The Secret Prince

by Violet Haberdasher

  But he couldn’t turn back now. Not after tailing Valmont halfway through the school. And so with a deep breath Henry threw open the door to the armory.

  Valmont looked up in horror, scrambling to hide the contents of his bag. But it was too late; Henry had already gotten a look. Henry stared at Valmont, his eyes wide.

  “What are you doing here, servant boy?” Valmont snarled.

  Henry shut the door behind him, thinking how that nickname was oddly fitting after he’d spent the evening mopping the servants’ corridor. “I followed you,” Henry said coolly. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Nothing. Go away.”

  “Not likely.” Henry folded his arms, leaning casually against the door.

  “I’m going to murder you for this, Grim.”

  “Really?” Henry asked. “With your broadsword, and me unarmed? Or perhaps you’d be kind enough to lend me your shield?”

  Valmont spluttered.

  Henry smirked.

  “So turn me in, Grim, if that’s what you’re meaning to do. You were out of bed as well.”

  “I’m not going to turn you in,” Henry said, realizing as he said it that he truly wasn’t.

  Valmont gaped. “But—”

  “Can you use it?” Henry asked curiously.

  “Well enough to cut your bowels from your belly,” Valmont said, recovering his bravado.

  Henry realized with a shock that this wasn’t the first time Valmont had spent the midnight hour in the armory. This was, however, the first time he’d been caught.

  “How long have you been coming here?” Henry asked.

  Valmont scowled. “Not that it’s any of your business, Grim, but all term.”

  All term! For nearly two weeks Valmont had been sneaking out of the dormitory at night to practice combat while spending his days as Theobold’s lackey.

  “I don’t understand,” Henry said.

  “Are you dense? There’s a war coming. And I’m not going to wind up with my name chiseled into the side of a monument as one of the brave dead.”

  “But Theobold—,” Henry began.

  “Is about as clever as a ham sandwich. And he’d sooner believe the Nordlands are planning something than he’d believe form matters in fencing.”

  “I didn’t realize you loathed him.”

  “Not everyone here is bestest chums like you and your ragtag band of misfits,” Valmont mocked.

  “Can you show me?” Henry asked, ignoring Valmont’s taunt.

  “I only have one broadsword.”

  “I know where we can get more,” Henry admitted.

  Valmont raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’ll teach you?”

  Henry thought for a moment. Finally he said, “Because you can’t go it alone. And because I know where you hide your rucksack.”

  Valmont considered this. “Grab a sabre,” he said, throwing open the door to the weapons cabinet.

  Henry took the left-handed sabre and reached for some padding. They fastened each other’s kits in silence.

  Henry took his guard with the unfamiliar weapon and expected Valmont to walk to the other end of the piste and salute. “Well,” he said, gesturing toward the piste.

  “You wanted to learn to fight, not to fence,” Valmont returned. “No rules, no off target, no salute, and no priority. Let’s go, Grim.”

  Valmont lowered his mask and rushed toward Henry, sabre extended.

  Henry gulped. Even though they were using blunted blades and padding, it was still terrifying.

  Their blades clashed, and Henry had to force himself not to think about who had the priority, or which hits would land off target. Valmont disengaged to the inside and raised his weapon, bringing it down on the top of Henry’s mask with a resounding clank.

  “That’s my head!” Henry protested in surprise.

  “On guard,” Valmont called in response, attacking again, this time aiming for Henry’s knee. Henry leapt out of the way, curling his blade around and striking Valmont on the back.

  “Parry neuvième,” Henry said, with the faintest trace of a smirk.

  Valmont stopped cold. “Where’d you learn that?”

  Henry shrugged. The truth was, he’d gotten it out of Pugnare.

  Valmont took his guard again, and Henry used his left-handed advantage to cut with the edge of the blade against Valmont’s forearm. Valmont recovered quickly, slicing his blade through the air, forcing Henry into a retreat with overhead blocks, until a slice landed on Henry’s right shoulder.

  Five relentless minutes later they were sore and thoroughly out of breath. Henry tore off his mask. “Don’t strike,” he gasped, putting his hands on his knees. “I need to breathe.”

  “I’ve already killed you about ten times, anyhow.” Valmont shrugged, pulling off his glove. They regarded each other warily.

  “Not bad,” Henry said after an interminable stretch of silence.

  “We could—I mean, if you want—we could go again tomorrow night,” said Valmont.

  A horrible thought occurred to Henry, and he quickly pushed it out of his mind. “Maybe,” he said, “but my roommates would notice. How come yours hasn’t?”

  “My room’s a single.” Valmont didn’t sound pleased.

  “Listen,” Henry said, because the horrible thought had come back. “What if it wasn’t just the two of us who wanted to learn how to fight?”

  “I doubt the fencing master would agree to teach an illegal course on combat.”

  “Er, I was thinking more along the lines of not involving any of the professors,” said Henry.

  Valmont frowned. “With two broadswords and the blunted second-year sabres?”

  “I know where we can get more weapons,” Henry said. “Training manuals, shields, swords. Arrows and crossbows as well.”

  “I’m listening,” Valmont said, crossing his arms.

  “Derrick and I found a whole cache of things left over from before the Longsword Treaty. And you must have noticed the way our professors are changing their lessons, making them more, well, applicable to current events.” Henry said. “There must be a dozen students at least who would want to learn.”

  “So you and Marchbanks can go off and form a club,” Valmont said sourly. “Invite your friends. Just like you did with the cricket match.”

  “That wasn’t me. That was James. But Derrick won’t do it. He’s too afraid. I just thought that, after tonight, maybe you would,” Henry finished.

  “Me?” Valmont pushed his glasses up his nose and glared. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

  “I have no idea,” Henry snapped. “Sorry to have annoyed you. I’ll let you get back to fighting your invisible opponent.” Henry threw down his sabre and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Valmont said.

  Henry turned.

  “So this fight club,” Valmont mused. “We’d both be in charge of it. Because I’m not answering to you.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Henry returned. “And ‘fight club’ is a ridiculous name. It’s more of a … battle society.”

  “A secret battle society,” Valmont agreed.

  “So you’ll do it?”

  “Tonight was the best training I’ve had in three weeks.” Valmont nodded.

  “There’s just one catch,” Henry said coolly.

  “We are not inviting the headmaster’s daughter.”

  “Definitely not,” Henry said with feeling. He could just imagine what a disaster that would be: Frankie hiking up her skirts and challenging Valmont to a duel. “As I see it, you still answer to Theobold. What’s to stop you from telling him everything—or from having me expelled in order to save yourself?”

  “That’s just a chance you’ll have to take, Grim.” “Actually, it isn’t,” Henry said. “Before I show you where the weapons are hidden—before I try to convince my friends to join us—I want some insurance. I want to know what Theobold has on you.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it?�
�� Henry challenged.

  Valmont’s eyes narrowed, and he scrutinized Henry, as though trying to decide whether or not Henry could be trusted. “Don’t make me regret telling you, servant boy.”

  Henry sighed at the mention of his old nickname, but nodded anyway.

  They put away their kits and blades and closed up the weapons cabinet. Henry sat down with his back against the cabinet door and waited. Valmont sat next to Henry, staring straight ahead at their dim reflection in the mirrors that lined the opposing wall. From far away they almost looked like friends.

  “My father was a police knight,” Valmont said finally.

  “Was?”

  “He died in the riots during the Nordlandic uprising. He was sent in to break up the riot in Whitechapel Market. Took a blow to the head and was trampled in the panic. I was a baby.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He was stupid,” Valmont said. “Rushed in before the rest of the guard and got himself killed for it.”

  “That’s not stupid. That’s brave.”

  Silence.

  “So that’s what Theobold has on you?” Henry asked finally. “That your father died as a hero?”

  “No,” Valmont muttered. “Don’t you understand? My father was a lord. When he died, everything went to his younger brother, Gideon. The title, the estate, the town house. And Lord Gideon—he threw my mum out.”

  Henry stared at Valmont in surprise. “Where did she go?” Henry asked.

  “Moved in with her brother.”

  A horrible thought occurred to Henry—had Valmont been raised by Lord Havelock? No wonder Valmont had been so certain back at the Midsummer School of the family connections that would land him a place at Knightley. And no wonder he’d been such a horrible bully—it was so no one would taunt him. But Theobold had found out.

  “I don’t understand why it’s such a big secret.” Henry shrugged.

  “You wouldn’t,” Valmont said darkly.

  “So you were raised by your horrible uncle. It’s not as though he treated you like a servant.”

  “Right, because being the poor relation of the most loathed professor at Knightley isn’t bad enough.” Valmont pushed his glasses up his nose and glared.

  “That’s what Theobold has on you? That your father died a hero and your uncle raised you instead?” Henry shook his head in disgust. Why did Valmont care so much?

  “I’m not a charity case like you, Grim,” Valmont said hotly. “I attended the Midsummer School. I had servants to cater to my every whim over the holidays.”

  “I believe you,” Henry said.

  “I’m not some freak with a dead parent who needs to join your poor orphans club.”

  “I never said you were.” But Theobold clearly had, Henry thought.

  It was then that Henry realized he actually felt sorry for Valmont. Fancy being so ashamed of where you came from that you’d become Theobold’s lackey just to keep it a secret! Henry shook his head, and then stifled an enormous yawn.

  “Coming back to the dormitory, Grim?” Valmont asked, picking up his rucksack.

  “Er, yeah,” Henry said, giving the armory a final glance over to make sure everything had been put back into place, and then falling into step beside Valmont.

  12

  THE SECRET BATTLE SOCIETY

  You and Valmont?” Adam scoffed. “You’ll murder each other first chance you have. We won’t learn a thing except how to dispose of your corpses.”

  Rohan’s frown deepened at the mention of corpses. “I think the whole thing sounds like a dreadful plan. You’ll get caught. You’ll get expelled. It isn’t worth the risk.”

  “It is to me,” Henry said quietly. He was lying on his bed, Pugnare propped open against his knee. “Something terrible is brewing up in the Nordlands. We should know how to defend ourselves. Just because the professors can’t teach us, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

  “I’m with you there, mate, but I can’t stand Val-mont,” Adam said. “Sign me up to show off my skills with a sword, but I’m not spending any more time than necessary with that smarmy little arse-toad.”

  “I—actually—Valmont isn’t so bad,” Henry said, shrugging.

  Adam and Rohan both stared at Henry as though he had gone quite mad.

  “He isn’t,” Henry insisted. “And if I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone else.”

  “You know we won’t,” Rohan said impatiently.

  And so Henry told them about Valmont’s father dying in the riots, and Lord Havelock taking him and his mother in, raising Valmont out of charity, and about Theobold’s blackmail.

  “There are some things for which a tragic childhood is an excuse,” Rohan said. “Being Fergus Valmont is not one of them.”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s turned out rather well, considering,” Adam said. “Imagine being raised by Lord Havelock.”

  The three of them shuddered at the thought of it.

  “How’s Ollie, by the way?” Henry suddenly remembered.

  “Matron bandaged his ribs, said he’d live, and sent him home,” Rohan said.

  “That’s good,” Henry said.

  “He shouldn’t have been fighting in the first place,” Rohan said harshly.

  “His father beats him. He just wanted to learn to defend himself,” Henry said.

  “There are better ways,” Rohan returned.

  “Such as?” Henry challenged, raising an eyebrow.

  “Flag twirling?” Adam struggled to keep a straight face, and Henry couldn’t help but laugh.

  Henry and Valmont sat hunched over a chessboard in the common room for the next three nights, planning. Their first meeting was to be that Thursday, and so much had to be done before then.

  Henry spoke with Derrick, who agreed to cautiously spread the word among the first years, and he spoke with Jasper Hallworth, asking him to invite any second years who might be interested. He read well past lights-out, squinting at his copy of Pugnare in the contraband candlelight and planning what he wanted to say. He snuck off to the armory one more time, where he and Valmont practiced their first lesson. And he spent an exhausting night bringing the contents of the weapons trunks down to the basement with Derrick and Adam.

  The battle society had decided to meet in the abandoned storeroom in the basement, which Adam, Conrad, and Edmund had discovered during their explorations. There was no electricity, so everyone would need to bring lanterns and candles, but the room was large and unused and without windows. In short, it was nearly perfect.

  The newspapers continued to taunt them with stories of Nordlandic inspections, and of something new. A train departing from the town of Forecastle, just fifteen kilometers south of the Nordlandic border, had derailed. None of the passengers was badly hurt, but even so, Henry couldn’t entirely dismiss the story, especially when Derrick wordlessly passed him an article over breakfast the morning of their first battle society meeting. Police knights had found evidence that the tracks had been tampered with, and were turning the case over to the local knight detectives.

  A few hours before the first battle society meeting, the common room hummed with an unmistakable air of anticipation. Henry and Valmont sat in an out-of-the-way corner pretending to play a game of chess while they went over some final preparations. But whenever Henry glanced up, he felt as though he and Valmont were seated upon a stage; far too many of their classmates were throwing glances in their direction. For the first time Henry wondered just how many students would turn up for the battle society.

  Henry and Valmont arrived early. Henry held a candle to his notes, reading them over and over while Valmont paced.

  He knew that Adam, Rohan, Derrick, Conrad, and Edmund were coming, and possibly Jasper, though he’d laughed when Henry had mentioned it.

  Sure enough, Adam and Rohan were the first to arrive. Rohan put his lantern down at the base of the stairs and wandered over to examine the weapons.

  Next came Derrick, followed by James, Edmu
nd, and Conrad. After them came Luther Leicester, and then Jasper Hallworth and three of his friends from second year, and then Edmund’s friends from the choir, and the two altar boys called John and Paul who were cousins, and then Edmund’s brother, Peter, and two enormous boys from third year, and after that, Henry was so overwhelmed by the continuous arrival of students that he scarcely would have noticed had Sir Frederick himself come bursting through the doorway.

  Gradually the room became bright, filling with lanterns and candles. They flickered merrily, some from the bottom of the stairwell, others from the tops of crates, and still more from the tarnished wall sconces. Henry surveyed the two dozen students, panic rising in his throat. He hadn’t expected so many, and certainly not third years.

  “Go on,” Valmont muttered, clearing his throat with impatience. “We should start.”

  “Er, hello,” Henry said meekly. “Thank you for coming. For those of you who don’t know us, I’m, er, Henry Grim, and this is Fergus Valmont.” Henry closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then looked down at his notes, only to find that he’d inadvertently memorized them.

  “You’re all here because you are free thinkers,” Henry recited, pleased to hear that his voice no longer sounded shaky or unsure. “Because you’ve questioned flimsy explanations, noticed the warning signs that are so easy to miss, or read the gossip magazines without scoffing at the stories contained within their pages. You’re here because the Nord lands are plotting something dreadful, and because you are no longer content to sit and wait for their inevitable attack.

  “As the ancient Greeks said, ‘To rebel in season is not to rebel.’ Gentlemen, we are here to prepare ourselves to fight. We are here so that Yurick Mors does not emerge victorious. And we are here because we are knights, and knighthood is not Latin verbs and history essays.”

  At this most of the first-year students clapped loudly. Henry’s cheeks reddened. His half was over. Now it was Valmont’s turn.

  “Grim and I have weapons and training manuals. We’re not experts, and Grim here isn’t even an advanced fencer—”

  “Right, thanks,” Henry said, rolling his eyes as everyone laughed.