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 …