A Pocket Full of Murder (23 page)

“I apologize,” said Eryx hoarsely once the door had shut. He smoothed his hair, straightened his collar, and walked to the tea tray. “I'd hoped to avoid
any unpleasantness. But Esmond can be . . . difficult, sometimes.”

Isaveth felt light-headed, her mind reeling from one shock after another. She said feebly, “Esmond?”

“He didn't tell you. I'm sorry. I should have realized.” Eryx poured a cup of tea and sipped it, wincing as he swallowed. “The boy who was here just now is Esmond Lilord. My younger brother.”

I
SAVETH GAZED AT THE
L
ORDING
, speechless. She backed up to the armchair and sank into it.

“I don't . . . ,” she faltered, then swallowed and tried again. “But he doesn't . . .”

“Look like me?” asked Eryx. “Not especially, no. He looked like a smaller and not very flattering copy of our father until he turnπed thirteen. Then he shot up like a puff-weed, and now he looks like Mother and Civilla. I'm the odd man out in this family, I'm afraid. Take after my uncle Calvius instead.”

Isaveth pressed her fingers against her eyes, appalled by her own stupidity. She'd seen the Lilord slumped between his siblings at last year's Harvest Parade and thought him ugly, fat, and self-centered. She'd never imagined a boy's appearance could change so dramatically in a matter of months, or that the sulky
expression he'd worn that day might not be typical.

But blind as she'd been not to notice the straight nose and high forehead he shared with Eryx, or the similar quirk in their smiles, the next thought hit Isaveth even harder: Quiz had been lying to her from the start.

“I know this must come as a shock,” said Eryx, hooking a leg over the corner of the desk and sitting down across from her. “You must be a very good friend to him, to have followed him all this way. I'm only sorry Hulton didn't tell you straight off why he'd come to fetch Esmond, and save you the trouble.”

Isaveth looked up sharply. “He didn't
fetch
him,” she said. “He and that other man—the driver—grabbed him and dragged him away.”

Eryx sighed. “I'm afraid they had no choice. Esmond would never have gone with them willingly. Especially not if he was with you.”

“I don't understand.”

The Lording studied his polished shoes. When he raised his head again, his expression was both apologetic and grave. “We don't talk about private matters outside the family,” he said, “so I must ask you to keep this in the strictest confidence. But since you seem close to Esmond, and you've shown such concern for his welfare, you ought to know that my brother is . . . unwell.”

Isaveth's heart beat faster. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“His troubles began last year, when he started growing.” Eryx rose and began to pace the room, hands clasped behind his tailored jacket. “He complained of headaches, and blurred vision in one eye.”

I've got a beast of a headache,
Quiz had told her only a few days ago.
It happens sometimes.
Isaveth sat motionless, waiting for Eryx to go on.

“Naturally, my parents took him to the best healers in the city, but after months of treatment Esmond was no better. He became moody, suspicious, even violent at times, and the pain grew so intense that one day he . . . injured himself, trying to relieve the pressure. The surgeon did his best to save the eye, but he's been blind on that side ever since.”

Isaveth's nails dug into her palms. “Did it help?” she whispered. “Even a little?”

“With the pain, yes,” said the Lording. “But not his condition. He began to experience hallucinations, delusions, gaps in his memory . . . sometimes he seemed to forget he had a family, while other times he was convinced we were all trying to kill him, or one another. Then he started disappearing for hours, even days, at a time. Yet he always came home in the end, so we did our
best to be patient. My mother couldn't bear to have him locked up, you see. None of us could.”

“You must have tried to find him, though,” said Isaveth, and Eryx nodded sadly.

“Of course. But we were looking for the Lilord of Tarreton, not a street-boy. We had no idea that his delusions had gone so far. It wasn't until a few days ago, when he turned up at Master Orien's memorial in an eyepatch and ragged trousers, that I put the pieces together. I sent Hulton and our driver out to search for him, and, well . . . you know the rest.”

It was like looking at the past two weeks through a warped mirror. Or perhaps it was Isaveth's vision that had been distorted, and only now was she beginning to see Quiz clearly at last. Hadn't she wondered about his odd whims and reckless impulses, his mysterious past, his hostility toward the Lording from the first time she'd spoken Eryx's name?

Though he wasn't completely mad; he could still be clever, and funny, and kind. Delusional or not, there must have been moments when Quiz knew who he really was. Yet he'd allowed Isaveth to go on believing they were more alike than different, that he'd been cold and hungry as often as she had, and that he understood how frustrating it was to be a commoner in a city where nobles
held all the power. Worse, he'd pretended he was helping Isaveth out of friendship, when he'd had his own secret motives all along. . . .

Eryx lowered himself into the chair behind the desk, bracing his elbows on the arms and steepling his fingertips together. “You're the young lady who was selling spell-tablets in the city a couple of weeks ago, aren't you?” He spoke in a soft, wondering tone, as though he'd only just made the connection. “Was that how you met my brother?”

Isaveth still had the handkerchief Eryx had given her, tucked away in the box that held her mother's lake-pearl necklace and the few other personal treasures she possessed. He'd been kind to her that day, and tonight had been no different: He'd given her a generous tea, apologized for the distress his men had caused, and now was talking to Isaveth so frankly she might have been his equal. Quiz had begged her not to confide in Eryx. But there seemed no reason to hold back now.

“Yes,” she said, then added in a rush, “He thinks you killed Master Orien.”

Eryx recoiled. “What? Why?”

“I don't know. Except Quiz—I mean, Esmond said whoever murdered the governor used Sagery as well as Common Magic, so we thought there must be a noble involved somewhere.”

“And of all the nobles in the city, he suspected me.” Eryx rubbed a hand across his eyes. “But Master Orien was my tutor as well as Esmond's, and I considered him . . . well, like a father. So when he told me he planned to support my Reps' Bill, I was overjoyed. I never dreamed anyone would . . .” He shook his head. “I still can't believe he's gone.”

He sounded so bewildered, and so sad, that Isaveth's heart went out to him. If he'd played any part in the murder, it could only have been by accident. “Did you tell anyone what Master Orien was planning?” she asked. “Your father, maybe?”

Eryx's eyes flew open. “Great Sages, no! That would have been an unforgivable breach of trust. I did confide in two of our allies on the council, with Orien's permission—Lady Marcham and Lord Amaraq. But I assure you, they're both above reproach.”

Isaveth bowed her head, despair welling inside her. She'd been so sure that finding Quiz would lead her to the murderer as well. But she'd pedaled across the city for nothing, and she was no closer to saving Papa than before.

“I didn't realize you felt so keenly about politics,” said Eryx, leaning forward to peer into her face. “Unless . . . I hope you're not so terribly disappointed that I'm not a murderer?”

And that was so
Quiz
of him, despite the tailored suit and the two-reel-hero looks, that Isaveth couldn't bear it. She covered her face with her hands, and burst into hiccuping sobs. An awkward few seconds later Eryx offered her a handkerchief, which she took gratefully, but he didn't try to interrupt. Not until she had wept herself dry and slumped from sheer exhaustion did the Lording clear his throat and speak.

“Clearly there's something going on here that I don't understand,” he said. “Would you do me the honor of taking me into your confidence? I might be able to help.”

Isaveth was so tired she could barely think, and there was a cold lump of misery in her chest that had Quiz's fingerprints all over it. Except he wasn't Quiz at all, he was Esmond—and Esmond was insane. If the Lording didn't help her now, who would?

“It's my papa,” she said. “I'm Urias Breck's daughter, and I've been trying to prove that he's innocent.”

*  *  *

As Isaveth poured out her story, the Lording's expression alternated between astonishment and concern. When she finished, he let out a little laugh of admiration.

“I knew you must be brave and clever, to have tracked Esmond all the way here on your own,” he said. “But
I'd no idea how extraordinary you are. You and my mad brother made a better job of investigating Master Orien's death than the Lawkeepers and the news-rags put together. Certainly you've learned more than I ever could.”

“Then you believe me?” asked Isaveth, trembling with hope. “You can help Papa?”

Eryx's face sobered. “I wish I could,” he said. “Master Buldage was never one of my favorite teachers at the college, and I wouldn't put it past him to murder someone. He undoubtedly had the skill to make an affinity-charm, and enough wits to manipulate this man—Remick? Sorry, Rennick—into helping him.” He sighed. “But I'm afraid it's not so simple. I know the Healer-General personally, you see, and he gave me a copy of Master Orien's postmortem. He found no evidence that anything but Common Magic was involved.”

“But what about—”

“The silver Esmond found on his robe? The examiner noticed that too and put it to all the usual tests. It was nothing more than a melted waistcoat button.”

Isaveth's stomach turned over. The stain on Orien's robe was the one clue she'd never doubted, or even thought to question. Yet she'd only believed it was charm-silver because Quiz had told her so. . . .

And now she knew with sickening certainty that she could never trust Quiz's word again.

“It does seem as though Mister Rennick was involved in the murder somehow,” the Lording continued, rising from his chair. “I'll talk to the Lawkeepers tomorrow and urge them to bring him in for questioning. Still, given the evidence we have . . . I'm afraid it's hard to imagine how anyone but your father could have done it.”

Isaveth's heart cried out in protest, but she had no strength left to give it a voice. She twisted Eryx's handkerchief between her hands and breathed slowly so she wouldn't cry again.

“You're welcome to look over the Healer-General's report, if you like,” Eryx continued, opening a cabinet in the corner and taking out a large envelope. “It's a bit gruesome in parts, but quite comprehensive. Perhaps by the time you've finished, Esmond will have calmed down enough for you to say good-bye.”

Esmond.
Even the sound of that name was enough to make Isaveth's stomach clench. She knew she ought to pity Quiz, or at least be willing to forgive. But she'd believed in him, trusted him, and he'd failed her.

And now Eryx Lording, the shining hope of the city, the one who was supposed to bring justice to poor folk like herself, had failed her too.

“No, thank you,” said Isaveth. Her voice sounded small, but if she spoke any louder, she'd end up screaming. “I don't want to talk to him. I just want to go home.”

*  *  *

Once the Lording's driver had let Isaveth off at the top of Cabbage Street, she ran home as fast as her weary legs would carry her. She'd barely made it inside when Annagail flew out of the kitchen and seized her in a desperate hug.

“Thank the All-One,” she gasped. “I was so worried, Vettie. Where have you
been
?”

There were at least five answers to that question, and Isaveth didn't want to talk about any of them. She pulled away from her sister and sat down on the stair. “I can't explain,” she said wretchedly. “Not right now, Anna. Please.”

“But . . .” Annagail hovered next to her, wringing her hands. “You're all right? You're not hurt?”

Oh, she was hurt. Every thought of Quiz brought a fresh stab of grief and anger, and for the first time since her father was arrested, a tiny part of Isaveth feared he might actually have done it. What if Rennick and Papa had plotted Master Orien's death together, as fellow stoneworkers and members of the Workers' Club? What if Rennick had panicked at the sight of Quiz because he'd
recognized him as Esmond Lilord and feared the Lording and a troop of Lawkeepers wouldn't be far behind?

But then Isaveth remembered the way Rennick had stared at her prayer scarf, the loathing in his voice when he spoke her father's name. He'd never work with a Moshite. And though it seemed impossible to prove otherwise, deep down Isaveth knew Papa would never take part in a murder plot, either.

“No, I'm not hurt at all,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “I'm sorry I was late. It won't happen again.”

Annagail dropped onto the step beside Isaveth and turned her face against the banister. She made no sound, but it took Isaveth only an instant to realize her sister was weeping. “Anna! What is it?”

“I had a message . . . from the Lawkeepers . . . this evening,” gasped Annagail. “The Lord Justice asked Papa . . . if he was willing to be truth-bound . . . and he . . .”

She broke off, sobbing, while Isaveth waited in an agony of suspense. A moment ago she'd been exhausted, but now she'd never felt so wide awake.

“What?” she asked, clutching her sister's arm. “What did Papa say?”