see it,” Adam said the moment they’d escaped back to their room during the hour free.

Wordlessly, Rohan slammed the piece of paper onto his desk.

It wasn’t newsprint. Henry could see that right away.

No, it was worse.

It was a scrap of paper torn from a book. There was an illustration, a gross caricature, really, of turbaned men with long, curved swords and evil grins of triumph, holding up the bloody, severed heads of their enemies by the scalp.

Written across the picture in thick black letters: get out before we make you.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Rohan said stiffly, exiting the room.

Henry and Adam looked at each other, and then back down at the cartoon.

“He’s gone too far,” Henry said, “which means that we haven’t gone far enough. I say we retaliate.”

“How?” Adam asked.

“Frankie would know.”

“I suppose,” Adam said. “So, do you think we should go after Rohan?”

Henry shook his head. He was fairly certain that Rohan just wanted to be alone.

***

When Frankie climbed through their window that night, Rohan grinned.

“Oh, hello, Frankie. Glad you could make it,” he said.

Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with Rohan?”

“How terribly funny,” Rohan said. “Isn’t she funny, Adam?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Rohan?” Adam asked.

Henry quickly filled Frankie in on the letters.

“So you think it’s Valmont?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“You don’t?” Henry asked.

“No, I do. I was just hoping you hadn’t made any other enemies that I didn’t know about.”

“It’s either Valmont or Lord Havelock,” Adam said. “Which do you think is the most likely?”

“Point taken,” Frankie said. “Now, how badly would you like to get him back for this? We can humiliate him, get him in trouble, scare him, or hurt him. I’d recommend the first.”

“All four isn’t an option, then?” Rohan said, smiling ruefully.

“I think I like evil Rohan,” Frankie said, and Rohan bristled.

“I agree, humiliation seems the way to go,” Henry said, rescuing Rohan from Frankie’s inevitable teasing.

“Then listen carefully …” With a wicked smile, Frankie told them exactly what she had in mind.

Come Monday morning, they were all exhausted. Henry nearly nodded off into his toast at breakfast—just like Professor Stratford used to.

“Long night?” Edmund asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

Henry yawned and shrugged. “Longer day ahead,” he said, as they had medicine, then military history, then extra fencing.

“Did you know about the reading room on the second level of the library?” Edmund asked.

“No, why?”

“My brother told me that it’s really good for quiet studying,” Edmund said, topping off his tea. “Since some people seem to feel that they own the main library and can be as loud as they wish.”

Henry smiled sympathetically. He knew exactly what Edmund was talking about. Theobold and Valmont had styled themselves after the older students, joking around in the library and ignoring the librarian when he told them off, much to the annoyance of everyone who was actually trying to study.

“Thanks,” Henry said. “I’ll take a look.”

Even though medicine was his favorite class, it seemed to Henry that the clock’s minute hand had lost all will to move. Finally, finally, it was time for military history, and Henry, Adam, and Rohan tried very hard not to look guilty as they took their seats.

Valmont, as usual, swaggered to the front row, alongside Theobold.

Henry’s heart thundered when Lord Havelock swept into the room.

“Textbooks out,” Lord Havelock snapped. “Turn to chapter twelve, on the crusades, and answer the end-of-chapter questions, the odds …” Everyone sighed. Lord Havelock smiled nastily. “… as well as the evens. This is individual work. You may begin.”

Henry removed his textbook, notebook, and pen from his satchel, trying very hard not to look at Valmont. He opened to chapter twelve, on the crusades, and wrote at the top of a fresh notebook page Chapter Twelve Questions, also trying very hard not to look at Valmont.

But Henry couldn’t help it—he looked.

Valmont, rather red in the face, was staring down at his closed textbook, hands on his lap.

“Mr. Valmont, is there a problem?” Lord Havelock asked.

Valmont looked up at their professor as though he could hardly believe what was happening. He shook his head.

“I said, is there a problem?” Lord Havelock asked, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss.

“No, sir,” Valmont said.

The classroom had gone eerily quiet. Lord Havelock was a teacher who played favorites, and everyone knew that he often indulged Theobold and, especially, Valmont.

“Then why are you sitting there like an imbecile?” Lord Havelock roared.

Valmont clenched his fists at his sides.