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.
Chapter 4
“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.”