The Secret Prince

by Violet Haberdasher

  But the dining hall was oddly subdued, the students acting as though they were at a formal supper rather than laughing and joking per usual. Henry winced as he and Adam crept to the first-year table and slid gratefully into their seats, pale, sweating, and exhausted.

  “Are you two all right?” Conrad asked, looking back and forth between Henry and Adam with genuine concern. The boys seated nearby shot one another nervous glances before scooting as far away from Henry and Adam as the benches would allow.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Henry said, pouring himself a glass of water. His hands shook as he hefted the pitcher, and water splashed onto the table. “What’s going on?”

  “My father’s here,” Derrick muttered, nodding toward the High Table.

  Henry looked. The High Table had been extended to allow for eight guests. No wonder everyone was acting as though they could be expelled for dropping a fork.

  “I heard there’s flu going around,” Rohan commented loudly, with a pointed look at Henry and Adam. “You’ve looked off all afternoon.”

  Henry shrugged, his attention still on the High Table. Lord Havelock scowled back at him for a moment before turning his attention to the ancient gentleman on his left. And then Edmund passed Adam the basket of rolls, and Adam went green. He clapped his hand to his mouth and rushed from the dining hall.

  Henry wearily watched him go. “Actually,” he admitted, “maybe I am feeling a bit off.” He took a small sip of the water. It made his stomach roll.

  “You look awful,” Edmund said. “Maybe you should go to bed.”

  “Yeah,” Henry said, climbing to his feet. “Must have caught that flu.”

  “Feel better,” Derrick called.

  Henry dragged himself from the dining hall. As he crawled into bed, he wondered worriedly how long it would be until the effects of the emetic wore off.

  An hour later he was feeling much better. He sat up, running a hand through his mussed hair.

  Adam was curled up in a ball on the floor and clutching their wastebasket, which was thankfully empty.

  “Adam, get up,” Henry said.

  Adam moaned. “I’m dying,” he whispered.

  “You’re not,” Henry said. “I feel loads better. I think it’s wearing off.”

  Adam sat up gingerly. “Oh, you’re right,” he said sheepishly. “I do feel better.”

  Henry rolled his eyes. And then a knock sounded at the door.

  “Act like you still feel poorly,” Henry whispered, and then raised his voice. “Come in.”

  Valmont pushed open the door to their room. Adam loudly faked being sick into the wastebasket.

  Henry’s stomach lurched at the sound, and he swallowed.

  “What are you doing?” Valmont asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “What does it look like?” Henry retorted. “Lying in bed and being ill.”

  “You’re pretending,” Valmont said. “You were fine earlier.”

  Valmont looked around their room, his gaze lingering on Henry’s book-strewn desk, Adam’s messy half-open drawers, and Rohan’s tidy work space.

  “We got caught,” Henry admitted. “After the battle society meeting last night. Headmaster Winter saw us with the sabres.”

  “What did you tell him?” Valmont demanded.

  “I didn’t turn you in, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Henry said sourly, swinging his feet over the side of his bed and briefly explaining the situation. “And everyone’s too distracted by our esteemed guests to deal with us. Maybe if you spoke with Lord Havelock over the weekend, he’d go easy on us.”

  “Are you mad, Grim? That’s the same as turning myself in.”

  “But he’d listen to you,” Adam said indignantly.

  “Right.” Valmont sneered. “That’s likely.”

  “We’re going to the Nordlands,” Henry admitted. “And you can’t tell anyone.”

  “That’s impossible,” Valmont said. “You can’t get across the border.”

  “Actually, we can.” Henry quickly told Valmont why the gentlemen at supper were there, and what he planned to do about it.

  “You’re going as servants?” Valmont hooted. “Oh, that’s priceless.”

  Henry shot him a dark look.

  “Sorry,” Valmont muttered.

  “It’s just for the weekend,” Adam said.

  “That’s why you’re faking ill?” Valmont asked, and then his gaze fell on the bottle of ipecac syrup on Henry’s desk. “Oh, very clever.”

  “Want to try some?” Adam asked brightly. “I bet it works even better after you’ve eaten a large supper.”

  Valmont shot him a disgusted look.

  “Just keep quiet about this,” Henry warned.

  “I’m not Theobold,” Valmont said angrily. “I’m not going to turn you in for trying to do something that benefits us all.”

  Adam looked up in surprise. “Really, mate?”

  “I’m not your mate,” Valmont returned. “But, yes, I think it’s a good idea—mostly because I’ll thoroughly enjoy my weekend knowing that you two are off scrubbing the floors like the commoners you are.”

  “Careful,” Henry said dryly, “or someone might think you actually mean it.”

  Valmont huffed and slammed the door.

  Henry couldn’t sleep that night. He stared at Adam, who was dead to the world, and Rohan, who had clamped a pillow over his head to drown out Adam’s snores, and he wondered where Frankie had gone, and if she was wondering after them as well. Not that it mattered what Frankie was thinking.

  But mostly Henry thought about how strange it would feel to play the role of the servant again, even if it was only for the weekend.

  When it was time, he woke Adam.

  “Ready to go, servant boy?” Henry joked, buttoning his most ragged shirt. He pulled on his worn boots and hunted up a plain necktie from the bottom of his drawer.

  Adam yawned hugely and staggered to the wardrobe, his blankets wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.

  “Should we bring this?” Henry asked with an uncertain frown, holding up the bottle of ipecac syrup.

  “Nah.” Adam yawned again. “Pour the rest of it onto Rohan’s toothbrush.”

  Henry snickered at the thought.

  “I am awake, you know,” Rohan said primly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Are you two leaving now?”

  Adam finished buttoning one of his spectacularly rumpled shirts and nodded.

  “Don’t forget to make your beds look as though they aren’t empty,” Rohan said with a sigh, “in case anyone should check.”

  “We were already planning on it,” Henry said, retrieving his battered old satchel from beneath his bed.

  “Don’t mind me, then, if you’ve already thought of everything,” Rohan said stiffly.

  “I thought you didn’t want to be involved with this,” Henry said.

  “I don’t,” Rohan said, watching as Henry placed an armload of clothes beneath his blankets so that it looked as though he were still asleep.

  “Valmont thinks it’s a good idea,” Adam said.

  “You told Valmont?” Rohan accused. “Does everyone know?”

  “What does it matter?” Henry asked. “Since you’re not involved.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t,” Rohan said firmly. “I’ll see you on Sunday night. Try not to make too much noise, as some of us are actually trying to sleep.”

  Adam caught Henry’s gaze and shrugged.

  “Ready to go?” Henry whispered.

  “In a moment,” Adam said, unfastening his necklace. With an apologetic grimace he placed the charm into his desk drawer. “How do I look?” he asked, straightening his shoulders.

  “Very, er, nondenominational,” Henry said.

  Adam ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

  “Take care of yourselves,” Rohan mumbled.

  “We will,” Henry said, shoving a few last-minute provisions into his satchel. “And we’ll be back tomorrow night.”


  Adam shouldered his own bag and followed Henry into the shadowy hallway, with its lamps burning low and the sky dark through the windows. When they reached the kitchens, Henry found Liza and Mary hard at work preparing an enormous hamper of food for the envoy.

  “Stop lingerin’ in the doorway, you two,” Liza said without seeming to turn around.

  Henry and Adam guiltily shuffled into the kitchen. “Good morning, Liza,” Henry said.

  “Not really,” Liza grumbled. “Got half the staff carryin’ luggage down to the train station, an’ the other half lookin’ for Miss Winter. An’ who’s stuck in the kitchen doin’ all the work? Little ol’ Liza, tha’s who.”

  “We’re sorry, Liza,” Henry said, “and I hate to bother you, but we need a favor.”

  “Please say yes,” Adam put in.

  “An’ what sort o’ favor do you need?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron and spinning to face them. She clucked as she surveyed the boys, taking in their plain clothing and bed-ruffled hair.

  “Spare uniforms,” Henry admitted.

  “We don’ keep student uniforms here,” Liza said with a frown.

  “Er, actually, I meant staff uniforms. We need to go with the envoy this weekend, but they can’t think we’re students here,” Henry pleaded.

  Liza stared at Henry and Adam in shock. “You’re meanin’ to go to the Nordlands?”

  “It’s important,” Henry said simply. “We have to.”

  Liza nodded slowly, accepting this as an answer. “Well, then,” she said, “uniforms are kept back in that cupboard past the larder there.”

  “Thank you, Liza,” Henry said with a small bow, and then he elbowed Adam.

  “Yes, thank you,” Adam mumbled, following Henry to get changed.

  When they returned to the kitchen, Mr. Frist was already there, his black suit impeccably crisp, his mustache bristling. “Are these the provisions?” Mr. Frist sniffed, peering at the hamper.

  “Yes, sorr,” Mary said. “All packed and ready to go.”

  Mr. Frist made a note in his leather-bound book and then sighed. “Yes, well, that seems to be in order, at least. A shame no one could scare up any extra staff.”

  Henry took a deep breath. It was then or never. “We’d be willin’ to go,” he said, making his voice gruff.

  “To the Nordlands?” Mr. Frist pressed, as though he couldn’t believe his luck.

  Henry shrugged. “Extra pay’s extra pay. Don’ much hold for no superstitions.”

  For a moment Mr. Frist looked like he might hug them.

  Liza frowned, but set her mouth into a tight line and kept quiet.

  “You’re in charge of bringing the food down to the station,” Mr. Frist continued. “I’ll be along presently. Can you boys see to that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Henry and Adam chorused, a little too smartly. Henry winced, but Mr. Frist didn’t seem to notice.

  “Here yeh go,” Liza said gruffly, latching the hamper shut and giving it a slap. “Mind yeh don’ shake the contents none.” But despite her tone Liza’s eyes danced with amusement, and she was biting back a smile. Henry rather suspected that she’d always wanted to give orders to the students, and was finally having her chance.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Henry said, playing along.

  He and Adam hefted the enormous hamper, each seizing hold of one of the thick leather straps and carrying it between them. They struggled out the back door of the kitchen, the servants’ entrance, and onto the school grounds.

  It was still dark outside, the sky a sulky shade of purple that began to lighten as they staggered alongside the road that lead down to the village.

  “That was easy,” Adam commented, nearly dropping his side of the hamper as he tripped over a stone.

  “Careful!” Henry warned.

  “Sorry,” Adam said contritely. “But it was easy. Good thing for Liza.”

  “We’re not even on the train yet,” Henry reminded him.

  “I know,” Adam muttered. “I’m just saying.”

  “This is going to be difficult,” Henry warned. “We have to be careful we don’t give ourselves away, like back in the kitchen.”

  “What are you talking about?” Adam asked.

  “I don’t think we’re very convincing servants,” Henry admitted. “There’s the bowing, for one thing. Remember how Professor Turveydrop could tell the difference? We have to be rough about it, no matter if we’re bowing to a lord minister or just Mr. Frist.”

  “Okay,” Adam said slowly. “What else.”

  “No saluting,” Henry continued. “And if you have to serve tea, stand by the door until you’re dismissed.”

  Adam nodded.

  “And speaking,” Henry went on, suddenly realizing how very many things had the capacity to go wrong. “We have to sound a bit, you know, uneducated. Ugh, this is going to be a disaster.”

  “But you’ve done all of this before, mate,” Adam reminded him.

  They paused for a minute to rest their hands from carrying the hamper, and a crowd of serving boys in Knightley school livery trudged past them on the other side of the road, heading back up to the school. Henry and Adam ducked their heads. When the boys had passed, they picked up the hamper and continued on.

  “Yes, but I had nothing to hide,” Henry explained. “So what did it matter if I sounded a bit posh? It’s not my fault the orphanage priest drilled elocution into me with a birch rod.” Henry bit his lip, realizing what he’d just shared. “And if we have to eat with other members of the serving staff, roughen up your manners,” he said as an afterthought.

  “I think I’m getting a blister,” Adam complained.

  “Good,” Henry said. “We could use some of those.”

  “You’re mental sometimes, you know that?” Adam muttered.

  Avel-on-t’Hems was a small, quaint village left over from medieval times, with a narrow street of disreputable shops and a crumbling, dingy church that made Knightley’s chapel seem like a cathedral in comparison.

  The train station was across from a rather seedy pub with two ancient jousting lances crossed over the front door and three tall, crooked chimneys. The Lance, Henry thought, the pub where Ollie went to fight.

  Henry and Adam straggled onto the platform and eagerly set down the hamper, which felt as though it were filled with encyclopedias, not tea and sandwiches.

  “Worst morning ever,” Adam complained, picking at a rapidly forming blister.

  “Don’t,” Henry chided. “That only makes them worse.”

  The platform was empty, but a small gleaming steam engine chortled on the tracks.

  “I’m starving,” Adam said. “Seeing as how we missed supper.” Henry opened his mouth to protest, but Adam grinned and continued, “But I guess that a growling stomach adds to the charade?”

  Henry grinned. And at that moment a stocky, disheveled lad of around sixteen poked his head out of the door to the station. Through the door, Henry could just see a small waiting area lined with benches.

  “You boys with the envoy?” the lad demanded.

  Henry nodded.

  “Well, come inside an’ wait with the rest of us,” the boy said, holding open the door.

  Henry and Adam exchanged a nervous glance and then followed.

  “I’m George,” the boy said.

  “Er, I’m Henry and this is Adam,” Henry said, and then wondered belatedly if they ought to have given false names.

  “Well, it’s goin’ to be a bloody ’orrible train ride,” George said over his shoulder. “I went on the last one. Best drink yer fill before we’re off.”

  George settled onto a bench near another boy around their age, who had a face like a rat and was nursing a silver flask. George grabbed the flask from the boy and took a swallow before holding it out to Henry.

  Henry and Adam exchanged an uneasy glance.

  George laughed uproariously at Henry’s and Adam’s expressions of panic.

  “Aw, Jem an’ I are j
ust makin’ fun of ya,” George said. “Here, take it.”

  He thrust the drink at Henry, who took a cautious sniff and then grinned. It was coffee. Even though Henry didn’t particularly feel like sharing a flask with Jem and George, he knew better than to refuse. He forced himself to take a sip, and then passed it to Adam. “Want some?”

  Adam made a face.

  “It’s coffee,” Henry said.

  “Nah,” Adam mumbled.

  “Aren’t we supposed to wait on the platform?” Henry asked.

  George shrugged. “Mr. Frist can’t leave without us. Relax, Knightley boys.”

  Henry and Adam jumped. “Sorry?” Henry asked, hoping he’d misheard.

  “Yer uniforms,” George said. “Yer from up at that fancy school.”

  “Er, right,” Henry said.

  “Dunno how you stand it, servin’ boys yer age wot never had to lift a finger in their lives,” Jem said.

  “It’s not so bad,” Adam said. “They mostly ignore us.”

  Jem and George were both from the village. George did odd jobs at the Lance, and Jem was a shop boy for a local boot maker. It would just be the four of them, and Mr. Frist, who was in charge.

  “Course some o’ the gen’lmun will have their personal valets, but they’re senior staff so we’ll be servin’ them, too,” George said as Mr. Frist pushed open the door, tapping his pen impatiently against his notebook.

  “Hurry up, boys,” Mr. Frist snapped, turning on his heel. “Keep to schedule.”

  George and Jem hurried after Mr. Frist, and Henry and Adam followed nervously.

  “Managed to get four, have we?” Mr. Frist muttered, making a note.

  “Yes, sir,” the boys chorused, Henry and Adam a bit too posh once again.

  Jem and George snickered, and Henry elbowed Adam, who shrugged.

  “George,” Mr. Frist snapped. “You know the drill, so you’re in charge of the others. Make certain everyone changes into their livery before the train leaves the station.”

  “Yes, sir,” George said.

  “Now stow your things in the servants’ car and get to work,” Mr. Frist ordered, closing his book with a resounding thwack and stalking off to have a word with the conductor.

  18

  THE NORDLANDS EXPRESS