"Shall we stash our bags?" Adam asked.

"Might as well."

They pa.s.sed Mr. Frist, who called after them, "Train's leaving in three minutes, boys!"

Henry slid open the door to the servants car and then knocked on the door to the storage car, sliding it open. "Frankie?" he called.

There was no answer.

"Are you there?" Henry called, lifting up the corner of the tarp to reveal her hiding place.

It was empty.

The train whistle shrilled, making Henry jump. "She's not here," he said, trying to think.

"Well, where is she?" Adam asked.

"She was sent on an errand," Henry realized with a gulp. "I don't think she came back."

"What do you mean, you don't think?" Adam accused.

Henry closed his eyes, trying to remember. "The basket she took wasn't back in the kitchen when we got the hamper," Henry said finally.

"What do we do?" Adam asked, panicked. "The train's about to depart!"

"We can't leave her!" Henry said.

"Well, we can't stay in the Nordlands, either! What about school? What about money?"

"I'm not stranding her here," Henry protested. "We'll figure something out if we stay. There will be another envoy next month."

Adam went white. "A month," he moaned. "My family would panic. Not to mention, I'm a rubbish servant, and Jewish to top it off."

"You go back with the envoy," Henry said quickly. "Tell the headmaster what happened. I'll stay with Frankie."

Adam shot Henry a look of pure anguish as the train whistle sounded again. "Henry, you can't leave me! They'll ask questions!" he wailed.

Henry grimaced at this. "Cover for me as long as you can. Say I'm feeling poorly."

"Wait!" Adam cried, but the carriages had already begun to groan at their couplings.

Henry stepped onto the hitch between the cars. "I have to go," he said. "I'll sign on as a servant at Partisan. It'll be fine."

"It won't!" Adam exclaimed. "I'll be expelled if I turn up at school without you! And what if the headmaster doesn't believe me and thinks you two have run off together?"

Henry gulped. He hadn't thought of that. The compartment shuddered as the train began to roll forward. "I don't know what else to do!" Henry cried in exasperation. "I'm sorry. I can't leave her." And with that he jumped onto the tracks.

"Henry!" Adam called, and then took a deep breath to steel his nerves. "Wait! I'm coming with you!"

As they watched the train depart without them, Henry was struck with the horrible realization of what they'd just done. They were stuck in the Nordlands-for a month. The three of them.

Henry bit his lip and brushed off his livery. "We should get out of here," he said.

Adam groaned. "I just jumped off a moving train. Give me a minute."

"It wasn't moving!" Henry protested.

Adam glared.

"It wasn't moving that fast," Henry amended.

Adam climbed to his feet and shouldered his bag.

"I can't believe you stayed," Henry said.

"Neither can I," Adam said, and snorted. "The starvation must be making me mental."

"Well, mental or not, I'm glad you're here," Henry admitted. "Come on."

They changed from their livery in the train station and trudged back up the hill to the Partisan School wearing their raggedy shirts and trousers. Their hands were blistered and raw from scrubbing dishes and soft rains had come overnight, dampening the soil, which clung desperately to the soles of their old boots. They looked tired and wan, with circles under their eyes and stomachs rumbling with hunger.

Somehow, Henry thought wryly, he didn't antic.i.p.ate problems convincing anyone that they were down on their luck and desperate for work.

He was right. No sooner had they turned up at Partisan and inquired after serving work than they were standing once again in the staff kitchen, being scrutinized by the large-bellied man they'd seen sleeping in front of the hearth the night before.

He didn't seem to recognize them, and Henry tried a bit of a Nordlandic accent, explaining that he and his cousin had been living in South Britain before Mors closed the border, and they had some experience with serving work.

The man scratched the side of his stomach, sized the boys up, and asked them to follow him. He lumbered out of the kitchen and down the corridor, twisting down a narrow pa.s.sageway that barely allowed for his girth. The pa.s.sageway deposited them in a much larger and far shabbier kitchen.

"Cook?" the man yelled. "Got ye some new lads."

Cook, a man with an enormously drooping mustache and biceps like hams, looked up from the rind of cheese he was slicing. "What's yer names?" Cook asked.

"Henry, er-Gray. And this here's me cousin Adam, er-Beckham," Henry said nervously.

"We've been wantin' some lads in the staff kitchen, but let's see how ye do here first," Cook said with a scowl.

"We're hired?" Adam asked.

"Aye," Cook said. "May I not live to regret it." He sniffled loudly, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and pulled a string that connected to one of the dozen bells on the wall.

"Sit ye down and wait," the cook said, pointing his knife toward a rickety wooden table with a dreary collection of wobbly stools. Half a loaf of bread sat on the table. Adam's stomach growled loudly as he stared longingly at the bread.

"Please, sir, is there something we might eat?" Henry asked.

"Yesterday's bread's on the table. Take a slice fer yer luncheon if ye've had none," Cook said.

Adam was already cramming the bread into his mouth with enthusiasm. Henry rather suspected that when they got back to school, Adam wouldn't be nearly so much of a picky eater as before.

School. Henry's stomach lurched at the thought. They were to find out the results of their half-term exams that week. He pictured Rohan and Derrick and everyone going to cla.s.s without them, Rohan alone in their triple room, and Valmont left with running the battle society. Professor Stratford, worrying. Adam's parents.

After a few minutes a no-nonsense-looking young man of around nineteen appeared in the doorway, entirely unruffled.

"Ye rang fer me, Cook?" the young man asked, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

"Got ye some new serving boys, Compatriot Garen," Cook said.

"Thank the chancellor!" the young man said. "We've been understaffed fer a week!" The young man straightened his waistcoat and glanced toward Henry and Adam. "I'm Garen," he said. "You boys can come with me."

Henry and Adam numbly followed Garen, who kept up a steady stream of chatter as he led them through the castle. They were expected to report to the kitchens by six every morning, to clean the school between meals, to shine the boots of the senior-ranked students two nights a week. The list of tasks went on exhaustively.

"Any questions?" Garen asked, pausing at the bottom of a steep and precarious stairwell with stone steps so worn that they appeared to sag.

"Sorry-senior-ranked students?" Henry asked. "Those with white stripes on the arms of their jackets," Garen clarified.

Henry bit his lip. He'd meant to ask how students were promoted to different ranks, but Garen had misunderstood. Not quite daring to rephrase his question, Henry followed Garen and Adam up the ancient stairwell. The stairwell led to the castle's attic, a haphazard honeycomb of low-ceilinged rooms.

Garen pointed out the latrine, the serving girls' bedchamber, the cleaning cupboard, and the cupboard with staff uniforms. He stopped at the last, sized up Henry and Adam, and then ducked inside, returning a minute later with a bundle of clothing.

"If they don't fit, ye can swap them yerselves," Garen said. "And here we are. Serving lads' bedchamber. Any of the cots here are free."

Henry frowned. There had to be at least four empty beds. And Garen had said something earlier about being short staffed. Granted, it didn't seem the best of jobs, but something about the way Garen was so eager to have them on staff worried Henry deeply. He dropped his satchel onto one of the cots, and Adam chose the cot next to Henry's.

"Get changed, and then ye can start with an easy enough task fer the afternoon. The spare silverware needs polishin'. Cook can set ye to it. Ye'll keep to his orders in the kitchens and mine otherwise, mind."

"Yes, sir," Henry said. "It's *Aye, Compatriot Garen,' " Garen corrected firmly, turning on his heel and closing the door behind him. Once Garen had gone, Adam held up the staff uniform shirt and made a face.

"What are we, vicars?"

The shirts were collarless, with tight high b.u.t.tons around the throat. But the worst bit were the suspenders, which fastened inside the waistband of the trousers.

"At least we don't have to bind up our hair," Henry pointed out as they headed down to the kitchens.

Cook showed them to a storage pantry with a discouragingly small slat window. "Ye better not scrimp the silver," Cook warned, showing them where the polish was stored and then slamming the door.

Henry explained to Adam what they were to do, and the boys set to work. "Did you catch that bit about the school being understaffed?" Henry asked.

Adam looked up from the spoon he'd been attacking with the polishing cloth. "What?"

"Why do you think Partisan is understaffed?" Henry pressed.

"Dunno. Maybe it's just a rubbish job." Adam shrugged.

"Maybe." Henry was unconvinced.

"All right. Let's hear it," Adam said. He admired the spoon he'd just polished, then hung it from his nose.

Henry laughed. "Don't," he said. "Someone has to eat off that."

Adam removed the spoon. "Smells like polish anyhow," he muttered. "All right. I'm ready for your absurd theory."

"It isn't absurd," Henry protested. "And I don't have a theory-yet. I just know that those empty cots are far from the worst beds in the room, and Garen said they've been understaffed for a week, which means that no one on staff claimed the beds."

"Could be," Adam said.

"I'm right," Henry argued. "Everyone avoided those beds after their occupants left. The school is desperate for staff. And the boys who served the envoy last month wouldn't go a second round."

"George did," Adam pointed out.

"Well, not everyone at Partisan quit either. Just some," Henry returned.

"So now that we're stuck here, you think there's something horrible happening?" Adam whimpered.

"Not necessarily horrible," Henry said. "It just seems like people have been spooked by something."

"Maybe they're just spooked because the students are being trained in combat?" Adam suggested.

"Maybe," Henry said doubtfully.

They didn't see Frankie again until much later that night, as they were returning to the servants' quarters after mopping the dining hall. She paused a moment at the bottom of the stairs, yawning.

"Frankie," Henry whispered fiercely.

She turned and gawped at them. "What are you doing here?" she asked, grabbing Henry and Adam by their sleeves and dragging them farther down the corridor. "I thought you'd gone."

"You didn't make it back to the train," Adam accused.

"I got lost in Romborough," Frankie said. "On that dratted errand. I was so certain you'd left. I've been in a panic all afternoon."

"Sorry," Henry said. "We were stuck polishing silverware."

Frankie sized up their staff uniforms and nodded. "Common kitchens," she said.

Henry's eyes widened with surprise. "How can you tell?"

"No waistcoat," she said as though it were obvious.

"Oh," Henry muttered.

"So here's some bad news," Adam said brightly. "We're stuck here for a month."

Frankie went pale. "A month?"

"That's when the next envoy is due to arrive," Henry said, shrugging.

"B-but-," Frankie spluttered.

"Fear not, fair maiden. We're here to rescue you," Adam said. "And by *rescue' I mean *endure a month in the Nordlands at your side.' "