"You poor, ignorant boy," Sir Frederick said, shaking his head sadly, his gaze filled with pity. "Headmaster Winter is unprepared for what's coming. His motivation for opening the exam is all wrong."
"And how is yours any different?" Henry retorted.
Sir Frederick smiled serenely and held up his hand. "Patience, my boy. Do you remember what you told me about the Nordlands? About the boys of Partisan School being trained in combat?"
"You said you didn't believe me," Henry accused.
"I lied." Sir Frederick shrugged. "A war is coming, and those who can't see it are blind to the ways of the world. War is inevitable, yes, but it is also for the best."
Henry raised an eyebrow and exchanged an incredulous glance with Adam. How could war ever be for the best?
"Look what the Nordlands have done," Sir Frederick continued. "Look at the wonderful world they've created. No aristocracy! All men as equals! The Nordlandic cause is worth fighting for. Imagine this tired, set-in-its-old-ways country led into the new century by a man like Yurick Mors!"
Henry gave an involuntary shudder. He could imagine it, all right.
Imagine it the way he dreamed up nightmares the night before an exam, the way he dreamed up horrible things he wished he could forget.
"And we're to be the sacrifice?" Henry asked.
"Of course not," Sir Frederick said. "I'm protecting you the way I'd protect my own sons. If you stayed at Knightley, you'd have to fight. And surely Lord Havelock has told you what would happen then."
Henry knew all too well what Sir Frederick was talking about.
"Commoners captured in battle can be killed or tortured, while members of the aristocracy have to be ransomed and treated according to their status," Henry said, as though in the classroom, reciting back what Lord Havelock had taught them on the first day of class.
"I'm saving you," Sir Frederick insisted. "Giving you the opportunity to come over to the right side before it's too late."
"It's already too late," Henry said.
"We could run a military hospital," Sir Frederick continued. "On the front lines. We could save lives."
"Whose lives?" Henry insisted. "Boys our own age who have been plucked from their classrooms and forced to fight by ancient conscription laws? Or an army of Knightley students, all commoners, all sent off to command their peers, slaughtered on the battlefield while their aristocratic schoolmates are captured and given feather beds?"
"The greater number of common students we have at Knightley, the easier it would be for a Nordlandic victory," Sir Frederick urged. "Don't you want to be part of it all? To tell your grandchildren that you built their world, that you abolished the tired aristocracy and had a hand in making all men equal?"
Henry and Adam exchanged a horrified glance--Sir Frederick was talking about killing Knightley students, about making it easier to kill them.
"Actually, sir, with all due respect, I'd rather not," Adam said.
"What?" Sir Frederick asked.
"I'm with Adam," Henry said.
"I can see to it that you boys make history," Sir Frederick growled, "but I can also see to it that you wish you'd never refused my generous offer. I can ruin you so much worse than you could ever imagine. Make those acts of 'sabotage,' as you call them, seem like a holiday."
Henry gulped. How could he have ever been so wrong about Sir Frederick? How could Sir Frederick be so wrong about the world?
"Go ahead," Henry said bravely. "Do your worst."
"Oi, watch it, mate," Adam murmured.
"No," Henry said. "Because I know that the Nordlands have got everything wrong, and that I would never in a million years of a million threats support them--or Chancellor Mors. Because the Nordlands may not have an aristocracy, but they still have a ruling class--men restricting women from reading and writing is a step backward, not progress. The Nordlanders don't tolerate anyone who's different. They'd call Adam and Rohan heathens and sentence anyone who tutored Frankie to three years' hard labor.
"So, no, I won't join you, and I think that your ideas about the way the world should be are the most unchivalrous thing I've ever heard. It's never right to exclude anyone in order to include someone else. That's elitism and snobbery and the opposite of everything we're taught here at Knightley. The Code of Chivalry teaches us to do right by everyone, not to force the world to take on a different shape that looks good from far away but up close is a bleak and utter disaster."
Henry's fists were clenched, and his eyes were narrowed, and he couldn't believe he'd just said all of those things aloud.
"I won't let this war happen," Henry said, more calmly this time.
"Oh, really?" Sir Frederick asked nastily. "You and what credibility? Because what I see here are two common little boys who think they're too good to fight for the Nordlands, who believe in a tired aristocracy because it's been good to them, and who no one will ever listen to, because this afternoon, I will personally see to it that you are expelled from this academy and that a war with the Nordlands is brought down with swift and sudden force."
"We'll find a way," Adam said. "Professor Stratford believed us."
"Ah, yes, that gullible tutor of yours. Pity he's been fired from his last two jobs, was it? Such a credible source."
Sir Frederick patted his waistcoat pocket and removed a small, glittering charm on a chain--Adam's necklace.
"Such a pretty little charm," Sir Frederick said. "I wonder how much this would fetch if I melted it down?"
"Don't you dare," Henry said.
At the same time Adam exclaimed, "My necklace!"
"Of course," Sir Frederick continued, dangling the necklace from his fist, the charm swinging back and forth pendulously, "you could have this back if you changed your mind."
The look on Adam's face was one of pure torture.
At that moment, the door burst open, and Lord Havelock stood there, his master's gown swirling around his ankles, his cheeks peppered with stubble, a horrible sneer stretching over his lips. "I'll thank you to stop distracting these boys from their detention," he snapped.
"Come, now," Sir Frederick said with an indulgent smile. "Surely their detention can wait."
"Can it?" Lord Havelock asked, his sneer growing so large that it rather resembled a snarl. "And how about your plans for a war with the Nordlands, and your little ambitions to be headmaster? Can those wait, as well?"
Sir Frederick's face twitched.
"Ah, yes, Frederick," Lord Havelock continued. "I've heard everything."
Henry experienced a momentary disorientation. He was so used to fearing and loathing Lord Havelock and feeling grateful to Sir Frederick, but now everything was reversed.
"Have you?" Sir Frederick asked nervously.
"You see, I think we have a bit of a misunderstanding here," Lord Havelock continued, his voice dangerously calm. "I agreed to help you rid the academy of these commoners and of our pesky, idealistic new headmaster, but had I known that you planned to take over this school by turning it into a military command center filled with commoners, to end the Hundred Years' Peace and go to war with the Nordlands, I would have turned you in to the authorities for high treason and sheer stupidity."
"Would you really, Magnus?" Sir Frederick asked, and it took a moment for Henry to realize that Lord Havelock had a first name.
"Do not test me, Frederick," Lord Havelock threatened.
The tension in the room thickened, and the silence that followed Lord Havelock's threat was ominous indeed.
Despite all this, Henry's mind whirled to process what he'd just heard. Lord Havelock had been helping Sir Frederick. It had been Lord Havelock sabotaging Henry and his friends after all! It hadn't been his imagination; it had been real. More real than Sir Frederick playing the role of a sympathetic mentor and confidant, anyhow.
Sir Frederick and Lord Havelock were shouting now. Calling each other horrible names that Henry didn't think even Valmont would dare to use.
Henry exchanged a gl
ance with Adam. It rather seemed as though, at any moment, it might come to blows between Sir Frederick and Lord Havelock.
And then there was a knock at the door.
Sir Frederick stopped shouting midsentence. Lord Havelock composed himself.
Sounding just like the confidant and friend he had once been, Sir Frederick called, "Who is it?"
"Augusta Winter," was the haughty reply.
Without waiting for an invitation, Grandmother Winter opened the door and stared reproachfully at the crowd she found inside Sir Frederick's office.
"The rest of the trustees have arrived," she said primly, her mouth set in a disapproving frown. "I was hoping to have a few words with you before the hearing, but I can see that you're quite busy."
"Unfortunately so," Sir Frederick said with a sheepish grin, lapsing back into the role of the kindly medicine master.
"Thank you, Augusta," Lord Havelock said, giving a small bow. "I'll see to it that the boys are prepared for their hearing."
As soon as Grandmother Winter had shut the door, Lord Havelock grabbed Henry and Adam by their wrists. "Come on," he said, and then turned to Sir Frederick. "Don't test me, Frederick. Don't even think of it."
THE HEARING
Half an hour later, Henry and Adam had combed their hair, washed beneath their fingernails, and shined the scuffs from their boots.
Nervously, they stood outside the door to a room in the main building they'd never before entered, in an out-of-the-way wing of the second story. Lord Havelock, his glare so intimidating that it noticeably lowered the temperature in the corridor, stood beside them, keeping watch.
Adam rubbed mournfully at the ink stain on his hand, which, despite a good ten minutes of scrubbing, had barely faded.
"Stand still," Lord Havelock hissed.
"Sorry, sir," Adam whispered.
The door opened, and a tiny, wizened old man in an expensive pin-striped suit peered out, clutching his bowler hat to his chest.
"Ah, Lord Havelock," the man said.
"Lord Ewing," Lord Havelock said, inclining his head.
"Are these the boys?" Lord Ewing asked.
"Naturally. Shall I lead them inside, Ewing?"
"Yes, quite," Lord Ewing mumbled in his stiff-lipped, aristocratic way.
"Walk," Lord Havelock sneered, prodding Henry and Adam in the back.
Henry nervously flattened his hair as he entered the room.
It was a large parlor, with tall windows shrouded by heavy velvet curtains that had been drawn closed, casting the room in shadow. A vast, circular table took up most of the space, and around the table sat an assortment of glaring, important-looking men--the board of trustees.
But Sir Frederick was missing.
Henry looked around uncertainly.
"Mr. Grim, Mr. Beckerman," Headmaster Winter said, rising from his seat at the table. "Please, come in and stand near the brazier."
Henry, his heart pounding furiously, did as Headmaster Winter asked. Adam took his place next to Henry and clasped his hands behind his back to hide the ink stain.
Lord Havelock closed the door.
Headmaster Winter frowned. "Is Sir Frederick not coming?"
Lord Havelock gave the Headmaster a significant stare. "I have not seen him. In fact, I assumed he was already here."
Headmaster Winter's frown deepened. "Strange," he mumbled.
"Won't Sir Frederick be joining us?" Lord Ewing asked, taking his seat.
"Evidently not," Lord Havelock said. "But thankfully, with twelve members of the board present, you have a quorum and can rule on student cases."
Lord Ewing nodded slowly. "We can indeed," he said, "although it is regrettable that Sir Frederick cannot join us. Now, to the proceedings."
"Of course," Headmaster Winter said. "This meeting of the board of trustees is now called to order on this the, er ..." Another member of the board helpfully supplied the date, and Headmaster Winter nodded his thanks. "At, right, half five in the evening," Headmaster Winter continued, glancing at his pocket watch. "We're here to rule on the cases of Misters Adam Beckerman and Henry Grim, both first-year students who are currently serving suspensions and are here facing the prospect of expulsion from the academy."
"Can you please explain the circumstances that led these boys to receive suspensions?" The man seated to the left of Lord Ewing called, frowning as he scribbled notes into a ledger, playing the role of secretary.
Headmaster Winter inclined his head. "Last night after supper, Sir Frederick found my daughter in their room."
Collectively, the board of trustees frowned and shifted uneasily in their seats.
"My daughter," Headmaster Winter continued, "does not always exercise the best judgment, and claims that she entered their room even though they told her not to do so. These boys have become friends to her, and her intentions in entering their bedchamber were innocent. She has been duly punished, but as the case is not black-and-white, I felt these boys did not deserve to be expelled on the spot, despite expulsion being the usual punishment for the offense."
"How has their performance been otherwise?" Lord Ewing asked, glaring at Henry and Adam.
Headmaster Winter shuffled a sheaf of papers.
"Ah, yes. Mr. Beckerman's marks are average in ethics and protocol, below average in languages and military history, and excellent in fencing. Mr. Grim's marks are excellent in every subject except protocol, in which he is average."
"And have the boys received any previous disciplines?" Lord Ewing inquired.
"Misters Grim and Beckerman were both banned from participation in the Inter-School Tournament."
Henry's mouth went dry.
"And why was that?" Lord Ewing asked.
"Professor Lingua issued the punishment after the boys found a cheat page in one of their assignments and did not come forward immediately."
Henry and Adam exchanged a look of horror.
They were done for, Henry knew. Imperfect marks, previous disciplinary actions, and not one professor to speak on their behalf.
"Misters Beckerman and Grim have also been the object of theft on two separate occasions," Headmaster Winter continued.
"Regrettable, certainly regrettable," Lord Ewing muttered, scribbling notes onto a third sheet of paper. "Am I to take it that these boys are generally disliked by their fellow students?"
"They are not popular students, no," Headmaster Winter conceded, "but they are friends with my daughter, Francesca, and also with former first-year student Rohan Mehta."
"Former?" Lord Ewing asked.
"He was expelled last week after being caught stealing by their head of year," Headmaster Winter said. "Surely you received my letter of concern over the incident."
"Wait," Adam said. Henry stared curiously at his friend.
Lord Ewing harrumphed.
"Yes, Adam?" Headmaster Winter said.
"About what you just said, sir," Adam continued, swallowing nervously, "about Rohan? He didn't steal anything. He was set up. And so were we, with the cheat page in Professor Lingua's class."
"It's true, sir," Henry said.
"And why would someone do that?" Lord Ewing asked doubtfully.
"Because," Henry said, knowing that it was then or never, that this very well might be his final chance to be believed, "they stood to gain if we were expelled from the academy. At least, that was the reason at first. But then we saw proof when we were in the Nordlands that the Partisan students are being trained in combat, and it became even more important to discredit us so that no one would believe the truth: sir, the Nordlands have violated the Longsword Treaty."
Shock played over the faces of the members of the board of trustees. Lord Ewing dropped his pen in surprise.
"Why didn't you boys come to see me about this?" the headmaster asked.
"I spoke with Sir Frederick first," Henry said, "and he didn't believe me. I thought no one would believe me if Sir Frederick didn't. I also told Professor Stratford."
&nbs
p; "Sorry, which professor?" a sallow man with a large, pitted red nose asked.
"Stratford," Headmaster Winter said, wincing. "My daughter's tutor. He was fired last night and has already left the school grounds."
"How convenient," the man with the nose that rather resembled a strawberry said, "that these boys have devised an excuse for their behavior, the validity of which rests on the shoulders of two men who are currently impossible to track down."
"I'm not making it up," Henry said. "There's a combat training room at Partisan, in the first-floor corridor, hidden in the wall paneling near the fish statue. It's full of illegal weapons. Halberds and crossbows and who knows what else. They have dummies with targets painted on and charts ranking the students in different types of combat. I saw it myself."
As Henry spoke, the members of the board exchanged nervous glances. Because this boy in front of them, his cheeks scrubbed pink and his nerves on display, seemed absolutely confident about what he had seen, and where. The level of detail with which he spoke about this combat training room was troubling. And it wouldn't do if they dismissed what could be their only warning before the beginning of a fearsome and terrible war ...
"Stuff and nonsense," the man with the strawberry-shaped nose said dismissively, but the other members of the board did not seem to share his sentiments.
"I've never known Mr. Grim to be anything but truthful," Headmaster Winter said with an encouraging smile in Henry and Adam's direction.
"Perhaps," Lord Ewing said, his voice coming out in a squeak, "we should send someone to the Nordlands to verify Mr. Grim's claims. If there is a violation to the Longsword Treaty, that's serious news indeed."
"Pish posh, Ewing!" the man with the strawberry nose said, sniffing loudly. "I'll go myself. I wager there's nothing to see, but at least I'll put an end to this rubbish."
"Viscount DuBeous has volunteered to journey to the Partisan School this evening to investigate claims of combat training," Headmaster Winter said. "Does anyone on the board object?"
Silence.
"Permission granted, Viscount," Headmaster Winter said. "And now, we'll recess this meeting of the board until the viscount's return--hopefully by tomorrow afternoon, hmmm?"
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