around for?” Lord Havelock asked nastily, sweeping out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

“The whole book,” Adam moaned. “We have to copy a whole book.”

“Could be worse,” Henry said. “He could have given us the dictionary.”

Adam picked up one of the books as though it were a particularly rotten piece of meat.

“ ‘The Rules and Regulations Concerning the Governance and Operation of Knightley Academy,’ ” he read.

Even Henry made a face. The rules of the school. There couldn’t be anything more boring.

“Well, it is detention, what did you expect?” Henry asked.

Adam shrugged.

With a sigh, Henry uncapped his pen and began to copy the first page. Grudgingly, Adam did the same.

Hours passed. Henry’s stomach grumbled, but he ignored it.

Adam, however, moaned about how hungry he was and how boring the lines were and how his hand had cramp.

“Do put a lid on it,” Henry said. “At least we’re not being sent to a reformatory.”

“Poor Frankie,” Adam said.

“Well, there is a bright side,” Henry continued with a sardonic smile, turning his book to the next page. “Frankie will be all the way in the Alpines when the Nordlands attack.”

“Good for her,” Adam said sourly, peering at Henry’s page number. “Oi, slow down, mate. You’re making me look bad.”

“Sorry,” Henry said.

And then someone knocked on the door.

“Yes?” Henry called.

The door pushed open a crack, and Sir Frederick peered inside.

“Hello, boys,” Sir Frederick said. “Lord Havelock sent me to check how you’re getting on.”

“Page twenty-three, sir,” Henry said.

“Well done,” Sir Frederick said, holding out a stack of paper. “I’ve brought this in case you’re running out.”

“Not quite,” Adam said.

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it,” Sir Frederick said, fumbling the door shut behind him.

“Oh good, more paper,” Adam said sourly.

Henry reached for a sheet with an apologetic smile. “Don’t give me that look. I’ve run out.”

Adam gave a frustrated sigh. “ ‘Provisions for three late students to be admitted to the first-year class pending special circumstances,’ ” Adam read disgustedly. “What does that even mean?”

“It goes faster if you don’t read it,” Henry said.

“You mean I’ve been reading this dreck for no reason?” Adam asked.

“Afraid so,” Henry said, frowning at the page in front of him:

That—the—chief—examiner—replaces—the—headmaster—until—a—suitable—replacement—can—be—unanimously—elected—by—the—board—of—trustees, Henry wrote, his index finger keeping place on the page.

He hadn’t been reading, just brainlessly copying, but somewhere in the back of his head, he’d linked the words together. And their meaning gave him pause.

“Wait a minute,” Henry said, picking up the book and flipping to the previous page.

“I thought you said it went faster if you didn’t read,” Adam whined.

Henry’s eyes went wide.

“Did you make a mistake?” Adam asked, passing over a fresh sheet of paper. “Bad luck, mate.”

“No. Wait,” Henry murmured, rereading what had to be an error in the print.

“What?” Adam asked.

Henry looked up from the book, hardly daring to believe it.

“If Headmaster Winter is fired, Sir Frederick becomes the new headmaster.”

“So what?” Adam said.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Henry said. “Look. Page twenty-three. Sir Frederick is on the board of trustees. It takes a unanimous vote to choose the next headmaster. So, hypothetically, Sir Frederick would be in charge of the school for however long he wanted.”

“But I like Sir Frederick,” Adam said.

“Right, but Lord Havelock doesn’t.”

“And?” Adam prompted.

“Lord Havelock wouldn’t sabotage us knowing that Headmaster Winter’s job was at risk—not if it meant Sir Frederick would become the new headmaster indefinitely.”

Henry frowned. If Lord Havelock wasn’t behind all of the sabotage attempts, then who was?

“So it’s not Lord Havelock?” Adam asked.

Henry shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, obviously Lord Havelock doesn’t like Headmaster Winter, because the headmaster let commoners into the school. Well, Sir Frederick was the one who started it all when he let me take the exam.”

“But Lord Havelock found that whatever-it-was inside Rohan’s bag,” Adam said. “Lord Havelock lost your essay. And, I mean, he’s Lord Havelock.”

“I know,” Henry said, biting his lip. He was missing something big, something important.

“If it’s not Lord Havelock, then who?” Adam asked.

“That’s the question,” Henry said.

Suddenly, Adam cursed.

He’d been pressing the tip of his pen against the sheet of paper so hard that it had burst, splattering ink all over his hands.

“Bad luck,” Henry said sympathetically.

“I’m going to wash up,” Adam said, his non-ink-splattered hand on the doorknob. And then he stopped.

“What?” Henry asked.

“Is the door supposed to be locked?” Adam asked.

“No,” Henry said, trying the knob himself. “I mean, Sir Frederick was just—”

Sir Frederick!

But no, that was impossible. Sir Frederick was their friend.

But then, the more Henry thought