A Pocket Full of Murder (2 page)

Isaveth liked Morra, but she didn't like it when she talked like this—as though being fifteen and cleaning house for a few merchants' wives made her more mature than Isaveth would ever be. If growing up meant abandoning her dreams, Isaveth wanted no part of it. “But if I did become a noble, I could help people and make the world a better place. Like Auradia did.”

“Yes, but she was born noble, and she wasn't a . . .” Morra stopped, made a face, and started over. “Anyway, Auradia lived in another city a hundred years ago. I don't see
our
nobles helping anyone but themselves.”

“There's Eryx Lording,” Isaveth pointed out, though it was hard not to be distracted by the words Morra had left unsaid:
wasn't a Moshite, like you.
“Everyone says he's the opposite of his father, and that's bound to be a good thing, isn't it?”

“It would be if he was ruling Tarreton right now. But we're stuck with Sagelord Arvis, and Seward says he'll surely ruin this city before his son ever gets the chance to fix it. He's such a misery-miser that other cities scarce want to trade with us anymore, and there's so little work
at the box factory, Da might be let go any day . . .” Morra's voice cracked, and she gave a sniff. “Well, never mind that. You've got your own troubles. But you can see why I don't think much of nobles at the moment. Though I'm sure you'd make a fine one.”

Now Isaveth understood. Morra's older brother, Seward, had a passion for politics and no shortage of strong opinions about how the city was being run, and if he'd been filling Morra's head with gloomy talk, it was no wonder she was anxious. Yet the Sagelord's greed and callousness had done so much damage to Tarreton's fortunes already, Isaveth found it hard to imagine how things could get much worse.

She thought of her father, trudging the streets with his wheely-cart in search of work. A year ago Urias Breck had been a stonemason, skilled at his craft and respected for it. He'd raised walls, laid drive paths, and built garden follies for the nobles and wealthy Sages who ruled the city. But the project he'd staked all his hopes on had been canceled without warning, and there'd been no more offers since. So now Papa had to make do with whatever small jobs he could find.

Then there was Annagail, bowed over a sewing treadle in the dusty heat of the shirt factory. Until their mother died, she'd been working hard to finish school so she
could train as a healer. But the cost of the memorial had eaten up all their savings, and when it became clear that Papa could no longer earn enough to support them, she'd left Isaveth in charge of the younger girls and taken the first job she could get. It was hard work in the factory, with long hours and little pay, and she would have been happier as a nursemaid or even a scrubber. But most wealthy folk were Arcan and preferred not to keep a Moshite girl about the house if they could hire a Unifying one instead. So sewing shirts was the best Annagail could do.

Which was why Isaveth wanted so badly to succeed at
something
, whether that meant becoming a famous writer or merely a good spell-baker. She knew too well the uncertainty and hardship that Morra only feared, the hollow ache of hunger and the bone-gnawing chill of snowy nights without fuel. There had to be a way out of this trap of poverty, both for herself and for her family—and Isaveth was determined to find it, no matter what Morra or anyone else thought of her chances.

“Let's talk about something else, then,” she said brightly, setting her writing box aside. “Did I tell you I made spell-tablets today?”

I
SAVETH HAD FINISHED BOILING
the potatoes for supper and was doggedly mashing them when the front door creaked and she heard Annagail's step in the hall.

Oh no. Was it that late already? Isaveth had spent only a few minutes talking to Morra, but she'd gone on writing for a good while after that, even while the dinner was cooking. Isaveth shot a guilty glance at Anna, about to ask if she minded fetching the other girls from Aunt Sal's. Then Lilet and Mimmi burst in, squabbling and jostling each other, and she let out a thankful sigh.

“You were supposed to get us half an hour ago,” said Lilet accusingly. “It's a good thing we spotted Anna before Aunt Sal started moaning. Ugh, potatoes
again
?”

“There's plenty of air if you'd rather eat that,” Isaveth retorted, moving quickly to stop Mimmi from poking at
the basket of spell-tablets she'd left by the back door. “Don't touch those. I'm going to sell them.”

“They look like candies,” said Mimmi with a wistful glance at the basket. Isaveth had torn up some old tissue to wrap the tablets in, hoping it would protect them from crumbling. “What are they?”

“Spells,” said Isaveth. She almost added “like Mama used to make,” but Mimmi still teared up when anyone spoke of their mother. “Now come and help set the table.”

“You made magic without us?” Lilet glared at her. “That's not fair! You didn't even ask!”

“I don't need
your
permission. And Annagail doesn't mind, do you?” Isaveth turned an appealing look to her sister, who shook her head.

“Of course not. I'm glad you thought of it. But will people buy them?”

“Why not? They're better than the factory spells, and they'll last longer too.” Factory-made tablets were coated with dampening wax, which was the cheapest way to keep them from breaking by accident. But it also weakened their magical power, and Isaveth's tablets wouldn't have that problem. “Anyway, I'll find out when I go downtown tomorrow. Did you see Papa on your way?”

“Oh. I . . . I think he'll be late tonight,” Anna said
distractedly, unpinning her hair and smoothing it before coiling it up at the nape of her neck again. Cropped hair was the fashion for girls, and Isaveth was glad of it, but Annagail refused to cut hers except for a few curls around her forehead. “We should eat without him.”

On Duesday evenings, Papa often went to the Workers' Club, where they served soup and bread for only ten cits a plate, so that made sense. Yet Anna hadn't said whether she'd talked to him or not, and it wasn't like her to be so vague. Did she know something she wasn't telling? Was it good news or bad?

Normally, it would have been easy to guess, because Annagail was the most transparent person Isaveth knew. But she always looked strained when she came home from the shirt factory, her eyes puffy and her smile thin with weariness. She might be worried about anything—or nothing.

Perhaps she didn't want to say too much in front of Lilet and Mimmi. Resolving to ask her about it later, Isaveth opened the small hallow cabinet that held their six pairs of blessing candles, a set for each day of the week, and took out the blue ones. Worn and half melted, they still bore traces of the gold coin pattern her mother had painted when she was Annagail's age, preparing for the household she would bless one day.

“All right,” Isaveth said, setting the candles in their holders and laying the flint-spark beside them. “Everybody wash up and sit down, so Anna can say the blessing.”

*  *  *

The sun was sinking below the rooftops, and Isaveth was about to call Lilet and Mimmi to bed, when Papa came clumping in the door. His face was flushed, his dark hair slick with sweat, but he was smiling. “There's my Vettie!” he exclaimed, and Isaveth ran to embrace him.

“Did you find work today?” she asked eagerly. Usually she didn't dare raise the subject, but a smile was surely a good sign. “Was it a nice meeting?”

Her father's thick brows shot up. “Who told you about that? I only got the message this afternoon.”

“What message?” Annagail appeared in the kitchen doorway, half-darned stockings in hand. “Oh, Papa, I'm so glad you're home.” She hurried to drop a kiss on his cheek. “I thought you'd gone to the Workers' Club.”

So Isaveth had guessed right—her sister
had
been anxious, even if she hadn't wanted to say so. But why?

“No, my Anna,” their father said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I'm not looking for trouble, not with my girls to think about. Is there any supper left for your poor old Papa, or has your boyfriend Merit gobbled it up again?”

Annagail blushed as she always did when Papa teased her, no matter how ridiculous his suggestion might be. Merit was Loyal Kercher's older brother, and he'd left town three months ago to help build the new railway to Vesperia. “I'll warm it up for you,” she promised, and hurried to the stove.

Papa had taken his usual seat at the table, and Annagail was scraping the last of the potatoes onto a plate, when Lilet and Mimmi came in. Lilet gave their father a hug, squirmed away from his tickling fingers, and moved on, but Mimmi jumped onto his lap and stole sips of his tea until Isaveth practically had to drag her away. By the time the younger girls were settled and Isaveth returned to the kitchen, her father had cleaned his plate and was filling his pipe with baccy.

“Well, then,” he said as Isaveth and Annagail sat down on either side of him, “as you might have guessed, I've got news. Remember that new charmery house Master Orien wanted me to build at the college?”

The girls exchanged startled glances. The charmery was a forbidden subject—had been since before their mother died. That was the project their father had been counting on to save him from ruin, until Orien, the governor of Tarreton College, had canceled the contract with no explanation whatsoever. The shock of
it had turned Papa into a different man for a while, short tempered and distant; he'd taken to disappearing at odd times and staying out late, and once he'd come home with bloody knuckles and a great bump on his forehead. It wasn't until Mama took ill that he'd turned himself about and started acting like their papa again.

“Yes,” said Isaveth cautiously. “What of it?”

“Well, seems the Sagelord took a dislike to the plan and refused to lend any money to it, and that's why Master Orien had to put a stop to the job. But now Lord Arvis has changed his mind, so it's going forward after all! The master wants me to hire some lads and get to work straightaway. We'll be paid fair wages—not much more than that, not with things the way they are—but . . .”

“Oh, Papa!” The shadow fled from Annagail's face, leaving it radiant. “I'm so happy for you!”

A bubble of joy swelled in Isaveth. If Papa had work again, Annagail could leave her job at the shirt factory and go back to school. They could buy new half soles for their shoes, clothes that actually fit . . . and maybe, just maybe, Isaveth would get an ink bottle and a sheaf of proper writing paper for her birthday.

“That's wonderful news!” she exclaimed, squeezing Papa's hand. “So that was the meeting you went to? With Master Orien?”

“That's right.” He leaned back in his chair and took a long, thoughtful draw on his pipe. “I don't mind admitting I misjudged the man—he's a better sort than I took him for. There might be some hope for this city after all.”

Which was high praise, coming from Papa. “So what was all that about the Workers' Club?” Isaveth asked. “Why was Anna worried you'd gone—”

“Oh, that's no matter,” Papa interrupted with a warning glance at Annagail. “Nothing you and your sisters need to fret about. I won't be going back there anytime soon. All right?”

Annagail lowered her eyes, but she looked more relieved than chastened. “Yes, Papa.”

*  *  *

By the time Isaveth and Annagail went up to bed, the younger girls were asleep. Lilet lay sprawled on her back, dark hair snaking out across the pillow, while Mimmi curled neatly as a mouse against the wall.

“Let's not wake them,” Annagail whispered. “We can tell them the good news tomorrow.”

Isaveth nodded, and the two of them slipped in next to their sisters—though Isaveth had to shove Lilet over first, since Annagail was too softhearted to do it. For a while they lay quiet, until Isaveth said, “I still want to
know why you were worried about Papa going to the Workers' Club.”

Annagail sighed. “It's not important now. Can't you let it go?”

“No,” said Isaveth, propping herself up on one elbow. “I know Papa thinks I'm too young to understand, but I'm not. And I won't tell Lilet and Mimmi, I promise.”

She waited, letting the silence grow heavy, until Annagail gave in. “I heard two of the overseers at the factory talking about it,” she said. “The City Council's passed a law making it a crime to speak out publicly against the government, or to organize any protests against them. They've ordered landlords to report any political groups that meet in their buildings—”

“The Workers' Club is political?” Isaveth was startled. She'd thought it only a place where Papa went to have a drink and play a few rounds of Gamble with friends. She knew he sometimes came back from their meetings more agitated than usual, but she'd thought it was only a sign that he felt badly for other people's troubles. After all, Anna wasn't the only one in the family with a tender heart.

“Oh, Vettie,” said Annagail, sounding more tired than ever. “Did you really not know? Last month they held a big rally on the steps of Council House calling for the
Sagelord to resign, and the Lawkeepers had to break it up. I don't think Papa was there, but if he was, it wouldn't be the first time.”

Isaveth stared at the ceiling, trying to digest this new information. She'd heard about the protests that had sprung up in various parts of Tarreton: the Relief Office swarmed by jobless men and women demanding food for their starving families, neighbors stopping a home eviction by blocking the drive and tearing furniture from the movers' hands, angry dockworkers pelting the Sagelord with fish when he stopped by the harbor to make a speech. Not so long ago Seward Caverly had been arrested while taking part in a supposedly violent demonstration—perhaps even the same rally Anna was talking about.