The School for Thieves, page 20
“And if Crowe makes a move against them?” asked Tom.
“He wouldn’t dare,” said Jericho dismissively. “Look at what happened to the Duke of Nîmes. And he was way more powerful than Crowe.”
There was a creaking sound behind them, making all four of them nearly jump out of their skins.
“Clear out, you lot,” said Locke. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”
They stood and shuffled past the scout and back out into the hallway. Tom still had so much he wanted to ask—they hadn’t even touched on any links between Crowe and Hoffmann and Silverman and Chaffinch—but all the common areas of the house were teeming with people, and he didn’t dare talk about it in the open.
It would have to wait.
Chapter Nineteen THE HOUSE CHALLENGE CEREMONY
The bells of the Spike chimed ten. At this time on a Thursday Tom would normally have been sitting in Leopold Fabergé’s class, learning how to forge post office checks for the eastern territories of New France, or tracing the designs of Prussian bank notes to be etched onto printing plates for counterfeit bills. But all teaching had been put on hold.
According to Maxine, there was normally an air of feverish excitement around this time of year—but unless by some miracle the sixth-grade Apprentices from Guile House (competitors were due back that day) earned an unprecedented 274 points from the final interhouse competition and Artemis House returned home with nothing, the winner of the House Challenge was a foregone conclusion.
Not that Tom felt particularly engaged with the process. The value of points was weighted so that senior students earned the most, and the points decreased through the year groups. No. Tom was much more interested in the International Shadow Cup.
Unlike the House Challenge, the International Shadow Cup involved a real-world scenario—usually a job that one of the three great empires had employed the League to complete. It allowed sixth-grade Apprentices—all winners of their House Challenges—from the four Shadow schools to demonstrate their abilities in a sink-or-swim situation to the wider League community. Success would prove their value and allow Apprentices to make names for themselves before they graduated as fully fledged Shadows. Failure, meanwhile, could mean ignominy, disgrace… and possibly even death. Crucially, the winners had to remain entirely undetected and unsuspected.
In order to monitor proceedings, a cast of volunteer Shadows from the four guilds were mobilized to report on the action. This they would do by taking photographs and film, alongside a live commentary by the famous duo Beatrice Maso and Reginald Hodge. Progress was broadcast over a secure wireless network to League homes around the world.
The supervising Shadows were forbidden to assist the Apprentices and permitted only to offer aid with escape and evasion in absolute extremis. However, it was widely recognized that if a mission had gone so wrong that the pupils needed assistance from the Shadows, it was often too late anyway. If pupils died, there was nothing to be done. If they were captured, an attempt would be made to rescue them by the Shadows on the ground—but it was not unknown for the pupils to be assassinated by these same Shadows in order to preserve the secrecy of the League. It was brutal but seen as necessary.
The results of the House Challenge, meanwhile, would be announced over the League’s encoded wireless network at midday. Normally pupils gathered around the set in their common rooms to listen, but there was a sense of apathy in Guile House this year. As Jacob Starling, one of the Guile House fifth-grade Initiates, had said at breakfast that morning: “Who wants to listen to Arthritis winning it all? It’s bad enough that we’ll have to see them parading around town when they get back—not to mention support them when they progress to the International Shadow Cup. I don’t want to hear more than I have to.”
But there was no getting away from the official ceremony, where the winners were declared and this year’s International Shadow Cup mission was explained—and three days later, with Artemis House having duly secured the House Challenge Cup, the Guile House students were standing to attention on Half Moon Street, divided by grade and dressed in their formalwear—polished dark gray boots, pressed dark gray trousers and shirts, and heavy dark gray overcoats, the only splash of color the blue of their ties.
Above them, mist wreathed the peaks and snow still lay heavy on the mountainsides, dusting the canopy of the forest and turning the pine needles silvery blue in the early-morning light. Despite this, the smell of spring was in the air, blown up by the wind from the far-off valleys.
The Corsair straightened a collar or smoothed a lapel here, adjusted a tie knot there, his dark eyes peering closely at the buffed leather of boots for any scuffs or unsightly marks. Finally satisfied, he made his way to the head of the assembled lines and, with a nod to the sixth-grade Apprentices—who looked sullen and sulky at the prospect of having to celebrate Artemis House’s victory—set off on a march toward the Spike. The rest of Guile House fell in behind, a single line that snaked through the narrow streets and winding lanes, the soles of their boots clipping the cobbles in rhythmic unison as they went.
They arrived at the square at the same time as the students from Ghost House. Both marched into line beside the students from Artemis and Duplicity, already standing to attention in front of the Spike. A moment later, Swindle and Janus swept in across the square like long gray centipedes with distinguishing flashes of orange and purple. All eyes turned to the dais erected outside the doors to the Spike and to a huge blank screen set up just behind the dais, alongside two enormous loudspeakers.
All around the perimeter of the square, townsfolk were settling themselves into temporary stands, while those who lived in the houses that lined the square leaned from their windows, some waving yellow Artemis House flags, others adjusting yellow bunting that draped like ivy from the windowsills.
The doors of the Spike swung open, and Siegfried Templeton bustled to the dais, followed by faculty members and eight austere-looking men and women. While Templeton adjusted something on the lectern at the center of the dais, the staff and the mysterious guests took up seats on rows of benches nearby. There was a loud screech of feedback as Templeton turned on a microphone. Then he cleared his throat and beamed at the crowd before him.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, my dear colleagues, students, and esteemed guests.” He bowed his head toward the benches.
Tom, who was in the front row with the other Guile House Tenderfoots, scrutinized the newcomers—four women and four men. They each wore long black gowns with red sashes embroidered with intricate insignia in ivory lace. They peered haughtily down at the students and the assembled crowd beyond. Tom’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized Vincent Crowe among them.
“It gives me great pleasure,” continued Templeton, “to welcome such renowned representatives from each of our great guilds. Our Beaufort’s alumni, I am sure, need no introduction—and it is wonderful to see them among us again. Would you all please give a warm welcome to Nikita Moon and Skylar Hoffmann!”
A great roar of applause swept across the square as the first two women seated on the benches tipped their heads in acknowledgment of the hubbub of clapping, hooting, hollering, and whistles. From one of the houses at the back of the square, someone set off a firework, which burst above the crowd to another surge of applause.
“From the Assassins Guild,” Templeton continued, “please welcome Attila Kai and Colette Sorrel.” The man and woman seated beside Nikita Moon and Skylar Hoffmann gave a single sharp bow of their heads, their expressions implacable. After the applause given to Moon and Hoffmann, the crowd’s response to the assassins was noticeably more muted.
“Next, of course, we are delighted to welcome agents Horned Toad and Midnight Runner from the Spies Guild.” The bulbous-eyed man and scalpel-thin woman beside the assassins gave mild smiles to the wanly applauding crowd.
“And finally, I am pleased to introduce Randolph Mahoney and Vincent Crowe from the Politicos Guild.”
Crowe and his associate flashed wide, white-toothed grins and waved to the crowd, whose welcome was a mix of voracious cheering, whistling, and some smattered boos and catcalls. Crowe smiled broadly, occasionally winking or pointing a finger, as if he had received the most raucously positive response of all.
“And so to the House Challenge winners!” cried Templeton enthusiastically. “It has been quite the contest this year, with some very impressive efforts made across our competing houses. Nevertheless, there has been little doubt for some time which house would be crowned champions of this year’s contest. It is my great pleasure, therefore, to announce that Beaufort’s representative at the International Shadow Cup is… Artemis House!”
A swell of cheering and applause broke out from the watching crowd while the students from the other houses clapped politely and the Artemis House students roared in delight, punching the air and embracing.
Through the slow, unenthusiastic clapping around him, Tom could hear voices muttering their disappointment and displeasure. Jericho rolled his eyes and mock vomited. Cassidy shot venomous glances toward the Artemis students. Tom realized that Matthias Hoffmann was standing next to Jericho. He too was clapping slowly, but it was absent-minded rather than sarcastic. His eyes seemed fixed on the screen above Templeton’s head, his gaze a thousand miles away.
Templeton tapped on the microphone for attention, causing earsplitting feedback to shriek from the speakers.
“Many congratulations. Now, let’s see what you’re in for….”
Handed an envelope from each of the guild representatives, Templeton made a great show to the audience of breaking the wax seals and removing seven sheets of paper and one reel of tape. Tom knew that each sheet contained information about the International Shadow Cup challenge, and that this same ceremony was taking place at the exact same time in each of the other League schools. By keeping the details of the mission separated in this way, it stopped anyone from the guilds from leaking details to their own school to give them an unfair advantage.
Templeton signaled to a little woman standing by the stage, who tottered to the dais and took the film from him before returning to the projector she had been manning. A few moments later, the film began to flicker on the screen.
Templeton cleared his throat and began to read from the sheets. “Welcome to the one hundred and third International Shadow Cup.”
There was a smattering of applause as the words 103RD INTERNATIONAL SHADOW CUP shuddered unsteadily on the screen. The picture cut to black. Then it faded up to reveal… a rocky outcrop and a castle. Tall towers and walls and spires, Gothic arches and turrets. The image cut to another angle, filmed at a slower pace, perhaps from a hot-air balloon. The castle stood imposingly along the edge of the forested mountainside, flags of la Grande République de France billowing in the wind.
“ ‘This is Rugersburg Castle, located in the Zillertal Alps in Austria,’ ” declared Templeton, reading from the first sheet. He turned to the second sheet. “ ‘Two weeks from today, a summit will be held here, and at its conclusion, a treaty will be signed between la Grande République de France and the kingdom of Prussia to unify under the French banner.’ ” He turned to the third page. “ ‘The Shadow League has been hired by agents of the Japanese Empire to prevent this treaty from being signed.’ ” There was a loud rustle over the speakers as Templeton turned to the next sheet. “ ‘As part of the treaty, the French will be gifting a new weapon to the Prussians that will aid them in their conflict with the Japanese Empire.’ ” Rustle, rustle. “ ‘It is imperative that the signing of the treaty be disrupted, so that Japanese ambassadors have time to persuade the Prussians to side with them instead.’ ”
He turned to the sixth sheet. “ ‘The Department of Criminal Education will award additional credit if the students are able to ascertain useful information about the weapon.’ ”
Finally, he examined the seventh sheet. “ ‘A key component to success is that no one at the summit must suspect interference from outside, or obvious foul play. The Japanese Empire, in particular, must not be suspected of involvement or else they will suffer the combined fury of Prussia and France.’ ”
He folded away the sheets of paper and looked up. “Further details about the layout of the castle, the invited guests, members of the household, members of staff, and the topography of the area will be delivered to each competing team tomorrow morning.” He beamed at the Artemis House students. “Good luck, and do your school proud!”
A great roar went up from the crowd. Even Tom and the other Guile House students couldn’t help but cheer along as well. Tom had barely been able to grasp the details of the cup mission, so quickly had they been delivered, but the sense of excitement that overcame him was acute. He was desperate to get back to Half Moon Street and discuss it all with his friends.
Templeton spoke for a few minutes more about the honor at stake for Beaufort’s and how, should the Artemis House Apprentices succeed, their names would become legends. Finally, he thanked the guild representatives once again for their attendance and, with one last wave to the crowd, stepped away from the lectern to chat with his guests while a photographer from the Argus began to take pictures. As the ranks of students were told to stand at ease, Tom watched Vincent Crowe as he chatted and laughed with Templeton and the other guild representatives, before a reporter from the Argus pulled him aside for comment.
“Well, I’m glad that’s over,” said Connie, frowning hotly at the Artemis Apprentices, who were by turns pouting and posing sternly for the photographer as prefects shepherded everyone else away from the square.
“Wonder how our lot is going to approach this,” said Jericho. “The assassins could just pitch one of the key delegates off those high walls. That would put an end to it.”
“Yeah, but there can’t be any evidence of foul play, can there?” scoffed Enzo. “What are they gonna say, the delegate slipped when they were out for an evening stroll?”
“Yeah, they might actually,” said Jericho coolly. “Stranger things have happened.”
“I think they might go for something a little subtler than that,” said Maxine. “They want to impress the League with their skills. I don’t think just chucking someone over a high wall is going to get people queuing up to offer them jobs when they graduate.”
“What do you reckon the Arthritis lot will do?” asked Tom.
“Ach, I dunno,” said Jericho. “Nick the pen they’re supposed to sign the treaty with?”
“Oh, ingenious,” said Maxine, rolling her eyes. “And what, just hope that no one else has brought a pen with them? Or are they going to nick every pen in the castle?”
“You never know…,” said Jericho, pouting like one of the Artemis students nearby. “What does the Corsair always say? Keep it simple and all that.”
“Making sure you steal every possible writing implement in a castle full of people doesn’t sound that simple to me,” said Tom, laughing.
“All right, all right, I’m just trying to think off the top of my head. What would you do?”
Tom shook his head. “No idea, but I’m going to enjoy thinking of something.”
“Well, how about we do it over a hot chocolate or something at the Forty Elephants?” said Enzo. “It’s freezing out here, and I don’t want to celebrate with the Arthritis lot any more than we need to. And—ugh, look, even Hoffmann’s getting in on it.”
Matthias Hoffmann was being bundled away from his friends by the Argus photographer, who wanted to get a shot of Matthias with his famous aunt Skylar. They were joined a few moments later by Matthias’s parents, Lysander and Anushka. It was clear that Skylar didn’t appreciate being forced to stand with her brother’s family for the photograph, and she stood slightly away from them, her shoulder turned and a tight smile on her face. It seemed that Lysander, Anushka, and Matthias felt much the same, for as soon as the camera bulbs stopped flashing, their paper-thin smiles faded and they moved away without another word.
The journalist reappeared and began to fuss around Skylar. Anushka Hoffmann looked around for her husband—and Tom saw her face suddenly pale when she caught sight of him with Vincent Crowe.
A kaleidoscope of emotions seemed to be running across Lysander Hoffmann’s features as he talked closely with Crowe. He looked pleased, proud, excited, and then… Was that a look of fear? Lysander glanced toward his wife, whose eyes were as large as saucers. Crowe put an arm on Lysander’s shoulder, leaned in close, and seemed to mutter some soothing words. Then he flashed a bright, warm smile and called out to Matthias to come and join them.
“Hey, come on, daydreamer, snap out of it,” barked Maxine, clicking her fingers in front of Tom’s face. “Let’s go get that hot chocolate.”
* * *
The Forty Elephants, a sprawling, low-ceilinged inn named after a famous band of all-female thieves from London, was a babble of energy, packed to the rafters with students and townsfolk all talking and laughing loudly.
While Jericho, Maxine, and Enzo searched for a quiet corner, Tom ducked under the elbow of an Initiate from Duplicity House and squeezed himself into a sliver of a gap at the bar, beneath a statue of a huge silver elephant. The elephant’s enormous trunk curled onto the bar beside him, and he had to hunch awkwardly to avoid a tusk. It was uncomfortable, but with any luck, he might get served sometime that century.
It took him several moments to realize that amid the hubbub he could hear a pair of familiar voices. Just on the other side of the elephant, in an area roped off from the crowd and furnished with deep velvet-covered armchairs, sat Crowe and—to Tom’s surprise—Matthias Hoffmann, sipping importantly on a glass of wine.
Crowe returned Tom’s gaze and waved his cigarette in vague greeting—a star acknowledging a fan. Hoffmann traced Crowe’s line of sight and frowned, then muttered something under his breath. The smile fell from the Politico’s face as recognition dawned.
