A Pocket Full of Murder

  “Yes, sir.” Isaveth backed away, bobbing curtsies all the while. “Thank you, sir.” And before either of the men could stop her, she whirled and fled.

  Chapter Ten

  ISAVETH HURRIED DOWN the stairs to the ground level, still shaken by her encounter with the masters. She’d hoped to search the other rooms on the second floor as well, but after what had happened in the lounge, she didn’t dare take that risk.

  Yet she wasn’t ready to give up, either. She might still find a clue to Governor Orien’s murder if she could steal a look at his secretary’s appointment book and find out who besides Papa had visited him the night he was killed. But how could she do that without being caught?

  If she were a real cleaning maid, with keys to all the offices, the solution would be obvious. But even if the missing maid’s position was still open, Isaveth was too young to apply. If only she were sixteen, like Annagail . . .

  Suddenly she knew the answer. She jumped down the last two steps and ran to the porter’s office.

  “Oh, mister,” she said breathlessly, “I’ve only just started work this morning, and I’ve got all turned about. Could you tell me where to find the housekeeper?”

  The porter gave a disapproving harrumph. “Down the back steps,” he said. “But don’t come here again. It’s your business to know where you ought to be, and keep yourself out of the masters’ way.”

  “Yes, mister,” Isaveth said, and dashed off to find the stairs to the basement.

  This part of the building looked very different from the oak-paneled lecture rooms and offices above. The walls were bare, the ceiling was low, and exposed pipes dripped moisture overhead. Only one lamp in three was lit, and the steam from the nearby laundry made the air dank as old sweat. By the time Isaveth found the door marked SERVANTS’ HALL, she was shivering.

  When she opened the door, a fog of baccy smoke enveloped her. She coughed and waved a hand, and the haze parted to reveal a long table framed by benches, where a gaunt, middle-aged man and a stout woman only a little younger sat playing a hand of Gamble. They both looked around, and after a moment the man stubbed out his puffer and got up.

  “You’re not one of our regulars,” he said, though he sounded more puzzled than annoyed. “What are you doing here, miss?”

  “Good day, sir,” said Isaveth with her prettiest curtsy. “I was helping Mistress Anandri in the spell-kitchen this morning, and she said one of the cleaning maids had given notice. Is the post still open?”

  The woman laid down her cards. “That’s my department, lovey,” she said. “I’m the housekeeper. But you aren’t asking for yourself, I hope! You ought to be still in school.”

  “I am,” said Isaveth, “or at least I will be, come harvest. But my older sister’s a good worker, missus, very respectful and clean. She’s got a job in a factory right now, but she’s hoping for something better, and when I heard you needed a maid . . .” She clasped her hands imploringly.

  “Hm.” The housekeeper pursed her lips, sizing Isaveth up. “The spellmistress asked you to help her? That’s a wonder. What have you got in that jar?”

  “Light-tablets, missus. Baked them myself this morning.” She opened the jar and held it out to the housekeeper, who took a tablet and examined it critically. “Mistress Anandri sent me over to fill the masters’ lamps, but the secretary in the governor’s office told me to come back later.”

  “The governor’s secretary!” exclaimed the woman. “Bless you, child, you’re lucky to have got away with your head. Did she say anything else?”

  So Isaveth told her the story, or as much of it as she could without admitting her true motives. When she finished, the housekeeper clucked and shook her head.

  “You’re a bright thing, aren’t you? Clever of you, to smooth down Her Ladyship like that. Oh, she’s not a real lady,” she added as Isaveth paled, “but she fancies herself one. It’ll be a grim day for her when the new governor puts her back in her place—”

  “Meggery,” warned the thin man, but the housekeeper only huffed.

  “It’s all very well for you, Mister Jespers. You don’t have to put up with her airs. But if it troubles your holy ears to hear me speak ill of my betters, I’ll say no more.”

  “So you know who the new governor’s going to be?” asked Isaveth, hoping that Meggery’s “no more” meant the secretary, and not upstairs gossip in general. “I thought they weren’t going to choose one until after the memorial.”

  “Oh, that’s all fuss and formality,” said Meggery with a flap of her hand. “Everyone knows it’ll be Master Buldage, unless the Sagelord takes one of his strange tempers and decides to snub him again.”

  “Snub him?” asked Isaveth. “You mean he ought to have been governor before?”

  “Well,” said the housekeeper, “certainly Master Buldage thinks so, and he’s not the only one. Which is fair enough, I suppose, with him being at the college so long. Not that Master Orien was a bad choice, Sages comfort him, but he was an outsider. So when Lord Arvis named him to the post last year, it came as quite a shock.”

  “I see,” said Isaveth, trying to sound only politely interested despite her quickening pulse. She longed to ask more about Master Buldage, but Jespers was frowning at both of them now, and she sensed he was about to cut off the conversation.

  “Ah, well. The cleaning goes on, I always say, no matter who’s making the mess.” Meggery took a last puff of her baccy stick and ground it out. “Now, about your sister. I’ve seen a tiresome lot of girls already, but I suppose I can see one more. Bring her here by six bells tonight, and I’ll talk to her.”

  “Oh, thank you, missus!”

  “No need for that,” the housekeeper warned. “I’m not making any promises. But Mistress Anandri seems to think well of you, and she’s no fool.” She pulled a notebook from the pocket of her apron. “What’s your name, then?”

  “M-my name? Don’t you mean my sister’s?”

  “That too.” She tapped her lead-point on the pad expectantly. “Well?”

  After her misadventures with the secretary and the two masters, it was probably safer to tell the truth. “My name’s Isaveth. And my sister is Annagail.”

  Meggery paused halfway through a loop. “Those sound like dissenter names to me. You aren’t one of them Moshite troublemakers, are you?”

  Isaveth’s palms broke out in a sweat. She’d never lied about her beliefs before. But this was for Papa, and she’d come too far to give up now.

  “Oh, no,” she said brightly. “We’re Unifying.”

  * * *

  “Vettie, what are you doing here?” Annagail’s face was flushed with heat and weariness, but even as she spoke, her foot continued to work the treadle. “I can’t talk now or they’ll crop my pay. You know that!”

  All around them other women bent over their sewing machines, needles rattling and feet pumping in rhythm. The whole factory sounded like a swarm of angry click beetles, and the air was thick with the smells of dust, oil, and human sweat. If the ceiling fans had ever been cold-charmed, the spell had worn out long ago, and their sluggish turning gave no relief from the stifling heat. Even the horses in the power factory worked in better conditions than this.

  “I know, but this is important,” whispered Isaveth, crouching low so the overseer wouldn’t spot her. She’d sneaked in while his back was turned, but he was strolling up and down the aisles now, and she might have to duck under the table at any minute. “Keep working and let me tell you what happened today.”

  Quickly she described her visit to the college and her conversation with the housekeeper. At first Annagail kept her eyes on her work, with only a distracted nod or two to show she was still listening. When she heard what Meggery had said about giving her a chance, however, her treadle slowed to a halt.

  “Me, work at the college?” she breathed. “If only I could! But they’d never hire a Moshite—”

  “Don’t worry about that. Take off your prayer scarf, and Meggery will
never know.”

  Annagail’s hand flew to her throat. “That would be lying!”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Isaveth insisted. Her stomach felt quivery and her cheeks hot, but she couldn’t back down—it would be madness to let Anna throw such an opportunity away. “I’m not asking you to say anything, only to stop letting people reject you for stupid reasons. Do you really think the All-One wants you to stay in this horrible place just so you can wear Mama’s prayer scarf and tell everyone you’re a Moshite? How’s that going to get Papa out of prison or keep the rest of us from starving?”

  “Don’t,” said Annagail, near tears. “It’s not fair. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “I know, but you can do better. You don’t have to lie, Anna. I’m only asking you not to hang a sign around your neck.” Isaveth’s foot had a cramp. She shifted uncomfortably. “If Meggery doesn’t hire you, there’s no harm done. If she does, you’ll have a chance to show her that Moshite girls can be as respectful and hardworking as everyone else. Two nobs a week, Anna! Think about it!”

  Annagail bit her lip. “I can’t, Vettie. Not right now.” She resumed her pumping, and the needle flashed into motion. “Please, leave me alone.”

  It sounded like a refusal, but Isaveth knew her sister too well to take it as one. “Six bells,” she whispered as the overseer headed down the row toward them. “I’ll meet you at the college.” Then she ducked out from under the table and sprinted for the exit.

  * * *

  As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Isaveth waited by the front gate of Tarreton College. It had been a long walk from the shirt factory, and the confidence she’d felt while talking to Annagail had evaporated on the way, leaving only anxiety behind. She leaned back against the gatepost and closed her eyes.

  What would she do if Annagail didn’t come? It was close to six now, and the traffic on the streets was slowing, but there was no sign of her sister in any direction. Even if Isaveth started back to Cabbage Street at this very moment, it would be dark by the time she arrived. Surely, Anna wouldn’t leave her to walk home alone?

  “You! Girl!”

  Isaveth leaped upright as a short, bullnecked Lawkeeper swung his magicycle up to the curb. “No idling on college property,” he growled. “Move on.”

  Did he think she was a beggar? Her dress was grimy from crawling across the factory floor, but she’d stopped at the public wash-station and scrubbed her hands and face as well as she could. “I’m waiting for my sister,” Isaveth said. “She’s a cleaning maid here, and I’m going to help her.”

  “Not at your age, you aren’t, and I’ve heard that song before. Get on with you.” He pulled his clouter from his belt, and Isaveth flinched at the sight of its red-banded grip—a warning that it was armed with power-tablets.

  Even a light tap of that stick would be enough to knock Isaveth down. Would he really use it if she didn’t obey? Keepers weren’t supposed to beat children, or use their clouters except in self-defense. But since Papa was arrested, Isaveth had begun to realize that the Lawkeepers of modern Tarreton were very different from the kindly, truehearted officers in Auradia.

  “Yes, mister!” she gasped, and ran.

  She was huddling in the shrubberies that bordered the west side of the college, wondering gloomily if the Lawkeeper meant to patrol the gates all night, when a battered pedalcycle whizzed around the corner. It was Quiz, his head bowed and his stork’s legs pumping. Isaveth jumped out of her hiding place and flagged him down.

  “Finally!” Quiz veered across the road, narrowly avoiding a rusty carriage drawn by an even sorrier-looking horse, and pulled up next to her. “Where’ve you been? We were supposed to meet an hour ago!”

  It was true: She’d agreed to wait for him at the fountain in Sage Allum’s Park so they could compare notes. But she’d been so caught up with her plan to get Annagail into the college, she’d forgotten. “I’m sorry. I should have left you a note.” She cast an anxious glance down the street. “Is the Keeper gone?”

  “What Keeper?”

  Isaveth relaxed. “Never mind,” she said, and started back toward the college. “So did you get into the crypt? Was the governor’s—was he there?”

  Quiz nodded. “It took a while, but I managed to get a look at him. He was . . .” A greenish tinge came into his face. “Well, let’s say he wasn’t quite himself. But at least now I know how he was killed.”

  “An exploding-tablet,” said Isaveth, her gaze following a passing tram. If Annagail didn’t come now, it would be too late. “I know. His secretary told me.”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t just—”

  “Wait.” Isaveth grabbed his shoulder. The tram had stopped, and a slim figure was alighting. Could it be?

  It was. “Annagail!” she shouted, and ran to meet her sister.

  Anna must have left work a few minutes earlier than usual, because she’d combed her hair, tidied her dress, and powdered the shine from her face. And for the first time since their mother died, her neck was bare of all but the tiny heart-shaped pendant Papa had bought for her sixteenth birthday.

  “Don’t gallop, Vettie,” she said wearily, and Isaveth faltered: Her sister looked so unhappy. Had Isaveth done wrong, urging her to act against her conscience? But the next moment Anna smiled, and her pretty face came to life again. “You must be Quiz,” she said, extending a gloved hand. “I’m Annagail.”

  Quiz took her fingers and stooped over them. “You’re as lovely as your sister. Sisters.”

  Annagail darted a look at Isaveth. “That’s very kind.”

  Even her eyes were smiling now. Perhaps Isaveth had misread her. She turned toward the college, but Annagail touched her arm.

  “I can find my own way from here,” she said. “You go home and get Lilet and Mimmi. It’s not fair to keep Aunt Sal waiting.” Then she dropped a kiss on Isaveth’s cheek and hurried away.

  * * *

  “There,” panted Quiz, skidding to a halt at the top of Cabbage Street. He held the cycle steady as Isaveth climbed off, then let it drop and flopped onto the grass. “Give me a minute to get my wind back, and I’ll walk you home.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Isaveth, torn between gratitude and guilt. “It was kind of you to give me a ride this far—I’d never have got home so fast without you.”

  “But you haven’t even heard what I found out at the crypt.” Quiz struggled up onto his elbows. “Aren’t you the least bit interested?”

  “Oh!” She’d been so distracted worrying about Annagail, not to mention struggling to stay on the back of Quiz’s pedalcycle, that she hadn’t even thought to ask. “Yes, of course!” Quickly she sat down beside him. “I know about the exploding-tablet, but what else?”

  “Ah, but it wasn’t just an exploding-tablet,” said Quiz. “The examiner found dust on Master Orien’s robe and didn’t bother to look any further, but I dug his clothes out of the bin and . . .” He sat up, rummaging in his pocket, then took Isaveth’s hand and pressed something into it. “Look at this.”

  “This” was a scrap of dark, silky cloth, no bigger than Isaveth’s palm and ragged around the edges. She was about to ask what was special about it when Quiz took her hand again and turned the fabric to show the other side.

  “I cut it from the lining of his robe. See the stain here?”

  “Silver?” asked Isaveth, frowning at the mark—more of a blob, really. As though there’d been a tiny piece of metal pressed against the cloth, and it had melted.

  “Yes, but not ordinary silver, charm-silver. And you know what that means.”

  A shiver ran through Isaveth. If Quiz was right, this could change everything. “Sagery,” she whispered. “The murderer was a noble.”

  Chapter Eleven

  ISAVETH CLUTCHED QUIZ’S ARM, dizzy with relief and hope. “I’m right, aren’t I? Only a noble would use a Sage-charm, so if we show this evidence to the Lawkeepers, they’ll have to let Papa go!”

  “I wish it were that simple,” Quiz sai
d, “but it isn’t. The murderer might have stolen the charm and figured out how to use it; anyone with access to the college library could do that. Or it might have been some spell Master Orien was carrying about for his own use, and it has nothing to do with the murder at all.”

  Crestfallen, Isaveth let him go. “So it doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Maybe not. But it does make it more likely that the murderer wasn’t your father.”

  “How?”

  “Well, I don’t know a lot about Sagery,” said Quiz, scratching the back of his neck. “Mostly rumors—only nobles really get to study that sort of thing. But I’ve heard there’s a spell that can connect the energy from one charm to another, even over a distance. So when you break one—”

  “Then the other one breaks too? Even if it’s somewhere else?”

  Quiz looked pleased. “Exactly!”

  “Which means the murderer could have planted the charm in Master Orien’s robe along with the power-tablet, and set off the explosion anytime he wanted.” Isaveth wrapped her arms around her knees. “So it needn’t have been the last person to visit the governor who murdered him. It could be anyone.”

  “As long as they had access to the college, knew how to make—or steal—an affinity-charm, and had a reason to want Master Orien dead. That narrows it down a bit. I don’t suppose you happened to meet anyone of that sort today?”

  “Actually,” said Isaveth, “I did. Let’s walk down to Aunt Sal’s, and I’ll tell you what I found out.”

  * * *

  “I see,” said Quiz when Isaveth had finished. “So you think this, er, Bulfinch—”

  “Buldage,” said Isaveth. She had no idea what the master looked like, but she couldn’t help picturing the red-faced man who’d accosted her in the lounge. True, the other man had called him Robard, but that could be his first name.

  “You think he wanted Orien dead so he could take his place as governor? And he made it look like Common Magic so no one would suspect him of the murder?”

  Isaveth nodded. “It was a perfect time for him to get away with it, if he did. The secretary said there’d been plenty of people in the office that day because of the new charmery. Besides, the masters all have those loose robes. . . . I can’t imagine they wear them home at night, can you?”