The Secret Prince (5 page)

“Oi, where have you
been
?” a familiar voice demanded indignantly.

Henry grinned. “I had to say good-bye to my lady friend. Tell me, do I still smell of her imported perfumes?”

“No. You reek of something else,” Adam replied
merrily. “Come on. Rohan’s meeting us at school, and Edmund’s saving a compartment.”

Henry gladly followed Adam down the cramped corridor as the train lurched out of the station.

“Do you like it?” Adam asked, patting the back of his head, where he always pinned his yarmulke. This one was bright yellow.

“Very, er, yellow,” Henry said diplomatically.

“That,” Adam said, throwing open the door to a compartment, “is exactly what I was going for.”

It was afternoon when the train pulled into Avel-ont’Hems station, and the sun was casting long shadows from the bare branches as the boys climbed the hill to the school.

Knightley Academy was just as rambling as Henry remembered. It sprawled awkwardly over its two dozen acres, featuring a nonsensical array of styles—innocent wooden cottages topped with turrets; a tiny castle with what looked suspiciously like a thatched roof; flying buttresses; trailing ivy; and a staggering amount of chimneys, which Henry suspected were more decorative than actually useful. Thankfully, the hedge maze had been abandoned after it had refused to grow more than waist
high. Not so thankfully, it had been replaced by a massive rock garden complete with brightly colored boulders.

Henry and Adam were still laughing over the rock garden when they reached their room. The door was open, although this took a moment to register, as it was not a very noticeable sort of door. Barricading the doorway, however, was a very noticeable and rather precarious pile of luggage.

“Henry? Adam? Is that you?” a voice called from inside the room.

“Rohan?” Adam asked.

“Naturally,” Rohan replied briskly. “It seems we’ve gotten our bags, but as you can see, they’ve been unceremoniously and inconveniently dumped in our doorway.”

Henry frowned at the suitcase tower. “What if I pushed that bag on the top? Could you catch it?”

“I doubt you can reach—,” Rohan protested.

There was a muffled
thwack!
that didn’t bode well.

“You alive in there, mate?” Adam called.

“Barely,” Rohan groaned. “Next time you’re about to toss a valise at my head, I could do with some warning.”

“Warning,” Adam said helpfully, giving Henry’s book-filled suitcase a shove.

By the time the three boys had managed to maneuver their luggage out of the doorway, Adam’s tie hung wildly askew, and Henry’s school hat had been trodden on.

As the boys unpacked their things, they traded stories of their holiday. Rohan had been in the city for a few days, but his parents had returned to their manor in Holchester when his mother caught a cold. Adam had been stuck at home with his sisters when he wasn’t hanging around the bookshop.

“They’ve taken up
knitting
,” Adam wailed, shoving a dozen rainbow-hued yarmulkes into his desk drawer.

“You might want to save that drawer for school supplies,” Rohan suggested.

Adam shrugged, and then piled last term’s notebooks on top.

Henry laughed. He’d missed his friends terribly.

And with the troubling newspaper article forgotten, Henry hung his formal jacket in the shared wardrobe and told Rohan what had happened at Grandmother Winter’s holiday party.

4

E
ven before the bells sounded, signaling half an hour until
supper, Henry’s stomach was grumbling with hunger. But, then, it was his own fault; he’d forgotten to buy a sandwich to eat on the train. Edmund had offered to share his, but Henry had declined out of politeness, an act that he was sorely regretting.

Henry, Adam, and Rohan joined Edmund at the first-year table, on the end closest to the High Table. All across the Great Hall, boys were waving to one another, yelling out greetings, and inquiring after one another’s holidays.

“All right, Grim?” James St. Fitzroy asked, sliding into the seat on Henry’s left.

Adam and Rohan exchanged a look.

“What?” James asked, frowning. “Is the seat taken?”

“Henry’s left-handed,” Adam said patiently.

James sighed and turned to Henry for confirmation.

“Sorry,” Henry said. “I could swap with Edmund, though, if you’d prefer.”

Edmund, who was on the end, shook his head. “Absolutely not. I like this seat.” A telltale corner of Edmund’s mouth twitched.

“Oh, very funny,” Henry said.

“I don’t mind,” James put in quickly, passing the salad bowl. Henry gratefully forked a pile of salad onto his plate, marveling at how different everything felt from last term, when the other first years had gone to great lengths to avoid him and his roommates. But, then, what had Henry expected, when Theobold, the resident bully of their year, had disapproved of him so thoroughly? Toward the end of last term, though, the other boys had seemed to tire of Theobold’s imperious orders. And even Valmont had begun to resent his position as Theobold’s second-in-command, since, back at the Midsummer School, he’d had cronies of his own to order about.

“Hey, wasn’t that bloke at our hearing?” Adam said,
nodding toward the High Table and tucking his napkin into the neck of his shirt in the way that irritated Lord Havelock no end.

Everyone turned.

There were a few new additions to the staff, but Henry quickly realized whom Adam meant. One of the trustees from their expulsion hearing sat next to Professor Stratford at the High Table. He was youngish and nervous-looking, with a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that had slipped down his nose. He and Professor Stratford were deep in conversation.

“Do you think he’s the replacement head of second year?” Rohan wondered.

“I hope!” Edmund said. “It’s either him or Lord Muttonchops over there.” An old man who rather resembled a basset hound with alarmingly bushy whiskers glowered down at them from the seat next to Professor Lingua.

At that moment a door hidden in the wooden paneling swung open, and Headmaster Winter hurried into the dining hall, late and out of breath. He fumbled hastily with his cravat as he took his place behind the lectern. Above his head, carved into the mantel of the vast fireplace, was the school motto:
A true knight is fuller of
bravery in the midst, than in the beginning, of danger.

The headmaster ran a hand through his patchy ginger and gray beard, composing his thoughts while the students quieted in anticipation; Headmaster Winter’s speeches were rarely long, and were frequently amusing.

“I do hope the salad hasn’t gone cold whilst you boys were waiting for me to choose a cravat,” the headmaster said. “I really was baffled—red or green, you know. Not an easy decision.” The boys looked at one another, wondering if Headmaster Winter truly had gone mad over the holiday.

“Especially,” the Headmaster continued, “when one is color-blind and cannot tell the difference between the two.”

“But, sir?”

The students and staff turned to see who had spoken. It was Jasper Hallworth, a big, booming second year. He rose from his seat at the second-year table. “Sir,” Jasper continued, “that cravat is blue.”

“Ah, is it?” Headmaster Winter peered down. “Bless my soul, it
is
blue. So you see, boys, sometimes we must present the truth to those who may be too blind to see it—or to those who do not know that they are blind to it, even if they are in a position of great authority.” The
headmaster paused significantly, and Henry frowned, certain that Headmaster Winter had known all along what color cravat he was wearing.

“In any case I would like to welcome you all most sincerely to the start of a new term here at Knightley Academy. There are two new additions to the staff: Sir Robert, who will be taking over as medicine master and head of second year students.” The headmaster paused as the youngish gentleman from the hearing ducked his head in acknowledgment. “And Admiral Blackwood, who has returned from India to resume the long-vacant post of drills master.” The gentleman with the enormously bushy whiskers surged to his feet and saluted.

Confused, the boys returned his salute, half of them standing, all of them at different times. Adam still had his napkin tucked into his collar, which made Henry snicker.

“I’ll have that again, gentlemen. In unison,” the admiral boomed.

The boys snapped to attention and saluted sharply this time. Adam hastily balled his napkin into his fist, his cheeks bright red.

“Well met, gentlemen,” pronounced Admiral Blackwood.

Headmaster Winter grinned and winked conspiratorially at the students before continuing. “As you boys have no doubt surmised, there will be a few changes to the curriculum this term, all in the name of progress. After all, who knows what the turn of the century may bring—and it never hurts to be as prepared as the laws may let us, even when such preparations may seem unnecessary.

“Despite some alarming setbacks, last term was a good one, and I expect this one to be even better. I also expect it goes without reminding that you have all signed the Code of Chivalry, a code to which you are required to adhere without—ahem—
creative
interpretation. Welcome back to Knightley Academy. May the dreary weather make you thankful for school to be in session once again!” The headmaster took his seat at the High Table amidst enthusiastic applause and much whispering.

Henry took a thoughtful sip of his cider and considered the headmaster’s eccentric speech. A war was coming. That much was clear. A war that could no longer be ignored, that their professors no longer denied with such conviction as they had just six months earlier.

But the Longsword Treaty still prevented students
from being trained in combat, which meant that whatever changes the headmaster planned to make to the curriculum, he had to work around that restriction.

Still, at least the headmaster was doing
something
, for Henry remembered all too well that day last term when Headmaster Winter had come to their room and informed the boys that without proof that the Nordlands had violated the treaty, there was nothing to do but sit and wait.

When Henry, Adam, and Rohan passed the common room on their way back from supper, Theobold was holding court in an elaborate thronelike chair by the fire.

“And what does
he
know, really,” Theobold drawled. “He’s just some
academic
with a family title who hasn’t a clue what he’s doing running this school. I don’t know why your uncle listens to him. But, then, I suppose taking orders runs in your family.”

This last part was directed toward Valmont, who had just brought Theobold a threadbare footstool. Valmont scowled but stayed silent. Theobold kicked off his boots with a sigh, one of the shoes thwacking loudly into Valmont’s shin.

Henry winced in sympathy.

“Oi, Henry, are you going to stand out there all night?” Adam asked, creaking the door to their room back and forth.

“Sorry. Right,” Henry mumbled. For a moment he felt sorry for Valmont, but the moment quickly passed. After all, it
was
Valmont.

But still,
a nagging voice in the back of Henry’s head reminded him,
no boy deserves to be bullied, no matter how horrible he might be.

Trying to put the matter out of his mind, Henry closed the door to their room and loosened his school tie. Before he could slip the tie out of his collar, a soft knock sounded at the window, followed by a lot of muffled shushing.

Rohan, with a withering look at Henry and Adam, opened the window just a crack and announced, “I did so hope to make it through the first day of lessons before committing an expellable offense.”

Frankie’s face appeared at the window. “Come on, Rohan. Be a sport. You know you’ve missed me terribly over the long holiday.”

Rohan gave a rather long-suffering sort of sigh.

“Let her in, Rohan,” Henry said. “You know Lord
Havelock never comes this far down the corridor.”

Rohan pushed the window open.

“
Thank
you,” Frankie said disdainfully.