The supper hour had come and gone, but Harry hadn't noticed. Now, as he finally pushed himself away from his desk, with the actual contents of the entire four chapters he'd been supposed to read burning in his memory, he was ready to write his paper.
And starved.
But it only took a glimpse down the hill to show him that the lights were off in the dining hall. The lounge was open; he could even hear the music and see the shadows of dancers moving past the windows. There, he could at least get a bowl of stew, but it would also mean being surrounded by distracting girls. If he was going to get his paper done, he'd better just stay put.
Luckily, he was prepared for such an eventuality. He went home for the weekend twice a month, and his mother always sent him back with a care package. It was getting down to the dregs now, but he was still able to scrounge up a quick meal of not-quite- stale bread, cheese, and meat so thoroughly preserved that it would probably outlast him.
Two more demerits. He didn't want to think about what his total was, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that at the end of the semester, only a few days away, his slate would be wiped clean and he could come back and start fresh after spring break. He was still a few demerits away from more severe disciplinary action.
He finished his meal, washed up, and stretched the kinks and knots out of his back. Then he did a few practice lunges and ripostes, reflecting that even if he was getting nothing else out of school, his fencing was already improved. Too bad there wasn't a prosperous living to be made as a duelist.
Fed, limbered, and more relaxed, Harry sat back down and started working. He whispered to himself as he did; talking came so much more naturally than writing! If only he were allowed to present his homework orally!
He was on the third page and just getting warmed up when he heard a key rattle in the outer door.
Oh, perfect.
Cray was back early, probably sneaking in another girl. He could look forward to another concert of giggles and moans, the Creaking Bed Duet.
"Hello?"
Even though it was barely above a conspirator's whisper, Harry recognized the voice. Sherla, Cray's most recent conquest. He summoned up a vision of her -- rich golden hair, heart-shaped face, lovely legs.
It would be rude not to answer, even though she sure wasn't looking for him. Harry opened his bedroom door.
"Hello, Sherla ... Cray's not home."
The moment he saw her, he knew something was wrong. She was too tense, even for a girl who'd just snuck into one of the boys' dorms alone. And her big blue eyes were puffy, red-rimmed.
Plus, as he spoke, she jumped and 'guilt' screamed across her features.
"I ... I ... didn't think anybody was here," Sherla said, inching back out the door.
Harry frowned. "I thought you and Cray were going to the new illusion-show over at the Academy tonight."
Emotion brought a pink tinge to her cheeks. "He stood me up."
He gaped at her. "Why? Cray, miss a date?"
"Oh, I'm sure he kept his other date." She bit off the words sharply.
Uh-oh. He'd always expected this would happen sooner or later. At any given time, Cray had from three to six girls on the string, and each of them thought she was his one-and-only. Amazing, the things a fellow could get away with when he had bronzed good looks and a build like a marble statue.
He could have covered it up. Could have convinced her. Cray would have owed him one.
But why? Cray was a strutting self-important bastard of the purest ray serene, and would never acknowledge, let alone repay, any debt to Harry.
In that case ...
"Oh, that's right," Harry said easily, with a wide winning smile. "Tonight was Loresa!"
"Loresa! I knew it! That rotten no-good --"
"Shh!" He motioned at the open door. "The Headmaster's already been at me once today; if he finds you in here, he'll bite my head off and spit it into the harbor."
Sherla shrugged angrily. "I passed him in the hall. He knew I was coming to Cray's room. It didn't matter."
"Of course." His mouth went sour as curdled milk.
"Loresa. What does he see in her?"
Harry made it look like he was in the know but choosing not to say.
"What? You have to tell me, Harry!"
"Sherla, he's my roommate, I don't want to get involved. I mean, sure, I hear things from time to time, and he's always talking about his various girlfriends --" He widened his eyes at what sounded like a slip.
She closed the door behind her and came toward him. "Various girlfriends. What kind of things does he say?"
"I ... I've said too much already." He backed toward his room.
"Please! I have to know!"
"Well ..."
"Please!"
"About Loresa, at least ..." He cast about in his mind ... what was it about Loresa? She was another blonde, Cray was limited in his tastes, but ... "She's kind of got a reputation. I guess Cray thinks there are things she'll do that ... that you won't."
"Like what?" she demanded.
All the nights he'd listened to them through the walls ... but there had been something, hadn't there? He distinctly remembered ...
"Something he always begs you to do."
Her mouth dropped open and she covered it with one hand. "And Loresa does? Oh! Oh, that slut, that tramp, that trollop!"
Now Harry was really wondering! All he'd heard were Cray's whining pleas of "come on, Sherla, just once, we can stop if you don't like it."
"Plus," he ventured onward, remembering another difference between the girls. "She's ... no, never mind."
"She's what? What? Please, you have to tell me!"
"Why? Sherla, I'm sorry he stood you up, but what good does it do to get wound up about it? It's just the way he is. None of his other girls are upset."
"How many does he have?"
"Gods, I am really making a mess of this!" Harry feigned being distraught, ran a hand through his hair. "I just figured all of you knew, and none of you minded. I had no idea --"
"How many?"
"Four, I think."
