"I'll bet my father loved that," Frankie said wryly. "He can't stand Lord Havelock."
"Well, who can?" Adam asked. "Horrible git, if you ask me."
And the one behind all of this, the three friends thought but didn't say.
"I just wish we had proof," Henry said. "Of anything."
"Yeah, well, we're supposed to stay out of trouble," Adam said.
"Since when do we ever do what we're supposed to?" Henry asked.
"True enough, mate," Adam agreed.
And then, all at once, the three of them realized that Rohan really had gone. Because there was no one to talk sense. No one to tell them not to. No advice, no voice of reason, no disapproving stare or exasperated sigh.
"Thank you for the sword," Henry said.
"Any time," Frankie said.
"You should probably find your grandmother and convince her that you haven't died," Henry said.
"If she thought I had, do you suppose she'd go home?" Frankie asked.
"Maybe you could fake your own death anyway," Adam suggested.
"If you need a blood-soaked hair ribbon, just ask Adam," Henry said with a small smile.
"Hey!" Adam protested.
"What are you talking about?" Frankie asked, wrinkling her nose.
"Never mind," Henry said quickly. "See you tomorrow."
"If I haven't perished," Frankie called merrily.
Henry tried not to stare at Rohan's bare desk as he studied that night. He tried not to stare at Rohan's empty bed or the gaping space in the wardrobe where Rohan's clothes had been.
The room felt too big now for just the two of them.
Adam mentioned this as he and Henry got ready for chapel the next morning.
"I know," Henry said, checking Rohan's pocket watch. "Come on, we don't want to be late."
"Speak for yourself," Adam said, stifling a yawn. "Because I, for one, would love to be late for chapel, or perhaps to miss it all together."
Henry rather felt the same. Especially since the priest chose that morning to give a lengthy sermon about stealing.
"Well, that was subtle," Henry joked on the way to breakfast.
"What was subtle?" Adam asked.
Henry laughed. "Exactly," he said.
"No, seriously, what was subtle, mate?"
Henry shook his head. "Never mind. I'm going to dash back to the room and grab Frankie's foil. I'll meet you at breakfast."
It was fortunate that Henry had borrowed the foil from Frankie, as the left-handed equipment was once again missing from the armory.
Pleased he'd managed to thwart their saboteur, Henry put on his glove and lined up with the rest of the intermediates.
The fencing master, to his credit, tried not to mention Rohan's absence.
"I'll be assigning pairs today," the fencing master said. "Five touches per usual, and report back to me with the results. I'd like to get an idea of whether we should add an advanced level to the class."
Adam grinned at the news of an advanced level, and continued grinning as he was matched up to fence Max Pearson, one of James's friends whose lunges were always crooked.
"Grim, you'll be fencing Archer," the fencing master said.
Henry tried not to sigh. Was he always destined to go up against Valmont and Theobold in foil? He took his place across from Theobold and gave his salute, which Theobold made no move to return.
"You're supposed to salute," Henry called.
"And you're supposed to scrub the floors," Theobold returned.
Henry sighed.
Ever since he'd come to a sort of understanding with Valmont, Theobold had, if anything, become worse, focusing all of his hatred on Henry and his friends now that Valmont had backed down.
Edmund had been right--Theobold was the worse of the two.
"Let's just go," Henry said, still crouched in an "on guard" position.
Henry easily scored the first touch.
He hadn't fenced Theobold before, but he could certainly see what Adam had meant about Theobold's form. Instead of working on improving, Theobold fought as though winning were the most important part, as though every practice match was a bloody battle that had to be won.
If Henry just slowed down for a moment and looked for an opening or an advantage, he always found one.
Henry scored the second touch as well.
Theobold was overconfident, striking out without making certain that he could protect the outside--a foolish move, especially with Henry's being left-handed.
"Two-zero," Henry called, returning to his end of the piste.
Theobold snarled and they went again, Henry angling right for the outside and scoring his third hit.
"Three-oh," Henry called.
"Wait," Theobold said, reaching out and grabbing at Henry's sword. "What's this?"
"Left-handed foil," Henry said with a shrug.
"No, it's not. Let me see it."
Before Henry could protest, Theobold had grabbed the bell guard and pulled the sword from his hand.
"It's a left-handed foil," Henry said, trying not to let doubt creep into his voice. What else could it be?
Theobold called for the fencing master, and Henry suddenly had a very bad feeling.
"What seems to be the problem?" the fencing master asked.
"Grim's sword," Theobold said, handing the weapon to the fencing master, who turned it over in his hands with a deep frown.
"What's wrong with it?" Henry asked.
"For one thing, it doesn't belong to this armory," the fencing master said, indicating the stamp on the bell guard. "This is world standard, with the Ecks Caliber mark here."
"So it's stolen," Theobold said with an enormous grin.
"No, it isn't," Henry said. "It's borrowed. I'm sorry, I didn't realize there was anything wrong. It's just, the left-handed sword has been missing a lot of the time, and I didn't know what to do, so I asked to borrow a spare."
"From whom?" the fencing master asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Fra-- I mean, Miss Winter," Henry said.
"I find it hard to believe that Miss Winter would loan a schoolboy she hardly knew a sword of this quality."
Henry bit his lip.
"Mr. Grim?" the fencing master pressed.
"We're friends," Henry said.
"Friends. Ah." The fencing master didn't believe him. Henry could see this at once.
"Mr. Archer," the fencing master said. "Can you please run to the headmaster's house and tell Miss Winter that I would like to see her in my office immediately?"
"Yes, sir," Theobold said with a nasty smile.
Henry had never been to the fencing master's office before. It turned out to be a tiny, cramped room located behind the armory, most of its space taken up by a large trunk bursting with equipment in need of repair.
Henry sat in the hard wooden chair across from the fencing master's desk, still in his fencing kit. His leg bounced nervously.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in," the fencing master called.
Frankie burst through the door, out of breath and carrying an embroidery sampler. "Yes, maestro?" she asked, bobbing a curtsy.
"Can you please describe the object that Mr. Grim has in his possession?" the fencing master inquired, waving Frankie into the empty chair.
A beat too late, Henry wondered if he ought to have stood in Frankie's presence to make a better impression.
"He's just borrowed a foil," Frankie said with a frown. "A left-handed foil."
"From your father's private stores?" the fencing master asked mildly.
"Yes," Frankie said.
"I see."
"Is something the matter?" Frankie asked.
"Are you often in the habit of loaning out world standard Ecks Caliber foils with platinum inlay and custom maker's marks?" the fencing master asked.
"No one was using it," Frankie said with a shrug.
"Are you aware of the cost of a sword like the one you so casually loaned Mr. Grim?"
&n
bsp; Frankie ventured a guess.
The fencing master laughed and told her it was worth at least ten times that amount.
Henry nearly gasped. The sum seemed enormous. Enough to buy a house, perhaps. Certainly more than Professor Stratford made in a year.
"Um," Frankie said. "Probably should have given you one with a worse balance, then."
"Don't worry about it," Henry muttered.
"Actually," the fencing master said, putting up a hand. "I'm not concerned about the sword, rather with what it implies."
"And what might that be?" Frankie asked, daring the fencing master to say it.
"That there are ... improper relations between the two of you."
Frankie snorted. "That's ridiculous," she said dismissively.
"We're not having--erm, doing--anything like that," Henry said, his face flushed with embarrassment.
"I am merely concerned for Miss Winter's reputation," the fencing master said. "After all, she is nearing marriageable age, possibly preparing for her first City Season."
Frankie sighed, not wanting to be reminded. "Truly, Henry was helping me with my French. You can ask my grandmother all about it."
"I have heard other rumors of your ... improper behavior," the fencing master continued as though Frankie had said nothing at all. "I seem to remember at the beginning of the term some of the boys voicing doubt about your ... propriety."
Henry cringed, remembering Valmont's cruel taunts on the first day of fencing that an educated woman was a ruined woman. Had the fencing master overheard him? Apparently so.
"There's nothing of the sort going on here," Henry said firmly. "Fra-- Miss Winter loaned me a sword and even admits that she had no idea of its value. It's simply a misunderstanding."
The fencing master looked back and forth between Henry and Frankie, and finally shook his head in defeat.
"From now on, Mr. Grim, in my class you will use swords from this armory, swords that I have given to you expressly for training purposes. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Henry said.
"And Miss Winter," the fencing master continued. "Really, do try and behave yourself. Or at least think of what impressions your actions might give."
"I'll try," Frankie said doubtfully. But even Henry could tell she didn't mean it.
WHAT SIR FREDERICK FOUND
Their midday meal was half finished by the time Henry changed back into his uniform and made it to the dining hall.
"Where were you, mate?" Adam asked, making room for Henry between himself and Edmund.
"Being lectured by the fencing master." Henry sighed.
"Yeah, what was that about?" Adam asked.
"The foil Frankie loaned me," Henry said. "Didn't you notice anything unusual about it?"
"Besides it's being bloody expensive?" Adam asked.
"You knew and you didn't say anything?" Henry asked, nearly dropping his juice glass.
Adam shrugged. "Sorry. I mean, a foil's a foil, right?"
Henry lowered his voice and told Adam what had happened. Adam burst out laughing.
"It's not funny," Henry said.
"Actually, mate, it kind of is."
"Well, I don't think so," Edmund put in. "I mean, it must have seemed a bit suspicious to the fencing master, for him to call you into his office like that."
"But no one thinks ... I mean, no one's said anything about it, right?" Henry pressed.
Adam was suddenly fascinated by a fleck of dirt on his juice glass.
Edmund coughed and looked away.
"Awwww, come on!" Henry said. "Really?"
"No one saw what happened," Edmund said. "One moment you were fencing Theobold and the next moment the fencing master had sent him off to find Francesca and dragged you into his office."
Henry winced.
He couldn't win. Someone steals the left-handed foil to ruin him, but when he brings in one of his own, he gets in trouble anyway.
"Hey, Grim," Theobold hooted. "Are you just after her money, or do you actually find that sort of girl attractive?"
Valmont laughed. "Or maybe Grim just likes it when she bosses him around," Valmont put in with a nasty smile. "After all, he likes taking orders, what with being a servant and all."
Henry gritted his teeth and forced himself not to respond.
He never should have borrowed that sword. It had seemed such a small favor at the time, but if Rohan had been there, he would have pointed out the impropriety or recognized the cost of the weapon.
But Rohan was gone. Expelled. And Henry was left to navigate his friendship with Frankie by himself.
Valmont whispered something to Theobold and the two of them laughed uproariously and glanced in Henry's direction.
Henry sighed.
Hopefully they'd have gotten over it by supper.
They hadn't.
Finally unable to take any more teasing, Henry made his excuses and left his supper half-eaten on his plate.
Back in his room, Henry took out his new Latin exercise book and forced himself to slog through the homework, knowing that he'd have to help Adam with it later.
The exercise was ridiculously simple, as they'd just begun the Latin unit, and Henry, who had already studied this the year before, had a hard time paying attention.
He kept thinking of Lord Havelock's triumphant sneer when he accused Rohan of stealing and about how he, Henry, was ever going to prove that all of the horrible things that had happened were part of Lord Havelock's evil master plan.
Because they had to be.
Even Valmont had implied that Lord Havelock was willing to manipulate the results of the Knightley Exam back when he'd been chief examiner.
If Henry could just prove what Lord Havelock had done, then Rohan might be able to come back, and Headmaster Winter could keep his job, and then Frankie would stay, and they'd all get to remain at the academy for another year.
He banged his fist against his exercise book in frustration.
"Whoa, take it easy," Adam said, standing in the doorway. He put a napkin filled with sugar biscuits on the edge of Henry's desk.
"Thanks," Henry said.
"Don't mention it. Although, I wouldn't mind a favor in return."
"Latin homework?" Henry asked knowingly.
"It's really awful. Worse than French," Adam complained, taking out his own exercise book.
"Don't copy," Henry snapped, and then he sighed. What did it matter, anyway? "You know what, go ahead."
"Really?" Adam asked suspiciously. "Why?"
Henry shook his head.
"I hate this," he said simply. "I hate that I hate this, but I do. Rohan's gone and Lord Havelock's after us and there's a war coming that only Professor Stratford knows about, but what's he going to do about it? I am just so sick of everything."
"I know how you feel," Adam said, putting down his pen. "But at least you're good at school. I've got all of that, and I'm having to sit here and copy your bloody Latin."
There was a knock at the door.
"Hello?" Henry called.
The door opened a crack. It was Frankie.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
Henry looked to Adam. Adam shrugged.
"We could be expelled, you know," Henry reminded her.
"No one ever checks," Frankie said. "And I don't want to go to the library. Everyone's staring at me funny."
"At least all you're getting are funny stares," Henry said darkly.
Frankie shut the door behind her. "Who?" she demanded. "Valmont?"
Henry nodded.
"And Theobold," Adam put in. "Mostly Theobold."
"I detest Theobold," Frankie said. "He's exactly the type who spent his childhood burning ants with a magnifying glass and bragging about it to his tutors."
"He is!" Adam hooted.
"Shhhh!" Henry cautioned. "Frankie, I really think you should go."
"Fine." Frankie pouted.
Henry sighed. "You're not allowed to be in here. You know that."<
br />
A knock at the door. Everyone froze.
"Who is it?" Henry called.
"It's Sir Frederick. I've come to see how you're getting on without your friend."
Henry gulped. Frankie looked around wildly, as though she planned to hide, and Adam began to unlatch the window.
And then, as if in slow motion, the doorknob turned.
"Good heavens," Sir Frederick said, standing in the doorframe in his tweeds, carrying that day's newspaper under his arm and a pipe in his hand. "Francesca."
"I was just leaving," Frankie said, attempting to escape.
"Not so fast," said Sir Frederick.
Henry exchanged a horrified glance with Adam. "Not so fast" was practically code for "not so good."
"Is there a problem, sir?" Henry asked, hoping Sir Frederick would just laugh and pull out a tin of biscuits, or tell a story, or ruffle their hair in that absentminded way he had.
But Sir Frederick smiled sadly. "I'm afraid so," he said. "You boys know the rules."
Henry hung his head.
"They asked me not to come in," Frankie said. "They told me it wasn't allowed, but I ignored them. This isn't their fault."
"Whether this is your fault or theirs, girls are not allowed in students' chambers," Sir Frederick reminded them. "Now grab your coats. We're paying a visit to the headmaster's office."
The walk down the corridor was excruciating; the other boys were on their way back from the dining hall and gave Henry and his friends curious glances as they streamed in the opposite direction.
"There goes your reputation," Henry whispered to Frankie.
Adam, who'd overheard, snorted.
The door to the headmaster's office, when they reached it, no longer seemed comically large. Instead, it seemed horribly looming.
Sir Frederick rapped smartly on the door, and Headmaster Winter opened it, clearly having just returned from supper himself--there was a wet splotch on his shirt where he'd been trying to rub out a food stain.
Headmaster Winter raised a ginger eyebrow at the crowd assembled outside his door and ushered them inside.
The office was just as messy and scatterbrained as ever, except instead of cheerful and welcoming, now the clutter appeared sad and neglected.
"What can I help you with?" Headmaster Winter asked, lowering himself into his imposing chair with an audible sigh.
Unsure how to navigate the squashy sofa that bore the only empty seats in the room, Sir Frederick, Frankie, Adam, and Henry remained standing.
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