Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) (23 page)

“That is an interesting point,” Master Tor said, smoothly. “Would a necromantic rite even
work
on the Warden?”

“Possibly,” the Grandmaster said, reluctantly. “No one has ever tried.”

He looked around the room. “In order to destroy the Warden, Lady Emily would have had to slip out of Master Tor’s office, slip past Travis in the Hall of Shame, destroy the Warden and make her way back to Master Tor’s office before he returned. Does anyone really believe that she could have done all of that in the time she had?”

Emily shivered. If Master Tor had gone to the Grandmaster first,
then
to the Warden, she would have had only a few minutes to do all that without being detected. No, there just wouldn’t have been the time she would have needed to do it, even assuming that the Warden didn’t put up a fight. She couldn’t imagine him not having the power—or the protections—to deal with uppity students who didn’t want to take their punishments.

“It looks rather more like a clumsy frame up to me,” Sergeant Miles said, bluntly. “The one person we are supposed to blame is the one person who can prove her innocence.”

“But she had a motive,” Master Tor pointed out, smoothly.

“I dare say that there isn’t a student in Whitehall who
doesn’t
have a motive,” Mistress Irene said, equally smoothly. “Can anyone name
any
student here who didn’t face the Warden at least once?”

“But she has an immediate motive,” Master Tor said. “Her unauthorized experiments...”

The Grandmaster held up a hand. “Have nothing to do with this, I believe,” he said. He looked down at Emily, his blindfold twitching. It took Emily a moment to realize that he’d
winked
at her. “There is no proof that Lady Emily was anything other than the person who discovered the body.”

“Hell of a coincidence,” Master Tor grumbled.

“Students don’t often face the Warden on weekends,” Sergeant Miles pointed out. “The destroyer, whoever he was, might have assumed that the body would remain undiscovered for hours.”

Emily wondered, inwardly, if that was actually true. If the murderer had been close enough to move in and kill the Warden, he would have had to do it just
after
Master Tor had left. She’d dawdled on her way down to the Hall of Shame, but had she given the murderer enough time to kill the Warden and vanish?

She looked up at Master Tor and wondered if
he
was the murderer. He’d certainly had the opportunity to set it up and frame Emily for the deed...but it would be clumsy—and stupid, when she had an alibi he’d provided himself. No, no matter how much he disliked her, it was hard to see any conceivable scenario where he was the murderer. There would be just too many things that could go wrong. Master Tor’s insistence on precision, she suspected, wasn’t just related to the law.

But why had he looked at her and decided to hate her?

One of the strangers had a different question. “Where did the knife actually come from?”

“We don’t know,” Sergeant Miles said. “Silver blades are not uncommon; they’re used against both werewolves and vampires. I have checked the stockpiles in the armory, but none of our blades are unaccounted for.”

Emily nodded. The students who took Martial Magic were allowed to sign weapons in and out of the armory, but they’d been warned that taking a weapon without leaving a paper trail would have dire consequences. Jade used to insist that they carry swords when they left Whitehall for their hikes in the mountains; Emily hadn’t taken anything out since she’d come back to Whitehall. She just hadn’t had the time.

“I did a forensic spell on the blade,” Sergeant Miles added, “but found nothing. The person who used it, I suspect, ordered it new and wore gloves whenever he touched it. This was a premeditated murder.”

“Which renders the whole issue of Lady Emily’s involvement even more suspect,” Master Tor said. “Did she deliberately plan to be sent to the Warden so that...”

“
Enough
,” Sergeant Miles snapped. Raw anger—and power—cascaded through the room. “I have had the pleasure of training Lady Emily over the past year. She would know better than to rely on a half-baked scheme that requires everyone to act their part to perfection. The odds suggest that her involvement was nothing more than a coincidence.”

He let go of Emily’s shoulder and leaned forward. “I don’t know why you seem so determined to blame her, but simple logic rules her out as a suspect,” he added. “Unless you find more proof, I insist that you stop throwing around wild accusations...”

“Lady Emily has shown a capacity for being grossly irresponsible,” Master Tor insisted, angrily. “I...”

The Grandmaster held up a hand. “There isn’t enough evidence to blame her and a great deal of evidence that suggests she is innocent,” he said, flatly. A sharp look from him quelled Master Tor before he could resume the argument. “I am satisfied that she is an innocent in this matter. And, in this school, my word is law.”

“Unless the White Council sees fit to remove you,” one of the strangers said. “Last year, there was a necromantic attack that somehow broke through your wards. Now, the Warden has been destroyed. Both incidents took place after Lady Emily, who seems to specialize in causing chaos and disruption, entered your school.”

Emily found herself caught between two different waves of emotion. Relief that the Grandmaster believed her, that he knew she hadn’t killed the Warden—and a paralyzing fear that the stranger might be right. She
had
been to blame for Shadye entering the school, even though she hadn’t intended to harm anyone. Was she somehow responsible for the Warden’s death too? But she honestly couldn’t see
how
.

“That is the decision of the council,” the Grandmaster said. “I would suggest, however, that using
this
as the charge will raise a great many uncomfortable issues in the process.”

He looked directly at Emily for a long moment, then towards the door.

“Sergeant Miles, please wait outside to escort Emily to Lady Barb,” he said. “I will speak with her—alone.”

Master Tor gave her a dirty look as he left the room, followed by the others. Emily watched them go, then looked back at the Grandmaster. His wiry frame suddenly looked very tired and old. She had no idea just how
old
he actually was, but if Void was well over a hundred years old...why couldn’t the Grandmaster be just as old?

“I owe you an apology,” the Grandmaster said, after he had cast a privacy ward into the air, ensuring that no one could spy on them. “It is far too easy to forget the truth of your origins—or what you might never have been told, simply because everyone assumes that someone else told you. And you had good reason to think that constructing pocket dimensions was safe.”

Emily stared at him, then nodded in understanding. She’d
done
it, after all, when she’d defeated Shadye. In hindsight, her willingness to create additional pocket dimensions might have stemmed from her already having
done
it. And her trunk—and countless others—had entered Whitehall without problems. She had never realized that actually
constructing
pocket dimensions inside Whitehall’s interior could be dangerous.

She looked at the Grandmaster, wondering just how much he knew about how Shadye had been defeated, then looked away. It had been a very long day.

“If I thought that you had known the dangers and proceeded anyway, I would not have hesitated to expel you,” the Grandmaster added. “Master Tor, who is unaware of your origins, had good reason to be furious—and to be angry at me, for insisting that you be allowed to remain in the school. I cannot really blame him for being outraged.”

Emily swallowed, but said nothing. Somehow, the Grandmaster’s gentle rebuke felt worse than Master Tor’s shouting. Part of her just wanted to curl up and die, part of her wanted to run—but there was nowhere to go. Besides, she’d been told that she was never to be alone in her bedroom. Did that mean that she had to ask the Gorgon or Lin to stay with her? Or would her friends count as an escort?

She cringed, inwardly. She was going to have to explain it all to her friends.

“Master Tor saw a student die through one of his fellows pushing the limits,” the Grandmaster added, softly. “He took it badly, even blamed himself for not seeing the problem and dealing with it before it turned lethal. It wasn’t his fault, but it still torments him. Your experiment, if you had
really
pushed it, could have damaged the entire school.”

Emily nodded, fighting back tears. A caning would have been better than this gentle, but firm lecture.

“And it does seem odd that the Warden died today, just after detecting your experiments,” the Grandmaster mused. “Was it really a coincidence or is something more sinister afoot?”

He looked up at Emily, his hidden eyes seeming to peer through the blindfold. “I cannot—I will not—countermand his punishment for you,” he said. “However, I will insist that you spend some of it in detention with Lady Barb. She knows your origin and will be happy to talk to you about other pieces of knowledge you might have missed—and yet been expected to know.”

“Thank you,” Emily said, very quietly.

“I’d ask you not to talk about what happened,” the Grandmaster said, “but the rumors will be all over the school by now. Try not to make them any worse.”

Emily scowled, remembering how the rumors about her—and other students—grew in the telling. Mostly, they vanished just as quickly, but a few stuck. How many students believed that she was secretly a necromancer?

She looked up at him. “Grandmaster,” she said, “what if there
is
a necromancer in the school?”

“If there is,” the Grandmaster said, “he’s a very stupid one. Using a
silver
knife and picking on the Warden...?”

Emily felt her scowl deepen. One thing that had been hammered into her head time and time again was that stupid magicians rarely lived very long—but she’d just learned that ignorance could be twice as lethal.

“Sergeant Miles will take you to Lady Barb,” the Grandmaster said. “I’ll speak to the visitors myself, but if any of them try to speak to you insist that I have to be present. They do not have the legal right to interrogate students in Whitehall without my permission, which will not be forthcoming.”

Emily stood, feeling her legs wobbling under her, and made her way to the door. Sergeant Miles took one look at her and held out a hand, helping her down the corridor towards Lady Barb’s classroom. The interior of Whitehall felt oddly silent, as if the entire building were
completely
deserted. All she could hear were her own footsteps—and the pounding of her own heart.

“Emily,” Lady Barb said, as Sergeant Miles opened the door. “What happened?”

Emily felt her last reserves begin to crack, then shatter. Lady Barb caught her as she staggered, then held Emily in her arms as she started to cry.

Chapter Nineteen

T
HE NEXT THING SHE REMEMBERED WAS
Lady Barb passing her a glass of water and motioning for her to drink. It tasted slightly odd; she realized, too late, that Lady Barb had added a hint of calming potion. But it worked; slowly, her sobs died away and she found that she could breathe normally. She hadn’t dared to break down and cry since her mother had found more comfort in a bottle than in her daughter’s arms. Lady Barb held her, rocking her body slightly. Slowly, Emily started to feel the tension drain out of her mind.

“Relax,” Lady Barb said, firmly. “You’ve had a terrible day, but it’s over now.”

Emily shivered, feeling oddly comforted in Lady Barb’s arms. She hadn’t had a
real
mother, not since the woman who had given birth to her had remarried when Emily was five...did she still
want
a mother? Or was she just looking for comfort wherever she could find it? Her thoughts were so twisted up and confused that she honestly wasn’t sure.

Lady Barb patted her back. “I shall have cross words with Master Tor,” she promised, darkly. “Baroness or not, you’re still very young and he pushed you too far.”

But that will make it worse
, part of Emily’s mind objected. Every time someone had remonstrated with her stepfather, he’d just grown worse and worse. Was Master Tor the same kind of person? It was hard to see his face without seeing her stepfather’s face overlying it.

She fought down the urge to start crying again. “Why...why does he
hate
me?”

Lady Barb pursed her lips in a manner that promised trouble for Master Tor. “It’s...it’s political,” she said, finally. “And it isn’t really something you could
help
.”

Emily stared at her. “Did I unseat his patron in Zangaria?”

“If only it were that simple,” Lady Barb said. “I think he had decided to dislike you even before you were ennobled.”

She laughed, humorlessly. “King Randor should have made sure that you had a proper set of lessons on how our world actually works,” she added. “He’s marked you out as a target without telling you
why
.”

Emily looked at her. “Why?”

“It’s political,” Lady Barb repeated. “How much do you actually
know
about the White Council?”

She went on before Emily could speak. “On the face of it, the White Council exists to coordinate the Allied Lands in battling the necromancers,” she explained. “But it’s more than just a simple council of kingdoms. There are independent city-states, magical dynasties and trading networks that also have vast influence. And then there are the independent sorcerers like your guardian. It’s all a terribly confusing mess.”

Emily nodded, remembering how the great trading families of Europe had exercised an influence out of all proportion to their size. And someone like Void, vastly powerful, would also have considerable influence, if he saw fit to use it.

“There are three...call them
factions
within the White Council,” Lady Barb continued. “The first faction wants to maintain the
status quo
, while the other two wish to rebuild the empire and reunite the Allied Lands completely.” She snorted. “The only real difference is who they want to put on top. One faction wishes to support a king as High King, blurring all the monarchies together, while the other wishes a looser structure, led and guarded by the Mediators. Master Tor is a strong proponent of the third.”