None of them smiled at the joke.
"This is really bad," Frankie said. "The point of plastering Valmont's textbook shut was to put an end to this sort of thing."
"Well, that was the point," Henry said, "but clearly it didn't work and hasn't for some time. I just want to know how he managed it."
"We could ask Liza," Adam said.
"Good idea," said Frankie.
But it was late, and unless they wanted to break curfew, asking Liza would have to wait.
A DANGEROUS SWORD
The next afternoon in fencing, Henry could hardly concentrate on their form exercise of tossing a small, bean-filled bag back and forth, catching it in a lunge position.
He'd partnered with Rohan, who was definitely off form. His movements were sluggish, and one time, when he dropped the bag, he'd rested a moment on the floor when he stooped to retrieve it, as though exhausted by the warm-up.
"Are you certain you're feeling all right?" Henry asked as the bag landed a good meter short of his outstretched hand.
"Fine," Rohan said tensely. "It's just difficult with your being left-handed."
"Mr. Mehta! Mr. Grim! Let's have some energy!" the fencing master cried.
"Yes, sir," Henry said, tossing the bag toward Rohan.
Rohan, teeth gritted, stepped into a spectacular lunge and made the catch.
"Watch that front leg, Mehta," the fencing master said, walking over. "It needs to be in line with your sword arm, not diagonal. Go again, without the bag."
Rohan gamely took his stance and lunged again.
"Good. Again!" the fencing master cried.
Rohan went again. His face was ashen and sweat trickled down his temples.
"Again!" called the fencing master.
"Sir," Henry said, "Rohan isn't well."
"Is that so, Mr. Mehta?" the fencing master asked.
Rohan looked for a moment as though he was going to deny it. But Henry gave him a stern glare and Rohan nodded.
"Yes, sir. Allergic reaction. I spent yesterday in the sick bay."
"Switch into the beginners for today," the fencing master said. "Grim can take your place in the intermediates until you're recovered, and after that, we'll see. I was going to promote him soon, anyway."
"Yes, sir," Henry said, flushing with pride.
"Yes, sir," Rohan said weakly, putting his hands on his knees to catch his breath from the lunges.
Adam shot Henry a questioning glance when the class divided into skill levels and Henry went off with the intermediates.
"What's going on?" Adam asked, taking his usual sword from where they were stowed in the gear cubbies.
"I've been promoted."
"Well, congratulations, mate."
"Thanks," Henry said, turning around so Adam could help fasten his kit.
"What's this?" Valmont asked, putting on his glove. "Where's Indian boy?"
"That's rude," Henry said. "And he's ill. I trust you know why."
"Living with you would make anyone ill, servant boy," Valmont said.
"Oh, how terribly clever," Henry retorted.
"Intermediates," the fencing master called. "Partner up! First to three hits rotates to challenge the winner of the pair two over."
Henry looked at Adam. "Fancy a bout?" he asked.
"I'll beat you with my eyes closed, you know," Adam said cheerfully.
"Better you than Valmont." Henry said darkly. "He'd beat me with my back turned."
Adam laughed. "Fair enough."
With their masks on, the intermediates lined up at the far end of the room.
Henry could see the beginners at the other end doing advance-retreat exercises.
You've been promoted, he thought, willing himself to feel happy. But all he felt was nervous.
With a salute, Henry settled into his fencing crouch and hoped Adam wouldn't make him look too horrible.
Adam shot forward, sword outstretched, and Henry approached carefully. He was a cautious fencer, he'd discovered recently, always thinking and strategizing, always looking for an opening rather than taking his chances. Adam was just the opposite.
So fast that Henry could hardly believe it, Adam's sword shot out.
Henry riposted in retreat, and then, sensing an opening, lowered his back arm to signal attack and lunged.
"Off target, mate," Adam called, his voice muffled by the mesh visor.
He was right. Henry had struck Adam at the collarbone.
"Sorry," Henry said, and they resumed the bout.
They finished 3-1 Adam, and the only surprise was that Henry had managed to land a hit at all. Adam was easily one of the top three fencers in their year.
The pair two over was finishing as well. With their gear on, it was difficult to tell their classmates apart, but Henry had no trouble realizing that it was Valmont and Theobold they'd be facing.
"Who won?" Henry asked, walking over.
"Not you, obviously," Valmont said, sounding eerily like his uncle.
"No," Henry said.
"Well, it was three-oh, my victory," Valmont drawled, "but I have a proposal. I'd rather fence you than Jewish boy."
"Would you stop with the names?" Henry asked. "It's rude."
"So what do you say? You and me, Beckerman and Theobold."
"You're on," Henry said, dashing back over to Adam to let him know what was happening.
"You're joking," Adam said.
"You don't want to?" Henry asked.
"No, I do. Theobold's rubbish. I'd love to slaughter him."
It was settled.
Henry took his place across from Valmont, his heart clamoring crazily. He didn't expect to win. But maybe he could land a hit and wipe that awful smirk off Valmont's face, repay him for all those horrible acts of the past week ...
Valmont flicked his wrist slightly in the most pathetic salute Henry had ever seen. Henry returned the wrist-flick-as-salute and settled his stance.
Their swords clashed, and Henry disengaged to the outside, pressing his left-hander's advantage.
Valmont growled beneath his mask and struck a hit that landed off target. Henry used the outside angle and glanced a small blow off Valmont's chest.
"Hit," he called.
"I didn't feel anything," Valmont said.
"It was a hit," Henry insisted.
"Liar," Valmont hissed.
"You're the liar," Henry retorted. "Fine. It isn't worth the aggravation. Let's go again."
Valmont adjusted his grip, and Henry tried to slow his breathing. It had been a hit.
Valmont rushed forward, looking for an opening, the point of his sword circling. Henry focused as well. The world slowed until it was just this bout, just his hand in its suede glove with the blunt-tipped foil, and Valmont's white cotton target zone.
And there! Henry's back arm went down in signal, and he drove the foil forward, scoring an undeniable hit.
"Hit," Henry called tersely. "One-zero."
Valmont said nothing, only took his stance and rushed forward so quickly that Henry could barely react before he'd been struck on the rib cage.
"Hit! One-one," Valmont called.
And then Adam screamed.
Henry turned.
Theobold stood there, his mouth open in horror, the tip of his foil strangely wet.
No, not wet.
Covered with blood.
Adam's hand clutched at his side and then came away. There was a neat hole in his cotton vest, ringed red with blood.
"I'm dying," Adam accused, his voice muffled by the visor.
Everyone had stopped.
Henry threw down his sword and rushed over, helping Adam into a sitting position on the floor. Theobold just stood there, staring down at Adam in shock.
"It wasn't blunted," Theobold mumbled, as though in disbelief.
Henry took off Adam's mask, revealing Adam's face to be ghostly pale, his dark curls sticking to his soaked forehead.
"How deep is it?" Henry asked.
"Not so bad," Adam said weakly, trying to move his hand away to give Henry a look.
"Keep the pressure on," Henry snapped.
The fencing master had reached them. "What's happened?" he asked.
"Theobold's weapon wasn't blunted," Henry said.
"Take him to the sick matron," the fencing master told Henry and Valmont.
Henry stared at Valmont in horror.
Theobold had lost the first bout against Valmont. He hadn't even scored a hit. In all rights, Theobold was supposed to fence Henry. But Valmont had switched it. First the letters, then the library, then the nuts in the muffin, and now the unblunted sword. It kept getting worse.
"Yes, sir," Henry told the fencing master a beat too late. He helped Adam to his feet. "You helping or not?" Henry snarled at Valmont.
Valmont shook his head slightly, as though clearing it. "If I have to," he said, hoisting up Adam's other side.
Slowly, they made their way to the sick bay.
"You again!" the matron said, frowning at Henry, but then she saw Adam and her face wrinkled with concern. "Och, you poor dearie! What's happened to you?"
"My number's up," Adam said weakly, wincing as Henry helped him onto a cot.
"Your number's not up," Henry said, and then realized Valmont was still there, watching silently.
"We don't need you anymore," Henry said. "Go back to fencing."
Without a word, Valmont left.
"That was supposed to be me," Henry whispered half to himself, sitting down in an armchair by the cot.
The matron was peeling off Adam's fencing gear.
"There now," she clucked when she saw the wound. "Just a flesh wound, my love. Just flesh."
"I'm staying with him," Henry said, daring the sick matron to disagree.
"Better ways to clear one's guilt," she mumbled.
"I didn't do this," Henry protested. "I'm his friend."
And I'm supposed to be there, in his place, Henry thought.
"I can't believe I let him score a hit," Adam said, wincing as the sick matron kneaded the skin near his cut.
"Yeah, what was that?" Henry joked. "Theobold's a worse fencer than I am."
"I know!" Adam said with feeling. Then his face crumpled with pain. "If I weren't so--owww, that stings!--confident in my talents with a sword, I'd have quite a complex from this. First Frankie and then Theobold."
The matron finished binding cloth around Adam's middle and brought him a patient's gown.
"Ugh, no!" Adam protested. "I'll wear my shirt."
"Your shirt's got a great bloody hole through the side," Henry reminded him.
"Exactly," Adam said. "It's rather heroic."
Henry helped Adam put on the shirt. It was rather heroic, he had to admit.
"You need to rest," the sick matron told Adam. "And your friend needs to leave."
Henry pretended to gather his things, and Adam pulled up the thin sheet and pretended to go to sleep.
Satisfied, the sick matron went into her office and shut the door.
"She's gone," Adam said, opening one eye.
"Finally."
Henry unfastened the neck of his fencing kit and briefly debated whether he should mention that Adam hadn't been meant to fence Theobold.
"Bloody Valmont," Adam said. "Did you see his face when he helped bring me here? He was as white as this scratchy, horrible sheet, and he couldn't say a word for the life of him."
"I noticed," Henry said. "But this is really bad. Even for Valmont. I mean, you could have died."
"Have a bit more faith in my fencing talent, Grim," Adam said, and then put a hand to his bandaged side. "Against Valmont, maybe. Against Rohan, perhaps. But Theobold? It was a lucky hit."
"I suppose," Henry said, still wondering why Valmont had insisted they switch fencing partners. Henry wanted so badly to blame Valmont for everything, but it didn't add up. He was missing something.
Adam grimaced.
"What?" Henry asked. "Would you like me to fetch the sick matron?"
"Actually," Adam said, a bit embarrassed, "there's probably sandwiches right now."
Henry glanced at the clock. Trust Adam to always know when it was time to eat. "Want me to get you one?"
"If it isn't any trouble," Adam said. "Turkey and cheese. But no tomatoes. And if they have apples, but make sure it isn't bruised. And--"
"What?" Henry asked irritably.
"And thank you for staying with me," Adam finished, and Henry felt ashamed.
"You're welcome," Henry said, hand on the doorknob.
"And if there's anything with chocolate, some of that too," Adam said.
Henry sighed.
CHECKMATE
Rohan couldn't concentrate on his homework and, for that matter, neither could Henry.
"She's just keeping him overnight," Henry said.
"I know." Rohan twirled a pencil between his fingers, the sheet of paper on his desk still blank.
"He's going to be fine," Henry said.
"I know, but--"
"He could have died. Well, he didn't. I'd rather not think about it," Henry said. "I'm going to the common room. Want to come?"
"No, thank you."
The common room was full. It was getting colder outside, and a fire blazed in the grate. Games of chess and checkers had been set up on every available surface, and boys who were waiting their turns hovered over the tables, watching those who played.
Henry and his friends rarely ventured into the common room, which was undisputedly Theobold's territory. Valmont and Luther were hunched over a chessboard in the armchairs by the fire, their sleeves pushed up, their attention focused.
Henry glanced at the game. Valmont was winning. Luther played bravely with just his queen, king, two pawns, and a knight remaining. Valmont, missing only three pawns, a castle, and a bishop, was just a few moves away from checkmate. Henry waited on the game, as he wanted to talk to Valmont.
He watched as Valmont, rather than going for the obvious checkmate, drew out the execution of Luther's king, removing first the two pawns, then the knight, and then finally ending it.
"Good game," Luther said chivalrously, standing up.
Valmont yawned. "It was a bore for me," he said. "But then, it's not as though anyone can match my skill."
"Is that so?" Henry asked, with just the hint of a smile.
"This is a chessboard, servant boy," Valmont said, as though Henry were quite deaf. "You use it to play chess."
"Well, maybe that's how you use it. I use it to beat you at chess," Henry returned.
"You're on."
Valmont began putting the pieces back in their positions, and Henry helped.
"I'll play white," Valmont declared, and Henry took the seat across from him, in front of the black pieces.
Valmont shot a pawn out two spaces, and Henry calmly considered how he wanted to win. Feign losing and then go in for the unexpected kill? Swiftly and suddenly? Laboriously? Should Valmont believe they were equally matched? There were so many possibilities, because Henry was excellent at chess. He'd learned it as a boy from the orphanage priest, playing games between lessons.
Henry chose the move Valmont would be most likely to expect, blocking his pawn.
"So," Henry said. "Adam's still in the sick bay."
"Really?" Valmont asked, eyes scanning the board. "Is he going to be-- I mean, who cares? Your move."
Henry took one of Valmont's pawns.
"He's going to be fine," Henry said.
"Did I ask?" Valmont retorted, a finger on the pawn that Henry wanted him to move.
"You can't hate all of us that much," Henry said, capturing the pawn the moment Valmont moved it.
Valmont scowled. "No, I don't," he admitted, "just you."
Henry puzzled over this as they played in silence for a few minutes, glaring down at the black and white spaces. Why would Valmont target Adam and Rohan if he had it in for Henry especially? At first, Henry had been certain that Valmont was the one b
ehind the increasingly more dangerous acts of sabotage, but now he was unconvinced.
Henry forced his attention back to the board. He let Valmont take his castle--in exchange for Valmont's queen.
"I know it was you," Valmont said suddenly.
"What was me?"
"The plaster."
"You deserved it," Henry said.
"Who are you to judge what anyone deserves?" Valmont asked.
Henry slammed his bishop down.
"Check," Henry said.
Valmont scowled and again made the move that Henry anticipated.
"You know," Henry continued, "I wanted to ask you why you swapped with Theobold today to fence against me. And it's check again, by the way."
"You're the one who swapped with Jewish boy," Valmont said.
"Because you wanted to."
"No," Valmont said.
"Check," Henry said disgustedly. "And yes, you did. You wanted to have a go against me, and if it weren't for that, I'd be the one gutted with Theobold's sword."
"Pity you weren't," Valmont sneered, moving his king back a space. "Are you accusing me of something, Grim?"
Not anymore, Henry thought, picking up his queen, fighting to keep his face expressionless.
"Not at all," said Henry. "I am merely thanking you for saving me from the hassle of having a sword run through my side. I'm sorry I couldn't return the favor by sparing your king. Checkmate."
Valmont stared down at the board in shock. "That's impossible."
"We took the same exam, Valmont," Henry said, giving Valmont back his captured pieces. "I scored higher. Why are you so surprised when I beat you at things?"
"Because you're a bloody servant!" Valmont roared.
The common room quieted as everyone turned to stare.
"And you're a bloody sore loser!" Henry retorted, stomping back to his room.
Adam was back the next morning, and woefully unprepared for military history.
"I made sure you had your books when I brought the sandwiches," Henry accused.
Adam shrugged. "I thought Havelock would go easy on me, considering."
"You're joking," Rohan said. "If you'd lost a leg, Lord Havelock would still expect both of your boots to be shined."
Henry laughed.
"What are you so cheerful about?" Rohan asked.
Knightley Acadamy 01 Page 14