A Pocket Full of Murder (3 page)

Yet Isaveth found it hard to imagine her papa doing any such things. He might not go to temple the way Isaveth and her sisters did, but he was still a Moshite, and he knew how important it was for their people to stay quiet and keep the peace.

“Please don't say anything to Papa,” Annagail pleaded. “He has work now, and he's not going to the club anymore. So there's no need to worry. For any of us.”

The tremor in her voice made her sound less than certain, but Isaveth nodded as though convinced. She
turned over and pulled the sheet around her, though her eyes stayed open, and it was a long time before she fell asleep.

*  *  *

It was the knock at the front door that woke her, an insistent thumping too loud to ignore. Isaveth sat up and looked around in bleary confusion, to find Annagail doing the same. In unison they scrambled out of bed, pulled blankets around their threadbare nightclothes, and hurried downstairs, leaving the sleeping Lilet and Mimmi behind.

“It's barely dawn,” murmured Annagail. “Who could be calling at this hour?”

Isaveth pushed past her to the door, went up on tiptoe to look through the peephole—and sank back onto her heels, feeling chilled all over. Two Lawkeepers, armed and in full uniform, stood on their front step.

“What? Who is it?” Annagail caught her arm, but a curt voice spoke before Isaveth could reply.

“Urias Breck! Open the door or we'll break it down!”

“Papa,” gasped Isaveth, clutching her sister in turn. “We have to—”

“All right, I'm coming,” grumbled their father from the steps above, dragging his trouser braces up over his shoulders. “Go back to bed, girls. It's me they want.”

He sounded resigned, not frightened, so he must have some idea what this was about. Perhaps they only wanted to question him? Isaveth clasped her hands together, willing herself calm. Then she backed up next to Annagail and watched Papa unlock the door.

“Well, then—” he began, but the Keepers didn't give him a chance to finish. They seized him, wrenched his wrists behind his back, and shoved him toward their waiting spell-wagon.

“Papa!” cried Isaveth, rushing after him. Her head felt dizzy and her stomach cramped with fear, but she grabbed the arm of the nearest Lawkeeper and hung on. “Why are you taking him? He's done nothing wrong!”

“That's for the Lord Justice to decide,” snapped the Keeper, shaking her off. “Get back in the house, girl.”

The Lord Justice! Isaveth stumbled back, aghast. In Auradia Champion's day city justices had ruled on all sorts of legal matters, large and small. But the present ones troubled themselves with only the most serious offenses—crimes that involved large amounts of money, or violence against the government, or . . .

“Out with it, then,” said Papa, twisting to look at the Keepers. His brows were knit fiercely, and his dark eyes blazed. “If I'm being arrested, I've a right to know why.”

The younger Lawkeeper barked a laugh, but the older
one looked more stern than ever. “Urias Breck,” he said, “you are charged with the murder of Governor Orien, who was found dead of Common Magic last night.”

The blood drained out of Isaveth's cheeks. Still, that was nothing compared with what the Keeper's words did to Papa. His face crumpled up small, all the pride squeezed out of it, and his knees sagged until the officers had to drag him upright again.

“You will be held in custody until you can be questioned by the Lawkeeper-General,” continued the older one, hauling Papa toward the back of the wagon. “If you refuse to answer fully, you may be truth-bound—”

Isaveth's father exploded. With a roar he flung himself against the Keepers' grip, twisting and lunging in all directions. Anna tugged desperately at Isaveth's elbow, trying to coax her inside, but Isaveth couldn't tear herself away.

“Papa, don't!” she cried. “We'll be all right! Just go with them!”

Her father gave no sign of hearing. He kept struggling with the Lawkeepers until the younger man wrenched a sleep-wand from his belt and jabbed her father in the neck with it. Then he dropped like a sack of turnips, and the officers heaved him into their wagon and slammed the door.

“Please, Vettie,” whispered Annagail as the Keeper yanked a lever and the spell-wagon juddered to life. “Everyone's watching. And there's nothing we can do.”

But Isaveth refused to move, even though she could feel Loyal Kercher's smirk from across the street. She clutched the blanket about her shoulders and watched, sick with misery, as the Lawkeepers took her father away.

“H
E DIDN'T DO IT.
He couldn't have.”

Isaveth paced around the kitchen table, too restless to eat the porridge Annagail had made for breakfast. Mimmi was eating hers, but slowly and with sniffs between every bite, while Anna kept lifting her spoon, making a face, and putting it down again. Meanwhile, Lilet had pushed away her empty bowl and started on Isaveth's, though her expression made plain she was only building up her strength so she could fight the Lawkeepers and get Papa back.

“Of course he didn't,” said Annagail, “but the Lawkeepers don't know that, and it's their responsibility to look into these things. We just have to be patient until this is all cleared up.” She retrieved Isaveth's bowl and put it back in place, then slid her own porridge across the table to Lilet. “Vettie, please sit down and eat something. You're making me dizzy.”

“I can't eat any more,” said Mimmi thickly. “My stomach is too full of sad.” She drooped against Annagail's shoulder. “They won't arrest us, too, will they?”

“Don't be stupid, Mimmi,” snapped Lilet. “Why would the Lawkeepers want us? We haven't done anything.” But she flicked an uncertain look at Isaveth as she spoke. Back when they'd still had a crystal set, Isaveth had listened to all the talkie-plays she could, many of them about Lawkeepers, advocates, and other crime-fighting heroes. She knew more about the justice system than any of them.

“No, they won't arrest us,” said Isaveth, trying to sound confident. Her insides were seething and she wanted to cry and smash things, but she had to be calm for her sisters' sake. “They don't put children in jail—we aren't even allowed in court. Anna's the only one old enough, and if the Lawkeepers thought she knew anything, they'd have questioned her already. Or at least told her not to leave the city.”

“Vettie's right,” said Annagail. “There's no need to worry. The Lawkeepers arrested Papa by mistake, but they'll soon let him go, you'll see. Now both of you get dressed, and I'll take you to Aunt Sal's.”

“But we were there yesterday!”

“When Sal hears what happened to Papa, she'll understand. And Vettie and I have work to do, so you'll be
better off there than here. Just be polite, and—”

“Don't make any trouble.” Lilet gave a gusty sigh. “I know. Come on, Mimmi.” She held out a hand to their little sister, who took it reluctantly, and the two of them went upstairs together.

As soon as they were gone, Isaveth dropped into a chair and put her head in her hands. “This is horrible,” she whispered. “If Papa goes to prison, what'll become of us? What are we going to do?”

“Pray,” said Annagail, equally quiet. “I don't think they'll separate us, not with me being sixteen and working, and Aunt Sal so close by. But it's not going to be easy.” She untied the prayer scarf from her neck and veiled herself, then reached for Isaveth's hand.

“I can't right now,” said Isaveth hoarsely. “You pray for both of us. I'm going to talk to Morra.” Before her sister could protest, she pushed her chair back and hurried out.

The morning sun glared down on her head and shoulders as Isaveth ran to the Caverlys' front door. She knocked and waited, hopping restlessly from one foot to the other, but no one answered.

Could they have gone out? Isaveth rapped harder and pressed her ear to the wood. Floorboards creaked inside the house, while above her muffled voices rose and fell. Yet the door remained shut.

“Morra!” she shouted. “I need to talk to you!” After all, Morra's brother had been arrested not long ago, so she ought to be able to tell Isaveth what to do—or at least what to expect.

A long pause followed. Then the door cracked open, and Morra's round white face peered out.

“I can't—” she began, but that was as far as she got before her mother pulled her aside.

“Morra's got nothing to say to the likes of you. We're respectable folk, and we don't want any trouble. Go back to your own people. Don't come here again.”

She started to shut the door, but Isaveth stepped to block it. “Please, I only wanted to ask—”

“How dare you!” said Missus Caverly, kicking at Isaveth's foot. “Morra, get your brother!”

Morra's eyes met Isaveth's, full of fear and misery. “We can't help you,” she said. “Please go away.” Then she put her shoulder to the door, and Isaveth jumped back a second before it slammed shut.

Until now Morra Caverly had been Isaveth's closest friend in the neighborhood—one of the few people she knew who didn't care that her family was Moshite. She'd thought she could count on the older girl to support her, but it seemed that Morra and her family cared only about protecting themselves.

Shoulders slumping, Isaveth walked down the steps, leaving the Caverlys' house behind her.

*  *  *

Isaveth had to do something. She couldn't bear to lie about, weeping—what good would that be to Papa, or anyone? Yet she was so dazed with the shock of all that had happened, she hardly knew where to turn.

Still, one thing was clear: With Papa gone, the need to make money was more pressing than ever. She had to sell her tablets today, no matter how unhappy she felt. Just as Anna had to go to the factory, or she'd lose her job—and that would be unthinkable.

“I'll sign out at midday and go to the Keeper Station,” Anna promised, tying her prayer scarf about her neck. “I'll find out all I can about Papa, and if there's anything we can do.” She kissed Isaveth's cheek, whispered, “Be brave,” and hurried out.

Isaveth watched her step onto the street, where Lilet and Mimmi were waiting. Her chest tightened and her eyes blurred, but she set her jaw and blinked the tears away. Anna was right: Isaveth had to stay strong, for her sisters' sake. And for Papa's, too.

She climbed the stairs to her bedroom, brushed the tangles from her thick, bobbed hair, and put on the hat and gloves she usually wore to temple. She'd need to
look respectable if she wanted people to buy her magic.

When she came downstairs, the Kerchers' dog was barking up a frenzy; Loyal must have got bored and started teasing him again. Not wanting to make herself a target, Isaveth locked the door, slipped through the back garden, and opened the gate to the coal-lane.

The usual gang of neighbor children were playing ticktock-bell behind the houses, and the littlest chirped a greeting as Isaveth walked by. But the older ones shushed him and dragged him away. Isaveth clutched her basket tighter and kept walking.

The lane exited onto Grand Street, where Wellman's Tire Factory loomed with its sooty walls and lingering smell of burned rubber, and wagons rattled over the hard-packed earth. A weary-looking man and two boys were shoveling gravel into the deeper ruts, no doubt hoping some driver would toss them a few cits for the effort. Isaveth recognized the youngest boy at once—only two years ago he'd boasted of being the smartest in their class, so she'd taken a smug pleasure from beating him for the top mark in calculation. But last year they'd both missed more days of school than not, and the prizes had gone to other students. It was hard to keep up if you couldn't afford books, and even harder to concentrate when you were hungry.

Right now, though, the ache inside Isaveth was worse than hunger. She'd managed to choke down the porridge she left at breakfast, knowing she'd need the strength for the forty-minute walk ahead. Yet it sat like a cold rock in her belly, and she felt as though she could never face another meal again. Especially when she remembered the Lawkeepers' terrible accusation—that her father had murdered Governor Orien, one of the most powerful nobles in the city.

Yet why would her father kill a man who'd offered to give him honest work and help him feed his family? It made no sense—surely the Lawkeepers must see that. And it made even less sense if the murder had been done with Common Magic, because Papa had never baked a spell-tablet or brewed a decoction in his life. His hands were too big and clumsy for such work, he said, and there was no need to make a fire with magic when he could do as well with flint-spark and tinder.

Though if Papa had done nothing wrong, why had he been so frightened of being truth-bound? If the Lawkeepers had some kind of Sage-charm that made it impossible to lie, shouldn't he welcome the chance to prove his innocence?

So many uncertainties, so many unanswered questions. She could only hope that Anna would be able to
get more information out of the Keepers, and maybe then they'd know how to help Papa and bring him home again.

A bit of paper blew down the street toward her. Automatically Isaveth stooped to retrieve it.
AN EQUAL VOTE IS AN EQUAL VOICE,
it read.
SUPPORT THE REPS' BILL—WRITE YOUR LOCAL NOBLE TODAY!

She had no idea what the Reps' Bill might be, but the other side of the page was gloriously blank. More writing paper! Isaveth tucked the precious sheet into her basket and felt a little better. There was no telling whether anyone would buy her tablets, but at least she wouldn't be going home empty-handed.

A horseless tram rumbled by, whipping Isaveth's too-short skirt in all directions. But she didn't have the two cits for a ride, so she let it pass. She kept walking past the repair shops and factories, crossing line after line of cramped and grubby cottages much like her own, until the dirt beneath her feet smoothed into pavement and the buildings around her grew tall and straight with pride. Now the side streets offered glimpses of sculpted gardens, emerald lawns, and the handsome two- and three-story houses where the wealthy merchants and minor nobles of Tarreton lived.