The Secret Prince

by Violet Haberdasher

  “Come with me,” Liza interrupted, seizing Rohan by the sleeve and towing him into the hallway. Valmont followed, snickering at the injustice.

  “Now listen ’ere,” she scolded, poking him in the chest with a finger. “Yeh can be polite about comin’ down where yeh aren’t wanted nor allowed an’ demandin’ answers.”

  Rohan blanched, and then with a sigh he favored the maid with a stiff bow. “My apologies, madam,” he tried. “I’m quite out of sorts this afternoon. You see, my roommates are missing.”

  Liza, who’d been mollified by the bow and flowery language, suddenly paled. “Whatchoo mean, missing?”

  “They’ve yet to return,” Rohan clarified.

  “But the envoy came back las’ night,” Liza said.

  “Without them?” Rohan pressed.

  Liza shrugged. “No one much noticed nothin’ besides the carpetbag.”

  “The carpetbag?”

  “Found it back in the storage car, they did. Full o’ the belongings o’ one Francesca Winter.”

  “What?” Rohan thundered.

  “Shouldn’t a told yeh that.” Liza sulked. “The ’ead-master don’t want it gettin’ out.”

  “Wait, I don’t understand,” Rohan said, frowning. “So where’s Fra—er, Miss Winter?”

  “Either she stowed away on that train fer two days an’ then hopped off in the city with them fancy lords, or …”

  “Or?” Rohan urged.

  Liza grinned and leaned in close, relishing the dramatics. “She’s in the Nordlands.”

  “But why would she get off in the city without her bag?” Rohan frowned.

  “Tha’s what I said!” Liza crowed. “But if Master Henry and Master Adam ain’t returned neither, tha’s a whole ’nother kettle o’ kippers.”

  Valmont loudly cleared his throat. “Can we go?” he demanded.

  “In a minute,” Rohan snapped. “Hold on.”

  But Liza had slipped back into the kitchen, as cool as you please. The door slammed shut in their faces.

  “You bowed to a servant,” Valmont crowed.

  Rohan glared. “Well, it got the job done. Now we know what’s happened.”

  “Maybe,” Valmont said. “Or maybe Grim ran off with that improper little lady friend of his and Becker-man’s too much of a coward to come back here with the news.”

  “If you really think that, I have nothing more to say to you,” Rohan said primly, hurrying up the staircase.

  “What?” Valmont snapped. “Oh, very well. I was just being callous. I didn’t mean it. Satisfied?”

  “Hardly.” Rohan waited for Valmont to catch up.

  “Where are we going now?” Valmont asked.

  “To see Professor Stratford,” Rohan said tensely.

  “Out of the question.”

  “Why?”

  “Go by yourself, Mehta,” Valmont spat, stalking off in the opposite direction.

  “No,” Rohan said. “You wanted in, and you can’t very well dump this on me because you suddenly feel like it.” Rohan crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.

  Valmont glared.

  “What the deuces is your problem?” Rohan asked, and then he realized why Valmont had balked at the mention of where they were going. Professor Stratford had been Valmont’s teacher back at the Midsummer School.

  “Oh. Sorry. I’d forgotten the two of you are already acquainted,” Rohan muttered.

  Valmont scuffed the toe of his boot into the ragged carpet and was quiet for a long while. “Did you believe that serving girl?” Valmont finally asked.

  “I wouldn’t think there’s a need to see Professor Stratford if I didn’t. Besides which, he already knows most of it. I want to know what he’s thinking.”

  “I cannot believe I’m doing this,” Valmont said under his breath. “Lead the way.”

  Professor Stratford glanced up mournfully as the two boys hovered in the doorway to his study. The maid hadn’t wanted to let them in, but Rohan had insisted. Now he wished he hadn’t.

  He barely knew Professor Stratford, and the professor looked terrible, his hair drooping forward and shading his brows, dark circles beneath his eyes, and the beginnings of a patchy beard.

  “Oh, Rohan, I wasn’t expecting you, lad,” Professor Stratford said with an unconvincing smile. “And, my goodness, Valmont.”

  “Hello, Professor,” Valmont mumbled.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Rohan said with a solicitous bow. “Would you be able to spare a moment, sir?”

  “So formal,” Professor Stratford said, shaking his head. “Take a seat, boys, and tell me what I can help you with.”

  Rohan and Valmont exchanged a nervous glance as they settled into the chairs across from the professor’s book-strewn desk. Headmaster Winter’s house carried an air of misfortune, and the tragedy was thickest there in the professor’s study.

  “We’ve heard the news about Frankie’s bag being located,” Rohan said.

  Professor Stratford bit his lip.

  “Sir, what do you think has happened?” Rohan pressed.

  But the professor said nothing. A silent war had broken out between Professor Stratford and Valmont—a staring match, of sorts. The professor steepled his fingers and waited.

  Valmont cracked first. “You have my word that nothing will leave this room,” he said sourly. “Grim and I haven’t always gotten along, but we had an understanding, and he honored it when he could have betrayed me, so I owe him enough to keep quiet about whatever’s happened.”

  Rohan stared at Valmont in shock. That was actually rather decent of him, and Rohan hadn’t previously counted decency among Fergus Valmont’s qualities.

  “Thank you for the assurances, lad,” Professor Stratford said, his mustache twitching as he attempted, and failed, to deliver yet another reassuring grin. “I hear your battle society has been quite the success, actually.”

  “Do you and your roommates tell him everything?” Valmont demanded, turning to Rohan.

  Rohan shrugged. “He’s a friend.”

  “You’re such a trio of do-gooders,” Valmont muttered.

  “Well, we are knights in training,” Rohan returned.

  “Boys,” Professor Stratford said, massaging his temples. “Honestly you two are as bad as Henry and Frankie.”

  Valmont went cold. “Excuse me?” he asked icily.

  Rohan couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing. “Sorry,” he said, still chortling. “Frightfully improper of me.”

  “Are Henry and Adam coming?” Professor Stratford asked. “Or are they resting? I’d imagine they’re exhausted.”

  Rohan and Valmont exchanged a look of horror. The professor didn’t know?

  “B-but—,” Rohan spluttered.

  Professor Stratford frowned. “You’re not here about Frankie,” the professor said evenly.

  “No, sir,” they chorused.

  “Henry and Adam never came back,” Rohan admitted.

  Professor Stratford went white, and then gray. His hands began to tremble. “Impossible,” he breathed.

  Rohan felt as though he ought to do something to comfort the professor, but he had no idea what. He shifted uneasily in his chair as Professor Stratford slowly processed this news, and its implications. And then the professor’s eyes narrowed, and his attention came to rest on Rohan and Valmont once again.

  “Who knows about this?” the professor asked.

  “Us,” Rohan said. “Derrick Marchbanks, sort of, but he encouraged them. And that kitchen maid who’s always trying to fatten Adam up.”

  The professor snorted at this. “You’re certain they didn’t return?”

  “Positive,” Rohan said. “Do you think they were caught?” he asked.

  Professor Stratford shook his head. “I hope not. Henry’s a clever lad, and adept enough as a serving boy that they wouldn’t suspect anything.”

  At this, Valmont snorted.

  Rohan kicked him.

  “There’s only one explan
ation for it,” Professor Stratford continued. “The boys must have discovered Frankie as a stowaway. If she left her bag, it was because she couldn’t take it where she was going—a destination she hadn’t originally intended.”

  “So you think she meant to go to the city and wound up in the Nordlands?” Rohan pressed.

  “I do,” Professor Stratford said. “I’d wager the three of them got stuck in the Nordlands somehow, and I hope it wasn’t because they decided to go off chasing evidence of that infernal combat training Henry’s so convinced the boys up there are learning.” The professor thumped his fist against his desk, losing his calm demeanor. His shoulders trembled, and for a moment it seemed as though he might go to pieces in front of them. But then he took a great, shuddering breath and composed himself.

  “I’m sorry, lads,” the professor said. “It’s just that I blame myself. I didn’t stop them, and now they’re in who knows what sort of danger.”

  “Can’t we get them back?” Rohan asked.

  “Not right away,” Professor Stratford said sadly. “The border is closed, and it would be unwise to draw attention to the situation. But this isn’t your concern. I’ll bring this matter to the headmaster myself.”

  “Thank you,” Rohan said.

  “Yes, thank you, sir,” Valmont echoed.

  “I’ll be as tactful as possible,” the professor promised. “You boys weren’t involved in this.”

  As they hurried from Professor Stratford’s office, Rohan sighed with relief. It was no longer their problem. The adults would handle everything, the way things should have been done in the first place. After all, they were still just first years. What cause did they have to get involved with politics or even to challenge school rules? Systems worked, and authorities were to be obeyed, and if you forgot that, you wound up with a disaster like the Nordlands.

  The next morning at breakfast someone had flipped the fleur-de-lis. The first-year table buzzed with whispers.

  “Grim and Beckerman are missing, I’ve heard …”

  “… left all of their things behind.”

  “Do you think their roommate knew?”

  “What about the headmaster’s daughter?”

  Rohan bristled at the gossip about his friends, but he was even more bothered by the undercurrent of excitement for the first battle society meeting in nearly a week.

  “I say, that was in rather poor taste,” Rohan whispered to Valmont on the way to Medicine that morning.

  “What are you talking about?” Valmont snapped.

  “The fleur-de-lis. You know,” Rohan said.

  Valmont stopped short in the corridor, forcing Edmund and Luther to have to walk around him.

  “That wasn’t me,” Valmont whispered. “I thought it was you.”

  Rohan shook his head and held open the door to their medicine classroom. “Well, we’ll find out who called the meeting soon enough,” he said.

  * * *

  The twenty-nine remaining members of the secret battle society milled around the basement room, whispering nervously. Lanterns and candles flickered from the stairwell, creating a cascade of light and cloaking the room with eerie shadows.

  With a sigh and a pointed glance at his pocket watch, Valmont cleared his throat and stepped to the front of the room. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “Will whoever called this meeting please step forward and explain?”

  It took all of his nerve to stand there calmly, staring out at the sea of incredulous students, at the center of a situation completely beyond his knowledge and control.

  And then Derrick Marchbanks, hands in his pockets, strolled out from the crowd, as cool as you please.

  “Right, gentlemen,” Derrick said. “I didn’t call you here to train but to talk, and if you’d rather head on back to your beds, I won’t keep you. Although I think you’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

  A couple of boys shifted restlessly but kept their places.

  “We’ve all heard the rumors,” Derrick continued. “Grim and Beckerman are quite obviously missing, and have been for four days. I think it’s time to set the record straight about where they’ve gone.”

  “Can I talk to you? Now?” Valmont snarled, grabbing Derrick by the arm.

  “Be a sport. This won’t take more than a few minutes,” Derrick returned, calmly removing Valmont’s hand from the sleeve of his jacket.

  And then Geoffrey cleared his throat and called, “I think we all know what Grim is doing.” Jasper laughed uproariously at this, and a handful of second years snickered.

  “And what would that be?” Derrick asked coolly.

  “I’ll spare you innocent first years the details. Don’t think Sir Robert has explained them to you yet.” Geoffrey made a lewd gesture and then added under his breath, “The lucky sod.”

  Valmont’s face soured.

  Rohan sighed.

  “Oh, how droll,” Derrick said dryly. “That’s precisely the sort of rumor I want to make certain no one walks out of this room believing. Because we owe it to them to be gentlemen about what’s happened, not to mock them behind their backs. You see, Grim and Beckerman took the fall for us, lads.”

  “What do you mean, ‘the fall’?” Edmund called.

  “They were caught returning the sabres to the armory after our last meeting,” Derrick clarified, and then he continued to tell the tale, explaining how he’d encouraged Henry and Adam to join a short-staffed envoy to the Nordlands. He explained how they’d expected to find proof of preparations for war, or at the very least, something they might use in order to have the conscription laws repealed immediately.

  The members of the battle society listened, and even Valmont had to admit that the Ministerium brat had a way with words. “I know that rumors spread treacherously, and I felt as though everyone in this room deserved to know the truth,” Derrick continued. “No matter what cover story Headmaster Winter or our heads of year are going to come up with, that’s what happened.”

  After Derrick had finished, the room was silent, everyone considering what they’d just heard. And then Edmund raised his hand as though in lecture.

  “Yes, Merrill?” Derrick called.

  “What are we going to do about it?” Edmund asked.

  “Beg pardon?” Derrick frowned.

  “We’re still here, the lot of us. There has to be something we can do,” Edmund said.

  “What, like hop on the next train to the Nordlands?” a third year asked.

  “No,” Edmund retorted. “Like keep the battle society going.”

  Headmaster Winter announced that Henry and Adam had taken seriously ill and had been sent to a hospital in the city, but no one believed it.

  Rohan watched the students file out of the chapel that morning, and more than once he caught the eye of another member of the battle society, but no one stopped to speak with him. He asked Derrick about this at breakfast.

  Derrick topped off his tea and shrugged. “Well, every one might be thinking that you’re a bit of a coward,” Derrick admitted.

  “A c-coward?” Rohan spluttered.

  “Your friends all went off to prevent a war and change the laws, and you sort of … stayed here and disapproved.”

  “Of course I stayed here and disapproved. It was the only sensible option,” Rohan returned. “I didn’t think everyone would consider them heroes for behaving recklessly.” And then he caught sight of Theobold, who was straining to hear their conversation from the other end of the table. Theobold grinned. “Feeling a bit under the weather, Mehta?” Theobold asked loudly.

  “Not at all,” Rohan said.

  “If I were you, I’d be terribly nervous about coming down with that awful illness your roommates seem to have caught,” Theobold continued, and then he raised his voice even more, to make certain everyone would hear. “I do hope you’re not contagious.”

  Rohan took a bite of a scone, trying to ignore Theobold, who was still watching him with narrowed eyes—or rather, watching Der
rick and James, who sat on either side of him. They sighed and tried to ignore Theobold as well. Rohan realized their mistake almost at once, and paled.

  “Interesting,” Theobold remarked, “how March-banks and St. Fitzroy don’t seem to think you’re contagious.” He paused and took a sip of his tea before ominously adding, “Or maybe they know where your nasty little roommates have really gone.”

  Later that afternoon, during the hour free, Rohan took a walk around the school grounds. The trees were beginning to blossom, and the weather was, if not wholly pleasant, at least tolerable.

  After breakfast they’d had drills for the first time that week, and Admiral Blackwood had pulled aside Conrad and James, the drill leaders. When the boys had returned, they’d shifted the formation, closing the gap in the ranks caused by Henry and Adam’s absence. Rohan had pressed James about this at lunch, but James had only shaken his head and shrugged. “Blackwood didn’t say why. I think he’s nervous because the parade is in three weeks.”

  But Rohan wasn’t sure. Had Admiral Blackwood simply wanted to patch a hole in the formation should Henry and Adam not return in time for the parade, or did he know that they weren’t coming back?

  Rohan agonized over this as he tramped along the perimeter of the quadrangle, soiling his boots and wishing he weren’t stuck with the largest and loneliest single room on the first-year corridor.

  He was fretting over the indignity of Adam having left his things a mess, when a chauffeured automobile pulled up to the front of the headmaster’s house. Rohan stiffened and thought to turn back the way he’d come. But then the chauffeur hopped out and ran around the brass front of the car, opening the door and extending an arm to the passenger.

  It was Grandmother Winter.

  22

  LIFE IN THE NORDLANDS

  First days can be disorienting. They are rather like skipping ahead in a trusted textbook, only to find the material impossible to grasp. And yet with perseverance you will wake up one day and find yourself staring at what had once seemed so baffling, and without quite knowing what has changed, you will understand it all without a second thought.

  Such went life for Henry, Adam, and Frankie in the servants’ quarters and kitchens of the Partisan School. The days fell into a routine of tasks: They polished boots, prepared and served meals, washed dishes, scrubbed floors, brought coal for the schoolmasters’ fireplaces, and did any other odd jobs that might be sent their way.