Infinite Regress by Christopher G. Nuttall Page B

he’d felt the same way too. It was quite possible Master Grey had regarded Aloha as just another student, perhaps a mite more capable than the rest. He’d always been too focused on Emily to pay much attention to everyone else.
    “I thank you,” Aloha said, formally. “I understand that you had little choice.”
    She took a breath. “I should warn you that not everyone feels the same way,” she added. She lowered her voice, significantly. “There are quite a few people who think you deliberately challenged him and killed him.”
    Emily scowled. She hadn’t spent long at Whitehall, after Void had helped her recover from the duel, but it had been clear—all too clear—that far too many students were frightened to death of her. Her friends had treated her as they always did, thankfully, but other students had quailed when she looked at them or hastily retreated as soon as she saw them coming. A reputation she would have liked on Earth—as it would at least have kept her from being harassed—was a depressing liability at Whitehall. If nothing else, it made it hard for her to talk to anyone outside her original circle of friends.
    “I didn’t challenge him deliberately,” she protested. “And he didn’t have to take up the challenge.”
    “No, he didn’t,” Aloha agreed. “But you know that isn’t the story everyone believes.”
    Emily sighed. Rumors ran through the Nameless World nearly as fast as they did on Earth, even though the Nameless World lacked the Internet. Stories grew in the telling, to the point where bards confidently claimed that she’d wrestled Shadye into submission and befriended the Mimic by pulling a thorn out of its paw. The fact that anyone stupid enough to wrestle a necromancer would wind up dead in short order—and the fact that Mimics didn’t have paws—had never been allowed to get in the way of a good story. No doubt there were some new ones after Master Grey’s untimely death.
    “They’re saying you pitched the duel in a manner he could not refuse,” Aloha warned. “And that you practically lured him to his death.”
    “Idiots,” Emily muttered.
    She rolled her eyes. Sure, she could have worded the challenge in a manner that practically forced him to accept—an accusation of necromancy, perhaps—but it would have been insane and suicidal. No one had expected her to win the duel. And she knew, even if no one else did, just how close it had been. A second’s hesitation at the climax would have seen her dead. Master Grey had practically beaten her when she’d struck the fatal blow.
    “People are often idiots,” Aloha said. “Just be careful, Emily.”
    Emily nodded and changed the subject. “I was thinking about something different we could do with the chat parchments,” she said, as they started to walk towards the gates. “It might be possible to work out a telegram service, using sheets of linked parchment.”
    Aloha frowned. “A telegram service?”
    “Just what I call it,” Emily said. “It would operate along the same lines as standard messages, but it wouldn’t need sorcerers to send or receive them.”
    She explained the concept as they walked through the gates and into the rear of the Great Hall, slipping in behind the new students. Grandmaster Gordian stood at the front of the giant room, speaking about Whitehall’s long history of teaching magic, etiquette and everything else a sorcerer needed for success. He wasn’t quite as inspirational as Grandmaster Hasdrubal, Emily considered, but she had to admit he sounded competent. Given that some of the newcomers were clearly nervous, judging from the way they shuffled their feet, it was probably a point in his favor.
    Caleb waved to her from where he was standing, next to Cirroc and Melissa. Emily slipped over to join him, silently counting the new students as she moved. There were around a hundred and thirty, by her count, more than anyone had expected. Gordian must have worked hard to recruit new