The Muckracker's Tale

Chapter 1

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.”