The Secret Prince (22 page)

“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 afternoon. “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.

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 dangerous, 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.