The Secret Prince

by Violet Haberdasher

  “Yes, sir,” they chorused miserably, shuffling back into the corridor where Headmaster Winter was waiting at the top of the stairwell.

  No one said anything on the way to the headmaster’s office.

  The silence remained as Henry and Adam nervously settled onto the sofa across from the headmaster’s desk, extracting a rather horrible piece of orange knitting that had wedged itself between the cushions. Henry gingerly placed the knitting onto an arm of the sofa and tried not to despair at what was to come.

  Headmaster Winter smiled sadly. “Not the most innocent of circumstances in which to be caught out of bed after lights-out.”

  “No, sir,” Henry and Adam mumbled.

  The headmaster leaned back in his chair and scratched thoughtfully at his patchy beard. “I don’t suppose there’s a truthful explanation either of you boys would be willing to share?”

  Henry and Adam exchanged a glance, and then shook their heads.

  “Hypothetically, sir,” Adam piped up, “we might have found the sabres sitting somewhere and then decided to return them to the armory.”

  Henry elbowed him.

  “If that were the case,” Headmaster Winter continued, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement, “you boys would be commended for your chivalrous efforts.”

  Adam went smug.

  “However.” The headmaster paused, letting the word linger in the air. “It would also make necessary a thorough investigation into what, exactly, is happening at my school. Because I would clearly have no idea.”

  Henry blanched. They were already done for, he realized. Nothing good could come from this conversation. They’d been caught out of bed after lights-out, their arms full of school property. And it wasn’t as though this were their first offense. Even worse, no one was out to get them, as the case had been last term.

  No, they’d blatantly disregarded the Code of Chivalry, even if it had been for a good reason. The least they could do, Henry thought dejectedly, was tell the headmaster the truth.

  “You’re right, sir,” Henry said bravely. “We didn’t find the sabres. I borrowed them because I wanted to learn how to fight.”

  “With a dozen blades? Sounds more like you were practicing to join the circus as a juggler.”

  Henry’s cheeks went red.

  “Well, the idea became, er, popular,” Adam confessed.

  “How popular?” Headmaster Winter asked.

  “About a quarter of the school,” Adam admitted.

  Headmaster Winter’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he mused. “A quarter of the school?”

  “More now,” Adam said, and Henry realized with a start that Adam was right. There were thirty-one of them.

  “Well, that is certainly curious,” Headmaster Winter said thoughtfully. “Although I’m not sure what, exactly, so many boys were aiming to learn by practicing with only a dozen sabres.”

  “We had other equipment,” Henry admitted. “We found some old trunks full of neglected, er, things.”

  For some reason Henry couldn’t bring himself to be the first one to say “weapons” or “combat.” Not when the headmaster was avoiding the words so deliberately. Neither of them quite dared to admit what the boys had been doing, because that was the same as acknowledging what exactly was at stake.

  “Ah,” Headmaster Winter said, his tone still light and informal. “I had suspected there might be some antiques sitting around the castle.”

  Henry frowned. The headmaster wasn’t just avoiding the words, but also the accusation. By all rights Headmaster Winter should have been furious, but he wasn’t even upset. A small part of Henry hoped that perhaps they wouldn’t be expelled after all.

  “It isn’t that I don’t approve of such late-night activities,” the headmaster continued, “but that I can’t express my approval, because that would mean I not only knew what you boys were doing, but that I allowed such things at my school. Do you understand?”

  “I think so, sir,” Henry said, and he was beginning to understand what else the headmaster deliberately wasn’t saying.

  “Yes, we’ll stop, er, hypothetically having late-night sabre tournaments,” Adam put in.

  Henry kicked him.

  “A quarter of the school,” the headmaster repeated, half to himself, and then his contemplative expression was replaced with one of anguish. “I don’t suppose my daughter has been a part of this?”

  “No, sir,” Henry said. “Never.”

  “Is that why you were looking for her?” Adam asked.

  Henry stared at Adam in surprise. He’d forgotten, but that was right. The headmaster had been looking for Frankie.

  “It is,” Headmaster Winter said gravely. “Francesca has made herself and a few of her belongings scarce.”

  Henry and Adam exchanged a look of shock. Frankie was missing? No, not missing. She’d run off—without saying good-bye.

  The headmaster massaged his temples and shook his head, as though finally defeated by Frankie’s misbehavior. “I’m sorry, boys. I just can’t summon the requi site anger to deal with you two at the moment. Come and see me tomorrow after your lessons. We’ll all fare better when we’ve had some sleep—and some answers.”

  “Yes, sir,” Henry and Adam mumbled, rising to their feet.

  “One more thing,” the headmaster said, his tone sharp. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Francesca’s latest stunt, would you?”

  “No, sir,” Henry said truthfully.

  “Not me,” Adam said.

  “If I find out that you’re lying about this—,” the headmaster threatened.

  “Please, sir,” Henry broke in. “We’ve barely spoken with her in weeks.”

  The headmaster scrutinized Henry and decided he was telling the truth. “Off to bed with you,” he said gruffly. “And don’t forget to see me the moment your lessons are through.”

  “We won’t, sir,” Henry promised.

  When they were safely in the corridor, Henry glared. “Did you have to say that?”

  “Say what?” Adam asked innocently.

  “Any of it.” Henry shook his head.

  “Well, I didn’t know Frankie was missing!” Adam said. “I’m worried. What if she’s run off to become a stage performer or something?”

  “I expect she’d be much happier than she was here,” Henry said bitterly. It was strange, how knowing that Frankie might have run off without saying good-bye had left him feeling hollow, as though she’d secretly packed a piece of him in her bags.

  “Maybe we can find her,” Adam joked. “Once we’re expelled and shunned from polite society for our grievous rule-breaking ways.”

  Henry didn’t say anything more until they’d reached the dormitory. He was too busy thinking about Frankie, and wondering what had finally driven her to run off.

  Rohan was awake, pacing the room in candlelight, his arms folded across the front of his silk dressing gown. “Where were you?” he snapped. “I was worried!”

  “Er,” Henry and Adam said, neither wanting to be the one to admit what had happened.

  “I knew it!” Rohan cried sanctimoniously once Henry had finished explaining what had happened. “I knew it was a bad idea.”

  “It was a good idea,” Henry argued. “And I don’t think we’re going to get expelled. I mean, there are thirty-one of us.”

  “No, there are two,” Rohan said primly. “You and Valmont. And you better not take the fall for that insufferable butt trumpet.”

  Adam snickered at the phrase “insufferable butt trumpet” but was met with such a stern glare from Rohan that his grin quickly faded.

  “Sorry,” Adam muttered.

  “I’m not taking the fall for anyone,” Henry said. And then, because he couldn’t resist, he said, “No matter how insufferably their butts might trumpet. Is that the right grammar? I’m rubbish with the conditional.”

  Adam dissolved into hastily stifled laughter. Even Rohan’s frown threatened to disappear.

&nb
sp; “I don’t think the headmaster was upset,” Henry persisted. “I know that he was distracted because of Frankie, but even so, he said that he couldn’t be seen approving, not that he didn’t approve.”

  “If the headmaster wasn’t upset, that’s even more worrying,” Rohan said with a frown.

  “He’s the one who prompted this,” Henry said, “hiring Admiral Blackwood to teach us ‘flag twirling,’ and talking about defying authority in his welcome speech.”

  “Next you’ll say he prompted Frankie to run off as well,” Rohan said, and sniffed.

  “No,” Henry said darkly, “that was me.” After all, Frankie had been talking of joining the battle society. It was only after Henry had refused that she’d run off. And he didn’t completely blame her for wanting to leave. It couldn’t be easy, watching her friends find their place at school, making friends with their classmates while she was stuck with a chaperone, learning embroidery.

  Henry felt horrible, replaying all of their squabbling that term, from that ill-fated suitor’s bow to Frankie’s lying in wait outside the first-year corridor, determined to catch him sneaking.

  “I hate to be the one to say it,” Rohan said, “but perhaps it’s for the best that Frankie has run off.”

  “Watch it, mate,” Adam warned.

  “She’s scandalized herself now, and frankly it’s a relief. None of us will have to carry the blame for ruining her reputation.”

  “No,” Henry muttered. “We’ll have to carry the guilt for driving her to do it.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Rohan said primly. “I never gave her the impression that I wished us to be friends.”

  “That’s rubbish, and you know it,” Adam said. “You begged her to help pull a prank on Valmont last term.”

  Rohan’s cheeks colored. “I’m going to bed,” he huffed, pulling back the covers, lying down, and clamping his pillow over his head, effectively ending the discussion.

  16

  A QUESTION UNASKED

  All through chapel the next morning, Henry couldn’t shake the thought that he was forgetting something important. It wasn’t until he wrote the date at the top of his notes in military history that Henry realized it was his birthday. He was fifteen.

  Lord Havelock was talking about germ warfare, and how early colonists had given native populations blankets that carried diseases, under the guise of giving presents. “Military technology need not be sophisticated,” Lord Havelock said. “It need only be innovative. Anything can be a weapon if its effect is harmful enough.”

  Derrick raised his hand, and Lord Havelock stopped talking, as though unsure what was happening; it was rare for anyone to ask a question in Lord Havelock’s class.

  “Yes, Marchbanks?”

  “Well, sir, I was wondering if you truly believe that. For example, can newspapers be weapons? Or what about laws?”

  Lord Havelock shot Derrick a Havelook of Doom. “That is a stupid question, boy. Mr. Grim, please explain to Mr. Marchbanks why I shall not deign to answer his inquiry.”

  Henry gulped. “Er, well,” he spluttered. “We’re talking about military technology, correct? So newspapers and laws might have a harmful effect, but they’re not run by any, er, wartime authorities, so they can’t be considered military technology.”

  “Passable, Grim,” Lord Havelock said.

  Derrick shrugged and returned to sketching a caricature of Lord Havelock as a vampire bat, which he and Conrad were passing back and forth beneath the table.

  But before Lord Havelock could resume his lecture, Adam raised his hand. Lord Havelock’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “You’ll have to hold it, Beckerman,” he snapped. “I do hope it isn’t an emergency.”

  Adam blushed. “I wasn’t asking to use the toilet.”

  “No?” Lord Havelock asked disdainfully.

  “No, sir,” Adam said. “I just wanted to point out that in the Nordlands, Chancellor Mors runs the newspapers and makes the laws. So, well, in the Nordlands, Derrick would be right, and they could be considered military technology.”

  Everyone gaped at Adam, who was forever giving the wrong answer or forgetting his textbook.

  For a moment Lord Havelock had no response, and then he cleared his throat, shuffled his lecture notes, and said, “Obviously.”

  Adam’s smugness on the matter carried on through fencing, where he offered to have a go against James St. Fitzroy, who admittedly beat him, but only by one touch.

  Henry originally fenced with Conrad, but for the second bout he partnered with Valmont for the first time since they’d begun the battle society. They hadn’t fenced foil against each other in ages.

  Henry made sure his mask was fastened tightly as he returned Valmont’s salute and took his guard on the opposite end of the piste.

  Valmont shot forward with a feint, which Henry anticipated.

  Henry tried to free his sword to the outside, but Valmont was expecting this and executed an overhead block at precisely the right moment.

  Henry shook his head as he pulled back, surprised at how in tune he and Valmont were with each other’s fencing styles. Taking a deep breath, Henry tried a short lunge with a forward recovery, followed by a coupé. They’d just taught the same move to the battle society two meetings before.

  Their blades locked again, and without thinking Henry disarmed Valmont, sending Valmont’s foil into the air. Henry caught it neatly, choked up on the foible, and presented it back to Valmont grip first. It wasn’t until Valmont pushed up his visor as he accepted the blade, his expression full of warning, that Henry realized they’d gained an audience.

  “Quite an interesting show, Mr. Grim, Mr. Valmont,” the fencing master said, raising an eyebrow.

  Henry bit his lip. “Sorry,” he apologized, and then scrambled for an explanation. “We were just talking about the theory behind disarming during lunch.”

  “I was referring to your pattern there, the short lunge and coupé. Would you mind demonstrating it for the class?”

  Henry shook his head and adjusted his mask. He performed the move again, with Valmont making the necessary blocks.

  “I’d like you all to try that,” the fencing master called, addressing the class. “As an exercise. Partners facing the mirror will lead. Don’t expect to have it on the first try, now.”

  The pairs of students adjusted their distances accordingly and did as the fencing master asked.

  Henry shot Valmont a brief but uneasy glance as the eighteen members of the battle society in first year—discounting Henry and Valmont—executed the move perfectly. The fencing master stared as though unable to believe what he was seeing. He shook his head as if to clear it.

  “Can I have that again?” he asked weakly.

  Again, nine of the pairs performed the maneuver flawlessly. Theobold, who’d always had trouble with forward recovery, threw down his mask and glowered. “Impossible,” he muttered to Crowley, with an accusing glare in Henry and Valmont’s direction.

  When classes were done for the day, Henry and Adam returned to the headmaster’s office.

  Henry knocked, but no one opened the door. He knocked again, this time louder. Still no answer.

  “Do you reckon he’s forgotten about us?” Adam asked brightly.

  “He’s not that scatterbrained.” Henry sighed. “I suppose we could wait here.”

  “In the corridor?”

  Henry shrugged. What else could they do? Thankfully, Headmaster Winter rounded the corner at that moment. He wore his best suit and a remarkably crisp cravat. Walking alongside him was a tall perpetually startled-looking gentleman in a somber black suit, a notebook tucked under his arm. Headmaster Winter paused halfway down the corridor to finish his discussion, and Henry overheard the name Lord Priscus and something about Throgmorten Hall before the headmaster bade farewell to his companion and hurried the rest of the way down the corridor.

  “Sorry, boys,” the headmaster called in a way that suggested he’d endured quite an exhausting af
ternoon. “Quite a full afternoon, you know. Running a bit behind, but it couldn’t be helped. You should have let yourselves in.”

  “Into your office, sir?” Henry said with a frown. “It didn’t seem right, since you’re supposed to be punishing us for theft.”

  “Eh?” Headmaster Winter said distractedly. “Ah, right. That. You boys had better come inside.” A collection of teacups and saucers had gathered on the head-master’s desk overnight, and sure enough, Henry could make out faint purplish bruises beneath the headmaster’s eyes, betraying his lack of sleep.

  “Have you found Frankie, sir?” Adam asked as he and Henry took seats on the sofa.

  “Not yet,” the headmaster said with a forlorn sigh. “And it’s really the worst possible time for her to pull a stunt like this.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Henry said. “I hope you find her soon.”

  “As do I,” Headmaster Winter replied. “But the matter at hand is not Francesca, but what, exactly, I’m to do with the two of you.”

  “A crime without a victim is a crime best overlooked?” Adam suggested.

  Henry elbowed him. The headmaster regarded them sternly.

  “Sorry, sir,” they mumbled.

  “As I see it,” said Headmaster Winter, “since the sabres were put back with no harm done, you boys were simply caught wandering the corridors after curfew. Unfortunately, as first years, this is an expellable offense. The final decision shall be made by your head of year.”

  “It’s up to Lord Havelock?” Henry asked despairingly. Well, he thought, this was it. They were done for. Because Henry remembered all too well his run-in with Lord Havelock at Grandmother Winter’s holiday party, and Lord Havelock’s subsequent warning for Henry to stay out of trouble.

  Perhaps if he explained that Valmont had been part of it … No, he couldn’t. Betraying the battle society for leniency was the same as declaring their preparations for war nothing more than a game. The battle society was worth more than a shot at keeping his place at Knightley. An impatient knock sounded on the door of the headmaster’s office. “Come in,” Headmaster Winter called.