I went to breakfast, the following morning, feeling tired and worn. I hadn’t slept very well and I’d had to be up early. I was in no state for conversation as I munched my breakfast, drank enough coffee to float a boat and headed down to Magister Niven’s classroom. I cursed whoever had drawn up the schedule under my breath. The first day of schooling should be spent doing something mindless, not something that forced me to think. I had the uneasy feeling that I wouldn’t be able to put together an answer to a question if I were asked.
“In our preceding classes, we discussed the government of Shallot and how it is pervaded by the patron-client system,” Magister Niven reminded us. “We turn now to the downside of the system - the near-collapse and reformation of the Craftsman’s Guild. Who amongst you can tell us what happened to the Craftsman’s Guild?”
I tried not to cower as his gaze swept around the classroom. I knew the answer - Father had made me study the decline, fall and rebirth of the Craftsman’s Guild - but I was in no state to actually give it. I kicked myself, mentally, for not taking a refreshment potion before going to breakfast. I could have swallowed it and ... I would have paid for it later, of course, but I would have felt better while I was in class. Instead, I’d just have to tough it out.
“The guild grew too big, too fast,” Alana said. She sounded disgustingly fresh. “The internal rules weren’t suited to purpose and the whole edifice collapsed.”
“Correct.” Magister Niven shot her a brief smile. “Why did this happen, you might ask?”
He paused, then continued instead of calling on someone to answer. “The Craftsman’s Guild was originally founded by a team of craftsmen who didn’t belong to any of the Great Houses and, therefore, couldn’t call on their protections. It was formally incorporated as a guild after the craftsmen proved their value to the city by withdrawing their labour and given a seat on Magus Court. Indeed, the following years would see the guild expand rapidly - too rapidly - and thus sow the seeds of its own near-destruction. Why did that happen?”
Louise stuck up her hand. “The Great Houses conspired to bring the Craftsman’s Guild crashing down?”
“No.” Magister Niven sounded more amused than annoyed by her answer. “The problem was considerably more fundamental than that.”
“The guild didn’t think before it set up its entry requirements,” Francis drawled. I wondered how he managed to sound so fresh. I knew for a fact he’d gone to bed after me. “And then it couldn’t change them.”
“Correct,” Magister Niven said. “The guild’s founders wanted - needed - to represent as many craftsmen as possible. They therefore set the entry requirements very low, counting experienced master craftsman as equal to apprentices and amateurs. This worked, in the sense that membership rose at an astonishing rate; this failed, in the sense that it actually undermined the guild. Masters could be outvoted by their apprentices, when they banded together; the apprentices, unsurprisingly, voted measures that favoured them, not their masters.”
“Dumb selfish apprentices,” Francis commented.
Magister Niven shot him a sharp look. “The average person is not selfish, young man. He is, however, self-interested. The apprentices voted for measures that were in their self-interest, not those of their masters. Individually, there was nothing wrong with any of the measures. Indeed, they helped to prevent abuse - which could be quite serious, in those days. But collectively, they made it harder for the guild to operate. Mistrust rose, leading to masters refusing to take apprentices ... and then apprentices voting for measures that forced the masters to take apprentices. The quality of their instruction dropped sharply.”
I winced. I’d seen enough accidents - in potions as well as forging - to fear the consequences of poor instruction. If my teachers had hated me, or resented me, it would have been very easy for them to arrange an accident ... or simply let it happen. And there would have been accidents. I’d had enough - with good teachers - to know that accidents happened. There was no way to keep people from making mistakes.
“The masters attempted to deal with the problem by rewriting the guild’s rules,” Magister Niven explained. “They believed that only masters, and qualified journeymen, should have the vote. The apprentices saw this as a threat, with reason. A formal reassessment of who had the right to vote, and therefore steer the guild, would undermine their position as the masters clawed back their power. Legally, rewriting the rules required a two-thirds majority; practically, the masters were never going to muster even a third of the voters to support them. Why should they?”
He paused. “The situation rapidly snowballed out of control. Masters started flatly refusing to take apprentices, whatever the rules said. Apprentices retaliated by harassing merchants who wanted to deal with masters, taking the issue onto the streets. It looked as if the Great Houses were going to have to intervene, which would have been disastrous. The baby would have been thrown out with the bathwater.”
“A charming metaphor,” Louise muttered.
Magister Niven scowled. “Perhaps you should tell us what happened next.”
Louise flushed as the class tittered. “Common sense took over,” she said. “The guild reformed itself.”
“In a manner of speaking,” Magister Niven said. “It would be more accurate to say that the masters - the majority of masters - were permitted to form a new guild. The new guild had different entry rules, with apprentices denied the vote until they passed their exams and became journeymen. It wasn’t perfect - it was quite possible for an apprentice to be held back indefinitely - but it worked. The smarter apprentices made their way to the new guild and pledged themselves to be obedient, in exchange for instruction. And instruction they received.
“The old guild rapidly found itself deflating. Street violence rose as desperate apprentices, the ones who would have been rejected in a rational system, tried to fight for their very survival. This time, however, they had overplayed their hand. The ringleaders were rounded up, punished and expelled from the city. The remainder either adapted to the new reality or sank into the underclass. Hardly anyone was sorry to see them go.”
“But they wanted to ...” Louise shook her head. “They thought they were doing the right thing.”
“A common delusion,” Magister Niven said, gently. “From their own - limited - point of view, they were indeed doing the right thing. But from an outside point of view, they were selfish idiots who were threatening to collapse the entire edifice. Indeed, even they came to realise that their positions were dangerously stupid. There was no way they could force a master to give them decent instruction, whatever the rules said. All they really succeeded in doing was devaluing the guild’s certificates. The smart ones learned to adapt.”
Francis laughed. “And the stupid ones died.”
“Correct.” Magister Niven’s eyes swept the room. “The core of the problem was that the guild put the helm in the hands of people who had not even learnt to row. The apprentices were, in many cases, willing and eager to learn. They did not, however, understand just how much they had to learn. Some of the realities - and practical limitations - of their art could not be learnt, save through experience. They therefore voted for things that either could not or would not be delivered. And they didn’t want to listen to the masters, the people who did have the experience, because they weren’t telling them what they wanted to hear.”
Louise leaned forward. “Sir ... why was there so much distrust?”
Magister Niven let out a long sigh. “In those days, young lady, there were far fewer protections for apprentices. By law and custom, the apprentice belonged to the master until he received his journeyman papers. It wasn’t uncommon for apprentices to be abused, violently beaten for failures real or imagined ... yes, there were a lot of unscrupulous masters out there. Even the decent ones believed that apprentices were wild animals who needed to be beaten into submission, not youngsters who could be taken in hand and trained. The apprentices ... some were lucky, some rather
less so. Many of them believed the masters would exploit them, given the chance. They might well have been right.”
He shrugged. “On one hand, the masters did not endear themselves to the apprentices. On the other hand, the apprentices didn’t endear themselves to the masters either.”
“But the masters were right,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Weren’t they?”
“In this case, yes.” Magister Niven smiled, thinly. “But in other cases, no.”
He looked around the room. “It is illegal, as a general rule, to arbitrarily - and retroactively - change the admission rules. Very few motions to change the rules have succeeded, even if the change seems - on the surface - entirely reasonable. Why would that be the case?”
“Because you could start excluding people who met the former qualifications, simply because you didn’t like them,” Alana said. “And then everyone else would start doing it too.”
“Correct.” Magister Niven nodded to her. “If someone meets the qualifications, they have to be allowed to join. And vote, if they meet the qualifications for doing that too. You don’t get to change the rules simply because you fear an influx of newcomers. If you can’t exclude someone legally, you can’t exclude them at all.
“The system works because it is basically fair. Not fair in the absurd sense that everyone gets what they want, when they want it, but fair in the sense the rules apply to everyone. They provide a framework for entering the guild - if possible, if you meet the requirements - and rising within the guild, to the point where you can cast a vote and help to steer the ship. And, by then, you should have enough practical understanding of the guild to know what you’re doing when you vote. One of the few successful changes to guild rules - for example - took place when the Fishermen’s Guild rewrote the rules for nominating officials. Why did that succeed when so many other attempts fail?”
There was a pause. Louise - finally - put up her hand.
“This ought to be funny,” Francis whispered.
I glared. I wasn’t in the mood to put up with him, not now. And if he was going to rejoin the team, he could start by treating Louise and the others with a little respect.
“The original set of rules stated that elected officials had to have ten years of experience within the guild itself,” Louise said. “Over the years, those officials had become more interested in running the guild than taking fishing boats out to sea. They were steadily losing touch with the realities of the trade. The revised set of rules stated that elected officials could run for office after five years of experience, but they also had to have at least ten years of sailing experience ... all very recent. They weren’t allowed to lose touch. And the majority of guildsmen thought it was a good idea, so the motion passed.”
“True enough,” Magister Niven said. “It’s also worth noting that the Fishermen’s Guild grants voting rights after two years of sailing experience, before or after the voter joins the guild. Careerism was actually quite rare within the Fishermen’s Guild, even before the rules changed. It’s quite an interesting case study.”
He paused. “For your homework, tonight, I want you to draw up a scenario in which one of the major guilds could be subverted - legally. And then I want you to think about how it could be countered, also legally.”
I had to smile. Magister Niven loved pushing the limits. Father had told me, once, that - every year - there were dozens of complaints about him. But pushing the limits - and forcing us to think about why the limits existed in the first place - was his job. No wonder he got on so well with Cat. Cat herself was a striking example of what happened when someone learnt to think outside the box.
And this exercise will raise more than just a few eyebrows, I reminded myself. There will be hundreds of complaints, when the parents hear about it.
Magister Niven grinned, as if he knew what I’d been thinking. “Dismissed.”
I sat in my chair and watched as my classmates rose and hurried out of the room. There was just enough time to get a drink and use the facilities before the next class began. Magister Niven lifted his eyebrows as he saw me sitting there, then nodded to the door. It closed with an audible thud. I sensed privacy wards sliding into place a moment later. I stood, as he walked back to his desk. I needed advice, but ... Cat trusted him. I’d place my faith in her.
Magister Niven sat on his desk. “Can I help you with something?”
I nodded. “Many years ago, my father took part in the Challenge,” I said, carefully. If there was anyone who would defy the Castellan on the matter, it was Magister Niven. “Something happened, something bad. Do you know what?”
“I suggest you ask your father,” Magister Niven said. His face was artfully blank. “It’s hardly my story.”
“Father refused to tell me,” I said. I’d asked three times, in three different ways, but Father had refused to answer. “And it might be important.”
“It could be,” Magister Niven agreed, blandly. “But tell me ... if your father wanted you to know, wouldn’t he have told you?”
“My father might not want me to know.” I tried not to clench my fists in frustration. Why did Cat like Magister Niven again? “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t know. Sir.”
“Quite.” Magister Niven seemed more amused than annoyed by my tone. “Does he have a habit of hiding things from you?”
“He didn’t discuss the facts of life with me when I was a kid,” I said, bluntly. It would be interesting to see how he reacted. “How was I supposed to understand the changes in my body?”
Magister Niven showed no visible reaction. “There are some issues that can only be handled by one’s parents. It isn’t my job ...”
“Yes, it is.” I was surprised at my own daring. Magister Niven might be one of the more easy-going teachers - anyone else would have kicked Louise out of the class by now - but there were limits. “I have to know, sir, and Father isn’t telling me ...”
“There are things I can’t tell you,” Magister Niven said, dryly. “What I will tell you is that you should do a little research. Educate yourself! Do you know we have copies of society pages and newspapers in the library dating back over fifty years?”
I blinked in surprise. That was an approach I simply hadn’t considered. If something had leaked out to the newspapers, it might still be in the archives. I groaned, inwardly. I should have thought of it. I had relatives who collected newspaper cuttings about themselves and bound them up in giant scrapbooks. I ...
“Thank you, sir,” I managed. “I never thought of that.”
“Learn to think for yourself before you rely on others to do your thinking for you,” Magister Niven told me. “And learn to question everything you’re told.”
“I thought that was what you were trying to teach me,” I said.
“Yes. And, every year, there’s only one or two students who really get it.” Magister Niven smiled, although I didn’t understand the joke. “Everyone else ...? They simply don’t think for themselves. And then they wonder why they get into trouble.”
He shrugged, just as the bell rang. “You’d better get to class,” he said. “You don’t want to be late.”
“No,” I agreed. Magistra Loanda would be unhappy if I came in late. There was no point in asking Magister Niven for an excuse note. She wouldn’t accept it. “I’ll look up the references later.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Well,” Louise said. “Are we even supposed to be here? Together?”
I shrugged. I’d found the abandoned study room years ago, back when Rose and I had been exploring the corridors under the school, but I’d never had a use for it. It was just too close to the school itself to be used as a secret lair, close enough that someone had stripped out everything - desks, chairs, blackboards - and left the room empty. But it would suffice for what I had in mind.
“It should do,” I said, as I unslung my carryall. “Take a seat, please.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Louise crossed her arms un
der her breasts. “Are the three of us - you, me and Saline - meant to be together?”
“There are three of us,” I pointed out. I opened my carryall, digging through the bag to retrieve the box Isabella had given me. “You can swear I didn’t do anything with Saline and she can swear I didn’t do anything with you.”
Saline sat on the wooden flooring and crossed her legs. “She got out of bed on the wrong side this morning,” she said, confidingly. “And she didn’t eat much for dinner.”
Louise glared at her friend. “You don’t have to tell him everything.”
“I didn’t tell him everything,” Saline said. “I could have told him ...”
(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride Page 28