“Adam,” Henry whispered, placing the open book on top of the paper to hide it. “This is a perfect translation.”
“Really?” Adam asked. “Then let’s use it. Assignment complete.”
Henry shot him a look.
“I’m only joking,” Adam said, as though hurt that Henry thought he’d meant it. “I wouldn’t really. So, what d’you reckon we should do?”
“Tell Professor Lingua,” Henry said, standing up and sliding the paper out from beneath the book.
“He’ll think we cheated,” Adam said, frantically tugging on Henry’s sleeve to make him sit back down.
“No,” Henry said, shaking his head. “He’ll think we cheated if we don’t turn it in.”
“Cheated?” Theobold called, turning around from two desks in front of theirs. “Who cheated? You?”
“What seems to be the problem?” Professor Lingua asked, struggling out of his chair and waddling toward them.
“Grim and Beckerman are cheating,” Theobold said, as though commenting on the weather. “Pity.”
The other students glanced up curiously from their texts.
“Mr. Grim, Mr. Beckerman, I’ll need to see your translation,” Professor Lingua said.
Adam shot Henry a horrified look.
“We haven’t started, sir,” Henry said.
“That’s not cheating, Mr. Archer. That’s just plain laziness,” Professor Lingua said, and then he caught sight of the piece of paper in Henry’s fist. “Or is it? Mr. Grim, kindly hand me the paper you’re holding.”
Henry’s heart quickened, and he knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of it this time. He was finished.
“We found this in the book,” Henry said, handing the paper to Professor Lingua.
The professor glanced down at the paper and then at Henry and Adam’s book.
“It’s a perfect translation of our assigned page,” Henry said. “At least, the first few sentences are. I’ve not had a look at the rest. We didn’t know what to do when we found it, which is why we hadn’t begun the assignment.”
“You found it in the book?” Professor Lingua said, his mouth curled into a deep, disapproving frown.
“Yes, sir,” Henry and Adam said.
“I find that hard to believe,” said Professor Lingua.
“It’s the truth,” Henry said simply. “And besides, it’s not as though I would need it anyway.”
Even though he hated showing off, Henry knew that it was the only way to salvage their situation. So he flipped the page over to forty-three and translated on the spot.
“ ‘Upon my honor I assure you that you hurt me confoundedly. But I will use my left hand, as I usually do under such circumstances. Yet do not imagine that by this means I do you a favor as I fight equally well with either.’ ”
He made it halfway down the page without an error, reading at a normal pace, as though the text were truly written in English rather than French, before the professor stopped him.
“I’m aware of your skill with languages, Mr. Grim,” Professor Lingua said. “And I am also aware that there is no reason you would require a cheat page. However, the matter at hand is that you and Mr. Beckerman did not come forward immediately. You’ve not broken the Code of Chivalry, but you’ve certainly taken some liberties, and I have no choice but to rebuke you for your actions.”
Henry took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever the punishment might be.
“I hereby forbid the both of you from participating in the Inter-School Tournament,” Professor Lingua said. “I shall inform your head of year. And now, if you please, a translation of page one-fifty-eight. And I’ll know if Mr. Grim does all the work.”
“Yes, sir,” the boys said, slumping in their seats.
Adam looked devastated about the tournament.
“That’s not fair,” he moaned. “I was going to fence foil.”
“You’re injured,” Henry reminded him.
“It’s nearly healed,” Adam protested.
“I’m sorry about the tournament,” Henry whispered, “but at least we’re not in worse trouble. Now come on, we have to translate this. How would you start?”
With a sigh, Adam turned his attention to the text.
“Banned! Can you believe it?” Adam wailed during their hour free.
“I was there, Adam,” Rohan said, calmly flipping a page in his military history textbook.
“There’s always next year,” Henry said to make his friend feel better.
But then both boys stared at him, and Henry muttered, “Never mind.”
They’d avoided talking about what Professor Stratford had told them since the night before, hinting at things rather than saying what they really thought, as though not speaking the words would make it all untrue. And Henry couldn’t stand it.
Through the door to their room, they could hear the other boys in the common room chattering excitedly about the tournament.
“We need to talk,” Henry said, and Rohan sighed.
“It’s about time,” Rohan said, and Henry was so relieved that he nearly laughed.
“What are we going to do?” Henry asked his friends.
“Earn better marks,” Rohan said, indicating the textbook he was studying during their hour free.
“No, I mean besides that,” Henry said.
“What else can we do?” Adam asked.
“We can find out who’s behind this and stop them,” Henry said.
Adam snorted. “Easier said than accomplished, mate.”
“So I suppose you don’t want your necklace back?” Henry asked.
“I never said that,” Adam protested. “I’m just saying that it could be anyone behind this.”
“Anyone besides Valmont, you mean,” Rohan said.
“Could be,” Adam insisted, and then sighed. “Yeah, I know. Not Valmont. By the way, Henry, excellent job tripping him today.”
“Thanks,” Henry said glumly.
He didn’t think it was an excellent job at all. Professor Stratford had made it clear that Valmont wasn’t behind any of this, and Henry had already expected as much. They’d plastered Valmont’s textbook shut in retaliation for letters Valmont hadn’t sent, they’d threatened to make him pee his bed in his sleep, and Henry had taunted him in the hallway about their chess match. No wonder Valmont hated them.
Henry almost felt sorry for Valmont, for the way Theobold hadn’t cared when his friend was absent from languages because he was still in the sick bay.
“Hello … Henry?” Rohan asked.
“Sorry,” Henry said. “I was just thinking that maybe we’ve been too hard on Valmont.”
“Seriously?” Adam snorted.
“Hmmm,” Rohan said. “We were hasty to react with the textbook incident, but it didn’t cause him any harm. Havelock cut his assignment in half.”
Henry nodded. “I know.”
But he couldn’t help replaying in his head all of his past encounters with Valmont.
“You deserved it,” Henry had told him about the textbook plaster.
“Who are you to judge what I deserve?” Valmont had responded.
“I think it’s Lord Havelock,” Adam said. “He loathes us. If anyone wanted to rid the school of commoners, it would be him.”
Rohan considered this.
“And you have to admit, he’s not particularly keen on the headmaster,” Rohan commented.
Henry had to agree that Lord Havelock was the most likely to be behind everything. After all, Lord Havelock had detested Henry on sight. He had singled out Henry and his friends again and again. Havelock certainly could have pretended to lose Henry’s term paper and then neglected to tell the librarian that Henry was staying late. He could have swapped the swords and changed the menu at breakfast and gone into their room. He could have done the French translation, a translation of which Valmont certainly wasn’t capable. They just needed proof.
But first, Henry needed to do something else.
THE CAUSE OF THE CURSE
Oh, it’s you,” Valmont said sourly when Henry turned up at the sick bay. “What do you want?”
Valmont was slumped in a chair, his ankle wrapped in a bandage and propped on a stack of pillows. In his lap was a thick pile of magazines.
Which means no one has brought ’round his assignments, Henry thought.
“Look,” Henry said, “can we talk?”
“Say what you need to say, servant boy.”
“When my friends and I plastered your textbook,” Henry began, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed and accidentally jostling Valmont’s pillow tower in the process. “Sorry about that. It was because we thought you’d been the one behind something worse. But now we know you weren’t the one doing those things, so I wanted to apologize.”
“You’re apologizing?” Valmont asked incredulously. “You’re apologizing to me about the textbook?”
“Yeah, I am,” Henry said quietly.
Valmont gave a hollow little laugh.
“I don’t care about the textbook,” he said. “The worst part is that you don’t even know what you’ve done—what you’ve cost me.”
“What are you talking about?” Henry asked.
“You really want to know?” Valmont asked angrily. “I was supposed to be the one to pass the Knightley Exam. Not you.”
“We’re back to that?” Henry groaned. That had been nearly six months ago.
“ ‘We’re back to that?’ ” Valmont mocked. “Yes, we are. Because I was supposed to pass the exam.”
“Supposed to?” Henry asked. “What? It’s not like the exam was rigged …” Henry stopped, his eyes wide with realization. No one had passed the exam at the Midsummer School for years. Everyone thought the school was cursed. But what if the school hadn’t been cursed? What if the exam had been rigged to make the boys fail?
“Maybe it was,” Valmont said coolly. “Uncle Havelock used to be the chief examiner, you know. Maybe he made sure that none of the boys at Midsummer passed the exam for just long enough that the next boy who passed would have the glory of restoring honor to the school. So that the next boy who passed became a hero. And then the headmaster up and quit and Sir Frederick was appointed the new chief examiner and instead of me passing the exam, it was you.”
Valmont was glaring furiously at Henry, as though Henry ought to have known. As though Henry had purposefully taken away his glory and honor, relegating him to one of the late-admit spots based on family connections, stealing his place as a golden boy and demoting him to the role of Theobold’s second in command, when back at the Midsummer School he had had cronies of his own.
“So that’s why you hate me?” Henry asked, surprised. “Because I stole your glory by passing the exam back at Midsummer?”
“Obviously,” Valmont sneered.
“Could you be any more selfish?” Henry accused. “You’re here anyway, aren’t you? Do you know what would have happened to me if I’d failed the exam? I’d still be a servant scrubbing pots in the kitchens, eating cold scraps of leftovers, and sleeping in an unheated attic in the winter. So I didn’t steal your glory or whatever it is you think I did. I gave myself a future, and what’s more, I deserved it.”
Henry had never been so angry, had never loathed Valmont so much as he did in that moment. Valmont was without a doubt the most ungrateful, spoiled, self-centered brat he’d ever met.
“I know,” Valmont said.
“What?” Henry unclenched his fists and looked up.
“I know that, all right? That’s what makes it so much worse. Because I’m not allowed to be mad at you. It’s not like Harisford or some other boy from Midsummer passed the exam instead of me. No, it was the brilliant servant, the downtrodden orphan whom everyone felt so sorry for and let take the exam because of a loophole. For five years I’d been promised admiration and awe, and then a charity case came along, and what did it matter about my breaking some stupid curse when you changed five hundred years of history.”
Henry didn’t know what to say. Valmont was, well, a person. He wasn’t just some horrible monster sent specifically to torment Henry. From Valmont’s perspective, it was rather the reverse. But he was still Valmont—none of this changed anything. He still called Henry and his roommates servant boy, Jewish boy, and Indian boy. He’d still tripped Henry in the hall and told everyone that Henry used to sleep in the barn with the pigs, and he’d still hurt Henry’s arm with the bandage that first day in medicine. But now Henry knew the reason.
“I hope this doesn’t mean we’re friends,” Henry said.
“Good. Me neither,” Valmont spat.
“Good, because we’re not.”
“This doesn’t mean I like you,” Valmont said.
“Obviously,” Henry returned. “Is Sick Matron going to let you out by supper?”
“She said she would. Why?”
“Chess rematch after,” Henry said. “Or you could just concede victory now and save yourself the rather public humiliation.”
“All right, I admit it,” Valmont said, rolling his eyes. “You’re better than me at chess.”
The rest of the week was devoted to frantic preparations for the Inter-School Tournament, with little time for anything else. Professor Turveydrop was beside himself in protocol, drilling the boys on Nordlandic table manners (“Fork tines up, boys, not down!”) and phrases (“Refer to all professors with the title Compatriot, never Lord or Sir”); Sir Frederick spent a rather welcome lesson reminiscing about his years of hospital work in the Nordlands and completely forgot to assign homework; Professor Lingua glared at Henry as though he wished he could take back his earlier words and force Henry to enter the French oratory competition; Lord Havelock recruited Theobold, Valmont, and a rather horrified Luther Leicester to undertake the novice military history quiz; Adam sulked constantly; Edmund, who had joined the choir at his elder brother’s behest, forever had his nose buried in sheet music; and the fencing master took aside two pupils, Rohan and James St. Fitzroy, and devoted all of his attention to their form, leaving the other students to “practice what they’d learnt.”
Rohan spent his evenings in the armory, leaving supper deep in conversation with James about feints and passes, and the library was empty most nights, giving Henry and Adam the luxury of sprawling their books while they worked—if they could concentrate despite the noise in the corridors. Jasper Hallworth and his crowd of “devil may care” second years were taking underground bets on the tournament and had set up shop in the annex across from the library. Boys in Henry’s year, in a desperate attempt to learn more about the tournament, had adopted the habit of loitering outside the third years’ common room. And two third years had been banned from the tournament for selling a cheat pamphlet, which, despite booming sales, turned out to be full of rubbish.
Henry didn’t mind that he wouldn’t be competing in the tournament. He didn’t need the whole school counting on him on top of everything else he had to worry about. He didn’t need the pressure, and he certainly didn’t want the glory. Even though nowadays his classmates were quite civil, he still remembered those first few days all too well, when eating his supper felt like an examination that could be failed by his dropping a knife or using the wrong fork.
“I still don’t see why Professor Lingua won’t take it back and let us compete,” Adam complained the night before they were to leave, with a glare in Rohan’s direction.
“At least you don’t have to worry about anything happening during the tournament,” Rohan said severely. “I could be disqualified at any moment for who knows what. I could be expelled.”
“You could also slaughter those smug Partisan students,” Adam wailed.
“It’s only novice level,” Henry said consolingly. But Rohan did have a fair point—the three of them weren’t exactly lucky when it came to being around swords.
Rohan sighed.
“Henry’s right, you know,” he told Adam. “It’s only first years—we don’t co
unt toward the overall tournament score. I doubt anyone will even notice the outcome. Besides, you might be relieved that you won’t be calling attention to yourself.”
Henry frowned. What was Rohan talking about?
Rohan indicated Adam’s yarmulke.
Of course.
Henry had become so used to his friend’s small, circular head covering that he barely noticed it anymore. But the Nordlandic people weren’t known for their religious tolerance, and even though Henry was certain the tabloid stories were nothing more than gross exaggerations, they were certainly based on some truth.
“Er, Adam?” Henry said. “Maybe you should, you know, not wear—”
“I’m not taking off my yarmulke!” Adam protested. “Absolutely not. I should never have taken off my necklace, and you know what happened with that.”
“Suit yourself,” Rohan said calmly, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I, for one, am glad that I’ll be competing in a masked event, and after it’s over I intend to stay well out of the way.”
Henry shot Rohan a sympathetic look. Being adopted by a duke couldn’t change the fact that Rohan was brown-skinned and foreign-looking. And for all the Nordlands’ boasting that they’d done away with their aristocracy, the Nordlandic people were known to be fiercely antiforeigners.
Ironically enough, for the first time since Henry had gone away to school, he wouldn’t feel like a lowly commoner. And yet, he would have traded all that in a moment if it meant that his friends could feel less anxious about their visit.
The next morning, the bells sounded at far too early an hour even for Henry. And just before dawn, the red-eyed, half-asleep Knightley Academy students boarded a specially reserved train at Avel-on-t’Hems station express to the Nordlands.
The journey took most of the morning and afternoon. Adam sprawled out over a whole bench in their compartment and promptly began to snore. Rohan sat reading a book without turning the pages, and whenever Henry asked him a question, Rohan looked up blankly and said, “Pardon?”
Henry studied a Latin book he’d brought along, reviewing the declinations until he gave himself a headache from reading on the train.
KNIGHTLEY ACADEMY Page 18