Understanding clicked. They’re studying the nexus point, she realized. And the spellware we created to take control.
She watched the three men stride into the distance as she fought down a sudden rush of sheer rage. Gordian had lied to her. He was tampering with the nexus point. Or, at least, studying the nexus point in hopes of finding a way to tamper with it. Perhaps he wanted to lock her out of the school’s control network ... he could, perhaps, if he found a way to get himself classed as one of the founders. Emily had always assumed that Lord Whitehall had done just that to any founder who’d declined to play ball, in later years. God knew that some of the early deserters had nearly brought the Whitehall Commune to its knees.
As soon as the men were out of sight, she led the way further down the corridor, adjusting the glamour to provide some concealment. People saw things close to a nexus point. If she was lucky, anyone who caught a glimpse of them would decide it was just another trick of their mind. And if she wasn’t ... a dull anger burned in her breast. She would almost have welcomed a confrontation, even if it would have pitted Frieda and her against an unknown number of fully-trained magicians. Gordian had lied to her.
He’ll definitely have to move them out before it’s too late, she thought, as she reached the control center. How many of the staff know he’s got a team working down here?
Two men were inside the control center, monitoring the spellware as it drew on the nexus point to maintain the school. Emily eyed their backs for a long moment, then glanced around the chamber. They’d been very busy, she noted. It looked as though they’d filled over a dozen notebooks with observations. She had no idea how long it would take them to untangle the web of spells that made up Whitehall—a number of grandmasters had clearly made their own modifications before the chamber had been buried and forgotten—but she didn’t think it would take that long. Gordian would hire the very best. And he had access to her notes on virtual spellware ...
She ground her teeth in sudden frustration. Gordian could have—he would have—shared her notes with his researchers. Given access to the nexus point, it would only be a matter of time before they unlocked its secrets. Hell, for all she knew, Gordian had only kicked the research program into high gear after she’d taken control of Heart’s Eye. He had ample reason to be ... concerned ... about the ill-understood spellware holding his school together. And if he feared what she could do with her control over the wards ... she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to lock her out, if he could.
Emily led Frieda away, down a set of corridors that had also been thoroughly cleaned. The map room—including the immense world map that showed a completely unknown continent—had been turned into another research center, with notebooks and study materials scattered everywhere. Other chambers had been given a sweep, then left to gather dust once it was clear there was nothing to be learned there. Emily understood, rather sourly, why Gordian hadn’t raised more objections to the history monks exploring the lower levels. If there was anything hidden by the wards, anything hidden so well his men couldn’t find them, the monks wouldn’t find it either.
And he can just move his researchers out for a few weeks, she thought. Who knows? It might even give them a rest.
Frieda caught her arm. “What was that?”
“That was the control center,” Emily said. “And ...”
She broke off. There was no one she could talk to about this, not even Frieda. Or Lady Barb or Sergeant Miles ... perhaps she would have confided in Void, if he’d been around, but she didn’t have the slightest idea how to contact him. He moved around a lot. A letter might reach him in a week ... or months. And even if she did contact someone, anyone she asked would want to know why she hadn’t told them about her trip to the past.
Because I thought it needed to be kept secret, she told herself.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, studying the collection of wards and concealment charms that pervaded the lower levels. Someone had definitely been busy, inserting their own pieces of spellwork ... it was hard to know when they’d done it—it was possible that it predated her arrival at Whitehall—but she couldn’t help finding it ominous. Gordian would know better than to touch the spells holding Whitehall’s pocket dimensions in place—she was sure of that—yet that left him plenty of room for mischief. Given time, he might be able to take the whole network over ...
“Fuck,” she muttered.
Frieda snickered. “Language.”
Emily ignored her. She was trying to think of what to do. It was sheer luck she’d stumbled onto Gordian’s plan, yet she had no idea how to react. She could sabotage his modifications, but she didn’t have complete control over the school’s wards. Too many grandmasters had added too many modifications for her to be entirely sure what would happen if she tried. Whitehall wasn’t intelligent, not as she understood the term, but it was definitely a learning system. God alone knew how it would react if she and Gordian engaged in a battle for control.
It might recognize me as the last surviving Founder, she thought. Professor Locke had told her stories of prospective masters who’d battled for control, but she had no idea how many of the stories were actually true. Or it might recognize him as the legally-appointed Grandmaster. Or it might turn on both of us.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, grimly. There was no point in searching for any more documents, not now. Anything Gordian hadn’t been able to find could stay there, for the moment. “Come on.”
She kept her senses primed as they made their way slowly back to the entrance. Now she knew what to look for, it was easy to spot more and more powerful charms inserted into the spellwork. It was a brilliant piece of work, she had to admit, combining functionality with plausible deniability. Every charm had a mundane use as well as a blatantly hostile one. She doubted she could construct an ironclad case against him in a court of law, if she ever had to try. He could just accuse her of being paranoid.
And he might be right, she thought. He needs to understand how his school actually works.
“We should explore further,” Frieda said. She didn’t sound discouraged by everything they’d seen. The risk of getting caught didn’t seem to bother her either. “How far down do the tunnels go?”