Things are still fairly calm on Monday morning. Edward once again scours the papers for news of Mildred, or anything else that could cause us problems, and finds nothing. Just that Ariana Carling is being wilfully obstructionist, apparently.

  “She’s the leader of the opposition. Isn’t it her job to oppose policies she disagrees with?”

  “Yes, but when she knows she doesn’t have the votes, the number of debates and amendments she’s insisting on is just a waste of time.”

  I’m not entirely sure I agree, but I’m very sure I don’t want to get into a political debate at this time on a Monday morning. Especially not when we have Countering Magical Effects coming up. I’d much rather save my energy for whatever Electra decides to throw at us next.

  Except when we walk into the classroom, Electra isn’t there. And not because she’s deriving amusement from watching us invisibly, either: she’s been replaced by a woman who looks almost like a caricature of a strict schoolmistress. Tall and stick-thin, with greying hair in a neat bun and spectacles perched on her nose.

  I glance at Edward as we walk to our desk. He shrugs, and I shrug back.

  The woman stares vacantly at us. It seems as if she’s an enchanted doll and the enchantment isn’t active because it’s not strictly class hours. But I can still tell she’s watching, and it makes me feel too awkward to start speculating with Edward about who she is and what’s happened to Electra.

  Instead I just watch the clock, until finally it ticks round to nine after midnight and the woman comes to life.

  “Good morning, class,” she says. Her voice is about what I expect. Very precise, with a slight upper-class accent. “My name is Millicent Prince, and I am the teacher of Countering Magical Effects. I apologise for being absent for the previous term, and for being unable to return as soon as this term began as I had planned. I understand you were taught by Electra James in my absence?”

  There are a couple of nods.

  “While of course I appreciate her taking on my responsibilities, I have to say that I disagree greatly with her methods. For instance, your most recent assignment… that is far too unclear and advanced for any of you. It is the sort of problem I would assign to a graduate student looking to work in this area professionally, not to a class of first-years.”

  I glance at Edward just to see the look on his face. It’s about what I expected: as if he’s swallowed something sour.

  “I fear Miss James’s lack of experience teaching the first-year courses has blinded her to the reality of their aim. Which is not to produce highly trained and specialised professional magicians. Or to equip you to deal with dangers that most of you will never have to face.”

  It’s my turn to grimace. I’ve already nearly died once. And while most of the dangers I expect to encounter are political… it would be foolish not to be as prepared as I reasonably can be for magical dangers also.

  Which means, says an inner voice which is not particularly charitable and reminds me very much of Edward, that this Millicent is either a fool or actively trying to sabotage our chances of being prepared. Or maybe she’s just not used to teaching classes that contain Blackthorns and their associates. I imagine most classes probably wouldn’t contain anyone in Edward’s or my position.

  “It is to make sure you know some basic and widely applicable magics. To give you a solid grounding that allows you to pursue whatever field of magic you desire, or none at all. And to make sure you understand enough that you won’t get yourself killed by meddling with the wrong kind of magic. Those are what I intend to teach. Not… whatever Miss James did. So, we will be spending the next two weeks reviewing the basic concepts that you should have learnt last term. Let’s begin with a study of enchantments…”

  Electra, whatever her flaws, is a good teacher. And while a lot of her assignments were challenging at best, she did teach us the basic concepts. Which means that these two weeks of Countering Magical Effects are going to be an utter waste of time. The rest of the class, once she’s taken a register to learn our names, is a lecture on the theory that we – well, I, at least – already understand. She doesn’t pause to ask us questions or try to engage us.

  Edward raises his hand about twenty minutes in.

  Millicent finishes her sentence and then says “Yes, Mr Blackthorn?”

  “I find your definition of a hostile enchantment vague and unhelpful.”

  Right. I shouldn’t have expected anything more tactful than this from Edward, who does not suffer fools gladly.

  “Do you? Tell me, then: how would you define a hostile enchantment?”

  And Millicent, I realise, does not know how to deal with Edward when he’s doing things like this. He’s smart enough and has done enough background reading that he’ll be able to answer more or less whatever question she decides to throw at him. “I wouldn’t. The concept of harmful intention does not have significance in the theory of enchantments.”

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  “Oh? So you would argue that an object enchanted to burn the hand of those who touch it is not hostile?”

  “I would,” Edward replies flatly. “The magician who enchanted such an object is certainly hostile to the persons they expected to touch it, but the object knows nothing of that intention. A knife enchanted to slice what is placed beneath its blade could be an instrument of torture or an instrument of chopping vegetables. Is that hostile?”

  “Do you think you’re better than me? Do you think you understand more of this topic than the person assigned to teach it?

  “I think the fact you’re resorting to those attacks instead of responding to my criticism on its own merits is evidence in favour of that hypothesis.”

  I wince. I shouldn’t be surprised by Edward saying something like that, really.

  “Do you, now?” There’s a note of danger in Millicent’s voice that wasn’t there before.

  “Yes,” Edward replies flatly.

  “Then I think a detention would help you understand the importance of respect. Five after noon, today, my office.”

  I reach out and touch Edward’s hand, trying to silently signal don’t. I think Millicent is in the wrong here. But that doesn’t mean Edward is right, and it definitely doesn’t mean he should escalate this further than he already has.

  He gives me a resigned look, which I take to mean fine, but I’m not happy about it. I didn’t expect him to be happy about it. He doesn’t say another word for the rest of the lesson.

  In fact, we don’t end up speaking about it until lunchtime, even though there’s plenty of opportunity to do so in the gaps between classes. And even though I hear our classmates discussing the incident, not always in a flattering way for Edward. He winces at each of those comments.

  Finally, when we sit down to eat, he says “I’m going to see Electra when we’ve eaten. Come with me?”

  It’s not quite an order, but it comes close, and I bristle a little at that. “Why do you want to see her?”

  “I want to ask her to mark my white box assignment. And yours, if you want. And… to discuss Millicent.”

  “If you want Electra to go back to teaching us, I doubt you’ll have much success. Electra was only our teacher to begin with because she was covering for leave, and that leave has now ended.”

  “Are you sure it’s that simple?”

  “What alternative explanation is there?”

  “I don’t know,” Edward says. “That’s why I want to talk to her. But it does seem strange, doesn’t it, that this didn’t happen a week earlier when term began? And that Electra didn’t mention it to us before?”

  “Maybe,” I admit. “All right, I’ll come if you want me to, but don’t take that for agreement.”

  “I don’t want you there to agree with me. I want you there to make sure I don’t say anything stupid.”

  I’m touched by that, in a strange sort of way. I guess it’s partly appreciating that he’s self-aware enough to consider that possibility, and partly appreciating that he trusts me enough to ask for my help with that. “I can do that. Firstly, I hope you weren’t planning to complain about the detention to Electra.”

  “Only as an example of how Millicent is an awful teacher.”

  “You don’t exactly come out of that interaction as the model of a perfect student either.”

  “I’m a good student when I have a good teacher.”

  I think that’s true, but probably not in the same sense as he does. What I’m thinking of is more someone who has the skill to handle his questions in a way that satisfies him while also minimising disruption to the rest of the class. Someone who recognises that he’s in a different category to pretty much everyone else and treats him accordingly.

  “A lot of people would disagree. And don’t just say then they’d be wrong.”

  “…you know me too well,” says Edward slowly. “All right: what would these hypothetical people argue?”

  “Your interruptions are unnecessarily pedantic or related to matters that aren’t crucial to what is being taught, and they disrupt learning for the other students.”

  “And thus we arrive at the real problem, which is that I should just be allowed to take more advanced classes. Then the other students can learn at their pace, and I can learn at mine, and we can all be happy.”

  The most frustrating thing about trying to argue with Edward is that a lot of the time, even when he’s completely missing the point and refusing to acknowledge that he could possibly have been at fault… he’s not wrong.

  “Okay,” I say, after a moment’s thought. “What were you hoping to gain with your initial comment today?”

  “An explanation of why the concept of a hostile enchantment is in fact useful, or else an admission that it is not and retraction of the corresponding material.”

  “And did you think that you were likely to get that?”

  “Not particularly. But it made sense to work under the assumption that Millicent’s classes wouldn’t be an utter waste of my time, since what I did otherwise would be irrelevant.”

  “What you did led to you having another hour of your time wasted in detention. That doesn’t seem irrelevant to me.”

  “I overstepped with that last remark,” he admits.

  I suppose that’s something. “What, specifically, did you do wrong?”

  “I forgot that most people don’t appreciate it when you imply that you think you’re better than them. Especially if they’re teachers, or people who are supposed to know what they’re doing.”

  That’s… certainly one way of putting it. The questionable framing aside, though, I decide it’s good enough for present purposes. “Okay. Now how did you imply that throughout the interaction?”

  He stares at me blankly for a second. “I… I don’t think I did. Or I certainly didn’t intend to.”

  “If we asked Millicent about it – in an alternate world where she had the patience for engaging in this conversation – I’m willing to bet she’d say you did.”

  “Yes, but she’s wrong.”

  It’s an effort to hide my frustration, but I make that effort. “Dismissing other people’s perspectives as wrong isn’t helpful,” I say, as calmly as I can.

  “Well. They are.”

  I’m running out of useful ways of reframing things. “Fine. But don’t you think it’s useful to try and understand why and how they’re wrong?”

  “…maybe.”

  I take that as a small victory. “Most people, if you told them that their work was… what was the phrasing you used?”

  “Vague and unhelpful.”

  “Vague and unhelpful,” I repeat, “would treat that as a personal attack.”

  “You’re going to be annoyed if I say most people are wrong, aren’t you?”

  I can’t help laughing. “I’m not sure that’s quite what I was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Edward laughs back. “I’ll take that.”