in her office to allow her magic to recharge. But on the other hand, she didn’t want to have to do the whole process over again – and she would have to, if they delayed too long. The new spells she’d added to the wards wouldn’t last indefinitely.

“I think so,” she said. “Ready?”

Dread bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Elaine allowed herself a tired smile, then linked with the wards again, sending a final command into the network. She felt the wards shift as she fell out of the connection, her magic depleted so badly that she wouldn’t have been able to light a candle, even with the newer lighting spells she’d developed personally. Not that it mattered; now that she’d given the order, the wards could do the rest on their own, sweeping the entire library for signs of unwanted dark magic – or other surprises. Light magic was associated with goodness, naturally, but there were plenty of ways light spells could be used to cause trouble.

“It’s done,” she said, as she collapsed into her seat. “The spells are searching now.”

Dread put out a hand and squeezed hers, an odd gesture of affection from the Inquisitor. “I thank you,” he said. “Now ... relax.”

Elaine nodded, torn between watching as the wards searched the library and closing her eyes and trying to sleep. Standard search spells could locate an object within range very quickly, assuming they knew what they were actually looking
for
. The task she’d assigned to the library’s wards was far harder. They were to locate and catalogue any magic that wasn’t actually part of the library’s protections and filing system, then report back to Elaine. There would probably be plenty of reports of various cheating spells used by students desperate to pass their exams, but she wasn’t too worried about those. The real danger came from darker magic.

She had almost dozed off completely when the wards twitched against her mind. A moment later, a glowing image of the library appeared in front of them, showing the location of every spell and magical artefact that hadn’t been cleared to enter the library. Elaine sucked in her breath when she saw the vast number of cheating spells and charmed note-takers. The Peerless School had always encouraged creative thinking and rule-bending, but surely there were limits.

“I shouldn’t worry about it,” Dread said. “Magic is all about looking for ways to cheat.”

Elaine blinked in surprise. “You’re advocating
cheating
?”

“Drawing information out of a book isn’t cheating,” Dread pointed out, dryly. “Neither is the use of memory potions to enhance one’s recall. They are taught, after all, because someone might want to use them. Cheating is getting someone else to do the work and most of those spells won’t help with that.”

“I suppose,” Elaine muttered, remembering her own schooling. There had been times when she’d been tempted to cheat, if it had been possible to cheat her way into a greater level of inherent magic. But that had been impossible – then. Now, she knew a thousand ways to boost her power ... and the terrible price they demanded. Sanity, for starters. “And that ...?”

Dread followed her pointing finger. “
That
isn’t a standard method of cheating at all,” he said. “That’s a damned
compulsion
spell.”

Elaine pressed her hands against the glowing image, trying to get it to focus in on the user. It turned out to be a seventeen-year-old girl preparing for her exams. Charity Conidian, Elaine recalled; one of the daughters of a Privy Councillor. Why would
she
want to cheat when it would reflect badly on her father? But the charm might not be her work at all.

“I’ll ask Vane to bring her into my office,” Elaine said, as she staggered to her feet. “You can interview her there without disturbing the other students.”

Vane obeyed without question. Elaine’s deputy wasn’t a good librarian – she certainly lacked the obsession with books that had driven Elaine when she was younger – but she was good at dealing with people, a quality that Elaine lacked. Her smile, undoubted power and family connections allowed her to handle the library’s staff and visitors, leaving Elaine to work on managing the library’s collection and writing her own spellbook.

“Draw some energy from the wards,” Dread advised, as Elaine yawned. “You might need it.”

Elaine shook her head. The library’s wards simply didn’t work that way.

Charity Conidian proved to be the sort of girl that Elaine had hated, back when she’d been in school. Beautiful, rich, well-connected ... and actually good at her studies. Long blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face that was probably the result of endless cosmetic charms – or so Elaine told herself. Charity reminded her of Millicent, before Kane had almost destroyed her mind. Six months later, Millicent still hadn’t recovered completely.

“Good afternoon,” Dread said, lifting his wand. The girl’s eyes went wide, but he had the compulsion spell off her before it could force her to do anything drastic. “Who put that spell on you?”

“My father,” Charity said. Very few people would be stupid enough to lie to an Inquisitor. “I asked him to do it.”

Elaine stared at her. Compulsion spells were not exactly illegal, but using one on someone without a very good reason was likely to get the magician in hot water. And using one on one’s own daughter? The books in Elaine’s head told her that it had happened before, in far more detail than she’d ever wanted to know.
None
of the reasons were very good.

“Your father, the Conidian, put a basic compulsion spell on you,” Dread said. He didn’t sound as if he believed her either. “Why?”

Charity sagged. “I was having problems keeping up with my studies,” she admitted, “and father promised me an establishment of my own if I graduated in the top ten. But I just couldn’t concentrate! So I went to him and asked him for the charm.”

Elaine and Dread shared a glance. As far as she knew – and thanks to the Witch-King her memory went back as far as the foundation of the Empire itself – that was unprecedented.

She found herself giving the girl a look of mild respect. Actually
going
to someone and asking them to use such a charm, just to help them study? Elaine couldn’t decide if it was a stroke of genius or absolute madness.

“Compulsion charms can be dangerous,” Dread said, “
particularly
if someone accepted them voluntarily. I suggest that you learn to master the art of studying
without
such help.”

He scowled at her. “And your father will hear from me about it,” he added. “He should know better than to use such charms on his daughter.”

Charity bowed her head, then retreated from the office.

“Well,” Dread said, once the door was closed. “
That
was a fine waste of time.”

“Maybe,” Elaine said. The Conidian served on the Privy Council, after all. She had a feeling that she hadn’t heard the last of the whole affair. “But at least we know the monitoring system works now.”

“Yes,” Dread said. “Until someone else finds a new way to break in.”

Chapter Two

“Well?”

Johan Conidian winced at his father’s tone as he eyed the druid. He’d faced his father furious about something Johan had done, but the note of pleading – desperate pleading – in his voice was worse. His father was a powerful magician, with enough political power to earn himself a seat on the Privy Council; he shouldn’t have to beg or plead for good news. And yet there was no mistaking the plea in his voice.

The druid eyed Johan sadly, then turned his attention to Johan’s father. “I’m afraid that there is still no trace of magic in his body,” he said, flatly. “Nor are there any signs that he will develop it later in life.”

Johan couldn’t help a wince. He came from a family that had magic running through its veins, one where his siblings had started developing their powers before they even reached their teens. But he had no magic at all ... and, it seemed, no hope of developing it. In a world where magical power meant political power, he was a cripple. If he’d been born into a mundane family, he would never have known what he was missing. But he was part of the Conidian family ...

The sight of his father made him wince again. The Conidian was as tall as his son, but he looked tough, the sort of man who would never back down from a challenge, while Johan had inherited a slimmer build from his mother. His father’s hair was turning grey; Johan’s was still brown. And his father wore the fine robes of a Privy Councillor while Johan wore nothing but a drab black suit. A reminder, if any were needed, that he would never be more than a mundane freak who just happened to have magical relatives.

Most of his family pitied magical children who were born to mundane families. How awful it must be for them, his aunts and uncles had tittered, to know that they were far above their parents, let alone their non-magical siblings. But the jokes had long since stopped being funny, not to Johan. It was far worse to be the sole mundane in a family of magicians.

“I have run extensive tests,” the druid said, pointing to the array of devices he’d bought with him. Hiring the services of such a capable and well-known druid had cost the Conidian a pretty penny. “There is simply no trace of independent magic within Johan’s body. He doesn’t even seem to absorb background magic, despite living in a highly-magical environment. I’m afraid, sir, that you’re just raising false hopes and wasting money.”

Johan clenched his fists at the pity in the man’s tone. But the druid was right; if he’d had the slightest trace of magic in his blood, the background magic of the wards protecting House Conidian should have been drawn to him. Instead, being in the colossal house was almost like being in prison. He could not leave the building or do any one of a multitude of other tasks without asking one of his parents or siblings to do it for him. His parents did it, reluctantly. But his brothers and sisters were far more unpleasant about it.

“It isn’t unknown for people to develop magic comparatively late in life,” the druid continued. “However, in most such cases, the
potential
for magic already exists, waiting to be triggered.”

The Conidian leaned forward. “Is there
nothing
that can help him?”

Johan felt a stab of pain through his heart. He
was
a cripple – and his father was growing desperate to have him develop magic, any magic. Once, he’d read a handful of the darker tomes in his father’s private library, searching for something that would help him. But all he had learned was just how dangerous some magical rituals could be. And, for that matter, just how angry his father could become. Magical tomes were not to be shared with non-magicians.

“There are rituals that can enhance one’s magic,” the druid admitted, reluctantly. “However, in all known cases, they require a spark of magic to work. Johan could not perform even the first set of spells. And, even if he could, he would be risking insanity. Those rituals are immensely dangerous.”