Carry On (9 page)

I can't see him—I can't see anything—but there's
someone
in the room with me.

“Penny?”

Maybe it's the Mage again. Or the Humdrum! Or that thing I dreamt I saw by the window last night, which I'm only now remembering …

I've never been attacked in my room before—this would be a first.

I sit up and turn on the lights without trying. That happens sometimes, with small spells, when I'm stressed. It's not supposed to. Penny thinks it might be like telepathy, skipping the words to get straight to the goal.

I still don't see anything, though I think I hear a rustling sound and a sort of moaning. The windows are both open. I get up and look outside, then close them. I check under the beds. I risk an
“Olly olly oxen free!”
—then a
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
that sends all my clothes flying out of the wardrobe. I'll put them away tomorrow.

I go back to bed, shivering. It's cold. And I still don't feel alone.

 

15

SIMON

Baz isn't in our room when I wake up.

*   *   *

I look for him in the dining hall at breakfast, but he's not there either.

His name is called during my first lesson—Greek with the Minotaur. (Our teacher's name is Professor Minos; we call him the Minotaur because he's half-man, half-bull.)

He calls out Baz's name four times. “Tyrannus Pitch? Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?”

Agatha and I look around the room, then at each other.

Baz is supposed to be in Political Science with me, too. Penny makes me take Political Science; she thinks I might end up a leader someday after I beat the Humdrum.

I'd be happy to spend my days helping Ebb herd goats if I live through the Humdrum, but Political Science is interesting enough, so I take it every year.

Baz always takes it, too. Probably because he expects to reclaim the throne someday …

Baz's family used to run everything before the Mage came to power.

Magicians don't have kings and queens, but the Pitches are the nearest thing we have to a royal family—they probably would have crowned themselves at some point if they'd ever expected anyone to challenge their authority.

Baz's mum was the headmistress at Watford before the Mage, which made her the most important person in magic. (There's a hall near the Mage's office with portraits of previous headmasters; it's like a Pitch family tree.) It was actually her death that changed everything—that brought the Mage to power.

When the Humdrum killed Headmistress Pitch by sending vampires into Watford, everyone saw that the World of Mages
had
to change. We couldn't just keep on as we were, letting the Humdrum and the dark creatures pick us off one by one.

We had to get organized.

We had to think about defence.

The Mage was elected Mage, head of the Coven, in an emergency session, and he was also made Watford's interim headmaster. (That's technically still his title.) He immediately started his reforms.

Whether he's been successful or not depends on who you ask.…

The Humdrum's still out there.

But nobody's died on school grounds since the Mage took over. And I'm still alive, so I guess I'm inclined to say he's doing a good job.

A few years ago, we had to write essays for Poli Sci about the Mage's ascendancy. Baz's practically called for revolt. (Which took bottle, I thought. Demanding that your headmaster step down in the text of a school assignment.)

Baz has always played a strange game: publicly expressing his family's politics—which are basically “Down with the Mage! Peacefully and legally!”—like he has nothing to hide, while his family leads an actual covert, dangerous war against us.

If you ask the Pitches why they hate the Mage, they start talking about “the old ways” and “our magickal heritage” and “intellectual freedom.”

But everyone knows they just want to be in charge again. They want Watford to go back to the way it used to be—a place for only the most rich and the most powerful.

The Mage
eliminated
school fees when he took over, and threw out the oral presentations and power trials to get in. Literally anyone who can speak with magic can attend Watford now, no matter their strength or skill—even if they're half troll on their mother's side or more mermaid than mage. The school had to build another hall of residence, Fraternity House, just to make room for everybody.

“Can't be too picky with cannon fodder”
is Baz's take on the reforms.

He just hates being treated like another student, instead of the heir apparent. If his mother were still headmistress, he'd probably get his own room and whatever else he wanted.…

I shouldn't think like that. It's awful that his mum died. Just because I've never had parents doesn't mean I can't understand how much it would hurt to lose one.

Baz doesn't show up to Political Science, so I keep an eye on his best friend, Niall, instead. Niall doesn't flinch when Baz's name is called, but he looks over at me, like he's trying to say he knows I'm onto them and that he gives exactly zero fucks.

I corner Niall after our lesson: “Where is he?”

“Your dick? Haven't seen it. Have you asked Ebb?”

(Honestly. I'm not sure why goatherds take such crap for being perverts. Cowboys seem to get off scot-free.)

“Where's Baz?” I say.

Niall tries to get past me, but I'm impossible to get past if I make the effort. It's not that I'm big—I'm just bold. And when people look at me, they tend to see everything I've killed before.

Niall stops and hikes his bag up on his shoulder. He's a pale, weedy boy with brown eyes that he spells a muddy blue. Waste of magic. He sneers: “What's it to you, Snow?”

“He's my roommate.”

“I'd think you'd be enjoying the solitude.”

“I am.”

“So?”

I step out of Niall's way. “If he's planning something, I'll find out,” I say. “I always do.”

“So noted.”

“I mean it!” I shout after him.

“Your sincerity is also noted!”

*   *   *

By dinner, I'm so antsy that I'm tearing my Yorkshire pudding to shreds while I eat. (Yorkshire pudding. Roast beef. Gravy. It's what we have for dinner every year on the first day of the term. I'll never forget my first Watford dinner—my eyes nearly popped out when Cook Pritchard brought out the trays of roast beef. I didn't care if magic was real at that moment. Because roast beef and Yorkshire pudding are fucking real as rain.)

“He might just be on holiday or something,” Penny says.

“Why would he still be on holiday?”

“His family travels,” Agatha offers.

Oh, really?
I want to say.
Is that what you talk about alone in the woods? Your shared love of travel?
I rip off a chunk of bread and knock over my milk. Penny winces.

“He wouldn't miss school,” I say, picking up my glass. Penny spells the milk away. “He cares too much about school.”

Nobody argues with me. Baz has always ranked first in our class. Penny used to give him a run for his money, but being my sidekick eventually affected her grades.
“I'm not your sidekick,”
she likes to say.
“I'm your dread companion.”

“Maybe,” she suggests now, “his family has decided to stop pretending that we're all at peace. Eighth year is optional anyway. In the old days, lots of people left after seventh. Maybe the Pitches have decided to get serious.”

“Go to the mattresses,” I say.

“Exactly.”

“Against the Mage and me? Or the Humdrum?”

“I don't know,” Penny says. “I always thought the Pitches would just sit back and watch both sides destroy each other.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean, Simon—the Old Families don't want the Humdrum to win. But they don't mind him beating the Mage down. They'll wait to attack when they think the Mage is weak.”

“When they think
I'm
weak.”

“Same difference.”

Agatha is staring over at the table where Baz usually sits. Niall and Dev, another of Baz's friends—his cousin or something—are sitting next to each other, talking with their heads close.

“I don't think Baz dropped out,” she says.

Penny, sitting across from us, leans into Agatha's line of sight. “Do you know something? What did Baz tell you?”

Agatha looks down at her plate. “He didn't tell me anything.”

“He must have told you something,” Penny says. “You talked to him last.”

I clench my teeth.
“Penelope,”
I say without unclenching them.

“I don't care if you two have agreed to move on.” She waves her hand at Agatha and me. “This is important. Agatha, you know Baz better than any of us. What did he tell you?”

“She doesn't know him better than I do,” I argue. “I live with him.”

“Fine, Simon, what did he tell
you
?”

“Nothing to make me think he'd drop out of school and miss a whole year of making me miserable!”

“He doesn't even have to be here to do that,” Agatha mutters.

This pisses me off, even though I was thinking the same thing myself, just yesterday.

“I'm done,” I say. “I'm going up to my room. To enjoy the solitude.”

Penny sighs. “Calm down, Simon. Don't punish us just because you're feeling confused.
We
haven't done anything.” She glances over at Agatha and tilts her head. “Well,
I
haven't.…”

Agatha stands up, too. “I've got homework.”

We walk together to the door, then she turns off for the Cloisters.

“Agatha!” I call out.

But I don't say it until she's too far away to hear.

*   *   *

I have the room to myself, and I can't even enjoy it, because Baz's empty bed just seems sinister now.

I summon the Sword of Mages and practise my form on his side of the room. He hates that.

 

16

SIMON

Baz isn't at breakfast the next morning. Or the next.

He isn't in class.

The football team starts practising, and someone else takes his place.

After a week, the teachers stop saying his name when they take attendance.

I trail Niall and Dev for a few days, but they don't seem to have Baz hidden away in a barn.…

I know I should be happy about Baz being gone—it's what I've always said I wanted, to be free of him—but it seems so …
wrong.
People don't just disappear like this.

Baz wouldn't.

Baz is … indelible. He's a human grease stain. (Mostly human.)

Three weeks into the term, I still find myself walking by the pitch, expecting to see him at football practice, and when I don't, I take a hard turn out into the hills behind the school.

I hear Ebb shout at me before I see her. “Hiya, Simon—ahoy!”

She's sitting above me a ways in the grass, with a goat curled up in her lap.

Ebb spends most of her time out in the hills when the weather is good. Sometimes she lets the goats roam the school grounds—she says they take care of weeds and predatory plants. The predatory plants at Watford will actually take you down if they get a chance; they're magic. The goats aren't, though. I asked Ebb once if the magic hurts the goats when they eat it. “They're goats, Simon,” she said. “They can eat anything.”

When I get closer, I see that Ebb's eyes are red. She wipes them with the sleeve of her jumper. It's an old Watford school jumper, faded from red to pink and stained brown around the neck and wrists.

If it were anybody else, I'd worry. But Ebb is kind of a weeper. She's like Eeyore if Eeyore hung out with goats all the time instead of letting Pooh and Piglet cheer him up.

It gets on Penelope's nerves, all the crying, but I don't mind. The thing about Ebb is, she never tells anybody else to keep their chin up or look on the bright side. It's very comforting.

I flop down next to her in the grass and run my hand down the goat's back.

“What're you doing up here?” Ebb asks. “Shouldn't you be at football practice?”

“I'm not on the team.”

She scratches the goat behind its ears. “Since when do ya let that stop you?”

“I…”

Ebb sniffs.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Ach. Sure.” She shakes her head, and her hair flies out around her ears. It's dirty and blond and always cut in a sharp line above her jaw and across her forehead. “Just the time of year,” she says.

“Autumn?”

“Back to school. Reminds me of my own school days. You can't go back, Simon, you can never go back.…” She rubs her nose on her cuff again, then rubs her cuff into the goat's fur.

I don't point out that Ebb's never really left Watford. I don't want to make fun of her—it seems like a pretty sweet deal to me. Spending your whole life here.

“Not everyone came back,” I say.

Her face falls. “Did we lose someone?”

Ebb's brother died when they were young. It's one of the reasons she's so melancholy; she never got over it. I don't want to set her off again.…

“No,” I say. “I mean—Baz. Basil didn't come back.”

“Ah,” she says. “Young Master Pitch. Surely he'll be back. His mother did so value education.”

“That's what I said!”

“Well, you know him best,” she says.

“That's what I said, too!”

Ebb nods and pets the goat. “To think you used to be at each other's throats.”

“We're still at each other's throats.”