button before class is over,” Adam whispered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Henry murmured.

“Gentlemen!” Professor Lingua called, frowning at Adam and Henry. “Is there something you wish to share? In French perhaps?”

“Pardon, mais non, Monsieur Lingua,” Henry apologized.

“Tu parles français, garçon?” Professor Lingua demanded, an accusing finger directing all attention toward Henry.

Henry gulped. “Un peu, monsieur.”

“More than ‘a little,’ from the sound of it,” Professor Lingua said.

Henry turned red.

“Yes, sir.”

“And Latin?” Professor Lingua asked.

Henry nodded.

“Greek? Italian?”

Henry nodded again.

“Both or just the one?”

“Both, sir,” Henry said.

“I see,” Professor Lingua said coolly, as though he did not see at all. He picked up his class register. “Name, please.”

“Henry Grim, sir.”

“Well, Mr. Grim, I’ll make a note to expect flawless work from you. One wrong answer or improperly conjugated verb in any language I teach and you’ll redo the entire assignment during your free hour, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Henry slumped his forehead into his palm, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Anyone else speak French?” Professor Lingua demanded.

Silence.

“As I thought. Repeat after me: ‘Bonjour, monsieur.’ ”

“Bonjour, monsieur,” the class chanted.

“Bonjour, madame,” the professor prompted.

***

“Bad luck,” Adam said after class let out.

“It was your fault,” Henry accused.

“Well, I was right though, he did pop a button during ‘mare-see bo-koop.’ ”

“You don’t pronounce the p at the end,” Henry said irritably.

“Bloody French,” Adam muttered. “It sounds like a donkey blowing its nose.”

Henry laughed. “That’s just Professor Lingua’s accent,” he said. “Oh, hello, Valmont. Eavesdropping again?”

Valmont scowled. “You think you’re so special, don’t you, Grim?”

“Not at all,” Henry said airily. “But you are, aren’t you? Sir Frederick’s little helper. I do hope he shows us all how to do a full body cast today.”

Adam snorted. “Yeah, you’re not afraid of needles, are you, Valmont?”

Valmont paled.

“Poke, poke,” Adam said.

“Stop!” Valmont didn’t look nearly so confident now.

“Poke, poke, poke,” Adam threatened, his finger extended menacingly.

“Oh, grow up,” Valmont snarled, “and it’s ethics this afternoon, not medicine.” And with that, Valmont stalked off toward Theobold.

The week progressed, as weeks tend to do. Henry and his roommates lived for medicine, where they delighted in Valmont’s humiliating punishment to serve as the professor’s demonstration dummy. They studied late into the night for military history, puzzled through parables for ethics, and Henry checked everyone’s homework for languages.

More than once, some boys in their year caught Henry’s eye during meals, or seemed to linger outside the door to his room, but they always pretended it had been an accident.

Probably they wanted help with French, Henry thought. But Theobold, with his signet ring, mocking drawl, and older brother as third-year monitor, had fast become the king of their year—with Valmont as his ever-eager second in command. They lorded over the common room, with its battered chess sets and checkerboards, as though it was their own personal sitting room. And of course, under the reign of Theobold the Great, speaking to Henry and his roommates was forbidden. Even though some boys may have been desperate for help with French, they didn’t quite dare to ask. And so long as they let Theobold control them like that, Henry wasn’t offering.

“I’m starving,” Adam complained one evening, while they reviewed the credit and banking system of the Knights Templar. “Can’t we take a break?”

Adam was hunched over his desk, chewing his pen as though he hoped it held some nutritious value. Henry and Rohan sat side by side on the floor, making a chart. They looked up.

“Have you gotten to chapter seven yet?” Henry asked.

“I’ve glanced at it,” Adam said. “Sort of. Why, how far are you lot?”

“We’re doing a chart of names and dates,” Rohan said with a frustrated sigh. “We’ve already finished the reading.”

“Well it’s not my fault I got bogged down with the French,” Adam accused. “If you’d only have—”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Henry said, frowning at his and Rohan’s chart. “You have to learn this stuff. What happens when you meet a foreign dignitary and the only thing you know how to say is ‘Bonjour, madame’?”

“I reckon he’ll ask if I need glasses.”

Henry snorted.

“I could use a break too,” Rohan admitted. “Think we could pay off someone in the kitchens to give us a snack?”

This was how, three hours after supper, Henry, Adam, and Rohan found themselves sneaking down the corridor that led to the kitchens. Rohan’s pockets jingled with each step, and Henry wished his friend would stop paying people to do things for him. Good manners went just as far as good money, in any case.

“I hope they have some leftover strawberry tarts. Those were