Knightley Acadamy 01

by Violet Haberdasher

  Rohan had fallen asleep early the night before, but he was looking a lot better that morning, much to Henry's relief.

  "I beat Valmont at chess last night in the common room," Henry said.

  "Since when do you spend time in the common room?" Adam asked.

  Henry shrugged. And then Valmont passed them in the hall on the way to languages. "Checkmate!" Henry called after him.

  Adam chuckled, and then put a hand to his side, wincing.

  "Avez-vous vue Frankie?" Henry asked his friends in languages, while they were supposed to be having a conversation about supper.

  "What?" Adam asked, and then, receiving a glare from Professor Lingua, said, "I mean, pardon?"

  Have you seen Frankie around? Henry wrote on a piece of paper.

  Rohan shook his head and announced in rather tortured French that he preferred his steaks rare, thank you.

  That was strange, Henry thought. Frankie would have heard about Adam. The whole school had heard. But she hadn't come by the night before. Or caught up with them after chapel.

  "Non, monsieur, j'ai dit que j'aime le mieux les legumes vert," Henry said with a sigh.

  "Show off," Adam muttered.

  "En francais, Monsieur Beckerman!" Professor Lingua shrilled.

  "Je suis malade!" Adam protested. "I'm ill!"

  "That's the best I've heard you speak French all year," muttered Henry.

  Rohan tried very hard not to laugh.

  Something itched at the back of Henry's mind throughout languages, a thought that he could not quite reach. And as much as he tried to ignore it, the itch commanded attention, until at last Henry grasped upon what was bothering him: the unblunted sword hadn't been meant for Adam. It had been intended for him. And as it was seeming more and more that Valmont wasn't the one behind everything, if perhaps the mastermind of these horrible accidents hadn't yet heard that Adam had been the one injured yesterday, Adam's intended "accident" could be waiting for him around any corner.

  No, the thought was preposterous. Henry tried to dismiss it, but kept coming back to the idea: someone was sabotaging them. Someone who--as much as he hated to admit it--wasn't Valmont. And it wasn't just creepy letters anymore. Who knew what might happen next?

  Henry was so shaken by the realization that he mentioned it to his friends after languages.

  "I dunno about that, mate," Adam said. "Who would be targeting us?"

  "Hmmm, how about Lord Havelock?" Henry asked, realizing how ridiculous it sounded.

  "He's certainly horrible and elitist," Rohan said, "not to mention a terrible professor. But I don't think he's capable of doing these things. I mean, you said it yourself yesterday, Adam could have died." Rohan paused, and then, as though he didn't want to admit it, said, "I could have died, with the nuts."

  Henry had rather suspected Rohan's allergy was much worse than he'd been pretending. But that wasn't the point. Rohan was right. There was no reason for Lord Havelock to sabotage them.

  "I suppose you're right," Henry admitted.

  "If Lord Havelock wanted us kicked out, all he'd have to do was open our door one night and find Frankie in our room," Rohan said severely.

  "Fine," Henry said. "I'll make certain Frankie knows the room is off-limits from now on."

  "Thank you," Rohan said.

  "Just be careful, all right?" Henry urged Adam.

  "But why me?" Adam whined. "If anyone's left unscathed, it's you."

  Henry and Rohan exchanged a look, and Henry realized that Adam still hadn't figured it out.

  Wishing he didn't have to speak the words, Henry said, "That sword was meant for me."

  "What?" Adam asked, stopping in the middle of the second-floor hallway, beneath the creepy tapestry depicting a unicorn ramming its blood-soaked horn into a dark-helmeted knight.

  "Valmont asked to swap," Henry said. "I was supposed to fence against Theobold, but we switched."

  "That's right," Adam said, shocked. "I hadn't thought about it, but we did swap partners. And, no offense, but Theobold's an equal match for you."

  "None taken," Henry said. "Wait, you're not upset?"

  "Why would I be upset?" Adam asked. "Blimey, that tapestry is creepy. Anyway, it's not as though anyone knew about Theobold's foil. Besides which, he scored a lucky hit on me. He really could have killed you. No offense."

  "None taken," Henry said sourly, and then sighed, raking his fingers through his already mussed hair. "In any case, we're still missing the most important questions: why are these things happening, and who's behind them?"

  "Maybe Frankie knows something that we don't," Adam said.

  "Maybe," Henry conceded.

  They'd begun to walk back to their room, as much to get away from the ghastly tapestry as anything.

  "We could go see her," Rohan said as though someone had prodded him with the tip of their pencil to make him say it.

  "Good idea," Adam said brightly.

  "Seriously, Adam, you'll watch yourself ?" Henry pressed.

  "Nothing's going to happen," Adam snapped.

  And then he opened the door to their room and everyone gasped.

  Their room had been ransacked.

  Drawers gaped open from the dresser, their contents rifled through and strewn everywhere. Rohan's trunk was tipped on its side, and the three mattresses lay askew, as though someone had searched beneath them for hidden valuables.

  Adam cursed.

  Rohan, his lips pressed together in a thin, angry line, got to his knees and rummaged through his trunk to see what had been taken.

  Henry, who didn't own anything valuable anyway, made a halfhearted inventory of his things. His textbooks, spare clothing, and small amount of coins were all there.

  "Anyone missing anything?" Henry asked.

  "Nothing," Rohan said, dusting off the knees of his trousers. "And I can't imagine what they were looking for. My money's untouched, and my spare pocket watch and father's books are still here."

  "Adam?" Henry asked.

  Adam sat on his bed, a strange look on his face.

  "What?" Henry asked.

  Adam shook his head. "It was under the mattress," he mumbled.

  "What was under the mattress?" Rohan asked.

  "I never should have taken it off," Adam wailed. "Stupid, stupid Valmont. I let him get to me, calling me Jewish boy. And now my father's going to kill me."

  "Adam!" Henry said sharply. "What are you going on about?"

  "My necklace," Adam said miserably.

  "Right," Henry said, remembering. "I'd nearly forgotten about that. What was it, again?"

  "My chai," Adam said, and then, noticing his friends' blank looks, explained. "It's a Jewish thing. We become men at thirteen, and my father gave it to me at my bar mitzvah ceremony. It had belonged to his father before him, and his father before him, all the way back to Bohemia or someplace. It's a Star of David with the symbol of life on top. Solid gold on a gold chain. And I took it off."

  Adam put his head in his hands.

  "I'm really sorry," Henry said, sitting down on the bed beside Adam. "But you're certain it's not here?"

  "It was under the mattress," Adam said. "I felt for it every night to make sure."

  Henry felt horrible for Adam. He didn't know how Adam did it, walking around with his head held high every day despite wearing the yarmulke that set him apart. Or sitting silently through chapel each morning, watching as everyone else recited the prayers they'd known by heart since they were small. No wonder Adam had taken off his necklace.

  "Don't worry," Henry said with more confidence than he felt. "We'll get it back."

  "Unless someone's melted it," Adam said with anguish.

  "No one's melted it," Henry said with a severe look at Rohan, daring him to say differently.

  "We could have another made," Rohan offered. "I'll pay for it."

  "That's not the point," Adam said, glaring.

  "It was just an offer," Rohan said angrily.

  "Stop!" Henry
said. "Look, we've got to decide what to do. This isn't just about Adam's necklace. Someone's come into our room and gone through our things. That's really wrong. We should tell our head of year."

  "We're not going to Lord Havelock," Adam said. "Absolutely not. He's Valmont's uncle, in case you've forgotten."

  "We could tell the headmaster," Rohan suggested. "After all, it's a serious offense. Stealing money is one thing, but family heirlooms?"

  "That's not a bad thought," Henry said.

  "Let's go now," Adam said, standing up. "We've got more than half our hour free left, and we could tell Frankie first. She'd vouch for us."

  "Yes, because I'm sure Headmaster Winter would be terribly thrilled to know that we're acquainted with his daughter," Rohan muttered.

  "You coming or not?" Adam asked, grabbing his coat.

  "I am," Henry said.

  Rohan knotted his scarf. "Let's go."

  A maid opened the door of the headmaster's house and stared at them.

  "You'll be wantin' Professor Stratford again?" she asked, holding the door open.

  Henry knew he hadn't seen the professor for ages, and so he felt guilty when he said, "Actually, we're here to see--"

  "Frankie!" Adam yelled.

  Through the foyer, in the small, rose-colored receiving room, Frankie was bent over a tea service. She turned toward them, a look of horror on her face, and shook her head.

  "You busy?" Adam called, oblivious as usual.

  Rohan winced at the impropriety. "Adam," he said, grabbing hold of his friend's sleeve, "I think she's a bit occupied at the moment."

  "It seems you have visitors," a rather severe woman's voice called from inside the receiving room. "Invite them inside, Francesca. I would so enjoy meeting them."

  Frankie, looking as though she'd rather do anything but, gave a small curtsy.

  "Yes, Grandmother."

  Grandmother? Henry, Adam, and Rohan exchanged a look of horror as Frankie stomped toward them.

  "Do not embarrass me," she hissed. "Now give Ellen your coats and come on."

  Shedding their coats into the maid's arms, the boys followed Frankie into the receiving room.

  A sterling silver tea set caught the light from a blazing fire, casting a cheery warmth around the lavishly decorated room. It would have been a welcoming little parlor indeed if not for the formidable gray-haired woman who glared at them from a high-backed chair.

  "Grandmother Winter," Frankie said meekly, "may I present Adam Beckerman, Henry Grim, and Rohan Mehta."

  "Pleased to meet you, Lady Winter," the boys mumbled, bowing.

  "You," Grandmother Winter said, addressing Rohan. "How's your father?"

  "His grace is very well, madam," Rohan said. "Shall I give him your regards when I see him next?"

  "You shall," she said, smoothing her withered hands across the lap of her black lace dress. "Please, sit. Don't let my presence interrupt what is surely a routine visit."

  Henry exchanged a horrified look with Rohan. This was extremely bad.

  "May I offer you some tea and biscuits?" Frankie asked stiffly.

  "No, thank you," Henry said.

  "Tea, please," Adam said, and Henry elbowed him.

  "Owww!" Adam cried, clapping a hand to his side. "I'm injured, did you forget?"

  "Injured?" Frankie asked with a frown.

  "Theobold ran me through with a sword yesterday," Adam said casually. "The blunt tip had been removed."

  "But that's awful!" Frankie said, putting a hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry to hear that you're not well, Mr. Beckerman."

  Adam's lips twitched, as though he was trying very hard not to smile at Frankie's behavior.

  Henry didn't find it funny at all. Now he knew exactly what his friends had meant the first week of school when they'd told him that you couldn't visit girls.

  "That's not the half of it," Henry said. "Someone's just broken into our room and taken a family heirloom of Adam's. We were on our way to speak to your father about it."

  Frankie again expressed her regret and offered Adam the sugar bowl.

  "Mr. ... Grim, was it?" Grandmother Winter said.

  "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Can you please explain the reason why you came by the house rather than going to my son's--the headmaster's--office about this matter?"

  Henry gulped. "We--I mean, I--well, you see, we wanted to consult Frank-- er, Francesca first."

  "That's rather modern of you, Mr. Grim," Grand-mother Winter said with a cold smile. "I had not realized that men training to become knights were prone to consulting fifteen-year-old girls about their personal affairs."

  "Thank you, madam?" he managed. It came out sounding like a question.

  "That wasn't a compliment," Grandmother Winter snapped.

  "No, ma'am," Henry said.

  "Or perhaps I have mistaken modernity for social ignorance," Grandmother Winter continued. "I have often attended galas with the duke of Holchester and his family, yet I cannot fathom having previously met anyone with the surname Grim."

  Henry wished--suddenly, vehemently--that they had disturbed Lord Havelock with this matter instead.

  "I am orphaned, madam," Henry said.

  "So is Mr. Mehta," Grandmother Winter said with an expressive wave of her arm.

  "I was never adopted," Henry said.

  "I see." Grandmother Winter's lips puckered as though she had just discovered that the lemon tarts had been baked without sugar.

  "Mr. Grim has been helping me with my French," Frankie said.

  "Is that so?" Grandmother Winter asked.

  "Yes, madam. I previously studied under Professor Stratford as well."

  "And how much is Francesca paying you for these lessons?" Grandmother Winter asked.

  "Nothing, madam," Henry said, his cheeks burning.

  "We really ought to be going," Rohan said with an apologetic smile.

  "Nonsense, Mr. Mehta," Grandmother Winter said. "I wouldn't dream of your leaving without consulting Francesca about the theft of this family heirloom."

  "Yes, madam," Rohan replied. "Well, Miss Winter, have you an opinion on the matter?"

  Frankie blinked her wide blue eyes as though she hadn't a thought in her head. She giggled and glanced down demurely.

  "Perhaps you should consult my father," she said. "He is such a clever man and I know how dear this object must have been to Mr. Beckerman. I do so hope this was all a misunderstanding and there is another explanation besides theft."

  Henry tried very hard not to register any surprise as Frankie secretly told them what she really thought. "Thank you for your opinion," he said.

  Frankie twirled a curl around one finger and blushed sweetly.

  "Yes, and thank you for the visit," Grandmother Winter said, standing up.

  The boys scrambled to their feet.

  "Oh, and Mr. Grim?" Grandmother Winter asked. "J'espere que vous etes un bon instructeur."

  "Moi aussi, madam, mais le question n'est pas si je suis un bon instructeur mais si Francesca est une bonne etudiante."

  Grandmother Winter inclined her head slightly and gave Henry a brief hint of a smile.

  "You speak very pretty French, Mr. Grim. That is all."

  THE CONSEQUENCES OF FAILURE

  Oh, you speak such pretty French,' " Adam mocked as they walked toward the thatch cottage where Headmaster Winter kept his office.

  "Do shut up, Adam," Henry snapped.

  "Yes, please do," Rohan echoed. "You've caused enough trouble as it is."

  "What did I do?" Adam pouted.

  " 'Frankie, you busy?' " Henry mocked.

  "Oh, that," Adam said, reddening.

  The headmaster's office, when they reached it, was at the end of an imposing corridor lined with portraits of past headmasters. A door twice as tall as could reasonably be expected to fit the space loomed at the end, bearing a shiny plaque: office of the grand chevalier lord anthony winter, headmaster of knightley academy.

  Henry nervou
sly raised a fist and knocked.

  "Yes?" a cross voice called from inside.

  "Headmaster Winter?" Henry called back. "We'd like to report a theft."

  The door opened, and there was Headmaster Winter, his waistcoat covered in biscuit crumbs, wearing a pair of bedroom slippers with his rumpled pin-striped trousers.

  "No, don't tell me your names. Let me guess," the headmaster said, surveying the three students. "Adam Beckerman, Henry Grim, and Rohan Mehta. Am I right?"

  "Yes, sir," the boys said, surprised that the headmaster knew their names.

  "Well, come inside."

  Headmaster Winter's office was rather shocking; it had once been grand, that much was clear from the damask wallpaper and marble mantelpiece, but the grandness had been crowded out by rumpled newspapers, a half-eaten tea service long gone cold, a pile of maps, a hat rack hung with a dozen brightly colored umbrellas, and a windowsill jammed with potted plants that looked to be gasping for their last breath.

  Thankfully, there was a squashy sofa facing the headmaster's desk, and the boys collapsed into it at Headmaster Winter's invitation.

  "A theft, you say?" the headmaster asked with a frown. "And you've consulted your head of year ... Lord Havelock?"

  "Not quite," Henry admitted. "We didn't want to bother him."

  "I see," the headmaster said, eyes twinkling as though he guessed that Henry and his friends were terrified of their head of year. "And the theft occurred just minutes ago, I am assuming, after which you rushed straight here?"

  "Erm, not exactly," Adam said.

  Headmaster Winter stared at them expectantly.

  Henry sighed. "We went by your house first and had, er, tea."

  Headmaster Winter groaned.

  "We didn't mean to," Henry hastily assured him. "The maid let us in thinking we were looking for Professor Stratford ... and then it was too late."

  "Yes, I'd rather suspect it would be," the headmaster said as though enjoying a private joke.

  "This is rather serious, sir," Rohan said. "Our room has been burgled."

  They told Headmaster Winter all about it. How the drawers had been rifled through and the mattresses moved. How nothing was missing besides Adam's necklace.

  "Are you often the target of such misdeeds?" Headmaster Winter asked.