Ah, thought Walden, before he said it. She caught David’s eye and saw that he already knew. She felt awful. It was Laura who was losing her job. In front of a roomful of people, no less. That was a nasty way to do it. But you did not become a fantastically successful hedge fund manager—which was what the Chair was, when he was not generously donating his time to the school—without an edge of ruthlessness in you. Someone had to take the fall for what had happened, and Laura, with her blunt and honest review of her own mistakes, had volunteered. With the Chief Marshal gone, the school could put out a statement: immediate reorganisation and improvement of our magical security operations—it wouldn’t repair all the damage done by the BBC News article, but it would be a start. Walden also had an edge of ruthlessness in her. She could feel awful for Laura and at the same time appreciate that it was the neatest solution possible to Chetwood’s problem. It was one of only two solutions, in fact, that avoided the practical consequences of Old Faithful’s incursion coming down like a hammer on the vulnerable children in the middle of the disaster. From the governors’ point of view, either Walden or Laura had to go. They must have been discussing it before they invited her in. David had hired Walden himself, and liked her; that would have tipped the balance.

Laura took it on the chin. Walden saw that she’d been expecting it. Perhaps the District Commander for Buckinghamshire had warned her. She got out some dignified platitudes: it’s been a privilege and grateful for the opportunity. Then the Chair dismissed her, and she left fast.

“All right, moving on. Dr Walden, please take a seat,” said the Chair. “Obviously, our next concern is the future development of Chetwood’s magical security operation. We have talked extensively with the Order, but we felt there were concerns about their suggested approach.”

Walden took the offered seat. She was no longer on trial. “I have my disagreements with the Order’s theoretical approach,” she said, “but they are generally fairly good at what they do. What kind of concerns?”

The governors exchanged looks. “To put it bluntly,” said a woman sitting near the end of the long refectory table, “they’re quite old-fashioned. Their idea of a plan is just to throw more warm bodies at the problem. Nothing but respect for the organisation, of course, but having a bunch of Marshals hanging around the school doesn’t seem to have actually achieved much in a crisis. As David has pointed out, it was your skills, as a fully trained academic magician, that made the difference. So we were hoping to achieve something a little more agile—”