"You ate enough of it at supper," Rohan said.

"There is no such thing as enough dessert," Adam protested.

They were on their way to visit Liza and Mary, two kitchen maids who in addition to knowing where the leftover deserts were kept, also happened to be a wealth of knowledge about anything and everything printed in the gossip rags. If anyone knew what was really behind that morning's article about the Nordlandic police inspections, it was Liza and Mary.

But as Henry and his friends reached the bottom of the servants' stair that led to the kitchens, they stopped short. Ollie, the serving boy who had given Henry the ice, was gingerly dragging a mop across the floor, wincing as he clasped his left hand to his side. His right hand was badly bandaged with a sc.r.a.p of washrag, and his cheeks were shadowed with bruises.

Henry, Adam, and Rohan exchanged an uneasy glance.

"You'll need to bind those ribs tighter," Henry said.

Ollie stared at him in surprise.

"Your ribs," Henry said. "The way you're holding the mop gives it away. Come on. Put that down and let me see what you've done to yourself."

Ollie cringed and eyed Henry and his friends doubtfully. "I tripped, I promise. I wasn't doin' nothing wrong."

At this, Adam snorted.

"We're not going to tell anyone," Henry rea.s.sured the boy. "These are my friends. We can help patch you up."

"We can?" Rohan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," Henry said with far more confidence than he felt.

Ollie shook his head. "I can't. I ain't finished mopping the corridor."

"You shouldn't be doing that," Henry said, holding out his hand for the mop. "You could puncture a lung or something. Give it here."

Ollie pa.s.sed Henry the mop. The boy really was small for his age, Henry observed, rolling up his sleeves."So how'd you get hurt?" Adam blurted.

"Pub fighting." Ollie lifted his chin, and then realized what he'd said and blanched. "I mean, I was watching pub fighting an' I fell."

"Pub fighting!" Adam scoffed. "You're about twelve!"

"No, I'm thirteen!" Ollie said fiercely.

"My mistake." Adam smirked.

Henry wrung out the mop and nearly jumped when Rohan appeared at his side. "Listen, Henry," said Rohan with a disapproving frown. "I don't think you ought to be doing that. It isn't your place."

"A knight must help *those in need, whether of common or n.o.ble breed,' " Henry quoted, daring Rohan to object.

"All right," Rohan conceded. "What should we do?"

"Take him to the infirmary. Say that he was attacked by bandits-I don't know, make it believable. If sick matron won't help, we'll need a roll of bandages."

"And how am I supposed to get-" Rohan gave Henry a sharp look when he realized what Henry was asking.

"Look at him," Henry whispered. "If he were your younger brother, could you stand it?"

Rohan pursed his lips in disapproval. He clearly didn't see why Ollie had been fighting at the pub in the first place. But Henry could venture a guess. The boy was either desperate for the extra money or needed very badly to learn how to fight. And neither option was rea.s.suring.

"Come on," Rohan said to Adam and Ollie. "We're going to the infirmary."

"I'll be along in a few minutes," Henry called after them.

When everyone had left, Henry stood there in the darkened corridor, rhythmically pushing the mop along the baseboards and trying to remember the last time he'd done such a thing. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear anyone approaching.

"Ollie Twisp, you better not be daydreamin' again!"

Henry turned. At the other end of the corridor, Liza shrieked in surprise. She stared at Henry in a panic, her washrag fluttering to the floor.

"Master Henry, what're you doin'?"

"Hallo, Liza," Henry said, retrieving her washrag and offering it with a polite bow. "How are things?"

Liza regarded him doubtfully. "You ain't answered my question."

"I sent Ollie to have his injuries bandaged up," Henry explained as the mop made a hideous squelching noise. "I do hope I haven't missed a spot."

Liza frowned at the wet corridor, and then at Henry, uncertain whether or not he was joking. "You're taller," she said. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen next month." Henry's birthday had always been a bit of a guess, but he'd gotten used to thinking of himself as a year older around March fifteenth. "Say, Liza, you haven't heard anything about the Nordlands lately, have you?" Henry leaned forward on the mop handle, in the way he had never dared back when he was a servant.

"O' course I been hearin' things. I got eyes, don't I?" Liza retorted.

Henry tried not to grin. "My mistake," he mocked, favoring the kitchen maid with another bow. She blushed, pleased.

"I heard they're truly searchin' fer plots against the government. Secret organizations an' hidden schools an' stashes of weapons."

"But why have news of it in the papers?" Henry asked. "They lose the element of surprise."

"Ain't no sense in bangin' on someone's door and catchin' them unawares. Chancellor Mors wants 'em scared. He wants 'em knowin' that someone's comin' to get 'em." Liza paused, giving Henry a dark look.

"So how will they find these secret plots and the like?" Henry asked, playing along. He didn't really believe Liza's theory, or Derrick's, for that matter.

"Don't matter if they find 'em. It's easier to do a scare. Poisons 'em from the inside. No one wants to be punished for doin' nothin' wrong, see? The innocent turn in the guilty so's they don't get shipped off to some government project."

Henry stared at Liza in surprise. That was actually quite a valid point.

"Did you come up with that?" he asked.

"Not me, Master Henry," Liza admitted. "Over-heard that Sir Robert talkin' about it with Lord Havelock when I brung tea to his office."

"Really? Do you remember which one of them said it?"

"Lemme see now," Liza said, pursing her lips as she remembered. "Must've been that Sir Robert. Lord Havelock don' want nothin' to do with *servant gossip' such as he calls it, the high an' mighty louse."

Henry snorted at Liza's colorful description of Lord Havelock, but he was deeply troubled by what he'd just learned. The schoolmasters were talking about this latest news from the Nordlands. And not just the schoolmasters but Lord Havelock and Sir Robert-both of whom were members of the board of trustees!

Henry resumed mopping, and Liza stood there, watching and shaking her head.

"Ollie didn't look well," Henry insisted after a stretch of uncomfortable silence.

"His da beats him sometimes," Liza said. "Not enough to eat, so's he has to find a reason to send someone to bed hungry."

"That's horrible."

"That's the way o' things, Master Henry. Some are too scared o' bein' caught breakin' the law to do anything, and others are too sure no one's lookin' that they do as they like. An' that's somethin' I came up with meself."

After he finished mopping the corridor, Henry returned the bucket and mop to a broom cupboard he found just outside the kitchen. He caught sight of a clock and made a face; the hour was far later than he'd thought, and students were supposed to be in bed long before now.

But still, he'd promised. And so he took the stairs that led to the infirmary rather than to the first-year corridor. But the infirmary, when he reached it, was locked, the lights off.

He supposed he should go to bed. Adam and Rohan were probably back in their room, waiting impatiently. He could tell them what Liza had overheard Lord Havelock and Sir Robert discussing. He yawned and headed back toward the dormitory, reviewing Liza's borrowed theory about the Nordlands. He was so lost in thought that he almost failed to notice a dark shape creeping down the corridor in his direction. But at the last moment Henry did notice. His heart pounding, he pressed himself flat against the wall between two suits of armor.

Fergus Valmont paused as he left the first-year corridor, looking extraordinarily guilty. He glanced over his shoulder, as though afraid of having been followed, and then made his way to an ancient window seat that no one used, due to its being a favorite haunt of the castle's largest spiders.

Henry watched as Valmont lifted the lid off the window seat, removed a large and rather lumpy canvas rucksack, and slung it over his shoulder. With a final backward glance, Valmont crept down the hallway, pa.s.sing right by Henry, who pressed himself even harder against the wall, holding his breath. After Valmont had pa.s.sed, Henry silently counted to ten, relaxed, and then considered what he should do.

It was very late, and the door to his room was right there. No doubt his roommates were waiting for him, worried because he hadn't joined them at the infirmary. But he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he knew what Valmont was up to. The sneaking, the stashed rucksack, the nervous glances over his shoulder-Valmont clearly didn't want to be followed.

And so Henry decided to follow him.

Valmont snuck through the corridor that lead to the Great Hall, and then made a sharp left up one of the staircases. Henry hung back, following only when he was certain Valmont wouldn't see. At the top of the stairs, he panicked, thinking he'd lost Valmont. But then he heard a creak down the corridor that led to the armory and rounded the corner just in time to see the door to the armory creak shut.

What was Valmont doing in the armory, in the middle of the night, with a bag he'd hidden outside their dormitory?

Henry took a step toward the armory, and then stopped. He'd just meant to follow Valmont, not to confront him. What if Valmont went to Lord Havelock and claimed that he'd caught Henry sneaking around out of bed?

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."