The Secret Prince

by Violet Haberdasher

  “Especially,” the Headmaster continued, “when one is color-blind and cannot tell the difference between the two.”

  “But, sir?”

  The students and staff turned to see who had spoken. It was Jasper Hallworth, a big, booming second year. He rose from his seat at the second-year table. “Sir,” Jasper continued, “that cravat is blue.”

  “Ah, is it?” Headmaster Winter peered down. “Bless my soul, it is blue. So you see, boys, sometimes we must present the truth to those who may be too blind to see it—or to those who do not know that they are blind to it, even if they are in a position of great authority.” The headmaster paused significantly, and Henry frowned, certain that Headmaster Winter had known all along what color cravat he was wearing.

  “In any case I would like to welcome you all most sincerely to the start of a new term here at Knightley Academy. There are two new additions to the staff: Sir Robert, who will be taking over as medicine master and head of second year students.” The headmaster paused as the youngish gentleman from the hearing ducked his head in acknowledgment. “And Admiral Blackwood, who has returned from India to resume the long-vacant post of drills master.” The gentleman with the enormously bushy whiskers surged to his feet and saluted.

  Confused, the boys returned his salute, half of them standing, all of them at different times. Adam still had his napkin tucked into his collar, which made Henry snicker.

  “I’ll have that again, gentlemen. In unison,” the admiral boomed.

  The boys snapped to attention and saluted sharply this time. Adam hastily balled his napkin into his fist, his cheeks bright red.

  “Well met, gentlemen,” pronounced Admiral Blackwood.

  Headmaster Winter grinned and winked conspiratorially at the students before continuing. “As you boys have no doubt surmised, there will be a few changes to the curriculum this term, all in the name of progress. After all, who knows what the turn of the century may bring—and it never hurts to be as prepared as the laws may let us, even when such preparations may seem unnecessary.

  “Despite some alarming setbacks, last term was a good one, and I expect this one to be even better. I also expect it goes without reminding that you have all signed the Code of Chivalry, a code to which you are required to adhere without—ahem—creative interpretation. Welcome back to Knightley Academy. May the dreary weather make you thankful for school to be in session once again!” The headmaster took his seat at the High Table amidst enthusiastic applause and much whispering.

  Henry took a thoughtful sip of his cider and considered the headmaster’s eccentric speech. A war was coming. That much was clear. A war that could no longer be ignored, that their professors no longer denied with such conviction as they had just six months earlier.

  But the Longsword Treaty still prevented students from being trained in combat, which meant that whatever changes the headmaster planned to make to the curriculum, he had to work around that restriction.

  Still, at least the headmaster was doing something, for Henry remembered all too well that day last term when Headmaster Winter had come to their room and informed the boys that without proof that the Nordlands had violated the treaty, there was nothing to do but sit and wait.

  When Henry, Adam, and Rohan passed the common room on their way back from supper, Theobold was holding court in an elaborate thronelike chair by the fire.

  “And what does he know, really,” Theobold drawled. “He’s just some academic with a family title who hasn’t a clue what he’s doing running this school. I don’t know why your uncle listens to him. But, then, I suppose taking orders runs in your family.”

  This last part was directed toward Valmont, who had just brought Theobold a threadbare footstool. Valmont scowled but stayed silent. Theobold kicked off his boots with a sigh, one of the shoes thwacking loudly into Valmont’s shin.

  Henry winced in sympathy.

  “Oi, Henry, are you going to stand out there all night?” Adam asked, creaking the door to their room back and forth.

  “Sorry. Right,” Henry mumbled. For a moment he felt sorry for Valmont, but the moment quickly passed. After all, it was Valmont.

  But still, a nagging voice in the back of Henry’s head reminded him, no boy deserves to be bullied, no matter how horrible he might be.

  Trying to put the matter out of his mind, Henry closed the door to their room and loosened his school tie. Before he could slip the tie out of his collar, a soft knock sounded at the window, followed by a lot of muffled shushing.

  Rohan, with a withering look at Henry and Adam, opened the window just a crack and announced, “I did so hope to make it through the first day of lessons before committing an expellable offense.”

  Frankie’s face appeared at the window. “Come on, Rohan. Be a sport. You know you’ve missed me terribly over the long holiday.”

  Rohan gave a rather long-suffering sort of sigh.

  “Let her in, Rohan,” Henry said. “You know Lord Havelock never comes this far down the corridor.”

  Rohan pushed the window open.

  “Thank you,” Frankie said disdainfully.

  “But, miss, surely you can’t be meanin’ to climb through the window?” a worried girl’s voice an nounced.

  “Of course I am,” Frankie patiently explained. “It’s the only respectable way. Walking through the first-year corridor would be entirely improper.” Frankie climbed deftly through.

  “But, miss—” A girl appeared at the window—plain, slightly plump, and about sixteen.

  “Well, go on.” Frankie gestured toward the girl. “Be gallant young knights and help her.”

  Henry and Adam managed to coax her through the window.

  She looked around, her eyes wide and frightened. “We’re in a boys’ bedchamber,” she whispered.

  “If you stand in the part with the desks, you can pretend it’s a classroom,” Adam said helpfully.

  Rohan buried his face in his hands.

  The girl, it turned out, was Frankie’s new chaperone. Frankie pulled her into a corner and whispered furiously, clearly reminding the girl exactly what would happen if she told anyone where they’d gone. When Frankie had finished, the girl stoically plopped herself in the corner, pulled a piece of sewing from her pocket, and ignored them.

  “Do you know anything about the new professors?” Henry asked, once they’d settled in to play cards.

  Frankie shrugged. “Father hasn’t said much. Although it’s a pity about Sir Robert.”

  Rohan frowned. “How do you mean?”

  “He’s a knight detective,” Frankie said. “Top of his year at Knightley. One of the youngest knights ever appointed to the board of trustees.” Frankie tidied the stack of discarded cards and dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper. “He was investigating those gruesome docklands murders and was horribly injured. Nearly died. He’s supposed to be home resting, but he convinced Father to let him take the position of medicine master.”

  For a moment no one spoke.

  “Well, that’s heartbreaking and all,” Adam said, breaking the silence, “but the real question is, is he evil?”

  Everyone burst out laughing.

  They played a few more hands of cards before Rohan yawned pointedly. “Getting rather late, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Lights-out isn’t for another thirty minutes,” Henry said with a glance at his pocket watch.

  “Yes, well, half an hour until lights-out is still late,” Rohan said.

  Henry bit his lip. Ever since Rohan had returned from his expulsion last term, he’d been passionate about following the rules. Henry was certainly sympathetic, but it didn’t change the fact that Rohan’s behavior was driving him mad.

  “I am a bit tired, miss,” Frankie’s chaperone, Colleen, called from the corner.

  “I wish she’d quit,” Frankie murmured. “It’s horribly annoying to drag her around with me.”

  “Pardon, miss?” Colleen called.

  Frankie smiled sweetly.
“I was just saying that we should bring cake with us tomorrow night.”

  Colleen gasped. “But, miss, surely you can’t want to come back again tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,” Frankie said with a grin.

  After Frankie left, the boys changed into their pajamas and climbed into bed. Henry stared up at the ceiling, thinking how, for the first time in a long while, he felt as though he were home. The flat above the bookshop was cozy enough but had given the curious impression of being empty, despite the clutter of furniture and the teacups that Professor Stratford abandoned on armrests and windowsills.

  Even after the terrible incidents of last term—or perhaps because of them—it felt wonderful to be back at Knightley Academy with his friends. Henry fluffed his pillow and tried to fall asleep, but it was no use.

  “Adam, you awake?” he whispered.

  Adam snorted sleepily and kicked at his covers.

  “Listen, Henry, can I have a word?” Rohan whispered back.

  In the faint moonlight slanting through the window, Rohan’s expression was shadowed, making his frown seem even more troubled.

  “What’s the matter?” Henry asked.

  “I just … I’m not certain that being friends with Frankie is necessary.”

  “Friendship has nothing to do with necessity,” Henry pointed out. “You become friends with someone because you want to.”

  “Well, last term we didn’t have a choice.” Rohan paused significantly. “But this term we do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re not outsiders anymore. James and Derrick are perfectly respectable, and quite friendly. We should be sitting in the common room with our classmates, not boosting ladies’ maids through our bedroom window.”

  “If it means so much to you, go ahead,” Henry snapped, and then felt instantly ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Well, I did,” Rohan whispered fiercely. “I didn’t come to Knightley to separate myself from my peers. No one’s sabotaging us anymore. We can be normal. We can fit in.” Henry heard the yearning in his friend’s voice and realized it was different for Rohan. He’d been raised the same as their classmates, been brought up with private tutors and expensive toys. Rohan only looked like an outsider, and clearly he was tired of being one.

  “Just because the other students are being friendly doesn’t mean we can fit in,” Henry returned. “After everything that happened last term, how can you think that we’d ever be the same as everyone else? You were poisoned and expelled. They played cricket.”

  “Well, I wanted to play cricket, but no one asked.”

  “Fine. Next hour free, I hope you do and have a sparkling good time,” Henry whispered crossly. “Good night.”

  Henry stared up at the ceiling, a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Did Rohan truly resent being their roommate? He knew that Rohan and Adam hadn’t always gotten along, but, then, Adam could be massively frustrating.

  “Henry,” Rohan whispered urgently.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “How did you mean it?”

  “I just thought we could be friends with the other boys. All of us. Well, maybe not Frankie, but, to be honest, she won’t be coming round much longer.”

  Henry didn’t reply.

  “She has a chaperone now,” Rohan continued. “You might not know what that means, but I do. She’s nearly sixteen. What will her suitors think if she’s climbing through our window?”

  “It’s her choice.”

  “It doesn’t reflect well on any of us,” Rohan said. “What girls will accept our courtship if they think we’re spending our nights with someone else, or if they imagine us to be the sort of boys who willingly let girls compromise their propriety?”

  Henry frowned. He was relatively certain no girls would be interested in them either way.

  “Just think about the future,” Rohan whispered in a maddeningly superior tone. “And see if what I’m suggesting wouldn’t be the best option over time.”

  Henry fell asleep still unsure what exactly Rohan meant—about everything.

  5

  THE NEW PROFESSOR

  Athin layer of snow coated the grounds the next morning. Henry groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, glimpsing a weary, gray morning that looked the way he felt. He’d forgotten how very early they were expected to wake up at school.

  An insistent peal of bells sounded from the direction of the chapel. Adam curled into a ball and clamped his pillow over his head.

  Rohan was already fastening his cuffs by the time Henry mustered enough enthusiasm to crawl out from beneath his warm blankets. “Snow’s already melting,” Rohan said with a tentative smile.

  Henry smiled blandly back. No doubt Rohan was hoping to be chosen for cricket during that afternoon’s hour free.

  With a sigh Henry pulled the blanket off Adam. “Up,” he said. “Chapel.”

  Adam moaned and swatted Henry away uselessly.

  “It’s snowing,” Henry said enticingly, knowing that Adam loved snow.

  “Is it?” Adam, suddenly wide awake, dashed to the window. His face fell. “It’s only a bit of leftover frost. Already melting.”

  Even though the snow was mostly slush, that didn’t stop Theobold from lagging behind to relace his boots outside of chapel that morning. Henry watched as Theobold smuggled a handful of slush into the chapel, which he slid down the back of Edmund’s collar.

  Edmund yelped, disrupting the prayer, as every head swiveled in his direction. With a muttered apology he sunk down low in the pew, his face bright red.

  Theobold bit back laughter as Edmund shivered through the service.

  At breakfast Henry heaped eggs and toast onto two plates.

  “Couldn’t afford meals over the holiday?” Valmont asked through a mouthful of bacon.

  Henry snorted. “At least I don’t insult people’s manners with my mouth full of food,” he said, passing the second plate to Edmund, who had just run breathlessly into the dining hall.

  “Thanks,” Edmund said, sliding into the seat next to Henry and fastening the cuffs of a dry shirt. “I thought everything would be gone.”

  James, who was having only a blueberry scone, reached for the saltshaker. He fiddled with it for a moment, while staring wistfully at the eggs, and then put it back down. “Are the eggs still overcooked this term?” he asked Rohan.

  “Unfortunately,” Rohan said, and Henry frowned as he swallowed a mouthful of perfectly cooked eggs.

  Two seats down, Theobold grabbed for the salt-shaker and tipped it over his plate. The cap flew off, landing in his tea. A mountain of salt emptied onto his breakfast.

  James’s shoulders shook as he held back laughter. Rohan nearly choked on a sip of juice. Adam grinned broadly and asked Edmund to please pass the last of the eggs.

  “You should finish the sausages. They’re excellent this morning,” Edmund said, dumping the remainder of the hot breakfast onto Henry’s plate while Theobold fumed.

  Medicine was the first class of the morning.

  Ever since Sir Frederick’s betrayal, the classroom had felt sinister to Henry—haunted, almost, by horrible memories. But that morning the eerie atmosphere seemed to have gone. Winter sunlight flooded through the latticed windows, and the radiator in the corner clanged impatiently. The shelves behind the master’s desk, which had once housed human skulls and rolls of bandage, were now crowded with jewel-stoppered apothecary bottles, upright magnifying glasses, and a rather battered set of scales.

  Henry, Adam, and Rohan chose seats in the middle. All around them students whispered about the new professor:

  “… a knight detective, I heard.”

  “… graduated in my cousin’s year. Top of the class.”

  “… can’t be more than thirty.”

  Henry had just removed a fresh notebook from his satchel when their new professor limped into the room carrying a black
medical bag with a dozen brass buckles, and leaning on a worn mahogany cane. His master’s gown had clearly been made to fit someone a great deal shorter and wider, and his tweeds, though very fine, were thin with wear. With the help of his cane the new medicine master slowly made his way to the front of the classroom, deposited his bag on the front table, and raised an eyebrow at his students.

  “Well,” he prompted, “what can you deduce?”

  The students stared.

  “No need to raise your hands, lads. Just shout it out.”

  Edmund, who sheepishly raised his hand anyway, said, “Your name is Sir Robert.”

  “No, no!” their new professor cried. “I did not ask what you already know—what you have been told. I stand in front of you. What can you perceive, here and now?”

  No one dared to speak.

  Finally Henry cleared his throat and called out, “That gown wasn’t made for you, sir.”

  “Excellent! What else?” the professor asked.

  Encouraged, other students began to call out: His cuffs were frayed; his hair was inexpertly trimmed; he favored his left leg.

  The professor raised a hand for silence. “Well done, the lot of you! You have keen powers of observation. And, yes, by the way, my name is Sir Robert.” He nodded in Edmund’s direction. “You were quite right about that. I am also a knight detective, which means that not so many years ago I, too, attended Knightley Academy.” Their new professor took a seat on top of the master’s desk, which caused some whispering.

  “I sat in the same desks, studied in the same library alcoves, and fell asleep in the same chapel pews, but, like you, I also worried over something of far greater importance.

  “At the end of my third year, we began to hear news from the Nordlands, news of a brewing revolution. We watched the rise of the Draconian party with horror, fearing what a similar uprising here in South Britain would mean for our families. Those were dark times, boys. Times of great doubt, and of terrible rumors.”

  Sir Robert paused significantly.