Gennady's Tale

Chapter 5

The spell proved to be very resistant. Gennady tried again and again to cancel it, but he finally had to admit defeat and wait for the spell to wear off. He found himself growing back to normal just as the dinner bell rang for the last time. They hurried to dinner, snatched a quick meal before the older students chased them out and returned to their room. There was no sign of Charlus until Lights Out, when he returned, showered and went straight to bed. If he noticed the rude gesture Gennady made at his back, he didn’t show it.

Gennady didn’t sleep well. The sense that—at any moment—he might be turned into a small hopping thing kept him awake. He tossed and turned for hours before he finally slept, only to be tormented by nightmares of a giant Hogarth—who blurred into Charlus—lifting a foot and crushing him under his clogs. The howling alarm didn’t seem to make any difference, or to go away ... it wasn’t until Simon shook him that he realised he needed to get up. He rolled over, clambered out of bed and stumbled into the shower. Charlus, mercifully, was nowhere to be seen. His bathroom supplies, on the other hand, dominated the washroom. Gennady resisted the urge to pour the bottles of sweet-smelling liquid down the toilet. The faint hint of magic in the air suggested that trying might prove fatal.

“I heard you cry out,” Simon said. “Were you dreaming?”

“Just a little,” Gennady lied. He thought Simon meant well, but he didn’t know.Revealing weakness to anyone could be very dangerous. He liked Simon, yet ... his life had taught him that true friends were few and far between. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Once I managed to block out the snores,” Simon said. He pointed a finger at Charlus’s bed. “He snored so loudly I thought it was a thunderstorm.”

Gennady laughed as he donned his robe, then headed to the door. A handful of students were running up and down the corridor, including a couple of snooty-faced aristocrats who looked down their noses at him. He guessed they were Charlus’s friends. They probably were. The local aristocracy back home hated each other, yet they were friendly at the same time. It probably made sense to them, he reasoned, but to him it was just stupid. The aristocrats needed some real problems to keep them from fighting over trivialities.

“Gennady,” Simon said, as they entered the dining hall. “I’d like you to meet one of my friends.”

Gennady looked up and blinked in surprise as a red-headed girl made her way over to meet them. She wore a long robe that covered her curves—a decent woman, part of his mind noted—but her hair was uncovered, and her smile wide and welcoming. Gennady felt a confused mixture of emotions, a faint sense she might be interesting combined with the dull awareness that she hadn’t covered her hair. And ... he told himself, firmly, that it didn’t matter. The newcomer wasn’t Primrose. Gennady would stay loyal to his girl.

“Lyndred, Daughter of Milstein,” Simon said. “This is Gennady, my new friend.”

Lyndred dropped a curtsey. Gennady smiled, almost despite himself. No one, absolutely no one, had ever called him a friend before. He supposed Simon and he were friends, of a sort. They certainly had to work together against Charlus. He bowed in return, feeling oddly unsure. Lyndred was clearly neither a low-born village girl or a high-born aristocrat. He honestly wasn’t sure how to treat her.

They chatted as they ate breakfast, then collected their bags and made their way to their first classes. The Housemaster had set out their timetables, along with instructions for getting from the dining hall to the classrooms, but they were very nearly late by the time they reached the room. Gennady felt his heart skip a beat as he saw Charlus and a couple of other boys sitting at the rear of the room, sneering at all and sundry. It was hard to force himself to turn his back on them. He told himself, desperately, that it was an insult. But, in the classroom, Charlus was unlikely to notice.

And he might not know that turning your back on someone is an insult anyway, Gennady reflected, mournfully. He’s from a whole different world.

He looked up as the tutor, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, strode into the chamber and looked around. It wasn’t easy to take a woman seriously as a person of authority, but ... Gennady was learning. Sorceresses had personal power as well as positional power. They were hardly as helpless as village girls, who could be bought and sold or stolen as the whim struck their menfolk. And ... he reminded himself, sharply, that he’d been in the same boat until his magic had emerged. He squared his shoulders and listened as the woman—she introduced herself as Mistress Irene—launched into a complicated lecture on charms. Gennady didn’t find it easy to follow.

His heart sank as she started to toss questions, and practical exercises, at the class. Charlus, damn him to the other folk, seemed to know everything. He answered each and every question that happened to be directed towards the rear of the class, showing off for the teacher. Gennady and the other students, the ones who didn’t come from magical stock, found it harder to handle the exercises. Simon had his hand rapped for mixing up his spellwork, creating something that—the tutor informed them—would have caused a disaster if it had actually been tried. The sniggering from the back of the room gnawed at Gennady’s mind. He promised himself, once again, that he’d do anything to shut the bastards up.

“This spell isn’t going to work,” Mistress Irene said, looking down at his slate. “Why not?”

Gennady scowled. He barely followed the notation. He wasn’t sure he understood the link between his diagram and actual magic. His head pounded as he tried to make sense of his work. Perhaps ... he tried to tell himself it didn’t make sense. But it was a straight line ...

Mistress Irene took pity on him. “You’re wasting energy,” she said. “Every step in the diagram costs your spellwork a little more magic. By the time it reaches the end of the line, there will be little power left. You need to compress your spellwork to conserve magic.”

The sniggering grew louder. Mistress Irene looked up. “Do you find something amusing?”

Charlus snickered. “I was merely reflecting on the absurdity of inviting unprepared imbeciles to Whitehall.”

“Indeed.” Mistress Irene’s voice turned cold. “I shall be sure to inform the Grandmaster of your opinion. I’m sure he will take it very seriously indeed. Until he sees fit to appoint you to the admissions committee, you can write me a short essay on the lives of Lord Brentwood, Lady Pelham and Lady Helen of House Ashworth. I’m sure you will find them very interesting indeed.”

The snickering stopped, abruptly. Gennady blinked in surprise, an odd warm feeling flooding through his chest. Mistress Irene had punished them? He found it hard to believe. No one ever punished his tormentors, not ever. Maybe she was more annoyed at the sniggering than the target of their amusement. Or ... he clung to the thought that, perhaps, there was justice after all. Charlus wasn’t laughing any longer. Gennady shared a wink with Simon as the class came to an end. It wasn’t much, but they’d take what they could get.

He was quick to leave the classroom once the bell rang, trying to put as much distance as he could between Charlus and himself before it was too late. He’d known too many people like Charlus. The bastard would seek to make Gennady pay for his humiliation, even though he’d brought it on himself. Perhaps especially because he’d brought it on himself. Simon and Lyndred followed him, half-running to the next classroom. The corridors seemed jammed with students, ranging from boys only a year or so older than them to adults in fancy robes who looked ready to move on with their lives. Gennady felt a stab of envy as he saw a pair of students who were clearly in their final year. They looked so confident, so sure of themselves ... he’d be one of them soon, he promised himself. And then he could go home and be a big man. Everyone would respect him.

Their second class—alchemy—proved to be no better than the first. The alchemist gave them a long lecture on safety precautions, focusing on the importance of following instructions, then taught them how to prepare herbs for the cauldron. Gennady felt oddly unsure of himself as he julienned a plant with an unpronounceable name, torn between the sense that cooking was woman’s work and the grim awareness that alchemy wasn’t cooking. Charlus didn’t seem to have any hesitation in getting to work either. Gennady tried to tell himself that it was proof that Charlus wasn’t as masculine as the bastard would like to believe, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He had little else to cling to as he poured the ingredients into the boiling water and felt the magic surge ...

The cauldron shifted, tilted, and tipped over. Gennady jumped back as boiling liquid splashed on the floor. Faint sparks of magic flared as the charged potion brushed against the remnants of other potions, even though the stone floor had been washed thoroughly between classes. The alchemist had told them it was safe, yet ... Gennady heard the snickering from behind him and knew, with a sick certainty that could not be denied, that Charlus had hexed the cauldron. He’d come far too close to scalding all three of them.

“Stay behind,” the tutor said, as the dinner bell rang. “You can clean up the mess.”

Gennady ground his teeth as the tutor showed the three of them how to demagick the remnants of the potion and wipe it up without causing further problems. It would have been an interesting lesson, and much more practical, if he hadn’t known Charlus had intended to get them in trouble. The alchemist had given the class a whole series of dire threats about what would happen if they did anything stupid in his class. Gennady wasn’t sure if the cleaning up was the punishment or if there was worse to come.

“I saw him do it,” Simon muttered, as they were finally dismissed. “And he got away with it.”

“Yeah,” Gennady said. “We’ll get him for it.”

The corridors felt oddly empty as they hurried to the dining hall. Housemaster Fredrick had made it clear that anyone who didn’t get to dinner during dinnertime would go hungry, unless they had a very good excuse. Older students might get some leeway, but junior students wouldn’t. Gennady felt his stomach rumble as he headed to the stairs. He wanted—he needed—to eat before it was too late. And ...

“Well, well, well,” a voice said. Charlus’s voice. “What have we here?”

Gennady froze. Charlus was standing ahead of them, one hand raised in a casting pose. One of his friends stood next to him, his arms crossed over his chest. Gennady knew, without having to look, that Charlus’s other friend was behind them. An ambush. It was an ambush and they’d walked straight into it. Fear gripped him, once again. Hogarth was strong and brutal, but Gennady knew what to expect from him. Charlus, on the other hand, could do anything.

“Get out of the way.” Lyndred’s voice shook. “We have to get to dinner ...”

“You don’t belong here,” Charlus said. “Base-born brats with no magic ...”

“We do have magic.” Gennady forced himself to speak. It was hard, so hard, to break the habits of a lifetime. Cold logic told him he was probably stronger than Charlus, but it was hard to believe. He’d dealt with too many bullies who’d only grow worse if he tried to fight back. “We belong here ...”

“We do,” Lyndred agreed. She took a step forward. “Get out of our way.”

“Little slut,” Charlus said. “Let’s see you, shall we?”

He made a gesture with his hand. Lyndred yelped in shock as she was yanked into the air by an unseen force, then flipped upside down. Her robes fell, revealing her bare legs and her underwear ... Gennady stared in helpless shock, torn between a surge of desire and shame, hating himself for daring to look. Lyndred was a decent woman. She didn’t deserve to be exposed like that, not against her will ... not ever. Charlus leered at the poor girl as she tried to cover herself, manipulating her body so her robes kept her arms trapped. She couldn’t break free, let alone hide.

Simon yelled and threw himself at Charlus, fists raised. Charlus’s friend cast a spell and Simon froze, as if he’d run straight into a brick wall. Gennady swallowed hard ... anger burned through him as he tasted, once again, the bitter pill of humiliation. The anger turned to fire, raging through his mind. He drew on it, feeling his magic pulsing around him. The rage was directionless, yet ... he forced himself to throw it at Charlus. Red light flared as raw magic blasted the aristocratic boy ...

Gennady staggered, flames pulsing at the corner of his eye. He suddenly felt tired, very tired. His vision blurred. His legs buckled. He blinked hard, convinced—as his vision cleared—that he’d forced Charlus and his friends to run. And then he saw them, laughing at him. The corridor was scorched and pitted, but the aristocrats were unharmed.

“Is that the best you can do?” Charlus snickered. Gennady was starting to really hate that sound. “An unfocused blast of magic? Really?”

Gennady had no time to say anything before he felt his body lurching forward, his hands hitting the ground as he prostrated himself against his will. He struggled against the compulsion, but it was no use. The power was just too strong. He couldn’t even lift his head as he heard Charlus approaching.

“That’s how I like you,” Charlus mocked. “On your knees.”

Gennady heard Charlus turn and walk away. His entire body felt utterly exhausted, as if he was too tired to go to sleep. He tried hard to break the spell, but his headache grew worse and worse every time he tried. People were laughing at them. He was sure people were laughing. The exposed girl, the frozen boy, the prostrate boy ... he wondered, briefly, what would happen if he reported Charlus to Mistress Irene. She’d punished him once already, but ... Charlus had taken his anger out on the three of them. Who knew what he’d do if he got in trouble again?

“And what,” a cold voice said, “are you doing?”

Gennady felt a surge of magic, spinning through the air and brushing against him. The spell broke, leaving him sagging against the floor. Beside him, Simon’s body hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Lyndred was luckier. She was lowered to the floor by an unseen force. Gennady tried not to look at her underclothes as she fought desperately to conceal herself, rolling over again and again until her robe was back in place. She stood, tears glistening in her eyes. Gennady forced himself to stand too, despite his tiredness. She was his friend. She needed his support.

“Answer my question,” the voice repeated. “What are you doing?”

Gennady turned suddenly to see an older student standing behind him. He wore fancy robes, with a golden badge on his breast. The Housemaster had said something about a Head Pupil, hadn’t he? Gennady found it hard to remember. A pupil with tutor-like authority? It sounded like a recipe for disaster to him.

“We were practicing spells,” Lyndred said. She sounded as if she was searching for an excuse. “And things got out of hand.”

“Really?” The Head Pupil didn’t sound like he believed her. “What sort of spells?”

Gennady felt himself flush. Lyndred had every reason not to talk about what had happened. The rules might be different here ... or they might not. Admitting what had happened to her would weaken her future prospects, whatever they were. He wanted to tell the truth, but ... what would happen if he did? Nothing, at best. Gennady felt a surge of bitter hatred, mingled with grim determination. He was going to study hard, he promised himself again and again. He was going to study until he gained the power to make Charlus suffer, then he’d make him suffer. And Hogarth and everyone else who’d ever mocked him ...

“I’d advise you to learn protective charms,” the Head Pupil said. His eyes never left Lyndred. “There are spells you can cast on your robes, wards to protect you against all sorts of spells. The library has thousands of them.”

“Yes, sir.” Lyndred was flushing bright red. “Thank you, sir.”

Gennady felt for her, more than he’d ever felt for anyone before. The thought of Primrose in such a state ... he felt conflicted, then ashamed of himself. He shouldn’t think of Primrose like that. She was a decent woman. And he’d never do that to anyone.

“And you might want to make sure you’re never caught alone,” the Head Pupil added. His voice was very cold, yet ... there was a hint of dispassion in it, as if he were talking about something as mundane as the weather. “Worse things can happen.”

Gennady swallowed. He had a feeling the older student was right.