Fallen Magic

“Stars, Simon, you know I don’t have a head for numbers. Just give me the facts.”

“Our current business model is unsustainable.”

That was the impression Ben got from what he could understand of Simon’s numbers, but he’d still been hoping it wouldn’t be the case.

“Assuming no major changes in our finances, we have six months before the money starts running out.”

Ben let himself slump forward and rested his head in his hands. “We can cut back on expenses, can’t we? I could take a cut to my salary, now I don’t have to deal with school fees any more – “ he felt a stab of guilt as he remembered yet again exactly why he wouldn’t be having to pay even partial fees to his daughter’s school.

“Ben. You don’t get it. Is half your salary going to cover rent on the office?”

It wasn’t. “But still – we could negotiate cheaper supply contracts, we’re reliable customers – “

Simon shook his head sharply and began to pace around the table. He often paced; Ben thought it was a way of working off excess energy. He wished he had excess energy sometimes. “You’re thinking too small. Maybe we can cut costs and keep afloat, but that can only work so many times, and we’ll have nothing for emergencies. We need to fundamentally change how Roberts and Bryant operates.”

Ben was grateful that someone in this partnership understood business and numbers and how to run an organisation. He knew law, and he knew justice, but he’d never know business the way Simon did. He could feel a headache coming on. “We’re a law firm,” he said. “We give legal advice and represent our clients in court. That’s what we are, fundamentally, and I don’t see how we’re supposed to change that.”

“There are a lot of law firms, and a lot of ways of practicing law. I know you don’t want any more numbers, but – “

Ben was not going to groan. This was an important conversation, and he was going to pay attention and understand it. He repeated that several times to himself.

“I’ll give you the short version. We need to make more money, which means we either need to take more clients or charge more for our services.”

“And we can’t take more clients,” Ben said, “not without bringing in a third partner.” He and Simon both worked long hours, and recent events had made him realise that he’d spent too much time working and not enough paying attention to his family. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who’d be interested?”

Simon laughed bitterly. “Anyone good enough for us is good enough for a big City firm that can afford to pay them far more.”

“Figures. So raising our prices.” He hated the idea. “You know most of our clients wouldn’t be able to afford higher prices?”

“Then we find new clients who can.”

Ben felt sick at the mere thought of it. “A lot of our clients have been loyal to us for years. They trust us and come to us with every legal problem they have. It would be a betrayal of that trust to discard them because they can’t pay enough.”

“Wouldn’t it also be a betrayal of their trust to go out of business because we can’t earn enough?”

It would. But that didn’t mean Simon’s answer was the right one. “I’m doing this for them,” he said. “Not for money. Because we’re making a real difference to them. That’s why Roberts and Bryant exists, and if we’re not doing that any more…”

Neither of them spoke for a while, the conclusion of Ben’s sentence hanging in the air between them: …then we might as well not exist any more.

The silence was broken by a knock at the office door.

“We’re in a meeting!” Simon shouted.

Both their schedules were clear for the entire morning, and the secretary and receptionist knew not to disturb them unless for something urgent. Which likely meant that this was urgent.

Ben did not want to deal with a crisis right now.

“Sorry to interrupt,” replied the voice of the receptionist, Jamie, from the other side of the door. “But there’s a woman here to see you about your daughter, Mr Roberts.”

No.

He’d been half-expecting something like this for the last two weeks. Tallulah had sounded fine in her letter, but he hadn’t noticed anything wrong when living in the same house as her for months. So how could he be expected to tell from her letters?

He stood, crossed the room and opened the door without thinking about it.

The woman was the same one that had met them in the hospital. Electra. Not the sort of woman he’d have entrusted his daughter to if he’d had a choice. Jamie stood beside her, looking as if he wished he were anywhere else.

“Miss James,” Ben said, slipping unconsciously into his courtroom persona. “Thank you for coming.”

“Do you have somewhere we can talk in private?”

Of course they did; they were lawyers. Ben glanced back at Simon.

“Take this office,” Simon said. “And take as long as you like. I’ll cover your appointments for this afternoon if necessary.”

“Thank you,” Ben replied, though the words weren’t enough to express his gratitude for how Simon was making sure he had the space to deal with this.

Electra stepped into the office and stared around the room, taking it in, while Simon and Jamie left. Ben shut the door behind them.

Just another interview with a client. That’s all this was.

“What happened?”

“Yesterday morning, your daughter was in the library when one of her classmates, Mildred Cavendish, also entered the library.”

“Clarification,” he said. “When you say Mildred Cavendish, are you referring to – “

“Mildred, daughter of Lord Cavendish, currently on trial for high treason? Yes.”

There was no-one else she could have meant, but he needed these things explicitly stated. It was more to give himself a few more seconds to process what Electra was saying than because of his lawyer’s precision.

“Miss Cavendish exited the library a minute or two later, in some distress. And a minute or so after that your daughter… the door flew halfway across the room and she left, clearly under the influence of an active Malaina episode.”

He felt his heart sink further. It was if he was losing another fragment of his daughter, and there were only so many left.

“Miss Cavendish came immediately to my office, claiming that your daughter had been in this active episode when she left and that she was scared she would be followed and attacked. Your daughter did indeed follow her, and I believe she would have attacked had I not prevented it.”

Tallulah would never do that. That was what he wanted so much to be able to say. But she was Malaina now. Malaina changed people. Had it already changed his daughter into someone who’d attack another girl?

“She’s safe?” he asked.

Electra nodded. “She’s currently recovering from the aftermath of the episode in an isolated room. Miss Cavendish has filed a report against her under the Malaina Stability Law. You’re familiar with the consequences of that?”

Ben was. He’d researched Malaina law thoroughly over the last two weeks. It was the only way he knew to understand what had happened to his daughter, and it had not been pleasant reading. He nodded.

“It should also be noted,” Electra continued remorselessly, “that your daughter’s account of events contradicts Miss Cavendish’s in several key details. She claims that Miss Cavendish deliberately provoked her into an active episode.”

That possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. He took a few seconds to think. Why would Cavendish have done that? Because she wanted Tallulah to be judged as unstable and suffer the consequences. Why would she want that? He had no answer.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Electra replied. “I suspect your daughter does, but she was reluctant to tell me. But you can ask her yourself, if you like. And a friend of hers has asked to meet you. I think it’s likely he knows something.”

“Ask her myself…” he repeated numbly. “I can visit her?”

“Yes. I can take you at once. Is this building warded against teleportation?”

“I – yes – it has the standard warding pattern – but – can you give me a few minutes? To pack a bag. And…” he hesitated. “Can you tell me something? Honestly?”

“I can try.”

“Do you think Tallulah is telling the truth?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. He was sure Electra was a very capable liar, though. “Do you think she’s unstable?”

“No.”

It was something. Some hope to cling to.

Once he’d packed, they reached Tallulah’s room in under fifteen minutes. It would have been five if he hadn’t vomited on a patch of street outside the gates of the City of Ryk after teleporting. The second time, after entering the City, was slightly less awful, perhaps because he was expecting it.

He stumbled and fell into a black armchair in a room painted the same colour, lit with a blinding enchanted light. It was about what he would have expected of Electra’s office if he’d ever given thought to it.

“Shall we go?” Electra said, not giving him a moment to catch his breath.

The Royal Academy of Magical Arts was in a magnificent palace, and he wished he’d come at a better time so he could take in his surroundings. But they passed exquisite paintings, climbed an elegant marble staircase and were nearly run over by a small horde of students without stopping.

And then they were there.

His heart was pounding. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He had to be strong for Tallulah.

Electra opened the door and stepped smoothly in to lean against a wall. “Shut the door behind you,” she said.

He stepped through and obeyed her.

Tallulah was kneeling in front of a small table which she’d turned into a makeshift desk, writing something. She looked up as he entered.

“Hi, Tallulah,” he said. “Are you okay?” Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t. But he didn’t know what else to say.

She set her quill down and stood up. “Considering the circumstances. Hi, Dad. I’ve missed you.”

Had she? They walked towards each other and hugged awkwardly, then stepped back.

“What are you working on?”

“Lessons,” she said. “I’m trying to keep up with all my classes while I’m here so I’m not behind when I can go back to them. Electra is bringing me work and supervising my practical sessions, which is very kind of her.”

He glanced at Electra, who didn’t acknowledge that or give any sign that she was paying attention to their conversation.

When she could go back to them.

That would only happen if the hearing found she wasn’t dangerous.

“Electra says you think Mildred Cavendish provoked you into the Malaina episode.”

“I know she did. I didn’t at the time, but looking at it now it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Could you tell me how?”

“She said some things that were playing on my guilt about… things… and then – do you know what hyperspace is?”

“The stuff the Portal Network is made with?”

“Yeah. The library is in hyperspace. Bad things happen if you stay in hyperspace too long.”

Then why in stars’ names would anyone put a library there?

“She locked me in. Cast a spell of some sort on the door.”

“You’re… sure?”

Tallulah nodded. “The bad things wouldn’t have happened. The library has safety procedures. I would have got out before too long. But I wasn’t exactly thinking rationally at that point, so… it tipped me over the edge.”

“What I don’t understand,” Ben said, “is why she would do that.”

“I don’t know for sure,” Tallulah replied, “but I have a fairly good theory.”

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

She shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry. I would if I could. But I… Electra, could you leave the room for a minute?”

“Regulations state I can’t leave you alone with a visitor.”

So it wasn’t Ben she didn’t trust, it was Electra. That helped, a little.

“This friend of yours,” he said. “He knows – “

“As much as I do. But I don’t know what he’ll tell you.” She hesitates a little. “You can trust him. I do.”

Ben wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

“What have you told my mother?” asked Tallulah.

“Nothing. I came here as soon as I heard.”

And that conversation was one he was dreading. He really didn’t want to hear Louise’s views on why this had happened.

“Could you… could you not tell her?”

“She’s your mother, Tallulah. She has a right to know.”

“Yes, but… just wait these two weeks? Then I’ll be proven stable, and there’s nothing to tell her.”

She sounded like she believed it, at least. “All right,” he said. “Two weeks.”

They talked for a while about inconsequential things before Electra announced that she had a class to teach and she couldn’t afford to spend her entire day supervising Tallulah’s conversations with visitors.

“Bye, Dad,” said Tallulah. “I’ll see you for Holy Days.”

“Yes,” agreed Ben, wishing with all his heart he believed her. “Until Holy Days.”

Tallulah’s friend wasn’t in class at this time, apparently. Electra told Ben to meet him in a meeting room, sixth floor, south corridor.

“Students can reserve meeting rooms?”

“Some students,” Electra said, a faint edge to her tone. “I have homework to grade, if you’ll excuse me. Knock on my office door when you want to be teleported back.”

So he was getting the quick way back to work. He couldn’t work out whether to be relieved he wouldn’t have to pay the Portal toll or horrified at the thought of the dreadful emptiness of teleportation. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything you’ve done for Tallulah.”

“I’m always glad to be appreciated,” said Electra, and set off down the stairs to her office without another word.

Ben climbed up to the sixth floor feeling faintly apprehensive. Who exactly was this friend of Tallulah’s? She wasn’t the sort to be friends with someone who’d summon him to a meeting room like this. And what had Electra meant by some students? He should have asked her.

The room was precisely where Electra said it was, and it was locked. He knocked before he had time to doubt himself.

The door opened within seconds to reveal a small dark-haired boy of about Tallulah’s age, dressed in formal magician’s robes. “Mr Roberts?” he asked, accent unmistakeably that of the City’s elite.

“Yes,” said Ben, still disoriented. “You’re Tallulah’s friend?”

“I am. Edward Blackthorn. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He held out his hand.

Ben shook it numbly. His daughter was friends with a Blackthorn. Stars. “To confirm,” he said, “when you say Blackthorn…”

“I do mean the Blackthorns. Lord Blackthorn is my father.”

Oh. He remembered seeing something in the newspapers. The boy was Malaina, wasn’t he, and it was quite possibly his father’s fault. Ben pitied him, but someone like that was the last person he wanted his daughter to be friends with.

“You wanted to talk to me about…”

“What happened to Tallulah yesterday,” Edward finished. “Yes. Come in.”

Ben ignored the instincts telling him that being alone in a locked room with a Malaina Blackthorn was a terrible idea. He was doing this for Tallulah. He had to help her. He stepped inside.

The room was quite large, and mostly empty: an elegantly-carved wooden table ringed with chairs was the only furnishing besides a portrait of some old king. Edward sat down in front of a small pile of papers and books and gestured to the seat next to him.

Ben sat.

“I want to apologise,” said Edward. “It’s my fault Tallulah is in this situation.”

That didn’t altogether surprise him. “Explain, then.”

“You’re aware of the Cavendish case, I suppose?”

Ben nodded. That was related, then? It was hardly a surprise when Mildred Cavendish featured prominently in both.

“Mildred Cavendish is one of our classmates. Tallulah found her crying in a bathroom and wanted to help her. The only way to do that would be to prevent her father from being sentenced to death, so she decided to try and persuade my father to influence the King to spare him.”

Oh, stars. What had Tallulah done? What had this boy dragged her into?

“She decided?” he asked pointedly.

“I suggested it,” Edward admitted. “But I would never have done it if I didn’t think it was what she wanted. There was never a chance of it succeeding, but she felt she had to do something. I thought if she tried and failed it would help her feel less guilty about it.”

“But it didn’t work out that way,” Ben said.

Edward shook his head. “She worked herself halfway into a Malaina episode. I didn’t realise – if I’d known – I talked to her, and I thought I’d pulled her out of it. She met with my father, and he refused her, and that was that.”

His daughter had met Lord Blackthorn. His daughter had tried to persuade Lord Blackthorn to spare a traitor. Oh, stars. And the way Edward talked about this as if it was perfectly normal – though to him maybe it was –

“And then she encountered Mildred in the library. From what she told me, Mildred tried to make her feel guilty about not having done enough, about having failed. And she succeeded, because Tallulah is the sort of person to think everything is her fault and that if she were just a bit better she could have changed things. And then… if you’ve spoken to Tallulah, you know the rest.”

Ben did. It was just like Tallulah to involve herself in something she really shouldn’t out of an innocent desire to help someone. Just like Tallulah to not realise that there were some problems she shouldn’t try to fix.

“I still don’t understand why Mildred Cavendish would do that, though. It hardly helps her.”

Edward shook his head sharply. “I care about Tallulah. And my father cares about me. Mildred holds Tallulah’s fate in her hands, and that gives her leverage.”

“She’s using Tallulah to blackmail Lord Blackthorn?”

Edward nodded. “There’s a chance Tallulah will be found innocent even with Mildred doing her best to ensure otherwise. It’s not as bad as it seems.”

Ben knew when someone was telling him reassuring lies. “How much of a chance?”

“It’s hard to know. It’s her first major episode, and she’s clearly not a danger to anyone. But the courts are prejudiced against Malaina. And telling the truth will make her look like she’s weaving a conspiracy to deny responsibility for her own actions.”

Yes, he didn’t much fancy making that argument in court.

“And will… what will your father do?”

Edward’s silence told Ben all he needed to know. Lord Blackthorn had done a thousand horrific things; letting an innocent girl be labelled as dangerous for the sake of seeing justice served on a traitor would be the least of them.

“I’m not letting her be found unstable,” Edward said firmly, an intensity in his voice. “You have my word, Mr Roberts, that I will do whatever it takes to save Tallulah.”

Ben did not find that reassuring at all.