---
Master Hale lifted one finger. Fartray stopped speaking as if she had put a hand on his lips. She did not look at him long. "He did not aim at your head," she said. "He aimed low. He answered an attack. He ignored our rule to answer it. So did you. Both of you are guilty."
Fartray's mouth opened and closed like a fish sent to school. He pointed at his coat. The drops of mud on his lapel now looked like small moons. He pointed at his cheek, which still held a thin brown line like a strange blush. He could not say any more without sounding like a child who had dropped a pie.
"Names and tokens," the brown-haired proctor said briskly, stepping between them like a gate that had picked where to be. "All three. Now."
John held out his token. "John," he said. "No house name."
Fizz pointed at himself. "Lord Fizz. And Lord of Snacks."
The proctor did not write that down. He wrote FIZZ, CONTRACTED SPIRIT next to JOHN, and then he turned to Fartray.
