The Secret Prince (16 page)

12

Y
ou and Valmont?” Adam scoffed. “You’ll murder
each other first chance you have. We won’t learn a thing except how to dispose of your corpses.”

Rohan’s frown deepened at the mention of corpses. “I think the whole thing sounds like a dreadful plan. You’ll get caught. You’ll get expelled. It isn’t worth the risk.”

“It is to me,” Henry said quietly. He was lying on his bed,
Pugnare
propped open against his knee. “Something terrible is brewing up in the Nordlands. We should know how to defend ourselves. Just because the professors can’t teach us, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“I’m with you there, mate, but I can’t stand Val-mont,” Adam said. “Sign me up to show off my skills with a sword, but I’m not spending any more time than necessary with that smarmy little arse-toad.”

“I—actually—Valmont isn’t so bad,” Henry said, shrugging.

Adam and Rohan both stared at Henry as though he had gone quite mad.

“He isn’t,” Henry insisted. “And if I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone else.”

“You know we won’t,” Rohan said impatiently.

And so Henry told them about Valmont’s father dying in the riots, and Lord Havelock taking him and his mother in, raising Valmont out of charity, and about Theobold’s blackmail.

“There are some things for which a tragic childhood is an excuse,” Rohan said. “Being Fergus Valmont is not one of them.”

“I don’t know. I think he’s turned out rather well, considering,” Adam said. “Imagine being raised by
Lord Havelock
.”

The three of them shuddered at the thought of it.

“How’s Ollie, by the way?” Henry suddenly remembered.

“Matron bandaged his ribs, said he’d live, and sent him home,” Rohan said.

“That’s good,” Henry said.

“He shouldn’t have been fighting in the first place,” Rohan said harshly.

“His father beats him. He just wanted to learn to defend himself,” Henry said.

“There are better ways,” Rohan returned.

“Such as?” Henry challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Flag twirling?” Adam struggled to keep a straight face, and Henry couldn’t help but laugh.

Henry and Valmont sat hunched over a chessboard in the common room for the next three nights, planning. Their first meeting was to be that Thursday, and so much had to be done before then.

Henry spoke with Derrick, who agreed to cautiously spread the word among the first years, and he spoke with Jasper Hallworth, asking him to invite any second years who might be interested. He read well past lights-out, squinting at his copy of
Pugnare
in the contraband candlelight and planning what he wanted to say. He snuck off to the armory one more time, where he and Valmont practiced their first lesson. And he spent an exhausting night
bringing the contents of the weapons trunks down to the basement with Derrick and Adam.

The battle society had decided to meet in the abandoned storeroom in the basement, which Adam, Conrad, and Edmund had discovered during their explorations. There was no electricity, so everyone would need to bring lanterns and candles, but the room was large and unused and without windows. In short, it was nearly perfect.

The newspapers continued to taunt them with stories of Nordlandic inspections, and of something new. A train departing from the town of Forecastle, just fifteen kilometers south of the Nordlandic border, had derailed. None of the passengers was badly hurt, but even so, Henry couldn’t entirely dismiss the story, especially when Derrick wordlessly passed him an article over breakfast the morning of their first battle society meeting. Police knights had found evidence that the tracks had been tampered with, and were turning the case over to the local knight detectives.

A few hours before the first battle society meeting, the common room hummed with an unmistakable air of anticipation. Henry and Valmont sat in an out-of-the-way corner pretending to play a game of chess while
they went over some final preparations. But whenever Henry glanced up, he felt as though he and Valmont were seated upon a stage; far too many of their classmates were throwing glances in their direction. For the first time Henry wondered just how many students would turn up for the battle society.

Henry and Valmont arrived early. Henry held a candle to his notes, reading them over and over while Valmont paced.

He knew that Adam, Rohan, Derrick, Conrad, and Edmund were coming, and possibly Jasper, though he’d laughed when Henry had mentioned it.

Sure enough, Adam and Rohan were the first to arrive. Rohan put his lantern down at the base of the stairs and wandered over to examine the weapons.

Next came Derrick, followed by James, Edmund, and Conrad. After them came Luther Leicester, and then Jasper Hallworth and three of his friends from second year, and then Edmund’s friends from the choir, and the two altar boys called John and Paul who were cousins, and then Edmund’s brother, Peter, and two enormous boys from third year, and after that, Henry was so overwhelmed by the continuous arrival of students that he
scarcely would have noticed had Sir Frederick himself come bursting through the doorway.

Gradually the room became bright, filling with lanterns and candles. They flickered merrily, some from the bottom of the stairwell, others from the tops of crates, and still more from the tarnished wall sconces. Henry surveyed the two dozen students, panic rising in his throat. He hadn’t expected so many, and certainly not
third years
.

“Go on,” Valmont muttered, clearing his throat with impatience. “We should start.”

“Er, hello,” Henry said meekly. “Thank you for coming. For those of you who don’t know us, I’m, er, Henry Grim, and this is Fergus Valmont.” Henry closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then looked down at his notes, only to find that he’d inadvertently memorized them.

“You’re all here because you are free thinkers,” Henry recited, pleased to hear that his voice no longer sounded shaky or unsure. “Because you’ve questioned flimsy explanations, noticed the warning signs that are so easy to miss, or read the gossip magazines without scoffing at the stories contained within their pages. You’re here because the Nord lands are plotting something dreadful, and because you are no longer content
to sit and wait for their inevitable attack.

“As the ancient Greeks said, ‘To rebel in season is not to rebel.’ Gentlemen, we are here to prepare ourselves to fight. We are here so that Yurick Mors does not emerge victorious. And we are here because we are knights, and knighthood is not Latin verbs and history essays.”

At this most of the first-year students clapped loudly. Henry’s cheeks reddened. His half was over. Now it was Valmont’s turn.

“Grim and I have weapons and training manuals. We’re not experts, and Grim here isn’t even an advanced fencer—”

“Right, thanks,” Henry said, rolling his eyes as everyone laughed.

“But if we can do it, there’s no reason you can’t learn as well,” Valmont continued. “However, we come here with great risk. And so, if anyone should ask, this society doesn’t exist. Any bruises and scrapes you might earn are because you tripped and fell.” Valmont stared out at the sea of students, making sure they understood what he was saying.

“There’s a suit of armor,” Valmont continued, “posted just outside the dining hall. On its breastplate is a fleurde-lis. If the fleur-de-lis is upside down at breakfast, there will be a meeting that night. This way we don’t raise
suspicions with a regular meeting schedule, or whispering among ourselves to spread the word. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Yeah, kid, I’ve got one.” It was Edmund’s brother, Peter. “Where’d you get all of those weapons?”

“Henry and I found them,” Derrick said.

“We did,” Henry confirmed. “Inside of a closed-off classroom with some old books.” Peter nodded, apparently satisfied.

“If there aren’t any more questions,” Valmont said, “we’ll move on to demonstrating a blade-to-blade disarming technique—”

“I have a question, actually,” a huge boy from second year called. “You seem a bit too certain that the Nord-lands are preparing for war. There’s undoubtedly something odd happening up north, but maybe it’s not what we think. Maybe it’s nothing to do with us.”

The room filled with whispers.

Henry and Valmont exchanged an uneasy glance. He would have to tell them, Henry realized.

“Do you remember when we all went up to the Partisan School?” Henry asked. “I got lost one night and wound up in a room full of weapons and combat ranking charts.”

More whispers.

“The Nordlands have violated the Longsword Treaty,” Henry continued, and a few students exchanged skeptical glances. “Headmaster Winter believes it, but without proof, we have nothing. The room disappeared. The board of trustees won’t listen. Everyone knows war is coming, but no one wants to cry wolf.”

“Well, what I want to know,” another third year called, “is why
you’re
in charge. You’re first years.”

Henry blanched. “Er,” he said. “Well, if you want to vote—”

“I vote for Henry,” Derrick called. “Because I can barely keep up with my lessons as it is, and he managed to put all of this together and still check my Latin homework.”

“Valmont did most of it,” Henry muttered, even though it wasn’t true. Valmont had refused to do any of the grunt work, retorting that he’d do as he pleased and would be damned if he took orders from a former servant.

“If someone else wants to be in charge for the next meeting,” Valmont said loudly, “he should raise his hand now.”

Everyone shifted nervously but no hands raised.

“Look,” Henry said, “these weapons belong to the school. If you come down here and practice on your own, that’s fine. We just wanted to get everyone together, and Valmont and I had been planning to follow the training manual in order.”

“What manual?” James asked.

Henry removed the copy of
Pugnare
from inside his blazer and handed it over.

James frowned. “But this is in Latin.”

“I know,” Henry said patiently. “Most things were, back then. I’ve been translating it in the evenings, and it’s giving me a bloody headache figuring out some of the terms.”

“We’ll answer any further questions after the meeting,” Valmont cut in, daring anyone to interrupt as he calmly fastened his glove. “I think we’ve talked enough, and I want to make sure everyone has time to learn the basics of disarming.”

“Does anyone already know how?” Henry inquired.

Silence. Everyone looked expectantly at Henry and Valmont.

Henry picked up his blade and took his guard.

“Right,” Valmont said. “Lesson one, disarming your opponent. It’s extraordinarily useful and not too hard
to learn. Watch as I disarm Grim, and stand back if you don’t fancy catching a sabre to the face.”

Everyone backed up uneasily. Valmont made a flashy cut with his blade before settling into the on guard position.

Their blades clashed, and Valmont let Henry drive him backward. The distance between them closed. Henry lunged into an attack. At the last moment Val-mont parried to the inside with a forward recovery, wrapping his blade vertically around Henry’s.

With Henry’s sword still in the bind, Valmont lifted upward. The pressure on Henry’s thumb was too much; his blade went flying.

Henry retrieved the blade while his classmates whispered about what they’d seen.

“What just happened?” Valmont asked.

James called out the moves as though he were referee at a fencing match.

“That’s right,” Valmont said. “However, in nonfencing terms, I waited for his attack, captured his blade to the inside, and levered it out of his grip using pressure against the natural bend of the thumb.”

Henry and Valmont went through it step by step, with Henry fencing three more demonstrations, swapping
swords to fence two of them right-handed.

“We’d like you to partner up and try it yourselves,” Valmont called. “You’ll have to take turns with the sabres.” Half of the students took their blades and spread out. The others watched eagerly. Henry and Valmont walked around the room, watching and making corrections if needed. Most of the second and third years got it immediately, and Jasper laughed loudly as he disarmed a freckled boy called Geoffrey with far too much force, sending Geoffrey’s weapon halfway across the room.