“I can’t open my textbook, sir,” he whispered.

“Show me.” Lord Havelock folded his arms and, in his billowing black master’s gown, rather resembled a bat staring down at Valmont as though poised to attack.

Valmont handed Lord Havelock the book.

Lord Havelock tried to open it, failed, and then examined the book closely.

“This has been plastered shut,” Lord Havelock announced, and although the class was too terrified to laugh, they all exchanged amused glances.

Someone had plastered Valmont’s textbook shut!

Henry wished Frankie were there to see the results of Adam’s expedition into the common room to borrow the textbook, Rohan’s foray into the kitchen for the ingredients, and his own replacement of the pilfered text into Valmont’s unsuspecting satchel.

“I suppose you’ll have to share with Mr. Archer,” Lord Havelock said, and Theobold shrugged indifferently. “You can do the odds while he does the evens.”

This time a murmur rose up from the class. It wasn’t fair! Valmont’s and Theobold’s assignments had been halved.

Henry exchanged a horrified look with Adam and Rohan, then bent over his notebook and scratched out the answers for the next ninety minutes, wondering why the perfect plan had backfired.

***

“Thanks, Grim,” Valmont said after class.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” Henry said.

Theobold caught up with them and flexed his hand.

“Yes, I’m awfully in your debt, Grim,” Theobold said. “I can’t imagine how cramped your hand must be after having to write out the whole assignment.”

Theobold and Valmont drifted ahead, laughing.

“That was horrible,” Adam said, shuddering. “Bloody horrible. It didn’t work!”

“Really?” Rohan said. “Because I thought it definitely worked. To the opposite effect.”

Collectively, they groaned.

“Was it you?” Edmund whispered to Henry as they practiced parry-riposte exercises in fencing that afternoon.

Henry grinned.

“I knew it!” Edmund said, missing a beat with his riposte so Henry’s sword landed a hit. “Sorry, let’s go again. I wasn’t ready. But anyhow, Luther said he thought it was some second years putting Valmont in his place for the business with the library, but I knew it was you and Adam.”

“Shhh,” Henry said, parrying again. Edmund’s riposte connected and they switched roles, Edmund parrying this time. “It wasn’t just the two of us.”

“Not Rohan?” Edmund whispered, with a parry so anemic that Henry nearly lost his balance on the riposte.

“And Frankie,” Henry admitted.

Edmund’s grip went slack.

“The girl?”

“It was her idea.”

“No!”

“Mr. Grim! Mr. Merrill! Have you perfected the move already?” the fencing master snapped.

“No, sir,” Henry said.

“Sorry, sir,” Edmund said fearfully. “It just takes some getting used to, fencing a left-hander.”

Good save, thought Henry.

“Then watch me,” the fencing master said, taking Edmund’s place opposite Henry.

Not so good save, thought Henry with a gulp.

Henry adjusted his stance and saluted the fencing master.

“No need for formalities,” the fencing master said. “And riposte!”

Without warning, the fencing master’s sword shot out, and Henry deflected the blow, then came back to center and struck, the master turning away Henry’s sword.

“Good,” the fencing master grunted at Henry, moving on to the next pair of beginners. The intermediates were in the corner, doing lunges in full gear. It looked horribly painful.

LOCKED IN THE LIBRARY

The textbook incident should have been the end of it. Henry, Adam, Rohan, and Frankie should have shrugged, chalked it up to bad luck, and gone on with their evenings as usual—playing cards, helping with one another’s homework, telling jokes, and generally pretending that they had never declared war on Valmont in the first place. There should have been a stalemate.

But that isn’t how it happened.

The letters, although not specifically addressed to Henry, Adam, and Rohan, continued to arrive in the morning post.

For “the occupants of the triple room, first-floor corridor, Knightley Academy,” there came an envelope containing a note quite possibly written in human blood. The message: your time here is finished.

Henry flushed it down the toilet, but the next morning, another letter arrived, stuffed under the door to their room: you’re going to fail.

Henry, Adam, and Rohan tried their best to ignore it. After all, what else could they do? Reignite a prank war that could get them all in trouble? And anyway, it was just silly messages—it wasn’t as though Valmont had done anything to back up the threats …

Two days later, Lord Havelock kept Henry after lessons.

Henry gave his friends a brave look and waved them ahead as he approached Lord Havelock’s desk at the front of the room.

“Can you tell me,” Lord Havelock began, and Henry nearly forgot how to breathe, “on what topic you chose to write your quarter-term essay?”

“On the plague, sir,” Henry said, puzzled.

“Just