Gennady's Tale

Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gennady swallowed hard and stood, walking slowly towards the bed. His thoughts ran in circles. It was a trap. It might be a trap. It was a trap ... he felt like a hungry dog snapping at a tantalising piece of meat, too hungry to care that it might be poisoned or snatched away before he could take a bite. His heart pounded as he brushed against the wards, suddenly aware that Charlus could come back at any moment. The aristocrat would be merciless if he caught Gennady poking around his bed. He’d had no qualms about hexing Gennady’s bed, but ... he’d be outraged if Gennady did it to him. And yet ...

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

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

He shuddered, then ran his hands over the bedding. It didn’t feel superior to the school’s, but ... he snorted. Half the fun of buying expensive things, he’d noticed, was being able to say that one had them. Charlus was certainly given to bragging about his wealth and possessions, from an entire stable of horses to a giant vault of gold. Simon suggested they didn’t exist, but Gennady feared they did. Charlus certainly had no qualms about throwing money around as if it were water.

The drawers under the bed were locked and warded shut. Gennady examined the spells, then decided there was no point trying to take them down. Charlus had done too good a job. He’d made sure that Gennady, at least, couldn’t break in before it was too late. Gennady shrugged, then stared at the bed. There was nothing, save for the books. Perhaps he could take them or ... he cursed under his breath. He’d put himself at risk, for what? There was nothing worth stealing or destroying, nothing that wouldn’t lead Charlus right to him. And yet ...

He shaped a spell in his mind, then placed it just underneath Charlus’s pillow. The spell wasn’t undetectable, but ... would Charlus think to look? Tradition be damned ... neither Gennady nor Simon had had the nerve to booby-trap Charlus’s bed. Gennady found himself shaking as he slipped back, careful not to move too fast as he passed through the gossamer-thin wards and returned to his bed. The spell seemed too bright, too powerful, to pass unnoticed. And yet, he knew where to look. Charlus might not. He shouldn’t have any reason to think he should.

Gennady lay on his bed, his thoughts spinning in circles as he waited. It wouldn’t be long before Charlus—and Simon—returned. They wouldn’t want to be caught outside after Lights Out, certainly not before the older students and tutors had gone to bed themselves. Sneaking around the school after dark was another tradition, but so was harsh punishment for anyone stupid enough to be caught. Gennady wished, despite himself, that he could risk it for himself. But he didn’t dare be caught outside by the wrong people.

The spell would work, wouldn’t it? A little of his own back ... the thought was tempting, tantalising. And yet, he feared what would happen when the spell wore off. Charlus would know who’d cast it, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t easy for someone to enter a bedroom without an invitation, unless they happened to be one of the roommates. The handful of students who could were Charlus’s friends. Gennady and Simon didn’t have any other friends. Gennady felt his heart pounding as the seconds ticked by, each one feeling like an hour. He wanted to leave the spell in place, yet ... he also wanted to remove it before it was too late. He’d known too many people like Charlus. The bullies always seemed to take it as a personal affront if anyone dared fight back.

I can stop Hogarth now, Gennady told himself. A flick of my finger and he’ll never hurt anyone again.

The door opened. Gennady’s heart seemed to skip a beat as Charlus strode into the room, his face an angry mask. Gennady almost opened his mouth to say something, although he had no idea what. If Charlus was angry ... Gennady knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Who knew? Maybe the girl had turned him down. Or one of his social equals had challenged his petty cruelty. No, that wasn’t likely to happen. There were a handful of other senior aristocrats amongst the younger students, but none of them would go out on a limb for Gennady or Simon. Or even for Lyndred.

Charlus banged the door closed, glared at Gennady and marched straight into the bathroom. Gennady waited, bracing himself as he heard the sound of running water. Perhaps Charlus had struck out after all. Or ... his thoughts seemed to slow down as Charlus returned, stamped over to his bed and sat down. A moment later, there was a brilliant flash of light, bright enough to make Gennady cover his eyes. He blinked, staring at Charlus’s bed. There was a frog sitting where the aristocrat had been. Charlus ... Charlus had been caught by the spell.

It worked. Gennady couldn’t help giggling. It worked ...

The frog seemed to blur, the green form wavering weirdly until Charlus snapped back to normal. Charlus blinked in shock, then turned to stare at Gennady. Gennady felt his heart stop, just for a second, as the aristocrat jumped to his feet. Charlus was not going to let this insult go unpunished. And yet ... he’d done it. He’d struck a blow against his tormentor. It wasn’t hopeless! It really wasn’t hopeless.

Charlus unbuckled his belt. “Stand up,” he said. “Drop trousers.”

Gennady blanched. “No,” he said. He wasn’t going to submit. Not again. He certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for the bastard. “I ...”

“Fine,” Charlus snarled. “We’ll do it the hard way.”

Magic flared over his hand and launched itself at Gennady. Gennady felt his body twist painfully as the magic tore through him, binding him to the bed. Charlus stalked over and brought his belt down hard on Gennady’s back. Gennady bit his lip to keep from screaming, before realising that screaming might be the best thing he could do. Charlus hit him again and again, the pain merging into a wave of pure agony ...

“Never do that again,” Charlus growled. “Never.”

I got you, Gennady thought. I got you...

He gritted his teeth as Charlus turned and walked away. His back was in utter agony. He’d been beaten before, but ... this was different. He tried to tell himself that he’d won a victory, of sorts, yet ... it was hard to convince himself it was true. Sure, he’d discomfited Charlus. He’d struck a lucky blow. And yet, Charlus had recovered and beaten the crap out of him. Hogarth couldn’t have done a better job. Gennady’s stomach turned. He’d always thought he was physically stronger than Charlus. Now he thought that wasn’t true.

I made him jump, at least, he told himself. But now he’s going to be worse.

And, he discovered over the next few days, he was right.