Chapter 8
Lying is the Most Fun You Can Have with Your Clothes On
‘Y ou will face three Ordeals: Poisons, Illusions and Lies, before facing the final Ordeal: Initiation, the truest test of your magic. They will each measure your courage, your cunning, your wielding and your conviction. The scholars of Killmarth are the elite. We offer you all our knowledge, our time and patience. And in return, you offer up yourselves to the Crown. From the moment you entered Killmarth, to the time you leave, the Crown will spare no expense testing and training you.’ She smiles, gazing around at all of us.
The room has the feel of a held breath, like a set of lungs on the cusp of an exhalation.
No one dares move. No one dares even blink.
‘I am Professor Grant. My colleagues will introduce themselves in the coming weeks to you all … if you survive each Ordeal, of course. And to my right here is Caroline Ivey, representative of the Crown. She will be watching, waiting to see the cream rise to the surface over the coming weeks, and will be reporting back to the Crown.’ My gaze travels to the woman with the keen, silvery eyes glittering above a small flick of a smile.
‘This semester is designed to weed out the weak, and we will not begin training in any form until after the second Ordeal. Until then, you must rely on your wits, be resourceful and make alliances if you wish. On the back of each of your place cards, you will find the name of your partner in the first Ordeal. For the top three hopefuls in the Crucible, you will find the partner’s names you requested.
The rest are assigned and will change for each Ordeal.
You will train together, work together to complete each Ordeal, and if one of you fails, the other fails. It’s as simple as that.’
A murmur runs up and down the length of the hall as hopefuls check the name on the back of their place cards, some scowling, some nodding thoughtfully.
I purposefully avoid searching for Alden in the crowd and turn round my place card to find his name, as expected.
The fact my life will be in his hands during the next Ordeal feels like a tie, and I am done with ties.
I cross my arms, unease forming like a knot in my chest.
‘As Mrs Parnell, our esteemed head housekeeper will no doubt have informed you on arrival, you may explore Killmarth and its grounds, but Darley Hall is off limits. Anyone caught gaining entry will no longer be eligible to compete in the Ordeals. We also do not condone killing outside of the Ordeals, and anyone caught harming another hopeful on the grounds outside of an Ordeal will be asked to leave.’ She looks to the back of the room, just as the first platter of food is carried in. ‘Ah! Dinner.’
The platters and tureens set down on each table are filled with venison, devilled quail eggs, steamed vegetables and potatoes coated in a buttery sauce. There’s a rich gravy to pour over it all, accompanied by the dinner rolls and crisp salad leaves, which I take first, along with the quails’ eggs.
Mallory helps himself to the exact same and scowls at me, before turning to the young man on his left, sporting a roman nose and a cleft chin. ‘Richards, who’ve you got?’
The man makes a fuss of arranging his linen napkin on his lap before spearing a carrot. ‘Betram.’
‘Second gen, nice. I got Betty. Third, from that backwater school in Theine, but better than a first gen …’ His gaze trails over me and they both snicker.
I balance a retort on the edge of my tongue, ready to flip the whole plateful of that salad in his face, when I catch a pair of eyes across a sea of faces, a couple of tables away.
It’s Alden, and he’s pushing the food around on his plate.
As his gaze locks with mine, he puts down his fork.
Then he laughs, turning to the person next to him, leaning in to listen to them talk.
He’s completely ignoring me. I must be imagining it, but he hasn’t picked back up his fork.
I spear some of the leaves on the end of my own fork, bringing it to my mouth.
Then Gideon Mallory begins to choke.
My fork slips through my fingers, clattering on my plate.
And all hell breaks loose.
‘Oh, shit,’ I murmur as Gideon’s eyes bulge.
He tries loosening his shirt, pulling uselessly at his collar, as his face turns a violent puce, his throat bulging sickeningly.
It happens so fast, no one is even up before Gideon Mallory chokes out a final wheeze …
then face-plants into his plate of devilled eggs.
My eyes dart to Alden’s as all around us, gasps and screams fill the room, people scraping back their chairs, spitting out their food.
One woman retches and runs through the doors whilst others stare wide-eyed at their full plates, no doubt contemplating their near brush with death.
Alden’s eyes meet mine and a shiver whispers up my spine.
He’s a botanist. He can detect the properties of living matter and depending on how strongly he can wield, manipulate them. There are salad leaves on our plates. Did he somehow know? Could he have changed the properties?
‘It seems as though this is an opportune moment to remind you all that murder between the Ordeals themselves is strictly forbidden. The first Ordeal will be in two days’ time,’ Professor Grant says, utterly unaffected by the chaos surrounding her.
‘You will all go through the Ordeal of Poisons. Prepare yourselves.’
Prepare yourselves.
Two days to be ready for whatever this Ordeal of Poisons is, and how it will test us. I intend to prepare in the best way I know how. By gathering information to arm myself with.
Starting in the library.
Before dawn the next morning, with only the odd kerosene lamp set in a wall sconce to light my way, I move along the corridors like a phantom.
And when I reach the main library, I see why so many wish to study magic at Killmarth.
This library isn’t just one room, but a series of connecting chambers.
As I walk in, there is a librarian desk on my right under the diamond-paned, floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over the ocean.
They are painted in pearly shades of navy and midnight, the glow of the moon in one corner.
Before me is a reading space, scattered with sofas and leather armchairs.
Low tables are dotted between them, all perfectly polished, bearing table lamps.
Only three are lit, and the stacks beyond are drenched in impenetrable darkness.
I swallow, feeling like I’m disturbing a hallowed space, but close the door softly behind myself.
I reach for a lamp, to carry with me through the stacks.
The books are all on tall bookshelves, reaching for the ceiling, and at the back are reference and archive rooms. When I try the handles, I find they are all locked, so I turn back to the stacks.
The most obvious place to start is the letter P , for poisons.
And from looking at the small brass plates on the end of the stacks with letters etched into them, I will need to walk some distance along the third corridor between the stacks.
As I tread across the dark herringbone floor, each footfall cracks like thunder.
I wince at the noise I cannot help but make, hoping it won’t have alerted anyone else to my presence.
With the death of Gideon Mallory last night at dinner, I am all too aware that an unscrupulous hopeful may mark me, or anyone else as their rival, and therefore the next victim of an attack.
Especially if they care little for the rules, and can so clearly get away with it in plain sight.
Holding the lamp aloft, I run my hand along the books in the stack and marvel at the grounding of the written word, thousands of voices all babbling around me, striking up a melodic timbre of certainty.
The air is hushed and flavoured with the taste of time, with the slow trickle of hours and days and the scent of caramel--coloured parchment, crisping slowly in their cases of bound leather and boards.
I breathe it all in, my heart calming to a steady patter.
I could spend the rest of my life in this very library with its winding walkways of books and lose myself in all these thoughts and stories.
This – this is the life of a scholar. And now I have tasted it, seen this place and imagined myself here, researching, reading, absorbing …
I am ravenous. And I understand for the first time why we are called hopefuls.
My hope, for this life, to inhabit this place and tread the path that many others have walked before me, is suddenly luminous.
I never imagined that beyond freedom, there would be so much in this world I could unlock.
The Serpentine library where I would attend lectures, but also peruse the stacks to borrow books, is nothing compared to this.
There, many shambling bodies would hunt through the dog-eared, meagre collection and I would dodge between them, weaving in and out of the low shelves to snatch up a romance novel for Dolly she hadn’t read yet, a book on wielding for me.
My borrower card would only allow for two titles at a time, and Dolly would never go herself, so it was really a one-book limit.
I smile now, the memory of the rasp of her fingers brushing mine as she’d snatch the latest novel from my hands, mouthing the words under her breath as she’d always turn to the last page first.
Dolly! You’ll spoil the ending!
She’d give me that knowing look. I already know how it ends, darling girl. Happily ever after.
Happily ever after.
I close my eyes for a moment, reluctantly allowing the memory to slip from my grasp, and turn back to the stacks and the waiting words surrounding me.