Chapter 20
Constance heard a swell of incredulous murmuring sweep the classroom before Mistress Broomhead's voice rang out through the noise
"Silence! As you will see, Constance has volunteered to test your potions. She will have no idea which of the list of potions you have attempted to make. So she will judge each, first on its appearance and then by taking a small dose. You have one hour, begin"
As the classroom on the other side of the store cupboard door returned to the familiar stilted hum of the students beginning to brew their potions, Constance felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. No matter how forcefully Mistress Broomhead described the situation, Constance was perfectly aware that her situation would seem entirely ridiculous to any of the listening students. Being willing to taste test an entire class worth of potions was one thing, although Constance couldn't think why anyone would be want to volunteer for such a job. But to be willing to stand in a dark and cramped store cupboard for an hour in order to ensure fair judging was frankly unbelievable. Why would she not have simply left the classroom or even more reasonably not attended the class at all, and simply arrived in time for the judging at the end?
Constance knew that much of what she endured under Mistress Broomhead would seem unbelievable. It was the key to her tutor's power over her, ensuring Constance maintained a non-complicit but nevertheless mutual silence about her tutor's methods. The only grain of comfort for Constance was that her silence at least managed to contain some of the notoriety and suspicion which followed her around the college. She felt the prickle of inquisitive stares and incredulous whispers all the more keenly now she did not have the solid comfort of her two friends at her side as she walked the corridors. Constance could only imagine how this would increase when word spread about this incident.
Constance's sleeve brushed against a small glass bottle on the shelf beside her and she held her breath as glass base danced slightly against the wood before settling back into place. She was instantly reminded of another instance trapped in this store cupboard, when she had failed so spectacularly at her first introduction to apparition, something which now seemed almost as natural to her as breathing. Suddenly Constance realised she did not need to be complicit in this situation. The dark dead end of the store cupboard and the finality of the lock behind her had made her feel completely hopeless but in fact she'd had the solution to this problem all along. She could simply disappear from the cupboard and return through the classroom door in an hour's time to judge the potions. Her initial entry to the store cupboard could then seem all part of an act to add some drama to the proceedings; slightly odd but far more reasonable than Mistress Broomhead's version of events.
Knowing that frayed nerves and magic never mixed well, Constance took a few moments to focus and calm herself before summoning the internal energy to disappear. The air around her began to vibrate, picking up speed until the bottles and boxes around her appeared nothing more than a sickening blur of colour. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the vibrating slowed and the air around her finally settled solidly around her again. Constance was still in the store cupboard. Though nothing appeared different she could feel the change in the air around her; it weighed heavy against her skin and almost pushed against her ears and eyes. Constance knew at once she would be unable to transfer herself from the cupboard. She wondered if this was what the air had always felt like to her before she had gained the ability to pass through it with such ease. She assumed at first that this magic was Mistress Broomhead's doing but then the stock phrase from her school days echoed clearly in the back of her mind: "magic is not to be used for selfish or trivial ends". Constance had known that if she kept using The Almanac, the Doctor Foster effect would catch up with her eventually. Today's spell had been reckless and, now that her anger had cleared, Constance had to admit it had also been rather pointless. It seemed the laws of magic agreed because the Doctor Foster effect seemed to have caught up with her, amplifying Mistress Broomhead's spells and holding her prisoner.
It was almost an hour later when Constance, who had settled into a half-day dream like state, heard a change in the classroom noise around her and realised Mistress Broomhead was calling time on the day's potion making. Constance drew herself to her full height and tried to arrange her features into the impassive expression she had perfected when walking through the school corridors. She could hear Mistress Broomhead ordering for silence as she stood at the front of the classroom, before her footsteps began to approach, ringing out against the stone flags. As the sound of Mistress Broomhead came nearer, Constance felt the tightness of the air around her release, the weight of it on her limbs and head suddenly lessening. It seemed to Constance that the laws of magic had taken pity on her, and firmly ignoring the rational part of her brain which was telling her this was theoretically impossible, Constance disappeared just as Mistress Broomhead turned the key in the lock.
Constance heard several surprised gasps as she reappeared at the front of the classroom and she couldn't manage to supress a small smile. Her hopes to pass of the whole incident as a bit of theatre had succeeded completely. The class had watched Mistress Broomhead pull open the door to an empty cupboard just seconds before Constance had appeared in front of them. It had all the inelegant charm of a non-magical conjurer; the magician and assistant pulling off a showy trick. It was the kind of thing Mistress Broomhead loathed. In her haste, Constance had also managed to reappear in exactly the place Mistress Broomhead usually stood to teach her classes. She could tell by the thin, firm-set line of Mistress Broomhead's mouth as she glared at her, that this accidental challenge to her authority was not lost on her tutor either.
Following Mistress Broomhead's barked instructions; Constance made her way to the first pair of students who stood waiting at their cauldron. The potion they had made was a deep, soothing blue with an iridescent gold sheen. A cloud of lavender steam rose from the potion's surface and the liquid itself was lapping rhythmically against the sides of the cauldron like gentle waves. Constance recognised it at once as an exceptionally well-made sleeping potion. Constance knew the potion would be very strong and so, after praising the pair on their potion's appearance, she let only a single drop fall onto her tongue from the glass sampling cup they had prepared for her. Almost as soon as she tasted it, she felt a momentary syrupy heaviness come over her limbs and the end of her train of thought seemed to slip away from her grasp as her mind settled into a brief moment of warm darkness.
Constance made her way around the class room, testing each potion and commenting on their varying degrees of success. In one instance, Constance thought the deep green potion in front of her, which was swirling first clockwise and then anti-clockwise in a mesmerising manner was going to be a very good example of an anti-dizziness potion. She took a confident sip and immediately had to grasp the bench in front of her as the classroom lurched violently and her entire body felt as if it was swaying. Constance had to close her eyes and wait for the sensation to stop before weakly informing the students they had added nettles instead of dock leaves, which had produced a very successful but unintended dizziness potion.
Finally, all of the potions were tested and the class were beginning to clear away their ingredients when Mistress Broomhead called for their attention.
"Wait, there is one final potion for you to try, Constance." she announced, beckoning Constance to the front of the room "Disappointingly, not a single student was able to identify the example potion I brewed this morning. Perhaps you can enlighten us all"
Mistress Broomhead handed Constance a small glass cup of deep red potion, it had a clear consistency which made it almost glow in the morning light of the classroom. Constance automatically put the potion to her lips and drank, glad this was the final potion of the morning. It was only after she had swallowed the potion that she stopped to consider what the wine coloured potion could be.
"Well Constance, would you care to share with us what the potion is?" Mistress Broomhead asked
"A truth potion" Constance replied softly.
"Correct" Mistress Broomhead gave a grimly satisfied smile before turning back to her class "A truth potion. The taker is forced to speak truthfully. Now, the effects of the potion depend upon the witch's level of self-control; a weak willed witch, of which there are many in this room, might begin speaking immediately, revealing all their inner thoughts. Those with more composure are able to choose silence. However, the potion in the hands of the right witch can be very effective, as it compels whoever has taken it to respond truthfully to any question asked. As long as you asked the right question, Constance wouldn't be able to help but reveal all of her secrets."
As Mistress Broomhead turned to dismiss her students, Constance felt the tingle of panic return. The truth potion was undoubtedly a potent one and she roughly calculated that even the small sip was enough to last the remainder of the day. Suddenly, all the thoughts that she had prevented Mistress Broomhead from seeing would be open for her to see: her hidden letters, the almanac which she had only just begun to explore, any number of past misdemeanours which had escaped her tutor's notice. But that was not all, Constance had spent four years learning, reading and honing her keen brain, she had any number of ideas for her own spells and potions which she knew Mistress Broomhead would have no qualms about demanding credit for if she knew of them. And of course, Constance was not only concerned about her own secrets, her growing friendship with Mistress Fairwind had led them to discuss Gwendoline's own mistakes, plans and ambitions, all of which she knew she must protect from Mistress Broomhead.
Constance glanced hurriedly around the classroom and her eyes fell upon the small glass cup of blue-gold liquid which had been left on the front bench. The sleeping potion was a strong one, and Constance guessed there was enough in the cup to last for 12 hours, if not more. Certainly enough to outlast the effects of the truth potion. However, it all depended on the way in which the ingredients had been prepared and brewed; taking too great a dose could be fatal. Constance doubted that any third year undergraduate could brew something fatally strong but there was no guarantee that the potion wouldn't put her into a longer, coma-like sleep.
The sound of the door shutting on the classroom which was now empty apart from Mistress Broomhead and herself caused another lurch of panic. Without time for any further thought, Constance silently picked up the sleeping potion and drank the contents of the small glass. She had a moment to think how nice it would be to sleep undisturbed – she couldn't remember when she had last had more than a few hours sleep. Then the blackness swallowed her.