plunking one down between every two seats.

“Bonjour, classe,” he called, and waited for a response.

“Bonjour, Maître Lingua,” the students called.

“We shall be finishing our unit in French and turning to a review of Latin at the end of next week,” he said, his many chins quivering as he tried to catch his breath. “Thus, during the time we have left, we shall make use of the French you have learned.”

Henry made a mental note to put aside some time to review Latin.

“Translations,” Professor Lingua announced. “From French to English. No dictionaries on the first draft. You’ll be working in pairs.”

He assigned pages to each pair for translation, and then, with an enormous sigh, heaved himself into his chair.

“Page forty-two,” Adam muttered, staring dubiously at the unopened book.

Henry took out a sheet of paper and his pencil, then glanced at the book’s spine to see what they would be translating.

“It’s Dumas!” Henry cried.

“Who?” Adam asked blankly.

“No, this is good. I’ve read it before in the original French, so that should help.”

Henry turned to page forty-two. A sheet of paper fluttered out of the book and landed on the floor.

“What’s that?” Adam asked, reaching down to retrieve it.

“Dunno,” Henry said. “In any case, it’s not mine.”

Adam opened the piece of paper.

“ ‘Full of ideas, he sped off as if on wings toward the Convent des Carmes Descheaux—a building without windows.’ What’s this? It’s like a page of a novel.”

Henry grabbed it from Adam.

It couldn’t be—but it was. Henry smoothed the paper down on the desk next to their copy of The Three Musketeers and compared.

It was a finished translation of page forty-two.

Henry frowned, his eyes scanning back and forth between the documents. He could find no fault with the translation.

“Adam,” Henry whispered, placing the open book on top of the paper to hide it. “This is a perfect translation.”

“Really?” Adam asked. “Then let’s use it. Assignment complete.”

Henry shot him a look.

“I’m only joking,” Adam said, as though hurt that Henry thought he’d meant it. “I wouldn’t really. So, what d’you reckon we should do?”

“Tell Professor Lingua,” Henry said, standing up and sliding the paper out from beneath the book.

“He’ll think we cheated,” Adam said, frantically tugging on Henry’s sleeve to make him sit back down.

“No,” Henry said, shaking his head. “He’ll think we cheated if we don’t turn it in.”

“Cheated?” Theobold called, turning around from two desks in front of theirs. “Who cheated? You?”

“What seems to be the problem?” Professor Lingua asked, struggling out of his chair and waddling toward them.

“Grim and Beckerman are cheating,” Theobold said, as though commenting on the weather. “Pity.”

The other students glanced up curiously from their texts.

“Mr. Grim, Mr. Beckerman, I’ll need to see your translation,” Professor Lingua said.

Adam shot Henry a horrified look.

“We haven’t started, sir,” Henry said.

“That’s not cheating, Mr. Archer. That’s just plain laziness,” Professor Lingua said, and then he caught sight of the piece of paper in Henry’s fist. “Or is it? Mr. Grim, kindly hand me the paper you’re holding.”

Henry’s heart quickened, and he knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of it this time. He was finished.

“We found this in the book,” Henry said, handing the paper to Professor Lingua.

The professor glanced down at the paper and then at Henry and Adam’s book.

“It’s a perfect translation of our assigned page,” Henry said. “At least, the first few sentences are. I’ve not had a look at the rest. We didn’t know what to do when we found it, which is why we hadn’t begun the assignment.”

“You found it in the book?” Professor Lingua said, his mouth curled into a deep, disapproving frown.

“Yes, sir,” Henry and Adam said.

“I find that hard to believe,” said Professor Lingua.

“It’s the truth,” Henry said simply. “And besides, it’s not as though I would need it anyway.”

Even though he hated showing off, Henry knew that it was the only way to salvage their situation. So he flipped the page over to forty-three and translated on the spot.

“ ‘Upon my honor I assure you that you hurt me confoundedly. But I will use my left hand, as I usually do under such circumstances. Yet do not imagine that by this means I do you a favor as I fight equally well with either.’ ”

He made it halfway down the page without an error, reading at a normal pace, as though the text were truly written in English rather than French, before the professor stopped him.

“I’m aware of your skill with languages, Mr.