Hurd shrugged. “Didn’t see anything. Didn’t see any fighting.” He glanced at the server nervously, then away. “Not that I think Rutha was lying. I just didn’t see it. Must’ve been sleeping.” He yawned hugely and laid his head back down on the table.

Max looked at Han and Micah. “Names?” he said.

“No need for names, is there, sir?” Han said, shrugging. “Nothing really happened. Just a bit of loud talk and hand waving.”

Max snorted. “You say. Rutha, which one burnt you?”

“The dark-haired charmcaster there. The fair-headed one came to help me.”

Han’s eyes shifted from Max to Rutha. He couldn’t believe it. For once he wasn’t getting the blame.

Max glared at Micah. “Name?” When Micah didn’t reply, he added, “You don’t give your name, we’ll take you to the provost gaol for the night.”

“Micah Bayar,” Bayar said, grinding the words between his teeth.

“Where are you staying?” Max continued.

Micah rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Either he didn’t want to say where he lived, or it was a commentary on the accommodations. “Hampton Hall.”

Han and Dancer exchanged glances. Bayar was lodging in the same dormitory as them—the worst one on the quad. Which made sense, since he’d come late also. What had he been up to, that he was so late to school?

“You a first year or what?” Max asked.

“Yes,” Micah said. “I’m at Mystwerk House. I just arrived from the Fells this morning. If you’re taking names, you should know that my father is—”

“You should know that we don’t tolerate fighting here at the Ford,” Max said, plowing right over Micah’s words. “No matter who your father is. Newlings don’t know better, but they learn fast or they’re gone. You’ll need to learn to control your temper and keep your hands to yourself.”

Like a street player, Max paused and swept his gaze over his captive audience, then fixed it back on Micah. “I’m giving you fair warning. Any more trouble from you and you’ll go up before the rector. An’ the rector’s not afraid to expel you neither, if you’re too stupid to learn to mind your manners.”

Max leaned in toward Han and Micah. “Magical assaults is a different matter. Use your amulets to attack somebody, and there’s no hearing. You’re out. Understand?”

Han swallowed hard, glad he’d resisted the temptation to let fly with his amulet. Likely this was a speech Max had given many times before to upstart blueblood first years accustomed to getting away with bad behavior at home.

“I’m not the one who should be answering questions. He’s a thief!” Micah said, pointing at Han. “He stole my amulet.”

“Already?” Max asked, flipping to a new page in his notebook. “When did that happen? I thought you said you just got here.”