Lessons in Etiquette (Schooled in Magic series) (25 page)

Thirty minutes later, she pulled herself out of the bath, used another spell to dry herself and reached for the chest before stopping, appalled. There was a
cockatrice
inside! It should have been sealed in its own private compartment, held firmly in stasis, but she’d weakened the charms holding the pocket dimension together when she’d altered the entrance to snatch up the creature. She would probably have to open it very carefully in a zoo and then try to snatch the chest away before the outraged monster could destroy it–and her.

Opening one of the wardrobes, she found a handful of courtly dresses and a couple that she suspected were for daily use. The material felt odd to her fingers–it took her a moment to realize that they were made from something completely unfamiliar–but she had no difficulty pulling one of the dresses on. Glancing in the mirror, she smiled at her own reflection and then jumped as the door opened. She’d been too tired to ward it before collapsing into bed. Emily spun around to see two maids, both looking young and alarmingly cheerful. And, she realized grimly, bound with loyalty and obedience spells.

“We’re here to do your hair, Milady,” the lead maid said. “The queen insisted on it.”

Emily swallowed the objection that came to mind. The maids had their orders and they would carry them out, or die trying. It was
easy
to fix her hair using magic–and she’d certainly never been interested in spending hours in the salon back when that had been an option–but having servants was a sign of wealth and power. Besides, magic
did
have its limitations.

“You look lovely, Milady,” the maid said, twenty minutes later. She’d braided Emily’s hair so it fell down her back in a single long plait, then rubbed something on her skin that had made it paler. “The young men will be fawning over you.”

“I doubt it,” Emily said. All of the princes would be fawning over Alassa. But then, she
had
been warned that she would be getting marriage proposals from people who just wanted her for her genes, literally. And Jade had proposed to her. “But thank you.”

She’d barely had time to notice the interior of the castle when she’d been escorted to her chambers. Now, with the maids leading her down to the breakfast hall, she had a chance to see chambers filled with strange artefacts and endless rows of suits of armor, positioned neatly against the wall. She’d seen something similar in Whitehall, but they’d been charmed to act as part of the school’s defenses. Were these suits of armor also charmed, or were they just part of a historical display? Although she could imagine someone stopping to take the swords or the maces and using them as real weapons.

The breakfast hall was almost identical to the others she’d seen along the journey, apart from the massive coat of arms hanging from the wall. Zangaria’s official crest consisted of a pair of swords crossed over a magic wand and a crown, implying that force of arms had won the kingdom and force of arms would keep it. Alexis III would probably have agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Alassa was sitting in front of her parents, talking to them too softly for Emily to hear. Her father stood up and beckoned Emily to a seat.

“Please, eat,” he said, as he sat down again. “We do not need to stand on ceremony here.”

“Thank you,” Emily said. It was a great concession, even if she
was
Alassa’s friend. But then, royal protocol had never really been designed for someone like her, someone who could fit into so many different categories. “And thank you for the dresses in the room.”

Queen Marlena smiled. “I was told that you had few dresses,” she said. “You are welcome to borrow or take any of them.”

King Randor smiled affectionately at his wife, then looked at Emily. “Lady Barb informs me that you have a cockatrice in your chest,” he said, bluntly. “Is it safe there?”

“I think it probably needs to be decanted, sooner rather than later,” Emily said. The enchanter who had created the chest had told her that it would last indefinitely, but that had been before Emily had started fiddling with the spells to trap the monster. And if it did somehow burst out…what would happen? At best, it would be trapped in Emily’s chambers. “Would you like it?”

“Zed wants it for his experiments,” King Randor said. “You are aware, of course, that blood from such creatures is among the most powerful magical substances in the world?”

Emily nodded, then scowled. “It’s a living creature,” she said. “Do you really want to kill it?
Can
you kill it?”

“Drowning works,” King Randor said. “And there are some spells that befuddle the creature long enough for it to be killed by other means. You may have invented a new one.”

He shook his head. “Still, the creature is yours,” he added. “Sell it to Zed, if you want, or keep it as a nasty surprise for anyone who breaks into your chest. You wouldn’t be the first sorceress to do something like that.”

Queen Marlena spoke into the silence. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Lady Emily,” she said, nodding to Alassa. “Tell me about yourself.”

Emily hesitated, then gave her the bare bones of the story the grandmaster had cooked up to explain her existence. It was understandable, he’d told her, that she’d want to skirt around the subject of her father, particularly if her mother had been unfaithful. Bastardry was a touchy subject among the nobility, and among the wealthy merchants. The queen didn’t sound if she believed Emily completely, but she said nothing. Besides, she would think she knew what Emily was lying about.

“My daughter and my wife will be looking at clothes for the Confirmation,” King Randor said, after they finished breakfast. “Perhaps, Lady Emily, you would give me the honor of your company?”

It wasn’t a request, Emily knew. She said goodbye to Alassa, who didn’t seem too pleased at the prospect of spending hours with the tailors, and followed the king through a set of passageways that seemed barely wide enough to accommodate his form. A set of wards barred their way, only to be banished by a word from the king himself. Others protected his privacy, Emily realized, as she felt the familiar muffling presence. She hadn’t really been aware of Whitehall’s wards after the first few weeks; in time, she assumed, she would get used to these too.

“This is my private study,” the king said, as he led her through a stone door. “It’s location is unknown to everyone but myself and my daughter. Even my wife doesn’t come in here.”

Emily wasn’t sure if she should believe him or not. He’d certainly been casual about showing her to the study, but then–the wards would make it harder for her to retrace her steps later. And there were plenty of rooms in Whitehall that could only be accessed by people with the right level of permission–the female dormitories, for one.

The study itself was a comfortable shambles, illuminated by a single magical light. Two chairs were positioned beside a heavy desk, covered with parchments and a handful of quills. A large sofa was positioned against one wall, underneath a bookcase that held a handful of elderly tomes. Emily couldn’t help taking a look at them, only to scowl in disappointment as she realized that most of them were written in the same ancient script as the book Void had given her. The ones that were written in the standard speech seemed to be nothing more elaborate than family trees.

“Alexis II started a project to calculate those among the nobility who might be able to join the Royal Bloodline,” King Randor explained. He picked a set of parchments off the nearest chair as he spoke. “His idea was that eventually the nobility would be cleansed of all imperfections and be as close to the Faerie as mortal flesh and blood could be. We are still working on it today.”

He stepped back and motioned for Emily to take the seat, then sat down facing her. “Do you know just how much trouble you have caused?”

“Yes,” Emily said, her mouth suddenly dry. The wards pressed down on her mind, interfering with her ability to think clearly, or work magic. “I know.”

“You almost killed my daughter,” King Randor added. “Do you know what the penalty is for causing the death of the heir apparent?”

He went on before Emily could shape an answer. “Death by slow torture, then hanging,” he informed her. “Accident it might have been, but there’s nothing in the law about it being an
accident
.”

She
had
gotten off lightly, Emily knew. By almost any reasonable standard, she should have been expelled, or handed over to Zangaria for trial. The thrashing she’d received from the Warden had left her sore for several days, but it had been pitiful compared to what she should have been given as a punishment.

“And then you saved her life. And you helped her become a better person,” the king added. “And yet you have also caused upheaval in my kingdom. Where is it going to end?”

Emily winced. King Rupert had asked the same question.

“In a better world,” she said. She hoped desperately that the king would believe her. “Everything I have introduced has been for the best.”

“Not everyone would agree,” King Randor said, mildly. “You may be amused to discover that the recent…disagreement between Baron Holyoake and the city of Watertown was made worse by broadsheets written and published by people using the ideas you invented. Or, for that matter, that slander about the baron’s wife was turned into a paper attacking her and freely distributed around the city. And all of them were written in your new letters. Which are spreading like wildfire, by the way.”

Emily didn’t trust herself to say anything. English letters were so much simpler than anything the locals had invented for themselves that they would definitely spread like a fire, transforming everything they touched. It took
years
for a reasonably intelligent person to learn the basics of the Empire’s written script; English letters could be learned in a few months. There was no reason why farmers, even serfs on the land, couldn’t learn. And it lent itself to transliteration easily, even if there were several different ways of spelling the same word in standard use. Sooner or later, someone like Dr. Johnston would try to codify them all, but for the moment everything was in flux.

“The Scribes have done better than the Accountants,” King Randor added. “They, at least, were quick to embrace the printing press. There’s more work for them now than there was a year ago and they’re pleased about that. But tell me…how long will that last?”

“There will always be people too lazy to work for themselves,” Emily said, finally. “And there will be plenty of other jobs for them as the new letters spread.”

“They’re already beyond my borders,” King Randor said. “And some of your other ideas have spread too. Stirrups, for example. They have spread to the other kingdoms already.”

Emily nodded. Imaiqah’s father had told her as much, in one of his letters. Stirrups were simply too obvious an idea, once someone actually made the breakthrough. They too would have spread, no matter what King Randor had done to try to keep them a state secret. One person taking a look would probably be able to guess the basic idea.

“I’m informed that there are other ideas taking shape in the workshops,” the king added. “These…steam engines. I am told that one of them should be ready for testing any day now. New kinds of metal. And knowledge. Knowledge is spreading faster now. What will that mean for us?”

“A better world,” Emily said. “One where more people achieve their potential.”

For some reason, people tended to take knowledge more seriously if it was written in books. One particular leaflet had talked about basic hygiene, starting with the concept of always boiling water–which was widely-known–and going on to discuss basic cleanliness as the key to good health. Emily was no doctor, but even
she
knew the importance of good hygiene.

This world
didn’t
know it. Outside of the very wealthy or well-connected, very few people could afford a healer to attend them when they were ill. Or giving birth; Emily had listened to an account of a childbirth in Dragon’s Den and had felt utterly disgusted. Didn’t they
know
that a dirty bed was almost certain to infect either the mother or her child? A clean delivery room, clean tools to cut the cord, boiled water to wash the mother and child…such little things could make all the difference between life or death. As the knowledge spread, most midwives–there was a midwives guild, the only one that was exclusively made up of women–would either adapt or start losing business. Emily found it hard to care about their feelings.

But she knew she should. The midwives would have to spread the innovations to women who couldn’t read.

“But also one where your innovations will put new stresses on society,” King Randor said. He might have had a point. If health levels grew better, Zangaria would have a population explosion during his or Alassa’s reign. Eventually, it would reach the limits of the kingdom’s ability to feed it and collapse, but it would take years to reach a new balance. “What will it do to us?”

“Make a better…”

“And what else?” King Randor demanded, suddenly angry. “Do you know how many nobles have come to me and demanded that I ban the printing press?”

His eyes narrowed. “Or, for that matter, that I banish the people responsible for introducing your innovations,” he added. “But what would
that
do to my kingdom?”