A Pocket Full of Murder (10 page)

The secretary stiffened, and her hand crept toward her
appointment book. But then she snatched it back and said, “Don't be ridiculous. Now finish those envelopes and be off. I've had enough of your chatter.”

*  *  *

As Isaveth left the governor's office, her mind was racing. She understood now why the Lawkeepers felt sure Papa was guilty: If Orien had been killed with an exploding-tablet, it was hard to imagine how anyone else could have done it. Unless the murderer had waited for Papa to leave before making his move. . . .

Which, of course, was what must have happened. And judging by the secretary's reaction, there was at least one person at the college with reason to want Governor Orien out of the way. A jealous rival among the masters, perhaps? Or a servant with a grudge?

Well, as long as Isaveth had a chance to investigate, she might as well take advantage of it. Especially since the two masters she'd seen talking earlier had moved on now, leaving only a pair of half-empty drinks and a lingering aroma of baccy smoke behind. She slipped into the lounge and made a cautious circuit of the room, peering behind the curtains and lifting the cushions off the sofa—a search that yielded a crumpled handkerchief, a broken lead-point, and a slim, battered volume entitled
Elementary Principles of Charm Application
, Fifth Edition.
She also found part of yesterday's
Citizen
lying beside one of the armchairs that featured the headline
GOVERNOR'S DEATH STALLS REPS' BILL VOTE
. But none of these things seemed to offer any clue to Master Orien's murder.

Resigned, Isaveth was about to leave when she noticed the tall spicewood wardrobe in the corner. It looked more suited to a gentleman's bedroom than a lounge, so what was it doing here? She crossed the carpet to open it.

“WHAT do you think you're doing?” roared a man's voice, and Isaveth jumped and slammed the door shut. Whirling, she shrank back against the wardrobe as her accuser strode into the room.

“How dare you enter this room without permission!” The speaker was a balding, red-faced master with a goatee, whose robe was singed and stained about the sleeves as though he'd been cooking porridge in it. “I'll have your cap for this, you impudent little—”

“Now Robard,” admonished the other master. His eyes met Isaveth's, pale as ice in fallowtime but far more gentle. “She's only a child, and there's no harm done. Let her explain.”

“Oh, sir,” gasped Isaveth, collecting her wits with an effort, “I'm ever so sorry! I came to replace the light-tablets, and as there was nobody in here, I thought it would be all right. I didn't know you were coming back.”

The taller master nodded. “And you were curious about the wardrobe,” he said, “as any youngster would be. Isn't that right?”

He'd offered her an escape, and it was tempting to seize it. But if they traced her presence here back to Mistress Anandri, she didn't want the woman to regret having helped her. Isaveth lowered her eyes and said, “No, sir. I know that's not my business. I only thought there might be some of the old light-tablets in there, and if so, I ought to take them away, as I was told they were too dim.”

Robard snorted, but his companion relaxed at once. “Of course,” he said. “You were only doing your job. But we don't keep extra spell-tablets here.” He unlocked the wardrobe and opened the door, revealing an empty rail with one deep-blue master's robe hanging on it. “See?”

“Yes, sir.” Isaveth backed away, bobbing curtsies all the while. “Thank you, sir.” And before either of the men could stop her, she whirled and fled.

I
SAVETH HURRIED DOWN
the stairs to the ground level, still shaken by her encounter with the masters. She'd hoped to search the other rooms on the second floor as well, but after what had happened in the lounge, she didn't dare take that risk.

Yet she wasn't ready to give up, either. She might still find a clue to Governor Orien's murder if she could steal a look at his secretary's appointment book and find out who besides Papa had visited him the night he was killed. But how could she do that without being caught?

If she were a real cleaning maid, with keys to all the offices, the solution would be obvious. But even if the missing maid's position was still open, Isaveth was too young to apply. If only she were sixteen, like Annagail . . .

Suddenly she knew the answer. She jumped down the last two steps and ran to the porter's office.

“Oh, mister,” she said breathlessly, “I've only just started work this morning, and I've got all turned about. Could you tell me where to find the housekeeper?”

The porter gave a disapproving harrumph. “Down the back steps,” he said. “But don't come here again. It's your business to know where you ought to be, and keep yourself out of the masters' way.”

“Yes, mister,” Isaveth said, and dashed off to find the stairs to the basement.

This part of the building looked very different from the oak-paneled lecture rooms and offices above. The walls were bare, the ceiling was low, and exposed pipes dripped moisture overhead. Only one lamp in three was lit, and the steam from the nearby laundry made the air dank as old sweat. By the time Isaveth found the door marked
SERVANTS' HALL
, she was shivering.

When she opened the door, a fog of baccy smoke enveloped her. She coughed and waved a hand, and the haze parted to reveal a long table framed by benches, where a gaunt, middle-aged man and a stout woman only a little younger sat playing a hand of Gamble. They both looked around, and after a moment the man stubbed out his puffer and got up.

“You're not one of our regulars,” he said, though he sounded more puzzled than annoyed. “What are you doing here, miss?”

“Good day, sir,” said Isaveth with her prettiest curtsy. “I was helping Mistress Anandri in the spell-kitchen this morning, and she said one of the cleaning maids had given notice. Is the post still open?”

The woman laid down her cards. “That's my department, lovey,” she said. “I'm the housekeeper. But you aren't asking for yourself, I hope! You ought to be still in school.”

“I am,” said Isaveth, “or at least I will be, come harvest. But my older sister's a good worker, missus, very respectful and clean. She's got a job in a factory right now, but she's hoping for something better, and when I heard you needed a maid . . .” She clasped her hands imploringly.

“Hm.” The housekeeper pursed her lips, sizing Isaveth up. “The spellmistress asked you to help her? That's a wonder. What have you got in that jar?”

“Light-tablets, missus. Baked them myself this morning.” She opened the jar and held it out to the housekeeper, who took a tablet and examined it critically. “Mistress Anandri sent me over to fill the masters' lamps, but the secretary in the governor's office told me to come back later.”

“The governor's secretary!” exclaimed the woman. “Bless you, child, you're lucky to have got away with your head. Did she say anything else?”

So Isaveth told her the story, or as much of it as she could without admitting her true motives. When she finished, the housekeeper clucked and shook her head.

“You're a bright thing, aren't you? Clever of you, to smooth down Her Ladyship like that. Oh, she's not a real lady,” she added as Isaveth paled, “but she fancies herself one. It'll be a grim day for her when the new governor puts her back in her place—”

“Meggery,” warned the thin man, but the housekeeper only huffed.

“It's all very well for you, Mister Jespers. You don't have to put up with her airs. But if it troubles your holy ears to hear me speak ill of my betters, I'll say no more.”

“So you know who the new governor's going to be?” asked Isaveth, hoping that Meggery's “no more” meant the secretary, and not upstairs gossip in general. “I thought they weren't going to choose one until after the memorial.”

“Oh, that's all fuss and formality,” said Meggery with a flap of her hand. “Everyone knows it'll be Master Buldage, unless the Sagelord takes one of his strange tempers and decides to snub him again.”

“Snub him?” asked Isaveth. “You mean he ought to have been governor before?”

“Well,” said the housekeeper, “certainly Master Buldage thinks so, and he's not the only one. Which is fair enough, I suppose, with him being at the college so long. Not that Master Orien was a bad choice, Sages comfort him, but he was an outsider. So when Lord Arvis named him to the post last year, it came as quite a shock.”

“I see,” said Isaveth, trying to sound only politely interested despite her quickening pulse. She longed to ask more about Master Buldage, but Jespers was frowning at both of them now, and she sensed he was about to cut off the conversation.

“Ah, well. The cleaning goes on, I always say, no matter who's making the mess.” Meggery took a last puff of her baccy stick and ground it out. “Now, about your sister. I've seen a tiresome lot of girls already, but I suppose I can see one more. Bring her here by six bells tonight, and I'll talk to her.”

“Oh, thank you, missus!”

“No need for that,” the housekeeper warned. “I'm not making any promises. But Mistress Anandri seems to think well of you, and she's no fool.” She pulled a notebook from the pocket of her apron. “What's your name, then?”

“M-my name? Don't you mean my sister's?”

“That too.” She tapped her lead-point on the pad expectantly. “Well?”

After her misadventures with the secretary and the two masters, it was probably safer to tell the truth. “My name's Isaveth. And my sister is Annagail.”

Meggery paused halfway through a loop. “Those sound like dissenter names to me. You aren't one of them Moshite troublemakers, are you?”

Isaveth's palms broke out in a sweat. She'd never lied about her beliefs before. But this was for Papa, and she'd come too far to give up now.

“Oh, no,” she said brightly. “We're Unifying.”

*  *  *

“Vettie, what are you doing here?” Annagail's face was flushed with heat and weariness, but even as she spoke, her foot continued to work the treadle. “I can't talk now or they'll crop my pay. You know that!”

All around them other women bent over their sewing machines, needles rattling and feet pumping in rhythm. The whole factory sounded like a swarm of angry click beetles, and the air was thick with the smells of dust, oil, and human sweat. If the ceiling fans had ever been cold-charmed, the spell had worn out long ago, and their sluggish turning gave no relief from the stifling heat.
Even the horses in the power factory worked in better conditions than this.

“I know, but this is important,” whispered Isaveth, crouching low so the overseer wouldn't spot her. She'd sneaked in while his back was turned, but he was strolling up and down the aisles now, and she might have to duck under the table at any minute. “Keep working and let me tell you what happened today.”

Quickly she described her visit to the college and her conversation with the housekeeper. At first Annagail kept her eyes on her work, with only a distracted nod or two to show she was still listening. When she heard what Meggery had said about giving her a chance, however, her treadle slowed to a halt.

“Me, work at the college?” she breathed. “If only I could! But they'd never hire a Moshite—”

“Don't worry about that. Take off your prayer scarf, and Meggery will never know.”

Annagail's hand flew to her throat. “That would be lying!”

“No, it wouldn't,” Isaveth insisted. Her stomach felt quivery and her cheeks hot, but she couldn't back down—it would be madness to let Anna throw such an opportunity away. “I'm not asking you to
say
anything, only to stop letting people reject you for stupid reasons.
Do you really think the All-One wants you to stay in this horrible place just so you can wear Mama's prayer scarf and tell everyone you're a Moshite? How's that going to get Papa out of prison or keep the rest of us from starving?”

“Don't,” said Annagail, near tears. “It's not fair. I'm doing the best I can.”

“I know, but you can do better. You don't have to lie, Anna. I'm only asking you not to hang a sign around your neck.” Isaveth's foot had a cramp. She shifted uncomfortably. “If Meggery doesn't hire you, there's no harm done. If she does, you'll have a chance to show her that Moshite girls can be as respectful and hardworking as everyone else. Two nobs a week, Anna! Think about it!”

Annagail bit her lip. “I can't, Vettie. Not right now.” She resumed her pumping, and the needle flashed into motion. “Please, leave me alone.”

It sounded like a refusal, but Isaveth knew her sister too well to take it as one. “Six bells,” she whispered as the overseer headed down the row toward them. “I'll meet you at the college.” Then she ducked out from under the table and sprinted for the exit.

*  *  *

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Isaveth waited by the front gate of Tarreton College. It had been a long
walk from the shirt factory, and the confidence she'd felt while talking to Annagail had evaporated on the way, leaving only anxiety behind. She leaned back against the gatepost and closed her eyes.

What would she do if Annagail didn't come? It was close to six now, and the traffic on the streets was slowing, but there was no sign of her sister in any direction. Even if Isaveth started back to Cabbage Street at this very moment, it would be dark by the time she arrived. Surely, Anna wouldn't leave her to walk home alone?

“You! Girl!”

Isaveth leaped upright as a short, bullnecked Lawkeeper swung his magicycle up to the curb. “No idling on college property,” he growled. “Move on.”

Did he think she was a beggar? Her dress was grimy from crawling across the factory floor, but she'd stopped at the public wash-station and scrubbed her hands and face as well as she could. “I'm waiting for my sister,” Isaveth said. “She's a cleaning maid here, and I'm going to help her.”