Infinite Regress (7 page)

But he also admitted he was wrong about me
, she reminded herself.
Maybe this won’t be a complete disaster after all
.

“We’ll see what happens tomorrow,” she said, out loud. She turned and strode towards the door. “I’ll leave you two to finish unpacking.”

“See you at dinner,” Caleb called after her.

E
MILY WAS SILENTLY GRATEFUL FOR
C
ALEB’S
presence as they walked into the Great Hall and spotted Master Tor standing at one end of the chamber. It was easy, too easy, to imagine the older tutor taking his brief exile out on her, or having been ordered to keep a very sharp eye on her along with Professor Locke. And yet, when he turned and looked at her, he didn’t show any hint of his feelings at all. Aloha stood beside him, looking concerned.

“Be seated,” Master Tor ordered. His voice was unchanged, deep and baritone—like a Shakespearian actor. Someone had set out chairs and a table; he waved the students to the chairs, rather than forcing them to stand. “We have a considerable amount to cover.”

Emily nodded and sat down, smoothing out her robe as Caleb sat next to her. She couldn’t help noticing that some of the students threw her sidelong glances when they thought she wasn’t looking, as if her mere presence made them nervous. The Gorgon sat next to her, her snakes curling around her ears, but none of the other students seemed keen to approach, not even Melissa or Cabiria. Did she scare them that badly?

She sighed, inwardly, and directed her attention to Master Tor. He didn’t seem to have changed that much, although there was a new purpose animating his movements. The tutor
still
looked alarmingly like Captain Picard, complete with a bald patch on his head that sent a shiver down her spine. It was probably nothing more than a memory—Aurelius had made it clear that DemonMasters almost always shaved their heads—but it still chilled her to the bone. Her last encounter with a demon had nearly killed her.

He’s not a DemonMaster
, she told herself, firmly.
The Grandmaster wouldn’t have allowed him anywhere near Whitehall if he was a practicing demonologist.

Master Tor studied them for a long moment, his eyes pausing momentarily on Emily, then cleared his throat. “First, welcome back for your fifth year of magical studies,” he said. “I have seen and approved all of your course schedules, after the traditional round of haggling, so your formal classes will begin next week, on Monday. If you change your mind about taking one or more of your classes, you may do so at any point, but I am obliged to warn you that it will not be added to your permanent record and it may be impossible to transfer to another class. The tutors have the right to reject any late applicants.”

Emily nodded. Fourth Year had been intense—and Fifth Year promised to be worse. A student who joined a class a week late would be behind and a student who joined a
month
late wouldn’t have a hope of catching up. The tutors would probably advise any latecomers to retake the year, rather than allow them to enter a class they couldn’t complete. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was more practical than anything she’d seen on Earth.

“There are, however, a number of changes in the school,” Master Tor continued, after a long moment of silence. “In particular, some of these changes affect you personally.”

Emily frowned. Gordian had made a brief speech at dinner, the previous evening, where he’d alluded to changes, but he hadn’t said anything concrete. Now... she leaned forward, forcing herself to relax. Maybe the changes wouldn’t be bad ones. Gordian probably just wanted to make his mark on the school. He was experienced enough, surely, to know what worked and what didn’t.

“In particular, you will be expected to take on a mentoring role towards the younger students,” Master Tor said. “You will each be assigned to serve a handful of new students as their mentor. Your task will be to introduce them to Whitehall, outline the basics of magical education and the rules of the school, then provide what support you can as they make their way through their first year. This whole process will be supervised by Aloha, our Head Girl.”

He nodded towards Aloha, who smiled wanly. Emily frowned, wondering if Aloha still bore a grudge over Master Grey’s death. She certainly
deserved
to be Head Girl—Emily hadn’t met anyone smarter—but would she take her feelings out on Emily? Or had she come to realize that Master Grey had deliberately lured Emily into a trap? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had options for evading the duel, if he’d wished. No one would have thought any less of him for refusing a challenge from a student...

Melissa held up her hand. “Sir,” she said. “Are we meant to give up our own time for this?”

“Yes,” Master Tor said. “In fact...”

“But time is not on our side,” Melissa interrupted. “We
all
have to study on our own when we’re not in class.”

Emily stared at her. Interrupting a tutor? It wasn’t done! And yet her heart sank as she realized Melissa was quite right. Even without having to work for Professor Locke, having to give up some of her free time to assist younger students would have a serious effect on her studies. If it was going to be bad for Melissa, it was going to be sheer hell for Emily...

“We are aware of the problems,” Master Tor said. “However, we will only discover some of the problems by doing it.”

Caleb leaned forward. “I can see a problem right now,” he said. “How many of us will have the time to study so we can pass our exams?”

There was a general rustle of agreement. “He’s right,” Cirroc said, backing him up. “If we have to spend our time tutoring stupid brats, we won’t be spending it studying.”

Master Tor cleared his throat, loudly. “First, we will be monitoring your progress and will intervene, if necessary, to ensure that you have a reasonable chance of passing your exams,” he said. “Second, we believe that your mentoring services will not be required after the first couple of months. Third, we have been contemplating extending Fifth Year to
two
years, thus allowing you to concentrate on your studies for the duration of the second year.”

“Then it won’t be
Fifth
Year,” Pandora said.

Emily kept her thoughts to herself. She’d seen something similar, at Mountaintop, but it hadn’t worked out very well. The Shadows had been practically slaves, to all intents and purposes; they worked for older students in exchange for private lessons, lessons that hadn’t always been provided. It was how she’d met Frieda. And she still felt guilty whenever she remembered just how badly Frieda had been hurting, before they’d become friends.

Master Tor ignored the protests. “We understand your concerns,” he said. “But there is another point here.”

His gaze lingered, for a long moment, on Emily. “Apart from students raised in magical households, who are taught the basics from a very early age, far too many students come to Whitehall with only a very sketchy idea of everything from the rules and regulations to the reasons for their existence,” he said. “Some students understand the dangers from the start, others have to learn the rules as they go along—and sometimes they only learn the rule when they get in trouble for breaking it. This has been a major concern over the past twenty years.”

“If that’s true,” Melissa asked, “why wasn’t something done about it earlier?”

Master Tor frowned. “The previous Grandmaster, may he rest in peace, believed that establishing a mentorship system would be detrimental to education,” he said. “Students would learn faster, he claimed, if they believed themselves to be on their own. The
current
Grandmaster feels otherwise.”

Emily tilted her head, slightly. She knew who Master Tor had in mind, when he’d pointed out that some students only discovered the rules by breaking them.
She’d
been one of those students. And yet, she had to admit he had a point. She’d been hellishly ignorant when she’d been sent to Whitehall, even though her discoverer was supposed to ensure she received a full briefing on how to handle the school before sending her there. Void, for whatever reason, had barely told her anything before summoning a dragon to fly her to Whitehall.

And they all think I’m his daughter
, she reminded herself.
I should have known at least as much as Melissa, when she entered the school
.

Caleb nudged her. “What do you think?”

Emily took a moment to get her thoughts in order.
She
would have done better in her first year with a mentor, someone who could have advised her as she fitted into the school. But she’d also seen just how badly the mentorship scheme could be abused at Mountaintop, with younger students treated as servants by older students. It would depend on just how the system was implemented.
And
how closely the mentors were supervised.

“It’s a good idea, in theory,” Emily muttered, pitching her voice low. They’d have to talk about it later. “But will we have the time to mentor younger students?”

“It might have been better to have us do it in Second Year,” Caleb muttered back. “We would know the ropes, but we wouldn’t be too occupied with studies.”

He stuck up his hand. “I can see the value of the mentorship program, sir,” he said. “But surely it would be better to have the Second Years do it. They’d be closer to the First Years.”

“The Second Years would be
too
close to the First Years,” Master Tor pointed out. A thin smile flickered over his face. “There would be a gap between them, of course, but it would not be unbridgeable. You have enough magical knowledge and experience to be vastly superior to any newcomer—and if you don’t, you’re not going to pass your exams anyway.”

Caleb reddened, slightly, as several students snickered. Emily caught his hand and squeezed it, gently. Master Tor had a point, she had to admit. And there was a point he hadn’t mentioned either. The rules on dating specifically forbade relationships between students who were more than a year apart. A Second Year could date a First Year... and if that student was also a mentor it could open up a whole new can of worms.

It would be far too easy to abuse the position
, she thought.
One might not even be aware that one was abusing it.

“We do understand that none of you knew that this was coming,” Master Tor said. “Like I said, if this doesn’t work out, there are contingency plans in place. You can find the details in the paperwork we’ll be passing out after this meeting.”

Emily kept her face expressionless, despite her mixed feelings, but several of the other students didn’t look too pleased. Passing their Fifth and Sixth Year exams on the first attempt would look
very
good on their resumes, particularly if they were competing for one of the most prestigious apprenticeships. Caleb wanted an apprenticeship, she knew; he’d
need
to leave with very high marks to get a chance to study under a very well-known master.

And Pandora may not have her fees paid past Sixth Year
, she thought.
If she has to repeat a year, she might not be able to afford it
.

She scowled at the thought. Markus could pay Melissa’s fees, if she couldn’t get a Healing Scholarship, but she had no idea about the others. Caleb’s family could pay; the Gorgon’s tribe might be reluctant to pay.

Bracing herself, she raised her hand. “Sir,” she said. “What about fees for retaking the year?”

Master Tor scowled. “It is not our general policy to allow students to repeat a year without charge,” he said. “But in this case, we will...
consider...
a reduction in fees, or waiving them altogether, if we believe that the student in question failed because he or she was taking part in the mentorship program.”

“If,” Caleb muttered.

Emily nodded in agreement. Students on Earth had come up with all sorts of excuses for not completing their homework or failing their exams; hell, the only real difference between the excuses on Earth and the excuses at Whitehall was that the latter were often more imaginative. At least one student had cheerfully claimed that his homework had eaten the dog; another, she recalled, had insisted that he’d been cursed and was now allergic to exam papers. It said a great deal about magic, she felt, that there was apparently a grain of truth in both excuses.

“They won’t have any benchmark,” she muttered back, darkly. She gritted her teeth in irritation. The mentorship program was a good idea—a
great
idea—but at the same time it was going to cause all manner of headaches. And it might produce a number of unintended consequences. “They won’t
know
for sure if we failed because we were busy mentoring students or simply lazy.”

Master Tor tapped the table, once.

“The Head Girl will explain the ins and outs of the program to you,” he said, when he had their attention. “However, there are two points I need to make clear.

“First, you are expected to take this seriously. You are
not
being given servants you can order around or younger siblings you can play with. Anyone caught abusing the youngsters they are supposed to mentor will find themselves staring expulsion in the face. I will do everything in my power to make sure that anyone so unpleasant never has a chance to be unpleasant to anyone else, at least at this school.”

Emily nodded. It was a wise precaution. She remembered, all too clearly, just how the Mountaintop Shadows had been abused and worked to death by their appointed masters.

“Second,” Master Tor continued, “you have limited power to assign punishments to your charges. The prospects for abuse should be clear to you. Understand, then, that any of you caught issuing excessive or unnecessary punishment will face the same punishment. I suggest, very strongly, that you bear that in mind. You are considered adults now, with all that implies. Those of you who fail to live up to the standards we set will regret it.”

He nodded to Aloha, then took a seat at the side of the room. Aloha stepped forward, looking regally confident in the Head Girl’s long black robe. Emily admired her poise, even as Aloha’s eyes flickered over her without any acknowledgement at all. Her former friend probably
did
still bear a grudge.