The Secret Prince by Violet Haberdasher Read Free Book Online

seat next to Henry and fastening the cuffs of a dry shirt. “I thought everything would be gone.”
    James, who was having only a blueberry scone, reached for the saltshaker. He fiddled with it for a moment, while staring wistfully at the eggs, and then put it back down. “Are the eggs still overcooked this term?” he asked Rohan.
    “Unfortunately,” Rohan said, and Henry frowned as he swallowed a mouthful of perfectly cooked eggs.
    Two seats down, Theobold grabbed for the salt-shaker and tipped it over his plate. The cap flew off, landing in his tea. A mountain of salt emptied onto his breakfast.
    James’s shoulders shook as he held back laughter. Rohan nearly choked on a sip of juice. Adam grinned broadly and asked Edmund to please pass the last of the eggs.
    “You should finish the sausages. They’re excellentthis morning,” Edmund said, dumping the remainder of the hot breakfast onto Henry’s plate while Theobold fumed.
    Medicine was the first class of the morning.
    Ever since Sir Frederick’s betrayal, the classroom had felt sinister to Henry—haunted, almost, by horrible memories. But that morning the eerie atmosphere seemed to have gone. Winter sunlight flooded through the latticed windows, and the radiator in the corner clanged impatiently. The shelves behind the master’s desk, which had once housed human skulls and rolls of bandage, were now crowded with jewel-stoppered apothecary bottles, upright magnifying glasses, and a rather battered set of scales.
    Henry, Adam, and Rohan chose seats in the middle. All around them students whispered about the new professor:
    “… a knight detective, I heard.”
    “… graduated in my cousin’s year. Top of the class.”
    “… can’t be more than thirty.”
    Henry had just removed a fresh notebook from his satchel when their new professor limped into the room carrying a black medical bag with a dozen brass buckles,and leaning on a worn mahogany cane. His master’s gown had clearly been made to fit someone a great deal shorter and wider, and his tweeds, though very fine, were thin with wear. With the help of his cane the new medicine master slowly made his way to the front of the classroom, deposited his bag on the front table, and raised an eyebrow at his students.
    “Well,” he prompted, “what can you deduce?”
    The students stared.
    “No need to raise your hands, lads. Just shout it out.”
    Edmund, who sheepishly raised his hand anyway, said, “Your name is Sir Robert.”
    “No, no!” their new professor cried. “I did not ask what you already know—what you have been told. I stand in front of you. What can you perceive, here and now?”
    No one dared to speak.
    Finally Henry cleared his throat and called out, “That gown wasn’t made for you, sir.”
    “Excellent! What else?” the professor asked.
    Encouraged, other students began to call out: His cuffs were frayed; his hair was inexpertly trimmed; he favored his left leg.
    The professor raised a hand for silence. “Well done, the lot of you! You have keen powers of observation.And, yes, by the way, my name is Sir Robert.” He nodded in Edmund’s direction. “You were quite right about that. I am also a knight detective, which means that not so many years ago I, too, attended Knightley Academy.” Their new professor took a seat on top of the master’s desk, which caused some whispering.
    “I sat in the same desks, studied in the same library alcoves, and fell asleep in the same chapel pews, but, like you, I also worried over something of far greater importance.
    “At the end of my third year, we began to hear news from the Nordlands, news of a brewing revolution. We watched the rise of the Draconian party with horror, fearing what a similar uprising here in South Britain would mean for our families. Those were dark times, boys. Times of great doubt, and of terrible rumors.”
    Sir Robert paused significantly.
    “Medicine is a practical discipline,” he said, “but the skills you