Part 22 (1/2)

”We're not even on the train yet,” Henry reminded him.

”I know,” Adam muttered. ”I'm just saying.”

”This is going to be difficult,” Henry warned. ”We have to be careful we don't give ourselves away, like back in the kitchen.”

”What are you talking about?” Adam asked.

”I don't think we're very convincing servants,” Henry admitted. ”There's the bowing, for one thing. Remember how Professor Turveydrop could tell the difference? We have to be rough about it, no matter if we're bowing to a lord minister or just Mr. Frist.”

”Okay,” Adam said slowly. ”What else.”

”No saluting,” Henry continued. ”And if you have to serve tea, stand by the door until you're dismissed.”

Adam nodded.

”And speaking,” Henry went on, suddenly realizing how very many things had the capacity to go wrong. ”We have to sound a bit, you know, uneducated. Ugh, this is going to be a disaster.”

”But you've done all of this before, mate,” Adam reminded him.

They paused for a minute to rest their hands from carrying the hamper, and a crowd of serving boys in Knightley school livery trudged past them on the other side of the road, heading back up to the school. Henry and Adam ducked their heads. When the boys had pa.s.sed, they picked up the hamper and continued on.

”Yes, but I had nothing to hide,” Henry explained. ”So what did it matter if I sounded a bit posh? It's not my fault the orphanage priest drilled elocution into me with a birch rod.” Henry bit his lip, realizing what he'd just shared. ”And if we have to eat with other members of the serving staff, roughen up your manners,” he said as an afterthought.

”I think I'm getting a blister,” Adam complained.

”Good,” Henry said. ”We could use some of those.”

”You're mental sometimes, you know that?” Adam muttered.

Avel-on-t'Hems was a small, quaint village left over from medieval times, with a narrow street of disreputable shops and a crumbling, dingy church that made Knightley's chapel seem like a cathedral in comparison.

The train station was across from a rather seedy pub with two ancient jousting lances crossed over the front door and three tall, crooked chimneys. The Lance, Henry thought, the pub where Ollie went to fight.

Henry and Adam straggled onto the platform and eagerly set down the hamper, which felt as though it were filled with encyclopedias, not tea and sandwiches.

”Worst morning ever,” Adam complained, picking at a rapidly forming blister.

”Don't,” Henry chided. ”That only makes them worse.”

The platform was empty, but a small gleaming steam engine chortled on the tracks.

”I'm starving,” Adam said. ”Seeing as how we missed supper.” Henry opened his mouth to protest, but Adam grinned and continued, ”But I guess that a growling stomach adds to the charade?”

Henry grinned. And at that moment a stocky, disheveled lad of around sixteen poked his head out of the door to the station. Through the door, Henry could just see a small waiting area lined with benches.

”You boys with the envoy?” the lad demanded.

Henry nodded.

”Well, come inside an' wait with the rest of us,” the boy said, holding open the door.

Henry and Adam exchanged a nervous glance and then followed.

”I'm George,” the boy said.

”Er, I'm Henry and this is Adam,” Henry said, and then wondered belatedly if they ought to have given false names.

”Well, it's goin' to be a b.l.o.o.d.y 'orrible train ride,” George said over his shoulder. ”I went on the last one. Best drink yer fill before we're off.”

George settled onto a bench near another boy around their age, who had a face like a rat and was nursing a silver flask. George grabbed the flask from the boy and took a swallow before holding it out to Henry.

Henry and Adam exchanged an uneasy glance.

George laughed uproariously at Henry's and Adam's expressions of panic.

”Aw, Jem an' I are just makin' fun of ya,” George said. ”Here, take it.”

He thrust the drink at Henry, who took a cautious sniff and then grinned. It was coffee. Even though Henry didn't particularly feel like sharing a flask with Jem and George, he knew better than to refuse. He forced himself to take a sip, and then pa.s.sed it to Adam. ”Want some?”

Adam made a face.

”It's coffee,” Henry said.

”Nah,” Adam mumbled.

”Aren't we supposed to wait on the platform?” Henry asked.

George shrugged. ”Mr. Frist can't leave without us. Relax, Knightley boys.”

Henry and Adam jumped. ”Sorry?” Henry asked, hoping he'd misheard.

”Yer uniforms,” George said. ”Yer from up at that fancy school.”

”Er, right,” Henry said.

”Dunno how you stand it, servin' boys yer age wot never had to lift a finger in their lives,” Jem said.

”It's not so bad,” Adam said. ”They mostly ignore us.”

Jem and George were both from the village. George did odd jobs at the Lance, and Jem was a shop boy for a local boot maker. It would just be the four of them, and Mr. Frist, who was in charge.

”Course some o' the gen'lmun will have their personal valets, but they're senior staff so we'll be servin' them, too,” George said as Mr. Frist pushed open the door, tapping his pen impatiently against his notebook.

”Hurry up, boys,” Mr. Frist snapped, turning on his heel. ”Keep to schedule.”