Andre Greenfield crept toward his office door. He slid the bolt back with a feather touch, so as not to alert the chattering students in the hallway. After taking a moment to compose his face into a stern, unforgiving mask, he flung open the door and stepped into their midst.
The Instructor's sudden presence cut off the three boys' conversation as effectively as the headman's axe. "Master Greenfield," stammered the one in the middle.
"Jarrod, isn't it?" he asked.
The boy nodded.
"I couldn't hear you, before. Could you please repeat exactly what you were saying about Samantha?"
They glanced nervously at one another. But Jarrod had apparently been elected spokesman, to his obvious dismay. "Nothing, sir."
Andre glared. During his fifteen years as an Instructor of Strategy and Tactics at the East Kingdom School for Young Nobles, that glare had reduced many a student to panic. It was a glare that said, "I don't care who your father is. Irritate me, and I'll have you cleaning stables for the next month. If I'm lenient, you can have a shovel."
Jarrod wilted. "Lorn was saying Samantha couldn't handle the workload. She probably ran home to her mother."
Lorn whirled. "You're the one who said she was only here to find a husband," he accused.
Andre tapped a foot against the stone floor, stopping the quarrel in an instant. "Jarrod, isn't Samantha Kagan the girl who unhorsed you at the spring games?"
"She got lucky," Jarrod said. "I was trying to go easy on her."
)
