Knightley Acadamy 01

by Violet Haberdasher

  The silence of the library was punctuated only by the occasional sigh or flipping of a page. The first years bent over their papers, scratching out their essays in careful, neat script.

  Suddenly a group of second years, their green-striped ties loosened around their necks, pushed open the library door, joking and talking loudly.

  "You're not serious, Jas," a big, bespectacled boy said, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder.

  "Certainly I'm serious," the boy called Jas boomed. "That's what they call it."

  "In your dreams," a shorter, stouter boy said, laughing.

  "Not in mine!" Jas winked.

  The older boys were seemingly unaware that they'd interrupted the first years, or that there was anyone else in the library at all. They passed by the end of the table where Henry, Adam, and Rohan sat, and the boy called Jas, explaining something with big, sweeping gestures, knocked part of Henry's book fortress to the floor.

  Suddenly the silence seemed to widen. All of the first years stared.

  With a sigh, Henry got to his knees and began picking up books.

  "Frightfully sorry, there," the older boy said, stooping down and gathering up two of the books he'd upset. "I got a bit carried away."

  "Not a problem," Henry said, surprised and pleased that he wasn't being treated like an outcast first year.

  "Anyway, I'm Jasper Hallworth," the older boy said.

  "Henry Grim," Henry said, and then, before he could help himself, "you're the one with the pipe."

  "Well," Jasper said, straightening. "I'm not going to ask how you know about that, except to hope that my celebrity has reached even you titchy first years."

  "I'm not titchy," Henry protested, drawing himself up to his full height. The top of his head reached Jasper's chin.

  "You are; you're an armrest."

  "And you're a chimney," Henry said, "or at least you smoke like one."

  At this, Jasper threw his head back and laughed so loudly that the librarian came over and shushed him.

  "You're all right, Henry Grim," Jasper said, ruffling Henry's hair and then taking the spiral stair up to the second level of books.

  The other first years went back to their work, as though the conversation between Henry and Jasper had never happened.

  But it had, and Henry returned to his essay with a small, secret smile and just a little bit less dread.

  ***

  "Is this going to happen every night?" Rohan asked with a sigh as Frankie tumbled through the window a few hours later.

  "I just came to see how Adam's arm is doing." Frankie pouted.

  "Really, my fair damsel?" Adam asked, grinning over the top of his protocol notes.

  "No," Frankie said, snorting.

  "So guess what?" Henry said. He was rereading his essay for Lord Havelock, lying stomach-down on his bed. "Another student spoke to me tonight."

  "You should have seen it," Adam enthused. "This bloody huge second year toppled Henry's books and then helped pick them up."

  Frankie shook her head. "You can't be serious. Come on, Rohan, was it truly that exciting?"

  Rohan pressed his lips together and said nothing.

  "Rohannnnn," Frankie whined. "Are you angry with me?"

  "I am ignoring you," Rohan said, "in hopes that you will go away and Lord Havelock won't expel us."

  "So this is you ignoring me, then?" Frankie queried.

  "Yes, it is," Rohan said, primly picking up a novel from his desk and hiding his amused expression behind it.

  "Well, I just came by to see if someone could help with my French."

  "Let's see it," Henry said, scooting over on his bed to make room for Frankie.

  "You're joking!" Adam cried. "You never help me with French and I always ask."

  "I never help you precisely because you want me to do it for you," Henry said. "And besides, Professor Lingua would know. You're terrible at French."

  "He wouldn't know I was terrible if you'd done my homework for me from the beginning," Adam protested.

  "Believe me, he would," Rohan said, turning a page in his book. "And by the way, Henry, if you're planning for Frankie to stay, she should use Adam's desk, rather than sit on your bed."

  "But I'm using my desk!" Adam protested.

  "So use your bed," Rohan said, flipping another page in the novel he obviously wasn't reading.

  "Fine," Adam said sulkily.

  Frankie laid an exercise book on Adam's desk, and Henry scooted his chair and craned his neck to see.

  "That," Frankie said, pointing. "What the devil is that?"

  "It's a tense," Henry said.

  "Why does it look like that?"

  "Like what?" Henry asked patiently.

  "Like something evil."

  Henry tried not to laugh. "Because the verbs are irregular. Here, like this." Henry penciled the verb stems and their meanings into the margin of her notebook.

  "That's it?" Frankie asked, wrinkling her nose.

  "Well, no, there's more of them. Just memorize the verb stems, write them on cards or something, and then you won't think they're evil."

  "They'll still be evil," Frankie grumbled, collecting her things.

  "You're leaving?" Rohan asked cheerfully.

  "Er," Henry said, ignoring the glare Rohan gave him. "Frankie? Could we swap tutoring?"

  "Ask Adam to help you with fencing," she said.

  "No ... I meant protocol," Henry said, his face reddening.

  "What, Rohan wouldn't do it?"

  Rohan gave up the pretense of reading. "You never asked," he accused Henry.

  "Because I thought you'd say no," Henry mumbled.

  "I wouldn't have done," Rohan said, putting down his book. "Frankie and I will help you together. After all, we can't have a repeat of this morning."

  "What happened this morning?" Frankie asked. "And I haven't agreed to tutor you."

  "This morning," Henry said, willing himself not to sound bitter about it, "Professor Turveydrop asked why I was bowing like a servant bringing in the tea."

  "Oh, dear," Frankie said with a giggle. "When's the funeral?"

  "Sorry?" Henry asked.

  "Didn't you murder him for that?"

  "He didn't mean anything by it. It was just an unfortunate choice of words."

  "Well, stand up," Frankie said. "Let's see it."

  Henry stood up.

  "Whom am I addressing?" he asked.

  "Lady Winter," Frankie said grandly, and then giggled as Henry bowed. "Oh, Lord, it is like you're bringing in the tea."

  "Well, how do I fix it?" Henry asked, annoyed.

  "First," Rohan said, "don't bow so low. You aren't meant to truly be humble; after all, you're a knight yourself. Just show respect, not obedience."

  Henry tried again.

  "Better," Frankie said. "Maybe try it a bit slower."

  Henry went again.

  "That's loads better!" Frankie said.

  Henry sighed with relief.

  "Yeah, now you bow like a serving woman bringing in the newspaper," Adam joked.

  Henry picked up his pillow and threw it at Adam.

  "Hey! I'm injured, so watch it!" Adam protested.

  THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS

  Over the next few weeks, Frankie regularly climbed through the boys' window. Her French improved, and Professor Turveydrop stopped singling out Henry in protocol. Occasionally, Edmund Merrill sat near Henry, Adam, and Rohan's end of the breakfast table and smiled shyly. All would have been going very well indeed if not for the letters Henry and his friends began to receive.

  The first letter, addressed to Henry, arrived five days after the fuss in the library with Jasper and the books. Upon first glance, the envelope did not appear ominous. In fact, it appeared perfectly ordinary, a plain white rectangle, just another piece of post from the stack that Luther, the first-year monitor, handed out at the beginning of breakfast.

  "Who's that from?" Adam asked, leaning over Henry's shoulder for a better look.


  "Dunno," Henry said, shrugging. He couldn't think of anyone who would send him a letter. Maybe Professor Stratford, but that seemed unlikely. Or perhaps it was one of Frankie's jokes.

  In any case, there were no clues on the envelope. Just his name and Knightley Academy, Avel-on-t'Hems, for address. Henry ripped open the envelope.

  It was empty.

  Or so he thought at first.

  At least, there was no letter inside.

  But there, stuck to the side, was a tiny, grubby newspaper clipping, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

  Henry removed the clipping, smoothed it onto his napkin, and frowned.

  "What?" Adam asked petulantly. "What's it say?"

  "Rubbish," Henry said, crumpling the scrap of newspaper and stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

  "I want to read it," Adam whined.

  "Trust me, you don't," Henry said.

  During that afternoon's hour free, Henry went into the most out-of-the-way toilets--the one in the tower by Lord Havelock's classroom--and reread the article scrap:

  in that tiny Nordlandic prefecture, he found two dozen women and children living in squalor in a tiny basement room of an old schoolhouse, without heat or running water. According to High Inspector Dimit Yascherov of the Nordlandic Policing Agency, and head of Partisan School, the women and children were half frozen, and nearly all suffered from terrible dysentery, and preparations were immediately made for transport to a nearby hospital. Despite the inspector's claims, the hospital holds no records of treating any women or children who match the description. It has been nine days since the inspector uncovered the illegally operating girls' school from an anonymous tip, and as of yet, no bodies have been found. In the Nordlands, it is an offense punishable by three years' hard labor to

  Henry shredded the scrap of newspaper into the toilet. Who would send him this? And why?

  But then, there was no reason to be upset, Henry reasoned. It was just a joke, a scrap from some gossip magazine whose articles were more serious than most. Or maybe it was from that kitchen maid Liza, who was so keen on conspiracy theories that she hadn't realized how creepy it would feel to receive it.

  Henry had never paid much attention to the post, although he knew sort of hazily that Rohan was always getting letters from home, and once or twice, Adam had received a letter from his sisters that their mother had obviously forced them to write. But when the next morning's post was distributed, a letter came for Adam.

  "My mum is always forcing them to write ..., " Adam complained, tearing open the envelope. "Oi! There's nothing in here but a scrap of newsprint."

  "Don't read it," Henry said darkly. "I'd expect it's the same as what I got yesterday."

  "Oh, you mean if I read this, I'll know exactly what was in that mysterious letter you've been refusing to talk about?" Adam asked.

  "Well, now I'm feeling left out," Rohan said.

  "Trust me, you shouldn't," Henry said, quickly telling his friends about the oddly chilling news scrap he'd received.

  "That's awful, mate," Adam said, smoothing out his piece of newspaper. "Maybe there was a nice wart removal cream advertisement on the back of yours, offering a discount, and that's what someone meant to send."

  "Right, because my warts are ever so painful these days," Henry said dryly.

  And then, as if through some unspoken agreement, the three friends bent their heads over Adam's piece of newspaper.

  It was a different article, about shops in the Nordlands being forced to close if owners didn't display portraits of Chancellor Mors in their windows, and about shop looting and vandalism in the dead of night--crimes targeting shops owned by immigrants and those outside the religious majority.

  Adam gave his friends a shaky grin once they'd finished reading the scrap of article. He turned it over.

  On the back was an innocent advertisement for collapsible top hats.

  And written in black ink across the advert: wish you were here.

  "Well, that's odd," Adam said, pulling a face. "Who'd wish I were inside of a collapsible top hat advert?"

  But Henry and Rohan could see that, despite Adam's joking manner, he too had found the article disturbing.

  "I'll bet it's Valmont," Henry whispered the next morning, on their way to chapel.

  "I wouldn't be surprised, after what Frankie threatened to do to him," replied Rohan.

  But at breakfast, no letters arrived. And none came the following day or the day after that.

  "Definitely Valmont," Henry whispered to his friends when Professor Lingua's back was turned. "Two letters? I mean, it's a bit pathetic to send just the two and then forget about it, but that's Valmont."

  The next morning, a letter arrived for Rohan.

  "He probably overheard us in languages," Rohan commented, calmly slitting the envelope with his butter knife. "In any case ..." Rohan trailed off and went quite pale.

  "What is it?" Adam asked, leaning across the table and trying to make a grab for the letter.

  But Rohan wouldn't show them until they were in private, so the classes that morning and afternoon seemed to go on for an age.

  "Let me see it," Adam said the moment they'd escaped back to their room during the hour free.

  Wordlessly, Rohan slammed the piece of paper onto his desk.

  It wasn't newsprint. Henry could see that right away.

  No, it was worse.

  It was a scrap of paper torn from a book. There was an illustration, a gross caricature, really, of turbaned men with long, curved swords and evil grins of triumph, holding up the bloody, severed heads of their enemies by the scalp.

  Written across the picture in thick black letters: get out before we make you.

  "If you'll excuse me," Rohan said stiffly, exiting the room.

  Henry and Adam looked at each other, and then back down at the cartoon.

  "He's gone too far," Henry said, "which means that we haven't gone far enough. I say we retaliate."

  "How?" Adam asked.

  "Frankie would know."

  "I suppose," Adam said. "So, do you think we should go after Rohan?"

  Henry shook his head. He was fairly certain that Rohan just wanted to be alone.

  ***

  When Frankie climbed through their window that night, Rohan grinned.

  "Oh, hello, Frankie. Glad you could make it," he said.

  Frankie raised an eyebrow. "Who are you and what have you done with Rohan?"

  "How terribly funny," Rohan said. "Isn't she funny, Adam?"

  "Who are you and what have you done with Rohan?" Adam asked.

  Henry quickly filled Frankie in on the letters.

  "So you think it's Valmont?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  "You don't?" Henry asked.

  "No, I do. I was just hoping you hadn't made any other enemies that I didn't know about."

  "It's either Valmont or Lord Havelock," Adam said. "Which do you think is the most likely?"

  "Point taken," Frankie said. "Now, how badly would you like to get him back for this? We can humiliate him, get him in trouble, scare him, or hurt him. I'd recommend the first."

  "All four isn't an option, then?" Rohan said, smiling ruefully.

  "I think I like evil Rohan," Frankie said, and Rohan bristled.

  "I agree, humiliation seems the way to go," Henry said, rescuing Rohan from Frankie's inevitable teasing.

  "Then listen carefully ..." With a wicked smile, Frankie told them exactly what she had in mind.

  Come Monday morning, they were all exhausted. Henry nearly nodded off into his toast at breakfast--just like Professor Stratford used to.

  "Long night?" Edmund asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

  Henry yawned and shrugged. "Longer day ahead," he said, as they had medicine, then military history, then extra fencing.

  "Did you know about the reading room on the second level of the library?" Edmund asked.

  "No, why?"

  "My brother
told me that it's really good for quiet studying," Edmund said, topping off his tea. "Since some people seem to feel that they own the main library and can be as loud as they wish."

  Henry smiled sympathetically. He knew exactly what Edmund was talking about. Theobold and Valmont had styled themselves after the older students, joking around in the library and ignoring the librarian when he told them off, much to the annoyance of everyone who was actually trying to study.

  "Thanks," Henry said. "I'll take a look."

  Even though medicine was his favorite class, it seemed to Henry that the clock's minute hand had lost all will to move. Finally, finally, it was time for military history, and Henry, Adam, and Rohan tried very hard not to look guilty as they took their seats.

  Valmont, as usual, swaggered to the front row, alongside Theobold.

  Henry's heart thundered when Lord Havelock swept into the room.

  "Textbooks out," Lord Havelock snapped. "Turn to chapter twelve, on the crusades, and answer the end-of-chapter questions, the odds ..." Everyone sighed. Lord Havelock smiled nastily. "... as well as the evens. This is individual work. You may begin."

  Henry removed his textbook, notebook, and pen from his satchel, trying very hard not to look at Valmont. He opened to chapter twelve, on the crusades, and wrote at the top of a fresh notebook page Chapter Twelve Questions, also trying very hard not to look at Valmont.

  But Henry couldn't help it--he looked.

  Valmont, rather red in the face, was staring down at his closed textbook, hands on his lap.

  "Mr. Valmont, is there a problem?" Lord Havelock asked.

  Valmont looked up at their professor as though he could hardly believe what was happening. He shook his head.

  "I said, is there a problem?" Lord Havelock asked, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss.

  "No, sir," Valmont said.

  The classroom had gone eerily quiet. Lord Havelock was a teacher who played favorites, and everyone knew that he often indulged Theobold and, especially, Valmont.