Part 16 (1/2)

Liza watched suspiciously as Henry wrapped a tea towel around his hand and began to sharpen one of the coins. ”Wha's that for?”

”Er, extra credit for Medicine. It's just an experiment to do with, er, scalpel width,” Henry fibbed, gingerly touching the edge of his sharpened coin. It drew blood.

”Oh,” Liza said, suddenly disinterested. ”Have you 'eard about the medical experiments?”

”Medical experiments?” Henry asked, sharpening another coin.

”In the Nordlands. People keep disappearin', an' when they come back, they ain't right. They're missin' fingers or toes or worse.”

”You think people are being kidnapped and experimented on in the Nordlands? Why would anyone do that?”

Liza took a bite of her biscuit and sighed with annoyance. ”Ain't no need for a reason.”

”Actually, there is,” Henry argued. ”Experiments have a purpose. Otherwise it's just torture.” Henry carefully put the sharpened pennies into his pocket.

”Do you have any more oranges, Liza?” he asked.

Liza huffed and pretended to be annoyed, but told Henry he could help himself to the fruit in the larder. He took a few pieces and wrapped them in his blazer.

”An' you can take these back for yer friends,” Liza said testily, handing Henry a stack of chocolate-covered biscuits.

”Thank you,” Henry said.

”Get out of here,” she muttered, but her frown quickly gave way to an indulgent grin.

Henry walked back down the darkened corridor with his armload of oranges and biscuits, hurrying because of lights-out. He wondered what made Liza so certain that the Nordlands were carrying out medical experiments. Experiments needed motive; they were for building or developing something. Henry was suddenly reminded of the series of articles about the Nordlandic mental asylum and how the patients had been found with their tongues split down the middle-torture, or another medical experiment?

No. Henry shook his head and told himself to be reasonable. But the more that he thought about it, the less far-fetched it seemed that the Nordlands were working on something very sinister indeed.

”Caught you!” a voice called, and Henry nearly cried in fright before realizing that he wasn't doing anything wrong. He turned.

Frankie sat on the bench outside the archway to the first-year corridor, with a dark lantern at her side and a triumphant grin.

”Doing what?” Henry asked mildly.

”Sneaking,” Frankie said. ”I knew you were up to something, and I told you that I'd find out sooner or later.”

”I wasn't sneaking,” Henry said. ”It isn't even lights-out.”

At that moment Lord Havelock emerged from his room wearing a spectacularly mauve dressing gown emblazoned with golden lions. Henry gulped and squeezed himself onto the bench next to Frankie, hoping their head of year couldn't see around the corner.

”Shut your lights, gentlemen,” Lord Havelock ordered, flipping the switch that dimmed the electric wall sconces in the corridor to a dull flicker.

Thankfully, their head of year disappeared back into his room. Henry breathed a sigh of relief. And then realized that he was sitting uncomfortably close to Frankie. In a dark hallway. Alone.

He scrambled to his feet and regarded Frankie coldly. She scowled up at him.

”I have to go,” Henry said. ”I have an exam in the morning.”

”Not until you show me what you're hiding in your jacket,” Frankie said, making a grab for Henry's school blazer. She caught the sleeve, and oranges bounced everywhere. The biscuits dropped to the floor and crumbled. Frankie turned bright red.

And then Lord Havelock's door opened.

”Quick!” Henry cried, pressing Frankie back onto the bench. Neither of them dared to breathe. Henry was suddenly quite aware that Frankie was-well, a girl. Their biggest problem wasn't being caught in the corridor after lights-out. It was being caught in the dark together on a bench.

Frankie clung to him, her eyes wide with fright.

After an eternity Lord Havelock's door creaked shut. Henry breathed a sigh of relief, but he didn't feel relieved at all-he'd done nothing wrong. Frankie was forever getting him into trouble by acting as though she were one of the boys.

Henry shot Frankie a brutal glare and gathered the oranges. ”Come on,” he whispered, opening the door to his room.

Adam and Rohan were both in bed, although Adam was trying to study beneath the covers, which he'd pulled into a tent over his head.

”Frankie!” Rohan exclaimed, none too enthusiastically.

Adam emerged from the tent and waved h.e.l.lo. ”Oh, good,” he said cheerfully. ”Are we friends again?”

”Definitely not,” Henry said.

”Not a chance,” Frankie retorted at the same moment.

”Two things,” Henry told her. ”The first is that I want an apology. You had absolutely no right. And the second is that you're leaving through the window. It'll only cause more trouble if you're caught wandering around the school corridors at this hour.”

”Fine,” Frankie mumbled. ”I'm sorry. I made a mistake.”

”Obviously,” Henry said. ”What did you think I was doing?”

”I don't know,” Frankie muttered. ”I thought-I-I'm sorry, all right?”

”I suppose,” Henry said, shrugging.

Frankie boosted herself onto the window ledge. ”Nice pajamas,” she called, grinning at Rohan, who gave a long-suffering sigh.

”Good night, Frankie,” Rohan said pointedly.

Frankie hopped out the window and then leaned her head back in. ”One last thing,” she said. ”Just because you weren't sneaking tonight doesn't mean I was wrong about your sneaking.”

14.

THE UNFORGIVABLE WORDS.

Supper the next evening felt like a celebration, as half-term exams were over. The tension that had built over the previous two weeks magically evaporated, leaving a gloriously free weekend in its wake.

Henry meant to shut himself in the now empty library and finish translating Pugnare after supper. But as he was leaving the dining hall, someone called his name.

Professor Stratford was hurrying toward him across the crowded dining hall.