The Grandmaster's Tale

Boscha wilted. I felt a stab of guilt and tried to hide it. Boscha had caused a lot of problems, directly or indirectly, and we’d be dealing with the aftermath for years to come. Part of me wanted to start hurling curses, to blast the wretched man into a pile of blood and gore; the rest of me knew we had to try to get him to leave peacefully. I watched his eyes, waiting for the first hint he had something up his sleeve. But he didn’t …

“I’ll leave,” Boscha said. “And I will trade oath for oath.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, then took the parchments from my robes and showed him the oaths. They were simple enough. Boscha would stay out of politics and, in return, I’d give him more than enough gold to let him live a comfortable life anywhere he liked. Dragon’s Den was probably too hot for him now, after everything that had happened, but anywhere else would be delighted to take his gold. As long as he kept his head down—and perhaps changed his name—he should be fine. Probably.

He tossed his talisman at me—I felt the wards embrace me the moment I touched the metal—and then turned to leave. I directed Pepper to escort him to collect the gold, then teleport him to the nearest city. We’d search his quarters, pack up everything that was his and transport it to him. He could do whatever he liked with it afterwards. I just wanted to make sure we didn’t accidentally send him something dangerous, something that could be turned against us. I knew better than to rely on the oath completely.

“Well,” Mistress Constance said. “Shall we go tell the board?”

I nodded, rubbing my fingers over the talisman. “All students are to return to their dorms at once,” I said, using the wards to project my voice throughout the school. “Any student caught outside the dorms will have detention for the rest of the year.”

Pepper snorted. “Will they listen?”

“We’ll see,” I said. “I have to go see the board.”

Mistress Constance made a face. “Good luck.”

I nodded as I used the wards to ask the board members to gather in one of the conference chambers, then left the room. There was a very good chance, despite everything, that the board would turn on me. I’d plotted to overthrow Boscha, encouraged students to riot … and embarrassed the sons of at least two board members. And yet … I made a quick detour to Boscha’s office—there were problems getting inside now—and collected the documents I’d found on my previous visit. It was just possible I could use them to get away with everything I’d done. Just.

The board members looked irked when I stepped into the room. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, they’d sensed when I took control of the wards. Whitehall’s wards were loyal to their original master—we assumed it was Lord Whitehall himself—ahead of everyone else, including the board and their chosen agent. In theory, five of the seven board members could vote to unseat and replace me; in practice, I wasn’t sure. The wards were dangerously unpredictable.

Lord Pollux glared at me. “Where’s Boscha?”

“Gone,” I said, flatly. The wards had noted him leaving and adjusted themselves to keep him out, if he ever returned. “We have removed him from office.”

“You …” Lady Colleen met my eyes. “Why?”

“He was a Supremacist,” I said, flatly. I made a show of waving the papers in the eye. “He was building an army to crush the magical families and take control of the entire world, then institute a program to impose Supremacist ideology on everyone. His army’s failure shows precisely what a disaster it would have been, to try to take control so blatantly.”

The entire world seemed to hold its breath. Five of the seven knew what Boscha had been doing. They’d ordered and encouraged it, with varying levels of enthusiasm. And Boscha’s plan hadn’t even started to get off the ground. They’d be laughingstocks if the truth came out, their positions undermined or even swept away by a tidal wave of sniggering … I could see it in their faces, the grim awareness they had to rubberstamp my actions or risk having everything come into the open. Boscha would make a convenient scapegoat … giving them all the time they needed to cover their own tracks. Who knew? They might even rethink Supremacist ideology.

“I have always thought Boscha was a little too unreliable,” Lord Archibald said, finally. I could practically hear him folding his cards. “A man with so little besides magic could only be expected to cling to Supremacist ideals, rather than consider them in the cold light of reason.”

I smiled as the rest of the board joined in, condemning their former agent and approving my actions. I knew it wasn’t the end—Lord Pollux’s face was so blank I knew he was seething—but for the moment I’d won. The documents I’d found would be enough to ruin them, if they ever got out. I’d make sure they stayed secret as long as they cooperated.

“There is, of course, disciplinary matters to address,” Lord Pollux said, finally. “My son was attacked by a gang of older students.”