The Grandmaster's Tale

“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.

Chapter 3

It shouldn’t have surprised me, the following morning, that Walter was announced as the new prefect. It really shouldn’t. The original prefects were nominated by the staff, and elected after several rounds of horse-trading, but the grandmaster had the right to name replacements for any prefect who left the post without consulting his staff. No one else had a say. The female members of staff insisted Geraldine should be replaced by another girl, on the grounds a male prefect wasn’t allowed into female-only places and would be hexed blind if he tried, but Boscha ignored them. He didn’t even try to insist there were no suitable replacements amongst the girls. I wasn’t surprised.

I wasn’t surprised, either, that it didn’t take more than a day for Walter to become the least popular prefect in the school. He threw his weight around with abandon, backed up by Adrian and his two toadies. They harassed every student they could, including the ones they hadn’t been previously able to touch, often for the silliest reasons. A boy was tormented for not wearing the proper robe, a girl for not wearing the right underwear … I ground my teeth in fury when I heard that one, because I knew what he’d done to find out. There was no point in complaining to Boscha. Mistress Constance did so, only to be told the girls needed to learn how to defend themselves. I didn’t pretend to understand it. It was one thing to turn a blind eye to newborns being bullied, with an absurd explanation providing a fig-leaf of respectability, but quite another to ignore well-connected students who were being tormented. Their families could cause real trouble for Boscha …

It was a deeply frustrating week. I did my best to keep Walter and the others under supervision, at least in my classroom, but my ability to patrol the rest of the school was limited. They seemed to be aware I was watching them and taking delight in crawling as close to the line as possible, without ever crossing it and giving me the excuse I needed to kick them out of my classroom. It was just a matter of time before someone got really hurt—or killed. I watched the four bullies, and their victims, and silently prayed I could handle it when something exploded. It was going to happen. I knew it.