Fantastic Schools: Volume One (Fantastic Schools Anthologies Book 1)

by Christopher G Nuttall

  The cauldron shifted, tilted, and tipped over. Gennady jumped back as boiling liquid splashed on the floor. Faint sparks of magic flared as the charged potion brushed against the remnants of other potions, even though the stone floor had been washed thoroughly between classes. The alchemist had told them it was safe, yet ... Gennady heard the snickering from behind him and knew, with a sick certainty that could not be denied, that Charlus had hexed the cauldron. He’d come far too close to scalding all three of them.

  “Stay behind,” the tutor said, as the dinner bell rang. “You can clean up the mess.”

  Gennady ground his teeth as the tutor showed the three of them how to demagick the remnants of the potion and wipe it up without causing further problems. It would have been an interesting lesson, and much more practical, if he hadn’t known Charlus had intended to get them in trouble. The alchemist had given the class a whole series of dire threats about what would happen if they did anything stupid in his class. Gennady wasn’t sure if the cleaning up was the punishment or if there was worse to come.

  “I saw him do it,” Simon muttered, as they were finally dismissed. “And he got away with it.”

  “Yeah,” Gennady said. “We’ll get him for it.”

  The corridors felt oddly empty as they hurried to the dining hall. Housemaster Fredrick had made it clear that anyone who didn’t get to dinner during dinnertime would go hungry, unless they had a very good excuse. Older students might get some leeway, but junior students wouldn’t. Gennady felt his stomach rumble as he headed to the stairs. He wanted—he needed—to eat before it was too late. And ...

  “Well, well, well,” a voice said. Charlus’s voice. “What have we here?”

  Gennady froze. Charlus was standing ahead of them, one hand raised in a casting pose. One of his friends stood next to him, his arms crossed over his chest. Gennady knew, without having to look, that Charlus’s other friend was behind them. An ambush. It was an ambush and they’d walked straight into it. Fear gripped him, once again. Hogarth was strong and brutal, but Gennady knew what to expect from him. Charlus, on the other hand, could do anything.

  “Get out of the way.” Lyndred’s voice shook. “We have to get to dinner ...”

  “You don’t belong here,” Charlus said. “Base-born brats with no magic ...”

  “We do have magic.” Gennady forced himself to speak. It was hard, so hard, to break the habits of a lifetime. Cold logic told him he was probably stronger than Charlus, but it was hard to believe. He’d dealt with too many bullies who’d only grow worse if he tried to fight back. “We belong here ...”

  “We do,” Lyndred agreed. She took a step forward. “Get out of our way.”

  “Little slut,” Charlus said. “Let’s see you, shall we?”

  He made a gesture with his hand. Lyndred yelped in shock as she was yanked into the air by an unseen force, then flipped upside down. Her robes fell, revealing her bare legs and her underwear ... Gennady stared in helpless shock, torn between a surge of desire and shame, hating himself for daring to look. Lyndred was a decent woman. She didn’t deserve to be exposed like that, not against her will ... not ever. Charlus leered at the poor girl as she tried to cover herself, manipulating her body so her robes kept her arms trapped. She couldn’t break free, let alone hide.

  Simon yelled and threw himself at Charlus, fists raised. Charlus’s friend cast a spell and Simon froze, as if he’d run straight into a brick wall. Gennady swallowed hard ... anger burned through him as he tasted, once again, the bitter pill of humiliation. The anger turned to fire, raging through his mind. He drew on it, feeling his magic pulsing around him. The rage was directionless, yet ... he forced himself to throw it at Charlus. Red light flared as raw magic blasted the aristocratic boy ...

  Gennady staggered, flames pulsing at the corner of his eye. He suddenly felt tired, very tired. His vision blurred. His legs buckled. He blinked hard, convinced—as his vision cleared—that he’d forced Charlus and his friends to run. And then he saw them, laughing at him. The corridor was scorched and pitted, but the aristocrats were unharmed.

  “Is that the best you can do?” Charlus snickered. Gennady was starting to really hate that sound. “An unfocused blast of magic? Really?”

  Gennady had no time to say anything before he felt his body lurching forward, his hands hitting the ground as he prostrated himself against his will. He struggled against the compulsion, but it was no use. The power was just too strong. He couldn’t even lift his head as he heard Charlus approaching.

  “That’s how I like you,” Charlus mocked. “On your knees.”

  Gennady heard Charlus turn and walk away. His entire body felt utterly exhausted, as if he was too tired to go to sleep. He tried hard to break the spell, but his headache grew worse and worse every time he tried. People were laughing at them. He was sure people were laughing. The exposed girl, the frozen boy, the prostrate boy ... he wondered, briefly, what would happen if he reported Charlus to Mistress Irene. She’d punished him once already, but ... Charlus had taken his anger out on the three of them. Who knew what he’d do if he got in trouble again?

  “And what,” a cold voice said, “are you doing?”

  Gennady felt a surge of magic, spinning through the air and brushing against him. The spell broke, leaving him sagging against the floor. Beside him, Simon’s body hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Lyndred was luckier. She was lowered to the floor by an unseen force. Gennady tried not to look at her underclothes as she fought desperately to conceal herself, rolling over again and again until her robe was back in place. She stood, tears glistening in her eyes. Gennady forced himself to stand too, despite his tiredness. She was his friend. She needed his support.

  “Answer my question,” the voice repeated. “What are you doing?”

  Gennady turned suddenly to see an older student standing behind him. He wore fancy robes, with a golden badge on his breast. The Housemaster had said something about a Head Pupil, hadn’t he? Gennady found it hard to remember. A pupil with tutor-like authority? It sounded like a recipe for disaster to him.

  “We were practicing spells,” Lyndred said. She sounded as if she was searching for an excuse. “And things got out of hand.”

  “Really?” The Head Pupil didn’t sound like he believed her. “What sort of spells?”

  Gennady felt himself flush. Lyndred had every reason not to talk about what had happened. The rules might be different here ... or they might not. Admitting what had happened to her would weaken her future prospects, whatever they were. He wanted to tell the truth, but ... what would happen if he did? Nothing, at best. Gennady felt a surge of bitter hatred, mingled with grim determination. He was going to study hard, he promised himself again and again. He was going to study until he gained the power to make Charlus suffer, then he’d make him suffer. And Hogarth and everyone else who’d ever mocked him ...

  “I’d advise you to learn protective charms,” the Head Pupil said. His eyes never left Lyndred. “There are spells you can cast on your robes, wards to protect you against all sorts of spells. The library has thousands of them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lyndred was flushing bright red. “Thank you, sir.”

  Gennady felt for her, more than he’d ever felt for anyone before. The thought of Primrose in such a state ... he felt conflicted, then ashamed of himself. He shouldn’t think of Primrose like that. She was a decent woman. And he’d never do that to anyone.

  “And you might want to make sure you’re never caught alone,” the Head Pupil added. His voice was very cold, yet ... there was a hint of dispassion in it, as if he were talking about something as mundane as the weather. “Worse things can happen.”

  Gennady swallowed. He had a feeling the older student was right.

  Chapter 6

  Gennady had never really believed things could get worse, but they did.

  Charlus was a thoroughly unpleasant roommate in so many ways. He bossed Gennady and Simon around, handing out tasks as if they w
ere servants—or slaves—and he was the untouchable master. The three of them were expected to clean their room, but Charlus made Gennady and Simon do all the work. He’d have his friends come to visit at all hours of the day and order his two roommates to leave, when they weren’t being used as targets for his spells. He even had the nerve to gloat about how his roommates were helping him practice his magic.

  It didn’t get any better in classes. Charlus was a past master at doing tricks without being noticed—and the tutors, damn them, seemed to give him a pass, the few times they caught him being a bully. Gennady hadn’t understood, at first, until he’d worked out that Charlus’s family was very powerful. The tutors were afraid to berate him because his family could—and would—make a terrible fuss. Gennady found it hard to keep up with the rest of the class, if only because Charlus was constantly damaging his work or disrupting his concentration. He knew, all too well, that he was at the very bottom of the class. His tutors were already talking about forcing him to repeat the year.

  He would have gone mad, or simply fled the school, if he hadn’t had a couple of friends. Simon and Lyndred were slightly above him, socially speaking, but the gulf between them and Charlus was unbridgeable. Charlus was thoroughly unpleasant to them too, as were the rest of his class. Lyndred even admitted that her roommates managed to be nastier than the boys, blaming Lyndred for ... something. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to have done, or why they were blaming her, but it didn’t matter. They were blaming her. The three of them clung together, practicing their spells in what little privacy they could, because there was no one else. They knew they couldn’t expect help from anyone.

  The hell of it, Gennady knew, was that he was better off at Whitehall. No one made fun of him for having a clubfoot. He didn’t have to force himself to limp from place to place, or stay on his feet until his ankle gave way and he collapsed. Simon and Lyndred might be shocked at the corporal punishment that seemed to be administered at the drop of a hat—even Charlus had been sent to the Warden, by one of the few tutors who didn’t give a damn about his family—but Gennady was unfazed. He’d take the Warden over his father any day. It would have been a good life, if he fitted in a little better. If there was anyone else from the Cairngorms in the school, they were keeping themselves to themselves.

  Not that I blame them, he thought, sourly. Simon and Lyndred had been able to read and write, at least to some degree, before they’d been invited to Whitehall. The gulf between Gennady and his friends sometimes seemed as wide as the gap between himself and Charlus. Being a newborn magician wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. The magical families seemed to expect newborns to keep their mouths shut and do as they were told. I wouldn’t tell anyone if I could avoid it.

  His cheeks burned at the thought. He’d never thought he’d have to be ashamed of his roots. His family had always been proud of themselves, looking down on their so-called betters even as they struggled to survive the winters and make it to spring. And yet ... he couldn’t deny the sheer lack of sophistication in the mountains. Simon and Lyndred had had opportunities that would never have been offered to anyone back home, not even Hogarth or Primrose. He sometimes felt his friends were humouring him, that they’d brought him into their circle as an act of charity rather than friendship. He couldn’t help wondering if they were going to dump him, when they all moved up a level. The next set of roommates might not be so interested in befriending him.

  The days passed slowly. Gennady forced himself to study, even when his head was pounding and his eyes were crying out for relief. He wanted—he needed—to learn everything, but the secrets of higher magic were still a closed book. He’d thought he knew how to read, yet ... he’d only mastered the very basic levels. The textbooks in the giant library, each one a work of art in its own right, were beyond his understanding. It didn’t help that he could barely spend anytime in the library. Charlus seemed to take it as a personal offense whenever he caught Gennady in the library. The librarians didn’t seem inclined to care when the bastard ordered Gennady out.

  One evening, he ate his dinner alone, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who wasn’t Simon or Lyndred. The two merchant children had gone to Dragon’s Den to meet their families, leaving Gennady in Whitehall. They’d chosen not to invite him ... Gennady didn’t want to go, but it would have been nice to be invited. He tried to read his notes as he ate, even though his handwriting was worse than his reading. Charlus had mocked his writing relentlessly, but Gennady hadn’t had time to improve. It was so bad that Gennady was unsure what his notes were about.

  He tensed as he saw Charlus and three of his flunkies entering the dining hall, bragging to each other of their conquests and bold magical deeds. Gennady knew better than to take any of their claims seriously—Charlus was lying through his teeth—but the knowledge didn’t make them easier to bear. The bastard was gloating about a woman in the town, boasting of how he’d seduced her and ... Gennady stood, unwilling to listen to any more. He was sureCharlus was lying, yet ... he felt a flash of envy. None of the girls, not even Lyndred, paid any attention to him. Not like that. He’d have felt worse about it if he hadn’t been saving himself for Primrose. His back itched as he walked through the door, expecting a hex at any moment, but nothing happened. Charlus was too wrapped up in his bragging to pay any attention to Gennady.

  Poor girl, Gennady thought, sarcastically. She probably doesn’t even exist.

  He felt a wave of despondency as he made his way back to the dorms. She probably did exist. He’d seen dozens of girls trying to impress Charlus, choosing to overlook his behaviour in hopes of allying themselves with an aristocrat. Gennady felt quite sorry for whatever girl happened to marry him, even if she was as unpleasant as her husband. He knew what happened behind closed doors back home, if a wife disagreed with her lord and master. Charlus would use magic, rather than his fists, to dominate a wife ... but dominate her he would. Gennady was sure of it. The idea of Charlus forming an equal partnership with anyone was absurd.

  The door opened at his touch. He walked past the Housemaster’s office—the Housemaster himself was nowhere to be seen—and into his room, closing the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Lights Out was a whole hour later on the weekends. Charlus usually spent his weekends with his friends, only coming back to bed shortly before the lights went out. Gennady knew to be grateful, even if he wished—at times—that he was included. It would have been nice if ... he pushed the thought aside, feeling a twinge of bitter hatred. The only thing Charlus could do for him would be to die.

  Gennady reached his bed and stopped, casting a handful of spells to reveal any traps that might be lying in wait for unwary sleepers. Charlus was good at casting spells. Gennady admitted that much, even as he cursed the aristocrat every night. It just wasn’t fair. Charlus had had all the time in the world to learn the theory of magic, before coming into his power when he reached his teens. He was already so far ahead of Gennady that it seemed that gap—too—would never be crossed. Gennady winced as his spells uncovered a pair of traps. Only two. Charlus was being lazy.

  He removed the spells, then sat on his bed and looked around the room. Simon’s bed looked untouched, although ... that proved nothing. The wards they’d cast around their beds were nothing more than a minor nuisance to Charlus. Charlus’s own bed ... Gennady stared, realising the wards around Charlus’s bed were weaker than ever. Charlus could walk through them at will, but ... Gennady froze, scenting a trap. The wards were weak, fading ... was it really a trap? His eyes wandered over the bed, noting the expensive bedding—Charlus was too good for the school’s bedding—and the handful of books sitting on the bedside table. And, beneath them, a set of notes. The books alone cost more money than Gennady had seen in his entire life.

  Gennady swallowed hard and stood, walking slowly towards the bed. His thoughts ran in circles. It was a trap. It might be a trap. It was a trap ... he felt like a hungry dog snapping at a tantalising piece of meat, too hungry to care tha
t it might be poisoned or snatched away before he could take a bite. His heart pounded as he brushed against the wards, suddenly aware that Charlus could come back at any moment. The aristocrat would be merciless if he caught Gennady poking around his bed. He’d had no qualms about hexing Gennady’s bed, but ... he’d be outraged if Gennady did it to him. And yet ...

  The wards wavered as Gennady brushed against them. Charlus had weakened them, without putting them back afterwards. Gennady knew enough to understand that Charlus was cutting corners, although—normally—his confidence would be entirely justified. Neither Gennady nor Simon had the skill or power to weaken the wards to the point the entire network collapsed, like a house built on poor foundations. Gennady smiled as he pushed through the webbing of magic and peered at the aristocrat’s bed. The sense of being somewhere he shouldn’t—and the certainty he’d be in deep shit if he was caught—was one hell of a thrill. He reached for the books before he could stop himself, feeling a twinge of envy that Charlus could read advanced textbooks. It would be easy, very easy, to simply steal them. He could take them down to the kitchens and shove them in the fire. The thought was so tempting that his hands were almost on the books before he stopped himself. He’d heard enough horror stories about charmed books defending themselves—and what happened to people who didn’t return books to the library before they became overdue—to keep himself from taking the chance. It was too dangerous.

  And besides, destroying books is a real crime, he reminded himself. It’s not a common prank like turning someone into a frog and tossing them into a pond.