Knightley Academy is back in session, and Henry Grim is confident that nothing else can prevent him from earning his knighthood. But Henry and his friends quickly discover that their professors have made some troubling changes to the curriculum -- an old classroom filled with forgotten weapons. It is the discovery of this classroom that prompts Henry and Valmont to become the unlikely leaders of a secret battle society. But disaster strikes as Henry, Adam and Frankie find themselves stuck as Partisan School servants. Yet something is rotten in Partisan Keep. And when Henry is discovered by a secret society of outlaws with a sinister purpose, he must come to terms with a great sacrifice that will take him away from everything he has ever known and wanted. The stakes get higher and tension mounts in the second installment of Violet Haberdasher's fresh, fast-paced, and always surprising Knightley Academy books. Violet Haberdasher, the alter ego of Pulse author Robyn Schneider, was a lonely child who could always be found with her nose in a book. As soon as she was old enough, she left for the big city, where she attended an elite school for young ladies and enacted such shocking and improper misdeeds as becoming a stage performer. She currently resides in Manhattan. 1 DOWN THE ALLEYWAY In a rough-and-tumble, not-altogether-respectable neigh borhood south of Hammersmith Cross Station, wedged between darkened taverns and foggy dock-lands, sits a rambling bookshop with cheery red shutters. For most of the year a tiny old lady minds the shop, frowning in concentration as she knits stocking caps for no one. But should you pass this shop and find the dusty windows scrubbed clean, or the door decorated with a sign advertising deliveries, you would find someone else behind the counter of Alabaster & Sons, Purveyors of Rare Books Since 1782—to all appearances, just an ordinary teenage boy, bent intently over a detective story. But appearances can be deceiving. * * * In the pale gloom of the unusually cold January afternoon when our story starts, the roads are desolate, but their emptiness is not due entirely to the dreadful weather. As you have probably heard or read or suspected without quite knowing why, sinister things indeed were happening up north, and in those dark days, fearful rumors were more common than holiday cheer. But where there is suspicion there is also doubt, and some people still pretended that nothing was the matter. After all, appearances have to be maintained, especially by those looked to as an example. “Let the superstitious servants worry!” the aristocracy scoffed from the comfort of their elegant town houses. After all, it wasn’t as though there were proof to any rumor. “Wot’s in the boxes, then?” The tall dangerous-looking boy sneered, taking a step forward. “Jus’ deliveries.” The boy called Alex whimpered, feeling the cold, slimy wall of the alleyway against his back, blocking his escape. “Please. I ain’t got money, an’ I need this job.” The dangerous-looking boy’s eyes narrowed, and his two hulking friends laughed, their fists already raised. “Will yeh be needin’ both yer arms fer that job o’ yours?” Alex paled. “Or,” the sneering boy continued, hoping that no one could hear his stomach rolling with hunger as he withdrew a knife from his tattered jacket, “both yer ears?” Henry Grim shook his head in mock disgust as his best friend demolished a strawberry tart in two enormous mouthfuls. “Oh, very polite,” Henry said. “Be glad that Rohan isn’t here. He’d perish from the shame.” Adam swallowed thickly and wiped his mouth with his coat sleeve. “What? They’re good.” “Well, of course they’re good,” Henry said in exasperation. “Sucray’s is the best bakery this side of the river. Come on. I wasn’t really supposed to leave the shop unattended …” “Right, because someone might be having an emergency that only a rare encyclopedia can cure.” “It’s the Code of Chivalry, Adam.” Henry sighed. “I gave my word to Mrs. Alabaster that I’d mind the shop.” “It’s boring in there,” Adam complained. “I can’t wait for term to start.” “Next week,” Henry said, reaching into his jacket pocket for his keys. “And at least save me one of the tarts.” Adam opened his mouth, frowned, and stood absolutely still. Henry shot his friend a confused look, and then realized that Adam was on to something. The road on which they were walking was too empty, and altogether too quiet. Adam cocked his head in the direction of an alleyway up ahead. Faintly they could hear scuffling and muffled whimpers. Henry nodded and put a finger to his lips, trying to move silently over the icy cobblestones. He knew that it wasn’t Sir Frederick—that it couldn’t be—not with their former professor’s face plastered on hundreds of faded posters advertising a handsome reward for any information that led to his capture. But even though he knew it was impossible, for a moment Henry hoped for t