Or perhaps they’re not in very good order, I thought, as I scanned another puff piece. It insisted that Lady Younghusband would go far. I supposed the writer had been correct, although not in the sense he’d intended. Or they didn’t know what might be considered important, fifty years later.
My blood ran cold as a thought struck me. Could the details have been removed? The Librarians and Archivists Guild would fight tooth and nail to keep information from being destroyed, but ... they might have failed. Or ... they might never have been told. If someone had wanted to destroy the records, or hide them, they might be able to circumvent the protective charms. I could see a couple of ways to do it, particularly if the information was hidden instead of being destroyed. It could be ...
I kept thumbing through the pages, moving with more urgency as time ticked by. My father would have graduated ... I stopped and read the description of the graduation ceremony again, line by line. There was no suggestion my father had been crowned Wizard Regnant - I already knew he hadn’t been - but there was also no suggestion he’d taken part in the Challenge. And then ... I read it again, slowly. It was hard to be sure, but it sounded as if someone had died during the Challenge.
“And who,” I asked myself, “could it have been?”
Someone cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”
I looked up, sharply. A librarian - one of the student assistants - was standing there, her hands clasped in front of her. She was a lowerclassman, too lowly for me to notice ... it couldn’t have been easy for her to approach me, even if she was a librarian. I glanced at the clock and frowned. Her boss had probably told her she couldn’t leave the library until I did.
“I’m not sure,” I said. I glanced at the next couple of articles, but they seemed to date from the following year. “Is there a way I can get a class list for fifty years ago?”
“The lists are in the archives, over there,” the librarian said. “I’m afraid they didn’t do yearbooks, back then.”
I nodded and let her show me how to find the lists. It wasn’t hard to deduce who’d died, simply by comparing the class list to the graduation list. Malcolm Sweeny ... I frowned, puzzled. The Sweeny Family lived in North Cairnbulg, on the other side of the Inner Sea. I didn’t think I’d ever met one. Relations with North Cairnbulg had been icy ever since Crown Prince Henry, who’d married the Princess of North Cairnbulg, had called on his father-in-law to provide troops for his attempted coup. And Malcolm Sweeny had died? I looked for a copy of Who Is Who, but found no trace of him. There would be a record, I was sure, if he’d graduated. Anyone who graduated was a gentleman by default.
“Odd,” I mused.
I could practically hear the librarian wringing her hands behind me. She wanted to tell me to go, but ... I could give her lines, if I took offense. And she couldn’t go to her boss, either. It would be a sign of weakness ... I shook my head as I glanced down the list, looking for familiar names. My father, Uncle Davys, Uncle Malachi and ...
Ice washed down my spine. Magister Grayson?
I let out a long breath. “Thank you,” I said, returning the book to the shelf. “I’ll show myself out.”
My mind was spinning as I made my way out of the library and down the stairs. Magister Grayson had shared classes with my father? He’d never said anything, not once. And most teachers would, if they had ties to a student’s parents. Technically, I probably shouldn’t be in his class at all, but ... he was one of the best teachers in the world. He was harsh, and often savage when he pointed out our mistakes, yet ... I’d learnt a lot from him. Cat preferred his partner, Magister Von Rupert, but I didn’t. Von Rupert didn’t have the presence to command a class.
Not that anyone gives him any trouble, I reflected, as my feet carried me down to the charms classroom. Magister Grayson is vindictive enough for two.
I paused as I reached the classroom and peered inside. Magister Grayson was sitting at his desk, drinking a cup of coffee with one hand and marking papers with the other. It didn’t look as if he was having much fun. I was tempted to walk away, even though I knew I had to ask before I died of curiosity. Head Boy or not, Magister Grayson could make life very difficult for me if I interrupted him.
He snorted, without looking up. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, sir.” There was no point in trying to deny it. “Ten in the evening.”
“Right.” Magister Grayson snorted, again. “And do you have something more interesting for me than this piece of ... cowpat?”
I entered the room and approached the desk. Someone - I hoped it was a firstie, because anyone older should have known better - had written an essay that had to be at least two or three times as long as it should have been. From what little I could see - the handwriting was terrible too - the writer had also made a whole string of fundamental errors and then corrected them, instead of going back and starting again. Maybe they’d just been in a tearing hurry. There were times when we were meant to show our working, if only so we could see where we’d gone wrong. This was not one of those times.
“I’m almost tempted to let her try this,” Magister Grayson said. “But the Castellan would have my head if I let someone blow herself to bits.”
“Yes, sir.” I didn’t know who he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. “Can I ask you a question?”
Magister Grayson eyed me for a long moment. “Sit down,” he growled. “What do you want to know?”
I hesitated, then took the plunge. “You were at school with my father,” I said, carefully. “I wanted to ask you if you remembered him ...”
A flash of anger crossed Magister Grayson’s face. “Yes, I remember him. Your father was very difficult to forget. What about him?”
I wondered, suddenly, if I’d put my foot in it. But it was too late to back out now.
“He took the Challenge, in his final year,” I said. “I was wondering if you remember what happened.”
Magister Grayson grunted and turned his attention back to the essay. “Ask your father.”
“He refused to tell me,” I said, pleadingly. “And I don’t know who else to ask.”
“How astonishing,” Magister Grayson said. “Your father finally developed some common sense.”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected that. “Magister ... I don’t have anyone else to ask,” I said. “The reports ... there are hints that a student died during the Challenge ...”
Magister Grayson looked up, sharply. “And there I was thinking it had all been covered up.”
“I need to know,” I said. “What happened?”
“No one knows.” Magister Grayson looked down. “And no one really cares ...”
“Please,” I said. “I care.”
“Do you?” Magister Grayson smiled, humourlessly. “I’ll tell you what little I know, if you wish, in exchange for you marking these papers. You’ll have to pour yourself some headache potion. You’re going to need it.”
I hesitated. I hated marking papers, particularly when it wasn’t my best subject. If I made a mistake ... I’d be in deep trouble. Magister Grayson would make sure I suffered for it. And yet, if it was the only way to get him to talk ...
I met his eyes. “When do you need them?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Magister Grayson said. “You should have enough time.”
Perhaps. If I skipped class ... or got up very early or ... I nodded, slowly. It was doable. I’d hate it, but it could be done. And yet ... I frowned. I had the oddest sense I was missing something. What?
“I can do it,” I said. I sat down, resting my hands on my knees. “What can you tell me?”
“Your father and your uncle were close friends, once upon a time.” Magister Grayson’s tone was dark, suggesting he’d disliked both of them. “They did everything together, more or less. They broke quite a few hearts, back in the day. And then they did the Challenge. They put a team together and ...”
He shrugged. “Something went wrong. Malcolm Sweeny died. No one
is quite sure what happened to him. Or why. The details were covered up, but the rumours ... your father and your uncle were never so close again, after that. They spent the rest of the school year hating each other. Everyone else thought it was a bit of a relief.”
I leaned forward. “A relief?”
“Your father was not a very nice man.” Magister Grayson gave me a cold smile. “Let us just say that there were people who danced a jig when he finally left school.”
“That can’t be right.” I swallowed, hard. I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. “No one ever said it to me ...”
“He was Heir Primus, then Patriarch,” Magister Grayson pointed out. “How many people dared call him out for his sins? And how many people would dare to tell his heir that, perhaps, his father shouldn’t be placed on a pedestal?”
He shrugged. “Oh, your father grew up a lot. I’ll give him that, even though he was a right pain in the unmentionables. He hasn’t done a bad job with you, I suppose, and he went to bat for his daughter when many others would simply have disowned her. Perhaps he’s even a decent man at heart. I don’t know. But there were a lot of people who had good reason to hate him. Their hatred probably hasn’t gone away.”
I stared at him. “What about you?”
“Maybe, if things had been different.” Magister Grayson shrugged. “Hugh took me on as an apprentice, after I graduated. I became a journeyman, then a master ... somehow, we managed to keep working together. There’s no reason to dig up old bones, not now, not until someone came calling ...”
“Thank you,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Had my father been a bully? I didn’t want to believe it. “And ... what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Magister Grayson said, sharply. “The only thing anyone knows for sure, anyone outside the charmed circle, is that Malcolm Sweeny died. There were rumours, of course. There always are. Some people think your father killed him. Some people blame your uncle instead. Some people think he had a terrible accident and it was all covered up because it might have been blamed on the school. And some people were happy to tell even wilder stories. We just don’t know.”
“And nothing leaked out?” I shook my head, slowly. “Why not?”
Magister Grayson snorted, again. “Your family is rich and powerful. Malcolm Sweeny’s family was a long way away, on the other side of the ocean. The king himself - our king’s father - had a keen interest in keeping things quiet, at least until a series of trade deals were concluded. Very little was actually printed, outside the school ... there was chatter, of course, but eventually it went away. It always does. Someone got married, someone else got separated, someone died, someone was born ... by the time you were born, it was old news. I dare say you would never have heard of it, if things had been a little different.”
I nodded, shortly. That made sense. I knew just how much time and effort Father expended on making sure the society pages printed the right things, often rewarding reporters who praised him and condemning journalists who asked awkward questions. It would have been easier, back then, to keep something out of the papers. There hadn’t been so many newspapers fifty years ago and almost all of them had been owned, directly or indirectly, by the Great Houses.
My mouth was dry. “I never knew. Not until now.”
“I don’t know for sure what happened,” Magister Grayson informed me. “And I don’t know who you could ask. Everyone who took part will be inside the charmed circle. There will be limits on what they can say, now. If your father can’t or won’t tell you ... well, that’s probably a sign.”
I shook my head. “I never even wanted to take the Challenge.”
“Then quit. Quit now.” Magister Grayson started to gather his papers. “Or, if you feel you must continue, then stop whining and continue. Most students survive.”
“Most,” I repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
“I’ve been a teacher for the last ten years,” Magister Grayson said, ignoring my sarcasm. “In that time, there has only been one death during the Challenge. I don’t think there have been more than five or six deaths in the last hundred years. Statistically speaking, you’re in much more danger in Potions or Charms. The odds are firmly on your side.”
“Thanks,” I said, dryly. No one was trying to kill me in Potions or Charms, although it sometimes felt that way. “And ...”
I hesitated. “Whatever my father did to you, I’m sorry.”
Magister Grayson shrugged. “Do you think it matters?”
He passed me the papers. “I want them all marked by tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “And I expect them to be marked properly. And if they’re not” - his eyes bored into mine - “I will take great delight in giving you detention for the rest of the year.”
“Yes, sir.” I wanted to yawn. I had to swallow hard to keep from actually yawning in front of him. “I won’t let you down.”
“See that you don’t.” Magister Grayson smiled, humourlessly. “And try not to let your father down too.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
It didn’t take me long, the following morning, to start regretting the deal I’d made. Magister Grayson had given me dozens of papers, all of which had to be marked intelligently. His students weren’t allowed to guess. They had to show their work, put forward coherent explanations of what they’d done ... and the poor sucker marking them had to give them intelligent responses in return. I was starting to think, by the time I ground through four papers, that I’d been overcharged. I had so much to do that I might have to skip my afternoon classes too.
And that would set a very poor example, I thought. The Head Boy could not be allowed to skip classes, unless something important came up. Even if it did ... I shook my head. I might not get into any formal trouble if I missed one or two classes, but it might cost me later on. If I missed something I needed to hear ... I’ll have to borrow Francis’s notes and hope he did a good job of scribbling down everything the teacher said.
I was midway through the fifth paper when a vapour message flickered to life in front of me. I looked up, sharply. Everyone I knew should be in class. Was someone else skiving? It was hard, somehow, to feel indignant about that. How could I give lines to some poor unfortunate skulking in the corridors when I was guilty of skiving too? Easily, I supposed. It was my job.
The vapour message opened when I touched it. “I’ve caught an intruder in the thickets,” Skullion’s voice said. The groundskeeper’s voice was gruff, as always, but I thought I could detect a hint of surprise in his tone. “She requests you deal with her personally.”
What? I stared at the vapour message as it repeated itself, then blinked out. An intruder? Cat? No, Cat could simply have walked in the front door. She wouldn’t have wasted her time trying to climb the walls or sneak through the gardens, not when there was an easier option. But who else could it be? Everyone who might want to see me was already inside the building. Who?
I looked at the pile of paperwork, then sighed as I stood, pulled on my jacket and headed towards the stairs. The thickets were a dense collection of shrubs, planted along the west wall ... they looked safe, the perfect place to sneak in and out of the school, until an unwary student actually entered. And then they came to life, trapping their victim until the groundskeeper arrived. Francis had been caught a couple of times, I knew. The smarter students tended to give the thickets a wide berth.
But they look so tempting, I reminded myself. By custom, anyone caught outside the school had to be officially ignored. It was only when someone was caught in the act of sneaking in or out of the school that they could be formally punished. They look as if they provide cover to anyone foolish enough to venture inside ...
The warm air blew against my face as I left the school and walked around to the thickets, unsure what I’d see. I just kept drawing a blank. Skullion was standing by the edge of the thickets, a firstie standing next to him ... Kate? I blinked in surprise, then schooled my face into impassivity. Kate look
ed terrible. Her uniform was torn in a dozen places, her hair was a tangled mess and her feet were charmed to the ground. The thickets had had a real go at her. I recognised the signs. Her bloater hat had practically been disintegrated. She’d be in some trouble if Penny spotted her ...
And she’ll have to pay for a new one, I thought, numbly. Rose had taught me that school uniforms were expensive, to the commoners. That won’t be easy.
“She was carrying this, My Lord.” Skullion held out a bottle. “I thought it should be brought to your attention.”
I eyed Skullion, sharply. The groundskeeper was at the bottom of the school’s hierarchy, but only a fool would take him lightly. He was a competent magician in his own right as well as the undisputed master of all who lived below stairs. They were respectful to the teaching staff, but they kowtowed to Skullion. He took care of them. I was fairly sure he wasn’t the ogre he pretended to be - he would have been quite within his rights to frogmarch Kate to the Castellan - but I wasn’t inclined to test it. There were limits.
(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride Page 32