As she walked away from the office, the bell tower tolled for midday, and soon the sidewalk was crowded with workers streaming out of the shops, offices, and nearby factories. She’d never find a better time to sell her magic. Isaveth peered into her satchel, checking the tablets and bottles to be sure none of them had broken. Then she stepped up to the corner and launched into the speech she’d been silently rehearsing since that morning.
“Spell-tablets of all kinds! Clean your clothes, soothe a headache, find a wandering child! Homemade is better made!”
At first Isaveth feared her mother’s prayer scarf would put off customers, as surely as her father’s name had driven them away before. But she was soon approached by a woman wearing a healer’s cap and a scarf similar to her own, who bought a generous handful of cleaning-tablets and traced a blessing sign on Isaveth’s palm before continuing on her way. And not long after, a young mother with a pair of squabbling twins stopped to ask Isaveth about her child-finding decoction and ended up buying two bottles.
Isaveth kept calling and waving until the crowd began to thin, but no one else approached her. Quiz hadn’t come back, either, and the heat was growing unbearable, so at last she shouldered her satchel and walked on. Still, she’d made nearly half the money she needed to buy Lilet’s dress, which buoyed her spirits a little.
She was standing at the junction of Long Street and Ellsley, waiting to cross with the rest of the crowd, when a flash of color caught her eye. Striding past was the fashionably dressed woman she’d seen twice before, wearing a bright orange hat that set off her black hair and russet skin.
This time Isaveth didn’t hesitate. “Excuse me!” she said, running up to her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but . . . are you a reporter?”
The woman turned, sculpted brows arching in surprise. “Why, yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
She didn’t say “little girl,” but she might as well have. Isaveth’s cheeks flamed, but she swallowed her pride and pressed on. “I saw you with Eryx Lording last week, making notes of . . . of whatever he was doing.”
“Oh, yes! I recognize you now.” A half smile curved the reporter’s lips. “The little tablet seller. And didn’t I see you by the Keeper Station the next day as well, waiting for your boyfriend to tie his shoe?”
So she had noticed. “Yes,” Isaveth said. “I was wondering . . . if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could I ask . . .”
The words came awkwardly, as she had no idea how to explain her interest in the details of Papa’s case without admitting Urias Breck was her father. Fortunately, the woman didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence.
“You want to be a journalist yourself, of course! Well, my dear . . .” She took Isaveth’s arm, leading her away from the crowd. “I’m not going to lie to you, it won’t be easy. Without the right connections you’ll have to work twice as hard as anyone else. Still, it can be done if you’ve got the will and the talent. Plus a nose for news, of course!”
“Oh, thank you!” Isaveth gushed, making her eyes wide. If it flattered the woman to think she was an admirer, it only made sense to play along. “But how do you get important people like the Lording, or even the Lawkeepers, to talk to you? It seems like every time I ask questions, people tell me to go away.”
“It’s a matter of reputation,” said the reporter airily. “The leaders of this city know they can count on the Trumpeter to print the facts, not rumors and made-up nonsense.” She cast a scornful look at a rag-boy waving copies of the Citizen, then breezed on, “Of course, it’s also important to cultivate the right sources. The Sagelord, for instance, tends to be very closemouthed, and most of the other lords on the council are too stuffy and self-important to talk about anything but themselves. But even when Eryx was still at college, I could see how committed he was to making Tarreton a better place, and I knew that if I stuck close to him, I’d soon find out what was really going on.” She smiled proudly. “It’s paid off, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. He’s given me more exclusives than any other reporter in the city.”
“What about Governor Orien?” asked Isaveth. “Did you ever talk to him?”
The woman looked surprised. “Well, yes. Not that he was as frank or forthcoming as Eryx—he was a more reserved sort of man. But a decent one.” She gave a little sigh. “Such a loss, really.”
First her father, then the secretary, and now the reporter: They all agreed that Orien had been a good person. Which made it unlikely that the murderer had acted out of personal hatred or a desire for revenge, and more likely he or she had done it as part of some greater plan. . . .
“Was that why you were at the Keeper Station that day?” asked Isaveth. “To find out more about the murder?”
“Naturally. A good reporter always goes to the most reliable source.”
“Do you think he really did it, then? That man they arrested?”
Until that moment the woman’s manner had been casual, even relaxed. Now her gaze focused sharply on Isaveth. “Why would you ask a question like that?”
“It’s just—I mean—how can they be sure? What if they made a mistake, and the real murderer’s still out there planning to—well, who knows what he might do?”
She was talking too quickly, stumbling over her words. But she couldn’t let this woman suspect she was Urias Breck’s daughter, or she’d end up in the news-rags next.
The reporter’s face softened. “You poor kid,” she said. “You’re too young for this ugly stuff. Don’t worry, though. I’ve talked to the Lawkeepers, and I’m sure they’ve got the right man.”
“You think so?” asked Isaveth, trying to look relieved even though she felt the opposite. “But why would a builder kill the governor of Tarreton College?”
“To stop him voting against the Reps’ Bill, of course,” said the woman. “Governor Orien had a lot of influence on the council, especially over the older lords and ladies. If he decided it wasn’t in the best interests of the city to give the reps more power, they’d most likely follow his lead.”
“That’s all?” asked Isaveth, screwing up her nose the way Mimmi did when she was puzzled. “Politics? That doesn’t seem like a very good reason to kill someone.”
The woman gave a little laugh. “I’d agree with you there. Still, I’m afraid it’s true. Urias Breck was a member of the Workers’ Club, a radical group of dissenters that the council declared illegal a few days ago—and Orien had voted in favor of that law. Besides, Breck was known to have a personal grudge against the governor.”
Shock rippled through Isaveth, and it took all her strength to hide it. How could the Lawkeepers know where her father had gone on Duesday evenings or how he felt about Master Orien? Unless they had a spy inside the Workers’ Club . . . or else they’d been watching Papa long before they arrested him.
“Anyway, even if the Lawkeepers did arrest the wrong man, which I doubt,” the reporter continued, “there are some good officers working on the investigation, and they’ll soon get to the bottom of it. In fact”—she leaned closer, her tone confiding—“I have reason to believe that Eryx Lording has taken a special interest in the case himself.”
When Isaveth’s eyes widened this time, it wasn’t an act. If Eryx was looking into Master Orien’s murder—which made sense, with Orien being his old tutor and a family friend—then there might be a chance to save Papa from being truth-bound after all. If she could get to the Lording and tell him what she and Quiz had discovered . . .
“So you see, my dear, there’s no need to worry. The Lawkeepers know what they’re doing.” The journalist opened her handbag, took out a cream-colored card, and handed it to Isaveth. “Now I have to run off to the memorial, so I can’t stay any longer. But I can see you’ve got a journalistic mind. If you spot something newsworthy, drop me a message, won’t you?”
SU AMARAQ, INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER, it read, with the address and call-code of the Tarreton Trumpeter beneath it. Isaveth tucked the card into her satchel and put on her brighte
st smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “I will.”
* * *
After her conversation with Su, Isaveth could hardly wait for Quiz to get back so she could tell him what she’d found out about the Lording. But when he finally returned, he seemed tired and short tempered, and not impressed with Isaveth’s news at all.
“He’d be better to keep out of it,” he said. “It’s none of the Lording’s business, whether he knew Orien or not.”
“Well, you’re investigating, aren’t you? And it’s even less of your business than his.” Isaveth folded her arms. “Besides, Eryx is the heir to the city, and the Lawkeepers respect him, so he might actually be able to make a difference. I think we should talk to him.”
“No!” Quiz nearly dropped the pedalcycle. “Isaveth, you can’t bring him into this. It could ruin everything.”
“How? I know you don’t think much of him, but just because he’s a noble doesn’t make him the enemy. He may be wealthy and good looking, but—”
“Good looking!” Quiz gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, he’s certainly that. And charming. And clever. And he’s got half the city in love with him—including that Su woman, who takes down everything he says like it’s the wisdom of the Sages.” He made a sour face, then muttered, “I knew this would happen if you talked to her.”
Isaveth’s mouth dropped open. “You knew who she was all along! You knew Su worked for the Trumpeter, you knew she’d talked to the Lawkeepers about Papa’s case, and you deliberately stopped me from meeting her!”
“I didn’t stop—”
“You might as well have. ‘Wait, let me tie my bootlace. Whoops, she’s gone.’ And why? Because she thinks highly of Eryx Lording and you don’t? Well, in that case, you might as well give up on me, too!”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Quiz closed his good eye, looking miserable. “I meant—oh, curse it. I’m sorry. I was only afraid she’d find out Breck was your father.”
“Well, she didn’t.” Isaveth let her arms drop, her anger fading as she studied his face. He didn’t merely look unhappy, he looked unwell. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?”
“I’ve got a beast of a headache, that’s all. It happens sometimes.” He propped the cycle against a lamppost and rubbed his temples. “Anyway, I found Alv’s workshop, and I was wrong. I don’t think he’s the one we’re looking for.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, he and his men were building roof trusses. They work mostly in wood and metal, so they wouldn’t have much use for exploding-tablets. Besides, it turns out that at the time Master Orien died, Alv and his foreman were having a friendly boxing match, while the rest of his men were laying wagers on which of them would win.”
“Why does that matter?” asked Isaveth. “He could have hidden the affinity-charm in his pocket and set it off while nobody was . . .” She stopped as Quiz gave her a pitying look. “What?”
“Affinity-charms aren’t like spell-tablets: You can’t set one off by bumping it. You need a charm-breaker, or at least a hard surface and a hammer.” He pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Besides, Alv was being watched by at least ten other people during the fight, and not one noticed him doing anything unusual.”
“Unless they’re all lying.”
“That’s exactly the sort of thing I knew Su would get you thinking,” said Quiz, whacking his cap against the lamppost in disgust. “That’s what the nobles who banned the Workers’ Club want you to think. ‘See how dangerous these common folk are when they stick together? Good thing we outlawed their meetings, so they can’t plot to murder the rest of us!’ ”
“So you don’t think it was political?”
Quiz blew out his breath in frustration. “I’m not saying that. I just don’t think it was some big dissenter conspiracy, like Su and the Lawkeepers do. I also don’t think Alv could be the fellow Master Orien mentioned to your father, because he’s got a smile like a big baby and the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. He couldn’t look shifty if he tried.”
“That leaves Tomias Rennick, then,” said Isaveth. “Did you ask Alv’s men if they knew him?”
“I did. Turns out he’s a stonemason, like your father. But that was all I got out of them before they stopped being friendly and told me to take myself elsewhere.”
“You mean they’re protecting him?” asked Isaveth, but Quiz shook his head.
“No. I just think they don’t like him very much.”
Rennick must have a bad name among his fellow builders, then. And since he was in the same trade as her father, they probably knew each other. Could he be the spy in the Workers’ Club?
The easiest way to find out would be to talk to one of the other club members. But besides her father, the only person Isaveth knew who might belong to the club was Seward Caverly, and she didn’t dare knock at that door again. She’d have to wait and talk to Papa.
“Well,” she said, resigned, “it’s too late to do anything more today. I promised Annagail I’d be home by four, and it’s almost three now.”
Quiz glanced up at the clock tower—and turned ashen. “Oh no! I’m an idiot, I’m dead, they’re going to kill me!” And with that he leaped onto the cycle, hopped the curb, and pedaled frantically away.
“Wait!” cried Isaveth, but Quiz didn’t look back. He swerved past the iced-custard stand, cut in front of a dairy wagon, and crossed two lanes of screeching, whinnying traffic. Then he veered around the corner and was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
ISAVETH EXPECTED QUIZ to drop by her house the next morning, full of apologies and explanations—or at least a funny story about whatever trouble he’d got into. But when hours passed with no sign of him, she slung her satchel of spells over her shoulder and headed to the city on foot. Perhaps she’d find him there.
Isaveth paced the streets the rest of that morning and into the afternoon, hawking her spells along the way. By the time the bell tower tolled four, her satchel felt lighter and she’d earned a small handful of coins, but she was too anxious to take much comfort in her success. She needed Quiz’s help to hunt down Tomias Rennick and save Papa from being truth-bound, and she couldn’t believe he’d willingly abandon her with so much at stake.
Something bad must have happened to him, then. What if he’d been arrested for reckless cycling, or beaten up by a gang of his fellow street-boys? What if he was trapped in a cell at the Keeper Station right now, or lying in a dark alley somewhere, too weak to move?
The thought was too dreadful to contemplate. Isaveth had known Quiz for only a week, but he’d already become a better friend to her than Morra had ever been. True, his reckless impulses and sudden shifts of mood unnerved her, but he’d proved himself trustworthy, and she’d come to rely on his help. If he didn’t come back, how would she manage without him?
Isaveth wasn’t merely worried for her own sake—she was concerned about Quiz as well. He acted so confident, it was easy to think of him as a natural loner. But she’d seen the wistfulness in his face as he watched Isaveth with her family. And when she’d invited him to dinner, he’d turned so shy that it seemed he wasn’t used to such kindness from anyone. How dreary must his life have been before they met that he’d been glad to help Isaveth solve a murder just for something to do?
Isaveth touched the knot of her scarf, silently begging the All-One to keep Quiz safe. But her faith wasn’t as strong as Annagail’s, and it felt like a futile gesture. She hugged her satchel to her side, for comfort as much as protection, and turned her weary feet toward home.
* * *
The sun set on Worksday and rose high on Trustday, yet Quiz did not appear. By afternoon Isaveth had earned all the money she needed to buy Lilet a dress, but she felt little joy in her achievement. How could she be happy, even for her sister’s sake, when Quiz was missing, Papa was still in jail, and the Lord Justice might return from Uropia at any moment?
She hadn’t told anyone in her family,
not even Annagail, what she’d learned about truth-binding—no more than she’d confided in them about Papa’s bruised face or her fear that someone inside the Workers’ Club had betrayed him. Lilet and Mimmi were too young to carry such heavy burdens, and her older sister was already bearing too many. So when Annagail exclaimed and hugged Isaveth at the sight of the money, Isaveth put on a smile and hugged her back.
“I’ll take Lilet to the Relief Shop tomorrow,” said Anna, dropping the coins into her pocket. “And now I have good news for you. I found out a few things about that cleaning maid you’ve been looking for.”
As it turned out, the maid’s name was Ellice. The other servants at the college remembered her as a plain-faced woman about ten years older than Anna, with thin brown hair and a stammer; Mister Jespers had thought her a slow worker, but reliable enough once she knew her duty. But the juiciest details, as usual, had come from Meggery.
“She said Ellice had been married once,” said Annagail, “but her husband died. So she went back to live with her mother.”
If Ellice was only in her midtwenties now, she must have been widowed unusually young. “What did her husband die of?” Isaveth asked.
“I don’t know. Meggery thought it was an accident, but she couldn’t remember the details. It happened a few months after Ellice first came to work at the college.”
Definitely strange. Perhaps the death of Ellice’s mister wasn’t as accidental as it appeared. “Did Meggery know anything about the husband? What sort of man he was?”
“I didn’t ask. Anyway, that’s all I could find out. Does it help at all?”
“I’m not sure,” Isaveth admitted. “I wish Quiz . . .” She sighed. “Never mind.”
Anna’s face softened. “Don’t despair. There’s bound to be a reason he’s stayed away, and it needn’t be a bad one. You don’t know who else might be relying on him.”