Fallen Magic

We’re caught up in working on the statement for long enough that we nearly miss our next class, Magical Law and Culture. Fortunately its teacher, a young man with scruffy dark hair who introduces himself simply as Sam, doesn’t seem to mind our arriving seconds before the lesson starts and somewhat out of breath.

“So!” says Sam. “I’ll give our new students a shortened version of the introductory speech. This class and its syllabus, as decreed by the Board of Governors, are boring as a starless sky.”

Great, he’s that kind of teacher, desperate enough to relate to his students that he takes the stars in vain.

“Fortunately for you, I don’t believe in memorising facts and details as a way of learning. My classes will involve a lot of discussion, which you are expected to contribute to. Raise your hand if you have a question or something to contribute, and remember there is no such thing as a stupid question!”

There is very much such a thing as a stupid question.

“Now, since we have a future Royal Magician – at least one, I should say – here, I thought it would be good to start our study of that today. Who can tell me what the Royal Magicians are? Yes, Daniel?”

So that’s Cute-Blond-Boy’s name. It suits him. “They’re the king’s magical advisors.”

“That’s correct, but could you expand a bit more on that?”

“They…” Daniel hesitates a little. “Don’t they investigate unexplained magical events? And I think they sit in Parliament?”

“Right on both counts! Yes, the Royal Magicians have the title of Lord, which entitles them to a Parliamentary seat, and investigating unexplained magical events is indeed one of their responsibilities, as well as sitting on the High Council and advising the King on magical matters. Who can tell me any of their other responsibilities? Elsie?”

Elsie mumbles something too quiet for me to hear.

“Speak up a bit, would you?”

“They maintain the wards on the City,” Elsie says, only a little louder.

“Yes, that’s right! It’s their duty to make sure that the wards are intact and working as intended, and they are also in charge of the wards that protect Parliament, the Central Bank and the Abbey Royal. Not, however, the Round Palace. Can anyone tell me why?”

Edward sighs a little, and after a moment I realise what Sam is leading towards and why it would frustrate him. I raise my hand, but Sam has already called on Mildred.

“It would give them too much power,” she says. “Control of the Round Palace ward network would make it trivially easy to act against the King.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it. Even now people are very wary of giving too much power to any one magician, particularly – “ he breaks off with a glance at Edward.

“I won’t be offended if you say Blackthorns,” Edward says flatly. “Though for the record my father has no designs on the throne.”

“Duly noted,” says Sam, sounding if anything slightly amused. “Now, how are Royal Magicians appointed?”

I raise my hand; I’ve encountered this a few times in my extra-curricular reading.

“Yes, Tallulah?”

“A Royal Magician is entitled to choose their own successor, with the approval of the King, and the chosen successor takes office when their predecessor either dies or retires. Though retirement isn’t usual, I think.”

“What restrictions are there on the choice?”

“Well, it has to be a qualified magician of the same School, and a citizen of Rasin of course, but other than that... I don’t think there are any?”

“No, there aren’t, which – yes, Jake?”

“Isn’t it different for the Blackthorns, though? Because Siaril is hereditary?”

“I’ll defer to the representative of that family here, Edward?”

“No, the same rules apply. It’s just that given the option people tend to prefer family to follow in their footsteps, and somewhere along the line it became enough of a tradition for the position to stay in the family that it might as well be the law. We don’t always follow strict inheritance structures, though – that’s actually why I’m planning to succeed my father, despite the fact my cousin is the daughter of his older brother. She doesn’t want the job.”

And you do? I would have asked that if it were just the two of us, but that’s not a conversation for the middle of a lesson.

Besides, of course he wants the job. It’s what he’s good at, what he’s been preparing for his entire life.

Just like I want to be a lawyer.

Sometimes what you tell yourself you want isn’t the same as what you really want.

So what, I ask myself, do I really want?

I don’t have an answer, and while I’m lost in wondering about it Sam has moved on to a discussion of the rights and privileges that come with being a Royal Magician. Mildred knows the precise annual salary the position earns, which is more than the tuition fees for five years at Genford plus the cost of our house. That explains something about where the Blackthorns’ money came from, if they’ve held the position for centuries.

The rest of the class are looking at Edward in a new light. Everyone knows that the richest people in the Kingdom earn more money in a day than the poorest could hope to make in a lifetime, but something about sitting in the same classroom as someone who will one day be richer than anyone’s wildest dreams makes it feel a lot less fair.

“This is substantially higher than the money paid to any minister or general for their services to the Kingdom,” Sam says. “Why is that? Jake?”

Jake is the boy who sits next to Daniel, tall and broad-shouldered. “Well – I mean – it’s not really the same thing, is it?”

“Elaborate?”

“Ministers and generals, they’re very important but they’re not nobility like the Royal Magicians. Well, a lot of them are, but not because of being a minister or general.”

“That’s true, but most nobles have private incomes as large as that, which would mean they don’t really need – “

I raise my hand.

“Tallulah?”

“It’s because they can’t own land. Wait, no,” I correct myself, having started talking before the thought was fully formed. “Can’t be landlords. That was one of the terms of the settlement after the Second Civil War, that no magician can charge others to live on their property. It nearly provoked another Civil War, given how many powerful magical families objected to it, but Charles the Ruthless – “

“Yes,” Sam interrupts, “thank you. This class is meant to cover the present state of affairs, fascinating though the history of this kingdom is.”

“Sorry,” I say, and shut my mouth firmly.

“Having said that, you are correct. The vast majority of an ordinary noble’s income will come from rents and taxes paid to them by those living on their land, and magicians are barred from that form of income. A lot of the old Siaril families faded from high society because of that, and those that survive do so mainly by the production of enchanted items or otherwise using their magic for profit. And we’ll discuss that in a few weeks.”

It's a good lesson, in the end: I’m surprised how much I find myself enjoying it. Sam isn’t anywhere near as bad as I thought from his introduction. Maybe he should be the one I talk to about Electra? He seems the most approachable so far.

Countering Magical Effects is our final lesson of today, and everyone is at least a little nervous, to judge by the whispers that run through the group as we walk through the corridors together. I’m extremely nervous.

Mildred steps into the small gap Edward and I have left between us. “Edward!” she says. “It’s so nice to see you again!”

“A pleasure,” Edward agrees in a neutral tone.

“I wondered if I might give you this?” She hands him a small letter in a cream-coloured envelope, and while he’s opening it asks “How have you both been finding classes so far?”

“Quite fun, actually,” I admit. “I didn’t expect to enjoy magic as much as I did.”

Edward removes a small card from the envelope, studies it for a second and then says “I’m sorry, but I have a prior engagement.”

“Oh?” asks Mildred archly.

“Yes – yes, I promised Tallulah I’d show her the City that afternoon.”

Edward promised me no such thing on any afternoon. Still, if he doesn’t want to accept Mildred’s invitation but can’t just tell her that – “Yes, he did, but we can – “ I shut up quickly.

“My apologies,” Edward says blandly.

“Such a pity. Your presence will be sorely missed.”

And then we’re outside Electra’s classroom, which puts an end to the conversation. We file in without speaking and make our way to our desks, Edward and I claiming one at the front despite this being one of the few classes in which I’d much prefer to sit at the back.

I was half-expecting Electra’s classroom to have the same black décor as her office, but it seems… ordinary. That’s almost more unsettling than the blackness. There’s no sign of her, though we are a minute or two early.

Edward slides the card Mildred gave him across the table to me. I take it and study it closely: in large, elegant loopy handwriting, Lord Cavendish and his daughter cordially invite the Honourable Edward Blackthorn to their annual Harvest Ball, to be held on the eighth day of the Hunter’s Moon – that’s this Sunday, only three days away.

And he’s prepared to lie to get out of it.

“Sorry,” he says in a barely audible whisper. “I’ll explain later.”

I nod once and slide the card back to him.

I’ve only been in this class for a few hours, but I’ve started to get used to the sound of half a dozen different conversations at different desks in these minutes before class starts. That’s what makes the utter silence that fills the room now so eerie. They’re terrified of Electra.

So am I, a little.

The clock in the corner ticks as if it’s desperately trying to fill the silence by becoming ever louder.

And then Electra appears, sitting relaxed in her chair at the front of the room with one ankle resting on the opposite knee. I don’t dare ask Edward, but I’m reasonably sure that whatever a Garnett network actually is, it can’t do something like that.

She stands slowly, as if savouring our dread – no, she is savouring our dread, that’s what she does. “Good afternoon,” she drawls. “I am… pleased to see you all made it on time.”

The emphasis she puts on that word suggests she wants nothing more than for someone to not make it on time so that she can make them pay for it in some creatively painful way.

Stars, she’s acting like the villain of a copper-tale, and that’s not even the most annoying part: that’s the fact that it’s working.

“Now,” Electra continues, her gaze drifting over the class and occasionally fixing on one of us, “since you are all such diligent students, I have no doubt that you have all completed your assigned reading and are prepared to answer questions on it.”

I haven’t completed the assigned reading. I don’t even know what the assigned reading is supposed to be. Electra knows I can’t have had time to do it yet, it would be horribly unfair for her to pick on me about it.

The problem is that I don’t think it being horribly unfair would stop her.

“Or… would anyone care to correct me?”

The silence returns, with an even more dangerous edge to it.

I raise my hand.

“Tallulah,” says Electra. “You have not completed the assigned reading?”

What was I thinking a second ago? This is a bad idea, I should have just kept my head down and hoped she wouldn’t call on me, anything is better than having her looking at me like this –

“No, ma’am. I haven’t.”

Another long moment of silence. Then, slowly, she smiles. “Of course you haven’t. I doubt anyone who slept last night could have in the time you’ve had available. And for future reference? Don’t call me ma’am. If you must go in for formal titles, I much prefer Your Darkness.”

Someone bursts into choking laughter. I realise to my horror that it’s me.

Oh, stars. What have I got myself into?

Once I’ve controlled myself, I glance over at Edward, hoping for some reassurance that he finds this as crazy as I do, but he doesn’t notice me: he’s staring fixedly at a point a few feet behind and to the left of Electra.

Surely he wouldn’t be seriously rattled by any of this – I mean, nervous, yes, but something she said has really got to him. I can’t understand what, though: she barely said anything that wasn’t villain-speak and he’s smart enough to realise that can’t be real.

Can it?