The Grandmaster's Tale

I changed into my tutoring robes and checked I had everything in place. I’d given a bunch of students—my students—hall passes to allow them to leave the dorms without a fight, but I had no idea if the prefects would try to block their way. Boscha’s backing had made Walter and his cronies more arrogant than ever before—a remarkable feat, one I would have thought impossible—and they had imposed peace, with vague undertones of mass rebellion. I’d feared the entire plan was doomed when someone—I still didn’t know who—blasted a prefect in the back with a spell well above their years. Thankfully, Walter hadn’t reported it to Boscha. I suspected it was a clear sign their alliance wasn’t as close as Boscha wanted us to believe.

The air felt cold as I left my quarters and made my way to the Grandmaster’s private dining hall. It had always struck me as surprisingly large, for a chamber normally used by a single man, but right now it was uncomfortably full, crammed with tutors, board members and a handful of their toadies. I glanced from face to face, making a mental list of everyone in the chamber. The great and the good were talking to tutors, trying to give their children unfair advantages over the others. I didn’t know why they bothered. Walter and his peers already had all the advantages they could possibly want …

“Nigel is so delicate,” one woman said. Her son was a hulking oaf who had a nasty habit of insisting younger students needed to warm his toilet seat before he used it. “He shouldn’t be playing championship sports.”

“Charlotte should be allowed to take upper-level healing,” a doting father insisted. His daughter wasn’t stupid, by any means; but she wasn’t cut out for healing, and everyone knew it. She’d do well in charms or alchemy, if she were given the chance. “It’s a great shame she was turned down for an apprenticeship …”

I tried not to roll my eyes as I swept around the room, watching the gathering. Boscha himself held court with Lord Archibald and Lord Pollux, chatting to them about nothing in particular even as he made sure he was seen with them. The other board members—the ones who were part of their faction—came and went, although not all seemed completely enamoured of the grandmaster. I had grown up in House Barca, watching my uncles play their political games, and I could tell the difference between the ones who’d committed themselves fully and the ones who had fallback positions. The latter would be easier to handle, once Boscha himself was removed. They’d be quick to insist they had nothing to do with him at all.

My lips quirked. The problem with planning treason is that you can never trust a traitor.

My mental timer reached zero. Alan, Geraldine and the others were moving now, if all was going according to plan. They’d hidden themselves in the spellchambers … now, they should be dealing with the prefects guarding the dorms and freeing the rest of the students. I hadn’t dared bring too many students into the plan, but it shouldn’t matter. The resentment had grown so high, in the last few weeks, that even the slightest hint of a chance to get their own back would start a riot. I’d seen the Great Apprentice Riot of Beneficence. This was going to be worse.

Sweat prickled on my back. If the timing went wrong …

Daphne burst into the chamber and hurried over to Boscha. “Sir,” she said. “The students are revolting!”

“They are revolting,” Lord Pollux said. His toadies brayed like mules. I hadn’t heard such obviously faked laughter since a comedy playwright had hired professional mourners to laugh on cue. “What a …”

A ripple of disgust ran through the chamber. I turned, just in time to see Angeline stumbling through the door. She was an upper-class student, who’d been assigned to assist Lady Colleen … someone had drenched her in stinking solution, making her smell worse than the poor women who collected animal droppings for dubious purposes. The solution was normally charmed to make it hard for the unfortunate wearer to realise they were stinky—one could normally rely on everyone nearby making it obvious—but whoever had brewed the potion had messed it up. Angeline could smell herself.

“Grandmaster,” Lady Colleen said. “Is this the sort of thing we expect from you?”

Boscha reddened. “I …”

I interrupted. “Grandmaster, let me deal with it,” I said, in the oiliest tone I could muster. I felt dirty just trying it. “I’m sure it’s just a minor matter.”

“Of course, it is,” Boscha managed. “Hasdrubal, deal with it.”