The Secret Prince

by Violet Haberdasher

  The door burst open to reveal Lord Havelock, wearing his best pin-striped suit without his master’s gown. He brandished a handful of telegrams and an air of dreadful news.

  “Ah, Magnus,” Headmaster Winter said. “What news?”

  “The Nordlandic envoy is short-staffed,” Lord Havelock reported, as though Henry and Adam weren’t in the room at all, “and it is doubtful that suitable replacements can be found in time. Mr. Frist neglected to consider the servants’ absurd superstitions, and the date has them all seeing death omens in the tea.”

  “Yes, yes, beware the ides of March and all that,” Headmaster Winter said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “This certainly is a problem.”

  “It would be a grave misstep for the envoy to leave without a proper serving staff,” Lord Havelock continued. “I’m certain Yascherov would be all too eager to lend us a few of his own loyal young men.” Lord Havelock’s tone conveyed what an utter disaster that would be.

  Headmaster Winter frowned. “How long do we have to find replacements?” Lord Winter asked.

  “The envoy leaves at dawn tomorrow. The train is scheduled to depart Avel-on-t’Hems at six exactly.”

  “Perhaps,” Headmaster Winter mused, “there are a few serving boys at the school whom no one has thought to ask.” The headmaster’s gaze fell upon Henry, and Henry’s eyes widened, wondering if the headmaster meant him. But no, that was absurd.

  “Er, should we go, sir?” Adam mumbled, fiddling with the strap on his satchel. Henry stared at him in surprise. “Into the corridor to let you and Lord Havelock speak in private, I mean?”

  “Yes, perhaps it would be best if you boys returned to your dormitory,” Headmaster Winter said distractedly, his attention going back to Lord Havelock. “Has Mr. Frist inquired down in the village for boys?”

  Adam opened his mouth as if to ask another question, but then thought better of it and shouldered his satchel instead. Henry followed Adam out of the headmaster’s office past Lord Havelock, who shot the boys a withering glare before slamming the door behind them.

  “Let’s go,” Henry muttered, trying to ignore the muffled but insistent rise and fall of voices coming from behind the closed door.

  As they walked toward the quadrangle, a burst of hesitant late-afternoon sunshine made the cold air unexpectedly bearable. Henry noticed with surprise that the skeletal trees were coming back to life, proudly displaying tiny green buds and freshly sprouted leaves. Had winter truly passed without his noticing?

  Adam pushed up the sleeves of his jacket and squinted up at the sky. “Why aren’t we in trouble?”

  “I don’t know,” Henry said. “I think the headmaster’s distracted by a lot of things at the moment.”

  “Such as Lord Priscus being here, you mean,” Adam muttered.

  Henry frowned.

  “The last headmaster,” Adam explained. “Ancient bloke. James mentioned it during fencing.”

  “Hmmm,” Henry said, processing this new piece of information. “I suppose. Maybe he’s here for that envoy Headmaster Winter was talking about.”

  They passed the rock garden and neared the quadrangle, where a crowd of third years were enthusiastically playing cricket in the patchy sunshine. Stephen, who was in the battle society, caught sight of Henry and waved.

  Adam waved back, but Henry was lost in thought. “That was so strange,” he said, thinking aloud. “It was almost as though Headmaster Winter … Never mind.”

  “As though Headmaster Winter what?” Adam pressed.

  Henry shook his head.

  “Oh, you mean how it seemed like the headmaster wanted us to go on that envoy as spies,” Adam said casually.

  Henry stared at Adam in surprise. “Actually, yes,” Henry admitted. “But that’s absurd.”

  “Not really,” Adam said. “If our punishment for breaking curfew is up to Lord Havelock, we’re as good as expelled. It’s not as though we have anything left to lose if we go.”

  “Would you really go?” Henry asked.

  “Of course,” Adam said without pausing to consider.

  “But we hardly know anything about it. They could be staying for weeks. It could be dangerous.”

  Adam shrugged. “We could ask Derrick. It’s a diplomatic envoy, right? His father’s a diplomat.”

  A moment of silent agreement passed between the two friends, and without another word they hurried back to the first-year corridor.

  Derrick was in his room when Henry and Adam knocked.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, ushering them inside.

  Henry quickly explained how the headmaster had caught them in the hall outside the armory the night before, and what he and Adam were thinking. Derrick frowned and picked up a small golden clock from his bedside table, absently winding it as he told them what he knew. It was a monthly envoy to visit Dimit Yascherov, who headed both the Nordlandic Policing Agency and the Partisan School, acting as the chancellor’s right-hand man. The envoy flew under the guise of fostering discussion, but really it was the Ministerium’s way of reminding the Nordlands that they were watching.

  “Watching for what?” Henry asked, and at the same moment Adam said, “So they’ve gone before?”

  “I don’t know what they’re watching for,” Derrick said. “New technologies? The obvious answer would be violations to the Longsword Treaty. And, yes, last month was the first envoy. I know because my father’s secretary went.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Henry asked.

  Derrick shrugged. “It’s not important. Just a load of old diplomats flexing their muscles and sneering, then bowing politely and returning home at the end of the weekend none the wiser.”

  “But they’re definitely going to Partisan Keep?” Henry pressed. “And just for the weekend?”

  “They’re going to see Yascherov,” Derrick said. “I’d assume so.”

  “These men work at the Ministerium, right?” Henry said slowly. “If we showed them evidence of Partisan students being trained in combat, wouldn’t that make changing the conscription laws a priority, if nothing else?”

  Derrick looked up from winding the clock in surprise. “Do you know, it actually might,” he said. “It’s worth a chance.”

  “Really?” Adam asked eagerly.

  “So if we went to the Nordlands,” Henry said, “we could be the spies that Lord Havelock was afraid Yascherov would have. We could find evidence of combat training, and even if the envoy refused to believe us about a war, they’d at least feel unsettled enough to change the conscription laws.”

  “You’d actually go?” Derrick asked in surprise, but the answer was plain on Henry’s face.

  “We’re done for anyway,” Adam said cheerfully. “Lord Havelock will expel us for wandering the school after hours. Maybe he’d reconsider if we came back as heroes. And if not, well, if we’re serious about preparing for war, how could we not go? All we have to do is convince someone called Mr. Frist that we’re servants tomorrow morning.”

  Derrick shook his head incredulously. “I could cover for you,” he offered. “So that no one knows you’re missing. Perhaps spread the rumor that you’ve taken ill.”

  “That would never work,” Henry said. “Sander—this other serving boy at the Midsummer School—used to try it all the time. We have to show everyone that we’re ill.”

  Adam let out a convincing groan and doubled over in an excessively theatrical coughing fit.

  Henry rolled his eyes. “It sounds like you’ve been smoking Jasper’s pipe.”

  “Oi, then you try it,” Adam retorted.

  Henry frowned, thinking. And then he remembered the collection of jars in the back of their medicine classroom, one in particular.

  Excitedly Henry began to explain his plan.

  While Adam went to get the bottle from Sir Robert’s classroom, Henry went to visit Professor Stratford. He owed the professor that much, and anyway, joining the diplomatic envoy in the guise of servants was danger
ous, and someone had to know where they were going—someone besides their classmates, anyway.

  Henry knocked on the door of the headmaster’s house, and the butler opened it with a look of distaste.

  “Er, where’s Ellen?” Henry asked.

  “If you’ve come to see staff, you should use the staff entrance,” the butler intoned, making to close the door in Henry’s face.

  Henry wedged it open with his boot just in time. “Er, sorry,” Henry tried again. “I was just wondering. I’m actually here to see Professor Stratford.”

  “Ah.” The butler sniffed. “In that case may I have your card?”

  “I don’t have a card,” Henry pressed. “I’m a student here. Can’t I just, er, go upstairs?”

  “As you wish, sir,” the butler said disapprovingly. “And since you asked, the junior staff is out searching for Miss Winter.”

  Henry followed the balding, bland butler up the grand staircase and down the hall. The butler threw open the door to Professor Stratford’s book-strewn study and announced Henry’s arrival with thick sarcasm before bearing a stately retreat. Henry shook his head at the ridiculous formality, assuming it was because of the presence of the diplomatic envoy. Before he could recover, Professor Stratford had crushed him in an enormous hug.

  “Happy birthday, my boy!” Professor Stratford said with a broad grin.

  “Oh, right,” Henry said, grimacing. With everything else that had happened that day, turning fifteen had slipped his mind. “Thanks.”

  “Well, sit down and open your present.” Professor Stratford handed him an expensive-looking parcel tied with a silk ribbon.

  “You didn’t have to,” Henry mumbled, embarrassed.

  “Nonsense. I wanted to,” Professor Stratford said, leaning back in his chair and lighting his pipe. “Go on, open it.”

  Henry untied the ribbon, feeling anything but festive. He’d come to tell Professor Stratford of his plan to sneak off to the Nordlands for the weekend, not to have a carefree birthday party. But he couldn’t bring himself to disappoint the professor, and so he forced what he hoped was a convincing grin, opened the parcel, and peered inside.

  The parcel contained a pair of striped pajamas, a bottle green dressing gown, and a pair of matching bedroom slippers. It was a thoughtful present—Henry had often been embarrassed of his own pair of ragged pajamas, or gone barefoot to the common room after supper, but he’d had enough trouble affording a new school uniform on his wages from the bookshop. He bit his lip, horribly ashamed at how rarely he had visited Professor Stratford that term.

  “Don’t you like it?” Professor Stratford frowned worriedly. “I thought you might have outgrown your old ones, but if you’d rather pick out a new pair yourself …”

  “No, I—,” Henry said, at a loss for words. He began again. “This is too much. I can’t accept it.”

  “Nonsense,” the professor said. “I want you to have it. In fact, I insist.”

  “But—,” Henry began. Professor Stratford had given him an extravagant present for Christmas as well—his first proper suit. And while Henry was beyond grateful, he wasn’t used to receiving presents, much less expensive ones.

  “Thank you,” Henry said finally. “Truly, it’s just what I needed.”

  “You’re welcome,” Professor Stratford said. “And now that I have you here, I’d very much enjoy hearing what’s going on in your life.”

  Henry winced. “Er, well,” he said, trying to stall as much as he could by retying the ribbon around the parcel.

  But Professor Stratford wasn’t fooled. His expression turned serious. “I know you well enough to know that you’ve been avoiding me. So I’m certainly eager to know what, exactly, you’ve been up to.”

  Henry sighed and told the professor everything. He began with the forgotten classroom and the trunks of weapons and ended with what Headmaster Winter had said about needing extra servants to staff the envoy to the Nordlands.

  “Absolutely not,” Professor Stratford said sternly. “You are not going to the Nordlands, of all places. You’ve misunderstood. Certainly the headmaster can’t have meant for you to go.”

  “You weren’t there,” Henry said coolly. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t say that.”

  “Henry, it’s a noble thought, but your place is here with your friends. And your only responsibility is to earn good marks in your classes.”

  Henry sighed. “I thought you’d be proud of me,” he said. “For starting the battle society. For finding a way to prepare the other students for war, and for wanting to help when everyone else is too afraid to even acknowledge the problem.”

  “I am proud of you, Henry, more than you’ll ever know. But all isn’t lost. You have no call to go running off to the Nordlands just because of a few complications.”

  “How can you say that?” Henry retorted. “I’m as good as expelled. And now Frankie’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for Frankie,” Professor Stratford said sadly. “She might come to her senses and return home.”

  “She won’t,” Henry said. “She’s always talked of running off. I just never thought she meant it. And what’s to become of you if she never returns?”

  “I’ll manage,” the professor said. “I always do. But, Henry, please—don’t put me in this position.”

  “If you’re so keen to stop me, feel free to tell Lord Havelock what we’re planning,” Henry retorted.

  Professor Stratford frowned and chewed nervously on the corner of his mustache, briefly considering. And then he put his elbows on the desk and rested his head in his hands. “Please don’t ask this of me,” the professor mumbled.

  “I’m not asking for permission,” Henry said firmly. “I’m going. I wanted you to know because I hate that I didn’t tell you about the battle society. I’ll be back on Sunday night.” He pushed back his chair and picked up the parcel, ashamed to accept such a gift after what he’d just said. But leaving the package behind would have been even worse manners.

  “Thank you for the birthday present,” he said gingerly. And as an afterthought he said, “Oh, and whatever happens at supper, it would be best if, er, you just went along with it.”

  Feeling as though he had deeply betrayed Professor Stratford, Henry slunk from the room and let himself out of the headmaster’s house.

  17

  THE MASQUER ADE BEGINS

  Adam made a face and peered skeptically at the bottle of medicine. “How much should we take?” he asked.

  Henry glanced up from his desk, where he was flipping through the index to their medicine textbook. “I don’t know. I can’t find anything about emetics in here.”

  “A sip should do it,” Rohan said in a rather long-suffering manner. “I had to take some when I ate poisonous berries off Father’s estate as a child. Although I should warn you, you’ll feel horrible after.”

  “That’s the plan,” Henry said, closing his textbook.

  “Is this really necessary?” Rohan asked.

  “Yes,” Henry and Adam said.

  “No, not the ipecac syrup,” Rohan said. “The envoy. What if Lord Havelock’s there? What if someone recognizes you?”

  “No one’s going to recognize us,” Henry said confidently. “Servants are as good as invisible. Besides, Adam and I were banned from the Inter-School Tournament last term, so no one should know us at Partisan, either. I hope.”

  “Just because Frankie’s run off doesn’t mean you should as well,” Rohan said, and sniffed.

  “This isn’t about Frankie,” Henry said. “It’s about doing what we can to prevent a war, or at least to prepare for it.”

  “I’m with Henry, mate,” Adam said. “No one ever won a war by sitting and waiting for it to happen.”

  “Do what you wish. I want no part of it,” Rohan said primly, standing up. “I’m going to supper before anyone thinks I’ve caught what you two have.”

  “What?” Adam asked, and then helpfully pa
ntomimed vomiting. “You mean that?”

  “Actually, I was referring to your ridiculous need to meddle with things that are better left untouched.” And with that, Rohan slammed the door.

  Henry bit his lip. He’d thought Rohan would come around, like he always had. It hurt that Rohan didn’t approve of their plan, but then, Rohan rarely approved of anything these days besides cricket or schoolwork.

  “Do you think we’re making a mistake?” Henry asked.

  Adam shook his head. “No, but I think Rohan is. He should support us. We’re his friends.”

  “It doesn’t feel like it,” Henry said dryly.

  “He’s probably just upset at being left behind.”

  “We can’t take him to the Nordlands,” Henry said. “And it’s not as though he’s begging to come.”

  “Actually, mate, I meant if Lord Havelock expels us.”

  “Oh,” Henry said. “I didn’t think of that.”

  But now that he did, it made an odd sort of sense. He could just imagine how much Rohan would loathe being the lone commoner at the academy, especially considering how sensitive he was about the label.

  “We should probably, you know,” Adam said, nodding toward the bottle of ipecac syrup.

  “Right.” Henry twisted open the bottle. “Bottoms up,” he muttered, taking a swig. He made a face and passed the bottle to Adam.

  “L’Chayim,” Adam said, swallowing. “Ugh, that’s awful.”

  “Not as awful as what’s to come,” Henry said darkly, fumbling to remove his tie and roll up his shirtsleeves. “Come on, before it kicks in.”

  Twenty minutes later Henry picked himself up from the floor of the toilets with a groan. He was pale, clammy, and shaking.

  “Adam?” he croaked.

  “Worst idea ever,” Adam whimpered, hugging the sink for dear life. He looked even worse than Henry felt.

  “Come on,” Henry said weakly. “We have to go to supper.”

  “Don’t mention food,” Adam moaned. “I hate food. I hate the way it tastes … coming up.” He shuddered at the memory.

  Henry swallowed thickly, hoping neither of them would be sick again as he held open the door to the hallway. Somehow they made it to the dining hall.