A Pocket Full of Murder (29 page)

She wasn't afraid that he would hurt her, not exactly: Even if he had plotted Master Orien's murder, strangling a twelve-year-old girl with his own hands didn't seem like something Eryx would do. Still, the journey back to Cabbage Street felt twice as long as any tram ride, and Isaveth almost wished she'd refused the Lording's offer and walked home instead. When at last he stopped the carriage, she scrambled out so fast she nearly fell.

“Miss Breck,” said the Lording, and Isaveth froze. She wanted to slam the door and run, but she didn't dare risk offending a man so powerful—or so dangerous. She turned back and gave Eryx a watery smile.

“I'm ever so sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to be rude. I was thinking about my sisters—they must be terribly worried about me. But I'm grateful for all you've done tonight, I really am—”

“No need for that,” Eryx interrupted her. “There's just something I'd like to say to you before you go.”

He patted the seat beside him, and Isaveth's heart sank. She forced herself to open the door and sit down again as the Lording leaned back, gazing thoughtfully at her half-lit street.

“I couldn't say this to Esmond,” he said, “because he'd
never believe it. But I think . . . I think perhaps you might.” He switched off the carriage and turned to her. “It wasn't my idea to have Master Orien killed. It was my father's.”

Isaveth clutched the door handle, feeling as though the earth had shifted beneath her. “I—I beg your pardon?”

“I blame myself,” said Eryx distractedly, “because I told Father that Orien meant to support the Reps' Bill—or at least that I'd heard a credible rumor to that effect. I should have known he would take it as a personal betrayal.” He sighed. “I tried to appease him, but he was too angry. For a moment I feared he meant to charge off to the college and murder Orien himself.”

“So you offered to do it for him?” The words came slowly, rough with disbelief.

“What else could I do? If I hadn't taken over the assassination, my father would have bungled it and taken our whole family down with him. At least I could handle the matter discreetly, so there would still be something left for the rest of us to inherit when Father died.”

Eryx laid his gloved hands on the steering yoke, flexing them as though they ached. “I knew Buldage would do anything to become governor, and since Rennick was already selling secrets to the Lawkeepers, I knew he would do anything to save his wife. I knew
Orien had been frustrated at having his plans for a new charmery canceled, so I encouraged Father to reverse his decision and tell Orien to start hiring workers right away.”

Which had not only provided Eryx and his fellow conspirators with a number of plausible suspects for framing, but kept Orien too busy to notice what they were up to. He'd gone to his death full of happy plans for improving the college, and the end had come so suddenly he probably didn't feel a thing. It was the sort of scheme only Eryx Lording could come up with—ruthless and oddly generous at the same time.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Isaveth. “Are you asking me to forgive you?”

If so, he'd be disappointed. She had no right to absolve him from what he'd done. Besides, until Eryx confessed his guilt to the people he'd wronged, and showed true remorse and repentance, it would be wrong to pardon him anyway. She might not be as devout a Moshite as Annagail, but she did know that much.

“Of course not,” said Eryx. “But since you worked so hard to uncover the truth, it seemed only fair to give it to you. And since we're speaking frankly . . . I'd like to make you an offer as well.”

There was no threat in his tone, but Isaveth felt
suddenly wary. She edged closer to the door. “What kind of offer?”

“Simply this. I know my brother too well to believe he would take my advice, especially now. But you strike me as a wise young lady.” He reached into his jacket, drew out a billfold, and opened it. “If you were to decide it was undesirable for your friendship with Esmond to continue, I believe he'd respect your wishes.”

He flicked out a money-note between his fingers, holding it just high enough for her to see. “I'm sure your family could use a little financial help. Perhaps you might think of their feelings, even if you find it hard to reconcile your own?”

He was offering her a regal—half a month's wages. Isaveth was so flabbergasted, all she could do was stare.

Eryx must have misinterpreted her hesitation, because he pulled out a second note and held it next to the first. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Breck,” he added with a sliver of a smile. “Though you must realize that Esmond will soon lose interest in you anyway. I'm only trying to make it a little less disappointing when he does.”

His expression was arch, his dark brows slightly raised: It was clear that he expected Isaveth to take the money. How could a girl in her position do otherwise? Yet though she was still flustered by Esmond asking to
kiss her, and not at all sure how they could go on being friends without great difficulty, Isaveth felt no impulse to accept the Lording's offer. All she could find in herself was revulsion, and a touch of pity.

No wonder Eryx had been willing to arrange his old tutor's murder, if he believed things like friendship could be bought and sold so easily. Everything was negotiable to him, even his principles. But what was the point of being wealthy and successful if you had to betray all the people who loved you to get there? Was it really worth having everything if it cost you your soul?

Isaveth opened the carriage door and climbed out. “Thank you for your offer,” she said as she shut it again. “But I think we'll manage.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Breck,” said Eryx, “but do you not realize what I'm offering you?”

He sounded not only shocked, but faintly alarmed—which made Isaveth even more sure of her decision. Not because she liked Esmond, but also because he'd been right: They did make a good team. Together, they'd solved Master Orien's murder and cleared her papa's name . . . and now Eryx Lording, the second most powerful man in the city, was afraid of them.

“I do realize,” Isaveth said politely, stepping back from the carriage. “I'm just not interested. Good night, milord.”

O
N THE DAY
I
SAVETH TURNED
thirteen, the sky was clear and sunny, though the crispness in the air hinted at harvest and school to come. Since Papa was still recovering from his time in prison, and Annagail had yet to find another job, Isaveth didn't expect much in the way of presents beyond the traditional lie-in while her sisters made her breakfast. But when Mimmi proudly carried up the tray with its plate of potato frycakes and bowl of creamed wheat, there was a little cloth-wrapped bundle sitting on it.

“It's from Lilet and me,” she said, bouncing as Isaveth untied the ribbon. “We made it collecting bottles. So you can buy something you really like.”

Inside were fifty cits, lovingly polished until the copper shone bright as mage-gold. It must have taken her sisters at least three weeks to earn. Isaveth was about to protest,
but Lilet gave her a look so fierce that she shut her mouth at once. It was clear that if she tried to argue, her sisters would never forgive her. So she ate her breakfast meekly, allowed Annagail to fuss with her hair, then hugged her family farewell and went off to buy her birthday present.

She hadn't been downtown since she and Esmond parted, and even the most crowded streets seemed strangely empty without him. It was hard to believe she'd never see Quiz sauntering up the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets or zooming through the traffic on his pedalcycle again. In no mood to linger, Isaveth made straight for the stationer's and spent every cit that Lilet and Mimmi had given her. Then she tucked her parcel of ink and paper under her arm and headed home.

No sooner had she started down the coal-lane, however, than she spotted Loyal swaggering up from the other end. Until now Isaveth had done her best to stay clear of the Kerchers, not knowing what trouble they might make for her next. But the Loyal's cruel smile on his face, and the knowledge that if he got hold of her precious writing paper, he'd tear it up just for spite, filled her with new determination. She marched to meet him and spoke up in her boldest voice.

“Don't even try it, Loyal. From now on you're going to leave me and my sisters alone.”

He sniggered. “Who's going to make me, your patch-faced boyfriend? I haven't seen him in weeks.”

“No,” said Isaveth, “and you to see him again. But I don't need his help to make you listen. Because if you bully me or anyone else in my family again, I'll tell everyone in the neighborhood that the Kerchers have been spying on them and selling their secrets to the Lawkeepers.”

Loyal turned crimson. “That's a lie,” he spat, but his eyes darted in all directions, and Isaveth knew her threat had struck home.

“Tell that to the Caverlys,” she said. “Ever since Morra and Seward got arrested, they've been wondering how the Lawkeepers knew where to find the Workers' Club that night. Once I explain how your family managed to afford a crystal set, though, I'm sure it'll all make sense.”

Loyal shifted from one foot to the other, his tongue working around his stained teeth. He didn't reply.

“Well?” Isaveth prompted. “Do you want to tell your parents we have a bargain? Or would you rather be shamed out of the neighborhood than deal with a Moshite?”

“Fine.” He aimed a savage kick at the dirt. “I'll tell them.”

“Good,” Isaveth said, and walked past him without looking back.

*  *  *

“Vettie! Guess what came while you were out!” Mimmi grabbed Isaveth by the hand, and practically yanked her inside. “Papa, is it ready? Can I show her?”

“Almost, almost, my Mirrim.” Urias Breck's voice boomed from the front parlor, where Lilet stood blocking the door to keep Isaveth from seeing in. “Just a minute . . . yes, that's done it. Come here, Vettie.”

Mystified, Isaveth put down her package from the stationer's and walked to meet him. Papa opened his arms, and she snuggled into them. It felt good to lean against his solid warmth, knowing it meant he was home, he was safe, and most of all, he was alive. All because of her—and Esmond.

“You have a wealthy admirer, my Vettie,” he said, turning her gently to face the sofa. “And whoever it is seems to know you pretty well. How do you like your birthday present?”

There it sat upon the end table, the most perfect crystal set Isaveth could have wished for. Nothing fancy, or even new: It was an older model with a slightly worn cabinet and tarnished dials. But when Papa switched it on, the music that flowed out was the sweetest she'd ever heard.

“There was a note in the box,” said Lilet. “Only it had your name on it, so Papa wouldn't let us read it.” She thrust the letter at Isaveth. “Here.”

Birch-white paper, smooth against her hands. The
envelope had been sealed with crimson wax; Isaveth broke the stamp eagerly and drew the letter out.

Dear Isaveth:

I hope this news won't upset you (and if it does, I hope the gift will make up for it). But I found your satchel the other day, so I took the liberty of showing your neevil paper to Mistress Anandri, and she was quite impressed with it.

“Who's Mistress Whatsit?” asked Mimmi, peering beneath her elbow.

“She works at the college,” said Isaveth distractedly. “Go away, Mim. I'm reading.”

Mimmi gave a gusty sigh. She would have flopped onto the sofa to wait, but Lilet dragged her out the door. With exaggerated care Papa tiptoed after them, and Isaveth went back to her letter.

She introduced me to a former student of hers who owns a spell-factory, and we showed him how the paper works. He became extremely excited and begged us to sell him the rights. I told him they weren't mine to sell, but that if he wanted to make you an offer, I'd be happy to pass it on. So this letter is to notify you that
J. J. Wregget, president of the Glow-Mor Light and Fire Company, is offering five imperials for the full and exclusive rights. . . .

Five imperials! Isaveth clutched the page so hard it crumpled. That would buy new clothing and shoes for everyone in the family, and food for weeks to come. Annagail could stop job-hunting and go back to school. Papa would still need work eventually, but now he could look for it without fretting over the coal bill or the rent. For the next few months at least, their money troubles were over.

If that seems reasonable to you, I'd be honored to handle the arrangements on your behalf. All you need do is sign the bottom of this letter and send it back to me, and I'll get started right away.

Respectfully yours,

Esmond, Lilord of Tarreton

P.S. I still haven't got that bracelet back from Eryx yet. But I'm working on it.

A smile broke over Isaveth's face. She pressed the letter to her heart, and ran to tell her family.

I could not have written this book without the help of many friends and colleagues, who deserve all the thanks I can give them: Chandra Rooney and Sarah Rees-Brennan, who made Encouraging Noises when I told them my concept for the book; Josh Adams, my savvy and supportive agent; Reka Simonsen, my wonderful North American editor, who loved Isaveth and Quiz from the start; Peter Anderson and Deva Fagan, who shared my journey through the wilderness of the first draft; Brittany Harrison, whose insightful critique showed me how to take Isaveth's story to the next level; Stephanie Burgis and Simon Bohner, who read my revisions chapter by chapter and reassured me I was on the right track; Liz Barr, Emily Bytheway, and Deva Fagan (again) who read and commented thoughtfully on the second draft; Sarah Prineas and
Ishta Mercurio-Wentworth, who helped me solve some last-minute editing problems; E. K. Johnston and Erin Bow, for tea and sympathy; and my family, for giving me all the time, space, and support I needed until the book was finished. I am deeply grateful to you all.