The Gordian Knot (Schooled in Magic #13)

“Thank you,” Emily said. She cursed Gordian under her breath. Had he meant to blindside her? “I bid you welcome to my office.”

She opened the door and led them into the chamber, wishing she’d had a chance to clear up the mess. The table was covered with papers, ranging from lists of duelists to notes she’d taken in class. She motioned for them to sit down—she wished she’d had a chance to obtain some comfortable chairs too—and then poured Kava. They’d take the mugs, even if they didn’t want a drink. It was a way of showing they were welcome.

Even if they are not, Emily thought. The only History Monk she’d met had been Master Locke—and his obsession with Old Whitehall had nearly led to utter disaster. This could prove awkward.

Gordian sat down and crossed his legs, leaning back as casually as if he owned the room. “I trust you are aware of the History Monks?”

Emily nodded. They were a religious sect charged with recording history as it happened, then analyzing it. They’d been established shortly after the Empire itself, when they’d worked for the Emperor directly, but they’d fallen on hard times since the Empire had been destroyed and replaced by the Allied Lands. In theory, they were supposed to be completely objective; in practice, she’d heard they’d found it impossible to maintain their neutrality. It was astonishing just how many times history had been rewritten, according to Professor Locke, to accommodate a local tyrant or to support some aristocrat’s claim to disputed lands.

“We believe it is vitally important that we come to understand what happened in the past.” Akanke gave her a genuinely warm smile. “As I believe Brother Locke informed you, far too many records have been lost or destroyed over the years. Even our dating system is a mess. It is hard to place hundreds of events within their proper context.”

“And it is thus impossible to construct a detailed historical narrative,” Oscine added. He had a gruff voice, oddly accented. “We cannot say, in all honesty, just how long it was since Lord Whitehall founded the school.”

“Nine hundred and seventy-two years,” Emily said. A demon had told her that, which made it automatically suspect. But demons weren’t allowed to lie. “That is ... I believe that to be true.”

Akanke leaned forward. “We were given to understand that you obtained some ... historical knowledge because of your work with Brother Locke. We are sworn not to discuss certain details until enough time has passed to make them irrelevant.”

Emily looked at Gordian, who nodded.

And that leads to a different question, she thought. Do I trust them or not?

She agonized over it for a long moment. She’d witnessed history when she’d fallen back in time. She’d been there when Lord Whitehall founded the school. Her observations could unlock dozens of secrets, perhaps place vague records or historical notes in their proper context. And besides, convincing historians that there had been no great magics in the past—magics that had long since been forgotten—would be no bad thing. Professor Locke’s quest for forgotten magic had driven him insane.

“I was there,” she said, simply.

Akanke showed no visible reaction. Oscine looked disbelieving. Emily didn’t blame him. Extraordinary claims required extraordinary evidence. Her control over the wards would be enough, she supposed, except that would be far too revealing. Gordian wouldn’t want her to discuss that, would he? She couldn’t blame him, either.

“Really,” Oscine said.

“Yes,” Gordian said. “I can confirm it.”

Emily smiled, then launched into a brief explanation. She glossed over her own involvement as much as possible, but she was careful to mention Bernard and Julianne as well as Master Wolfe and Lord Whitehall. Julianne deserved to be remembered, if only as the first formally-trained female magician. Emily talked briefly about the Curse—and how it had been overcome—then how the castle had turned into a school.

“It was attacked by dark forces,” she finished. “I wound up using a pocket dimension to return home.”

That was a lie, but it was one she had to make. She didn’t want to talk about demons, let alone what she’d done to get home. The Books of Pacts she’d brought to the future had been carefully hidden, beyond the reach of mortal man, but she didn’t want to encourage them to go looking. There was no way to know if the books were still dangerous after nearly a thousand years. To demons, timeless creatures, a thousand years might as well be a second.

And there is always a sting in the tail, Emily thought. Lord Whitehall had banned demons from the castle, eventually. He’d known the dangers, even if younger and less experienced magicians had sought shortcuts to power. The demon wouldn’t have asked me to take the books for fun.

She put the thought aside for later contemplation as the two monks asked question after question, poking and prodding at her memories to establish a coherent timeline. Emily wished, again, that she’d had a chance to prepare for the interview. Most of what she’d told them was true, but there were details she really didn’t want to discuss. Demon summoning wasn’t unknown, yet the techniques were largely forgotten. The last thing she wanted was countless magicians experimenting with demon-based magic.

“So,” Oscine said. “Who built Whitehall?”

Emily shrugged. “All I know is that the castle was built and abandoned years before Lord Whitehall turned it into a school.” The more she thought about it, the more it struck her as odd. Whitehall had been strikingly isolated, even by the standards of the time. There hadn’t been any settlements within two or three days walking distance. She had a feeling that the castle had been largely forgotten before Lord Whitehall rediscovered it. “Perhaps they had an accident with the nexus point.”

“Perhaps,” Akanke agreed. “There are other castles from that era.”

“And we know who built most of them,” Oscine pointed out. “Whitehall, however, is largely unique.”

“Or the builders were killed, after they completed their work,” Emily said. Alassa had once told her, quite calmly, that her father had executed several hundred workmen after they’d finished their job. A king’s secrets had to be preserved, whatever the cost. “Whoever built the castle might have wanted it to stay secret.”

“It’s still odd,” Akanke said. “Building a castle is not an easy task. The logistics alone would be daunting.”

Emily had to agree. “Even accommodating the workers would be a problem,” she said. “I don’t think there were any settlements within walking distance.”

“The nexus point was there,” Gordian pointed out. “Castles are normally built to hold territory and defend chokepoints. The nexus point alone would be worth any price.”

“Of course, Grandmaster,” Akanke agreed.

“There might have been a settlement,” Oscine put in. “But if it was abandoned, it wouldn’t be long before it returned to the soil.”

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