The Grandmaster's Tale

I thought I saw what Boscha and his allies had in mind. The world was in flux. There was no stability, no legitimacy save what was conferred by force. A magical army could impose a united government on the magical community, through a combination of sticks and carrots, and go on to create a magocracy ruling the entire world. It was rare for magicians to care that much about the mundanes, but … it wasn’t as if any of the magicians ever stuck their necks out for them. Walter and his cronies could do as they pleased and no one—no one important—would care enough to stop them.

“We need to unseat him,” Mistress Constance said. The urgency in her voice gave me pause, then I realised. A Supremacist government with the power to push magicians around would force her to marry and bear children, no matter her personal preferences. “And quickly.”

I nodded. “It won’t be easy,” I said. “He has control of the wards.”

“Yes,” Mistress Constance said. “We need to get Pepper and some of the others involved. And then we need a plan.”

“Yes,” I echoed. “And I think I have something in mind.”

Chapter 4

“Alan, Geraldine, stay behind,” I said, as I dismissed the rest of the class. “We need to discuss your homework.”

Walter sniggered as he stood, his hand rubbing his rear. The class tittered on cue. I glared them into silence. Sheep, the lot of them. No, that wasn’t entirely fair. Walter and his cronies had the backing of the grandmaster and that meant they effectively ruled the school, no matter how many times they were sent to be beaten. There weren’t many other students who could stand up to them and would, given how many of the potential candidates might be getting their own lessons from Boscha. We’d put our heads together and calculated how many students might be on his list. It was a depressingly high number.

Geraldine eyed me warily as they approached my desk. Alan tried to keep his face blank, but I could sense his sullen hostility and resentment—and stubbornness. He was remarkably recalcitrant, even in the face of bullying beyond anything I’d ever faced. He could have left school, at the end of the previous year, but it would have been a little too much like giving up. I felt for him, really I did. He might not have my family name as blessing and burden, but he had a great deal of potential that was going to be squashed.

A thought crossed my mind, something that refused to come into focus … something about Alan that nagged at me. But what?

I waved my hand at the door, closing it with a spell designed to make the thud inaudible, then cast a pair of privacy wards. It was a risk—the school’s wards would certainly notice that part of the building was suddenly dead to them—but it was one I had to take. Boscha was elsewhere, for reasons I didn’t understand and didn’t feel inclined to question. The longer he stayed away, the smaller the chance he’d realise anything had happened and ask questions upon his return. I’d gone to some trouble to arrange a cover story, just in case.

The students stiffened. It was rare for teachers to cast privacy wards in classrooms, even when they were discussing private research projects or disciplinary matters. The sudden alarm in their eyes was oddly hurtful—the idea they might think I had some nefarious purpose in getting them alone, in a place no one could hear the screams, was worse—but I couldn’t blame them. The students—all students—saw their tutors as enemies, no matter how good they were at their job. And that was true even if all they did was get the students through their exams with a bare passing grade.

A lot can happen, behind stone walls and polite secrecy, I reflected, sourly. My brothers and I had been largely immune—a combination of family connections and undoubted fighting skill—but I’d heard rumours. We all had. And the victims rarely—if ever—talk.

I looked in their direction. I wasn’t sure what to say. Not really. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered. How does one go about recruiting students for a cause that could easily get them killed? Or worse? They would be paranoid about me, with reason. The mere fact I’d asked them to meet me alone, behind privacy wards, was a clear sign something was badly wrong. And yet …

“Tell me something,” I said, finally. Alan might appreciate me being blunt. Geraldine would not. “How long do you think it will be before someone gets seriously hurt?”

Geraldine scowled. I knew what she was thinking. Someone had already been seriously hurt. Magic could cure many things, but there were limits.

“Not long, sir,” Alan said, stiffly. The bitterness in his voice was striking—and painful. “They think they own the school.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Are you interested in doing something about it?”

Alan looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words to pass his lips. Geraldine had fewer problems. “Why aren’t you doing anything about it?”