I hid my amusement. Magister Niven might overlook the cheek - he’d overlooked things that would make other Magisters explode with rage - or he might not. He liked being unpredictable. And besides, his class was always interesting. He was one of the rare teachers who allowed us to talk back, who expected us to openly debate. We just had to be able to back up our words. I respected him for it, even if I didn’t like him very much. The other Magisters never admitted their faults.
Magister Niven waved a hand at the door. It slammed shut. The click of the lock was audible in the sudden silence.
“Be seated,” he said, as if we weren’t already. “Class is now in session. Latecomers will be hexed.”
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “This - our final year together - will be a little different from the norm. I have done my best to teach you to think for yourselves. If you haven’t mastered the art by now, you are unlikely ever to succeed and thus have doomed yourself to a lifetime of mediocrity. You must be careful who you follow, for they will always have their own interests - not yours - at heart. And if you remember nothing else I teach you, this year, remember that. It will save you much heartache in the future.
“But if you are here now, you presumably know how to think. I won’t test your fragile little brains any further.”
His words hung in the air. “This year, your final year, is centred on Shallot itself. We have studied the history of the city; now, we will study the politics. Some of you” - his gaze rested on me for a long moment - “will have learnt this at your father’s knee. Others will have picked it up over the last few years. And still others will have chosen to blind themselves to politics. That is a mistake. As a great sage observed, you may not be interested in politics, but politics is always interested in you. It is my job, in my final year, to make sure you have the background knowledge you need to navigate the political world.”
“So he’s going to teach everyone how to play,” Francis muttered, to me. “That’ll make life harder ...”
Magister Niven had sharp ears. “Francis. Perhaps you could explain why I shouldn’t teach politics?”
Francis stood. We had to stand when answering questions. I wondered, idly, what sort of response he’d give. It would be difficult to justify not teaching politics ...
“Yes, sir,” Francis said. “With all due respect, you are a Magister. You are not a politician. Your lessons, therefore, are theoretical. They are not rooted in experience. You cannot explain how politics work because you have never worked in politics.”
“An interesting answer,” Magister Niven said, as Francis sat. “Would anyone care to make a rebuttal?”
Louise - I barely knew her - held up her hand, then stood when Magister Niven nodded at her. “You might not have experience, but you do know how the system works. You can teach us to use it even if you haven’t used it yourself.”
“Very true,” Magister Niven said.
“And you can make sure we’re all on a level playing field,” Louise continued. “No one will have an unfair advantage.”
Francis nudged me. “Where does she think she is?”
The class snickered. Louise flushed, angrily. Magister Niven fixed Francis with a sharp look, then motioned for Louise to sit down. She did, her face red. I felt a flicker of sympathy, mixed with irritation. Louise was a know-it-all who knew everything, apart from basic manners. I didn’t think she had any real friends in our year.
“She drank too much Clever Dick Potion,” Francis muttered. This time, he had the sense to keep his voice low. “Lots of brains, no friends at all.”
I gave him a sharp look, then studied Louise as Magister Niven started to draw a diagram on the blackboard. She was a tall, auburn-haired girl who would have been pretty if she’d bothered to put any effort into her appearance. Her parents were merchants, if I recalled correctly; wealthy enough to send their daughter to Jude’s, but probably not wealthy enough to buy her some etiquette lessons. She was smart - no one could deny it - and she wanted everyone to know it. No one could stand her for long. I’d heard through the grapevine that she’d practically been kicked out of two separate dorms by her dormmates. I had no idea why.
“Shallot was originally founded in the Sixth Century of the Thousand-Year Empire,” Magister Niven informed us. “A number of Great Houses took advantage of the founding to establish themselves as movers and shakers in the field outside the Eternal City. Others, already well-established in imperial politics, made sure to plant branches in the new city. This was lucky, as it ensured they survived the collapse of the Thousand-Year Empire. Those branches found themselves the last survivors of their families.”
I shivered. My family had been one of those branches.
“Our historical records of precisely what happened after the Fall are somewhat lacking,” Magister Niven continued. “However, it is fairly clear that the Great Houses managed to retain control of the city and defend it, once the civil wars began. Their eventual alliance with the kingdom ensured that they would no longer need to fear an outside threat, at least for a few hundred years. Their independence was a fact. However, this presented them with the problem of running the city. On one hand, they had power. On the other, they had to figure out a way to keep it.”
He gave us a toothy smile. “Power is a curious thing. On one hand, it can be enforced - by the mailed fist and spellcaster, if necessary. But, on the other hand, it relies on a certain degree of acquiescence from the disempowered. Those who are at the top find themselves in a lonely spot, while those who are below them work to undermine their power and claim it for themselves. To govern, one needs the consent of the governed. And when the governed withdraw their consent, chaos follows. The Great Houses needed a reasonable degree of consent in order to function. But why should anyone offer that consent?”
His gaze swept the room. “Anyone?”
Alana stood. “We were the ones who saved the city,” she said. “The power was ours by right.”
“Your ancestors saved the city,” Louise said, without standing up. “You didn’t.”
“Silly girl,” Francis muttered.
“She has a point,” I muttered back. “And ...”
“Quiet,” Magister Niven ordered. He gestured to Alana. “Answer that, please.”
Alana shot Louise a look that promised trouble later. “The Great Houses saved the city and passed what they’d saved to their descendants. Over the years, they amassed great wealth and power which they also passed down to their descendants. It was theirs. They could do whatever they liked with it. And they passed it down to their descendants. What I inherited from my ancestors is mine by right.”
Magister Niven nodded, slowly. “Louise? Rebuttal? And stand, this time.”
Louise stood, valiantly ignoring the snickers. “We’re not talking about private property or possessions,” she said. “We’re talking about power over people.”
“A very good point,” Magister Niven said. He motioned for Louise to sit. “The Great Houses might feel that the power was theirs by right. But they also knew that everyone outside the aristocracy would feel differently. How, then, did they invite the commoners to join the political structure? How did they give the commoners a stake in the city without conceding too much power?
“It was not easy. Too little democracy and a large percentage of the population would be effectively disenfranchised. Their interests would not be heeded, as they did not have the vote. The enfranchised, for want of a better word, would organise the government to suit themselves. This would lead to resentment, unrest and eventual revolution. But, on the other hand, too much democracy would be equally destructive. The voters would vote for bread and circuses, which would give rise to a class of politicians who would promise to satisfy their demands ... they would not offer good government, but seek public approval by giving the mob whatever it wanted. This would eventually lead to collapse.”
Louise stood. “People aren’t stupid.”
“No, they’re not
.” Magister Niven nodded. “But they are self-interested. And the lure of getting something for nothing is one that has seduced many a bright spark. Rationally, one might understand that there are limits. Practically, not so much.”
He paused. “Eventually, they established Magus Court.
“There are one hundred seats in Magus Court. Each one represents a tribe - and every adult citizen within the city is enrolled in at least one tribe. A sailor, for example, is enrolled in the sailing tribe, with a right to vote for his representative. Indeed, the sailor may also be a member of a different tribe, with a right to vote there too. It isn’t uncommon for someone to be a member of five or six tribes. I myself have four different memberships, thus four different representatives.
“Each tribe is allowed to govern its internal voting structure as it sees fit. The systems are transparent, by law. The sailing tribe, for example, gives more weight to captains and officers than it does to ordinary seamen. The Potion Masters Guild, on the other hand, treats all of its qualified members as equals. Once someone qualifies, they have the right to demand enrolment - and the guild, which is a tribe, does not have the right to turn them away.”
He paused, significantly. “And what are the Great Houses? Tribes.”
I nodded as a rustle ran around the room. I’d known that, but I’d rarely heard it stated so bluntly. The Great Houses controlled, directly or indirectly, around sixty to seventy seats on Magus Court. Individual houses might come and go - we’d lost power and regained it - but the system itself would go on. It was fiendishly clever, I acknowledged. The commoners - from dockyard workers to merchants and traders - had a vote, but their vote didn’t count for very much. They could better themselves, if they worked hard ... yet, if they did, they often got absorbed into the system. A large-scale reform movement was simply impossible.
Because once someone has reached the top, Father had said once, they don’t want to bring the system crashing down.
“That is the key to understanding the stability of our system,” Magister Niven informed us, calmly. “It is not impossible to climb the ranks, to become a ‘new man.’ It is, indeed, a great honour to be a ‘new man.’ But the price for climbing the ranks is becoming one with the system. It is very difficult to work outside the system. Those who do are often criminals.”
Louise stuck up a hand. “Because they’re working outside the system?”
“Because they’re committing criminal acts,” Magister Niven said, dryly. “Did you ever hear of a Thieves Guild? A Kidnappers Tribe? A society for people who cross the road without regard for oncoming traffic?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Louise said.
Magister Niven cocked an eyebrow. “And what did you mean?”
Louise reddened as the class tittered. “I meant ... what if someone doesn’t want to join a tribe? Or a guild?”
“At the very least, any adult citizen would be enrolled in one of the residential tribes,” Magister Niven said, quietly. “But why would they not want to join one of the working tribes? Or found a tribe of their own? It isn’t impossible.”
“A tribe could bar someone from joining,” Louise insisted.
“Not legally,” Magister Niven said. “If you met the criteria for joining a tribe, they could not reject you. Nor could they rewrite the rules to reject you, unless they somehow managed to exclude you without excluding current tribesmen. And if they do, there are ways to complain.”
“If you have money to take it to court,” Louise said.
“Quite,” Magister Niven said. “And might I remind you, again, that you should stand when you have something to say?”
“Twit,” Francis muttered.
I nudged him. Oddly, despite myself, I felt a twinge of respect for Louise. She wasn’t liked, not really, but ... she hadn’t tried to change herself in order to fit in. Rose hadn’t managed that, nor had any of the others ... I wondered, suddenly, if it would be worth the effort of getting to know her a little better. She was irritating, but smart. And she was clearly determined to go places.
But not if she keeps alienating people, I reminded myself. Father had made it clear that people would remember whatever we did at school. If people remember her as a horror, they won’t give her any chances once she leaves school.
“The patron-client system pervades the political structure,” Magister Niven said, addressing the entire class. “A patron offers support to his clients - everything from money to positions and promotions - and, in exchange, expects the unstinting support of his clients. A client in a powerful position - a tribal representative, for example - is expected to favour his patron, not - perhaps - the people who voted him into office. He is therefore required to perform a careful balancing act between the interests of his patron and his voters. A wise patron will not put too much pressure on his client. A client who fails because he is unable to maintain the balancing act is useless.”
“That’s not fair,” Louise muttered.
Magister Niven gave her a sharp look. “Of course it’s not fair,” he said. “The world is not fair. We are not equals, right from birth. Some people have advantages, others disadvantages ... a person can be as smart as a whip and still be denied promotion, forced to watch helplessly as people with better connections are promoted over their heads. And luck - good or bad - plays a role. A moment of bad luck can bring your entire world crashing down.”
He met her eyes. “I have spent years teaching you to question your assumptions. And one you must question, one you must discard, is the belief that life is fair.”
“It could be worse,” Francis said.
“Yes, it could be,” Magister Niven agreed. “And yes, you could try to make it better. But if you want to make something better, you have to start by understanding why things are the way they are. There is nothing to be gained by flailing around at random. Learn to row before you take the helm.”
He scowled. “And remain behind, after class,” he added, looking at Francis. “I want a word with you.”
I nudged Francis. “You got in trouble!”
“Hah,” Francis said.
Magister Niven raised his voice. “For your homework tonight, I want you to contemplate an age-old riddle. There is a gate, standing alone, in the middle of a field. It appears to be completely pointless. Should the gate be removed? I want your answers by the end of the week, before our next class. And there will be a prize for the one who gives me the best answer.”
Francis grinned. “Do you think it will be something worth having?”
I shrugged. Magister Niven gave all kinds of rewards. And then he forced us to try to understand why he might have given us those particular rewards. Some of the things he’d given me, over the years, were so pointed that he might as well have stabbed me with a knife.
“Dismissed,” Magister Niven said. “I’ll see you next week.”
“I’ll see you at lunch,” I told Francis. I didn’t think he’d be in real trouble - he’d probably just get a punishment essay, in addition to his regular homework - but that wouldn’t stop me rubbing it in. “And then we have Defence.”
“That’s always fun,” Francis agreed. He stood and started to amble towards Magister Niven’s desk. “Be seeing you.”
I nodded as I picked up my carryall, my eyes seeking Louise. She looked downcast as she packed up her books, alone in the middle of the crowd. She ... I made a mental note to approach her, when I had a moment. It was unlikely anyone had secured her services already. Hardly anyone could stand her. Clever as she was, her personality drove everyone away.
And I don’t have many other choices, I reminded myself. All the good ones are taken.
Chapter Ten
“I see I didn’t manage to drive you away,” Magister Harmon said, when we gathered in his classroom after lunch. He gave us all a toothy grin. “I’ll just have to work harder, won’t I?”
We shuddered in unison. Our first five years of Defence - Protective and Defensive Magic, according to the
school handbook - had been conducted by Magistra Solana, a stern but decent teacher who’d instructed us in the fundamentals. I’d liked her, more than I cared to admit. She’d put us all on solid ground when she’d taught us magic. But now, as upperclassmen, we were instructed by Magister Harmon, the roughest and toughest teacher in the school. He was a good teacher, I supposed, but he was also horrible. He seemed intent on driving as many of his students as possible into fleeing his class and never coming back.
I tried to keep my face impassive as I listened. He was a short muscular man, with a scarred face and hair shaved so close to his scalp that he was practically bald. He’d been a soldier in the King’s Life Guards and never let anyone forget it, although rumour had it that he’d been kicked out for unacceptable brutality. I’d asked Father about it, after I’d met Magister Harmon for the first time, and Father had laughed. Unacceptable brutality, apparently, was how someone got in.
“We’ll be spending the afternoon making sure you haven’t gone soft over the summer,” Magister Harmon informed us. “And then we will start on some really interesting spells.”
(The Zero Enigma Book 6) The Family Pride Page 10
