Of all the innovations introduced by Emily of Schooled in Magic, none had so immediate an effect as the printing press and the new alphabet, putting the power of the written words in the hands on anyone capable of memorising and learning to read a relative handful of letters and numbers. The concept of newsletters and suchlike was not altogether unknown on the Nameless World prior to Emily, but they were the domain of noblemen and magicians until the printing press unleashed a flurry of new broadsheets, ranging from serious newspapers to gutter tabloids. It was perhaps inevitable that someone would eventually start a school newsletter at Whitehall …

This is the greatest story ever told.

Hyperbole, of course. But Dad always said a little hyperbole never hurt anyone and believe me, he should know. He was a broadsheet reporter before broadsheets were even invented and his job meant he had to keep himself employed by keeping his clients invested in his work. If that meant exaggerating a few details, he did it. And he had very few qualms about it as well

My father was a bastard, by birth if not in behaviour. He was born on the wrong side of the blankets and while his father had made provisions for his support and education, the rest of his family were nowhere near so welcoming. His stepmother hated him — he was a grim reminder that her conduct had to be above reproach while her husband could go whoring and no one would say a word — and his half-brothers and sisters loathed him. He had a reasonably decent education, but what could he do with it? I don’t blame him for going into quasi-exile and heading to Dragon’s Den, where talent sometimes rose above birth and breeding. He had enough magic as well as education to make a living. And he had something to offer.

His family wanted to know what was going on in Dragon’s Den. Who was in, who was out, who was on the rise and who was going down… my father, armed with talent and determination and a certain willingness to let the pureblood aristocrats make fools of themselves, slotted neatly into his new role as correspondent. He collected gossip, verified it as best as he could, and then wrote it in letters for his clients. He called himself a correspondent and wrote to anyone willing to pay his fees. They called him a muckraker and regarded him with the same kind of loathing and contempt they reserved for whores, scullery maids, and mercenaries, even as they made use of their services. Dad found it amusing to watch how none of them would be seen in public with him but begged him — when they were firmly out of the public eye — to keep them informed of what was going on. The first person to hear the news, in the distant mansions of the rich and aristocratic, would have an edge over his competitors. And Dad was the best in the business.

He had few principles, but the ones he did have he held tightly. He dug up the truth as best as he could and did everything in his power to make sure it was the truth. He guarded his reputation for honesty like aristocratic women guarded their reputations for chastity. Truth was a defence against his clients, when they questioned his word. They considered him a deniable and ultimately expendable asset, but they knew better than to break their word with him. He’d ensure that the entire world knew what they’d done, and, due to his reputation for veracity, no one would ever trust them again.

I don’t know how he survived long enough to get married and have a daughter, let alone raise her to follow in his footsteps. His profession was hazardous. By his retelling — and for once I don’t think there was any hyperbole — he’d come close to death a thousand times in his first decade as a correspondent. He’d been beaten up by private guards, turned into animals and objects by magicians, even attacked in the streets by faceless assassins who could have been sent by anyone, anyone at all. Mum always feared that one day he’d go out in pursuit of a story and never come back, but he survived. Personally, I suspected it was because he was useful to everyone, even the ones who hated him. They didn’t kill him because they wanted to make use of him. His best tips often came from people who wanted to make trouble for their rivals.

And then the New Learning changed everything.

Dad was the best in the business, but even he couldn’t write to everyone. There weren’t many scribes willing to work for him — the Scribes Guild frowned on correspondents — and there were limits to how much news he could send to his contacts. The printing press and cheap paper changed all that. Dad bought one of the first presses and expanded his services, then — when he heard about broadsheets — started his own. Everyone — everyone who thought they were anyone, at least — bought copies, just to make sure their names weren’t amongst the gossip. The vast majority of new broadsheets lasted only a few editions before folding and vanishing, their writers and editors unable to bring in enough money to keep themselves going, but Dad survived and prospered and grew wealthy. He was rich enough to send me to Whitehall to study magic. And that was when I started the school newsletter.

The Whitehall Times was my baby. I liked to think it would keep the students informed of what was going on, from minor matters to major; I also liked to think that its stories would rock the establishment and keep the tutors honest, as well as giving the students a chance to get involved in running the school. But, in truth, my lofty dreams crashed straight into reality. It wasn’t easy to keep the paper interesting and some of my colleagues had weird ideas of what would actually sell copies. I mean, who cared about the kitchen staff’s plans for the dinner welcoming the new students? They served the same thing every year!

I told myself we needed a scoop. And fast.

And that, my readers, was why I was sneaking into the sport captain’s office on a very early morning.

If you ask an old student of Whitehall, they will tell you there is a tradition of trying to sneak into the offices and escape without being caught. What they won’t tell you, I reflected sourly as I made my way through the air vents, is that it is very hard to avoid being caught. The youngest and least experienced of the tutors still has at least five or six years of experience on even the oldest students, meaning that it is rare for anyone to get through the wards and escape without being detected. They may tell you that you’ll get a pass, if you steal the exam questions ahead of time, but it hardly ever happens. It’s much more likely you’ll be trapped in the wards and held prisoner, until the tutor arrives to free you. And then you’ll be in deep trouble.

I concentrated on breathing through my mouth as I crawled on. The sports captain had been careful, very careful, to protect the doors to her office and I doubted I could crack them, certainly not without setting off the alarms. But, like most students who weren’t particularly interested in the nuts and bolts of her profession, she might have missed the air vents when she layered wards over her office to keep out intruders. It was claustrophobic as hell — and I was sure there were mutated rats scurrying around in the darkness — but no magic blocked my way as I reached the end of the passage and peered through the darkness. I’d checked the outline of the office carefully, the last time I’d been forced to enter, and if I was right…

Got it, I thought.

I smirked. Someone — years ago — had put a cupboard right in front of the air vent. Out of sight, out of mind. Juliet of House Remora, Captain-General of Sports, wasn’t an idiot — idiotic students rarely made it to the uppermost years — but she was very single minded, and I doubted she’d bothered to take the furniture out to make sure there were no concealed passageways or air vents. Hell, for all I knew, she might have thought the walls were rock solid. It seemed an unpardonable oversight to me, but Dad had told me it was astonishing what people took for granted. He’d spent his fair share of the time spying on his targets from a safe distance. Sometimes, he’d discovered — too late — that it wasn’t anything like safe enough.

Perhaps I should have felt guilty, as I drew the charmed ear trumpet from my pouch and pressed it to my ear. Dad had never had any qualms about spying on people, but he’d grown up in a mansion where there was no real privacy. The staff had orders to keep an eye on all the children, even the ones who’d reached their majority. They’d certainly kept a very strict eye on him. I drew the line at spying on someone in their bedroom, but otherwise? The sporting section was open to all. And besides, it was a matter of public interest.

Of course it is, I told myself. Everyone wants to know how the sporting captains lay their plans for the year.

It was, I had to admit, a frustrating problem. In theory, anyone could start a sports team and declare themselves a captain. In practice, the well-connected students had a much better chance of making their team last long enough to play their first game, let alone enough to become a permanent part of the school. The old teams had been around for years, the captaincies carefully passed down from student to student in a bid to ensure power remained in the right set of hands. Sports was serious business — or so I’d been told; personally, I’d never been inclined to care — and organising the teams was of vital importance. And the process was anything but transparent. How did they do it?

Bribes, probably, I thought. Give the captain money — or a promise of future favours — and you’ll be on the team.

I rolled my eyes. School sports were more than just a chance to blow off steam on the playing fields. The sportsmen could — and did — make contacts that would help them climb to the top, after they left school. I’d heard rumours of sports captains making all sorts of trades to ensure they got the right players — the well-connected or otherwise useful, rather than brilliant players — and there was a lot of resentment amongst those who couldn’t make the grade. I didn’t pretend to understand why the staff hadn’t cracked down to ensure everyone got a fair chance of playing in the championship league, but perhaps it served a vital purpose. Or perhaps they simply didn’t care.

Grandmaster Gordian started a Duelling Club, I recalled. Surely, he’ll care if I prove the captains are taking bribes.

My ear trumpet twitched. I smirked. I’d have been caught in an instant if I’d sneaked a probe into the chamber, unless Juliet had bribed someone to take her exams for her, but it was astonishing just how far sound could travel even within a deadening privacy ward. I twisted the trumpet, trying to pick out the words without making a sound myself. It wasn’t easy to get anything. It sounded as if they were sharing a drink, perhaps even a dinner. I guessed one of the richer students had laid out a buffet, in hopes of impressing his fellow captains. It was the sort of thing they’d do.

“I’d like to take Cameron,” a male voice said. I couldn’t be sure, but the sheer dripping entitlement in the tone suggested it was a very snooty student indeed. There were only a handful of suspects. “Can I trade him for Gabby?”

“Gabby isn’t good enough for my team,” Juliet said. Her voice had rubbed me the wrong way from the very first day we’d met, when she’d been charged with mentoring me and a bunch of other girls. She’d done as little as she could get away with and, unsurprisingly, she’d gotten away with it. “She’s certainly not a fitting replacement for Cameron.”

“She does have the looks,” the male student said. I could hear the leer in his voice. “I thought you chose your team based on looks?”

I didn’t need to see Juliet’s face to sense her anger. “A team must be more than just presentable,” she said. I’d been told she paid for uniforms for her entire team, binding them to her. “And you, Blair, should know better than to make such an offer.”

Curse him, I thought. Or something.

I kept the thought to myself. Blair was a swaggering, boastful, outrageous pain in the ass who somehow — even I had to admit — managed to lead his team to victory time and time again. I felt a twinge of sympathy for Juliet. Blair was two years younger than her, and normally, she could have shut him down with a few well-chosen words — or hexes — but he was also a captain, and she had to treat him as an equal. And he took full advantage…

“Perhaps I could make an offer for him instead,” a third voice said. “If I trade you Miller and Parkinson…”

I forced myself to relax and listen as the conversation went on and on. I’d been sure the process was corrupt, right from the start, but it was still astonishing to discover how little sportsmanship played in the negotiations. They talked about their players as though they were nothing more than pieces on a gameboard, to be shuffled around at will. The idea they might have thoughts and feelings of their own was alien to them… I shook my head as one captain offered a bribe and another accepted, arranging a player’s transfer without bothering to ask what the player thought of it. The hell of it was that they’d probably get away with it. A player who refused to transfer would be kicked off the team and never allowed to play again.

And I can do something with this, I told myself. I had an amazing story ready to go. As long as I was careful, I could get the broadsheet printed and distributed before Juliet and her peers realised what I was doing. And then… I’d have to watch my back for a few days, but it would be worth it. Their players would revolt against them if they knew how casually they were being traded. It will make the paper…

Something landed on my butt, something sharp. I yelped, stifling myself an instant too late. Dad had taught me how to be stealthy, but… I heard someone shout and swore under my breath, crawling back as fast as I could. The sound had carried into the room and they were looking for me… how long would it take for them to realise where I was? Not long… I heard breaking wood behind me and crawled faster, knowing they’d torn the cupboard from the wall. I felt a pair of questing spells coming after me and deflected them as best as I could, even as I found the next air vent and pushed it open, darting through it as the last of the spells faded away. If I was lucky, I should be able to get out the door and down the corridor at breakneck speed before they cut me off. If… magic snapped at me, invisible hands pulling me back to the vent. Shrewd thinking on their part, I conceded. If they trapped me, they’d have all the time in the world to compel me to forget what I’d heard. Dad had told me he was sure he’d had a slice gapped out of his memory once or twice.

Creepy, I thought. There were mental disciplines to recall memories magicians wanted you to forget, but they were unreliable. I was no expert. If they catch me…

I pushed the spell aside with an effort and ran through the door, heading down the corridor. They hadn’t gotten a good look at me. They’d have to conclude it could have been anyone, if I made it to the upper levels. Students running around as if a tiger was on their tail was hardly an uncommon sight and not everyone liked the captains. They’d keep their mouth shut, probably. I hoped so.

Magic spiked, behind me. The spell slammed into my back. My body froze, then tumbled to the ground. The impact would have hurt if the spell hadn’t been binding me in place. I cursed as I tried desperately to cast a counterspell. Juliet was strong, stronger than I’d dared admit to myself. I could have escaped one of my peers, if they’d frozen me, but not an older student. A strong hand gripped mine and rolled me over. I found myself looking up into Juliet’s blue eyes.

She was beautiful. Beautiful and cold. Long blonde hair framed a delicate face and hung over muscular shoulders. Juliet was no academic, but everyone knew she was one of the best sportswomen in school. She was proud, tough, and not given to allowing anyone to get away with the slightest hint of disrespect. And she’d caught me spying on her.

I wanted to wince, but I couldn’t move a muscle. I was in deep shit. Older students were not allowed to pick on younger students, a rule I suspected was honoured in the breach rather more than the observance, but if the younger student started something the older student was allowed to finish it. Juliet could curse me and swear blind it was a terrible accident or… I heard running footsteps coming up behind her and groaned mentally. The other captains would demand harsh punishment. I was really in deep shit.

“And what,” a mild voice asked, “is going on here?”

Juliet’s face tightened. I felt a flash of hope, mingled with a strange and bitter resignation. I’d been saved by the grandmaster and… oh, no one was ever going to let me forget it. It would be better if I’d taken my lumps and then put the matter behind me. Instead…

“We caught Janet spying on us,” Juliet said and explained. I was surprised she tattled so quickly — and in so much detail. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. If the grandmaster thought they were picking on me for no reason, they might be expelled. “And we were going to bring her to you.”

My name is Jane, I thought, angrily. Did Juliet really not remember me? Or was she being insulting? It was unlikely the grandmaster would call her on it and if he did, she had plausible deniability. Damn it!

“I see.” Grandmaster Gordian made a dismissive gesture with one hand. I found myself suddenly free. My body collapsed in a heap. “Jane, accompany me.”

I staggered to my feet, all too aware of Juliet’s eyes burning into my back, and followed the grandmaster as he led the way to his office. Passing students stared, wondering what I’d done to draw the attention of the grandmaster himself. Was it pity in their eyes, or amusement? It was always hard to tell. The grandmaster was supposed to keep himself aloof from the younger students, or so I’d been told. He’d certainly never spoken to me in private before, even when I’d put together the proposal for Whitehall Times. I wondered, sometimes, if there’d been a debate amongst the staff, or if they’d just rubber-stamped the paper without bothering to read it. My broadsheet wasn’t the strangest proposal that had been approved…

I’d never been in the grandmaster’s office before. I couldn’t help looking around with interest, my eyes drinking in the bookshelves, the portraits and the heavy wooden desk positioned in the centre of the room. The grandmaster’s chair was suspiciously close to a throne. He motioned for me to stay on the near side of the desk as he took his seat and scowled. I clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking. It was almost a relief there was no chair for me.

“Perhaps you could tell me,” the grandmaster said, “precisely why you were spying on the captains?”

His tone was mild, but I didn’t need to hear the ice to know I’d better come up with a very good explanation indeed. And I didn’t think I could. Spying on one’s fellow students might be a hallowed tradition, but so were harsh punishments for anyone who got caught.

“I’m waiting,” the grandmaster said. “Why?”

I met his eyes. “The student body has long wanted to know precisely how the sports captains make their selections, sir,” I said, carefully. “The captains themselves don’t tell the candidates how and why they make their choices; they just issue the final results and force everyone to accept them.”

“There is nothing stopping the disappointed from founding their own teams,” the grandmaster pointed out, in the same mild tones. “There is room for everyone.”

“There isn’t,” I insisted. I remembered myself a second later. “Sir.”

The grandmaster studied me for a long, cold minute. “I was not best pleased when you put forward your proposal for a school newsletter. It was a good idea, in theory, but your father’s reputation precedes you. I did not expect you’d be able to content yourself with matters of interest to the school…”

“This is a matter of interest,” I insisted.

“… And now you have been caught spying on older students,” the grandmaster continued, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “That is not acceptable conduct.”

Spying on them was perfectly acceptable, I thought, darkly. It was spying on them and getting caught you found so offensive.

“I am not pleased, young lady,” the grandmaster told me. “You have betrayed the trust vested in you. Frankly, your newsletter should be shut down. I understand your arguments — and those of your supporters — but you have undermined the school. The championship is coming up, and we do not have time to deal with the problems you have raised.”

I felt my heart clench. “You mean, the unfairness of the process?”

“Life is not fair,” the grandmaster snapped. “And it is vitally important the championships go off without a hitch.”

Because the old grandmaster had little interest in sporting events and kept us largely out of them, I thought, nastily. And you want to change things.

The grandmaster kept talking, unaware of my inner thoughts. “After this meeting, you will report to the Warden, and then you will wait in your bedroom. I will not shut down your newsletter — not yet — but I will appoint an editor who will ride herd on you and tamp down any wild ideas before they lead the newsletter to ruin. That person will have authority over the newsletter, with the final say on what does and does not get published. If you defy them, they will have the power to sack you.”

I blanched. “It’s my newsletter!”

“No,” the grandmaster said. “It’s the school’s newsletter. You may have made the proposal and done the legwork, but the school funded the printing press and provided the office and how much else? We own it. If you want to abandon your project, you may. If not, you need someone riding herd on you to make sure you don’t do something stupid. Again.”

I ground my teeth. “Sir…”

The grandmaster cut me off. “It isn’t up for debate,” he said. “If you want the newsletter to continue, with your involvement, you can do it with supervision. If not… you may go.”

“Yes, sir,” I grated. There was no point in arguing further. Some people would dig their heels in and refuse to concede an inch, or worse, if you kept up the pressure. I had a nasty feeling Grandmaster Gordian was one of them. Lady Emily might have been able to talk sense into him. I couldn’t. “I look forward to meeting my new boss.”

“Glad to hear it,” the grandmaster said. He didn’t react to my sardonic tone. “Now, go.”

2

It was a relief, when I got back to my room, to discover my roommates were elsewhere.

I lay on the bed, gritting my teeth against the pain. The Warden had laid the cane on as hard as always, and I knew I’d be in agony for days, no matter how much soothing ointment or lotion I rubbed onto my buttocks. It was nothing to be ashamed of, but… I knew everyone was going to know, by the end of the day, what happened. Unless Juliet kept it quiet… she might, I told myself. She wouldn’t want anyone to know a mere second-year student had managed to spy on her, or everyone else would start trying to spy on her too.

Bitch, I thought. It was hard to be charitable when my rear was on fire. If she hadn’t tattled to the grandmaster …

I thrust that thought out of my head. Dad had always taught me to count my blessings and I’d been lucky, very lucky, the grandmaster had come along in time to keep them from trying to wipe my memories. Or something. Juliet and Blair were too well connected for anyone’s peace of mind. They might have gotten away with accidentally wiping my mind completely or something worse, far worse. The caning was small beer, compared to what they could have done and then sworn blind it was a terrible accident. I’d live.

My thoughts ran in circles. Who would be the new supervisor? Would it be someone who understood the importance of a free press, or someone who thought I had to be kept under control for my own good? It would be an older student, I was sure. The tutors didn’t have time to spare, not when everyone was adapting to a new grandmaster and everything he brought with him. Anyone who showed they had free time by offering to supervise the broadsheet would rapidly discover they had something else to do, if they weren’t fired by a new boss who wanted to cut headcount. Dad had run a long story on a sawmill that had sacked half its workforce after the new manager had discovered half the workers didn’t do much of anything. Personally, I suspected the old manager had been a fool or blatantly corrupt.

I won’t give up, I told myself. I’ll keep writing even if they shut me down.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Dad had worked hard to send me to Whitehall. He wouldn’t be pleased if I got in trouble, even if I escaped expulsion. He’d understand the urge to write the truth — and do whatever it took to get the story — but he’d always been reluctant to let me anywhere near the less savoury aspects of his business. There had been times when he’d been late, and I’d feared he’d never come home again. How much worse would it be for a father who watched his daughter go into danger, knowing she might not come home either?

There was a sharp knock on the door. It opened a moment later. I tensed. My roommates would have just walked in, and everyone else knew to wait until they were called before opening the door. The hexes we’d put on the doorknob should have been enough to deter any of our peers or stop them in their tracks if they tried to break through the warning spells. Was it the housemother? Or… I swore under my breath as Juliet waltzed into the bedroom as though she owned the place. She was an older student. She’d probably dismantled the protections — or simply walked through them — with a flick of her wrist.

A flash of alarm shot though me as I sat up, wincing at the pain. Why was she here? The tradition was absolute. Senior students were not allowed to enter junior bedrooms without a very good excuse. She was no longer my mentor… did she want revenge? Or…

Juliet smiled at me, so sweetly I knew something was up. “I wouldn’t sit on your buttocks like that,” she commented. “It’ll just make them sorer.”

I stood, folding my hands under my breasts. Technically, I should probably curtsey to her or something, but she was the guest in my bedroom. Besides, no amount of grovelling would make up for the fact she’d caught me spying on her. Sure, she wasn’t allowed to do anything to me directly — at least not without a lot of provocation — but there were plenty of ways for her to make my life miserable if she wanted. I had rivals amongst my peers. She could give them a little extra training, then send them out to hex me. Or worse.

It was hard to keep my voice calm. “What can I do for you?”

Juliet smirked. “You can do exactly as I say,” she said. I knew what she was going to say next before the words crossed her lips. “I’m your new boss.”

I tried not to wince. Again. “You?”

“The Grandmaster felt a young and immature student such as yourself, eighteen going on eight, would benefit from the supervision of an older and wiser student,” Juliet said, not bothering to hide her glee. “Your broadsheet has potential, or so I am told, but it won’t survive the year without some supervision. I mean, really. What were you thinking when you spied on my meeting?”

I ignored the question. “What makes you think you’re qualified to supervise the broadsheet?”

Juliet shrugged. “What makes you think you’re qualified to write the broadsheet?”

“I’ve been writing since I was old enough to hold a chalk,” I said, sharply. It was true. Dad had taught me how to read and write Old Script, before Lady Emily had introduced a newer and better alphabet anyone could master. No wonder the Scribes hated her. She’d rendered them useless in the blink of an eye. “I wrote my very first story when I was a little girl and kept going, to the point I was trusted to write the annual address for my class last year. What about you?”

“I have common sense,” Juliet said, snidely. “Really, what were you thinking?”

I looked her in the eye. “I was thinking everyone needs to know how the sports captains make their decisions,” I told her, bluntly. “Why do you think they shouldn’t?”

“Everyone loves sausage,” Juliet countered. “But they don’t want to know how sausage is made.”

It was hard not to roll my eyes. I’d grown up in a small town. I might not have been a farmer or a butcher, but I’d done my fair share of cooking; and I knew how raw meat was turned into sausage. Proof, if I’d needed it, that Juliet had an aristocratic background. A commoner girl, even a wealthy one, would have basic skills drilled into her from birth by her mother. Juliet would have been taught a great deal, but cooking wouldn’t have been on the list.

My lips quirked. It was funny how many boys insisted alchemy wasn’t really cooking. How could it? Cooking was women’s work. Never mind that alchemy used the same skills as cooking, and a person with a solid understanding of cooking could produce wonders in an alchemy cauldron. They weren’t the same because if they were it would mean the men were doing women’s work…

Juliet glowered. “What’s so funny?”

“My mind was wandering,” I said. I’d have shared the joke with my roommates — it was always funny to laugh at how men would argue desperately to prove they weren’t doing women’s work — but Juliet wouldn’t see the joke. I wondered, idly, if she’d had the sense to ask for cooking lessons when she went home, after a year of alchemy. “I think…”

I took a breath. “Maybe people don’t like to think of how sausage is made” — I doubted it; slaughtering animals and preparing meat for consumption wasn’t for the faint-hearted — “but that doesn’t mean they don’t need to know.”

“And if they did, what would they do with it?” Juliet looked around the room, her lips thinning in distaste. She probably thought she was slumming by gracing our bedroom with her presence. Bitch. It wasn’t as if the room was a mess. It was just a little untidy. “The players have to be assigned to teams, and traded, in as cold and calculating a manner as possible. They cannot be allowed to influence the captains…”

I raised my eyebrows. “Can I quote you on that?”

Juliet’s face reddened. She knew I’d been spying on them. Did she know — or guess — how much I’d overheard? It wasn’t as if she’d had a chance to interrogate me… for all she knew, I could have crawled into the air vent a few seconds before the rat landed on me. I might not have overheard anything… I hoped she thought so, although I doubted it. Juliet wouldn’t have become Captain-General of Sports if she was a complete idiot.

Surprisingly, she kept her voice calm. “We do not discuss our decisions with the players,” she said. A hint of condescension entered her tone. “It would cause offense. So would a misleading report written by a second-year brat who has barely reached her majority, one without the experience to understand that some decisions are better made out of the public eye. You can no more explain our decisions than you could explain how healing magic works or how best to apply it to save lives.”

The scorn in her voice made my blood boil. I’d always hated people talking down to me, as if I were some kind of idiot. I might be young, and I might lack specialised knowledge and experience, but that didn’t mean I was stupid. Besides, Dad had always insisted the mark of a true expert was the talent of explaining himself to the layman. Juliet didn’t seem capable of explaining anything, let alone the reasoning behind her decisions.

I met her eyes. “You could try to explain them to me,” I said. If Juliet had to justify putting one player ahead of another, it would level the playing field. Secrecy, Dad had always said, was the keystone of tyranny. “And then I could break them down so the common folk could understand.”

Juliet snorted. “I have no interest in explaining my decisions to commoners,” she said, loading the word with as much contempt as possible. “Anyone who really cared about sports would understand both the secrecy and the reasoning behind it and let the matter rest.”

“How convenient,” I said, sardonically.

Juliet drew back her hand, as if she was about to slap me, then thought better of it. “Let me make a few things clear,” she said, instead. “I am your new supervisor. I am your boss. I have the final say on what does, and what doesn’t, get printed in the broadsheet. You will take direction from me. You will follow orders to the letter. You will write the stories I tell you to write, then show them to me and wait for my approval before you print them. Do you understand me?”

“I created the broadsheet,” I protested. “Whitehall Times is mine!”

“You convinced the school to fund it,” Juliet said, snidely. “Didn’t the Grandmaster tell you? The school funds it, and so the school has the final say in everything.”

Her lips twisted into a nasty smile. “You can quit, of course,” she added. “You don’t have to stay on the staff. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.”

She leaned forward, pushing her way into my personal space. “And do you know what’ll happen, the moment you disobey me? Or publish something without my permission? You’ll be kicked out and that will be that.”

I clenched my fists. The urge to hit her was almost overpowering. Juliet was fit and healthy — and years on the playing fields had given her remarkable strength and endurance — but if I hit her hard enough, the first time, she’d go down. Dad had shown me a few tricks… I gritted my teeth, forcing my fists to unclench. Juliet was deliberately provoking me. If I hit her, I’d be expected so fast I’d be out the school before her body hit the ground. And then, what would I do? Dad had been lucky to get me into the school. He wouldn’t be able to get me into another.

“Fine,” I said. It wasn’t fine and she knew it. “I hope you understand the importance of keeping the public informed.”

Juliet stepped back and straightened. “I hope you understand the importance of sports,” she said. “The Grandmaster — the old Grandmaster — was never keen on participating in international contests, for fear it would divert attention from the necromancers on the far side of the mountains. He didn’t even want a duelling club. Grandmaster Gordian, on the other hand, wants to reverse that policy. Whitehall — he says — will start sending teams to contests as quickly as possible, which means the coming championship is of vital importance. The winning team will go to the international games.”

“Great,” I said, sarcastically. There were a few people who made a living through sports — or jousting — but it wasn’t really an option unless your family was very rich. You had to spend money in order to make money — or, in this case, buy the supplies — and there was no guarantee of any prize money. Dad had reported on a joust — more of a war game, he’d said — where the winner was ordered to give up his booty to his superiors, without even a hint of compensation. He’d had no recourse. I hoped he’d found a way to ensure his social superiors looked like idiots in the next joust. “Do we get to go with them?”

“This is important,” Juliet snarled. “Do you understand me?”

“It’s important to you,” I said. “I…”

Juliet reached out — lightning-fast — and grabbed my collar. “The broadsheet will report on each and every one of the games, from now until the final contest that determines who goes to the international arena,” she snapped, pulling me forward. “You will write those reports personally, instead of sneaking around and poking your nose in matters that are none of your business. Or else!”

I couldn’t resist. “Or else what?”

She shoved me. I fell back on the bed. I bit my lip to keep from yelping in pain.

“Or else you’ll be kicked out of the broadsheet and probably out of the school,” Juliet snapped. She loomed over me, hands resting on her hips. “Get one thing straight! You were caught spying on other students. Older students! Do you think anyone will take your broadsheet seriously, if everyone hears what you did? Or trust you with anything?”

She met my eyes. “Do you really want a reputation for prying into someone’s private business?”

“I wasn’t prying into your bedroom,” I muttered. “The office is fair game…”

I cut that thought off before it could go any further. There was very little privacy at boarding school, not until you became a senior and got a private room of your own. My roommates and I had few barriers between us, so we guarded what little privacy we had tightly and did what we could to ensure the others had some of their own. To turn someone into a frog was a mild prank, but to go poking into someone’s trunk was an unforgiveable offense deserving permanent shunning, if not a curse that would haunt the victim for the rest of their lives. If someone thought I’d done something so vile…

Juliet smirked. She had me.

“I’ll be speaking to the rest of your” — Juliet held her hands up to make quote marks — “staff later in the day. They’ll be under the same rules as you. Nothing, and I mean nothing, gets printed without my permission. The broadsheet will focus on matters of interest to the school, from new lectures and tutors to sports and exams, not dig up controversy. You can do that later, when you graduate from school and go into… whatever you want to do, when you’re not annoying me.”

I snorted. That wasn’t remotely fair. I’d barely had any contact with her, even when she’d been a mentor to my class, until now. This was the closest we’d ever been. I told myself it would only be for a year or so. Juliet would graduate, unless she had to repeat her final year, and go on into the wider world. Hell, after the championship, her exams would start to loom. She would have no more time to supervise us. If I kept my head down and bided my time, I could retake control. And then, who knew? The sky was the limit.

“You will report on the next game, the day after tomorrow,” Juliet said. “I want a good story, one that will get more talent on the fields. Do you understand me?”

I stood and made a long slow curtsey, keeping the movements so slow it was clearly sarcastic. “Yes, My Lady.”

Juliet pretended not to notice. “Good.” Her lips curved into a sneer. “Behave yourself.”

She turned and marched out. I made a rude gesture at her back as the door closed behind her, then turned back to the bed. It was hard not to give into despair. Juliet… Juliet was the supervisor? I didn’t know the older students very well, but I was sure there were dozens — perhaps hundreds — who would be better. Juliet hated me… I wondered, grimly, why she hadn’t fired me on the spot, then realised she couldn’t if she wanted to keep me under her thumb. As long as I wanted to work on Whitehall Times, I’d have to bend the knee to her.

It won’t last, I told myself. Juliet would have to organise her time carefully, when the exams came round, and I doubted she’d put the broadsheet at the top of her priority list. She’ll lose interest in bossing us around, and we’ll be able to go our own way. Again.

But I knew, as I sat gingerly on the bed, that it would feel like a very long time indeed.

“This sucks!”

Aniseed glowered at me. My roommate — and fellow reporter — was a short dark girl, with long black hair and a pretty face that lit up when she smiled, but she wasn’t smiling now. I understood, all too well. Aniseed might not have been caught spying on older students, or caned to within an inch of her life, but she was still in trouble. Juliet had made it clear, over the past two days, that nothing was to be written and printed without her permission. It was deeply, deeply, frustrating to all of us.

I tried not to wince at the anger in her voice. She had every right to be mad. She’d been putting together a story on what our fellow students had been doing, over the summer holidays, and now it had been cancelled. Juliet hadn’t liked the idea, for some reason she hadn’t bothered to share, and so it hadn’t gotten off the ground. I didn’t understand why she’d cancelled the story. It wasn’t as if we’d been spying on our friends over the holidays. Aniseed had asked them what they’d done, then turned it into a story…

“I’m sorry,” I said, again.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Aniseed snapped. “What were you thinking?”

I sighed inwardly. Juliet had laid down the law in no uncertain terms. She’d worked hard to ensure that every single story idea was run past her first, no matter how much work my fellow reporters and I had put into them already. The proposal to write something about new opportunities for students in Dragon’s Den had been killed, after Stuart had carried out a dozen interviews and written over a thousand words on the topic. I didn’t blame him for quitting, not really. He’d told his contacts that they’d be able to put adverts in the broadsheet and now he looked like a liar, something no true magician could tolerate. There was nothing he could do about it either. Juliet had squashed ideas, from ones of no real interest to anyone to stories that would rock the school, just to make it clear she was in charge.

And the only thing she wanted to go through without hesitation was a piece of ego-stroking crap about the sports captains and their teams, I thought, sourly. She didn’t try to stop us from doing that.

It was hard not to clench my teeth in frustration. Kings and aristos had a never-ending appetite for praise and demanded it from everyone, particularly those who had nothing better to do than kissing their master’s feet. I’d be ashamed if someone called me the ‘light of the world’ or the ‘bringer of perpetual peace’ or even ‘father to the kingdom,’ particularly if I ruled a tiny princedom that was only independent because my neighbours couldn’t be bothered to seize it, but the aristos didn’t seem to care. Dad had told me, once, that forcing people to crawl in front of their master was an unsubtle attempt to remind them who was really in charge. I suspected it worked very well. If I’d been forced to prostrate myself, and stay prostrated, as long as I was in the aristocratic presence, it would have very definitely kept me in my place.

“She’s probably doing the same to us,” I muttered. “Keeping us firmly under her thumb.”

Aniseed gave me a cross look. “She didn’t like my story on betting rings either,” she said. “She said it would distract from the beauty of the sport.”

I rolled my eyes. Betting — and gambling — was heavily discouraged, but nothing short of mass mind-control spells would be enough to completely stop it. People with money to spare had been gambling since time out of mind, placing their bets on who would win everything from simple jousts to skirmishes and wars. The playing card craze had only made it easier for anyone to get in on the game. Grandmaster Hasdrubal had done his best to limit the betting — and forbidding anyone to bet anything they couldn’t really afford to lose — but it had been an uphill struggle. The betting shops in Dragon’s Den were happy to take the bets students weren’t allowed to place at school.

Idiots, I thought, remembering one of my father’s sharper observations on aristo society. A fool and his money are soon parted.

“You’d think she’d want to get more people involved,” I said, thoughtfully. I’d yet to meet a sports captain who discouraged gambling. I’d been told they saw it as a sign of confidence in their players. Personally, I saw it as a sign the sports captains had too much time on their hands. “If someone was placing bets on the game, surely they’d be invested in the outcome.”

Aniseed scowled. “We have to put up with her,” she muttered. “And it is all because of you.”

I kept my mouth shut — my father had taught me well — as we stepped into the arena and found our seats. The two teams were already on opposing sides of the fields, making rude gestures and shouting insults whenever the referee was looking in the other direction. I saw a pair of boys striking ridiculous poses as they swanned around the field, drawing a mixture of cheers and boos from the gathering crowd. Their captains pretended not to notice, but — even at a distance — I could see their irritation. They wouldn’t have become sports captains if they didn’t think sports were serious business. They saw grandstanding as just another stunt that distracted from the sport itself.

Unless the grandstander does something that wins the match, I thought, cynically. I’d never seen the point of sports myself — it wasn’t as if I’d ever been any good at playing the game — and I found it hard to understand why anyone did. They can get away with anything as long as it wins the game.

“Tell me,” I said, dryly. “Does anyone actually enjoy this sort of thing?”

Aniseed waved a hand at the stands. They were jam-packed with students, parents and scouts — spies — from the sporting leagues. The Grandmaster had gone out of his way to invite everyone he could to watch the games, so keen was he to show that Whitehall was capable of fielding players who could actually win. I suspected he’d forgotten what lurked behind the Craggy Mountains, only a few short miles away. Lady Emily had killed Shadye six years ago, but the rest of his foul kin were still out there. It was just a matter of time before another necromancer moved into his territory and started pressing against the school’s defences again.

“It’s good for morale,” she said, finally. “People like to see their teams play — and win.”

“I’d be happier if they went off and fought the necromancers,” I muttered sourly. “They might actually get something important done.”

It was hard to keep the disdain from my face. The sports captains and their teams had massive egos, and far too many people thought the sun shone out of their arses, but they weren’t that important in the grand scheme of things. Juliet was going to leave her glory days behind when she left school, unless she somehow managed to springboard into a sporting league. I doubted it. She simply didn’t have the contacts she’d need to parlay her time at school into a career. No wonder she had such a bad attitude. She’d committed herself to playing sports and yet, if she didn’t make it this year, she wouldn’t make it at all.

And I might feel sorry for her, I reflected, if she wasn’t such a pain in my rear.

The whistle blew. I reached for my notebook and pencil, resting them on my lap as the two teams rushed into battle. The crowd cheered, even though very little had happened yet, as the ball was launched into the court. I groaned under my breath as the players rushed past, the arena adjusting itself unpredictably to make life difficult for both sides. Being forced to watch the game felt like cruel and unusual punishment.

“Maybe Juliet did it on purpose,” Aniseed suggested. “If she knew how much you hated it…”

“Perhaps,” I agreed. I doubted it — Juliet wasn’t particularly subtle — but it was possible. “Or maybe she just wants to have me under her thumb.”

“Cheer up,” Aniseed said. “She’ll be gone next year.”

I scowled. Sure, Juliet would be gone next year, but I’d be heading straight towards my fourth-year exams. I’d wanted to get the broadsheet well underway before I had to stop devoting so much of my time to my pet project and start concentrating on my exams instead. It shouldn’t have been that hard to recruit newer reporters and editing staff… now, thanks to Juliet, it was going to be a great deal harder. No one wanted to spend their spare time writing puff pieces about sports captains and other pieces of fluff. They wanted to make a name for themselves exposing the truth.

The whistle blew. Something had happened. I tried not to slump in my chair as a player was sent off, a chorus of boos following him. I wondered, idly, what he’d done and then decided it didn’t matter. The player’s gambit, whatever it had been, had failed. If it had worked, the crowd would be cheering instead.

I looked at Aniseed. “How much longer?”

“It’s only been ten minutes,” Aniseed said, amused. “You have an hour or two to go.”

I groaned. “Why couldn’t she have just caned me instead?”

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the game went on and on. The crowd cheered with every goal and booed, mockingly, every time the players came close to scoring, only to miss at the last second. Hexes and curses — some borderline illicit and some very definitely over the line — were exchanged whenever the referee was looking in the other direction; the ball made a raspberry noise as an enterprising player tried to cast a charm on it, then flew right at the idiot and slammed into his chest. The crowd roared with laughter as the stunned player was levitated out of the arena, his teammates looking pissed. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Their teammate’s sin hadn’t been trying to charm the ball. It had been trying and failing.

It’s perfectly legal to turn the other players into small hopping things, I thought cynically, but the gods forbid you try to do anything to the ball.

The referee blew his whistle. Again. I slumped in my seat, thinking baleful thoughts about Juliet as the game resumed. Perhaps sending me to the arena was a subtle punishment after all. I doubted she had the empathy to realise not everyone shared her love for sports… perhaps it had been one of the one of the other sports captains. They’d pegged me as a shirker long ago, and I had to admit they were right. I’d never been the type of person to exert myself on the sports field. It was so much better to just stay on the sidelines and look the other way whenever the ball came near me.

And I didn’t really care if we won or lost, I reflected. What did it matter?

“The REDHAWKS are besting the MAGIS,” the commenter bellowed. I rubbed my ears as the sound echoed around the arena. I’d cast charms to keep the racket to something slightly below a thunderclap, but they’d either been overpowered or simply worn down. “If the MAGIS don’t MAKE points by the END of the match, they have LOST!”

“Ouch,” I muttered. I had no idea what charm he was using, to boost certain words above the others, but it worked far too well. The crowd roared — some delighted, some angry — as the game entered its final moments. I was sure I saw money and gambling tokens changing hands already. “Can they just get on with it?”

“It’s nearly over,” Aniseed said, in a tone that suggested she’d had enough of my grumbling. “Just a few more moments.”

I forced myself to sit up as the losing team launched a desperate play, two-thirds of the team charging their opponents and hurling hexes in a bid to distract them from the players who were snatching control of the ball and tossing it from player to player to keep it from putting them in the sin bin for the last few seconds of the match. A hex lanced at the referee and exploded a moment or two before it reached him, the flash blinding him long enough for the losing team to push through the chaos and try to score. I sensed the anticipation building, the crowd leaning forward in unison — it looked as if they were all under compulsion spells — as the two teams clashed one final time. Hope rang through the air — the gamblers exchanged more money and tokens — before flicking and dying as the winning team stood its ground. It was such a simple tactic that even I could understand it. They were already winning. They didn’t need to score any more points. They just had to keep the other team from scoring enough points to turn their defeat into a draw.

Aniseed leaned forward — I felt a twinge of disappointment from her — as the two teams clashed an instant before the whistle blew one final time. The fighting was already out of hand. The referee blew again and again, but the teams refused to engage. I tried not to laugh at the sight of magicians brawling like mundane apprentices, throwing punches instead of hexes as the wards around the arena started to come down. The crowd laughed and egged the two sides on as the referee tried to restore order. I found it impossible not to laugh, too, as I saw Hector — the snobbiest snob in the school, which was quite a remarkable feat — punching Callam in the face, only to be kicked in the chest by Diamond. Hector was likely to be in some trouble when he got home, I decided. There was little difference, as far as I was concerned, between hexing and punching someone, but the magical families disagreed.

I grabbed my notebook and scribbled notes as the referee battled to restore order. The two teams were too close together for him to simply separate them, not unless… I felt magic flaring through the air as he changed his tactics, freezing the players in place. Silence fell, so heavily my ears rang. The referee didn’t hesitate. He levitated the players out of the field — half of them were going straight to the healers, from what I could see — and ordered the watching audience to leave the arena. I stood slowly enough to take note of more money and tokens exchanging hands, then followed Aniseed back to our bedroom. I wasn’t going to hang around for the post-game party, if indeed there was one. The referee might have already ordered the party cancelled.

Not that it will stop them from having one in Dragon’s Den, I thought. It was early afternoon. The players and their supporters could easily get to the town and have some fun before they had to return. Unless they’re all put in detention…

I put the thought out of my mind as I wrote a story about the game. It bored me — and, even looking at Aniseed’s notes, I couldn’t recall much about it. The players were average players playing a very average game, enlivened only by the fight at the end of the match. I made it the centrepiece of the story, doing my best to detail who had punched who and praising the referee for ending the fight before someone got seriously — and permanently — hurt. Magic could heal almost any physical wound, I’d been told, but only if the healers had time to work their spells. A surprisingly high number of kings and aristos had expired on the battlefield because they couldn’t get to the healers in time. The nasty, cynical part of my mind suspected their fellows had dawdled long enough to make sure their former masters couldn’t recover and reclaim their power.

Dad wrote a story about someone who might have done just that, I reflected, as I made my way to the office. And they shouted so much you’d think he accused them of incest or oath-breaking.

I’d hoped Juliet wouldn’t be in the office, but no such luck. She was there, sitting in my chair and writing on my desk. I tried not to grind my teeth as she looked up at me. We normally had three or four student reporters in the office on the weekends, writing stories or simply chatting about their plans for future articles. Now, Juliet was alone. I wondered, numbly, just how many of my reporters had already checked out mentally, deciding there was no point in trying to do their jobs with Juliet peering over their shoulder and micromanaging them to the point of absurdity. How many of my staff did I have left?

Not mine any longer, I thought, bitterly. Hers.

“You’re late,” Juliet said. Her lips twisted into a sneer. “Where have you been?”

I swallowed a sarcastic response that would probably have landed me in even more trouble, if that was possible. “I was unaware we had an appointment,” I said, carefully. “Did we?”

“I told you to have the story ready as soon as possible,” Juliet said. “We want it in the Sunday edition, don’t we?”

I swallowed another sarcastic response. We only published one broadsheet a week. I’d have loved to do more, like my father and the rest of the broadsheet writers and editors, but it simply wasn’t possible. Not here. We simply didn’t have time. I kept that thought to myself as I leaned forward and passed her the story draft. If she liked it…

Needless to say, she didn’t.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

I did my best to hide my amusement, even though it wasn’t funny. “It’s a story about what happened at the game,” I said. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

Juliet flattened her hand, as if she were about to slap me like a particularly stupid maid before thinking better of it. I was surprised she had that much self-control. Most aristos thought nothing of striking their servants and then acted all surprised when their servants became my father’s best sources, taking what revenge they could on their masters. Perhaps she thought she couldn’t get away with it. She wasn’t my year’s advisor any longer. Or… who knew what was going through her head?

“I told you to write about the game,” Juliet snarled. “Not… the fight afterwards.”

I shrugged. “The Magis beat the Redhawks,” I said. “Or was it the other way around? Does it matter?”

Juliet reddened. “Just because you don’t care who won and who lost doesn’t mean there aren’t people who do.”

That was a good point. I elected to ignore it. “You told me to write about the game,” I said, “and I did. I noted the winner and the loser and the fight afterwards and all the little details that turn a bland recitation of facts into something someone actually wants to read.”

“I told you to write about the game,” Juliet repeated. “How many times do I have to say it?”

I met her eyes. “Do you want the broadsheet to be nothing but mindless praise?”

Juliet took a breath. “I don’t think you understand how important it is for the school to re-enter the league tables at the top,” she said. “If we fail now, no one will ever take us seriously again.”

I tried not to laugh. Really, I tried. Really.

“It seems to me that, no matter how good the various schools and teams are, there will always be someone who is objectively on the bottom of the tables,” I managed. “They might be pretty damn good, but…”

“No.” Juliet cut me off. “That might be true for other schools, but not for us.”

“Really?” I slipped into reporter mode. “And why might that be true?”

Juliet eyed me, like a teacher who’d just seen me add two and two together and get five. “We moved out of the league years ago, when Grandmaster Hasdrubal decided it was more important to concentrate on other things,” she said, with icy patience. “Our detractors claim we moved out because we couldn’t compete. And if we enter at the bottom of the tables, they’ll have all the proof they need to dismiss us.”

You mean, dismiss you, I thought. Juliet wouldn’t have a second chance to enter the professional leagues. It was this year or never. The school teams can work their way up to the top, but it will be too late for you.

“You make it sound important,” I said. “There is a looming threat to the south.”

“Be quiet.” Juliet cast a spell. My mouth snapped closed and locked. “You have two choices. You can follow my orders, or you can get out.”

It was lucky, I supposed, that I couldn’t talk. What I wanted to say would have given her all the excuse she needed to not only kick me out of my own broadsheet but get me sent to the Warden as well.

“Next week, my team will be playing our rivals for the semi-championships,” Juliet said, curtly. “I want you to write a complete and detailed — very detailed — report on the game. Do you understand me?”

I pointed to my mouth. She unsealed my lips with a gesture.

“Fine,” I said. I would have been angrier if I hadn’t already had a plan. “You want a very detailed report. I get you.”

Juliet didn’t notice the sarcasm in my tone. Or if she did, she ignored it.

“The Grandmaster himself is going to be there, as referee,” she said. “And it is vitally important the game goes off without a hitch.”

“The Grandmaster?” I made a show of raising my eyebrows. I didn’t have to pretend to be surprised. I’d never heard of a senior tutor, let alone the school’s lord and master, refereeing a game. “Don’t you think he might be biased?”

Juliet smiled, like the cat who’d gotten into the cream. “I certainly hope so,” she said. “He’s very invested in us returning to the league tables. too.”

She pointed to the door. “You know what to do,” she said. “Hop to it. Or you will be hopping.”

I dropped a mocking curtsey — she took it as her due — and left the office, my plan already half-formulated. Juliet wanted me to follow her orders? Right, I would follow her orders to the letter. I’d heard all sorts of stories about spell-controlled slaves who looked for loopholes in their orders, to find ways to avoid doing as they were told… I was going to make them proud. And I’d make her regret she even thought of giving me such precise orders.

The next week would have been maddening, if I hadn’t been so determined to make a fool of her. I spent all my free time in the library, researching the games. The original rulebook had long since been lost — or so we’d been told — leaving a collection of rules that looked as if a bunch of lawyers had taken a relatively simple concept and turned it into a legalistic nightmare that favoured the well-connected, or at least decent players, over everyone else. I looked up all the precedents and studied previous games, trying to plot out how the different teams had evolved over the past decade. Juliet’s fingerprints were everywhere. She’d joined the teams right from the start and climbed to the top very quickly. I would have been impressed if I’d cared one jot about sports.

I’d always been good at pure research — my practical magic wasn’t that great, but my theoretical skills were first-rate — and I forced myself to keep going as the days wore on, even though it started to wear on me. I made long lists of questions to ask and then found a handful of players more than willing to talk to me, as long as I wanted to talk about sports. It was hard to hide my contempt as the players explained the rules to me again and again, then talked about famous goals they’d scored… I wondered, not for the first time, precisely what they thought they’d do with their lives after they graduated. The game was supposed to teach practical magic and teamwork — it was the official justification for allowing student magicians to play — but there weren’t that many slots open for adult players. Perhaps they thought they could find a way to parlay their skills into something a little more useful.

Or perhaps they simply haven’t thought that far ahead, I reflected, as I forced myself to listen to an endless discussion on the rules from a player I was starting to loathe. It wouldn’t surprise me.

The weekend dawned brightly, despite my looming headache. I’d spent the week studying, and I wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and sleep it off, but there was no time. I collected my notebooks and spoke briefly to Aniseed before making my way to the arena well before the whistle blew. I’d taken care to reserve a spot right next to the referee, the best vantage point in the stands, but still… I wished, as the players marched onto the field, that I had a few friends to help. I hadn’t dared recruit anyone. If my plan went spectacularly wrong, I wanted to be the only one in trouble.

My lips quirked. She’s not going to find it easy to get me in trouble this time…

The whistle blew. I leaned forward, my pencil flying over my notepad automatically as I glued my eyes to the field. The players had clearly planned carefully — I gave Juliet credit for getting everyone going in the same direction, something that was almost impossible — and I noted every detail. The plays, the passes, the legal, semi-legal and flat-out illegal hexes and curses… I glanced at the Grandmaster, who seemed to be ignoring all but the most blatant spells. I knew cheating was part of the game — as long as it was done in the proper and acceptable manner, of course — yet… I shook my head. The Grandmaster knew what he was doing…

Right?

It grew harder to keep track of every detail as the carefully planned order started to break down. Juliet had had a plan, of course, but so had her opponent. The two teams were forced to improvise, and I thought, looking at the pattern, that the opposing side was much betterat it. They took more gambles, I noted, and some were good enough to score points… even when they weren’t scoring, they were still disrupting Juliet’s plan. I made careful note of her control freak tendencies. The plan had looked good on paper, I was sure, but she hadn’t primed her players to deal with the unexpected. She certainly wasn’t good enough to put a new plan together on the fly.

And she lost, I told myself. Her team had done well — I supposed; I was no expert — but they’d lost. She could have won if she’d let them have more freedom to act…

The thought made me smile as I hurried straight back to my bedroom to write. My notes were already fantastically detailed, but — with the help of a handful of memory charms and potions — I was able to list nearly everything that had happened between the first and last whistles. It was odd — I was sure I could sense a pattern lurking behind the plays, something a little more subtle than Juliet’s game plan — but it was impossible to be certain. My lips quirked as I surveyed my story. It was little better than a list of names and plays. If my father had seen it, he would have probably disowned me on the spot.

I added a little commentary, sticking carefully to the facts, then sat back in my chair to wait for the post-game party to finish. Juliet was good at throwing parties for her players… I supposed it was why they put up with her. It was astonishing what someone would do if they thought they’d be rewarded afterwards, win or lose. She’d even invited the opposing players… I snorted in cold amusement. Was it really so easy to win people to her cause?

It was nearly night when I made my way down to the office. It was empty. I placed the story on the desk — my desk — and sat on the chair, thumbing my way through a handful of other prospective stories as I waited. Juliet’s baleful influence was already contaminating my reporters. The stories they’d submitted were bland and boring and completely lacking in anything to grab and hold the reader’s attention. I cursed her under my breath as I finished the last story. If she wasn’t forced to step back and let me resume my post soon, the broadsheet would be beyond salvation and all my hopes and dreams would crumble into dust.

“You’re sitting in my seat,” a voice said. “Get up. Now.”

I tried not to jump. Juliet had practically sneaked up on me… no, there was no practically about it. She had. I didn’t like her surprising stealth… had she hidden herself behind a concealment charm, or was she simply light on her feet? She was certainly athletic enough to get very close to me before I registered her presence…

Juliet grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. I tried not to wince. Juliet wasn’t the strongest student, but she was certainly in the top ten. Her bare arm was intimidatingly muscular. She could lay me out with a punch… if she was willing to take the risk of becoming a laughingstock. Magicians hexed or cursed their enemies. They didn’t stoop to physically striking them.

She shoved me in front of the desk, then took her seat. I clasped my hands behind my back to compose myself. Dad had been manhandled enough, during his career, for him to caution me it was an occupational risk. There had been times, in those days, when I’d feared he’d never come home. Compared to his enemies, Juliet was a silly little girl.

“This is my chair,” Juliet growled. “Why were you sitting in it?”

I didn’t try to answer. Nothing I could have said would have pleased her, even if I’d cared to try. “Did you enjoy the game?”

I’d hoped to needle her, just a little. If she lost control… I could take a slap, or a punch, in the certain knowledge it would hurt her far more than it hurt me. Instead, Juliet seemed remarkably calm, for someone whose team had just lost a game… and under her leadership, no less. I knew from my research it wouldn’t be enough to cost her the change to take her team into the big leagues — if she even bothered to take them with her; I wasn’t sure she could — but it still had to gnaw at her. Instead, she just looked serene. A ripple of alarm ran through me. Something was wrong. What?

“This is your story?” Juliet showed, finally, the flash of anger I’d been expecting. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Not at all.” I dug my fingernails into my palm to keep from giggling. “It is exactly what you wanted. A detailed report and analysis of everything that happened from start to finish, with some added commentary from previous games…”

Juliet glared. “You went looking up my old games?”

“I looked up every game,” I said, sweetly. “How else could I do a detailed analysis?”

“You…” Juliet caught herself. “This is absurd!”

“It is?” It was growing harder to keep from smirking. “It is precisely what you wanted, is it not?”

I went on before she could say a word. “I noted everything. I noted the missed plays. I noted every call the referee made, and the times he should have blown the whistle. I noted how Hendrix made a sweet valley pass in four of six previous games but fumbled it here so the opposing side got control of the ball and had a clear shot at the goal. I think you need to have a long talk with him, because that was an unforgivable flub…”

“And you quit playing sports the moment you could,” Juliet snarled. “What makes you think you are qualified to judge my calls?”

“I researched the game,” I said, snidely. The golden rule hadn’t been hard to figure out, even though it wasn’t written down. “Winning is everything. Anything else comes a very distant second.”

“And if you spent more time playing sports” — Juliet pointed at my belly — “you might lose some of that weight.”

I flushed. “Hey!”

“Perhaps you should wear a maid’s uniform,” Aniseed suggested, the following weekend. “They’re easy to clean.”

I scowled. Telling her about my assigned punishment had been a mistake. I was a student magician, not a servant, and making me clean a suite of rooms as if I were nothing more than a common-born maid was cruel and unusual punishment. And yet, Juliet had played her cards very well. She hadn’t struck me — or sent me to the Warden, which might have landed her in hot water if the supervising tutors thought she’d overreacted — or anything that might have pushed her authority to its breaking point. I was going to be a laughingstock when the story got out and, worst of all, it had been my fault.

“I’ll wear my casuals,” I said, sourly. There were limits. If Juliet thought I was going to dress up as a maid for her, she could think again, “And you’d better report on the game too.”

“Of course.” Aniseed put on a mocking tone. “It’s the most important game since the last one.”

I nodded and stepped in front of the mirror, looking myself up and down. The rough shirt and trousers looked too big— they’d been passed down from my father — but they were decent as well as easy to clean. Juliet would make the job as dirty as possible or my name wasn’t Jane, Daughter of Gerald. I wondered, idly, just how far she’d go. It was rare for students, even seniors, to have someone else clean their rooms. They were supposed to handle it themselves. I’d only ever heard of one student having an assigned servant and that had been through finding a loophole and exploiting it mercilessly.

And the princess who had the servant was mocked relentlessly, when the rest of the school figured out what her parents had done, I reflected. If she couldn’t take care of her own room, how could she be expected to take care of anything else?

The thought mocked me as I left the room and headed to the senior dorms. It was a weekend, and the school was nearly empty, students either making their way to town or gathering in the grounds to wait for the arena to open. Juliet — damn her — had been telling everyone she expected to see them at the game, picking her words carefully to make sure it was taken as an order while giving her room to deny it if someone challenged her. I doubted anyone would. A word from her in the right — or rather the wrong — set of ears could make someone’s life a misery. Or keep them off a good sports team.

Oh, how terrible, I thought. It was hard not to dawdle. I didn’t want to get to her rooms. How many of the sporty players are going to keep playing well into adulthood?

I made a mental note to research it — it might be interesting to see what the figures actually were — as I made my way into the dorms, then down to the Captain-General’s suite. I didn’t try to fight the surge of jealousy as I looked at her door. I had to share a room with two other girls, while Juliet got three rooms all to herself…? It wasn’t fair. I would have loved some actual privacy. Aniseed and Suzie weren’t bad roommates — I’d had worse — but we were living in each other’s pockets, and clashes were inevitable. We’d all be happier with rooms of our own.

The door opened. I rolled my eyes — I hadn’t even knocked — and stepped inside, looking around with undisguised interest. Juliet had a comfortable armchair, a sofa, a large writing desk, a trunk, a private bathroom… her rooms were so far superior to mine, both at school and at home, that it took me a moment to realise she wasn’t alone. Blair and Thomas sat on the sofa, wearing their sporting outfits. They looked at me and laughed. I flushed, despite myself. I looked like a poor commoner, not a student of magic.

Juliet stood. “I see you’re dressed for the part,” she said, with a sniff. “You’ll find cleaning supplies in the bathroom, under the sink. I want every last inch of these rooms cleaned so thoroughly I can’t find a single speck of dust, or you’ll regret it.”

Blair accidentally knocked over his glass. It fell to the ground and shattered, splashing a dark red liquid everywhere. “Oops.”

“Clean that up too,” Juliet said. She didn’t try to hide her amusement. “I do trust you’ve been keeping up with your domestic spells?”

I gritted my teeth, not trusting myself to answer. I had, but admitting as much would only open me to more mockery. Domestic spells were looked down upon by almost everyone, save for the domestics themselves. It was odd — a spell to clean windows had quite a few other uses — but no one seemed interested in trying to improve their reputation. I looked around instead, trying not to wince as I noticed the mess. It looked as if Juliet hadn’t bothered to so much as wipe the tabletops, let alone mop the floors and change the bedding, in the months since she’d started her final year. I hoped she was just a slob. If that was true, she’d be in some trouble if the housemothers noticed.

And she’s left dozens of papers on the desk, I thought. Textbooks, notes, chat parchments — some primed, some still sealed — it was so messy I had no idea how she thought she could find something when she needed it. How does she plan to pass her exams?

“Perhaps you could let me borrow her, after the match.” Blair leered at me. “Seeing she’s so keen on following orders…”

“If she does a good job.” Juliet didn’t seem amused by his remark. It was probably the one thing we’d ever have in common. “If not, we will see…”

Thomas cleared his throat. “I hate to remind you, but you did promise to buy the drinks for the party last week and…”

Juliet cut him off. “It was an unfortunate mix-up when the orders were placed,” she said, stiffly. “I will pay you back later today.”

“See that you do,” Thomas said. “My family was not pleased.”

“Families are never pleased,” Juliet muttered. I heard a hint of bitterness in her tone. “But I will be paying for the drinks this afternoon, after the game.”

She let the words hang in the air as she stood and peered down her nose at me. “We’re off to the arena,” she said. “I’ll be back after the match. If you do a good job, you can go. If not… I’ll be supervising your every move until the room is spotless.”

Blair and Thomas stood and headed for the door, making sure to splash through the puddle as they moved. Juliet’s lips thinned as she followed them, closing the door behind her. I felt a flicker of magic a moment later, effectively locking the door. I guessed she wanted to rub my punishment in a little more. It wasn’t as if I could run out on her, unless I chose to leave school completely. She’d track me down and then…

I gritted my teeth as I turned slowly, surveying the room. I wasn’t unused to menial chores — I’d been my father’s housekeeper well before I’d been accepted at Whitehall — but it was still humiliating to be assigned to clean her room. There were schools where younger students were expected to serve their seniors, in exchange for private tuition and patronage… I tried not to grimace at the thought. Whitehall wasn’t one of those schools, and it was all the better for it. I’d barely had any time to myself as a firstie. It would have been so much worse if I’d been expected to wait hand and foot on an older girl.

She really is a slob, I thought, as I stripped the bed and mattress, piling the dirty covers by the door. Juliet would have to hand them to the cleaning staff… no, unless I was very much mistaken, I’d get that job too. It was lucky there were spares in her cupboards. Did she think to collect them, or did she simply never change her sheets since coming into the rooms?

I put the thought aside and kept working, muttering a handful of domestic spells to clear away the dust and juice from the floor. The spells were surprisingly low-power, but they needed constant tendering to ensure they didn’t fade back into nothingness or turn into miniature tornadoes. I’d half-expected Juliet to fiddle with her wards, purely to make it harder for me to use spells in her lair, but the magic worked normally. There weren’t even any spying spells watching me. I guessed she didn’t really want me here that long. Who knew what I might find?

Good question, I thought. Let’s find out.

It cost me a pang to look at her desk drawers and trunk and start considering how best to open them. We had so little privacy at school, even in our later years, that we jealously guarded what little we had. To break into someone’s warded trunk was no better than flipping up someone’s robes to expose their underwear, something no one would take lightly even if it was committed against the school outcast. I’d become the outcast if they knew I’d poked through her trunk and yet, the temptation was almost overpowering. I inched forward, carefully reaching out with all my senses. Dad had arranged for me to have proper — advanced — lessons and…

I recoiled in shock. Juliet had been careful. Very careful. Her trunk was so heavily warded I doubted even one of her peers could break in, not without risking life and limb. I wondered, as I turned my attention to her desk, if she’d deliberately baited a trap for me. She hadn’t climbed all the way to Captain-General without a certain willingness to take risks — I’d discovered that through researching her career — and if she’d caught me violating her privacy I would be thoroughly screwed. I sensed a handful of very nasty spells coiling just under the wards, waiting for me to break into the trunk. If I’d tried, I would have wound up an inanimate object — or worse — until she came back and freed me.

If she ever did, I reflected. She could try to argue I did it to myself.

I scowled, silently thanking all the gods my father had been so careful. A normal second-year student would be… something… by now. As it was… I felt my scowl deepen as I turned to the desk. The drawers were as heavily warded as her trunk, while the papers on the desk itself were nothing more than lecture notes. They didn’t look to be written in her handwriting. I guessed she’d hired someone else to take notes for her. Was she even attending the lectures? She was a senior student. No one would scold her for not attending. They’d let her exam results do that.

My lips quirked. She’s old enough to know better, really?

A sharp knock ran through the room. “Come in,” I called, automatically. I caught myself a second too late. It wasn’t my room, and the door was locked… wasn’t it? The door opened a moment later, revealing a shy first-year girl. She was only a year or so younger than me, and yet she looked so young I was tempted to inspect her lips for milk. My suspicious mind sounded the alarm a second later. What was a first-year girl doing in a senior girl’s room?

“I…” The girl stared at me. “Are you one of her friends?”

“I suppose I work for her,” I managed, trying to keep my puzzlement off my face. I couldn’t understand Juliet having any interest in a mere first year, unless the girl was astonishingly good at sports. No, it was unlikely. Promoting a complete newcomer into a team would raise hackles, even from students who would normally be on her side. “What can I do for you?”

“Can you give her these?” The girl passed me a sheaf of parchments. “Please? I’d stay for her, but… I have to report to Professor Lombardi and…”

“Of course,” I said, feeling a twinge of pity. What had the poor girl done to earn a detention from Professor Lombardi? “I’ll tell her you popped by.”

The girl nodded and retreated. I frowned as she closed the door. Nothing about the affair made sense. It was beneath Juliet’s dignity to pay attention to first years, no matter how good they were at sports. I wondered if she even knew the girl’s name. I didn’t. And yet… I forced myself to concentrate on the memories, replaying the brief conversation in my mind for clues. The girl was common-born, or I was a ninny. She certainly hadn’t displayed the tasteless confidence that came with being able to buy one’s way out of trouble, an attitude — I’d discovered — that most aristos went out of their way to cultivate. I hadn’t sensed her magic either, which meant she was either masking very well or she simply wasn’t that powerful. It really didn’t make sense.

I stood by the bed and started to pick my way through the parchments. The spells on them were minor, enough to protect them from mundanes and first-year students, but no one else. I knew how to unpick the spells without destroying them, allowing me — at least in theory — to put them back after I’d read them. It should be impossible for anyone, even Juliet, to tell I’d read her mail…

My eyes narrowed as I parsed the messages. Betting slips?

For a moment, I refused to believe it. Juliet was betting? Gambling?

She can’t, I thought, slowly. Can she?

I wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem legal, but… I stared down at the slips, slowly working out the messages. Juliet — through her messenger — had been placing bets in town. Proof, if I needed it, that she was bending if not breaking the rules. Why bother recruiting an agent, and one so beneath her, if she could do it herself? My senses tingled as I kept going, sure I was on the verge of something. Juliet seemed to be a pretty good gambler. She’d won more than she’d lost.

She always does, I thought, coldly. The sums on each of the slips were low but put together, they were a decent income. Dad had always called gambling rings taxes on stupid people — and I was inclined to agree — yet Juliet was far from stupid. What is she doing…?

I stared at the slips. Something was nagging at my mind. Something I’d missed. Something… I looked at the last dated slip — last weekend — and knew. Juliet was betting on her own games. I’d watched the game myself… worse, I’d written a detailed report on every last play and counter-play. Juliet had lost and yet, according to the betting slip, she’d won?

For a moment, I refused to believe it. She bet on her own team to lose?

My mind spun in circles. I held the majority of sports-mad students in absolute contempt. I wouldn’t trust them to add two and two together and get four. And yet, I was sure Juliet had a higher opinion of her fellow players. And yet… I skimmed back through the slips, silently blessing my father for forcing me to develop my recollection skills. The pattern came into focus very quickly. Juliet had bet against her own team, repeatedly, and made a considerable sum of money doing so.

I swallowed, hard, as I recalled how intensively she’d planned the last game, the one I’d watched her lose. Is she throwing the games to make money?

It was a distasteful thought. I’d understand someone rigging a game to win, but to lose…?

“She’s mad,” I said, out loud. “She can’t get away with it, can she?”

I wasn’t sure, in all honesty, that was true. The plan was surprisingly simple. Put out a plan that would leave plenty of opportunity for the opposing team to score and force your team to stick to it. If you knew the other team very well, and Juliet did, it would be easy to predict what they’d do. And then bet against your own term, working through a proxy to ensure your name was never mentioned. I worked my way through the figures and frowned as I noted another pattern. On the surface, Juliet — or rather her proxy — had won some and lost others. A deeper look showed she always won when serious money was at stake. I was surprised none of the gambling rings had noted the pattern…

If she went to a handful of different betting shops, I mused, they might not notice anything unless they compared notes.

I slumped against the bed, feeling as if I’d gone fishing for minnows and wound up catching a shark. This was serious. This was… I looked down at the slips, wondering if they’d be enough to prove Juliet was rigging the games against herself. And yet… I swallowed hard. It was difficult to believe… if someone had brought the story to me, a few hours ago, I wouldn’t have believed it. How in the name of all the gods did she intend to get away with it? When word got out, and it would, she’d be lucky if she was merely kicked out of the sporting leagues. The leagues took sports seriously. They’d try to brand her an outlaw and harry her from her home.

“She’s mad,” I said, again. “Why…?”

The door opened. Juliet stepped into the room.

I froze. I was dead.

“You little…” Juliet staggered, just for a second, as she saw the betting slips in my hand. “Give them to me, you…”

“You cheat,” I said. It was hard to lace my voice with the amount of contempt she deserved, but I tried. “You bet against your own team!”

Juliet’s face flickered through an incomprehensible series of emotions. She was shocked and guilty and determined and… she stepped forward, closing the door behind her. I felt powerful privacy wards — too powerful — snap into place. I cursed my own mistake as she loomed over me, her magic billowing on the air. She was far too powerful for me to take in a duel and… I kicked myself, mentally, for not trying to flee the moment I’d realised what she’d been doing. Now, I was practically at her mercy. I had no doubt she was planning one final gamble before her house of cards came crashing down.

“You read my mail,” Juliet said. “Do you think anyone will pay attention to whatever you have to say?”

I couldn’t help myself. I snickered. “After they look at the betting slips, how much attention do you think they’ll pay to you?”

Juliet reddened. “You don’t understand.”

“I think I do.” I tried to look down my nose at her. It wasn’t easy — she was taller than me — but the flash of anger that crossed her face suggested she’d taken the point. “You plan your games carefully, leaving windows of opportunity for the other team to score. You micromanage your team to ensure their opportunities are few and far between. You boss them around to make sure they don’t even think of taking an unplanned shot. You rig the game against them and then you bet on the outcome, an outcome you have already predetermined. Right?”

“It seems an absurd story,” Juliet said. “Have you ever heard of a Captain-General who played to lose?”

I felt another piece of the puzzle fall into place. “It does seem absurd, until you look at the betting pattern and the games,” I said. “That’s why you were so angry about my report! I didn’t understand, not until now. Anyone reading a detailed report of the last few games might see a pattern, a pattern carefully prepared by the planner. By you! And you couldn’t risk firing me for obeying your orders because someone might take a close look at my analysis and see the pattern. I should have seen it sooner.”

Juliet made a gesture in my direction. Her magic surged. I tried to duck, too late. My hands snapped behind my back and clasped each other tightly, tightly enough to hurt. My feet were suddenly stuck to the floor. I tried to muster a counterspell, only to have it shatter harmlessly against her power. She smirked at me as I tried again, to no avail. I’d duelled my peers — and lost more than I’d won — but Juliet was an order of magnitude more powerful than any of them. I was completely at her mercy.

Her voice became honeyed, dripping with magic. “How many people have you told?”

I fought — gods, I fought — but her compulsion spell was just too strong. My treacherous lips opened, no matter how much I tried to tell them to stay closed.

“No one.”

Juliet smirked. I felt a rush of shame and humiliation. She had me in her power, and she knew it. She could make me say or do or believe anything… I cursed myself for not thinking ahead, for not taking precautions to jog my memory if someone wiped it. Dad would have known better. He was very good at reflecting on his thoughts, noting the discrepancies and working through the memories to work out what he’d been made to forget. I was nowhere near as capable and I knew it. As long as Juliet was careful, I would never know I’d left her room with a slice gapped out of my memory. And if I had no reason to question the cover story…

“No one,” Juliet repeated. “How… unfortunate.”

Something clicked in my mind. I forced myself to speak. “You’re not as wealthy as they say, are you?”

Juliet’s eyes flashed murder. “My family is rich!”

“Yes, but you’re not,” I said. Thomas had called Juliet out for not paying for the drinks. It was possible she’d tried to hide her involvement — alcohol and magicians didn’t mix — but he’d have been a little more understanding if that was all it was. It made a great deal more sense to think she might be nowhere near as personally rich as she claimed. Sure, most aristos gave their children enough pocket money to buy a castle or two, but not all. “I think you wouldn’t have taken the risk if you weren’t desperate for money.”

“Shows how much you know,” Juliet said. “Idiot.”

“I’m the idiot?” I giggled. I couldn’t help it. “You’re betting against your own team! How will you make it to be the big leagues if your team keeps losing?”

Juliet smirked. I hoped that meant she wanted to gloat. Dad had told me most people were terrible at keeping secrets because they wanted to impress their peers, which meant sharing the secret or — at the very least — the fact they had a secret. And yet, Juliet had had to keep her mouth shut if she didn’t want to face a weighty helping of justice for her misdeeds. She could gloat to me, before she made damn sure I forgot everything. If I kept pressing…

“I’m the Captain-General, as well as a team captain,” Juliet said, sardonically. “It doesn’t matter, not to the leagues, if my team wins or loses. What matters is how I perform as Captain-General, and my record is unmatched.”

“Only because there wasn’t a Captain-General of Whitehall until Grandmaster Gordian took control,” I jibed. I had no idea how the matter had been handled under the last Grandmaster, but as we hadn’t been playing in the leagues it probably hadn’t mattered. “You’re the best and the worst in living memory.”

Juliet ignored my sally. “My performance as Captain-General will make my reputation,” she said, curtly. “The spotters will spot me — I’ve made sure of it — and recruit me when I graduate and head into the leagues. And I’ll have the chance to recruit new players from Whitehall.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows. “And you think you’ll have free reign?”

“Remind me,” Juliet said, dryly. “Who was — who is — Captain-General of Whitehall?”

She went on before I could answer. “Who has the greatest insights into the players here? Me. Who knows their strengths and weaknesses and knows how to place them in context? Me. Who has the inside track on knowing what offers could be made to them, to recruit them to my new team? Me.”

“I suppose you know what you’re doing,” I conceded. It might have made sense. I didn’t know enough about the leagues to guess one way or the other. “But you are still running a terrible risk. What happens when you get caught?”

“I won’t,” Juliet said. “You got very lucky. That won’t happen again.”

“And when someone does what I did and works through the game records, noticing the pattern?” I met her eyes. “Or when your accomplice gets tired of being your cat’s paw and confesses all?”

Juliet shrugged. “A first-year commoner barely old enough to bleed? Who’d listen to her?”

“I would,” I said. It really was astonishing how many aristos had gotten into trouble through ignoring the servants. “And so might the Grandmaster.”

I met her eyes. “If he figures out what you’ve done, you’ll be for the high jump.”

Juliet laughed. “Do you really think the Grandmaster will listen to such accusations against one of his favoured students?”

“He’ll have to make a show of investigating the claims,” I countered. “And when he works out the pattern…”

“He’ll cover it up,” Juliet said. “It will go no further.”

I stared at her. Juliet’s family might be important, but they weren’t that important. I didn’t know any student who had the clout to convince the staff to look the other way, except perhaps Lady Emily, and she’d left school last year. There was no way in hell the staff could afford to overlook the charges, even if they were made up of whole cloth. They’d have to investigate. Juliet — and her accomplice — would be interrogated under truth spells, questioned ruthlessly until they spilled their guts. They’d have no recourse. They wouldn’t even get an apology if it turned out they were innocent all along.

“Impossible,” I said. “He won’t cover anything up for you.”

Juliet gave me a pitying look. “The Grandmaster wants Whitehall to return to the league tables,” she said, snidely. “If there is a major cheating scandal in the very first year, we’ll be kicked back out of the league before we’ve even fully returned. There are so many people with a vested interest in keeping usout of the league that even a hint of scandal will be enough to turn them against us. The Grandmaster will cover up the whole affair to make sure nothing, not even a single word, leaks out to our enemies.”

My heart sank. Juliet might be right. The Grandmaster had a very good reason — more than one, really — to cover up the story as much as possible. If he caught Juliet… he might just settle for quietly expelling her, or even coming up with a cover story to explain her departure from the field rather than confessing the truth. It wouldn’t be that hard to fake an injury or simply tell the world — with the deepest regret, naturally — that she hadn’t kept up with her schoolwork. I’d been told players who failed to keep their grades up were offered a flat choice between shaping up — and quickly — or being banned from playing. The cover story would be believable…

I glared. “Perhaps he’ll turn you into a toad and dump you in the pond for the rest of your life,” I snarled. It was hard to believe the old man would just let Juliet walk away with her earnings and reputation intact. “Or something…”

Juliet gave me a serene smile. “And if I vanished when I was supposed to be at school, don’t you think questions would be asked?”

“Point,” I conceded.

“You won’t remember any of this,” Juliet said, raising her hand. “And now…”

“Wait!” I did my best to act frantic. Truthfully, it wasn’t really an act. “We can make a deal…”

“I wouldn’t trust you, even if you took an oath,” Juliet said. “I caught you spying on me and peeking at my letters, didn’t I?”

“And you’re such a paragon of trustworthiness,” I sneered, bitterly. She’d remember the jibe, even if I didn’t. “Cheating to win is one thing but cheating to lose is quite… despicable.”

Juliet reddened. “You little…”

I pressed forward. “Are you sure you can even hide my memories forever? Aniseed knows where I am. Your fellow captains know where I am. Your accomplice knows where I am… are you sure she isn’t going to say something to me, in perfect innocence, that will jog my memory? Are you…”

“Be quiet,” Juliet snapped. “Who knows you’re here?”

My mouth spoke of its own accord. “You. Aniseed. Blair. Thomas. Your ally…”

I bit down hard. I’d thought I’d bested the truth spell. Clearly, enough of it lingered to make it impossible to lie directly. Juliet glowered at me, then turned and started to pace the room, clearly lost in thought. I hoped she didn’t hurt herself thinking so hard. It wasn’t going to be easy to make sure everyone kept their mouth shut. Blair was just the sort of person to harass me over my time as a maid, which would certainly jog my memory if I didn’t remember it myself. And Juliet couldn’t wipe his memory… I wondered, idly, what she’d have to offer to get him to keep his mouth shut. If she asked him, he’d know something wasn’t quite right.

He might not give a damn about me, I reflected, but the chance to have Juliet in his debt isn’t one he’ll pass up easily.

I studied Juliet’s back as she paced. It made a very tempting target. If I’d been able to move, I would have bashed her over the head and run for it. I might not have been able to knock her out — she was strong, and there was no point in denying it — but it might have stunned her long enough for me to escape.

The clock chimed. The match was about to begin.

“I’ll be back,” Juliet snapped. “Don’t you move.”

I wanted to scream as she scooped up her bag and hurried out the room, closing the door behind her. Whatever spell she’d used on me was strong. I couldn’t dispel it. I was fairly sure shouting for help would be pointless. The privacy wards on the room would make sure they never reached friendly ears. There were emergency spells, but I couldn’t cast them. My heart sank further — I would have thought it impossible — as it dawned on me Juliet might just get away with it after all. She would speak to Blair and Thomas, probably offering them a favour to be redeemed later in exchange for their silence, then intimidate her accomplice or simply wipe her memory too. Aniseed… I liked to think my roommate would be a tougher nut to crack, but Juliet probably wouldn’t have any trouble wiping her memories, either. And then… all she had to do was make sure our memories matched, and she’d be home free.

There has to be a way out, I told myself. It was hard to move my fingers to cast spells and I’d never been that good at fingerless casting. The counterspells should have dissolved the spell holding me still, but it remained firmly in place. There has to be…

My thoughts ran in circles. Gods, I hoped Blair and Thomas demanded something thoroughly disgusting in return for their silence. It might be the only justice Juliet would ever face for her crimes. The Grandmaster might cover them up … she certainly thought he would or she’d never have taken the risk. I glared at the wall, as if I could see through it to the arena and the players taking their places on the field. Juliet had gone on and on about the league sending its finest spotters to the match, to watch as she showcased her skills… my heart burned in frustration when I realised she might get away with it after all. The game might be rigged… even if it wasn’t, I knew past games had been.

I suppose it is proof she’s good at her job, I thought, bitterly. She’d had a stroke of bad luck — her accomplice shouldn’t have given me the betting slips— but she’d recovered nicely before returning to the game. And as long as she’s careful, she’ll get away with it…

My hands shook as I tried to break free. My father was going to be very disappointed in me… no he wasn’t, because as long as Juliet was careful he’d never find out. I hoped he’d ask enough probing questions, when I went home for the holidays, to break the memory spell… would he? My father wasn’t one of the aristos who considered his daughters nothing more than pawns on his personal gameboard, or — worse — one of the ones who thought his children were extensions of himself. Dad trusted me to be smart — and to come to him if I got into something I couldn’t handle. I felt a wave of frustration. For once, I wanted him to be a little more controlling, a little more inclined to demand to know everything I’d done since we parted. If he asked the right questions…

Think, I told myself. There’s always a way out.

I pushed my despair aside and forced myself to think. I couldn’t break the spell directly. It was cast by a stronger magician, who had every reason to keep me trapped until she could wipe my mind. But if I could push it aside… an idea crossed my mind, and I performed a simple summoning charm, drawing a piece of chat parchment to my hands. It wasn’t easy to press it against my bare skin — my hands were clenched so hard I knew I was going to be aching for days afterwards — but I made it. The charms on the parchment were strikingly simple. I’d cast them myself, when we’d been experimenting with a self-updating broadsheet. If I could use them to wriggle through the charm holding me in place…

The spell broke. I collapsed in a heap, my muscles cramping violently. More proof, if I’d needed it, that Juliet was a sadist. It would have been kinder to simply freeze me completely until she returned. Safer, too. If she didn’t account for the cramps somehow, I’d start wondering why I’d cramped, and the entire memory spell would start to unravel. It was hard, so hard, to pick myself off the floor and stagger to my feet. I had to hurry. If I was still in her room when she returned, I’d leave with a slice gapped out of my memory.

My heart sank. If she was right — if the Grandmaster really would cover up the whole affair — I might end up losing my memory anyway. Anger flowed through me, followed by grim resolution. There couldn’t be a cover-up if the truth was already out, could there? If I took a leaf from Juliet’s book and gambled, if I made sure they learnt the truth in a manner they couldn’t ignore…

This is either a crazy idea or a brilliant one, I thought, as I slipped through the door. And I’m about to find out which it is.

7

There was no sign of anyone, not even a groupie, as I made my way into the sporting halls directly linked to the arena, but I slowed and tried to be as stealthy as possible just in case. I felt sure unseen eyes were following me, their owners possibly wondering why I — as unsporting a girl who had ever lived — was down here. I’d never felt comfortable in this place. I’d dropped sports as soon as I could. Yet, it was the only way to get to the arena without being spotted. I wasn’t even sure I could get onto the field from the stands.

And someone might stop you before it is too late, I thought, as I inched forward. The dampening spells were strong, but I heard the roar of the crowd echo through the walls. I wondered, idly, if Juliet was winning or losing. The Grandmaster wouldn’t be refereeing this match, not with all the spotters in the stands. If I can’t get onto the field…

Ice congealed in my chest. I did my best to ignore it as I reached the locker rooms. The players had gathered there, drinking water and practicing their spells while running through the game plan one final time. The air stank of sweat, of too many hard-working men and women in too close of a proximity. I felt a twinge of sympathy for the players, even though most of them were jerks. They were going to be asked a lot of questions when the truth came out, and, even though I was sure they didn’t have the slightest idea of what was going on, they were going to be in deep shit. I heard the crowd roar again, jeering a player who’d been sent to the Sin Bin. I wondered, numbly, if they’d cheer for me.

Will they praise me for revealing the truth, I asked myself, or hate me for tattling?

My heart sank. I hesitated. If I kept my mouth shut… I could take precautions, make sure Juliet couldn’t wipe my memory, perhaps even strike a deal with the Grandmaster to keep the truth from coming out. It wouldn’t be that hard… I shivered, despite the warmth. If I did…

The crowd roared again. I swallowed, then braced myself. I had to go through with the plan. Not just for justice. Not just to spite Juliet. Not even for the crowd, cheering loudly for games that had been decided well before the players marched onto the field, but for the truth. The truth had to come out. The world needed to know what was actually going on. And all it would cost me was…

I slipped my hands under my shirt and pulled it off. My breasts bobbled free. I’d never been particularly well-endowed, but… it would draw the eye. I flushed as I pushed my trousers and underwear to my knees — I’d found it hard to undress in front of my roommates, and here I was undressing in public — and stepped out of them. No one would ever be able to forget this day, no matter what Juliet and the Grandmaster and anyone else did. They’d all remember me.

I braced myself, threw open the door and ran onto the field.

There’d been no time to recon the players first. I had no idea who was where. It didn’t matter. All I had to do was get to the referees — and the Grandmaster — before it was too late.

The world seemed to freeze, a moment of total silence, before the noise broke. Boys hooted, hollered and whistled; girls gasped in shock; tutors snapping orders to avert eyes, orders I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt would not be followed. The arena’s wards were designed to block outside interference, even from the teachers. No one outside the field itself would be able to stop me, as far as I knew. They wouldn’t even be able to block everyone else from looking at me. The wards were designed to make it impossible.

I had a series of impressions as I ran. Players scrambled to get out of my way, some gawking at me; team captains scowled while casting spells, all of which missed me… I was fairly sure some of them were deliberately aiming to miss. A flash of light behind me… I later learned someone had tried to hex me, only to be hexed herself by Blair. The bastard wanted to watch my bare ass as I ran… I kept running, ducking a final set of hexes, until I reached the referees. The two outsiders glanced from side to side, as if they didn’t know quite where to look. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so serious.

The Grandmaster was pissed. “Young Lady,” he said, in a tone that would have chilled me to the bone if I hadn’t had so many other problems. “What is the meaning of this?”

I met his eyes, muttering a spell under my breath that would ensure my words carried across the arena without being deafeningly loud. It occurred to me — too late — that the spell might not work inside the wards, but this was no time to stop. I was going to go down in history, either as the brave reporter who’d exposed a cheating ring or the silly girl who’d flashed the entire school. I’d been committed the moment I worked out what Juliet had been doing…

“The game is rigged,” I said. The Grandmaster might want to cover it up, but with two outside witnesses and the entire school watching it would be impossible. I hoped. “They’re playing to lose!”

“I gave her detention this afternoon,” Juliet said. I tried not to flinch. How had she come up behind me without me noticing? “Sir, this is just her petty and spiteful revenge.”

The Grandmaster eyed me for a long cold moment, his eyes never slipping below my neck. It would have been impressive, and amusing, if the situation wasn’t so dire. I couldfeel hundreds of eyes lingering on my rear… one way or the other, no one was ever going to forget me. Juliet could take her final gambit to hide the truth and stuff it up her…

“I have proof,” I said, gabbling out the details as fast as I could. “She’s been betting against her own team and…”

Juliet’s hand darted up. Time seemed to slow down; the world moving in slow motion even as my thoughts raced ahead at lightning speed. Juliet was playing one final gamble. No one would blame her for striking me down for slander, despite the age difference. The curse she was preparing to cast would not just stun me, but scramble my short-term memories to the point I wouldn’t be able to swear to anything. And no one would fault her for blasting me, not after I’d smeared her in front of hundreds of witnesses. She might just get away with it.

I tried to muster a defence, to raise my wards, but everything was moving painfully slow…

Juliet’s body flashed blue and froze. “That will do,” the Grandmaster said. “The charges will be investigated. And the truth will come out.”

He raised his voice. “The game is over. Players are to return to the locker rooms and remain there. The audience is dismissed.”

I blinked in surprise, then reminded myself there were just too many witnesses. The Grandmaster had to make a show of investigating the charges, no matter how much he wanted to bury the whole affair. Hell, the outsiders might want to run their own investigation as a quid pro quo for readmitting Whitehall into the leagues. The last thing anyone wanted was a public cheating scandal. The leagues had quite enough problems already.

The Grandmaster looked at me. I felt his magic shimmer. A dress materialised around me, covering me. I felt a strange mixture of fear at the sheer display of power — conjuring matter from nothingness was a very impressive feat, even though the material felt paper-thin, and I was uneasily aware it wouldn’t last long — and defiance. Just because someone had power didn’t mean they had great responsibility. In my experience, power brought nothing but irresponsibility.

“Go to my office, wait for me there,” he ordered. I guessed I could keep the dress. “And no excursions along the way.”

I nodded, curtly, and stumbled out of the arena. The adrenaline was wearing off, and it was slowly starting to dawn on me what I’d done. I’d shown myself to the entire school… it was unlikely anyone had been considering me potential marriage material, after my father’s rather dubious origins, but if they had, they sure as hell weren’t now. I knew I wasn’t the most attractive girl in the world — Juliet was much more of a classical beauty — and yet I knew boys didn’t discriminate. They’d be teasing me for years. Or selling paintings of my naked body as I ran for justice.

The thought tormented me as I walked up the stairs and into the office. The doors opened for me and shut the moment I stepped through, the wards slipping into place. I felt like a prisoner, awaiting her judge. The Grandmaster couldn’t kill me or wipe my memory — or so I told myself — but he had plenty of other ways to make my life miserable. It wouldn’t be that hard to come up with an argument that proved me guilty of something… probably. Using spells to strip an unsuspecting victim was against the rules, and harshly punished whenever it happened, but I’d stripped myself. Could he punish me for offences against my person? I didn’t know.

I sat and waited. It felt like hours — days, weeks, months — before the door opened behind me, and the Grandmaster stepped into the office. His face was so tightly composed I knew he was angry, although it didn’t seem directed at me. I forced myself to sit up and look attentive as he took his seat and rested his hands on the desk. It couldn’t have been an easy few hours for him, either. The outsiders, I was sure, would have asked a lot of pointed questions about why no one had spotted the pattern sooner.

“Juliet” — I noticed he omitted her title — “was interrogated under truth spells,” he said, slowly. “She tried hard to conceal the truth, but it came out. We know — now — that she was the only sports captain involved. Her accomplice, a first-year student, was bullied into helping her.”

I nodded, stiffly. Juliet was — had been, I hoped — important and powerful. There was no way in hell a mere common-born firstie could stand up to her, no matter what she wanted. If she tried, her life would become a nightmare…

“Please,” I said. “Go easy on her.”

The Grandmaster frowned. “On Juliet?”

“On the firstie,” I said. I knew what it was like to be picked on by someone who thought power or birth gave them the right to boss me around. “Juliet wouldn’t have given her a choice.”

“No.” The Grandmaster studied me for a long moment. I thought I saw a flicker of approval in his eyes. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. “I will do what I can to keep her name out of the affair. The betting shops knew nothing about the affair and cared less, as long as they got their money. There’s no reason for anyone to know what she was doing and why. She will get a stern lecture, but nothing further. I don’t think she’ll cause any further trouble.”

I nodded, feeling a twinge of relief. “Thank you.”

“And that leaves us with two final questions,” Grandmaster Gordian said. “First, why did you… run naked across the field? Why didn’t you bring the word to me?”

“I…” I swallowed. “Can I refuse to answer the question?”

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Gordian said, in a pleasant tone that carried a hint of threat. He could use truth spells on me, too, if he wished. “Please.”

“Juliet insisted you’d cover up and bury the whole affair, if you could,” I said, bracing myself for… something. If he took it as an insult… I hoped, desperately, there were people who’d draw the right conclusions, after my disappearance, and asked the right questions. “I wanted to make sure it couldn’t be buried forever.”

The Grandmaster looked pained. “And so we see her essential immaturity. Nothing ever remains buried forever. The truth would have come out, sooner or later, and I would have been disgraced. To admit my choice for Captain-General, and the student most likely to have a successful career in the sporting leagues, had been cheating would be embarrassing, but the consequences for covering it up would have been a great deal worse.”

He sighed. “Still, she is by no means the first person to think authority will put expedience ahead of practicality,” she said. “Or to follow short-term interests at the expense of long-term stability.”

“Why…?” I took a breath and started again. “Why did she do it?”

“Money.” The Grandmaster looked down at his hands. “Money and reputation. She thought she could portray herself as more than just a team captain, but as someone who uplifted all the teams. And she might have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for a meddling student and some bad luck.”

He met my eyes. “And that leads to a second question,” he said. “What should we do with you? Besides, I suppose, a stern reprimand for being improperly dressed?”

I flushed but refused to allow myself to be distracted. “I want my broadsheet back,” I said, firmly. “And I want official accreditation and complete editorial freedom.”

“Indeed?” The Grandmaster raised his eyebrows. “And you don’t think there should be consequences for misdeeds? Deeds like spying on private meetings and poking through private property? Or even printing something that isn’t actually true, or taken out of context, or even deliberately misleading?”

“Yes,” I said. “But those consequences shouldn’t be used to silence the truth, when it is embarrassing or awkward for those in power. And if…”

I took a breath. “If I hadn’t been so devoted to the truth, sir, Juliet would have gotten away with her scheme long enough for it to be a serious embarrassment when it really came out. What would have happened then?”

“Point.” The Grandmaster leaned back in his chair. “And I take it you intend to run with the story of how you exposed Juliet first?”

“Yes.” I looked back at him evenly. “If I don’t, I’ll be remembered as something else instead.”

“Quite,” the Grandmaster said.

He said nothing for a long moment, then leaned forward. “Two conditions,” he said. “First, I expect you to come up with a proper code of conduct, both for what you consider fit to print and how you go about collecting the news. You may not have broken any written rules over the last few weeks, but you broke a number of unwritten rules and that will come back to haunt you if you keep doing it. Second, I expect you to make room for others to join your broadsheet staff or, if they wish, to set up broadsheets of their own.”

“Yes, sir,” I managed. It was better than I’d expected. “I’ll do you proud.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “And I hope, I really do, that you got what you wanted.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

more or less, was how The Whitehall Times became a permanent part of the school.

It wasn’t easy. I wrote the story — a detailed exposé of Juliet, who was never seen again after her family withdrew her before she could be expelled — and printed it for everyone to read. It seemed, for a time, as though everyone wanted to become a reporter, submitting stories and ideas for stories and articles on subjects from the sensible to the mind-numbingly boring. I had problems sorting out the truly interested from those who just wanted to jump on the bandwagon — ironically, Juliet’s first-year accomplice became one of the former — and wound up assigning make-work tasks in a bid to keep staff numbers manageable. We went back and forth from one edition a week to three a week and then back again, as sales went up in the wake of the scandal before falling back to their original levels.

But hey, we could support ourselves. I never had to ask for money from the school.

It wasn’t so easy for me either. Everyone knew what I’d done to make sure no one could bury the truth and whispers followed me wherever I went, both about the streaking and about how I’d spied on Juliet’s meetings. My father was proud of me — he understood how far one had to go, sometimes, to get the truth out — but everyone else? Not so much. I was in the odd position of being both adored and admired and yet shunned and loathed, a person everyone wanted to know and yet didn’t want anywhere near them. They invited me to their gatherings and yet kept their mouths firmly closed, whenever I was near. It shouldn’t have surprised me — my father got the same treatment, in town — and yet it did.

They’re happy I exposed Juliet as a cheating fraud, I thought sourly, one evening. A great many things had happened, between then and now, yet my treatment hadn’t changed. But they’re also concerned about what I might expose about them.

And they gave me a nickname, one I wore as a badge of honour.

Muckraker.