Chapter 23
It was the shortest night of the year when the students were woken by doors banging and raised voices. Eleanor rolled out of bed and grabbed her dagger, then stepped outside to see what was happening; Daniel, Sebastien and Mikhail had evidently had the same thought. It was dark in the common room aside from a glint of moonlight but it was enough to see that, despite their varying degrees of undress, they'd all reached for their weapons.
"Any idea what's going on?" Eleanor asked.
"It sounds like it's coming from upstairs," Mikhail said. "But the second years are meant to be out tonight. Shall we go and look?"
Sebastien opened the door to the corridor, and they fell instinctively into a close formation behind him, with Mikhail walking backwards to watch their backs.
They were about to start up the stairs when Fred came down, bare-chested and tousle-haired, having evidently been roused from his own bed not long before.
"Go back to sleep," he said, waving them away. "You can't possibly be any help."
"What's going on?" Sebastien asked.
"It's nothing you need to be up for, just a bit of an argument over this latest contest. Jon and Victor just got back, and... well, you'll hear soon enough. Nothing to keep you awake."
"It sounded like something," Mikhail said. "It sounded like a riot – or maybe a herd of cattle."
"Just tempers running a bit high, but I think it's calmed down now, for tonight at least. Go back to bed," Fred insisted. "That's where I'm going. You'll hear all about it in the morning, no doubt."
They exchanged puzzled glances but no-one was really in the mood for an argument. At least if it was just some internal upset, there probably wasn't that much reason to lose sleep over it.
"What do you think it could be?" Mikhail asked as they got back to their common room.
"Fighting over who won this contest, by the sound of it," Sebastien said. "Must've been close."
"I do not care for their petty arguments," Daniel muttered. "They should not make so much noise when we are sleeping."
Sebastien lifted the kettle onto the stove. "Well, since we're wide awake now, who wants a drink before we go back to bed?"
They sipped tea and debated what all the fuss could have been about, but without anything on which to hang their speculations, the conversation soon petered out. Daniel was glad of the excuse to mutter about his mistrust of anything to do with Venncastle and its ex-students; the others, tired and somewhat bored, listened in silence. Eventually they reached the end of their drinks, the excitement of being woken had worn off, and they were ready to go back to bed.
Neither Jon nor Victor appeared in the dining hall the next morning, though Eleanor and Mikhail, curious to find out what had happened during the night, arrived early and managed to spin out their breakfast until the bell rang for the morning's unarmed combat session.
As they practised their throws and locks together, they discussed their theories as to what might have happened, and joked about how messy it could be if two of the academy's graduating students got into a serious fight.
At lunch, however, their curiosity was finally satisfied.
"The council can't reach an agreement," Jon was explaining as they arrived in the dining hall. He was sitting with Victor, Fred and Jorge at one end of the table, but his irate tones carried easily across the room. "They're being so bloody slow."
"They can't be seriously suggesting neither of you should get it." Fred sounded upset. "That's ridiculous."
"They're discussing it," Victor said. "They won't rule anything out, and meanwhile we're just left hanging."
"And we're supposed to come to this dinner and act like nothing's wrong," Jon added. "Without knowing if either of us is even going to get on the council. I don't even care which of us they choose, I just think it's stupid that they're taking so long over it."
The graduation dinner would be held in the Association's main banquet hall, and the first years had all been invited along to join the evening's celebrations. After the events of the previous night, however, they were starting to wonder what exactly they'd be celebrating. Tonight was supposed to mark Jon and Victor's transition from academy students into fully-fledged members of the Association, but if the council still hadn't made a decision on their fates, it was going to be a very strange kind of graduation.
They were let out of interrogation early, and advised to change into their formal clothes.
Eleanor went to her room and unfolded her emerald gown. This was the first opportunity she'd had to smarten herself up, and she was looking forwards to dressing like a girl for once; she hadn't worn a skirt since she'd left Gisele's. She tied her hair back and, after only a moment's hesitation, reached under the mattress for her pendant and fastened it around her neck. The gems matched the colour of the dress perfectly, and she wished Raf could be here to see her wear it. She had to wipe away a tear before she ventured out to face the others.
It was a long walk to the Association's main hall, and the first years – with the exception of Fred and Jorge – all traipsed through the woods together, still gossiping about the night's disturbances and whether the council would have made their decision in time for the meal.
A single table in one corner of the capacious banqueting hall was set aside for the students, and they were ushered to their seats past a sea of faces they mostly didn't recognise. At the far end of the hall, the council had a long table to themselves.
There was no sign of Jon or Victor, and Fred and Jorge were also missing.
"Some Venncastle thing is happening," Daniel said. "I do not know what they will do, but they are plotting something."
For once, Eleanor didn't think she could tell him to stop being melodramatic. This precise set of absentees couldn't be a coincidence.
They waited, not wanting to start eating without the guests of honour, and wondered where the Venncastle students could possibly have got to. Mack confirmed that Jorge and Fred hadn't been back to their common room after that afternoon's lesson; no-one had seen Jon or Victor since lunch. The food was kept warm in heated tureens, but eventually someone at the council table got to his feet and announced that they would start the meal regardless, "not wishing to waste this splendid feast by allowing it to spoil, after all the effort our chefs have put into preparing it."
"It's not like Jorge to miss a meal," Eleanor said as she lifted the lid from one of the tureens, releasing a cloud of steam into the air.
"I tell you, they are plotting something," Daniel said.
"More for us," Mikhail added, helping himself to extra bread. "But I'm sure they'll turn up eventually, and then we'll find out if they have been up to anything."
"It is what, not if," Daniel said stubbornly.
The food was, as usual, delicious. They were on to second servings of dessert before Jon and Victor burst in, with Fred and Jorge a few steps behind. Though they weren't obviously armed, they marched like a very small army.
They ignored the student table and strode straight up to where the council were sitting. The room fell silent, waiting.
"We want a decision," Jon said. "Now."
"This is highly irregular," Ragal said softly. The students had to strain to make out his words. "The council is not in session."
"You can't leave us hanging like this."
"The council will not be rushed. There are hard decisions to make, and any decision has implications."
"You can't expect us to just lie down and take this," Victor said. "We can't sit down to dinner and pretend everything's normal."
"We'd rather assumed you weren't going to bother to grace us with your presence at all," Bill said.
"We just want an answer."
"We will not do this lightly," Ragal said. "You will simply have to have patience."
Jorge moved suddenly, pulling his dagger from its sheath and moving to hold it against Ragal's throat. The old man turned at lightning speed, knocking his chair to the floor, then threw Jorge over h
is shoulder onto the table, pinning him under his own blade.
"You fool," Ragal said, shaking his head. "You're still wet behind the ears, and you really think you can be any threat to someone of my experience? Really? I may be getting old, but I'm not dead yet."
He turned back to the room, and this time projected his voice so everyone could hear him clearly: "I think tonight's celebrations are over."
The first-years didn't need any encouragement to leave, though Jorge and Fred were still at the far end of the room. They walked back to their rooms in stunned silence.
They'd been given a free morning the next day so they could recover from the excesses of the graduation dinner, and after breakfast Eleanor made her way to Ivan's apartment. He opened the door with a whittling knife in one hand and a half-fashioned blowpipe in the other.
"Oh, hi Eleanor, come in," he said, stepping back to let her past. "What can I do for you?"
"Are you busy?"
"Not in a way that matters – I can talk and sculpt at the same time."
"Wouldn't you rather get someone else to make your weapons for you? It must take a very long time."
"Well, I have Harold do my metalwork, but I enjoy the process of making little things now and then. It gives me chance to invent, and I'm sure it keeps me careful with my weapons."
"It would do!"
"Anyway, take a seat... how can I help?"
"If you're sure you have the time, I was just wondering if you could explain what's happening with Jon and Victor. Last night was quite a scene."
"Haven't you heard?"
"Only fragments and rumours. It's very confusing. Everyone's guessing – even them – but you're on the council, so I thought you'd know the truth."
"Well, I can tell you what's happened so far, though the story's far from over." He sat down, and continued to shave slivers of wood from the end of the pipe as he spoke. "In the shortest possible form, neither Jon or Victor succeeded at the task which was set for them, and it was decided that, in these unusual circumstances, neither of them had really earned a seat in the council."
"I get the impression that's quite unusual," Eleanor said, picking her words carefully.
"Unprecedented," Ivan agreed. "And, between you and me, it wasn't a terribly obvious decision. It certainly wasn't unanimous."
"So what's going to happen next? Will there be a fourth contest?"
"At the moment, it seems unlikely, but you never can tell. Right now, it looks most likely that we simply won't co-opt anyone onto the council this year." He set his knife down on the table, and picked up a tiny drill which he began to work into the end of the pipe. "This sets a worrying precedent, and it opens up all sorts of questions. People are asking whether the mission we set was simply too hard, but we shouldn't have to hold back when we're dealing with our graduating students. The final contest is always a task that actually needs doing – we shouldn't have to compromise on that, even if it means that sometimes, no-one succeeds. So you can see why it's a bit fraught."
"Of course."
"It shouldn't have any implications for your year – not yet, anyway. There's always a slight danger of some fool carrying a majority along with the idea that the third contest should be made more structured, but I don't think it's all that likely. There's a long tradition of the summer contest being real. I suspect we're just going to have to put this year down to a bad experience."
"Wouldn't it make more sense to just re-run the contest?"
"That would be my choice, but there are those who'd rather see the seat empty than let another Venncastle man on the council, and because of that they'll block anything that gives Jon and Victor a second chance. You remember what I told you about the school – and there are plenty who resent us for the ways in which we're unique."
"Like Daniel."
Ivan nodded. "He's not alone. There are plenty who feel we're taking over, even while they recognise the benefits our men bring to the Association."
"And are you? Taking over?"
"Not in the slightest. It seems popular to believe that Venncastle is trying to reform the Association into the image of its old army – but if we'd wanted to maintain our army, we could've simply refused the Empire in the first place. I think the current setup works for everyone, except those here who feel threatened by our numbers."
"It's good for us to have a school that guarantees to send a couple of good candidates each year," Eleanor said. "It must be."
"Not least because we know they'll turn up," Ivan said. "The Association loses good people every year, just because we don't tell them we're expecting them."
"I thought that was the whole point. You have to be determined enough to turn down your assignment."
"If you screen the students well enough, you can find kids who you know are going to be fine. At Venncastle, we're not afraid to point those boys in the right direction." He blew the loose wood shavings from his pipe, and began to work his drill into the next hole. "You don't want to leave too much to chance."
"Don't you think that's sort of cheating?"
"Perhaps it technically is. But the school at Venncastle is as old as the Empire, and the Association is much older – I see it as an echo of the past. Before the Assessors invented all these complex metrics for schools to evaluate every facet of every child's life, the Association just went and picked out the boys they wanted."
"But it does give ammunition to those who worry that you're making your own rules."
"I suppose so, yes." He watched her for a moment. "The thing is, Eleanor, making your own rules is part of this game. Anyone who says otherwise is living in a dream – and might not be living at all for much longer, if they let their ideals cloud their judgement. Please don't let them fool you into copying their mistakes."
She laughed. "I think I can make enough mistakes all on my own."
"Well, that's how you learn. Make them early and often, and there's less to go wrong when it matters. But there's a world of difference between the occasional missed opportunity and a completely flawed perspective. I just don't want you to be sucked in by their dangerous idealism."
Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1) Page 23