The challenge was signed. The warning wasn't. That distinction became more interesting the longer I looked at the two sheets spread across my desk.
Lucan's request used expensive paper, proper margins, and enough formal language to suggest that someone had taught him how to make wanting to hit another boy sound respectable. The copied patrol schedule was thinner, folded twice instead of once, and covered in a different hand. Neither fact proved anything. I knew perfectly pleasant people who owned several kinds of paper.
Milo stood beside the desk, watching me compare them. "Do you think he sent both?"
"I think someone would like me to assume he did." I held the copied schedule toward the lamp. Nothing appeared between the lines. A disappointing result, though probably a healthy one. "Who brought it?"
"One of the student messengers. He said it was for you."
"Did you see who gave it to him?"
Milo shook his head. I thanked him and placed both sheets back inside the envelope. A secret message concerning a suspicious patrol change ought to have delighted me. Under slightly different circumstances, I might already have been imagining moonlit corridors and whispered conversations behind library shelves. Instead, I remembered Tomas's barrier cracking and Clara's hands twisted in my coat.
I still wanted to know what was happening. I simply preferred finding out before somebody else nearly died.
Clara read the challenge first at breakfast. She made a pleased noise halfway through, then turned the page as though expecting instructions for where spectators should sit.
"You're accepting?"
"Good morning to you too."
"Are you?"
"I thought we should discuss it."
"Fine. I think you should accept." She passed the request to Tomas. "Discussion finished."
Tomas read more slowly. I waited until he had put it down before handing them the second sheet. Clara's expression changed as her eyes moved over the copied schedule. She stopped chewing, swallowed, and read the note again.
"Where did this come from?"
"Same envelope. Different paper."
"Lucan?"
"Possibly. Or someone who handled his letter."
Tomas reached for it. His gaze settled on the line about the western patrol, and his fingers tightened slightly around the edge. "Have you shown Harlowe?"
"Not yet. I wanted you both to see it first."
"Good," Clara said. "We'll go after breakfast."
I nodded. That was refreshingly straightforward. No solemn promises to keep secrets, no agreement to investigate the quarry at midnight. Apparently, friendship could occasionally improve one's chances of reaching adulthood.
Tomas set the schedule beside the challenge. "These are separate things, though."
"Yes," I said.
He looked directly at me. "I mean it. The note and fighting Lucan. Don't mix them together."
"I wasn't planning to."
"And don't tell everyone you're doing it for me."
Clara frowned. "He was being horrible to you."
"I know. I was there." Tomas's voice came out sharper than usual. He glanced at her, then back at me. "I don't want people saying you had to defend me. That won't make anything better."
I put my cup down. Beneath all my private excitement about rivals and academy duels, I had been dangerously close to arranging him into a role he had never asked for.
"You're right," I said. "He challenged me. If I accept, that's my decision."
Tomas studied my face before nodding. Clara pulled the challenge toward herself again.
"I still want to watch you beat him."
"That," Tomas said, reaching for the bread, "I don't mind."
Harlowe received us during the morning break. She read the anonymous page without commenting, then examined the envelope and Lucan's request. Her first questions concerned delivery, not the quarry.
I repeated what Milo had told me. Clara described when she had first seen the documents, and Tomas confirmed neither had left our possession since breakfast.
"Have you discussed the contents with anyone else?" Harlowe asked.
"No," I said. "Milo saw the papers last night. He hasn't read the schedule."
She nodded and placed it flat on her desk. "I'll keep the original."
"Is it real?" Clara asked.
"It resembles part of a patrol schedule."
"That's not quite what I meant."
"I know."
Clara closed her mouth. Harlowe looked at the three of us in turn.
"A genuine document can be copied incorrectly. It can also be copied accurately and presented without the information needed to understand it. You are being asked to draw a conclusion. At present, you don't have enough evidence to do so."
"Was the patrol reassigned?" Tomas asked.
"That is part of what I will check."
Her refusal was calm, but not dismissive. She asked us to bring any further messages directly to her and made a note of the student messenger's description. Only then did she return Lucan's challenge.
"This can be handled separately."
"Would you approve it?" I asked.
"A controlled assessment bout? Provided both supervising instructors agree." Her gaze remained on me. "A substitute for the quarry inquiry? No."
"Understood."
"See that it stays understood."
Lucan waited outside the smaller training hall that afternoon with one of his companions. He straightened when he saw the three of us approaching. His eyes lingered on the challenge in my hand before moving to Tomas.
For a moment, I thought he might say something.
Instead, he looked back at me. "You took your time."
"I had classes."
"So did I."
"Then you understand."
Clara made a small sound beside me. Lucan ignored it and led the way inside.
Instructor Bell had placed a form on a table beside the marked practice circle. He made us stand together while he explained the conditions, which reduced the grandeur of the occasion considerably. There would be no audience beyond students already assigned to the hall and anyone specifically permitted to attend. No wagers, no challenges issued on behalf of another student, and no argument with a stoppage.
"Victory by surrender, ring-out, or a decisive advantage ruled by the supervising instructor," Bell said. "This is an assessment. You are not being invited to settle a family feud."
Lucan looked offended by the suggestion. I tried not to look disappointed.
Bell turned the form toward me. "Your weapon configurations will be approved individually. Output restricted to the range limit."
"Understood."
"No explosives."
Beside the practice lane, Clara immediately looked at Tomas. He looked down, shoulders moving.
"I hadn't requested explosives," I said.
"You won't need to."
Lucan's companion laughed. Bell glanced at him, and the laughter stopped.
We signed the preliminary agreement. Bell then directed us toward separate targets. Apparently, agreeing to behave was only the beginning; we also had to demonstrate that we knew how.
Lucan went first. His pale blades appeared above his hands, thinner than I remembered and held perfectly still. At Bell's instruction, he sent one toward a wooden target. It struck the painted shoulder.
The second followed at an angle and hit the opposite side. Then a third appeared near his wrist, turned, and cut across the target's center before he dismissed it.
I became considerably more attentive.
Bell moved a padded obstacle into the lane. Lucan sent a blade past its edge, altered the angle, and struck the target behind it. The movement wasn't effortless. His jaw tightened, and the blade wavered before impact. But it arrived where he intended.
That could be a problem.
A very interesting problem.
Clara leaned close as Lucan retrieved his coat. "Stop looking like that."
"Like what?"
"Like someone's brought you a present."
I arranged my face into something more suitable. "I'm evaluating."
"You're smiling."
"An encouraging evaluation."
She elbowed me lightly and stepped back before Bell called my name. Across the lane, Lucan watched us with narrowed eyes.
My demonstration required rather more discussion. Bell checked the carbine, the rifle, and the reduced output I could maintain reliably. He had me fire into the reinforced target until he was satisfied, then ruled out changing to any unapproved configuration during the bout.
"Barrier protection will cover the torso and head," he said. "A registered strike ends the exchange. You will not fire again because you think the first should have counted differently."
"That seems reasonable."
"It is."
From behind him, Tomas gave me a look suggesting the instruction was also necessary.
Bell approved the carbine and dismissed the rifle on the grounds that the circle offered insufficient distance to justify it. Lucan watched my final shots without speaking. When I lowered the weapon, I caught him studying the target rather than me.
Good. I had been studying his too.
The bout was scheduled for the following afternoon. Bell collected the completed forms and went to speak with another instructor. Clara immediately began discussing whether Lucan's blades could approach from behind, while Tomas pointed out that changing direction appeared to cost him concentration.
For several minutes, it felt almost like preparing for an ordinary lesson. Then Lucan's companion called him from the doorway.
Lucan didn't follow.
He waited until Clara and Tomas had moved toward the equipment racks before approaching me. Without his audience, he seemed less certain where to put his hands.
"You showed them the other page?"
I kept my expression still. "What other page?"
His eyes flicked toward Bell, then back to me.
"Don't do that. I'm trying to find out what someone put in my envelope."
For a moment, I said nothing. Across the hall, Clara was explaining something to Tomas with both hands. Neither had noticed Lucan standing beside me.
"You tell me," I said. "It came with your challenge."
"I sent one sheet." He spoke quietly now. "My friend said he saw you carrying two."
"Which friend?"
Lucan's mouth tightened. "Does it matter?"
"It might."
He looked toward the doorway again. The defensive irritation was still there, but underneath it was something I hadn't seen yesterday.
Worry.
I folded my copy of the bout conditions and put it away.
"Then perhaps," I said, "we should start with who carried your letter."