Fallen Magic

The problem with Electra’s private lessons, I’m starting to realise, is that there’s only so many revelations you can cope with in a couple of hours before you need to take time to think through them all without her present. And time to wonder how many of those revelations she’s been subtly guiding you towards because they’re what she wants you to believe rather than the truth.

But leaving would mean losing out on more information, more knowledge that I desperately want. So I stay regardless.

And she tells me stories. Not quite in that way, of course. More general observations about Malaina: common symptoms of episodes and of their worsening, coping mechanisms, problems they encounter. But it’s clear that those observations come from having worked with what must be hundreds of Malaina to one degree or another. That her understanding comes from experience and nothing else.

Some of what she tells me I can relate to – she gives the advice about reciting lists, focusing on breathing, that I’m familiar with by now – but other parts less so. Many Malaina, for instance, find taking up high-energy sports helps them greatly. Electra doesn’t know why, but she thinks it might be something to do with burning energy that could otherwise have fuelled episodes. That explanation doesn’t entirely convince me.

It does get me thinking, though. My physical fitness is about what you’d expect from someone whose idea of strong exertion is climbing too many of the Academy’s endless stairs. Given that I’ve never planned to spend my life doing physical work, and that I’m a magician, that’s not as much of a problem as it could be, but… perhaps it might do me good to exercise more.

When she pauses midway through a detailed description of the ways in which Malaina can gradually Fall further towards becoming mala sia, I can’t hold back the question in my mind any longer. “Have you… have you known anyone who became mala sia?”

“No,” she says. “I haven’t.”

That answer surprises me, and it must show.

“It’s rarer than you might think,” she says. “As I told you when we first met.”

“But surely – you’ve worked with enough people that you must have – “

“No,” she repeats, more firmly.

Maybe it’s just good fortune. Maybe she’s good enough to always be able to drag her students back from the brink. But I can’t help feeling a faint sense of dread. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” I say. “Isn’t there?”

“When I don’t tell you something relevant to your questions or the matter we are discussing, you can assume that I have a good reason for it.”

In other words: yes. But why – why would she – unless it’s something really bad, unless she –

Stars. Unless she stops people from becoming mala sia in the only way left.

“You killed them before they could become mala sia,” I say, voice flat and emotionless. “Didn’t you?”

Her silence is answer enough.

It shouldn’t be a surprise. She’s threatened to kill Edward and I if it becomes necessary. She’s talked about death being better than becoming mala sia. And I know she’s capable of killing people, given a good enough reason.

“That’s… legal?” I ask.

“Yes. A person with suitable qualifications for working with Malaina is legally allowed to kill a Malaina if they deem it the only way to prevent them from becoming mala sia. They can be called upon to justify that judgement in a court, but that has never been the case for me.”

There’s something so tragic about her last few words. But I’m not dwelling on that right now. “…if you wanted to, you could kill me and get away with it?”

“If I tried to use that law to justify my murder of you, I would find myself losing that court case and suffering the maximum possible penalty, and quite likely several less legal penalties also.”

“…because my best friend is a Blackthorn,” I say. “But if it were someone else, someone who doesn’t have that…”

“…then yes. I could kill them and get away with it.”

“And if someone else had that sort of power? Someone less scrupulous than you, who’s convinced that all Malaina deserve death?”

“…yes.”

Stars. I knew that Malaina are treated unjustly, that the law needs to change. But this? The problem I’ve devoted myself to solving might just be an awful lot bigger than I thought it would be.

I need to do something.

The dining hall is thankfully free of election officials by lunchtime. Edward has done his democratic duty in between working through the book Electra recommended. He’s struggling, apparently, much to my surprise. It has seven hundred pages and is not written with ease of understanding in mind.

“It’s more interesting than I thought, though,” he observes between hasty bites of sandwich. “Building spell theory up from a basis of axioms – I disagree with the axioms, of course, but it does produce a logically consistent theory, and if I didn’t have prior practical knowledge that spellcraft doesn’t work like that…”

He pauses and notes the vaguely glazed look in my eyes. “Anyway. What did she have you doing?”

I can’t contain it any longer. “Did you know Electra has killed Malaina before they could become mala sia?”

“Yes. My father told me at the beginning, but we agreed that the risk to my safety because of that was insignificant so long as I didn’t actually get close to being mala sia.”

“But surely it shouldn’t be legal – “

“Sometimes it needs to be done.”

I grimace and force myself to consider it from a more ruthless, Blackthorn-like perspective. “It’s better for everyone if – if we don’t have more mala sia. But surely if there’s even the slightest chance that they won’t become that – “

“In this specific instance,” Edward says grimly, “I trust Electra’s judgement.”

“But what if it wasn’t Electra? What if it was someone who thinks all Malaina will become mala sia? There are people like that, Edward, and innocent people have probably died because of them.”

“Probably,” Edward agrees calmly.

“Don’t you care about that?”

There’s a moment of silence. He doesn’t, I realise. Another fundamental difference between the two of us.

“It’s unjust,” Edward agrees. “But the answer to that is to be stricter with who gets the power to make that sort of decision, and to actually challenge it where you think it’s been unfairly made. I can’t support repealing a law that is there for a good reason and probably saves more lives than it ends.”

And if Edward, who’s Malaina himself and understands what it’s like, can’t support it, then there’s not a chance of persuading the political world at large that it needs to be repealed. If he’s even wrong.

But he’s given me an idea, my instinctive urge for action turning into concrete form. And the pieces are falling into place. This is something that I could do. Something that would make a real difference. “So,” I say. “Hypothetically. Do you know where I could find records of those killed under this law?”

“Hypothetically,” Edward repeats. “Tallulah, what are you planning?”

“I’ll tell you once I’ve checked a few things. Do you know?”

“I can’t be certain. Bureaucracy is a complex and often illogical beast. But your best bet – other than getting me to consult my dad’s people – “

The expression on my face makes it clear what I think of that idea.

“ – is the Archive of Public Information.”

I remember enough from my brief legal studies that I don’t need Edward to explain it to me. In fact, I’m annoyed I didn’t think of it myself. The Archive is a store of all non-secret paperwork related to government affairs, legal proceedings and anything else that could be in the public interest. Theoretically, anyone can request documents related to a particular affair they’re investigating and receive them. In practice, there’s a not insignificant fee attached, and it can take weeks for requests to be processed.

But that’s not prohibitive for a project like this. “…and would you, hypothetically, be prepared to loan me money?” I do have a stash of my own coins squirrelled away in my trunk, which might just about be enough, but since the way things ended with my mother, I’ve been forced to consider scenarios where it’s all I have to live on and I’m still lacking an income.

Besides, if all goes according to plan then Edward will be footing a much larger bill.

“You mean in addition to the money you owe me for legal fees?”

I’d forgotten that. I don’t think he’d be too dismayed at my continuing to forget, though. He’d be quite happy if it never got paid back (though I am going to repay him someday). “Yes.”

“How much do you want?”

I thought that would be his response. Much though I hate to admit it, having a friend with an effectively limitless supply of money can come in quite useful sometimes. “I’ll get back to you once I’ve checked those things.”

No point if it won’t work in the first place. And I can’t remember the exact fee the Archive charges – it might depend on the nature of the information – so I’ll have to check that as well.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Edward says, “are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“No. But it’s a right idea. And that’s what matters.”

We don’t stay in the dining hall after that. Edward returns to his research, and I return to Electra’s office – but not for long. “Would it be okay if I leave to investigate things related to what you’ve taught me today?”

“I wouldn’t particularly mind a free afternoon,” Electra muses. “Very well. Though I expect a full report of what you have been researching and what you have learnt from it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“That can be arranged,” I say. I can’t do this without her, anyway.

The first part of my research is another trip to the City Library. I’m let in without any objections to my age this time. It helps, at least in my mind, that what I’m here for is actually what the pass was given to me for.

The law room is one of the most famous parts of the library; its collection contains a copy of every law that currently holds throughout the Kingdom of Rasin, as well as many legal histories and copies of judgements made by judges and kings past. It’s not used much by the largest law firms – their internal libraries have all but the most obscure texts – but there’s still a small crowd of young lawyers and interested citizens consulting various books.

The section on Malaina law is a small one, and easy to find. It takes me barely a couple of minutes to find what I need to know. The relevant law is Section Twelve of a bill that sets out the powers of those qualified to work with Malaina in the way Electra is.

It says exactly what Electra claims it does: if such a person believes in good faith that a Malaina who they have responsibility for is more likely than not to become mala sia, they may choose to kill them before that can occur. The rest is bureaucratic procedure, but it’s highly relevant bureaucratic procedure and I read every word of it.

It confirms Edward’s hypothesis that the records can be found in the Archive of Public Information in the way it sets out how this legalised murder is supposed to be reported. Within forty-eight hours of the termination of the Malaina’s life, apparently, otherwise the report is considered invalid and the murder is not legal at all.

And then there’s the subsection that is most relevant of all. The procedure for lodging a disagreement with the judgement that the Malaina is more likely than not to become mala sia. There are no restrictions on the individuals who can lodge such a disagreement, though it must be done before the statute of limitations expires and the burden of proof rests on the accuser.

I copy down the full text of the law onto a scroll of parchment from my satchel and cast a spell to make the ink dry more quickly, then roll up the scroll and snap the book shut. It’s still possible, then. I could actually do this.

I don’t know where the Archive of Public Information is. Basic legal courses may include its existence and its important role, but they don’t include its address. I have to beg the Library’s receptionist for directions on my way out. She’s busy dealing with a queue and rattles them off so quickly that I know I’ll never remember them. But I feel bad about troubling her to repeat them, so I set off regardless. The City is easy enough to find your way around. I’ll be fine.

It takes me about twenty minutes to realise how wrong I am.