banking, and now I find out that it was the Knights Templar who invented the bloody profession in the first place.”

“Well I don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no Knights Templar,” Liza said, “but I was just tellin’ Mary how the Nordlands got to be hidin’ somethin’ bad.”

Henry resisted the urge to groan. The Nordlands—again. He thought he’d left that rubbish behind to rot in the grubby public houses in the City.

“You don’t say,” Rohan said politely.

“Don’t I just!” Liza crowed. “Women can’t go to school, Chancellor Mors says, and I says, well wot’s happenin’ to those who get caught doin’ it anyway? Not a warning, no sirree. I hear stories that would make yer head spin’ round yer neck ’bout the consequences fer breakin’ laws in the Nordlands.”

As Liza spoke, her eyes took on a faraway look, as though she had seen, rather than heard, the “truth” about the Nordlands.

“We should be getting back to our homework,” Henry said, standing up. He didn’t know how much more talk of rumors and rubbish he could bear. And worse, it just made him even more homesick for Professor Stratford.

Maybe, Henry thought suddenly, he could visit the professor after their lessons tomorrow. The thought cheered him so visibly that when Liza bade them good night and slipped Adam an extra strawberry tart with a wink, she said, “There now, you just let ol’ Liza do all the worryin’ for ya. There’s a good lad.”

THE HEADMASTER’S DAUGHTER

Friday morning dawned wet and dreary. Henry stared out the window at the pudgy gray clouds and sloshy grass while he fastened his tie.

Adam moaned sleepily and curled up into a tighter ball beneath his down quilt. His military history textbook was splayed across the floor by his bed, pages down.

Rohan joined Henry at the window.

“Will it be strawberry tarts for breakfast?” Rohan joked, and Henry smiled in appreciation.

“I don’t ever want to see another strawberry tart,” Henry said, making a face. “Whose bad idea was that?”

“Mine,” Rohan admitted, straightening his cuffs. “Although I have to say, that kitchen girl was rather entertaining. I can’t think why I rarely asked Father’s staff for their opinions on politics.”

Henry bit his lip and shoved his military history book into his satchel. He’d learned that the best response when Rohan went all posh like that was no response at all.

“Oh, get up,” Henry said, yanking at Adam’s blanket. “We’ve got fencing first lesson. That should cheer you.” Adam was always going on about his talents with a sword.

“Have we really?” Adam asked, brightening. “Have I mentioned how talented I am with a sword?”

“Oh, once or twice,” Henry said.

“More like once or twice an hour,” Rohan put in, straightening his tie. “I’m not answering to Lord Havelock for tardiness. I’ll see you at chapel.”

Henry looked at Rohan, and then back at Adam.

“Go,” Adam said. “If there’s anyone who can get away with being late to chapel, it’s me.”

That was true enough, Henry thought.

“Rohan, wait a moment, I’m coming,” Henry said, looking once more out the window and wishing he owned an umbrella.

***

Adam made it to chapel on time, but only just. His smugness on the matter carried on through breakfast until Rohan stood up and said crossly, “Do put a lid on it, Adam. I’d rather wait outside the armory than listen to you gloat about your good fortune that the back door to the chapel hadn’t been locked.”

Henry rather felt the same way.

“Coming, Grim?” Rohan asked.

Caught in the middle, again, Henry thought glumly.

“All right, I’m sorry,” Adam said. “I won’t mention it again. See? Not mentioning it.”

Henry watched as Luther Leicester and Edmund Merrill gathered their things and left breakfast early.

“I bet they’re going to the armory,” Henry said.

Rohan consulted his gold pocket watch. “Hmmm, we’ve still got ten minutes. But it is the first lesson and we might get lost on the way …”

They didn’t get lost. In fact, they arrived early, joining seven other students who had turned up early out of excitement, forming a crowd around the half-open door.

“Why’s no one going in?” Henry asked, unable to see past everyone’s backs.

“There’s a private lesson on,” Edmund said, turning around. “Whoever he is, he’s rather advanced.”

“Like you can even see from all the way in the back,” a familiar voice scoffed.

“Well, not everyone is rude enough to shove his way to the front, Valmont,” Edmund said crossly.

“I say, stop crowding me. We might as well wait inside the armory,” Theobold drawled. And because Theobold said it, everyone did it.

Henry and