The Grandmaster's Tale

Chapter 8

I hated my dress robes. Really, I did. They were bright red with gold tassels and thread, cut in a manner that made me look like I’d been cursed into a walking trifle and then hexed to waddle around the room in a manner that suggested I was on the verge of tumbling over. The only upside, I’d long since decided, was that I could hide quite a few things under my robes. The rest of the staff didn’t look any better, as we assembled in the entrance hall. Even Boscha himself, resplendent in white and gold robes, looked unhappy. I don’t know what he was complaining about. The female staff had it worse. The designer, who’d probably died years ago, hadn’t given any thought to crafting his wares for people who had breasts.

And the Grandmaster could have changed the style years ago, I thought. Why didn’t he?

I dismissed the thought as I heard the carriage pulling up outside the door. The board could have teleported like any normal powerful magicians, of course, or simply stepped through a portal, but no. They’d travelled to Dragon’s Den, then clambered into a carriage for the drive up to the school. Personally, I suspected it was a power play—they wanted to make us line up to greet them—although I thought it was rather pointless. Magicians didn’t need pomp and circumstance. A magician covered in shit is still a magician.

The door swung open. The seven board members stepped into the school.

I studied them, without making it obvious. Lord Archibald and Lord Pollux looked like older versions of their bratty sons. Lord Ashworth looked old enough to be their grandfather; Lady Colleen was so young I was surprised she’d been allowed to inherit the post without a fight. The remaining three were roughly the same age as Lord Archibald and Lord Pollux … I’d checked the records and noted they’d all been in school at the same time, although they’d been in different years. It didn’t mean they hadn’t been friends. It was rare for older students to spend any time with the younger ones, unless they were prefects, but family connections and aristocratic bloodlines spoke louder than any tradition. Not, I supposed, that it mattered that much. Three years between two people was an imponderable gulf at school, a minor issue—barely worth mentioning—in adulthood.

Mistress Constance leaned closer to me. “They wear their robes well, don’t they?”

I shrugged. The board had excellent tailors and a great deal more freedom when it came to deciding what they wanted to wear. They actually made the robes look respectable … I shrugged, dismissing the thought. They were the board and that was all that mattered.

Boscha stepped forward. “We greet you, Honoured Guests, and welcome you to our school …”

He went on and on in the same vein. I had to admit he was good at being a pompous windbag—it’s a skill few can master, to speak much without actually saying anything—but I had the feeling he was overdoing it. The truly powerful and secure don’t like people crawling in front of them, let alone cleaning their boots—hopefully metaphorically—with their tongues. It’s a good way to make sure no one dares to tell you something they think you don’t want to hear. Lord Archibald and Lord Pollux seemed to take it as their due, even as the others started to show visible irritation. I guessed the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

“Our prefects will show you to your rooms so you can freshen up,” Boscha finished. Naturally, he’d assigned Walter and Adrian to escort their fathers. “We will reconvene shortly for a formal gathering to welcome you to our school.”

I hid my relief as best as I could as the board members were shown out of their rooms, despite the growing tension. I’d spent the last week laying the groundwork for our coup, all too aware that the slightest mistake could easily lead to disaster. There were staff members I didn’t dare trust, members who wouldn’t have the slightest idea which way to jump when the shit hit the fan. I hadn’t been able to think of a way to get them out of the school either, not when Boscha expected us all to attend the gathering and kiss his ass in public. I suspected he’d told his prefects precisely what he wanted them to say to the board … I wondered, idly, if anyone would take it seriously. Anyone who’d spent any time in politics would know to be wary of what they were being told, particularly if it was what they wanted to hear.

Mistress Constance caught my eye. “We have the gathering in an hour,” she said. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I said. I knew what she was really asking. “I’m ready.”

The tension in the air seemed to grow stronger as the hour ticked by. Boscha wasn’t taking any chances. He’d stationed his prefects on every floor, with strict orders to intercept students leaving the dorms and check their passes. Any student who didn’t have a very good reason to be outside the dorms would be in deep shit, or so he’d said. I knew he planned to brag to the board at how skilled his prefects were at keeping order, showcasing the peace and quiet as proof of their abilities. Personally, I doubted it would fool anyone for long. The board members had been students once, too.

But then, he can present it as noble blood keeping the commoners under control, I thought, as I made my way back to my quarters. And hope they don’t look too closely.

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.”

I bowed to conceal my amusement. Boscha was a consummate bureaucrat, the type of person who could be quite useful in a supporting role, but he didn’t have the mindset to cope with a sudden emergency. He’d make a good logistics officer, better than most, yet trusting him with command … I put the thought aside as I hurried out of the chamber, motioning for the rest of my little cabal to follow me. Boscha could have sent others, including tutors I didn’t dare trust, but … he didn’t. I suspected he wasn’t thinking very clearly.

But we have to act fast, before he realised he has one thing up his sleeve, I thought, grimly. If we’re not in place …

“I have everything in place, in the spellchamber,” Mistress Constance said. “Pepper?”

“I’m with you,” Pepper said.

I nodded, watching them hurry into the servant corridors so they could make their way down to the wardchamber without being seen. I hoped the real servants were smart enough to get the hell out of the way, when the students started hexing and cursing each other. I’d considered trying to convince some of the servants to join me, after Walter and the rest started being even more unpleasant to them, but there’d been no point. They couldn’t do anything more than soak up spells and that wouldn’t be anything like enough to tip the balance in our favour. Better they stayed in their quarters and kept their heads down. Or so I told myself.

The corridors were in absolute bedlam, bad enough to make the Great Apprentice Riot look like nothing. Prefects were being chased by students, young and old, hurling all sorts of curses and hexes after them; classrooms were being ransacked, bedrooms belonging to aristo students were being stormed … it was going to take weeks to clean up the mess, let alone locate everyone who’d been transfigured into something and undo the spells. I hoped no one would get seriously hurt, or killed, but …

Walter ran towards me, his eyes wide with fear. “Sir, sir …!”

I looked past him. A small horde of students—some had painted their faces to resemble orcs—were chasing him. I saw Alan in the crowd, but most of the rest were younger students … too young, I was sure, to pose a real threat if Walter used his mind. I couldn’t see any sign of Adrian, let alone Jacky or the rest of their cronies. It was hard to keep my contempt off my face as Walter hid behind me, as if he expected me to save him. Fucking coward. He was brave when it was four on one, but when he was badly outnumbered he ran faster than a rabbit being chased by a hungry fox.

“Every man for himself,” I told him cheerfully. “Run along to daddy, and quickly!”

Walter fled. I held up a hand to slow the crowd, just long enough to give the bully a fighting chance to get to his father. The board would not be amused when they saw Walter—he looked as if he’d wet himself in fear—and they’d demand Boscha Do Something. Boscha didn’t have many cards to play, not now his prefects were losing and losing badly, and that meant …

I nodded to Alan as the mob rushed by me, then made my way down to the wardchamber. The rioting was growing worse. A bunch of students were partying in the hall, another bunch were chasing a pair of snooty girls down the corridor … I put a stop to that before it could go any further, glaring the rioters into submission. I understood, all too well, just how badly hatred and resentment could curdle into something truly nasty, when the poor bastards were denied any chance to express it, but there were limits. It was going to be hard enough to calm everything down, afterwards, without aristocrats screaming their daughters had been debauched and deflowered.

The spellchamber unlocked when I touched the door. Mistress Constance was bent over a cauldron, stirring her brew as Pepper kept a wary eye on the spellwork forming around the foaming liquid. I gritted my teeth, bracing myself. Boscha had only one real option, if he wanted to keep his post. He had to take it quickly, too, before the board decided he was useless and fired him on the spot. Or did something else, something I couldn’t predict. I’d done my best to plan for everything, but there were limits to that, too. Boscha wasn’t a skilled fighter or general. He might accidentally come up with something right out of the box …

Magic flared. The castle heaved. Mistress Constance let out a gasp of pure triumph.

“Got him!” She looked up and grinned. “It worked!”

I smiled back. The castle’s wards were bound to the grandmaster … but we had samples of his son’s blood. Right now, the wards were unsure who was their actual master. We couldn’t take over directly, not yet, but we could keep him from using the remote wards to crush the riot and nip our coup in the bud. And Boscha couldn’t go back to the board and demand help, not without exposing himself as a failure. He had only one option left. I hoped it wouldn’t take him long to realise it.

Pepper caught my eye. “What if he brings the board with him? Or the rest of the staff?”

I shook my head. Boscha had nothing now, save for his post. He’d lost his army, he’d lost control of the school’s wards … the board would fire him on the spot, a move that would lead rapidly and inevitably to his assassination. The Supremacists would see him as a failure … worse, a failure who’d make them look like bloody fools if it ever came out. It would, too, if they didn’t tie up the loose ends as quickly as possible. Boscha might be a bureaucrat, instead of a fighter, but even he had to realise he was now expendable. The board would eliminate him, then try again with someone else.

“We have to move,” I said. “Constance, will the spells hold?”

“They should,” Mistress Constance assured me. “The magic should last for a few hours at least.”

I nodded as we hurried out the room. There was only one place Boscha could go now and that was the wardchamber, located under the school. Unless he’d decided to flee … I doubted it. He was nothing without the school, and he knew it. He wasn’t incompetent, when it came to magic, but he didn’t have time to reinvent himself. Too many people would be out for his blood.

The rest of the staff joined us in the antechamber, looking nervous. I didn’t blame them. We had committed ourselves to victory or … I had to smile. If we had to flee, we were far better suited to making new lives for ourselves. Hell, we could flee as a group and open a whole new school. We had the means and money to make it happen. But we didn’t intend to lose.

We waited, counting the seconds. Boscha didn’t show. I cursed under my breath as time seemed to slow, mocking us. What if Boscha had outwitted us? Or fled? Or … being caught and murdered by the students? I’d never heard of a full-fledged sorcerer brought down by a student, but stranger things had happened. If the sorcerer got overconfident and the student got very lucky …

And then Boscha stepped into the chamber.