“I am shocked,” Valance said. “Shocked and appalled. Could you do me a favour, Omen? Could you try to pay attention? Could you do that for me? Or, at the very least, could you try not to be so obvious when your attention wanders? I am a very sensitive educator, and this will not have done my confidence any good whatsoever.”

Everyone else was enjoying this immensely. Omen kept his eyes on his desk. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you,” Valance said, and went back to teaching.

Omen copied down the notes and did his best to listen and look attentive, until the bell rang and he joined the others in filing out into the corridor. He dumped his bag in his locker and went walking, hands in his pockets, head down but eyes up.

Searching for the recruiter.

He passed the main gate, glanced at the street beyond. Only Sixth Years were allowed out after the school day had ended. They could spend their afternoons in Roarhaven and only had to be back for Evening Study. Omen, like everyone else, was stuck in here all day, five days a week. Of course, with his parents being the kind of parents they were, he rarely got to go home on the weekends, either. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing. He much preferred walking the school’s empty corridors on a Saturday and Sunday evening than sitting in his bedroom being criticised by his mum and dad.

He wandered for hours, spying. He passed the staffroom where the faculty watched the Global Link on TV, catching up on news of all things magical from around the world. He followed students, listening in to snippets of conversation, and trailed after various teachers, veering off when they started to notice. He enjoyed trailing after Miss Wicked the most. Of course, she was also the quickest to sense him, and his face burned with the heat of a thousand suns as he panicked and turned abruptly left. He walked into a wall and stayed there, like he’d meant to do it all along.

He got to the fourth floor without uncovering any evidence of enemy conspiracies. He saw Peccant coming the opposite way and dived round the corner. He waited there, back pressed flat against the wall. Students passed, ignoring him. He didn’t care about them. All he cared about was that Peccant should pass by, too.

Peccant turned the corner, stopped suddenly and glared. “Mr Darkly.” His voice was deep, his eyes narrow, his face lined. His hair was grey and his suit was tweed. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Omen stepped away from the wall, and tried smiling. “Yes, sir?”

“Where were you this morning, Mr Darkly? You were supposed to be in my class, were you not?”

“I got mixed up, sir.”

“Mixed up?”

“I got my timetable mixed up, sir. I’m really sorry.”

Peccant loomed over him. “And where were you?”

“In a study class, sir.”