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.