A Pocket Full of Murder (6 page)

“Otsik?” exclaimed Isaveth, delighted. “Was it really? But didn't he sail to Borealis to make a treaty with the Senguq tribe?”

Lilet groaned, but Quiz ignored her. “Of course. That's why Auradia wasn't expecting him.”

“So what did he say?”

“Tune in next week,” Quiz intoned, “for another thrilling episode of
Auradia Champion, Lady Justice of Listerbroke
!” And he whistled the closing theme in the sweet, liquid tones of a bird.

Mimmi's eyes grew round. “Teach me to do that.”

“Don't be a gobblewit, Mimmi,” said Lilet. “That would take ages. And he doesn't live around here.”

“Where do you live, then?”

Quiz shrugged, as though he were embarrassed to
answer. And judging by his thin frame and ill-fitting clothes, the truth was probably uglier than Mimmi's innocence could bear. “It's not polite to ask personal questions,” Isaveth said hastily. “Now into the house, both of you, and set the table.”

Lilet pushed past them and headed up the steps at once. But Mimmi lingered, gazing wistfully at Quiz. “Can't I ask
one
question?”

Quiz squatted next to Mimmi. “Go on,” he said in a low, conspiratorial tone. “It'll be our secret. What is it?”

“Have you ever been to jail?”

“Mimmi!” exclaimed Isaveth in horror, but her sister kept talking.

“Because my papa got taken to jail this morning, and we don't know how to get him out. Do you?”

Quiz stood up slowly, gazing down at Mimmi's tousled head. “No,” he said at last. “I've never been to jail. I'm sorry.”

Mimmi sighed. “Oh well.” And she ran into the house, leaving Isaveth and Quiz alone.

Isaveth's cheeks felt hot, and her eyes were stinging. She couldn't bear to look at the boy beside her, couldn't think of what to say. There was an awkward silence, and then Quiz said, “You really have had the worst day, haven't you?”

That startled a laugh out of her, though it broke in the middle and she had to put a hand over her mouth to stop it. She walked to the steps and sat down, and after a moment Quiz followed. “Do you mind if I ask . . . ,” he began, but Isaveth shook her head.

“I don't want to talk about it,” she said. “Please don't.”

Quiz nodded. He picked a twig off the step and turned it over in his fingers, then said in a more casual tone, “Your sisters are charming. Are there just the three of you?”

“There's my older sister, Annagail,” said Isaveth. “She's sixteen. What about you? Do you have any family?”

Quiz's face took on a pinched, unhappy look. “None that matters,” he said. “None like yours.”

Isaveth had suspected as much. He must be one of the many orphaned, neglected, and outcast boys who'd been forced to live on the streets, foraging and thieving to survive. Yet his speech hinted he'd gone to a good school once, and despite the dirt and patches, his clothes were better made than Isaveth's. There was a story here, but she didn't need to ask for details. He wouldn't be the first merchant's or banker's son to see his father's business fall to ruin and his home turn into a black pit of despair and drink.

“Well,” she said with an effort at cheerfulness, “thanks for
telling me about Auradia. And . . . for scaring off Loyal, too.”

“It wasn't all me,” said Quiz. “What you did with those tablets was pretty clever. I'd never have thought of using Common Magic to defend myself like that.” He shot her a curious glance. “Did you make the spells yourself?”

A blush rose to Isaveth's cheeks, but she nodded.

“You've real talent, then. You ought to keep it up.” Quiz swept his blond fringe back and tugged his cap over it, then stood up. “So . . . I'm forgiven, then? You won't gnash your teeth at me the next time I say hello?”

There probably wouldn't be a next time—Tarreton was a big city. But the mental image made Isaveth smile. “I wouldn't know how to gnash my teeth if I tried,” she said. “And I'll bet you don't, either.”

“Hm.” Quiz gripped his jaw and worked it up and down. “Gnash, gnash. No, you're right, that's silly.”

Isaveth burst out laughing. “Oh, go away! I have to make supper.” Even if all she could do was cut her squashed loaf into pieces, scrape the soggy mess off the bottom of the bag, and dump it all together in a pan. She'd have plenty of lint and bits of shell to pick out, but she couldn't let all those eggs go to waste. “Good-bye, Quiz.”

“Wait!” he called as she turned to leave. “You never told me your name!”

She paused, her hand on the door. “It's Isaveth.”

“Isaveth.” He repeated it softly, as though it were a wonder. “Well, good night, then . . . Isaveth.” He touched his cap to her and ambled off up the street.

Isaveth stood in the doorway a moment, watching him go. Then, with a rueful shake of her head, she gathered up her packages and went inside.

*  *  *

The last few pieces of egg-bread were sizzling on the stove top when Annagail came home from the factory. “You've been waiting for me?” she exclaimed. “Oh, Vettie, you shouldn't have.”

“It's all right,” said Isaveth. “We only got home a few minutes ago. Sit down and I'll get you a cup of tea.”

Annagail pulled out a chair, and Mimmi climbed up beside her. “Did you see Papa?”

“I went to the station,” said Anna with a sigh, “but I didn't see him.” Then her gaze focused on Mimmi, and she managed a smile. “I'm sure he'll be fine, though. The man at the desk said they've put their best officers on the case. And he promised to let us know if there's anything we can do.”

Isaveth had hoped for better news, but then, her father had been arrested only that morning. Even Auradia Champion couldn't have solved the murder and cleared Papa's name so quickly.

“Do you want two pieces of egg-bread or three?” Isaveth asked. “There's plenty.”

Annagail blinked at the mention of eggs, but then she shook her head. “Only one, please. I'm not hungry.”

Isaveth went still. For one moment her sister's voice had been a perfect echo of their mother's. And Mama's illness had begun the same way: fatigue and loss of appetite. “You . . . you're sure?”

“Vettie, don't look like that. I'm fine. It was just so hot in the factory today, I can hardly stand to think of eating.” Annagail sighed. “I wish fairweather season were over—it's been more like
fire
weather this year.”

“I don't,” said Mimmi, kicking her feet back and forth. “Harvest means school.”

“It wouldn't if you lived on a farm,” Lilet pointed out. “Then you wouldn't have to go until fallowtime. And you'd have eggs to eat every day. Ones that aren't smashed up.”

Not long ago Lilet had read a book about an orphan girl who had gone to live with farm folk, and ever since then she'd been set on moving to the country. Isaveth had tried to explain that the farms were all owned by fieldlords who took most of the produce for themselves and that farm life was even harder than life in the city, but Lilet remained stubbornly unconvinced.

“It wasn't Vettie's fault the eggs got smashed,” Mimmi said. “It was that Loyal Kercher.” She made a face. “He's horrible. I hate him.”

“Loyal?” Annagail's brow furrowed in distress. “But he used to be such a sweet boy. Don't you remember him bringing me wildflowers after I broke my ankle?”

“He was probably trying to find out why you hadn't left the house,” said Lilet. “The Kerchers are a lot of dirty spies.”

“Lilet!”

“Well, it's true. And they hate us for being Moshite, even though they never go anywhere on Templeday themselves. They hate everybody who isn't as mean and miserable as they are.”

Annagail cast an imploring look at Isaveth, who busied herself serving the egg-bread and pretended not to notice. It was her older sister's nature to see good in everyone, but for once Isaveth agreed with Lilet. Loyal deserved every bit of the thumping Quiz had given him, and when she remembered how he'd fallen on her fire-tablet . . .

“Why are you smiling?” asked Lilet suspiciously.

“It's nothing,” said Isaveth. “I was just thinking of something Quiz said.”

“Quiz?” asked Annagail, and then of course Isaveth
had to explain. It was the first time she'd told the full story, and by the time she finished, even Lilet looked impressed.

“You never told us you'd met Eryx Lording,” she said. “It's not fair you were out having adventures in the city while Mimmi and I were stuck with a bunch of babies at Aunt Sal's.”

“Jory's not a baby,” said Mimmi, indignant. “He's seven. That's almost as old as me.”

“He might as well be a baby, for all the use he is,” Lilet retorted. “Aunt Sal never makes him do anything.”

“It's not his fault he was born slow! He's a good boy. You're mean.”

“Enough, both of you. It's time to eat.” Annagail untied her prayer scarf and draped it over her head and shoulders, then took up the flint-spark Isaveth had left on the table. “With this light we thank the All-One,” she said, lighting the first blessing candle. “Giver of life, provider of bread, hope of the world to come.”

“We are thankful,” the younger girls chorused, but Mimmi pinched Lilet as she said it, and Lilet kicked her in return. “Ow!”

“And with this,” Annagail went on loudly as she lit the second, “we remember Moshiel, our guide . . . girls,
stop it
.” She pulled off the scarf and dropped
back into her seat. “I can't even say a blessing in this house anymore.”

Isaveth slid a plate of egg-bread in front of her. “You should be ashamed,” she told Lilet and Mimmi. “What would Papa say if he could see you now?”

Which was cruel, and it hurt her even to say it, but it worked. Her younger sisters looked guiltily at each other, and Lilet sat down without another word.

I
F IT HAD BEEN WARM
in the kitchen, it was even hotter in the narrow, slope-ceilinged bedroom that Isaveth shared with all three of her sisters. There was no space for a desk and chair, only the two beds and a battered trunk that held nearly everything they owned. But Isaveth had a solution to that problem. She dragged the trunk to the window, then slipped a rectangle of stiff board from under her mattress and laid it across her knees as she sat down. With the far edge braced against the window frame, it was almost a proper writing desk. Isaveth smoothed the leaflet she'd picked up on the street, turned it to the blank side, and began to write.

She'd meant to make a list of all the things she knew about Papa's case and his relationship with the late Master Orien. Especially what he'd told her and Annagail about the governor offering him a job, and how he'd given
up his old grudge against him. But she'd written only a couple of lines before she realized there was no way to prove either of those things. Unless they could find a witness to her father's private conversation with Orien, there was no reason for the Lawkeepers to believe Papa was telling the truth.

So what
did
Papa have in his favor? Four daughters who loved and believed in him, and a reputation for hard work and honest dealing? Put that way, it didn't amount to much. Especially if it came out that Papa was a member of the Workers' Club and had taken part in protests against the government. That he really was what Loyal had called him . . . though to the Kerchers and most other people “dissenter” was just another way of saying “Moshite.”

It didn't seem fair to Isaveth that her family should be judged for something their ancestors had done centuries ago, especially since it was no worse than what the various sects that now made up the Unifying Church had done at the same time. They'd all rebelled against the Arcan Temple, with its elaborate, lore-based rituals and charms that only the wealthy could afford, and demanded the right to practice Common Magic and worship as they saw fit. And in the end they'd got what they wanted, but only by agreeing to band together and sign a pact with the Arcans.

The Moshites, however, had refused, saying the treaty went against their beliefs . . . and they'd been feared and despised for it ever since. Even once their leaders were executed, their meeting halls burned, and their traditional day of worship struck from the calendar to enforce one Templeday for all, many still saw the followers of Moshiel as a threat.

But these days most Sagelords allowed Moshites to live and worship freely as long as they kept the peace, and the Lawkeepers were supposed to be above prejudice. That was one of the reforms Auradia had brought to her thirty-year term as Lady Justice, first of the city of Listerbroke and later of the whole province of Upper Colonia. Keepers were sworn to treat all citizens equally and judge them by the same standards, even Moshites.

But would they?

Isaveth stared distractedly out the window, twiddling her lead-point. Then she rubbed out her first few lines and started over.

“Help me, Lady!” pleaded a voice, and Auradia turned to see a young girl with soulful eyes and dark, bobbed hair standing behind her, hands clasped in supplication. “They've taken my papa
to prison, but I swear to you, he's innocent!”

Moved with compassion, Auradia took out a handkerchief and dried the girl's tears. “Tell me your story,” she said. “If my Lawkeepers have acted unjustly, I promise to make it right.”

*  *  *

After seeing Annagail off to work and her sisters to Aunt Sal's the next morning, Isaveth counted her remaining spell-tablets and decided she'd soon have to bake more—and find something better to wrap them in. Especially the fire-tablets, for if they broke, tissue paper could do nothing to stop them from bursting into flame. If only she could find some way to protect them that wouldn't affect their potency, yet would be cheap and simple to make. . . .