Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (22 page)

“Get the princess out of here,” Lady Barb snapped. “And then tell the princes to run too.”

Emily shook her head. The cockatrice could
fly
. Alassa wouldn’t be safe unless Emily managed to teleport her out–and she’d been warned, in no uncertain terms, not to try teleporting until she was considered ready for it. Alassa might escape the cockatrice, only to be killed by her incompetent friend’s experiment with teleportation. And no one would ever know what had happened to them.

Lady Barb threw three more hexes and a curse in quick succession, trying to keep the creature distracted. The hexes were designed to burrow their way through wards–more powerful versions of the spell Lady Barb had used to test Emily–and might have an effect on a creature that drew on the magic field to fly. It howled as bright magic flickered around it, then shook it off. All of the reports claimed that magical creatures didn’t have any proper control over magic–their magic depended on instincts rather than actual control–but Emily couldn’t help wondering if that was actually true. The cockatrice had beaten the hex with remarkable speed for something that didn’t really know what it was doing.

“I told you to run,” Lady Barb snapped. She shook Emily, violently. “Run, damn you!”

“Not yet,” Emily said. An idea was slowly flowering into her mind. It had worked in a book she’d read once…of course, not everything she’d read in fantasy books really applied in a fantasy world. “Give me a moment.”

The mirror charm was one of the simplest spells taught at Whitehall–indeed, Emily knew that most of the pupils had memorized it long before they actually came to the school. Emily modified it, working at frantic speed, and then cast it in front of the cockatrice. It saw its own reflection and reared back, staring in disbelief. And then it settled down, crooning slightly as it kept its gaze fixed on its own reflection. It seemed to have forgotten about its prey.

“It’s admiring itself,” Lady Barb exclaimed. For once, she sounded almost respectful. “I do believe that it is admiring itself.”

Emily wasn’t so sure. Some creatures, if confronted with a mirror, would assume that they were facing a rival male and attack. The mirror charm probably wouldn’t last long if the cockatrice tried to rip the imaginary creature apart, leaving them to face a maddened–and understandably angry–creature. There was no way to know just how intelligent the cockatrice actually was. Dragons were intelligent, if
alien
; chickens didn’t seem to be any more intelligent here than they were on Earth.

“We have to do something more permanent,” she said, grimly. She didn’t know any curses that would burn through the creature’s scales; tunics made from dragon skin were highly prized simply because hardly any curse could get through them. “How do we kill one of these things?”

“Drown it,” Lady Barb said. They turned to look at the fast-flowing river, then back at the cockatrice. “How do we get it into the river?”

Emily scowled. The river would have killed a human quickly, but the cockatrice was much larger and tougher than any human. It was likely to come raging out of the water, intent on killing its tormentors. She wondered, briefly, if they could slip around the creature before it realized that the mirror was an illusion, but it would be just too risky. Even distracted, it was still blocking the road.

She could try something she’d been thinking about for months, a spell that destroyed the bonds holding matter together. The cockatrice would literally collapse into dust. But using the spell so close to Lady Barb–and Prince Hedrick–would give them a chance to analyse it. The secret would be out and the consequences would be incalculable. Given enough power and knowledge, someone could reduce an entire castle to atoms…

And then she had a thought.

“Watch it,” she ordered, and then sprinted back to the carriage. The coachman had run to join everyone else, unsurprisingly, but her chest had been made for her. She needed no help to pull it out of the coach. Once it was out, she touched her hand to the magical seal and concentrated hard, trying to program in a complex series of commands. The chest was bigger on the inside than on the outside, but the original designer had limited the access to whatever could fit through the hatch. But with a little tinkering…

Should have done this with something disposable
, she thought, realizing her own mistake too late. The chest had cost a sizable sum of money–and it contained things she didn’t want to lose, including the library’s books–and her grimoire. And the book Void had given her before she went to Whitehall. Cursing herself, she carried the chest back to where Lady Barb was standing and winked at her.

“What are you…?”

Emily grinned and ran up to the cockatrice before she could think better of it. Up close, the air around the beast was hot, hot enough to make her sweat. Opening the chest, she activated the access point to the pocket dimension inside, praying that her modifications held. If not, the cockatrice would either destroy her possessions or break free. Neither one was a good thought. The beast stirred as the pocket dimension opened up, then vanished in a flash of light. Emily sat back, suddenly aware that she was shaking. The cockatrice was now confined within her chest.

Very carefully, she tested the spells and relaxed as she realized that they were holding. Time didn’t pass inside the chest, at least in theory. But she’d never confined a cockatrice inside a chest before–as far as she knew, no one had. And she couldn’t simply blink the dimension out of existence without destroying everything.

“You…are…crazy,” Lady Barb said. “Do you realize that getting it out is going to be a nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Emily admitted. “But for the moment, it’s trapped.”

They shared a long look. “Let’s go,” Lady Barb said, finally. “The king and queen are waiting for us.”

E
MILY SUCKED IN HER BREATH AS
the city of Alexis finally came into view. The city was more impressive than she’d expected, larger than Dragon’s Den and sundered by a river that ran down from the Mountains of Mourning and poured into the sea. Small boats floated on the river, some recognizable as fishing boats, others with purposes she couldn’t identify. In the center of the city, she saw a castle rising up on a small hillside. Like many of the others she’d seen, assaulting it would be difficult, almost impossible.

Or at least it would be without magic
, she thought.
Or a dragon or two on your side
.

“You get to ride in the open coach from here,” Alassa said, as the procession stopped, briefly. She’d changed into a white dress while they’d been traveling, which hadn’t been easy even with Emily’s help. There just wasn’t enough room in the carriage to dress someone properly. “Just keep waving as we move up the Royal Mile.”

“I’ll try,” Emily said. She’d become used to people staring at her, ever since she’d defeated Shadye, but having thousands of people watching as she passed was too much. “You sure you want to ride?”

“Tradition,” Alassa said. They’d picked up a white horse for her when they’d stopped at the first fort inside Zangaria. “But it is much better than riding in a coach.”

Emily stepped out of the carriage and walked over to the open coach. It was large enough to hold Emily and six of Alassa’s suitors; the remainder had a coach of their own. Not that
they
would be cheered much, Alassa had told Emily, very quietly. The common folk were not always enthusiastic about their royalty marrying outsiders. Even when the local was the dominant partner, it often meant trouble.

She caught sight of the chest–and of the coachman eying it suspiciously. The cockatrice was in stasis–she couldn’t imagine how it could break free–but if it did, the expansion would destroy the carriage as well as the chest itself. She honestly wasn’t sure what to do with it; Alassa had suggested giving it to her father as a gift, although Emily rather doubted that the king would
want
a cockatrice. The alternative was keeping it in the chest until they got back to Whitehall, whereupon she could unload it into the zoo. A great many creatures had escaped in the wake of Shadye’s attack–she had nightmares about where the mimic might be hiding–and they might be grateful for a cockatrice. Or maybe its relatives would turn up fifty years later, demanding revenge.

Lady Barb climbed up behind her and nodded to the driver. He cracked his whip and the carriage began to move down the road towards the city–and the crowds waiting for them there. Lady Barb sat back, eying Emily out of the corner of her eye. She’d even asked, rather sarcastically, if Emily had trapped
Shadye
in her chest, which was alarmingly close to the truth. Emily had pointed out that Shadye was dead–it certainly seemed impossible for him to have survived–and refused to talk about the matter further. In hindsight, perhaps she should have tried to drown the beast instead.

Alexis had walls, but the city had expanded to the point where the walls only really protected the inner city. The first building they saw were small hovels, made from waste material and mud, just like the other shacks they’d seen on the journey. And yet there was an air of…
hope
that surprised her. The people who had moved to the city thought that they were working towards a better life. There were fewer children than she had expected, unless they were at school. Did Zangaria insist that everyone go to school? It seemed unlikely.

The street was lined with cheering crowds and armed guards. Most of them were shouting for Alassa, welcoming her home with varying degrees of enthusiasm, but a small number were cheering Emily. Only a handful of people in the Allied Lands could claim to have killed a necromancer and most of them had cheated, normally by poisoning the necromancer or luring him into a killing ground.

Alassa lifted her hand and waved grandly towards the crowds. Emily honestly couldn’t see how she maintained her balance on the horse, but Alassa had been riding since she was a little girl. Horses seemed to love her, even if no one else had been so kind before Emily had almost killed Alassa for trying to bully Imaiqah. Emily had at least mastered the basics of riding, but she did intend to learn to teleport as soon as possible. She always had the feeling that the horses were plotting to tip her off and run away.

“Wave,” Lady Barb hissed. “Show your appreciation.”

Emily nervously obeyed. She could
feel
thousands of eyes on her, staring and judging…the roar grew louder as she waved, although she couldn’t tell if they were cheering her, or Alassa, or even Lady Barb. The princes were waving themselves, she realized as she glanced behind her; they were clearly enjoying the parade. They didn’t seem to be getting many cheers, but they didn’t seem to care either. Of course they wouldn’t; the person they needed to approve of them was Alassa’s father, not his subjects. Zangaria didn’t have a parliament which had to give a seal of approval to the royal wedding.

The people themselves ran the gauntlet from very poor to respectable middle-class, like Imaiqah’s father. Emily wondered if
he
was somewhere in the crowd, but she’d never laid eyes on him before and wouldn’t have known him if she’d seen him. Or what about Imaiqah herself? Surely her father would have wanted her to show herself to Alassa, although it sounded absurd. Emily couldn’t have picked a specific face out of the crowd to save her life. She caught sight of a large group of teenage girls, being watched by a handful of older mothers, and smiled inwardly. No doubt they saw the whole procession as a break from their work - and a chance to catch the eyes of young men.

Most of the poorer people wore drab clothes, little better than sackcloth. The middle-class wore brighter outfights, almost certainly individually tailored, although they didn’t seem to wear gold or silver cloth. That made sense; the noblemen she’d seen had often worn gold or silver, which suggested that wearing it
without
being an aristocrat might be illegal. Or maybe it was simply too expensive, even for up-and-coming merchants. Emily still had only the haziest idea of production costs, but she knew that Alassa’s discarded nightdresses–the ones she wore at Whitehall–cost more than Imaiqah’s entire wardrobe. Some of them had been made from silk imported from the Western Isles.

Maybe I should have spent more time shopping for clothes
, Emily mused, then dismissed the thought. She had never enjoyed shopping for clothes on Earth; she’d never had the money to keep up with fashion and she’d been mocked for her choices. Certainly, her mother had never taught her how to shop, let alone what she should wear. Besides, the robes they wore at Whitehall were free and convenient. And she had never really envisaged leaving the school until Alassa had invited her to visit Zangaria.

The roar died away slightly as they reached the gate leading into the inner city. Emily suspected that the wall surrounding the original city would have been a formidable defense at one point, but it had been badly weakened when so many houses had been built close enough to the wall to allow someone to scramble onto the battlements without having to climb up on siege ladders. And one side of the inner city opened onto the river–someone on a boat might be able to sneak into the inner city without being noticed by the guards. She couldn’t understand what the monarch had been thinking when he’d allowed it to happen, unless it was an unintended consequence of something else. Maybe Bryon the Weak hadn’t been able to say no to his commoners either.