Fallen Magic

Electra is waiting for us with a smile that seems even more predatory than Electra’s smiles usually are. I wonder half-seriously if she’s some kind of monster who feeds on her students’ fear of her. “I am… glad,” she says at precisely two after noon, “to see that all of you have arrived on time.”

No-one has been late to Electra’s lessons for a long time.

“As you may have deduced, we will be discussing your performance in the recent test today. There is much to be discussed, since none of you completed it to a satisfactory standard.”

She leaves another of her ominous pauses after that. It doesn’t sting too badly, since I already know my own work was a mess, but I can see several people wincing. There are also many curious glances in Edward’s direction. He’s staring fixedly ahead and not acknowledging them.

“Most of your teachers will be giving you a percentage mark, I believe. I disagree with that method of teaching, but if any of you would like to know your mark you may ask me either now or at the end of class.”

I really don’t want to know my mark, and the thought of asking her for it is terrifying. I should, though. I need to know.

“Instead I will provide you all with general written feedback on your performance, after which anyone who wishes to discuss a particular question on either the practical or theoretical test may ask for that. Those of you who want their theoretical work returned to them may also ask for that.”

She waves a hand and a stack of papers on her desk soar upwards and then float across the room, each sheet flying towards one of us until they land smoothly on the desk. I know enough magic now to realise that is a remarkable feat of spellwork and to wonder vaguely whether it is in fact spellwork or whether there’s a hidden trick to it.

That doesn’t distract me from my own sheet of paper for very long, though. I stare at it with a sense of dread, almost relieved that I had a Malaina episode in the corridor – if not, I know I would be having one now, and that would not be so easy to recover from. It’s folded neatly in two and marked only with Tallulah Roberts in Electra’s spiky handwriting.

I hesitate for a second before forcing myself to unfold the paper.

You performed acceptably given your starting point. Your practical spellwork is solid but you could use more practice with controlling active spells and casting in pressured situations. Your knowledge of theory is adequate, though you struggled in places with applying it to scenarios outside those you are familiar with from class. I suggest you continue with the extra-curricular magic lessons Edward has been giving you, as I believe they will greatly benefit you both.

I stare at the paper for a second, trying to calm my whirling mind. She knew – of course she knew Edward taught me that detection spell I used even though our extra-curricular lessons are against the rules. I should never have used it in front of her. And yet she’s encouraging us to continue breaking the rules? Stars, does she just want enough blackmail material that she can make us do her bidding on pain of expulsion?

With an effort, I set that aside and try to focus on the rest of feedback. Acceptable. Adequate. Those are the words she’s written, but my mind replaces them with not good enough. That hurts, even though I know what Electra considers good enough is a standard impossible for me to reach.

I glance across at Edward. He grimaces and offers me his paper. I give him mine in exchange, so he knows Electra knows about what he taught me.

You have learnt magic almost entirely from books, and it shows. Your techniques are rigidly conventional, and you demonstrate little creative thought of your own. While this may enable you to solve standard problems, many of the problems you will encounter are not standard and have no established methods for their solution. I am happy to give you examples and suggestions to improve in this regard.

…yeah. I can see why he’s grimacing now. If I thought my feedback was harsh, that is brutal. And to Edward, as well, when he’s… well, Edward.

He’s the first to raise his hand once everyone has looked at their feedback and the discussion begins. “The last question from the theoretical test,” he says, when called upon. “I have several points I would like to ask about.”

“Ask about them, then,” Electra says.

“Firstly, where was the example taken from?”

She shrugs. “It was designed by a friend of mine.”

The thought of Electra having friends is a strange one. But I suppose her friends would be the sort of people who design systems of enchantments as absurdly complicated as that one.

Edward is still curious, I can tell, but I can also tell that Electra is not going to give him any more information on that front. “Secondly, then. Does a solution exist?”

“You were unable to find one?”

Electra knows that quite well, if she marked his paper. She must just want to hear him say it. What has Edward done to deserve being singled out as she’s doing here?

“I was,” he says.

“Was anyone else here able to find a solution?”

Most of the class shake their heads, but to my surprise Jake raises his hand.

“Yes, Jake. You found a solution?”

There are a lot of warning bells ringing in my head. The way she says that, the fact that Edward didn’t find a solution when he’s so much better a magician than Jake.

I don’t know if Jake just doesn’t notice them or if he doesn’t want to back down in front of the whole class, but he says “Yes. I did.”

“Would you care to come up and write it on the board?”

“I can’t remember the exact formulation – “

Electra waves her hand once more, and a tangled mess of a diagram that I recognise as that from the question appears on the chalkboard. “I have a copy of your work here, if you would prefer to copy it down.”

Jake, looking as if he wants the earth to swallow him up, advances towards the board. He takes the offered chalk and begins to scrawl a series of steps: cast a purging-spell on that component, then remove the connections and disable them… on and on it goes until the entire board is filled with workings.

I study them carefully, trying to find the inevitable mistake, but I’ve never been good at working out that sort of thing under time pressure – it’s as much as I can do to figure out what each step is intended to do.

“Thank you, Jake,” says Electra when he’s finally done. “Now, would anyone care to list what he’s done wrong?”

I did spot a mistake in the final step, but I don’t raise my hand; I don’t want to be part of this game Electra is playing. I’ll be sucked into it whether I like it or not, sooner or later, but I won’t torment my fellow students on her behalf.

Edward raises his hand, and so does Robin. She’s the one called upon, and she points out the same thing I noticed: the last detection enchantment actually has three different connections and the removal of two of them isn’t sufficient to prevent the final purging-spell from being detected.

“That is correct,” Electra agrees. “It is not, however, the first mistake that Jake made.”

Robin’s hand goes down, but Edward’s remains up. “He didn’t account for the ranged effect of the central detection spell. It clearly works on all components within a certain radius – “

Clearly only to those who are far more used to magic than I am –

“But there isn’t enough information given to determine that radius, so any method would need to either account for the maximum possible radius or include tests to determine it and consider different cases separately – it might be that a solution only exists for certain values, in fact.”

“Yes, Edward,” says Electra. “Your understanding of theory is clearly thorough.”

It’s praise, but in the context of that feedback she gave him it seems anything but.

“So we have established that this solution is invalid.” With another lazy wave of her hand, all Jake’s work disappears from the board. “But we have not answered the original question. In fact I am not going to in this lesson; a full solution requires many advanced concepts that none of you will have encountered or else several hours of efficient and systematic work.”

It isn’t too hard to guess that’s the case, but I didn’t expect Electra to admit it so easily. It begs the question why was it on our test, then? None of us ask it, of course, but Robin does raise her hand.

“Yes?”

“Can you at least tell us whether a solution exists?”

“I can.”

Robin grits her teeth. “Will you please tell us whether a solution exists, now?”

“A solution exists,” says Electra, ignoring Robin’s frustration. “Now, which other questions would you like to discuss?”

It occurs to me that Electra might well be lying, purely to see if she can make Robin and Edward attempt those several hours of efficient, systematic and utterly fruitless work.

Hannah suggests the next topic of discussion, which is the first question from the practical test. The one about identifying and removing the enchantment on the wooden block. She apparently did the same as me, gave up and cast a purging-spell without identifying the enchantment first. That makes me feel a little better about my performance.

In fact, according to Electra’s brief survey of the class, about half of us did that while the other half spent too much time trying to identify the enchantment and were unable to purge it. Edward, of course, got closest to the solution. He was the only one to discover that purging was insufficient to remove the enchantment, and hence that it at least partly involved resistance to dispelling.

I wonder for a second whether Electra would really create an enchantment which had the sole purpose of its own sustainment and concealment, and then I realise that of course she would. She’s Electra.

That does seem to be largely the purpose of the enchantment formulation she sketches out, insofar as I can actually understand it. Edward jots it down in a form of shorthand which is completely incomprehensible to me, with additional cryptic notes. I wonder if he could teach me to understand that notation or if it’s a family secret.

That’s the general pattern of the lesson: Electra interrogates us on our attempts to solve the problems, inevitably humiliating anyone who believed they found a solution before explaining how the problem was so far beyond us we could never have been expected to solve it. I take notes as detailed as I can, but I’m not sure I come any closer to understanding any of it – I’ll ask Edward afterwards, he seems to have at least some clue what’s going on.

The lesson ends a few minutes early; Electra announces that we’re free to go, but if we want our grades, our question papers or to speak to her about anything else then we should stay behind. I do want my question paper, though I’m still not sure about my grade, so I remain seated; so does Edward.

About half the class flee the room, in the end, including Elsie. Electra hands out grades and question papers to those who ask for them, and one by one the class leave until only Edward and I remain.

“Tallulah?” she says, returning to the front of the classroom.

“I’d like my question paper,” I say, and then before I can change my mind “and my grade as well.”

Electra takes my paper from the stack on her desk and hands it to me. “I will not be giving you your grade,” she says.

“Why not?” I ask despite myself.

“Because I don’t think knowing the number will benefit you. You already have my honest assessment of your capabilities; you are doing remarkably well given your starting point, but you still have much room to improve, and I will guide you in doing so if that is what you want.”

I nod shakily. “Thank you.”

Then I hesitate: I have nothing else to ask Electra, and wouldn’t mind joining the rest of the class in making my escape, but that would mean abandoning Edward. I glance at him; he shrugs.

“I’d like my question paper,” he says. “And I have additional questions.”

Electra hands him his paper. “Ask.”

“That friend of yours,” he says. “The one who designed that enchantment system. Who are they?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because it’s brilliant,” Edward says simply. “A masterpiece of enchantment design. I’d like to meet the person who made it. I’d like to learn from them.”

Electra studies him for a long moment before replying “Perhaps some day you will have the opportunity.”

I’m not sure I’d want to meet or learn from any friend of Electra’s, but I can understand where he’s coming from.

“And about that system. You said you wouldn’t discuss the solution in this lesson – “ he glances up at the clock, which shows that two minutes of it remain – “but would you be willing to discuss it outside the lesson?”

Electra smiles. “If you do not have other commitments, that could be arranged. I must warn you that I will not be able to explain it in a manner that Tallulah can understand at her present level.”

I wince, but there’s no denying that the sort of explanation that will likely challenge Edward isn’t something I have a hope of following. “I can leave, if you’d prefer?” I offer.

Edward nods. “Mention to someone I’ve stayed behind to discuss matters with Electra, if you would?”

That’s a precaution, I realise, against her deciding not to let him leave. She knows it too, by the amused look that flickers across her face.

I nod and gather my things into my satchel.

“Since there is still a minute remaining of the lesson,” Electra says as I’m about to stand, “is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

“I would like,” says Edward, “to see some of the examples and suggestions you mentioned."