To Best the Boys(16)
It wasn’t until we got older that we realized there might actually be some truth to it.
Just like the intermittent deaths of scholarship contestants, the rumors of strangers who’ve wandered near his place at night and never returned aren’t just folklore. Sam once told me that his mum heard screams coming from Holm’s grounds early one morning.
“She thinks it’s his obsession with experimenting,” he’d said. “Was probably conducting tests on some poor chap.”
“Seleni, you are downright awful.” Moly giggles.
“That must be what’s killing off so many of the Lowers,” Cake Boy adds, in a tone that’s attempting to make us laugh. “Their sickness is really spread by Mr. Holm.”
The smile dies on my lips. I shift my worn shoes against the marble floor and look away. Clearly he doesn’t know anyone with the disease or he wouldn’t say such things. But perhaps I should be grateful because it reminds me of why I’m here.
I drift my gaze around the room until—there. My uncle is standing across the hall from us, speaking with a group of men who, if the stiffness of their pocket brocades is any indication, are either politicians or Stemwick University board members. Or both. I study their faces and nicely set hair. Whatever they’re talking about seems to mostly involve lighthearted chuckling.
Good.
I check to see if Seleni’s distracted—she is, by Beryll—and am about to break from her circle of friends when a voice says, “Oh, Holm is real, but he’s definitely no wizard.”
It’s the eyebrow boy, and something in his tone is darker than before. I spin to see his eyes scanning our faces.
“And I can assure you he won’t be anonymous much longer. Come tomorrow—not only do I intend to beat these chaps at the game—” He looks down his narrow nose at us and curls his lip to complement the cocky way he’s standing. Then sniffs and takes a gulp of his drink. “But I intend to beat Mr. Holm at it as well.”
6
Seleni giggles. “And how, may we ask, do you plan on doing that, Germaine?”
“Quite simply. By breaking the rules and exposing Mr. Holm for the cheap-trick charlatan he is.”
Half the circle bursts into laughter and the rest resort to eye rolling. “Not this again,” Lawrence says. Except, Eyebrow Boy’s arrogant expression says he’s quite sincere.
Moly lifts a hand. “Holm has single-handedly funded numerous university educations over the years. At least give him that.”
“Money-schmoney, I’m talking the game itself.” Germaine strokes his left brow and slides his dark gaze around. “The ‘magical illusions’ he uses in his Labyrinth are an insult. If he’s so anxious to give his money away to charity, why not have a normal process? Instead, he amuses himself by creating inappropriate ploys that any street magician could do. And he endangers all of us in the process. The man has the blood of at least five contestants on his hands.”
“Fair enough,” a boy I don’t know says. “But according to the estate’s official declaration, those deaths were all due to those boys not following the competition’s regulations.”
“Were they?” Germaine looks at his drink. “Or was that just what he needed to say in order to keep operating? Because, ask yourself, what kind of academic scholarship competition actually allows for young men to die? Let alone the way they died.”
As if someone opened a window and let the moor wind in, a chill ripples through the group. Even my own skin gets goose bumps at the recollection of the stories. The most recent—from four years ago when the body was so badly damaged they couldn’t perform a proper funeral. The whispered suspicion was that whatever had gotten hold of the lad had made teeth marks the size of a fist.
“Whoever’s fault those were, I believe Miss Lake here asked how you plan to beat him.”
Germaine takes a second-long sip of his drink, and for a moment I think he’s not heard Beryll. Until a short, broad-shouldered guy I’d not noticed before steps out from behind Germaine and answers for him by leaning over and slapping Beryll on the back. “Aw, poor chap—you scared? Well, you should be. You best just accept this competition will be highly volatile—if you know what I mean—and make your peace with Miss Lake here. Because you boys might as well pull your brains out and toss them to us now.” He crosses his arms and mimics Germaine’s smirk. “That or we’ll be ripping them out one at a time.”
I lift a brow. Beryll might be a ridiculous person, but only Seleni and I can be condescending to him. I snort and turn to the twit. “Perhaps that’s why Mr. Holm hosts his competition the way he does. To ensure it accounts for more than just one-sided intellect.”
The broad-shouldered boy and Germaine look around until their eyes land on me. “Explain,” Germaine demands.
I glance at Seleni and Beryll and try to come up with more. “From what I’ve heard, the test is as intuitive and physical as mental. Maybe Holm understands not everyone’s had the same interests—or educational opportunities, for that matter—so he’s being fair.”
“I assume you’re referring to the contestants from the Lower district, Miss . . . Tellur, is it?” Germaine’s gaze narrows. “And that’s precisely what makes the test nonsensical. It circumvents the correct process by making it achievable for anyone, rather than those who’ll benefit the most. Why waste an education on someone with less ability?”