Authors: Violet Haberdasher
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, passing right by Henry, who pressed himself even harder against the wall, holding his breath. After Valmont had passed, 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.”
Valmont lowered his mask and rushed toward Henry, sabre extended.
Henry gulped. Even though they were using blunted blades and padding, it was still terrifying.
Their blades clashed, and Henry had to force himself not to think about who had the priority, or which hits would land off target. Valmont disengaged to the inside and raised his weapon, bringing it down on the top of Henry’s mask with a resounding clank.
“That’s my head!” Henry protested in surprise.
“On guard,” Valmont called in response, attacking again, this time aiming for Henry’s knee. Henry leapt out of the way, curling his blade around and striking Valmont on the back.
“Parry
neuvième
,” Henry said, with the faintest trace of a smirk.
Valmont stopped cold. “Where’d you learn that?”
Henry shrugged. The truth was, he’d gotten it out of
Pugnare
.
Valmont took his guard again, and Henry used his left-handed advantage to cut with the edge of the blade against Valmont’s forearm. Valmont recovered quickly, slicing his blade through the air, forcing Henry into a retreat with overhead blocks, until a slice landed on Henry’s right shoulder.
Five relentless minutes later they were sore and thoroughly out of breath. Henry tore off his mask. “Don’t strike,” he gasped, putting his hands on his knees. “I need to breathe.”
“I’ve already killed you about ten times, anyhow.” Valmont shrugged, pulling off his glove. They regarded each other warily.
“Not bad,” Henry said after an interminable stretch of silence.
“We could—I mean, if you want—we could go again tomorrow night,” said Valmont.
A horrible thought occurred to Henry, and he quickly pushed it out of his mind. “Maybe,” he said, “but my
roommates would notice. How come yours hasn’t?”
“My room’s a single.” Valmont didn’t sound pleased.
“Listen,” Henry said, because the horrible thought had come back. “What if it wasn’t just the two of us who wanted to learn how to fight?”
“I doubt the fencing master would agree to teach an illegal course on combat.”
“Er, I was thinking more along the lines of not involving any of the professors,” said Henry.
Valmont frowned. “With two broadswords and the blunted second-year sabres?”
“I know where we can get more weapons,” Henry said. “Training manuals, shields, swords. Arrows and crossbows as well.”
“I’m listening,” Valmont said, crossing his arms.
“Derrick and I found a whole cache of things left over from before the Longsword Treaty. And you must have noticed the way our professors are changing their lessons, making them more, well,
applicable
to current events.” Henry said. “There must be a dozen students at least who would want to learn.”
“So you and Marchbanks can go off and form a club,” Valmont said sourly. “Invite your friends. Just like you did with the cricket match.”
“That wasn’t me. That was
James
. But Derrick won’t do it. He’s too afraid. I just thought that, after tonight, maybe
you
would,” Henry finished.
“Me?”
Valmont pushed his glasses up his nose and glared. “Whatever gave you that impression?”
“I have no idea,” Henry snapped. “Sorry to have annoyed you. I’ll let you get back to fighting your invisible opponent.” Henry threw down his sabre and headed for the door.
“Wait,” Valmont said.
Henry turned.
“So this fight club,” Valmont mused. “We’d
both
be in charge of it. Because I’m not answering to
you
.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Henry returned. “And ‘fight club’ is a ridiculous name. It’s more of a … battle society.”
“A secret battle society,” Valmont agreed.
“So you’ll do it?”
“Tonight was the best training I’ve had in three weeks.” Valmont nodded.
“There’s just one catch,” Henry said coolly.
“We are
not
inviting the headmaster’s daughter.”
“Definitely not,” Henry said with feeling. He could just imagine what a disaster that would be: Frankie hiking
up her skirts and challenging Valmont to a duel. “As I see it, you still answer to Theobold. What’s to stop you from telling him everything—or from having me expelled in order to save yourself?”
“That’s just a chance you’ll have to take, Grim.” “Actually, it isn’t,” Henry said. “Before I show you where the weapons are hidden—before I try to convince my friends to join us—I want some insurance. I want to know what Theobold has on you.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it?” Henry challenged.
Valmont’s eyes narrowed, and he scrutinized Henry, as though trying to decide whether or not Henry could be trusted. “Don’t make me regret telling you, servant boy.”
Henry sighed at the mention of his old nickname, but nodded anyway.
They put away their kits and blades and closed up the weapons cabinet. Henry sat down with his back against the cabinet door and waited. Valmont sat next to Henry, staring straight ahead at their dim reflection in the mirrors that lined the opposing wall. From far away they almost looked like friends.
“My father was a police knight,” Valmont said finally.
“Was?”
“He died in the riots during the Nordlandic uprising. He was sent in to break up the riot in Whitechapel Market. Took a blow to the head and was trampled in the panic. I was a baby.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He was stupid,” Valmont said. “Rushed in before the rest of the guard and got himself killed for it.”
“That’s not stupid. That’s brave.”
Silence.
“So that’s what Theobold has on you?” Henry asked finally. “That your father died as a hero?”
“No,” Valmont muttered. “Don’t you understand? My father was a lord. When he died, everything went to his younger brother, Gideon. The title, the estate, the town house. And Lord Gideon—he threw my mum out.”
Henry stared at Valmont in surprise. “Where did she go?” Henry asked.
“Moved in with her brother.”
A horrible thought occurred to Henry—had Valmont been raised by
Lord Havelock
? No wonder Valmont had been so certain back at the Midsummer School of the family connections that would land him a place at Knightley. And no wonder he’d been such a horrible
bully—it was so no one would taunt him. But Theobold had found out.
“I don’t understand why it’s such a big secret.” Henry shrugged.
“You wouldn’t,” Valmont said darkly.
“So you were raised by your horrible uncle. It’s not as though he treated you like a servant.”
“Right, because being the poor relation of the most loathed professor at Knightley isn’t bad enough.” Valmont pushed his glasses up his nose and glared.
“
That’s
what Theobold has on you? That your father died a hero and your uncle raised you instead?” Henry shook his head in disgust. Why did Valmont care so much?
“I’m not a charity case like
you
, Grim,” Valmont said hotly. “I attended the Midsummer School. I had servants to cater to my every whim over the holidays.”
“I believe you,” Henry said.
“I’m not some freak with a dead parent who needs to join your poor orphans club.”
“I never said you were.”
But Theobold clearly had,
Henry thought.
It was then that Henry realized he actually felt sorry for Valmont. Fancy being so ashamed of where you
came from that you’d become Theobold’s lackey just to keep it a secret! Henry shook his head, and then stifled an enormous yawn.
“Coming back to the dormitory, Grim?” Valmont asked, picking up his rucksack.
“Er, yeah,” Henry said, giving the armory a final glance over to make sure everything had been put back into place, and then falling into step beside Valmont.