The boys, however, did have their revenge. Life became wretched for Alexandra then.

It was bad enough before.

The next morning, her dormitory room door was locked from outside. She had a good idea who was behind it. There was a window, but it was at the second floor, how was she to jump from there? Besides, that morning was their first class with Master George. Problem number 3 and the biggest one: Alexandra had already got two fails this year, she hadn't completed the race, so she couldn't be passed, of course. Another one? DETENTION. What would she have to do in the detention?

She tried everything. Breaking the door, which was utterly impossible. Even tried jumping out of the window, but she faltered every time- which was good, for between detention and breaking your neck, everybody should choose detention. She pounded on the door, shouting. Nothing worked.

Then, leaning by the window, she spotted Owen walking past the hall. Alexandra called out to him- once, twice, thrice. She yelled herself hoarse at him, but he didn't look up. Finally she wrote "LOOK UP" on a paper, crumpled it and threw it upon his head.

Owen looked up.

'Help!' She demanded, perched on the window.

But he only grinned maliciously, laughed and went away, perhaps to tell his friends that their deal had worked.

'Damn it!' Alexandra yelled, and banged the window-sill in desperation, 'You mad, crazy, insane boys!'

All the three terms mean the same thing, Alexandra. Mind reminded her.

'Shut up!' She hissed back, at her own Mind- the logical part of her, one she didn't often listen to. 'Oh these second-rate commoners!' She added, like a perfect, mental princess. Jumping back down from the sill, Alexandra sat down cross-legged on the floor, breathing heavily and angrily, staring that wall as though it had locked her up.

* * *

In the afternoon, before lunch, when she lay on the mattress, starving and (she thought) dying, Alexandra heard the latch click. She got up hurriedly and pulled the door open, almost disjointing it at the hinges, and looked left and right.

No one.

And even if there was anyone, who would believe this? Boys had locked her up..? It was a serious accusation and then she had no proof.

'First things first.' Alexandra muttered to herself, 'I've got to tell Master George.'

However, no amount of explaining would get the Master to believe that she had indeed been locked.

'Why would they do that?!' He asked, frowning through his beard.

'Because I ... Fannel, got them to own up about sabotaging me earlier, in the race!'

'And proof?'

'I have none, sir...'

'So unless they own up to it, I can do nothing.' He clarified. And then, perhaps more to himself, he muttered, 'first of all, whoever heard of a woman spy? She WILL get teased and bullied.'

'Sir, you mean, the teasing and the bullying are not their fault, but mine?'

'What else, girl? Why do you want to do this? Stay at home, get married! You will get a good match, you are young and beautiful. This?' He advised, looking around at the campus, 'This is no place for a woman. I can talk to the King if you want.'

Alexandra felt rather angry and helpless, both at once. She had come to respect Master George by now- but he was proving difficult to understand and work with. Too stern. Too inflexible. Too perfectionist.

'Sir, I can talk to the King if you want.' Alexandra finally retorted, 'If you don't want me to do it, I won't. But you will regret it sir, that you didn't even give me a fair chance.' She lashed.

Agreed, she was no longer one- but Alexandra had spent her life a Princess, she was used to people being the way she wanted them to. The more she faced adversities, the more she realized what a snobby princess she had been. How she had wanted everything done her way. And now that nothing seemed to be going her way, here Alexandra was, angry and at her wits' end. Besides, Master George really got on her nerves. Was that the only thing she could do? Stay at home?

'Look girl, you speak well. But there is a difference between speaking and doing. If you want a fair chance,' he maintained, 'prove yourself worthy.'

'Worthy?' Alexandra repeated, dumbstruck. 'I am telling that Sir, I might be able to prove myself worthy or I might not, but if these boys keep sabotaging me, I will surely not be able to! That's the fa-'

'Enough.' Master George boomed, clearly at the end of his patience, 'Your detention is to clean the stables.'

'Clean the what?' Alexandra asked, as a princess, she liked the stables definitely. But cleaning them ... that was little too much. And what benefit did cleaning stables have? What was she going to learn from it?

'Stables!' He barked.

'Where are they?'

'Fred shall show you. Two more people are in detention, your job is to pick the dung.'

'WHAT?!' She demanded, her mouth falling open. Alexandra was NOT doing that. She would rather just kill a few people more and get executed - and on top of the list of those "few" people, Master George would himself be there.

'Why are you looking at me that way?' He asked, looking at her with his eyes almost bloodshot in fury. 'Have you never cleaned stables?!' He demanded, 'Fine - all the better. Do it tonight!'

And he went his way muttering that he'd have a word with the King about this impertinent girl. 'Never cleaned stables. Is she a Princess? And look at the attitude - I can talk to the King if you want to. The whole generation is ill-bred!' He disparaged, under his breath. Alexandra knew that had been a bit rude, yet, did he think those boys were saints? And the detention was another bit of problem.

She turned the job over in her mind, rooted to the spot: Pick the dung. Those words still rang in Alexandra's ears. How in the world could people pick dung? And why? Weren't there ser- servants for that?

Servants.

Was she no more than that now?

And even if she was, why did it have to be an insult? Why was Alexandra feeling abused because of that? Weren't servants humans? They were - as much as she was. Nobody would give her respect and love arranged on a silver platter. She would have to earn them. And that would happen with a single step at a time.

* * *

The next day, Alexandra was a bit late - picking the dung as she had been last night. When she ran into the mess, unnaturally, there were only her year-mates sitting there. An unnatural event and definitely a little unnerving too.

Then she remembered that the morning was the Second Years' unarmed combat test. All the second years and above would be in the Arena, assembled to watch the ongoing event that formed a mini-tournament. But that, sadly left her all alone with Watson, Hans, Gergs, Paul, Owen and Venly.

She stopped at the entrance, and gulped.

Careful, Mind advised, show no signs of weakness. No signs of retreat.

She consented to that strategy, so Alexandra tried to ignore them as she sat down on the only empty chair there was. She looked in front of her. But the sight of the empty expanse of table in front of her, was very depressing. Especially when her stomach was growling. Every other day, there used to be something at least, left to eat. Today, as was visible, the table was empty except for the uninvited boys. 'Where's the - food?' She asked, looking up with a slight frown.

'Oh.' Watson spoke up, 'We didn't notice. Where is the food, Hans?' He asked, turning to the black haired boy.

'I think we had our fill with it, didn't we Owen?' Hans replied, looking amiably towards Owen - somebody he'd been calling names, just two days ago.

'Indeed, indeed. Though...' continued Owen, grinning at Venly.

'We have something left for you.' Venly hinted, smirking. The boys' smirks, were even scarier than their open enmity. Alexandra hated where this was going - if it was going somewhere, in the first place.

'What?' She quizzed, nevertheless, not believing her ears. What had they kept for her? Mice and frogs?

'We thought you'd like this.' Paul said, calmly, pulling out a banana peel and dropping it on Alexandra's plate. She stared mutely at the thing, at first not registering. Even when she did - not being able to believe that things would go this far.

'And this.' Offered Watson, putting up a piece of bread with some white, hair-like fungi growing on it, along with yellow, worm-eaten olives. Alexandra wrinkled her nose, her ears turning red and her fingers shaking.

'And some of this, for the bread, you know.' Hans added, piling a piece of half-black salted fish, one of Alexandra's favorite things, on the plate. Favorite, no more. The thing had the worst, dirtiest, the most unpleasant smell she had ever come across - it was rotting before their eyes.

She had thought about non-violence. No-antagonizing. Alexandra had thought that she would respect everybody. But it was not turning out to be easy. It was not turning out to be possible. Idgardians were admirably good people, but apparently, when they wanted to be bad ... they would be the worst anybody could imagine. She had been a little stupid to think that every man would be as principled and respectful as Liam had been. In fact, now that she was here, Alexandra wished she could be back with him for once. He would know the best way out of this mess. And he always had a calming effect on her. Which was one of the main reasons Alexandra needed him - right now, she wanted to grab the moldering fish by its tail and slam it on each one's face.

'A-' Began Gergs, but finally, rage got the better of her. Alexandra stood up and upturned her plate, her chest felt like it was burning, combusting with leaping flames of anger.

'WHO DO YOU THINK YOU PEOPLE ARE?!' She yelled at them, pushing the upturned plate aside. Alexandra knew her eyes were bloodshot - first from the lack of sleep, and now from the instigation. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, her chest heaving with the effort of controlling her hands.

'We? We're are the ones who were invited. You, meanwhile, are an uninvited guest.' Watson replied, calmly reclining in his chair and crossing his hands. He had put extra stress on "guest", as Alexandra noticed. With a low growl, she picked up the nearest glass and tossed it right on his face. But he simply bent his head to the right, and the glass missed him, landing behind on the floor with a clatter. 'Oh- that shot, was so not bull's eye.' He grinned, shaking his head. 'As I said, Ma-bel, you are quite uninvited. Because you are so... incompetent.' He sang, making Alexandra's blood boil. She'd seen such trouble makers on the streets of Doveland. They always repelled her - made her want to turn away and leave. Now, caught as she was - with one of them - Alexandra hated the suffocation. She wanted to get away from this, as fast as possible.

'I'll see you!' She snarled, jabbing a finger at him, pushing aside the chair and giving them one, burning look, she marched off. But halfway through, her leg fell on another banana peel, perhaps another idea of Watson's. Before Alexandra could register anything, she crashed to the floor

The boys were sick with laughter. Alexandra felt her face grow hot and red as she hit the ground - always such a wrong timing. But, she wasn't done, so soon.

Alexandra felt her hand around and closed her fist around something. The boys had stopped laughing, they were looking at something behind her, all frozen to their spots. Ignoring their terrified stares, she yanked at whatever she'd caught in her hand and flung it at the boys. It was a walking stick. Venly and Owen ducked to avoid it - their eyes full of palpable fear.

A walking stick?

Alexandra turned back and scrambled feet away from the man behind her, whimpering an apology, before getting up.

Master George - who very sparingly, used a walking stick- seemed interested.

* * *

All the boys had got a month of detention.

A whole month.

And Alexandra had laughed her head off at the choice of detention. Service. Service to one-one fifth year for each of the boys.

And the best part? Watson got Fannel. Alexandra didn't know what to say about that, Master George must have had a hand behind it, though. Lessons had become increasingly challenging. Wall climbing, moat-crossing, hiding and another little thing which included a lot of "analyzing". Apparently, they weren't supposed to miss the minutest of details - if they were to have a sweeping look of the walls around, an hour later, they would be asked to tell the exact number of black spots on the wall.

Even if there had been no black spots, in which case, a confident "zero" was acceptable. Blending in with surroundings, having strong communication skills, ability to read people, constant alertness and wariness.

In fact, even skills like watching horrid things happen without any change of facial expression was expected. Every once in a while, they were closeted in a wide room, the "theatre" of the Council and awful scenes were shown, the most spine-chilling of incidents, the worst episodes, the scariest paintings. All on portraits. Sometimes, a prolific story-teller, who brought the words alive with his magic, told them dreadful tales. Throughout such sessions, Alexandra sat straight, sweat beads trickling down her temples. But she liked the mental strain. It was all in her head. What did endurance mean? Ability to bear whips and lashes without wincing? Or was it something much deeper?

It was definitely much deeper. It formed at the core of a being, and radiated to the tip of their existence. If wars gave scars, and scars gave pain - that pain had to be endured. And it was a fact that there was no war greater than Life.

Acting, was another necessary skill. Not just producing tears at whim - acting was much more than that. Taking on a new persona each time was difficult enough, but living a new life each time? That was what spies would have to do, in the bigger trials. There were often a few places where blending in the environment and listening, would do no good. Some places, they would have to be "offensive". They would have to meet people, win their trust, become a part of their life and extract secrets.

And then, flee.

Always. The one thing that made them spies, not warriors. They were supposed to take the injury on their pride, if the situation demanded it. They had to flee. It was a part of spying.

The next evening, returning from the library, Alexandra found a note latched into her door-knob. Sincerely hoping that it wasn't from her year-mates, she pulled it off and unfolded it.

An Invitation...

All members, including you, are invited to the Party Hall, East of the Arena, for the Termly Gathering of the Espionage Council Students. We have special serving-boys this year who shall be taking care of all your needs, so all you need to do is put on your cloaks, grab your boots and come right into the Party Hall at Eleven PM, Saturday.
We look forward to your kind co-operation.
Regards,
Kane Alden
Spokes-person of The Espionage Community (Self-Assumed title)

Why did Alexandra have such a good idea about who the serving-boys were? And since "putting on cloak" and "grabbing the boots" was rather simple, she was going to make an appearance there. Alexandra laughed to herself as she entered the room: tonight was going to be fun.

At eleven, in the Council that now resembled a haunted mansion's large garden, Alexandra walked across the grassy grounds to the Party Hall, waiting to see if her suspicions were right. The glass she had thrown at Watson might not have been "bull's eye", but this time, her theory was spot on.

Waiting at the gate, to welcome them inside were Venly and Owen. Those two had got the watch men duty!

This was turning out to be more fun than she'd even anticipated - Spies, her seniors, had style. They even found a way to make the best out of incompetent servers.

'Hello, Venly, Owen! Are they paying you for this?' She asked, passing them. They gave her a smoldering look, but didn't reply. It was good they didn't, because Alexandra would have given them a "tip" in return.

From inside, the Hall was not looking special, but she felt the thick excitement hanging around, tingling. Tables, and chairs and men upon men. More men. She'd never been in such a crowd of men. Never realized that so many of them were here.

'Looking manly.' She muttered to herself. Surprisingly, Alexandra discovered that day that men were not at all difficult to get into conversations with. She floated from one group to another, talking on things right from Terrorists to whether fluffy, pink caps ought to be banned or not. They were all older, but the overall mood of the day was so laid-back that they got engrossed into heated discussions with her.

'But why aren't women allowed into the Council?' She asked, vehemently debating with a group of third years, some agreed that women should be allowed, others disagreed. Fannel, meanwhile, was trying to get her away from the "useless" argument.

'Because they are not strong enough! It's true! They're made for easier jobs like-'

'Cooking, cleaning, looking after children.' Someone else completed.

'But I don't do any of them! Doesn't mean I'm not a woman? You decide gender upon the jobs that can be done? Can't a man cook? Can't a man clean? Does he become a woman if does all of that?'

'Mabel, that's enough. Let's leave.' Fannel proposed.

'No, but that's the point! Who does those jobs better? Women! So obviously if a woman's doing them better they should be better suited at it!' Somebody else continued, ignoring the fifth year.

'What sort of reasoning is that?!'

'Mabel, let it be,'

She argued until Fannel dragged her away. 'Why? Let me talk, was I saying something wrong?' Alexandra asked.

'Everything wrong. Not wrong exactly, rather, everything you don't need to say. Everyone knows it alright. You are just making enemies with that. In a Council and upon that, one like the Espionage, you should definitely be on good terms with everyone.'

'Even if that means accepting their wrong views, Sir?'

'Even if that means saying you accept their wrong views.' He corrected, pulling out a chair to sit. 'And that, is called being practical.'

'So,' Alexandra began, taking the seat next to him. 'What do you think about it? About their views?'

'They are obnoxious,' He held, and then, though Alexandra hadn't asked for it, he launched into an explanation. 'I am not a complete novice to women and their abilities. I had a sister, you know. Back when I was eleven and we lived in Vellesmere-'

'Vellesmere?' Alexandra asked - now where was that? And what did he mean by had a sister? Did it mean, he no longer did?