"Polish the b.l.o.o.d.y banister yourself." Adam threw down the rag and stalked off in the direction of the servants' stairs. Henry sighed as he watched Adam go. He'd been afraid Adam would react badly, and he felt horrible, as though he'd betrayed their friendship somehow. He waited a few minutes, giving Adam time to cool off, and then he gathered the basket of rags and polish and went after his best friend.

Adam was hunched over on the stone steps of the servants' staircase, his chin in his hands. "Go away," he muttered.

"No," Henry said, sitting down next to him. "I understand that you had feelings for her, but you keep saying you had this prior claim, that you liked her first, and that's not really fair. I'm the one who met her first, if that counts for anything. And liking someone isn't straightforward. I'd never even talked to a girl before-well, a girl who wasn't a kitchen maid. I didn't even realize we were being too familiar until Grandmother Winter came to stay."

"I bet she liked you all along," Adam muttered.

Henry couldn't resist. "Who, Grandmother Winter?"

Adam snorted. But they both knew what he'd meant.

"She said that she did," Henry confessed. "Apparently she didn't really need help with French. She just wanted to hear me read French poetry."

"Girls," Adam said, shaking his head. "Oh, and one more thing. I am not a chaperone. So no canoodling in front of me. I'll vomit."

"Got it," Henry said, fighting to keep a straight face. "No canoodling."

"Oi, watch it," Adam warned, climbing to his feet. "Because I'm strongly resisting the urge to punch you in the face right about now."

24.

THE FIRST RESCUE.

Henry was setting places in the dining hall when the tall, formidable woman arrived at the entrance to the Partisan School, demanding to be let inside. He was in the kitchens, slicing meat pies, when Compatriot Erasmus, the deputy head of school, showed the woman into his office, despite his pounding headache. And he was clearing the main course from the dining hall when Compatriot Erasmus followed the woman down the stairs to the foyer, hoping Dimit Yascherov wouldn't blame him for the spectacle.

But news of a spectacle in the castle traveled fast. Henry and Adam had just come into the kitchen to deposit stacks of plates when a maid appeared in the doorway, out of breath and wringing her ap.r.o.n in her hands.

Everyone looked up.

"Ye should come an' see this," the maid said, her cheeks shining. "There's a grand lady in the foyer what wants her runaway maid back. She's a right terror."

Before Cook could protest, the maids and serving boys had abandoned their posts. Henry looked at Adam and shrugged. They might as well go along. After all, they didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention. They trailed after the rest of the serving staff, but when they reached the foyer, Henry wished they could turn around and head back toward the kitchen.

The grand lady raising such a fuss was none other than Grandmother Winter.

"I don't care if she's serving supper to the chancellor himself," she roared. "I want to see her now!"

Compatriot Erasmus winced and raised a hand to his forehead. "Madam, please. Perhaps ye might wait? We can have the girl brought to my office."

"I have already seen your office, thank you," she replied haughtily. "Returning to it would be counterproductive."

Henry never thought he'd be overjoyed to see Grandmother Winter, but at that moment it was all he could do to keep from grinning ear to ear. They were going back to Knightley!

He nudged Adam, and the two of them began making their way to the front of the crowd. Everyone let them pa.s.s. They were all wary of the imperious Brittonian woman, dressed in what looked to be mourning, radiating silent fury at Compatriot Erasmus.

And then Garen hurried into the foyer with a bewildered Frankie in tow.

When Frankie caught sight of Grandmother Winter, the color drained from her face.

"That's her," Grandmother Winter said, pointing an accusing finger. "That's my indentured girl, Francine."

Frankie gawped as Grandmother Winter shot her a withering glare.

"Two years left in your contract," she thundered. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Frankie bobbed a pretty little curtsy, too shocked to do anything but play along.

"You are coming home with me and returning to your duties at once," Grandmother Winter said, grabbing Frankie by the arm. Grandmother Winter pushed her way past an astounded Compatriot Erasmus, dragging Frankie after her.

And then she caught sight of Henry and Adam at the front of the crowd. A flash of recognition crossed her face, but then she narrowed her eyes as if in warning and hurried past.

Henry realized in horror that Grandmother Winter hadn't been sent to get them after all. She had come by herself-to rescue Frankie.

And she was leaving them behind.

Frankie looked back over her shoulder in panic, as it dawned on her that the performance was over and her grandmother had gotten what she'd come for. Her mouth opened, and her face clouded with a storm of emotions as she stared at Henry and Adam.

Henry watched her go. He stood there in the middle of the foyer with Adam spluttering at his side, and he felt for all the world like that scrawny boy back at the orphanage, watching as a family adopted another orphan, and cruel fate had forsaken his happiness once again.

"I suppose we ought to be glad," Adam said dubiously.

He sat down on the floor of the stone corridor next to Henry, who was staring at a mop and bucket as though he'd forgotten their purpose. "I mean, we did stay to make certain she'd be all right. I thought the three of us would be stuck here for a month, and no offense, but you two mooning over each other would have driven me mental."

Henry sighed. He felt as though he were leaking despair, poisoning the corridor with his bitterness. He didn't know how Adam could stand it.

"Here," Adam said, tossing a hunk of bread into Henry's lap. "You didn't eat your supper. I think you confused your spoon for a mop."

Henry looked down at the bread and began to eat it without thinking. It tasted as though it had been in Adam's pocket.

Or maybe that was what despair tasted like-the inside of Adam's pocket.

Henry was suddenly seized with a fit of laughter at the thought. He nearly choked on the bread.

Adam thumped him on the back, staring at Henry as though he'd lost his mind.

"Sorry," Henry said. "You're right. We should be happy about Frankie going home." He climbed to his feet and brushed the crumbs from his lap.

"Are you all right, mate?" Adam asked.

"No," Henry said, picking up the mop. "But, then, I'm not the only one having a hideous day."

"Well, look at it this way-nothing worse can happen."

"Never say that," Henry warned.

"Or what? The doctor's gonna get me?"

Adam gave a halfhearted grin and picked up the spare mop. The two boys set to cleaning the corridor in companionable silence. But a new fear was niggling at the dark recesses of Henry's mind, one that demanded attention. Had everything changed now that Frankie had returned to Knightley Academy without them? Would they still be credited as rescuing her, three weeks after her safe return, or had Grandmother Winter effectively taken away the only thing that stood between them and expulsion? Because if they didn't find evidence of combat training, what hope did they really have of becoming knights? Henry wondered if it had occurred to Adam that he might be headed back to the yeshiva after all.

"How do you think I'd do as a patrolman?" Adam asked. "I wanted to be a police knight, but I reckon it's nearly as good." So Adam had been thinking the same thing.

Henry shrugged, not wanting to admit out loud to the probability of their impending doom. "You'd be all right."

"I'd get bored," Adam said. "It's rubbish work, just patrolling the streets and slapping cuffs on criminals. The police knights get to do the good bits."

Henry privately agreed. "And you'd probably have to answer to Theobold or someone," he said.

"Oi, thanks, mate."

"Sorry. I'm a bit low on optimism at the moment."

They finished mopping the corridor and returned the supplies to the cupboard. With Isander and Polen a.s.signed to scrub boots for the next two nights, Henry and Adam were done for the night.

"That bloke who was with Grandmother Winter," Adam mused as they made their way up to the servants' lodgings, "was he the one who acted funny when you brought the post?"

"Why?"

"Just curious. I mean, Frankie's grandmother is terrifying, and it hardly bothered him. I just got the impression that he used to be a lord or something."

Henry nearly tripped on the stairs.

"What?""You know, before the revolution," Adam said with a shrug.

"But all of the aristocrats were killed. If not in the revolution, then after Mors came to power. He had them hung in a public gallows."

"Not everyone," Adam said. "I had to do those extra pages for Lord Havelock, remember? I looked it up. He gave them a choice: renounce their t.i.tle and give over their property, or be killed."

"So you think Compatriot Erasmus ...?"

Adam nodded. But that still didn't explain why he'd seemed to recognize Henry ... unless ... Lord Havelock.

"I'll bet he recognized me from the Inter-School Tournament," Henry said despairingly. "He does teach history. He's probably an old friend of Lord Havelock's."

They shuddered at the thought, and then they came to the narrow stairs that led to the attic.

"Are we free for the rest of the night?" Adam asked.

Henry nodded. "Why?"

"I think we should go to the library," Adam said.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Adam?"

"Oi, shut up! I want to see if I can prove it about that Erasmus bloke."

"All right," Henry said. He had to admit that he was curious. After all, he'd grown up in the aftermath of the revolution, hearing news whispered in the streets as Chancellor Mors turned tyrant and enacted horrible laws.

Henry had always thought of the revolution as a marker-the point at which the Nordlands became irreparably different from South Britain. He'd never truly considered what it had meant for the Nordlandic aristocracy after their king was murdered. It was a gruesome choice, to be sure: die honorably for the crime of being born n.o.ble, or renounce everything and live in a country built upon the bloodshed and hatred of everything you were.

"Er, where is the library?" Adam asked.

Henry shook his head. "Follow me."

When Henry opened the door to the library, he tried very hard not to think about what had happened there the night before. For all he knew, Frankie was on her way to a foreign finishing school, and he'd never gotten the chance to say good-bye.

And if he was kicked out of the academy, there wasn't much of a chance for him as a suitor. It was as good as finished. Professor Stratford had warned him, and he hadn't listened, because he hadn't fully realized what he had to lose ... or that he'd cared for Frankie as more than a friend, and always had.

"Oi, Henry?" Adam experimentally poked him in the side.

"What?" Henry asked irritably.

"I was just checking."

"Sorry. I know I'm not the best company. I'm a bit off at the moment."

They turned up the gas lamps on either side of the door and headed for the card catalogue.

"What are we looking for?" Henry asked.

"Blimey," Adam said, letting out a low whistle. He nodded in the direction of the enormous portrait of Chancellor Mors that hung on the far wall. "His eyes just follow you, don't they?" Adam made a couple of sudden movements, and then walked in a circle, testing his theory.

Henry nearly laughed.

"What's back here?" Adam called.

"Back where?"

"Restricted reading section." Adam was already behind the librarian's desk, eagerly pushing aside a moldering velvet curtain.

"Wait a moment," Henry said. "Maybe this isn't the best-" And then he ducked behind the curtain, and his mouth fell open.

Elaborately carved bookshelves stretched to the ceiling, crammed with old volumes, some of which looked hand-lettered, and others that glittered with gold leaf. A stained-gla.s.s window depicting a knight in old-fashioned armor pulling a sword from a stone reflected moonlight in jewel-colored patches.

On one wall was an enormous tapestry of The Moste n.o.ble and Ancient City of Romburrowe. It showed a medieval collection of buildings encircled with seven pylons, all guarded by the stone fortress of Prince Artisan's Keep upon the highest plateau.

In the center of the room was a circular table inlaid with the school crest, an equal-armed cross inside of a diamond. Henry had seen the crest before, but beneath it was etched an unfamiliar motto: Que mon honneur est sans tache.

" *Let my honor be without stain,'" Henry translated.

"Does it really say that?" Adam asked. "My French must be getting worse. I thought it was *My honor is without a mustache.'"