Chapter 53

“I think everyone who’s going to come, has,” Ms. Snapdragon said about fifteen minutes after their officially scheduled start time. “We may as well get started now.”

Alastair looked out over the stands. They were two-thirds full. “I suppose so.”

He walked forward and the crowd quietened expectantly. The student groups waited in the Entrance Chamber just outside the Main Hall, ready for their turn to come out. Quicksilver stood in the corner with a notebook, counting coins. Try as he might, Alastair couldn’t tell if the elemental looked happy or not—his expression was as blank and inscrutable as ever.

“Parents, friends,” Alastair said, turning toward the bleachers and trying to sound jolly. “We all know each other already, so I won’t take up too much of your time with introductions. We’re here for Emberstone, as always, and we’ve got some exciting things planned for you. Songs. Skits. Uh—student crafts. I know you’ll enjoy them.”

Ms. Snapdragon mouthed something at him, but he couldn’t decipher it. Maybe—

“Programs!” he shouted, then turned red with embarrassment. “Right! Yes. Okay! There’s been a great deal of change here at the school this year, and much of it has been exciting. We’ve expanded our Non-Magical education program. Our hope is that our students will leave here knowing more about the world outside of Emberstone than ever before. We’ve contracted with the city to help rebuild Watermere. Amaryllis Shadow—”

The parents—especially the men—broke out into cheers and applause at the mention of Emberstone’s resident celebrity.

“Yes, yes. She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Alastair waited until the din died. “Well, as I was saying, Ms. Shadow has the eighth-years working on independent research. We’re hoping to expand all three efforts in coming years, and trust you’ll be pleased to come along for the ride!”

Alastair’s speech sounded weak even to him. He wouldn’t give himself money. He turned, feeling like he’d made a mess of the whole thing, and saw that Yvonne—the head of the student chamber choir—was already halfway to the stage. She strode toward him determinedly, followed by a single-file line of singers.

“I know you’ll like our first act,” Alastair said, brightening up a bit. He really had loved their performance, and especially their heart. “Two songs. Performed by students. Conducted by students. Arranged by students. It’s a real treat!”

Feeling like a lumbering bear next to Yvonne’s quiet poise, he awkwardly stepped down from the riser and took his seat.

The singers started with “Emberstone, Strength of the Nation,” and the song was even better in the acoustics of the large hall than it had been in the tiny rehearsal room. Every note was piercingly clear. Yvonne conducted, her hands sweeping through the air with efficient precision, and when done, she waited impatiently for the applause to end.

“Mountains and Rivers,” she said quietly. “We’ll do that one next. Thanks for listening, everyone.”

The song wasn’t one he’d heard in practice, and it was better than “Emberstone, Strength of the Nation.” The melody soared, suggesting high mountain peaks, with a repeated motif that reminded Alastair of rolling water. When the choir was through, Yvonne raised a hand and they took a neat bow.

Alastair scanned the crowd as they clapped—and to his relief, the woman who’d been skeptical about the music earlier now wore a wide smile as she, too, applauded. At least he hadn’t steered her wrong.

The rest of the fundraiser went off without a hitch. They had a few more student music groups—though none quite as good as Yvonne’s—a brief improv skit that the parents generously laughed at, and the whole thing ended with an auction of some of the more impressive crafts. All in all, Alastair was feeling better when he retook the stage to wrap up the show.

“Thanks for coming out, all,” he said with a big smile he actually meant. “I hope you’ll stick around for a little while. Even if you didn’t win a bid, all the pieces on that table are for sale. Yes, you could have a student artwork of your very own!”

Just as Eloise predicted, the parents snapped up even the worst crafts and paid good money for them. By the end of the night, the sale table was almost empty.

“Guess no one wanted my Gods’ Eye,” she sighed, picking it up and turning it over. “That’s all right. I knew it wouldn’t sell.”

“You know what? I want it.” The words left Alastair’s lips before he could reconsider. He dug into his pocket and retrieved a few silver coins.

“Oh, stop. It’s hideous.”

“No, really. I want it,” Alastair said. “It’s… colorful.”

Truly, that was the only word he could say about it that sounded remotely kind or positive.

Eloise laughed. “Fine. Here’s your colorful Gods’ Eye.”

“I’ll cherish it.” He gave Eloise a smile, then turned. “Quicksilver!”

The elemental stood by the main door with a bag of coins, looking uncomfortable. “Sir?”

“How much did we make? Did we do well?”

Quicksilver waved a metallic hand noncommittally.

“We did fine,” Ms. Snapdragon said. Even her smile was a little strained. “It could have been much worse. When I saw those empty seats—”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“I know,” Alastair said. He waved theatrically at a group of exiting parents. “Come back next year!” Then, attention back on Ms. Snapdragon, “Seems like they enjoyed it.”

“Wonderful group of performances,” Ms. Snapdragon said earnestly. “No matter what happens, we’ll have that to hold on to. The students really outdid themselves.”

“The choir knocked it out of the park,” Eloise said. “I had no idea we even had anything like that here.”

“It’s all that one,” Alastair said, gesturing toward Yvonne, who was talking excitedly to a circle of parents across the hall. “She put the whole program together. Arranges. Conducts. Really impressive. I’d really like to introduce her to Juliana.”

“That’s a great idea,” Eloise said.

Quicksilver finally left his post and floated toward them, his face grim. “We made about two-thirds what we did last year. On top of losing tuition fees for those who dropped out.”

“Fewer children means less money spent,” Alastair said, trying to put an upbeat spin on things.

Everyone looked at him dully.

“We will need to have a serious conversation over the summer about what this means for the school,” Quicksilver said. “I am afraid budget cuts are in order.”

“We’ll have Ozelius back by then,” Alastair said weakly. “So maybe he’s the one who’ll have to make those decisions.”

Quicksilver didn’t bother to respond to this, just looked at his notebook and frowned.

“We did well, all,” Ms. Snapdragon said reassuringly. “We got a good bit of money in a very difficult school year—and all the parents I’ve spoken to just adored the show. What’s important is that we give the students a good experience. A normal school year—or as close to one as possible—even amidst all the hubbub. That’s what really matters.”

Alastair nodded. Privately, however, he didn’t share her easy confidence. The amount of money also mattered—and even with a lighter attendance next year, how were they going to run the school on half to two-thirds of the normal budget?

He’d have to ponder such big questions later.

Yvonne rushed toward them, all smiles. Alastair tamped those worries down firmly and tried to look encouraging.