would all be important. Elite. And Henry would still be Henry, a nobody orphan. They might treat him the way the Midsummer boys had when he had shown up to take the exam.

“Sir?” Henry asked. “What do you think it will be like for me at Knightley?”

“Academically,” Sir Frederick said, “it’s a difficult place, challenging for even the most disciplined scholars. That’s not to say the lessons won’t be fascinating, or even useful. But I’m certain you’ll have no trouble keeping up and will probably earn good marks. The boys there are the best we can find from the country’s finest schools, and perhaps you’re worried whether or not they will accept you.”

The examiner paused knowingly.

“In truth,” he continued, “I don’t know the answer to your question. The boys at Knightley are not cruel, but they are privileged, and they have a sense of entitlement and loyalty to their own kind. In order to protect the common good, you must consider yourself in a position elevated from that of a common citizen, and many of these boys have considered themselves thus elevated from birth. I don’t think the other students will welcome you with open arms, but I don’t think they’ll treat you horribly either. Then again, chivalry can stretch only so far against the rigid structure of centuries-old tradition, even if this is a time of great change.”

Henry nodded. Sir Frederick’s answer had been honest.

“Everyone keeps saying that this is a time of great change, sir,” Henry mused. “But do you truly believe it?”

Sir Frederick considered this, his brows furrowed together, and just when Henry thought Sir Frederick might not answer him at all, the examiner cleared his throat and said, “Equality is contagious. What Chancellor Mors has done will undoubtedly have irreversible echoes throughout the Isles, and perhaps not the echoes we immediately suppose. But you can’t dwell on perhapses, Henry. You can only wait and see.”

Wonderful, Henry thought. Another evasive answer, another adult afraid to speak the truth about everyone’s fears, no matter how unfounded those fears might be. Wait and see. He could do that.

“Well, if equality is catching, it’s too bad there won’t be other boys with backgrounds like mine at Knightley,” Henry said finally, reflecting on how much pressure was upon him to succeed, not just for himself but for boys in positions similar to his own who might be able to take the exam in the future.

In fact, Henry was so deeply caught up in his thoughts that he failed to notice a gleam in Sir Frederick’s eye.

Five minutes later, Henry was running down the second- floor corridor when his feet slipped out from under him and he took a spectacular fall, landing facedown on a plush carpet.

“Ugh,” Henry moaned, climbing to his knees.

“Servant boy,” a voice drawled, and Henry looked up to find Valmont and Harisford leaning against the striped wallpaper, holding a length of rope between them, with nasty, satisfied smiles on their faces.

Henry stood, resisting the urge to rub his sore knees and elbows. He wouldn’t give Valmont the satisfaction.

“What do you want?” Henry grumbled.

He and Valmont were the same height, both of them tall for their age. Valmont glared, and Henry raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Here, servant, I’ve spilled a glass of juice a ways down the corridor, so you should get the mop,” Valmont said.

“I’m not a servant,” Henry said, crossing his arms. “I don’t work here anymore. So go clean it up yourself.”

Henry shoved past Valmont and tried not to limp from his fall. After a couple of steps, Henry turned around. “I’ll send you a letter from Knightley,” he called, “to let you know what you’re missing.”

“Like you’re really going,” Valmont sneered.

“Why else would I be leaving the Knightley examiner’s room just now?”

“Unclogging the toilet?” Valmont suggested. “You certainly smell like it.”

“Well, if I do,” Henry returned, “that’s probably because I’ve just done your laundry.”

Harisford snorted, and Valmont turned red.

“That was my place you took at Knightley, servant boy,” Valmont mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to recover from Henry’s verbal blow. “You took it from me, and you don’t deserve it, and don’t you think for a moment that I’ll forget or let it drop.”

Henry didn’t dignify Valmont’s empty threat with even the tiniest of responses. Instead, he turned the corner and took the stairs up one more level to the corridor where the schoolmasters kept their lodgings.

A door with a brass plaque that read jonathan stratford, english was ajar. Henry knocked, and then, without waiting for an answer,