The Grandmaster's Tale

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?”

I kept my face impassive, with an effort. Her words stung.

“Because they have the backing of their families,” I said. And Boscha, although we’d get to that later. Perhaps much later. “There are limits to what I can do to them without drawing attention.”

“And so you let them go on,” Alan burst out. I was surprised he went so far. He had to be hurting more than I’d thought. “You do nothing and then …”

Geraldine nudged him, hard. I wondered, absently, just what sort of relationship they’d developed in the last few weeks. They were both pariahs … were they pariahs together? It wouldn’t be the first time two strangers found themselves working together because being alone was worse. I hoped it would last, despite feeling it would not. No one deserved to be completely alone.

“Freaking aristos,” Alan snarled. “They always look after themselves.”

I bit down on the urge to point out that magical and mundane aristos were two very different groups. He was right about one thing. They did band together to support their peers, if they were accused of anything from stealing a blade of grass to deflowering a maiden or joining a mercenary band. It didn’t matter if the person in question was innocent or as guilty as a man caught with his hand up a girl’s dress. They’d put all of their considerable power to work ensuring the wretched man didn’t have to face any punishment for his misdeeds. Bastards.

“Yes,” I agreed. We could quibble over the definitions later. “There’s nothing that can be done, legally. But we can step outside the law.”

Geraldine eyed me. “Is this anything to do with what they’re doing after class?”

My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“They’re slipping out, every second night, and not trying to be sneaky,” Geraldine said. “All of them … all aristos.”

I had to fight to hide my amusement—and annoyance. Geraldine had clearly noticed something … why hadn’t we? But then, it wasn’t as if we bedded down in the dorms. The housemaster reported to Boscha and … I frowned inwardly, wondering what—if anything—they’d told each other. Sneaking out of dorms and prowling the school at night was an old tradition. I knew housemasters who would turn a blind eye to students leaving the dorms on the grounds they needed to sharpen their skills elsewhere. My old housemaster had certainly pretended not to see us until we got to the bottom of the corridor.

“They’re up to something, aren’t they?” Alan met my eyes. “What are they doing?”

“Private lessons,” I said, flatly.

Geraldine sucked in her breath. She’d worked her ass off to catch up with the other students. She’d had no choice. Her merchant family hadn’t been able to give her the background knowledge she needed, let alone the training to make proper use of her magic from the moment she came into it. They might not even have realised she had magic until it started to manifest. She’d done well, she knew she had …

And yet, her eyes showed the despair of someone who’d just realised the game was rigged. Still rigged.

Alan cleared his throat, loudly. I felt a flicker of admiration. Alan was drawing my attention to him, in a manner that would be very difficult to overlook. He was risking a thrashing to ensure Geraldine would have a few moments to calm herself … impressive. Very impressive. I just hoped it wouldn’t bite him on the rear later.

“I have an offer for you two,” I said. “Private lessons of your own, from me and a couple of other teachers. You can catch up and surpass Walter and his friends.”

“Right,” Alan said. He sounded like a man who’d just been handed a gift horse and suspected he reallyshould look it in the mouth. “What’s in it for you?”

His friend nudged him again. “Alan!”

“It’s a sensible question,” I said, mildly. It was, too. “And to answer it, I don’t think it’s right they should have private lessons of their own.”

Geraldine frowned. “Does this have anything to do with Walter’s bragging?”

“What bragging?” I’d heard Walter brag about everything from his sexual conquests—I doubted he’d had so many; he’d have had no time for schooling—to the lands and wealth he would inherit when his father went to meet the gods. I had a private suspicion the old man’s life would be in danger the moment his son graduated, even though Walter had a trust fund that paid out—monthly—more money than most people would ever see in their lives. “What’s he been saying?”

“That things are going to be different,” Geraldine said. “And that I could be his concubine if he wished.”

“He wished,” I repeated. I didn’t like the sound of that. Most magicians were smart enough to realise that adding new blood to their family tree made them stronger, in the long run, but that didn’t always mean they treated newborn magicians well. My family hadn’t been very kind to my uncle’s wife, even though she’d given them three strong and powerful children to carry the bloodline into the next generation. “What else did he say?”

“A lot.” Geraldine’s cheeks heated. I guessed Walter had been crude, rude, and unappealing. “Mostly about things he wanted me to do to him.”

I almost smiled, despite the situation. It would be hilarious if Boscha’s plan unravelled because Walter couldn’t keep his fat mouth shut. The more people you added to your conspiracy, the greater the chance one of them would say the wrong thing and draw attention to your plans before it was too late. Boscha would have been wiser to use magic to seal their lips, although that might have drawn attention too. And yet, as Geraldine reluctantly outlined the specifics, I had to admit Walter hadn’t said anything too specific. It would be easy for someone to argue he’d just been an asshole.

“Yes. It is.” I leaned forward. “Do you want the lessons?”

Alan and Geraldine exchanged glances. I could tell what they were thinking. On one hand, without private lessons they were going to fall further and further behind; on the other, they had no idea what I really wanted, and they had no idea what I might get them into. There was no way I could reassure them either, or offer protection if the whole affair exploded in our face. I knew better than to make promises I couldn’t keep. Alan was too streetwise to be fooled.

“Yes,” Alan said, finally. “I’ll take them.”

Geraldine nodded. “Me, too.”

I allowed myself a tight smile. “Good,” I said. “You’ve both been very naughty and you’ve been given detention, Saturday morning. Mistress Constance has recruited me to assist with collecting certain ingredients she needs, and I’m assigning you to assist me. I’ll write something into the record book to account for it. If anyone asks, tell them I caught you whispering rude things about me.”

“Sir,” Geraldine said. “Does it have to be a detention? Can’t you come up with another excuse?”

And on Saturday morning, at that, I thought, wryly. Saturday detentions were the worst. You didn’t get to stay in bed until noon or … or anything, really. Walter was going to laugh his ass off when he found out, the prat. Hopefully, he wouldn’t wonder if there was something else going on. There’s no other way to do it.

“I’m afraid so,” I said. “One other thing—who else do you think would be interested in private lessons?”

“Everyone who isn’t an aristo,” Alan said, flatly. “And that’s a lot of people.”

I nodded. “I’ll see you both at the rear door on Saturday. Nine in the morning. Do try not to be late.”

“Yes, sir,” Geraldine said, reluctantly.

“Do not discuss this on school grounds,” I warned. “The walls have ears. Don’t discuss it in town, either. If you must, go far into the forest or up the mountains and do it there.”

Geraldine looked pale. I thought I knew what she was thinking. The grandmaster—or anyone who knew how to access the wards—could look into the female dorms, or changing rooms, or showers … I didn’t think Boscha would do anything of the sort, and privacy was always in short supply at a boarding school, but it was still disconcerting. The aristos didn’t worry so much about those things. They grew up surrounded by servants, from birth to death. They didn’t have any privacy at all.

“Dismissed,” I said, quietly.

Alan and Geraldine nodded, then hurried off as I dispelled the wards and unlocked the door. I watched them go, knowing I was now committed. They’d told me … I didn’t like the sound, I really didn’t, of what Walter had been saying. The Supremacists had long argued that newborn woman should be turned into nothing more than broodmares, sharing their blood with the greater community without receiving anything in return, and Walter was the type of person to embrace that argument with great conviction. Personally, I suspected it would be disastrous—there would be all sorts of disputes over who was the legitimate heir to any given bloodline— but no one was interested in asking my opinion. The Supremacists—those that knew about my father—might even think my existence was proof they were right.

The rest of the week passed quickly. I kept patrolling the corridors, listening to rumours being passed from student to student, and quietly compiling lists of potential recruits. It wasn’t easy to pick students who had both a cause and the ability to become fighters, rather than being so badly battered they couldn’t even raise a hand to defend themselves. It was also tricky to avoid students who had ties to the various magical families, even if they were newborns. Quite a few had been scouted already and offered all kinds of rewards for sharing their blood. I hoped they’d had the sense to make sure protections for themselves were worked into the contract. If they didn’t … it would bite them. Hard.

I met Alan and Geraldine on Saturday morning, both looking cranky to have been roused from their beds so early. I didn’t blame them. Friday nights were often wild, with students heading down to town for entertainment or simply staying up late because they didn’t have to get up the following morning. No matter how many charms the two students used to block out the noise, something would get through. Few students would let their roommates sleep early on Friday. Anyone given detention on a Saturday had done something that was really beyond the pale.

“This way,” I said, trying to sound nasty. “Follow me.”

We walked through the grounds, past the arena and out into the forest. The wards faded away as we picked up speed, following a path I’d known in my younger days. I stayed well away from the scene of the crime as we picked our way onto a smaller path, casting a handful of subtle charms to distract and deter anyone who might be following us. I didn’t think it was too likely—everyone thought the two students had detention, with a tutor known to be a harsh taskmaster—but better safe than sorry. The two didn’t grumble as we kept moving. I was oddly impressed. Walter and his cronies would’ve been moaning and groaning by now.

The pathway widened, suddenly, into a clearing. Mistress Constance, Lady Pepper and a handful of other students stood there, waiting for us. I sensed my two students tense as they realised we weren’t alone, alarm running through their minds as it dawned on them matters were more serious than they’d thought. I mentally kicked myself for not warning them that other students would be coming. But there hadn’t been time.

“We have a lot to learn and not much time,” Lady Pepper said. She might not be the best combat sorcerer in the world, but she was one of the best instructors. The really talented sorcerers often found it hard, if not impossible, to teach students how to follow in their footsteps. Boscha, damn the man, had made noises about hiring someone better. I suspected he was wasting his time. There might be sorcerers who could best her in a fight, but not do better when it came to teaching. “Are you ready?”

Alan shot her a challenging look. “Can you make us better than them?”

“No,” Lady Pepper said, flatly. “I can give you the tools to make you better, but it is you who will have to do the work. If you don’t …”

I smiled at her lecture. I’d heard it before. Most sorcerers aren’t lazy, perish the thought, but there is a certain indolence around them that means they can be bested by someone who thinks on his feet. Formal duelling contests are judged by presentation, by who can cast the most dramatic spell, while real fighting is judged by who puts the other down first. You can win a duel and still lose if the judges insist you broke a rule, while there are no rules in real fighting. Get down, get dirty and don’t show any mercy as long as your opponent can still hurt you. Rest assured, he will do the same to you.

Boscha has never been in a real fight, I reminded myself. And neither has Walter.

Alan nodded, when she’d finished. “Yes, My Lady.”

I nodded, too, although I feared the future. Alan was smart and stubborn and given the right training and experience would be a match for anyone. I hoped that wouldn’t become a problem, later on. I was putting a lot of power in hands that hadn’t held any power, relatively speaking, and might not be mature enough to cope with it. Geraldine, too, I feared. It wouldn’t be the first time a newborn magician had gone home and reacted badly to something she would have ignored years ago. I knew one girl who’d turned her entire family into toads, for a real—or imagined—slight. Alan could be just as bad, if I gave him the chance. But if I didn’t …

“Good,” Pepper said. If she had any reservations, she kept them to herself. “Let us begin.”