"Ancient history," Peter called, cracking his knuckles in a way that made Edmund shudder.

"Actually, mate, they're not," Adam corrected.

Now everyone was staring curiously at Henry. "It occurred to me," Henry continued, "that if-er, when-we go to war with the Nordlands, everyone over the age of thirteen will be required to fight."

"Thirteen?" Geoffrey scoffed. "I have a brother who's twelve. He comes up to my waist."

"Here's the other thing," Henry pressed. "Laws can be changed. I can think of a few students who wouldn't be here if change were impossible, myself included. So there's no reason why the conscription laws can't be abolished. I just know that year sevens shouldn't be made to kill grown men, especially without training."

"So why do we have these laws in the first place?" Luther asked.

"They've been around for hundreds of years," Derrick said, shaking his head. "Boys used to be apprenticed off at eleven or twelve to ancient knights. They already had combat training by thirteen, and were entering tournaments to fight one another for fun."

"Glad I wasn't alive back then," Rohan muttered.

Henry snorted. Secretly he agreed. Because from what he'd learned translating Pugnare and paging through the other books he'd found in the forgotten cla.s.sroom, ancient knights had fared far worse than their modern counterparts.

"I only brought it up," Henry continued, "because I thought it was important. We should be able to discuss things here. After all, battles aren't won by skill but by strategy."

"My strategy is to be skilled," Jasper called jokingly, making a neat pa.s.s with a broadsword.

"This isn't a joke," Derrick said to Jasper. "Henry's right about that law needing to change. I have a younger brother as well. I don't want any of you lot handing him a crossbow in the near future-or any Partisan students aiming one in his direction."

"It's a dashed good idea," Conrad piped up, and everyone turned, knowing that it was Conrad's father who needed to be convinced. "But it won't work. My father wouldn't listen. And even if he did, changing an ancient and technically useless law without reason isn't exactly a priority at the Ministerium. Not to mention that we need the support of a majority of the House of Lord Ministers to have the law brought up for review. Getting enough signatures could take ages."

Henry's spirits fell. He'd been so certain that this was one thing they could really do-that finally the headlines would speculate on something good for a change. But he hadn't thought about getting signatures, or any of the procedures involved in changing a law. It was far more complicated than he'd imagined.

Everyone drifted out of the bas.e.m.e.nt training room a little less hopeful than before. What good was learning to fight if they were going to lead one another's younger brothers and cousins onto the battlefield?

Henry gathered the sabres and waved good-bye to the other battle society members, wondering bitterly if it was even worth trying. He asked Adam as much while they gave the room a final sweep for armory blades.

"It's always worth trying if you feel strongly enough," Adam said, shifting his armload of sabres. "That's why we took the Knightley Exam, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Henry said, unconvinced.

And then a deep voice made them stop cold.

"Francesca?"

Henry and Adam exchanged a look of panic before realizing that they were halfway down the corridor from the stairwell to the armory door and had nowhere to hide. Please be Professor Stratford, Henry thought desperately.

But it wasn't. Headmaster Winter, in his dressing gown and worn-through bedroom slippers, had reached the top of the stairs. He frowned at Henry and Adam in the feeble circle of light from his lantern.

"Ah," Headmaster Winter said unhappily. "You two."

Henry gulped. Adam cursed under his breath.

"Good evening, sir," Henry mumbled.

"If you'd be good enough to return those sabres to the armory," the headmaster said mildly, "I'll be here when you return."

Numbly Henry and Adam pushed open the door to the armory.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l," Adam whispered as they opened the weapons cabinet. "We're in for it."

"No, we're not," Henry whispered fiercely. "I'm the one who started this. Just agree to whatever I say, and you'll be fine."

"Absolutely not," Adam protested. "I'm just as guilty as you are. I've been hauling weapons all over the school."

"Well, we can't tell him that!" Henry returned.

"Boys?" the headmaster called. "I think you've had enough time to put those blades back in their proper place."

"Yes, sir," they chorused miserably, shuffling back into the corridor where Headmaster Winter was waiting at the top of the stairwell.

No one said anything on the way to the headmaster's office.

The silence remained as Henry and Adam nervously settled onto the sofa across from the headmaster's desk, extracting a rather horrible piece of orange knitting that had wedged itself between the cushions. Henry gingerly placed the knitting onto an arm of the sofa and tried not to despair at what was to come.

Headmaster Winter smiled sadly. "Not the most innocent of circ.u.mstances in which to be caught out of bed after lights-out."

"No, sir," Henry and Adam mumbled.

The headmaster leaned back in his chair and scratched thoughtfully at his patchy beard. "I don't suppose there's a truthful explanation either of you boys would be willing to share?"

Henry and Adam exchanged a glance, and then shook their heads.

"Hypothetically, sir," Adam piped up, "we might have found the sabres sitting somewhere and then decided to return them to the armory."

Henry elbowed him.

"If that were the case," Headmaster Winter continued, the corners of his mouth twitching with amus.e.m.e.nt, "you boys would be commended for your chivalrous efforts."

Adam went smug.

"However." The headmaster paused, letting the word linger in the air. "It would also make necessary a thorough investigation into what, exactly, is happening at my school. Because I would clearly have no idea."

Henry blanched. They were already done for, he realized. Nothing good could come from this conversation. They'd been caught out of bed after lights-out, their arms full of school property. And it wasn't as though this were their first offense. Even worse, no one was out to get them, as the case had been last term.

No, they'd blatantly disregarded the Code of Chivalry, even if it had been for a good reason. The least they could do, Henry thought dejectedly, was tell the headmaster the truth.

"You're right, sir," Henry said bravely. "We didn't find the sabres. I borrowed them because I wanted to learn how to fight."

"With a dozen blades? Sounds more like you were practicing to join the circus as a juggler."

Henry's cheeks went red.

"Well, the idea became, er, popular," Adam confessed.

"How popular?" Headmaster Winter asked.

"About a quarter of the school," Adam admitted.

Headmaster Winter's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" he mused. "A quarter of the school?"

"More now," Adam said, and Henry realized with a start that Adam was right. There were thirty-one of them.

"Well, that is certainly curious," Headmaster Winter said thoughtfully. "Although I'm not sure what, exactly, so many boys were aiming to learn by practicing with only a dozen sabres."

"We had other equipment," Henry admitted. "We found some old trunks full of neglected, er, things."

For some reason Henry couldn't bring himself to be the first one to say "weapons" or "combat." Not when the headmaster was avoiding the words so deliberately. Neither of them quite dared to admit what the boys had been doing, because that was the same as acknowledging what exactly was at stake.

"Ah," Headmaster Winter said, his tone still light and informal. "I had suspected there might be some antiques sitting around the castle."

Henry frowned. The headmaster wasn't just avoiding the words, but also the accusation. By all rights Headmaster Winter should have been furious, but he wasn't even upset. A small part of Henry hoped that perhaps they wouldn't be expelled after all.

"It isn't that I don't approve of such late-night activities," the headmaster continued, "but that I can't express my approval, because that would mean I not only knew what you boys were doing, but that I allowed such things at my school. Do you understand?"

"I think so, sir," Henry said, and he was beginning to understand what else the headmaster deliberately wasn't saying.

"Yes, we'll stop, er, hypothetically having late-night sabre tournaments," Adam put in.

Henry kicked him.

"A quarter of the school," the headmaster repeated, half to himself, and then his contemplative expression was replaced with one of anguish. "I don't suppose my daughter has been a part of this?"

"No, sir," Henry said. "Never."

"Is that why you were looking for her?" Adam asked.

Henry stared at Adam in surprise. He'd forgotten, but that was right. The headmaster had been looking for Frankie.

"It is," Headmaster Winter said gravely. "Francesca has made herself and a few of her belongings scarce."

Henry and Adam exchanged a look of shock. Frankie was missing? No, not missing. She'd run off-without saying good-bye.

The headmaster ma.s.saged his temples and shook his head, as though finally defeated by Frankie's misbehavior. "I'm sorry, boys. I just can't summon the requi site anger to deal with you two at the moment. Come and see me tomorrow after your lessons. We'll all fare better when we've had some sleep-and some answers."

"Yes, sir," Henry and Adam mumbled, rising to their feet.

"One more thing," the headmaster said, his tone sharp. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about Francesca's latest stunt, would you?"

"No, sir," Henry said truthfully.

"Not me," Adam said.

"If I find out that you're lying about this-," the headmaster threatened.

"Please, sir," Henry broke in. "We've barely spoken with her in weeks."

The headmaster scrutinized Henry and decided he was telling the truth. "Off to bed with you," he said gruffly. "And don't forget to see me the moment your lessons are through."

"We won't, sir," Henry promised.

When they were safely in the corridor, Henry glared. "Did you have to say that?"

"Say what?" Adam asked innocently.

"Any of it." Henry shook his head.

"Well, I didn't know Frankie was missing!" Adam said. "I'm worried. What if she's run off to become a stage performer or something?"

"I expect she'd be much happier than she was here," Henry said bitterly. It was strange, how knowing that Frankie might have run off without saying good-bye had left him feeling hollow, as though she'd secretly packed a piece of him in her bags.

"Maybe we can find her," Adam joked. "Once we're expelled and shunned from polite society for our grievous rule-breaking ways."

Henry didn't say anything more until they'd reached the dormitory. He was too busy thinking about Frankie, and wondering what had finally driven her to run off.

Rohan was awake, pacing the room in candlelight, his arms folded across the front of his silk dressing gown. "Where were you?" he snapped. "I was worried!"

"Er," Henry and Adam said, neither wanting to be the one to admit what had happened.

"I knew it!" Rohan cried sanctimoniously once Henry had finished explaining what had happened. "I knew it was a bad idea."

"It was a good idea," Henry argued. "And I don't think we're going to get expelled. I mean, there are thirty-one of us."

"No, there are two," Rohan said primly. "You and Valmont. And you better not take the fall for that insufferable b.u.t.t trumpet."

Adam snickered at the phrase "insufferable b.u.t.t trumpet" but was met with such a stern glare from Rohan that his grin quickly faded.

"Sorry," Adam muttered.

"I'm not taking the fall for anyone," Henry said. And then, because he couldn't resist, he said, "No matter how insufferably their b.u.t.ts might trumpet. Is that the right grammar? I'm rubbish with the conditional."

Adam dissolved into hastily stifled laughter. Even Rohan's frown threatened to disappear.

"I don't think the headmaster was upset," Henry persisted. "I know that he was distracted because of Frankie, but even so, he said that he couldn't be seen approving, not that he didn't approve."

"If the headmaster wasn't upset, that's even more worrying," Rohan said with a frown.

"He's the one who prompted this," Henry said, "hiring Admiral Blackwood to teach us *flag twirling,' and talking about defying authority in his welcome speech."

"Next you'll say he prompted Frankie to run off as well," Rohan said, and sniffed.

"No," Henry said darkly, "that was me." After all, Frankie had been talking of joining the battle society. It was only after Henry had refused that she'd run off. And he didn't completely blame her for wanting to leave. It couldn't be easy, watching her friends find their place at school, making friends with their cla.s.smates while she was stuck with a chaperone, learning embroidery.

Henry felt horrible, replaying all of their squabbling that term, from that ill-fated suitor's bow to Frankie's lying in wait outside the first-year corridor, determined to catch him sneaking.