“It’s been tried,” said Walden. “Haven’t you seen the memorial in the chapel? The Headmaster who died in 1926. I think that was the last serious attempt. After that they tried moving the school site, but Old Faithful just followed, and the new campus was less magically secure—so back we came. Since then, efforts have focused more on keeping it out, and preventing wild magic bleeding through between the planes, so it doesn’t get too much to eat.”

“How often does it get through?” Kenning demanded.

You should already know this, Walden thought. Surely it’s your job to know this. But she also felt guilty. The former Chief Marshal had been a tired man in his sixties plodding towards retirement. Shouldn’t Walden have checked that he’d actually trained his replacement properly on Chetwood’s security position? Wasn’t it her responsibility too?

If she’d known Kenning was actually good …

It was probably Walden’s job to know.

“Its attempts are very rare, and its successes are rarer,” she told Kenning. “A lot of magicians have worked hard to defend Chetwood, over the centuries. And a lot of Marshals, of course. The last serious incident was in 2003.”

Kenning frowned. “I’ve seen that memorial,” she said. “By the cricket pitches. A boy died.”

“Yes. The school’s most recent student death. And, of course, we would all prefer to keep it that way. If you like, Marshal, we could set up a meeting with the archivist and I’ll talk you through everything Chetwood has on our unwelcome demonic squatter. The earlier records are rather piecemeal, but if the information is useful for you…”

“Yes,” said Kenning. “As soon as possible. I want everything on the 2003 incident, to start with.” Of course she did. Walden already regretted offering the archives session; but it was a personal regret, not a professional one. Professionally it was exactly the right call. Kenning added, “Before your time, I suppose.”

It took Walden a moment and then she laughed. “Thank you very much. I was seventeen in 2003.”

Kenning looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s quite all right,” Walden said. “When you spend your days with teenagers, you age fast. Spiritually, if not physically, I really am an ancient crone. Sometimes they explain the internet to me.”

“We had internet in 2003.”

Walden snorted. “Try telling them that.”

chapter four SITE MANAGEMENT

Walden got her cup of tea. The ten minutes she spent collapsed into an armchair in the staffroom having a not very interesting conversation about weekend plans with a German teacher were blissful. Not much. You? Oh, haha, not much—both of them fully understanding the real purpose of the ritual, which was to spend ten minutes being a human person with a name, perhaps some hobbies, and a rich inner life, not Dr This, Frau That.