The Grandmaster's Tale

Chapter 9

He looked a mess.

I would have felt sorry for him, if it hadn’t been his fault. His robes were drenched with … something. I hoped it was just water, and I feared it wasn’t. His hair had come loose; his eyes were grim and his magic … I gritted my teeth at the way his power was swirling around him, driven by anger and frustration and something I didn’t care to look at too closely. My earlier thoughts—magicians didn’t need pomp and circumstance—came back to mock me. Boscha didn’t look like a powerful sorcerer, not now. He looked like a drowned rat.

“You …” His eyes flickered over the group. “What are you …?”

I stepped forward. “You have a choice,” I said, flatly. “You can leave the school, giving us your oath to stay out of politics for the rest of your life, and we’ll give you enough gold to live comfortably until the day you die. Or you can fight us now and die.”

Boscha blinked, as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. I half-suspected he was in shock. His entire world had come crashing down in less than an hour, and no matter what he did, he was in deep shit. Crushing the student riot with the wards had been his only option, and we were blocking his way to the wardchamber. What else could he do? Nothing, I thought. His army was effectively neutralised, his allies would ditch him to save themselves … what else was there? And our offer of gold might just convince him to leave peacefully.

We don’t know how the wards will react if we actually have to fight him, I thought. The school wards were ancient and powerful, and there were quite a few things about the design that had never made sense. They might protect their master, even if he was kept out of the wardchamber, if we fought him. Or he might come up with something unexpected.

“You … you traitor,” Boscha managed. I hoped that was a good sign. If he was spitting insults, he wasn’t hurling curses. “You …”

“You created an army, with the intention of using it to stage a coup, take over the Allied Lands and impose Supremacist rule on the entire world,” I said, flatly. “That’s treason.”

I dared not give him any more time to think. “Your choice,” I said, flatly. “Leave and take our gold, or die here and now.”

Boscha glared at me. I glared back. It was galling to even think of giving him gold, but we had to sweeten the offer enough to convince him to take it, rather than digging in his feet and forcing us remove him by force. What was he thinking? I hoped—prayed—he took the easy way out. If we killed him, there would be all sorts of problems with the board. They might brand us murderers and use it as an excuse to hide their own role in the affair.

“You …” Boscha stopped and started again. “They’ll kill me!”

“They’ll kill you anyway,” I pointed out. “You’re of no use to them now.”

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.”

Oh, I thought. Is that what he told you?

“Boscha, among other things, oversaw a breakdown in discipline,” I told him. “He was prepared to tolerate all sorts of behaviour, from older students hexing younger students to harassing and molesting the servants. It is my intention to crack down hard on misbehaviour, particularly when it serves no useful purpose. I trust this will be acceptable to you?”

Lord Pollux scowled but nodded. The rest of the board seemed to agree.

“Then we’ll take our leave,” Lord Archibald said. I knew he was going to head home and cover his tracks, probably swearing blind he hadn’t had the slightest idea of what had been going on, but I didn’t mind. It would get him and his peers out of my way. Not for long, I was sure, but long enough to give me time to get organised. “Congratulations, Grandmaster Hasdrubal.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” I said. “I will do you proud.”

I walked the board to the edge of the wards and saw them on their way, then returned to speak briefly to my allies before heading to my room to sleep. There had been surprisingly few injuries, none of which were serious … although I convinced Madame Clover to keep Walter in the infirmary overnight despite her insistence he was shamming. He probably was, but it would cut down on the number of problems I’d have to deal with the following morning. I swept the rest of the school with the wards, adjusting them to monitor student magic. It would hopefully make it easier to cut down on bullying before the school descended into anarchy. Again.

The following morning, I summoned Walter, Adrian and Jacky to the office before breakfast, before I told the school how much had changed. Their eyes went wide when they saw me, and the missing throne, although they must have known what had happened when I’d ordered the students to the dorms, I kept my face blank, trying to hide my disgust. Walter had shamed himself in front of the entire school—and his father —while Adrian had been turned into a mouse and Jacky had apparently hidden under the bed the moment he’d realised the school was in revolt. I guessed it had worked out for him. For once, being a weaselly little bastard had been the right call.

“I won’t mince words,” I told them, bluntly. “You were bullying little bastards. You bullied and molested everyone weaker than you, until they turned around, bared their teeth, and went for your throats. You brought into the silly little conceit that an accident of breeding made you better than anyone else, because your fathers and a bunch of other powerful people made it easier for you. You don’t lack talent” —it was true— “but you have wasted it.

“Right now, your patron is gone, and your fathers are fighting for their political lives. They can’t protect you any longer, or save you from the consequences of your own actions.”

I held their eyes, one by one. “This is the one chance you get. You can better yourselves. You can take your undoubted talents and develop them. Or you can fall back into your old patterns and find yourselves expelled without further ado. One more act of bullying—of anyone—and you will be gone. Do I make myself clear?”

They nodded, hastily. I scowled and pointed at the door. I hoped they’d listen—they did have potential, if they applied themselves—but I wouldn’t shed any tears if they didn’t. I wasn’t going to invite Stephen back now either, not after he’d taken the blame and been suspended. It was a backhanded favour, I told myself. The chance to grow up apart from his toxic friends would be good for him. Even if it wasn’t … hopefully, he’d learn his lesson about allowing himself to become the fall guy. It wasn’t worth it.

I sighed, then looked down at my ever-growing list of things I needed to do—and change, after we finished clearing up the mess. It would keep the students busy for a week and give them a chance to learn some practical magic, giving me time to adjust the wards to enforce some of the new rules. No hexing younger students. No casting unbelievably embarrassing curses. No harassing or molesting the servants. No …

Someone cleared their throat. “Sir?”

I looked up, spotting Alan and Geraldine standing in the doorway. They stood very close together … a little too close. I knew what they’d been doing in the dorms, and it hadn’t involved sleeping. I hid my amusement as I motioned for them to come into the room and close the door behind them. I hoped they’d be very happy together. School romances rarely lasted long, once the students had left, but … Alan and Geraldine might be different.

“Please, take a seat,” I said. “I have a lot to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Geraldine said. “Thank you.”

Alan looked more cynical. “Did you intend to take his place?”

Geraldine elbowed him, hard. “Sir, I …”

I held up a hand. “It’s a sensible question,” I said. I would have wondered the same, if I’d been in their shoes. “And no, I hadn’t had it in mind when I started.”

Alan didn’t look convinced. I shrugged. Let him think what he liked. I wasn’t sure if I should discuss his ancestry with him. I’d made some quiet enquires at the orphanage, but all they’d been able to tell me was that his mother had been a whore—which explained why he hadn’t been adopted out very quickly—and his father a mystery. The town council had paid for his schooling, after he came into his magic … ironically, a scholarship program started by Boscha himself. I supposed he’d done his son one favour after all. And it had bitten him.

“So,” Alan said, finally. “What now?”

Geraldine elbowed him, again.

“Good question,” I said. I knew what he meant. They’d worked hard to achieve their goal, and they’d celebrated their success, and … what now? “What do you want to do?”

“I …” Geraldine met my eyes. “I thought I’d apply for an apprenticeship. But will they let me take it? If I get it?”

“Yes,” I said, simply. “Right now, the Supremacists have been discredited. I’m sure they’ll adapt, given time, but … you should have no trouble applying for an apprenticeship. I may offer you two one later myself, depending on how things go.”

“Depending,” Alan repeated. “And them?”

“They will be expelled if they cause any more trouble,” I said, firmly. “They know it, too.”

I sighed inwardly. I understood their doubts. Walter and his cronies had been humiliated—true—but they still had wealth, power and bad intentions. They could make life very hard for Alan and Geraldine, if they thought to try. But … their fathers would be a little more careful now. They knew I could land them in hot water by revealing the truth … maybe they’d keep their sons in line. Maybe.

“Thank you, sir,” Geraldine said. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you both later.”

I watched them go, then sighed again. The Supremacists were wrong. Alan and Geraldine were remarkably talented, their magic bursting with potential, and yet neither of them had come from magical families. Their talents should be nurtured, allowing them to reach their full potential … they didn’t deserve to be pushed aside, to be used as stud bulls or broodmares and little else, just because of an accident of birth. We all knew that crossbreeds were stronger and sturdier, when it came to everything from garden roses to magic. The Supremacists would, eventually, start damaging their own bloodlines. I’d seen quite enough mundane bloodlines that had real problems with inbreeding.

And they’d discredited themselves. They knew it.

It wasn’t a complete victory, I reflected, but it would do.

The door opened. Daphne—I was surprised she’d stayed, but perhaps I shouldn’t have been—looked in.

“Grandmaster,” she said. “The students are waiting.”

Grandmaster, I reflected. I was now the Grandmaster. And I am going to do the job right.