their brothers fall in battle, with no one to tend their wounds. Cuts became infected. Limbs were amputated. Disease brought swift and welcome death. A knight who fell in battle died in battle.”

The boys stared, pens hovering above blank sheets of paper, entranced.

“But the Knights Templar learned to defend, and as many of you may not know, they invented mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

“You may be thinking, ‘We no longer fight wars and battles,’ or ‘We have surgeons to repair us when we are hurt.’ You may be wondering when you will ever use a practical discipline like medicine.”

Sir Frederick surveyed his pupils, as though suspecting each and every one of them of entertaining these very thoughts.

“How many of you have considered becoming police knights?”

A few hands went up.

“You are called to the scene of a robbery. A shopkeeper is injured and bleeding. The Code of Chivalry obligates you to help—to bandage his wounds, to assess his injuries and decide whether to send immediately for a doctor or to take a testimony of the crime. Now, how many of you have considered the knight detectives?”

More hands.

“How would you know if a man had died of natural causes or been murdered? How could you tell from a man’s demeanor if he told the truth or lied?”

Sir Frederick went on to give more examples: What if a colleague was injured protecting a member of the royal family? What if you could recognize the symptoms of smallpox and noticed an infected child during a street patrol? Would you be able to aid a person who was choking? To determine whether a prisoner was truly ill or faking?

Sir Frederick was a wonderful lecturer, he could make anything sound fascinating, could interest even the most disinterested student. By the time he had demonstrated on shy Edmund Merrill how to correctly bandage a wound, the students were itching to give it a go themselves.

“Partner up,” Sir Frederick called, tearing a bedsheet into strips with a rrrrrippppping sound. “Grab some bandages and take turns. Raise your hand for me to examine the work once you are satisfied.”

A tap on Henry’s shoulder. He turned.

“We’ll be partners,” Valmont announced, his lips curved into a nasty smile.

Henry felt as though his stomach had rolled over and was playing dead. He glanced over at Adam and Rohan, who had already partnered together.

With his mouth dryer than the toast he’d eaten for breakfast, Henry collected a handful of bandages from the front table.

“I’ll do you first,” Valmont said, snapping the bandage like a whip. “Give me your arm.”

Mournfully, Henry rolled up his right sleeve.

All around him, other boys did the same.

Maybe, Henry thought wildly, maybe nothing bad would happen, and Valmont would wrap the bandage the way Sir Frederick had demonstrated.

Right, and maybe Lord Havelock would knit them all matching scarves as a surprise.

“Here, hold this,” Valmont said, putting the bandage roll in Henry’s fist just as Sir Frederick had taught them.

Henry watched Adam sloppily roll the bandage while Rohan looked on and sighed.

Suddenly, Henry’s arm began to burn as if it were being poked with hundreds of sewing needles. Valmont, his jaw clenched with the effort, was rolling the bandage as tight as it would go.

“Is it too loose?” Valmont asked, faking concern.

“I am going to destroy you for this,” Henry muttered.

“Tighter, then,” Valmont said, as though taking part in an entirely different conversation.

Henry’s arm throbbed. Black spots danced in the corners of his vision. He felt dizzy, and so he closed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Sir Frederick thundered, rushing over to Valmont and Henry. “Are you trying to hurt him? Take that bandage off now!”

Valmont scowled and, as slowly as he dared, unwound the strip of bedsheet from Henry’s forearm.

The dizziness faded. Henry flexed his arm as it flooded with warmth. The bandage had left angry red creases that spiraled upward toward his elbow.

Sir Frederick slammed a ruler inches from Valmont’s fingers. Valmont flinched.

“Are you stupid, boy?” Sir Frederick hissed, his voice dangerously low. “I don’t ever want to see anything like this asinine, immature, dangerous display of idiocy in my classroom again, do you understand me?”

Valmont nodded.

Sir Frederick raised his ruler again but did not strike.

Valmont flinched.

“From now on, you are my little helper. Every demonstration, for the rest of the month, you will practice only on me, until you learn proper respect for what I am teaching. Is that clear?”

Meekly, Valmont inclined his head.

“I said, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. It’s clear, sir,” Valmont mumbled.

Adam snorted, and Rohan somehow managed a