The King's Man

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “Yes, sir.” I felt a flicker of fear. Could Magister Grayson tamper with my exam results? I didn’t think so - the exams were administered by independent proctors, sworn to neutrality - but it was impossible to be sure. Magister Grayson was good. “I’m due to leave for good in two weeks.”

  “How lucky for us,” Magister Grayson said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose giving you a year’s detention is a bit out of the question.”

  “Yes, sir.” I tried not to smirk. Whatever punishment he gave me, it wouldn’t linger past graduation day. “I’ll be gone soon.”

  “Quite.” Magister Grayson smiled, coldly. I felt another frisson of fear. “Go to the detention hall. Supervise the detentions until dinnertime. And if I catch you in here again, you’ll regret it.”

  I tried not to wince. Supervising detentions was boring. An hour supervising the detention hall was almost as bad as having detention itself. Worse, perhaps, because the supervisor had to keep an eye on the detainees. He wasn’t allowed to read or do his own work or do anything. I’d done a few shifts, an hour at a time, and I’d hated it. I had never been quite sure who was actually being punished. The lowerclassmen in detention, or the poor upperclassman who was meant to be watching them.

  “Yes, sir,” I managed. There were worse punishments, weren’t there? “Thank you, sir.”

  Magister Grayson pointed at the door. “Go.”

  I walked past him, gritting my teeth as I strolled into the corridor. There was no point in not doing as I was told. Magister Grayson would report the punishment to higher authority and if I didn’t attend the classroom ... I snorted, rudely. That would get me in real trouble. It might not affect my exam results, but it would certainly affect whatever reference Jude’s gave me after I graduated. Getting caught trying to break into the storeroom was one thing; disobeying orders and welshing out of punishment was quite another.

  And Father would not be pleased, I reminded myself. I didn’t want to work for my father, after I graduated, but I might not have a choice. And ... my actions would reflect badly on him. Everyone would be saying he raised a coward who couldn’t look himself in the eye.

  I dawdled as much as I could as I walked through empty corridors and into the detention hall, trying to convince myself the hall would be empty. The exams were almost all over, save for a handful of exams intended for specific career paths. I hadn’t taken any of them, if only because I wasn’t sure what my career path was. Everything I wanted to do would have required pledging myself to someone ... I put the thought aside as I peered into the hall and winced. The Head Girl - Alana Aguirre - sat at the head desk, bored. A handful of younger students sat at other desks, doing their work. They looked too scared to talk out of turn. I didn’t blame them. I’d been like them too.

  “Adam?” Alana glanced up at me. “You have detention?”

  I tried not to stare. Alana was beautiful, with dark skin, darker eyes and hair so perfect I knew she used magic to keep it in line. I’d found her attractive from the moment I’d started noticing girls as more than oddly-shaped boys. She looked as though she wouldn’t harm a fly. But I knew she not only could harm a fly, she was perfectly capable of turning someone into a fly too. Rumour had it she’d been really terrible to her sister, the Zero. I believed it. I’d asked her out once, and she’d laughed in my face.

  And it doesn’t help that people keep asking if we’re related. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the thought. They really can’t believe my talent came from the commoner ranks.

  “Yeah.” I had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen before I explained. “I’ve been ordered to take over from you. Lucky you.”

  Alana smiled. It lit up her face. “What did you do? Throw a tomato at the Castellan?”

  “Something like that,” I said, vaguely. I wasn’t going to admit what I’d actually been caught doing. Magister Grayson might not be very specific when he reported me to higher authority. Alana had access to the punishment books. If I was lucky, they wouldn’t tell her very much. “The Magister was not best pleased.”

  “Hah.” Alana stood, brushing down her skirt. I tried not to stare at her shirt as she donned her uniform jacket. “Akin’s due to take over in an hour or so. Should I tell him not to bother?”

  “I’m here until dinnertime,” I told her. The more I thought about it, the more annoyed I grew. “Tell him to do whatever he wants.”

  Alana nodded stiffly, then turned and headed to the door. I resisted the urge to watch her as I took the seat and checked the detention roster, casting my eyes over the list of names. I knew some of them from tutoring, but - as an upperclassman - I was obliged to pretend I didn’t. It was lucky my sister wasn’t in the crowd. I’d have had to be extra hard on her, just to make it clear I wasn’t favouring her. I settled back into my seat, raising my eyes to study the detainees. They made a show of not looking back at me, save one. Penny Rubén.

  I held her eyes until she looked down, her cheeks burning with humiliation. Penny was a fifth-year student who’d been caught bullying - openly bullying - one of her first-year charges. Akin, her cousin, had caught her. He’d surprised and outraged many of his peers by ensuring Penny had the book thrown at her, rather than dealing with it himself or burying the truth to protect the family name. I wasn’t sure quite what had happened - and not all of the rumours reflected well on Akin - but he’d certainly ensured the problem could not be quietly forgotten. Penny might spend two more years at school, yet ... she’d always be treated as a lowerclassman. One of her former peers had probably given her lines. She couldn’t have been more humiliated if she’d been forced to clean cauldrons like a skivvy.

  Serves you right, I thought. Upperclassmen were not supposed to pick on lowerclassmen, certainly not first-years who were meant to be under their supervision. But Penny was an aristo. Her father, who’d left his family under mysterious circumstances, had probably raised her to suck up to her superiors while sneering at everyone below her. It isn’t as if your punishment will follow you when you graduate.

  I scowled. I’d been assured that wasn’t true. Penny’s reputation would follow her, wherever she went. But it wasn’t a formal punishment. She’d probably find a way to parlay her birth into an advantageous match, or convince her family to give her lots of money in exchange for taking herself out of Shallot. Her family wouldn’t punish her unless she really stepped over the line. Akin’s sister had been sent into exile for high treason. Anything less would probably be quietly ignored.

  Someone coughed. I glared at him, then turned my attention back to the list. A boy who’d been disobedient in Defensive Magic. I was surprised he’d been sent to the hall instead of being put to work by the tutors. A pair of girls who’d been given detention for talking too loudly in the library. Personally, I thought they weren’t being punished enough. I’d always hated chattering brats when I’d been trying to study. And seven others, girls and boys, who’d been ordered to write some variant of ‘I will do as my tutors tell me without talking back.’ I had to smile at one of the notes - a first-year boy who’d charmed a piece of chalk to write lines on the blackboard for him - and made a mental note to suggest to my sister that she kept an eye on him. Someone with that sort of talent might be worth watching.

  He’s probably got a patron already, I thought, sourly. Aristo students were expected to start recruiting clients young. It just wasn’t fair. I could have had anything I wanted, as long as I pledged myself to someone barely older. If they couldn’t give it to me themselves, their parents certainly could. And even if he doesn’t, that will change before too long.

  I leaned back in my chair, wishing for something - anything - to happen. The rules were clear. I wasn’t allowed to read, I wasn’t allowed to write ... I wasn’t even allowed to engage my charges in conversation, unless one of them did something I could object to. I waited, half-praying for Penny to step out of line so I could stomp on her, but she did nothing. I guessed she knew just how bad things would be for h
er, over the next two years. She deserved no less. It wasn’t justice - personally, I would have expelled her - but it would have to do.

  The door opened. I glanced up, just in time to see a brown-haired firstie girl inching into the room. She looked ashamed, as if she was already regretting whatever she’d done. It was probably her first detention. I concealed my amusement as she sneaked forward, as if she could avoid being noticed as long as she stayed quiet. She was already too late to escape notice. Hell, she was ensuring she was noticed by trying not to be noticed. I wondered, idly, how long it would take her to learn that there was nothing more conspicuous than someone trying to hide.

  Probably a commoner, I decided, as she stopped in front of the desk. She looked so tense that I was tempted to shout BOO. An aristo would be a little more confident even if she was walking to her doom.

  I dismissed the temptation - I wasn’t Penny, damn it - and took the slip she offered me. It was clear and concise. The poor girl - her name was Gayle - had been given lines for a poorly-written essay. I guessed she’d been having problems with her handwriting, rather than whatever she’d actually written. I’d had problems too, when I’d been a lowerclassman. Father had made sure I knew how to read and write, but I’d never been a particularly good writer. My tutors had made hundreds of sarcastic remarks as I’d struggled to learn the ropes.

  “Take a seat,” I ordered, as I passed her a pencil and paper. “Write your lines, then you can go.”

  It wasn’t the nicest thing I’d ever done, but the last thing she needed - when she had six more years of schooling to get through - was me going easy on her. The other students might be pretending to ignore us, but I knew they were listening. They’d talk if I went easy on her, if they thought I let her off ... her classmates would hear, eventually, and take it out on her. It wouldn’t be her fault. It wouldn’t be as through she’d begged me to let her go or something along those lines. But they’d take it out on her anyway. There was nothing I could do about it.

  I watched her sit down, then forced myself to think of something - anything - else. I had only two weeks before I needed to start job-hunting in earnest. I knew my father. He’d put me to work in the shop, or kick me out if I refused. And the longer I took to get a proper job, the harder it would be. I glowered at my hands, magic prickling just under my skin. It just wasn’t fair.

  Life isn’t fair, I reminded myself. All you can do is play the cards you’re dealt and hope for the best.

  The door opened, again.

  I blinked in surprise as Akin stepped in. Alana should have told him he wasn’t needed ... right? I didn’t think she’d take the risk of letting the Head Boy embarrass himself, not when their families were in alliance. Her parents would be furious if she caused a rift between the two families. And her sister Cat, perhaps the most important aristo amongst her generation, would be angry too. She and Akin were betrothed. They seemed to get on better than most betrothed couples.

  “Akin,” I said. “I’m stuck here until ...”

  Akin cut me off. “The Castellan sent me to take your place,” he said. “You’ve been summoned to his office.”

  I blinked. “Why ...?”

  “I have no idea.” Akin smiled, humourlessly. “But you’d better get there quickly.”

  “Will do.” I stood, wondering if I should be relieved or worried. “Have fun.”

  Chapter Two

  I tried to look confident, as I strode through the corridors and up the stairs, despite the fear gnawing my soul. It was uncommon for students, even upperclassmen, to be summoned to the Castellan’s office unless they were in real trouble. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done, or anything I might reasonably be suspected of doing, that might have earned me a summons from the school’s master, but ... I couldn’t think of any other reason why I might be summoned either. Even Akin and Alana weren’t important enough to be offered a social invite. Caitlyn Aguirre was perhaps the only student of my generation to merit one and she’d left Jude’s five years ago, after the House War.

  Maybe he just wants to yell at me for breaking into the storeroom, I thought, although that didn’t seem likely. Tradition insisted that a person could only be punished once, no matter what he’d done. Magister Grayson had foreclosed that possibility when he’d sent me to supervise detention. Or maybe something else has happened.

  Ice gripped my heart as I knocked on the half-open door and stepped into the antechamber. The Castellan’s secretary, a woman with an glower that could curdle milk, scowled at me, then pointed to the inner door. I set my face in a carefully-neutral expression, then walked into the Castellan’s chamber. He sat behind his desk, glaring at a sheet of official-looking paperwork. Another man sat in a chair front of the desk, turning to look at me. I tensed, despite myself. My instincts recognised a threat when they saw one. He had the air of a man who knew himself so well there was no room for doubt or scruple. His face was handsome, but oddly bland. It was the kind of face that looked as if it would go unnoticed in a crowd.

  I met the Castellan’s eyes. “You called me, sir?”

  “Yes.” The Castellan sounded irked. “Sir Gareth?”

  I blinked as the stranger stood. He was taller than I’d thought, wearing a dark suit that marked him as a king’s messenger. I hesitated, suddenly unsure of the proper protocol. Was I meant to bow or go to one knee ...? The thought burned. I hated bending the knee to anyone. Magic seemed to grow stronger as Sir Gareth studied me. He was a powerful magician. His spells seemed to be spreading out, touching the entire office.

  “We’ll have the room now,” he said. His voice was aristocratic, but oddly accented. I had the feeling he was from the capital, rather than Shallot or one of the border cities. I’d never been outside my hometown. “I’ll speak to you later.”

  The Castellan nodded and stood. I stared in disbelief, unable to wrap my head around someone ordering the Castellan out of his own office. The Castellan might not be the supreme ruler of the school - that was the three lords above him - but he ran the building. It was hard to believe that someone - anyone - would show him so much disrespect. Sir Gareth had to be very important. And if he was a king’s messenger ...

  My thoughts ran in circles. Did Sir Gareth work for the king? Or was he representing another aristocrat? Or ... what did he want with me? Was I in trouble? Or ... I couldn’t think of any explanation that made sense. I wasn’t Caitlyn Aguirre, or someone else with a unique talent, someone who might have drawn the attention of the king himself. I was just another common-born magician, with neither money nor connections. There was no reason anyone should be interested in me.

  “Take a seat.” Sir Gareth lowered his voice as he indicated a chair. “We have a lot to cover.”

  I sat, trying hard to focus. What was going on? Sir Gareth snapped his fingers, summoning two decanters and a jug of water from the sideboard. I watched, numbly, as invisible forces manipulated the three items, filling the decanters with water and returning the jug to the side. I took the glass I was offered and eyed it, unsure if I dared to sip. It was both an impressive display of power and a warning. Sir Gareth was clearly someone to take seriously.

  Sir Gareth sat back. “Why did you take the Challenge alone?”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “I thought it would give me a chance to make a name for myself,” I said, truthfully. “If I won, if I became Wizard Regnant, I thought I could get an apprenticeship without any pesky strings attached.”

  “Indeed?” Sir Gareth didn’t smile. “And that was what you wanted?”

  “In part.” I didn’t want to tell him the rest, but I had the feeling I should. “I wanted - I needed - to make a name for myself. I didn’t - I don’t - want to be just another client.”

  “I’ve reviewed your grades,” Sir Gareth said. “And your exam results. You’d hardly be just another client.”

  “I would be.” I eyed him, sourly, as a thought stuck me. “Are you encouraging me to talk?”

  “Yes.” Sir Gareth did
n’t sound remotely sorry. “I wanted truthful answers.”

  I glared. “You didn’t trust me?”

  “In this line of work, most people will bend over backwards to tell me what they think I want to hear,” Sir Gareth said, unemotionally. “The truth is often far more important.”

  “I won’t lie to you,” I snapped. It crossed my mind that I shouldn’t be talking to him like that, but I was too angry to care. “What do you want with me?”

  “I’ve reviewed your grades,” Sir Gareth repeated. “You have top marks in everything practical, from Advanced Charms to Forging. Your marks in more abstract studies are poorer - clearly, you don’t take that much interest in history or current affairs. And a couple of your sports masters have remarked that you’re not a team player. What would you say to that?”

  I bet Francis wrote one of those assessments, I thought, nastily. Francis had never liked me. I’d been a good enough player to stay on the field, but not good enough to write my own ticket. And what he meant was that I didn’t spend enough time kissing his unmentionables.

  “I argued that positions within a team should be allocated by skill, not family connections,” I said, coldly. Francis hadn’t liked that argument. The little bastard had genuinely believed he’d won his post though skill, rather than the family name. He’d been good, but not that good. “And my arguments didn’t please the aristos.”

  “I’d wager not,” Sir Gareth agreed. I thought I saw a flicker of amusement cross his face. “You have excellent marks as a duellist. Why didn’t you join the league?”

  “I couldn’t afford the dues,” I said, reluctantly. “It was impossible on my allowance.”

  “An unfortunate problem,” Sir Gareth said. “But not an insurmountable one. You could look for a sponsor.”