(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride

by Christopher Nuttall

  I surveyed the room for a moment. There was no sign of Alana or Rose, but Bella - Cat’s sibling - was sitting at a table, munching her way through an immense plate of bacon and eggs. She had her back to me, so I didn’t wave. Bella was nice, but in a vague kind of way. Cat had said that Bella was strong in magic, yet too lazy to really aim for greatness. Beside her, I saw a pair of clients. The nasty part of me wondered if they were doing Bella’s homework.

  “Maybe,” I said. “You got up too early, didn’t you?”

  “I already took a look at the sports hall,” Francis said. “This year is going to be great.”

  I shrugged and started to eat. The bacon tasted fine, but the eggs were a little overdone. The cooks needed to turn out as many as they could, rather than cooking them to perfection ... I shrugged and ate them anyway. Rose had made it clear that the simple breakfasts we endured at Jude’s were the height of luxury, compared to breakfasts in peasant villages and sailing ships. I supposed she was right. I didn’t have to walk very far to see poverty. The people who lived in Water Shallot rarely had two crowns to rub together.

  “I have a different question,” Francis said. He leaned forward so he could stage-whisper in my ear. “Have you made any progress on picking out a team?”

  “No.” I shook my head, bitterly. “Rose can’t join, and ...”

  “Too bad,” Francis said. “It would have been lovely to have her with us.”

  I blinked. “Us?”

  “I’m joining you,” Francis said. “Did you think I was going to let you face the Challenge alone?”

  “I didn’t think about it,” I admitted. In hindsight, I should have asked. “Did your father give his blessing?”

  Francis snorted. “I could do everything my father wants, so perfectly that even he couldn’t find fault, and you know what? He’d find fault anyway. I haven’t bothered to ask him. If I volunteer, and you accept, he can’t yank me out.”

  I nodded, slowly. Francis wasn’t a declared adult, not yet, but ... he was too old to be unceremoniously yanked out of a team. It would be the clearest possible demonstration of his father’s lack of regard for him. Uncle Davys had enemies. They wouldn’t hesitate to take note. Crown Prince Henry wasn’t the only son who’d turned on his father. He was merely the one unfortunate enough to be a prince when it all came apart.

  “I’d be happy to have you,” I told him. I wasn’t lying. Francis and I were very different, but I’d never doubted his nerve. I’d once watched him pick his way through a series of wards, any one of which would have done him serious injury if he’d tripped it. “And that means I just need eight others ...”

  “I don’t think you need the full ten,” Francis said. “But you have to be careful who you pick. I think a lot of upperclassmen are either patrons or clients already.”

  I felt my heart sink. Isabella was good at making friends and building networks. Me? Not so much. I was on cordial terms with most of my fellows, but ... I wasn’t that close to any of them. And I hadn’t even been trying to build a patronage network. I’d assumed it would come to me, automatically, when I succeeded my father. I’d been a bloody idiot.

  “I’ll ask around,” Francis assured me. “It doesn’t matter if I get egg on my face.”

  He grinned. “Just don’t ask Dinah. She hates me.”

  “She’s a smart girl,” I said. “But I think she’s a Bolingbroke client.”

  I slowly ate my breakfast, watching as the dining hall filled with upperclassmen. Penny stepped into the room, accompanied by two of her friends. She shot a glance in my direction, but otherwise ignored me. I understood. In public, we didn’t know each other. Behind her, I saw a handful of familiar faces; Alana, Rose, Clarian Bolingbroke ... and Lindsey, the only other betrothed girl I knew. Alana seemed to be dominating the group, of course. I wondered, sourly, just how many of her followers were her clients.

  “She’s pretty,” Francis said. I thought he was talking about Alana. “Lucky so-and-so.”

  “She’ll turn you into a frog if you make even the slightest hint of an improper suggestion to her,” I said, turning back to my food. “And if she does, don’t expect me to undo the spell.”

  “That’s alright.” Francis made a show of puffing up his chest. “I like a challenge.”

  I finished my breakfast without incident, then checked the clock. There was still an hour to go before we saw the Castellan, so we wandered the school and checked out the library. It was closed. Francis laughed at my stunned face, then pointed out that the librarian was probably still on holiday. She wore herself out, each term, trying not to scream at users who damaged books. Rumour had it she’d killed a student who’d dropped a book in the toilet. I was fairly sure it wasn’t true.

  “We can see the sports field instead,” Francis said. “Coming?”

  I shrugged and followed him towards the east side of the school. I’d never liked the sports section - a combination of playing halls, games fields and running tracks - but it felt different now I was an upperclassman, someone who didn’t have to play games. The girls were lucky. Games weren’t compulsory for them. The air felt cold as we made our way through the bleachers, Francis giving a running commentary on what he was going to change when he took office. I think the sports masters used wards to keep the air cold deliberately. It was the sort of sadistic thing they’d do.

  “Time to go inside,” I said, an hour later. “The Castellan is waiting for us.”

  Francis nodded. We walked back inside and through a maze of corridors and stairs to the Castellan’s outer office. It was a large room, seemingly bigger on the inside; it held the entire class of seventh-years comfortably, rather than cramming us all into a tiny space. I looked around to see if anyone was missing, but it looked as if we were all here. Rose came over to join us, looking relieved. She didn’t have that many friends, either. That had always puzzled me. Rose was friendly enough - and well-connected. I knew that quite a few families had tried to lure her into a marriage contract.

  And they’d be lucky to have her too, I thought. She’d bring more than just family connections to the match.

  The Castellan stood on a small podium. He spoke quietly, but his words carried. “Thank you for coming,” he said. He waved a hand at the door, which shut with an audible thump. “I won’t keep you for long.”

  He paused, just long enough for us to quiet down. “This is your last year with us, unless - by some mischance - you repeat the year. Some of you have already been declared adults. The remainder will almost certainly be declared adults, upon graduation. You will find that, in this year, we will largely treat you as adults. You will have freedoms that the students below you will not enjoy.”

  “Poor souls,” Francis whispered.

  I hissed at him to be quiet as the Castellan kept speaking. “You have already completed your first set of exams, but your second and final set of exams will be decisive. Your futures, if you intend to continue to develop yourselves” - he gave Francis a pointed look - “will depend upon your results. You may be allowed to repeat the year, but you’d better have a very good excuse. Please bear in mind that slacking off is not considered a suitable excuse. You will be treated as adults. Adults do not need to be kicked out of bed and forced-marched to the study halls. If you can’t motivate yourselves, too bad. We’re not going to do it for you.

  “This year will also see the Challenge. As seventh-years, you have the right to form a team, join a team or try to take the Challenge alone. You do not have to do it - don’t let anyone tell you differently - but a good showing, even if you don’t win, can be beneficial in later life. If you want to take part, inform me within the week. Anyone who tries to sign up after next Monday will be given detention instead.”

  There were some chuckles. I wondered if I could find a way to delay matters until time ran out. But Father would be furious.

  “Cheating has long been a part of the Challenge, as you may have realised,” the Castellan added. “It isn’t uncommon
for teams to harass the other teams. It is all perfectly legal, if it is conducted in the proper and acceptable ways. However, I must warn you” - his cold gaze swept the room - “that the proper and acceptable ways do not include the destruction of school projects, schoolwork or anything that might seriously impede your victim’s ability to pass their exams. Anyone caught doing that will be flogged.”

  Someone chuckled. The Castellan’s gaze hardened. “It may amuse you to note that the ban on corporal punishment, through a loophole that may have been deliberately written into the rules, doesn’t cover acts of misbehaviour conducted as part of the Challenge. Yes, you will be flogged. And then you will be expelled. Do not try us on this.”

  “So we’re allowed to injure our fellow students,” Francis whispered, “but not destroy their schoolwork?”

  “Quite right, Mr. Rubén.” The Castellan had very sharp hearing. “And please bear in mind that they can injure you too.”

  I glanced at Francis. “Shut up!”

  The Castellan smiled, humourlessly. “You may look for recruits amongst the upperclassmen, from fifth to seventh years. You may not try to recruit a lowerclassman without specific permission, which will probably not be granted. You may use anything you produce for yourself, or can obtain from your fellow students; you may not ask for help from anyone outside the school, without - once again - special permission. I might add that such permission, again, will probably not be granted.”

  Which means I definitely can’t ask Cat, I thought. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still stung. And I can’t buy anything from a forger either.

  “Finally, you will notice that the descriptions of the Challenge are a little bit vague,” the Castellan said. “You will not know what you are actually meant to be doing until just before the Challenge actually begins. This will force you to think, I believe. All I will tell you, here and now, is that we will give you a task to perform. And if you fail, you fail.”

  I swallowed, hard. The room was very quiet.

  “And now for better news,” the Castellan said. “Akin Rubén, Alana Aguirre, come forward.”

  I glanced at Francis, then walked to the front of the room. Alana stood next to me as we turned and faced the crowd. She made the school uniform look good. But then, so did most of the other aristocratic girls. The ones who could arrange for private tailoring had done so. I knew Francis had done the same. I hadn’t bothered, myself.

  “After much careful contemplation, Akin and Alana have been appointed Head Boy and Head Girl,” the Castellan said. “They will wield the full authority of their role, subject only to myself. I trust you will make their assumption of the position an easy one.”

  No one even pretended to be surprised. They’d probably heard through the grapevine, if they hadn’t seen Alana and I go in and out of our suite. And it didn’t take a genius to work out who was most likely to be appointed. Our families were the most powerful in the city, at least for the moment. It would be more remarkable if one or both of us didn’t get the job.

  “You will assume your full duties from this moment onwards,” the Castellan added. “Good luck.”

  My mouth was dry. “Thank you, sir.”

  Alana smiled sweetly, but said nothing.

  “There is a sign-up list outside my office,” the Castellan said. “If you want to form a team, take a new sheet, add your name to the list and then write the names of your teammates underneath. People who are not listed as being part of your team will not be allowed to join the Challenge. That said ... you can keep adding team members right up until the moment the Challenge is formally announced. At that point, you’re committed.”

  His eyes swept the room. “If you want to undergo the Challenge on your own, you can. But the odds of victory are very low. Consider yourself warned.”

  There was a long pause. “Mr. Rubén, Miss Aguirre, remain behind. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  I glanced at Alana as the room emptied. Francis was the last to leave, throwing me a jaunty salute before hurrying out. I had a feeling he was going to wait outside, just so he’d be the first to hear the news. Or maybe he’d go back to the sports field. He had work to do, organising the team captains and planning the first competition match ... I felt a sudden burst of gratitude. Francis could easily have begged off joining my team. Instead, he’d been the first to commit himself.

  The Castellan turned and led us into his inner office. I couldn’t help looking around with interest. I’d never been inside, as students were only allowed to enter when they were in serious trouble. Cat had been inside, back in her first year, when she and Rose had been threatened with expulsion for conducting dangerous experiments. I wondered, as I took the indicated seat, just how many strings Uncle Joaquin had pulled to keep the two girls from being unceremoniously kicked out.

  And it was lucky he did, I reminded myself. Cat might never have discovered what she was if she’d gone home ...

  “Here are your handbooks and punishment books,” the Castellan said. He passed us each a pair of notebooks. “As you may be aware, you have the right to punish upperclassmen as well as lowerclassmen. However” - he shot a sharp look at Alana - “there will be dire consequences if you are caught abusing your power. You will not enjoy them.”

  Of course not, I thought. Punishment isn’t meant to be enjoyable.

  “Your exact duties are specified in the handbook, but there are a handful I need to bring to your attention.” The Castellan turned his gaze to me. “You are responsible for supervising the monitors, from dorm and homework monitors to lunch and hall monitors. You are responsible for handling problems facing younger students; if they come to you, you are to help them. You will also be responsible for organising committees, at least until you can find someone willing and able to handle the task. And you will be responsible for giving the final speech on Graduation Day.”

  “Both of us?” Alana leaned forward. “Or just one of us?”

  “You’ll write the speech together,” the Castellan said. “And if there are any ... consequences ... you’ll face them together too.”

  I had to smile. I’d sat through six Graduation Day speeches from successive Head Boys and Girls and they’d all been bland, boring and tedious. But there had been one, given a couple of years before I’d been born, that had brought the house down. The students had laughed, if rumour was to be believed; the important guests hadn’t considered it anywhere near as funny. I had no idea what had happened to the Head Boy, but I doubted it had been pleasant. I knew Magisters didn’t like being played for fools.

  “We’ll be careful,” I said, dryly.

  “Very good,” the Castellan said. “The lowerclassmen will start arriving this afternoon. You can assist the porters. I suggest you spend the morning reading your handbooks so you know what to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Good,” the Castellan said. “Dismissed.”

  I glanced at Alana, then led the way out of the room. The sign-up list was already pinned to the notice board, with a handful of names already written down. Ayesha and Zeya McDonald, Hamish Bolingbroke, Adam Mortimer ... the latter, I noted, seemed bound and determined to complete the Challenge on his own. He’d already torn away the space for names to be entered beneath his own.

  “Interesting,” Alana mused. “I didn’t expect Hamish to join.”

  “You’d expect Clarian to join,” I agreed. Hamish was a Bolingbroke, but from a distant branch. Clarian was from the main bloodline. Her brother was the Patriarch. “But she’s obsessed with potions.”

  I sighed as I picked up the pen. It didn’t matter.

  Shaking my head, I signed my name.

  Chapter Eight

  In all honesty, I hadn’t realised just how much work went on behind the scenes.

  Mother had made sure I knew the basics of household management, of course, but she had the butler and a small army of servants to help her. Jude’s had the Head Porter and his assistants, yet there was still a great deal of wo
rk for the upperclassmen. I understood, now, why senior upperclassmen were so willing to hand out hundreds of lines for the slightest infraction. The lowerclassmen had a nasty habit of producing hundreds of problems for the upperclassmen to solve.

  Alana and I barely had a moment to catch our breath before the firsties began to arrive. We showed them into the Great Hall, where the Castellan welcomed them to Jude’s, then supervised as they were sorted into halls. I couldn’t believe just how young they looked, young and nervous and utterly unsure of themselves. Had I ever been that young? They looked like little kids, kids who’d borrowed clothes from their older siblings and were pretending to be grown up. A handful were snivelling, trying not to cry openly. I hoped they managed to control themselves. No one would forget a firstie who cried for his mother on his very first day. I told myself, firmly, that I hadn’t felt even a flicker of concern at sleeping so far from my parents. It wasn’t as if my bedroom had ever been right next to theirs.