“Eureka,” he whispered.
From all that Charlotte had taught him about the little nuances that a pen or pencil could create on paper, he quickly recognized that he was looking at Milton’s missing notebook.
Feeling a surge of excitement, he gave a sharp hiss to draw Peregrine out from one of the nooks.
“I’ve found Milton’s papers—” he began, only to freeze on seeing Peregrine’s eyes flare wide in fear.
Raven spun around to see a mustachioed man holding a pistol.
“What the devil are you two imps doing in here?” The man took a step closer.
“M-Mr. V-Valencourt,” stammered Peregrine. “We . . .”
“W-We thought maybe we could find some noxious liquids in this storeroom to make stink bombs,” interjected Raven, hoping that in the dim light the drawing master wouldn’t recognize his former pupil and think them just two mischievous students out on a lark.
The explanation drew a menacing frown. “It’s dangerous to be here—” began Valencourt, but the sudden sound of approaching footsteps caused him to cut off with a low curse.
“Hide, lads!” he added. “And don’t make a sound.”
Raven reacted in a flash. Grabbing Peregrine by the arm, he dove into a side alcove where a jumble of academic robes hung from pegs protruding from the wall. The two of them wiggled beneath the heavy wool and velvet folds and went very still just as the drawing master turned to face the door.
* * *
Wrexford crouched down, the horrible smell forcing him to breathe through his mouth. If he remembered correctly, this particular passageway led to a subterranean tunnel that ran under the Schoolyard and would bring him to the section of the Upper School that butted up to the Ante-Chapel. That was where Peregrine had noticed the special lock, and they had all agreed it was the most likely location for any skullduggery going on.
“Damnation.” Wrex winced as his shoulders snagged on the rock spurs protruding from the rough-cut tunnel as it slanted deep into the bowels of the earth. The way was narrower than he remembered.
Ignoring the slime of centuries, he dropped down and began to crawl forward on his belly as fast as he could. Time was of the essence . . .
* * *
“Valencourt.” Wheeler gave a grunt of surprise. He, too, was armed—he had a pistol clenched in each hand. “Might I inquire what you are doing here at this hour of the night?”
“I was returning from the tavern in town and thought I saw a boy dart in the side door to the Upper School,” replied the drawing master in a slightly slurred voice. “Knowing our provost’s attitude on strict discipline and deportment, I decided to have a look around to make sure no mischief was afoot.”
He gave a careless wave of his weapon and let out a belch. “But it seems I was mistaken, and it was naught but a trick of the shadows.” A lopsided grin. “Or it’s possible that I might have had one too many mugs of ale.”
Raven ventured a peek through the folds of fabric. Wheeler did not appear amused by the response.
“How did you open the outer door?” he demanded.
“I . . .” Valencourt swayed slightly as he contemplated the question. “I simply pressed the latch, and it popped open.”
“Did it?” Wheeler took several steps into the room and gave a quick glance at the books and papers.
“It must have,” answered Valencourt in a puzzled voice. “Because I don’t remember having a key.”
Wheeler whirled around and took dead aim with both weapons at the schoolmaster’s forehead. “Liar. I think you’re in league with Lord Wrexford.”
Valencourt swayed again. “Who?”
A tiny metallic click sounded . . . and then the drawing master dove to his right just as both of Wheeler’s weapons erupted in an explosion of sparks and a thunderousBANG!
“It’s nothing personal, monsieur,” intoned Wheeler as he tucked his pistols away and approached the motionless figure sprawled on the floor. “But I couldn’t permit you to make off with Milton’s notebook. Not when I have gone through so much trouble to obtain it.”
He sidestepped a rivulet of blood flowing from beneath Valencourt’s head and was about to crouch down beside the body when the clatter of running footsteps caused him to spin around . . .
“You didn’t really think I was going to let you get away with your crimes, did you, Wheeler?” said Wrexford as he stepped through the doorway.
