I scowled. Perhaps I could kill him, then go rogue …
No, I thought. That would leave his backers free to try again.
“We need to discredit him,” I mused. “And we need to force him to leave.”
“Well, yes,” Pepper said. “We could duel him for the post.”
“These are not the days of Lord Whitehall,” Mistress Constance pointed out, waspishly. It was late and we all had full days tomorrow. “You cannot lop someone’s head off and claim it entitles you to his title, his lands, his wife and whatever else he has!”
I had to agree. “Boscha didn’t get his title because he was the greatest duellist in the school,” I said. “But I think I have a plan. We need to get the other staff involved, too.”
“The ones we can trust,” Mistress Constance said. “Not all are trustworthy.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. There were staff members I trusted to side with me against Boscha, but not against the Supremacists. Approaching them would be asking for trouble. “But I think we can arrange matters to have most of the staff on our side.”
“Right,” Pepper said, doubtfully. “What do you have in mind?”
I took a breath, then started to outline my plan.
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.