Arnold appears suspiciously soon after Lord Blackthorn disappears. “Tallulah!” he says. “Glad you made it here. I have the papers you wanted.”
I should be triumphant at finally getting them after the ordeals of yesterday and then this morning. I’m not. Instead my mind is assembling the pieces of an altogether different puzzle. “You knew he was going to be here,” I say slowly. “You left so he could talk to me.”
“Of course. He’s not a bad person, really. A little intense sometimes, sure, but we all have our faults.”
I choke back bitter laughter. Then a few more pieces slip neatly into place and I freeze.
Arnold is one of Lord Blackthorn’s people. Lord Blackthorn must trust him – as much as Lord Blackthorn ever trusts anyone – to have had that conversation in this building. I should have realised sooner.
The person who controls access to a supposedly impartial, publicly available archive that many people who don’t have access to the same resources as the rich and powerful rely on will obey Lord Blackthorn’s orders.
Stars. I don’t think it really hit me until that moment exactly why people say that he’s plotting to seize power for himself. Oh, his dreadful reputation is certainly part of it. But he also has power in all these subtle ways already. And if he were to use that against his enemies…
How do I know he’s not doing that already? Stars, he probably is.
And he shouldn’t. There are some principles that should come before any political fights, and this unrestricted access to facts is one of them. What he’s doing is wrong.
And, as he’s helpfully pointed out to me, there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Thank you,” I say, “for the documents. I have the money here – “ I reach into my bag and pull out the coins Edward gave me. His money. Blackthorn money.
I feel as if I’m complicit. To some extent, I am. I try to keep my expression neutral as I slide the coins onto the table. Arnold hands me a stack of papers, maybe the height of a textbook. Not too big to fit into my satchel; I was a little worried about that. I slip them in, trying to shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong. I’m not.
I leave more hastily than I otherwise would have. I liked Arnold when we first met, enjoyed talking to him. Maybe that’s why it stings too much. It feels almost like a betrayal, though of course the idea that it is one is absurd.
I’m halfway back before I remember the crowds in the Central Ring. I have to get back through them to reach the Academy. Stars.
I stop walking. I don’t know if I have the strength to go through that all over again, especially not after the conversation I just had with Lord Blackthorn. When is life going to stop throwing all these problems at me? Sometimes I feel as if every time I survive one there’s two more just waiting.
And part of me is awfully scared that sooner or later I’ll come up against something I can’t survive.
I could just… not go back for a while. The crowd might die down. Or I might be better prepared to face it. But Edward will be worried. And I told Electra I’d be at her office for ten and thirty. And I need to go over the papers I’ve obtained, figure out if the plan can actually work. I can’t afford to delay.
But my feet refuse to step forwards. I can’t face the Central Ring now either.
So I’m stuck, I suppose. There has to be another way.
And then I laugh, because the other way I’ve thought of is quite literal. The Academy has a back entrance, doesn’t it? The carriage left that way for the courthouse a month or two and an eternity ago. So, in theory at least, I can get in that way. I just need to find it.
I know the approximate direction I’m heading in, at least. Skirting the edge of Queen’s Park, then try to find the right side street. And that’s a place I can find from here, even avoiding the Central Ring. I can do this.
My feet finally respond to my orders and set off. It isn’t too hard, once I have the idea, though it takes considerably longer than the direct route would have done. And then I’m standing outside the Academy’s back entrance, staring at the sign.
Royal Academy of Magical Arts. Carriage Entrance Only. Entry on Foot through the Main Gate.
Well. I’m not a carriage, and I’d feel rather foolish (and short of coin) hiring one just to get through the door. But if I explain the situation, they can hardly turn me away. Now where do I… yes. There’s a more human-size door next to the large and very shut one for carriages. I knock on it before I can have second thoughts about this whole idea.
A few seconds later, it’s opened by a boy maybe a couple of years older than I am. He wears the uniform of a footman, though it doesn’t suit his lanky frame, and his hair can only be described as straw-like. He gives me a disdainful look. “Foot entrance is round in the Ring.”If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“I know, but there’s a crowd there. Because of the election. I didn’t want – “
“It’s not so packed you can’t get where you want to go, is it?”
“Not quite, but – “
“Well then,” he says, and starts to shut the door.
“No – please – wait – “
He waits. I panic a little; I said that out of desperation, without a plan. I pray for inspiration, and it arrives. “I need to meet with Electra – Miss James – at ten and thirty. I wouldn’t have time to go all the way round and make it there on time.”
“How is that my problem?”
“You must have heard what she’s like – “ I’m taking a leap of faith here, but Electra seems like the sort of person that the Academy’s staff would spend a lot of time gossiping about – “Who knows what she’d do if I were late?”
I don’t think she would be too angry, honestly, but he doesn’t need to know that. He just needs to believe that I have a good reason to not want to use the normal route. And I don’t think I can persuade him that my real reasons are good. Not when part of me doubts it myself.
“We’re not supposed to let students in this way. Security procedures.”
“Can’t you – fetch someone who can verify – “
He pauses, and then a cruel smile spreads across his face. “Tell you what. I’ll go find your Miss James, see what she thinks of you not using the proper entrance. Wait here.” And he slams the door in my face.
That isn’t as awful a threat as he thinks it is. Electra will hardly be happy to find me here, but given that I’m doing it to prevent a Malaina episode she can’t reasonably criticise me for it. But of course, I realise grimly, she isn’t always a reasonable person.
I feel awkward suddenly, standing in front of the closed door. I don’t have anything to do while I’m waiting, and I expect it will take a few minutes for Electra to be fetched. There’s the papers in my bag, but I can hardly start paging through them in the street. What else is there to do?
I could practice casting, I suppose. I like the idea as soon as it occurs: sinking into the calm and focus of magic appeals a lot. Addictive, I remind myself, but it can’t hurt if I’m just working on simple things.
I spend the next few minutes levitating a quill; not doing anything fancy with it, just making it hover in the air, as still as possible. It’s harder than you’d expect; there’s a slight breeze which catches the quill and tries to pull it to one side, and I have to correct for that without overcorrecting. Not the kind of precise, delicate work for which Malaina are best suited, but I don’t want to let that stop me.
I’m just starting to get the knack for it when the door swings open to reveal the same boy, accompanied by a sweetly smiling Electra. “This is your student, I assume?” he asks.
“Oh, yes,” says Electra in a tone of chilling anticipation. “You mustn’t worry; I’ll make sure she’s dealt with appropriately. Come, Tallulah.”
I dismiss my spell, shove the quill back into my bag and step inside, my fear of Electra not entirely faked. The boy is smirking. What does he have against me, anyway? I know I wasn’t supposed to use that entrance, but that doesn’t mean he has to be mean about it.
“I assume,” says Electra once we’re far enough away from the carriage-room, “that you had a good reason for that.”
“The crowd. Because of the election. I…” I make myself say it: “I had a passive episode getting through it the first time. I couldn’t face it again.”
Electra hesitates, and for a second I really am afraid, but then she nods once. “That is… satisfactory, I suppose. Try not to do that sort of thing too often, though.”
I nod. “Thank you.” I’m relieved, more than I’d ever admit, that she understands. That she doesn’t think I’m being weak in being unable to face that crowd again. And then I realise that I care that much about Electra’s opinion of me, which is the most terrifying thing of all.
We return to her office. Edward is waiting for us there; he shoots me a small, sympathetic smile as I enter, which I return.
“Now, Tallulah,” says Electra as the door shuts, crossing the room to her usual chair. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been working on.”
I knew this was coming. I could have planned for this, prepared for it. I didn’t. Now I’m going to have to improvise.
Electra sees the look on my face and grants me a few seconds’ mercy. “Edward, you know what you need to work on in the meantime, I believe?”
“I’m not staying?” Edward says, surprised.
“Does he need to, Tallulah?”
I shrug. Technically he doesn’t, but I want him here. “That’s up to him.”
“As the financial backer of this operation, I have a vested interest in its success and should thus be present in meetings relating to it.”
In other words: if you want me to stay, I will. I wish he’d say it that way, but I appreciate it nonetheless.
“Okay,” I say. My mind has yet to come up with a better idea than the direct approach. “I want to file a claim that a Malaina killed under Section Twelve was killed unjustly. And I need your help.”
Electra leans back and closes her eyes for a second, her expression unchanged. “Yes, I suspected something of that nature. It seems an excellent choice of educational project for what we’ve agreed you should work on.”
I wonder whether she said what she did hoping I’d make this decision. I wonder if she manipulated me into it. That way lies madness, though; I made this choice myself regardless. “Then you’ll help?”
“That depends on what sort of help you mean. As your teacher, I will provide advice and feedback where necessary and do my best to support you. As the expert in Malaina you are hoping to recruit as a witness?” She leans forwards and rests her hands on the table. “Persuade me.”
Stars, I hate her. I don’t want to play her games. But I have to, if I want this to work.
“You must agree it’s unjust. They were murdered.”
“Yes. The world is an unjust place. Is it my duty, then, to fight every injustice?”
It should be. If it were everyone’s duty to fight injustice, then maybe the world wouldn’t be unjust. I don’t know if that’s an argument that would convince Electra. Mostly because I don’t know whether I’m actually trying to convince Electra, or trying to convince a character she’s playing the part of.
“Not all. But I’m offering you the chance to fight this one battle. Isn’t that worth doing? What does it cost you?”
Electra leans back again. “First mistake. Don’t ask that question unless you are certain of the answer. In this case? Potentially a great deal.”
I narrow my eyes. “How…”
“You accept that this case, if it goes ahead, will attract publicity, likely a not insignificant amount?”
I nod grimly.
“And I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the negative consequences of publicity. I would like not to suffer them. So: why is this project of yours worth that risk?”