Emily cocked her head. “How do you know his way isn’t better?”
“Because he didn’t suggest it to me,” Frieda, sounding furious. Magic crackled over her fingertips. “He told me. Just ... wrote and said we were going to be changing everything. I don’t even know everything he wants to do!”
“I see,” Emily said. “When he gets here, why don’t you sit down with him and work through it, piece by piece? If his idea is truly better, you can use it.”
“And then he gets all the credit,” Frieda pointed out.
“No, he doesn’t,” Emily said. She could see Frieda’s point, but it didn’t work like that. “He would only get all the credit if he did all the work. He’s not talking about dumping you, is he?”
“He doesn’t seem to need me,” Frieda muttered. “Emily, what happens if he does shove me out of the project?”
“I don’t think he can,” Emily said. The joint project was meant to be joint. Neither Celadon nor Frieda would get high marks if their partnership failed, even if their work was pure genius. And, somehow, they’d managed to get through the first stage without going down in flames. “You have to work together to complete the project.”
Frieda scowled. “And what stops him from doing all the work?”
“You,” Emily said. “At the very least, you have to know what’s going on.”
“I don’t know if I do.” Frieda’s face twisted as she closed the trunk and stood. “I don’t think he listens to a single thing I say.”
“You were exchanging letters and chat notes, right?” Emily asked. “You’ll probably get on better face to face. Sit down with him, go through what he wants to do, run a few basic experiments and then ... and then, decide how you want to proceed. If things really fall apart, you can probably talk to your tutor.”
“He’ll probably blame me,” Frieda said, sourly. “Professor Thande doesn’t like me.”
“You don’t blow up enough cauldrons.” Emily stood and nodded to the door. “It’ll be several hours until dinner, so come for a swim. Or a walk. It’ll make us both feel better.”
She smiled. “And you can help me think of something we can do instead of a dueling club.”
Frieda blinked. “What?”
Emily explained, quickly.
“But that would be fun,” Frieda said, when Emily finished the explanation. “I’d love to duel.”
“I fought in two real duels,” Emily pointed out. “They weren’t fun.”
“You’re also a champion,” Frieda said. “Aren’t you?”
Emily shrugged. Casper had beaten her in a duel before his death. She assumed the title had fallen to the next person in line, rather than returning to her. No one had tried to challenge her since Casper’s death, if nothing else. That meant she’d probably fallen a long way down the league table. But it wasn’t something that bothered her.
“Come on,” she said, instead. “Let’s go for a swim.”
Chapter Five
EMILY HAD HOPED—DESPITE FRIEDA’S ENTHUSIASM—to find something that would serve as an alternative to the dueling club, but a week of brainstorming and research turned up nothing remotely practical. Some of her ideas had been tried before, while others would have required too much effort to make them work. She simply hadn’t been able to find anything that would satisfy the requirements without demanding too much from her.
“At least this way you can be sure of getting willing helpers,” Frieda pointed out, as they waited outside Gordian’s office. “A homework club wouldn’t raise quite so much enthusiasm.”
“I suppose,” Emily said. She wished, not for the first time, that someone else had been elected Head Girl. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted the post. There had been class presidents back home, but the role had been purely ceremonial. The schoolchildren certainly hadn’t had any real authority. “You’d think they’d want help with their homework.”
“No one wants to do homework,” Frieda said.
Emily had to agree. She’d never met a student who liked doing homework, even if they considered the subject to be fascinating. And, on Earth, she’d had problems finding a place to do homework without encountering her stepfather. Having an older student help her with her homework—at Whitehall—might have made life easier, but it wouldn’t have made it any more enjoyable. Besides, students were supposed to learn to manage their own time. A homework club—even one that wasn’t compulsory—wouldn’t teach them skills they’d need for future life.
But it might have made sure they actually got their homework done, she thought. But then, anyone who didn’t get it done would be in real trouble.
Her lips quirked—she’d heard students argue, earnestly, that their homework had eaten the dog. The door opened. Madame Griselda stood there, eying Emily and Frieda as if they were something unpleasant she’d scraped off the sole of her boot. Emily looked back at her, wondering what Gordian’s secretary had against her. But then, Madame Griselda seemed to be unpleasant to all the students. Perhaps she felt the school could be organized perfectly if all the pesky students went elsewhere.
“Lady Emily,” Madame Griselda said. “The Grandmaster will see you now.”
“Thank you,” Emily said.
She sighed. She’d had the morning free—insofar as she’d spent it doing more research than schoolwork—but she had an orientation meeting with the rest of the Sixth Year students in an hour. She wasn’t even sure which tutor would serve as their Year Head. The note she’d received when classes resumed, detailing her first week, hadn’t said. She was fairly sure it wouldn’t be Master Tor, but there were too many other possible candidates.
“I’ll see you this evening,” she said to Frieda. “Have fun.”
Frieda looked downcast. “I have to read through his latest set of proposals.” A flicker of anger crossed her face. “Is it too much to ask that he makes up his mind?”
“Probably,” Emily said. She and Caleb hadn’t had so many problems, had they? But then, students were expected to show they could think for themselves, not single-handedly solve magical conundrums that had baffled older and wiser minds. Even drawing out a new line of enquiry would be more than anyone was expected to do. “You don’t have to stick with him after the project is completed.”
“You did,” Frieda said.
Emily felt her cheeks heat. She’d been confident enough in the joint project that she’d agreed to apply for extra credit, rather than putting the whole concept aside until after she and Caleb graduated. It had been a risk, but she’d had faith in her ability to turn the project into something viable. And besides, it would have allowed her—it had allowed her—to spend more time with Caleb. It was clear that Frieda wouldn’t be dating Celadon anytime soon.