The Grandmaster's Tale

Chapter 2

I threw open the door, then stopped and stared in horror.

A girl was lying face-down on the cupboard floor, her hands tied behind her back and her robe hiked up to reveal her underwear. Someone had wrapped a cloth around her ankles, making it hard for her to move and impossible to get to her feet. She turned her head, revealing that whoever had attacked her had stuffed something in her mouth to keep her from crying out. I swallowed, hard, as our eyes met. Geraldine was a prefect, one of the few students I trusted to actually do the job properly. It wasn't the safest position in the school—interfering prefects tended to be turned into things if they threw their weight around too much—but I’d thought she’d been doing well. Now … cold horror rushed through me as I pulled her hands free, allowing her to cover herself and pull the cloth out of her mouth. If she’d been sexually assaulted, all hell was going to break loose.

“I …” Geraldine swallowed hard and started again. “Sir, they took my magic!”

I blinked, then cast a diagnostic spell. The magic surrounding her lit up. I swore. Someone had hit her with a very nasty curse that dissolved her spells as she tried to cast them, rendering her effectively powerless and ensuring she couldn’t free herself in a hurry. The curse never lasted long, and could be countered by a trained magician who knew how to work their way around the edges of the spell, but to a student it was devastating. Geraldine was strong, and advanced for her age, yet she lacked the experience to know what had happened. She could have died a thousand deaths—perhaps literally—by the time the spell wore off.

“They didn’t.” I cast the counterspell, then looked away as she freed her legs and stumbled to her feet. She didn’t to think I was staring at her after she’d been stripped of all dignity. Boscha would probably fire her when he found out what had happened. How could she command respect after she’d been overpowered, tied up, exposed, and locked in a cupboard? “What happened? And who?”

Geraldine hesitated. I knew what she was thinking. If the school found out she’d tattled, she’d be an outcast for the rest of her schooling and probably for the rest of her life. I knew students who’d been flogged to within an inch of their lives and yet refused to breathe a word. Poor Geraldine would be better off accepting her defeat and looking for revenge on her own, rather than tattling. The gods knew her tormentors would probably get away with it. Geraldine was a newborn, and newborns rarely had the connections to make people pay.

“Tell me,” I said, sharply. I could make her talk—it would be easy—but no one would believe it. Damn the Code of the Schoolhouse! Damn it! “What happened …?”

Someone screamed down the corridor. Geraldine jerked her head downwards. I stood, gritting my teeth, and turned and hurried away, following the sound. I guessed something had happened, something that Geraldine had tried to stop … I heard someone laughing and cursed under my breath. I knew that laugh, the hated hunting call of an entitled brat who thought he could do what he liked, and no one would ever call him on it. A surge of hatred ran through me as I picked up speed, memories of my cousins laughing at me—and my brothers—in just the same way. We’d taught them respect, at least. They’d no longer laughed at us, not to our faces. But other students hadn’t learnt the same lesson …

I rounded the corner and stared. A young man stood in the centre of the chamber, his body jerking back and forth as he tried to throw off the compulsion charms. Four other students surrounded him, wands pointed at their victim as they chanted heavy-handed spells. I felt the magic crawling through the air, powered by the visceral contempt they felt for their target, and poisoning the world. The audience—students young and old—laughed and jeered. Some thought it was funny—it was always funny, until it happened to them. Others … I saw the fear in their eyes, the unspoken conviction that if they didn’t laugh they’d be the next to be forced to strip in front of a gawking rabble … I hated them for it. There were nearly twenty onlookers, including a bunch of older students. They could have crushed the bullies like bugs—they could have turned the bullies into bugs—if they’d acted as one. They didn’t.

Fear is the mind-killer, I thought, bitterly. My brothers and I had had each other, at least. We had always known we could rely on ourselves. They’re too scared to think straight.

I calmed myself with an effort, noting names and faces. Adrian of House Rawlins and Walter of House Ashworth … why was I not surprised? I felt another surge of hatred. Handsome young men, with genuine talents and enough money in trust to ensure they could spend the rest of their days as idle layabouts if they wished, shouldn’t be spending their days picking on the less fortunate. But they did. Their toadies, Jacky McBrayer and Stephen Root, looked torn between resentment and a stubborn insistence they were doing the right thing. I knew better. The two young men—nowhere near as advantaged as their leaders—would be heartlessly dumped, the moment the four brats graduated and left to the tender mercies of everyone they’d ever picked on. I’d seen it happen before, to toadies I’d known in my school days, and knew it would happen again.

It couldn’t happen to a nicer pair of bastards, I thought. The two ringleaders were capable … I’d give them that much, even if they were assholes. The other two were just … toadies. They had nothing beyond their friendship with well-connected brats and soon they wouldn’t even have that. They’ll have to learn the hard way that their so-called friends don’t care.

My magic reached out, like a thunderclap. The spells evaporated as I shook the air. Wands hit the floor and clattered away, as if they’d been thrown. The audience looked at me, then turned and fled, pushing and shoving each other as they tried to get down the corridor and out of my sight before I sent them to the Warden. I’d never agreed with Boscha that arbitrary punishment is a perk of power, but the audience deserved it and worse. They’d be in hot water in the coming days, along with the ringleaders and their toadies. I’d finally caught them crossing the line.

Their victim—Alan, a magician whose origins were a matter of some controversy—stumbled and hit the floor, as soon as the spells holding him shattered. I saw rage and hatred and bleak hopelessness on his face, although he had kept fighting against overwhelming force long enough to impress me. The bastards hadn’t taken control of his mind so much as they’d taken control of his limbs, no different from pushing someone’s hand into their face. Alan was going to be in pain for days, I feared, no matter what the healers did. His muscles had been brutalised.

“Sir,” Walter said. He had a cocky smile that had charmed dozens of young women … all of whom learnt, too late, that once they surrendered their maidenheads he had no intention of giving them anything in return. Rumour had it he was interested in Geraldine, but she had rejected his advances. Smart girl. “We’re just …”

“Silence,” I said, sharply. I wasn’t interested in hearing excuses or promises of better behaviour. They’d tortured one student, to a degree that would shock even a king’s torturer, and sexually assaulted another. Boscha might turn a blind eye to students harassing the maids, damn him, but other students …? “The Grandmaster will deal with you.”

It should have worried them. I could send a student to be caned, or given weeks or months of detentions, or even used as target practice for the junior students, but I couldn’t suspend or expel them. The Grandmaster could. Even a relatively mild suspension would turn them into a laughingstock, once word spread outside the school. No one would question a newborn magician having to repeat a year, but someone who could trace his bloodline far back into the mists of time? The four bullies were in deep shit. And yet, they looked surprisingly … relieved.

“This way,” I ordered. “Alan, Geraldine, you too.”

Alan shot me a dark look. I knew what he was thinking. He’d been saved by a tutor … it wasn’t something that could be reasonably blamed on him; he hadn’t tattled to me, but … he was still going to be a laughingstock, too. Geraldine’s face was blank, yet … I could tell she was agitated. She was going to lose her badge and probably her reputation. Sure, most of the puerile bragging one heard in the dorms about sexual conquests was nothing more than stupid nonsense, but … mud stuck, when people wanted it to stick. Geraldine wasn’t the most popular girl in the school. She was too pretty for the girls and too sensible for the boys.

My unease grew stronger as we walked up the stairs. Adrian and Walter were laughing and joking, until I told them to shut up … it wasn’t the sort of behaviour I expected from boys who were likely to wind up suspended. House Ashworth and House Rawlins would be shamed, to say the least, if their children were suspended. Adrian and Walter might be allowed to get away with sexual assault, if their victim wasn’t anyone important, but not embarrassing the family. It wasn’t a harmless little prank like murder!

“Hey, Geraldine,” Walter said. “Dinner tonight?”

I heard a patting sound, followed by a pained yelp. I didn’t need to look back to know what had happened. Walter had touched her ass, and she’d hexed him for it. I pretended not to notice, even as Walter started spluttering complaints. He’d deserved worse … a lot worse. I knew his type all too well. They did whatever they liked and woe betide anyone who had something they wanted, or just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but when anyone dared to fight back it was unfair. How dare they refuse to bend over and take it?

The Grandmaster’s door opened as we approached. Boscha would probably have some idea of what had happened, if I was any judge, although I was fairly sure he didn’t pay close attention to the wards that were meant to alert him if there were any major disputes between students. He’d have problems coping, if he did pay attention. There were just so many clashes, as students sorted themselves into gangs for their own protection … Boscha, damn him, didn’t care. There were times when I thought he encouraged the disputes for his own twisted amusement.

I heard Geraldine suck in her breath as we stepped into the office and nodded in bitter understanding. Boscha’s office looked like a throne room, complete with an actual throne and a heavy wooden desk designed to put visitors in the right frame of mind for approaching the school’s lord and master. The walls were lined with portraits of kings, queens and princes, all of whom had never looked so good in their lives. The Grandmaster himself sat on his throne and studied us all, his eyes dark and cold. I wasn’t impressed. I’d come face to face with demons, necromancers and my own family.

“Hasdrubal,” Boscha said. I’d never liked the way he said my name. “What do you have for me?”

“I caught these four torturing one student, after sexually assaulting another,” I said, bluntly. It was hard to keep my voice under control as I ran through the entire story. If the Grandmaster had been doing his job properly, the whole affair would never have happened. “They need to be suspended. Now.”

Boscha’s face was unreadable. “I see,” he said. “Walter, perhaps you could give us your side of the story?”

I blinked. “Sir, with all due respect …”

Boscha held up a hand. “I believe we should not rush to judgement, when the schooling and careers of four young men are at stake,” he said, smoothly. The nasty part of my mind wondered if he’d practiced. “We need to hear their side of the story too.”

Walter stepped forward and gave his wretched smile. “We were merely teaching … ah … Alan … how to defend himself against some of the nastier charms,” he said, in a tone so sweet it would have been too much for my dear uncle. I half-expected Boscha to tell Walker to take his tongue off the grandmaster’s boot. Or another part of his anatomy. “His resistance has improved in the last few days.”

My fists tried to clench. I wasn’t looking at Alan, but I could feel his resentment and hatred. And the certainty that there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make matters worse.

I spoke for him. “I don’t recall you ever being given the authority to teach students anything,” I said, my tone dripping sarcasm. Walter was no prefect. “What makes you think you have the right to do anything of the sort?”

“Noblesse oblige,” Walter said. His voice dripped honey. And condescension. I wanted to hit him. “It is the responsibility of those of us born to power and privilege to assist the less fortunate by sharing our blessings. The Grandmaster himself lectured us on our duties to the poor, to those unfortunate enough to be born in ignorance and raised by parents incapable of offering even the slightest hint of magical education. They cannot be blamed, of course, for such unfortunate circumstances, yet those of us who are fortunate …”

I cut him off. “And tying up Geraldine, and exposing her, and leaving her in a cupboard is … what?”

“Another lesson,” Walter said, smoothly. “And I didn’t expose her.”

I felt Geraldine tense. Was Walter lying? Or had one of his cronies exposed Geraldine instead? Or … had she been exposed by her own movements, as she struggled to free herself? Geraldine was the only person who could answer, and she wouldn’t, not unless she wanted to be a pariah for the rest of her schooling. I wanted to demand Boscha use a truth spell, but I knew he wouldn’t. Walter’s family would throw a fit. So would everyone else.

“I’m glad to hear the matter has a simple explanation,” Boscha said. “I see no reason to take this any further.”

I stared. “You’re really buying that … that excuse?”

Boscha looked irked. I wasn’t impressed. “Walter has no authority to teach other students anything, nor does he have any real training or supervision. His methods are …”

“One should not punish enthusiasm,” Boscha said. “Walter and his friends will each write an essay detailing what they did wrong and why, as punishment for upsetting their tutors. I’ll expect to see the essays tomorrow evening.”

“Sir,” Walter protested. The outrage in his voice wasn’t remotely convincing. Honestly! He sounded as if he’d been sentenced to death for something incredibly minor. “I have a game this afternoon and tomorrow!”

“Then you can hand the essays in next week,” Boscha said. He looked at Geraldine. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to turn in your badge.”

The mild regret in his tone made my blood boil. Geraldine’s life had been ruined and the asshole was making it worse …

“Sir,” I said. “I …”

Geraldine pushed past me, her face flushed with anger, and threw the badge on the table. I hated Boscha in that moment, hated him enough to want him dead. Praise in public, punish in private … it was a piece of common sense Boscha had chosen to forget, if he’d ever known. He’d humiliated Geraldine in front of the four bullies who’d assaulted her … even if they’d never actually touched her she’d been rendered helpless, leaving her all too aware they could have groped or raped her if they’d wished. Perhaps that had been a step too far, even for brats who thought they were untouchable, or perhaps they’d planned to come back after they’d finished with Alan and do worse.

“I’ll appoint a new prefect tomorrow,” Boscha said. “Dismissed.”

Alan turned and hurried out of the room, Geraldine right behind him. The other four swaggered out, power-walking like knights who’d just won a joust and were now on their way to collect their winnings. I glowered at their backs, all too aware I’d made a mistake. No one would have said anything to me if I’d sent them to the Warden and told him to take the skin off their backs, or assigned a detention so horrible that even the janitor would have wanted to file official complaints, but I couldn’t overrule Boscha. He’d accepted Walter’s explanation, and there were no legal grounds to object, not now. I’d expected him to do the right thing …

And yet, he’d accepted an explanation that was about the least convincing explanation I’d heard in five years of teaching. Or at least pretended to accept it. Why? Was he afraid of their families? Or … was there something else going on?

I left the room myself, not bothering to say my goodbyes. An unsubtle rudeness, but one I suspected he’d let pass. Probably. Whatever he was thinking … I sighed, inwardly, as I made a private resolution. Whatever he was doing, I was going to find out.

And then, I promised myself, I was going to make him regret it.