A Little Taste of Poison

  Heart galloping, Isaveth squeezed the bulb of the dropper. A hiss went up as the liquid touched the stone, and a thin, rising wail rang out before dying away. Giving her a quick squeeze of triumph, Esmond stepped aside as Isaveth tipped the charm out onto the anvil and folded the ends shut to make the spell complete.

  “Brilliant,” Esmond pronounced, when he’d inspected it with his charm-glass. “Couldn’t have done it better.”

  Little tingles were still running up Isaveth’s back. She had to flex her hands to stop them from trembling. “That wasn’t too hard.”

  “Not if you’ve got the knack for it,” said Esmond, leaning both elbows on the table and grinning up at her. “Good thing you do.”

  Isaveth drew a slow breath, willing her pulse to calm. “What next?”

  “I’ll let you make another one,” said Esmond, pulling a second burner toward him, “while I whip up a couple of sealing-charms.” He flicked three strips of charm-silver into his bowl and bent to work.

  Now that she’d gotten over her initial nervousness, Isaveth found she liked making magic with Esmond. Even though they were both concentrating too hard to talk, there was something companionable about it. Isaveth tweaked and twisted, layering the charm-silver with the other ingredients until she was ready to perform the maneuver Esmond had shown her. Stone first, flash, then the drop of liquid—yes!

  Absorbed in their spell-crafting, neither of them heard the door to the workroom open. Not until a foot tapped pointedly behind them did Isaveth realize that they were not alone. Heart plummeting, she spun around to find Spellmistress Anandri standing behind her.

  “So,” she said. Her cool gaze flicked to Esmond, then back to Isaveth. “This is unfortunate. Miss Breck, come with me.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  DRY-MOUTHED WITH APPREHENSION, Isaveth followed Mistress Anandri into the adjoining classroom. The spellmistress shut the door, then asked, “Did Mistress Corto give you permission to come here?”

  There was no use lying: It would be all too easy for the woman to check her story. “No, Mistress,” said Isaveth miserably.

  “Does she know that Esmond Lilord has been tutoring you in Sagery?”

  Isaveth shook her head.

  Mistress Anandri’s face hardened. “Then why would you do such a foolish, reckless thing? Do you realize that working in the charmery after school without a master present is grounds for expulsion?”

  Isaveth’s stomach felt like it was being squeezed through a wringer. She fumbled for a chair and sank into it.

  “Esmond may be safe from the consequences of his actions, but you are not. However eager you may be to learn Sagery, Miss Breck, and no matter how willing he might be to help you, there is no excuse for doing what you have done. Do you understand me?”

  So it was over. She had risked everything, and what did she have to show for it? Nothing but the four meager test charms she’d scraped into her pocket and the brief warmth of Esmond’s touch on her hand—a reassurance that meant nothing, now. Had he really believed she could walk away from this just because he could? She should have known better than to trust her safety to a noble, however charming or well-intentioned; she should have realized she couldn’t be friends with Esmond without paying a bitter price for it.

  “Yes, Mistress,” she whispered.

  “Good,” said Mistress Anandri. “Then you will not do it again.” She pulled out the chair behind Mistress Corto’s desk and sat down, adding in a milder tone, “Thank the All-One that I was the first master Meggery found when she came to report you. If it had been anyone else, you would be explaining yourself to the governor right now.”

  Isaveth’s heart skipped a beat. “Mistress?” she said uncertainly.

  “Meggery saw you coming out of the bell tower.” The woman’s dark eyes met hers, grave but no longer angry. “Still, that is a minor offense compared to being caught in the charmery, and no reason to expel you. I told Meggery I would make sure you received a proper punishment, and I will. Do not be so careless again.”

  Faint with relief, Isaveth slumped in her seat. “I thought you hated me,” she said—and then it hit her. “You just thanked . . . you’re Moshite?”

  “Privately, yes,” said Mistress Anandri. “I have been for several years.” Her dark brows crooked together. “What made you think I hated you?”

  “Because you were so cold to me when I was in your class. I thought—” Isaveth rubbed a hand across her face. “I thought I must have done something to offend you.”

  “Ah, yes.” The spellmistress sounded pensive. “I can see how that must have appeared. But it was not you I was angry with that day. You should have been in Mistress Corto’s class from the start, but your schedule was altered. Someone hoped to stop you from learning Sagery.”

  “They can’t have hoped very hard, though. They must have known you’d spot the mistake.”

  “And that,” said Mistress Anandri, “was the other reason I had to be cautious. I had already explained to the other masters that a mutual acquaintance had spoken highly of your skill at Common Magic, and that I had seen enough proof to think you worth mentioning to Mister Wregget. But that was as much partiality as I could give you.”

  She did not explain further, but Isaveth understood. If she showed too much warmth to Isaveth in front of the other students, it could be dangerous for both of them. Especially once it came out that Isaveth was Moshite.

  “By rights, I ought to report this to Governor Buldage,” the older woman mused. “Especially since it was Meggery who spotted you coming here. If I say nothing, I put my own position in jeopardy.”

  Isaveth’s breath caught.

  “But Lady Nessa was one of my first and brightest students, and I have known Esmond since he was born. I have no desire to see him humiliated, you expelled, and J. J. Wregget suffer yet another injury to his reputation. So if anyone should ask . . .”

  The spellmistress leaned back, brown fingers tapping her arm as she thought. “You were on your way out of the college when you noticed that the door to the bell tower had been left open. Being curious, you entered, and climbed to the top to see the view. You spotted a strange object on the pathway near the charmery, so you left the tower and went to find out what it could be.”

  “What was it?” asked Isaveth, caught up in the story.

  “A hat,” said Mistress Anandri. “Which you showed me when I came to find you. I put it in the Found Box, of course, but I also reprimanded you for going into the bell tower. Your punishment is to clean the ovens in the spell-kitchen, which you will do tomorrow after school.”

  Hard work, but infinitely better than expulsion. “Thank you, Mistress,” breathed Isaveth.

  “By now Esmond will have tidied up the workshop,” the spellmistress said, lifting her hood over her close-cropped hair, “and found a discreet way out of the college. I will accompany you up the hill and tell Meggery what came of our meeting.” Her mouth tightened. “And let us both pray that will be the end of it.”

  * * *

  Still dizzy from her narrow escape, Isaveth caught the tram home, raced through her chores, and spent the evening searching the Book of Common Magic for a spell that might cancel sage-charms. But all the recipes in the book were of a homely sort—tablets to light a room or darken it, decoctions to numb toothaches or help find a missing child. She’d have to look elsewhere.

  Perhaps her neevil-paper—what Wregget called Resisto-Paper—would work, if she covered the charms with it? If it could keep magic from leaking out of a cracked spell-tablet, it might stop Sagery too. Isaveth hunted through the satchel she kept her spells in, took out a scrap of the paper, and laid it over the warding-charm she’d made that afternoon. Then, cautiously, she touched it.

  No sound—not even a peep. Excitement surged up in Isaveth—then drained away as she studied the ward through her charm-glass and found its magic still glowing. So why hadn’t it made that blaring noise? Puzzled, Isaveth prodded and poked the charm until
she realized her mistake. Of course the ward wouldn’t react to her, because she was the one who’d crafted it in the first place!

  She turned to Annagail, sitting quietly with her sewing in the corner. “Anna, would you do something for me?”

  Her older sister did not look up. “Lilet,” she said, “go and help Vettie, please.”

  Lilet put down her book and struggled out of the armchair, a blanket clutched about her shoulders. “All right. What is it?”

  Isaveth was surprised: Lilet wasn’t normally so obliging, especially not with a book in hand. Then she realized the shirt Annagail was mending was the same red-flowered blouse that Lilet had worn to school that morning. It had looked perfect then, but now one sleeve was ripped half out of the seam.

  “How did that happen?” asked Isaveth.

  Lilet shrugged. “I caught it on a hook at school. What do you need me to do?”

  “Touch this,” said Isaveth, sliding the paper-covered charm toward her. “Not hard, just—”

  EEEEAAAAHHHH, came the familiar wail. Isaveth grabbed the charm to silence it, then looked up to find all three of her sisters gaping at her.

  “It’s an experiment,” she said. “For Sagery. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

  “That was scary.” Mimmi hugged her doll, lips trembling. “Don’t do it again.”

  No, thought Isaveth with sinking heart as Lilet stomped back to the armchair. She wouldn’t.

  * * *

  The next morning Isaveth walked on snail shells, fearing she’d be called to the governor’s office at any moment. But Meggery must have been satisfied with Mistress Anandri’s report, because no one asked Isaveth why she’d been in the bell tower, much less the charmery, at all.

  That wasn’t her only worry, however. All last night she’d brooded over what the spellmistress had said about J. J. Wregget and his reputation. How badly had Glow-Mor’s sales been affected by Su’s article about Isaveth? Would her fellow Moshites make up the difference, or was Wregget already regretting his choice to support her?

  “You’re awfully quiet today,” said Eulalie as they sat together at the lunch table. “And you haven’t eaten much, either. What’s wrong?”

  Isaveth explained her worries, but Eulalie dismissed them with a shake of her head. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” she said. “Maybe a few people switched to Power-Up or Fuller’s Firelights because of you, but they’ll soon switch back again.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because nobody likes wasting money. Glow-Mor tablets aren’t just cheaper than everyone else’s, they work better—and that’s your doing, remember. So it would be silly for Mister Wregget to quit supporting you now.”

  Isaveth had almost forgotten about telling Eulalie she’d invented Resisto-Paper, but the other girl had a point. It was her recipe that had enabled Glow-Mor to lower its prices and increase the quality of its wares, while other spell-factories still had to use dampening wax, which protected the tablets but also made them weaker. Perhaps she didn’t need to worry about Wregget having second thoughts after all.

  With that heartening thought, Isaveth’s appetite returned. She had almost finished eating when she spotted Mander Ghataj on his way out. Quickly Isaveth excused herself and caught up with him. “Can I ask you something? In private?”

  Mander gave a neutral shrug and followed her into the corridor. Once away from the dining room, Isaveth lowered her voice and said, “A while ago you told me Lord Arvis might not be Sagelord much longer. Had you heard something that made you think he was going to die?”

  The boy’s placid expression vanished. “I should never have said that. It was only—a guess.” But his eyes darted away as he spoke, and she knew he was lying.

  “Who told you he was sick?” Isaveth persisted. “Was it Delicia?”

  “No! Not like that. She would never—” He stopped, frowning. “Wait. How do you know my sister?”

  “I don’t, not really,” Isaveth said. “But she’s good friends with Civilla Ladyship, isn’t she? And from what I hear . . .” She spoke carefully, watching Mander all the while. “She’s quite close to Eryx, as well.”

  Mander’s shoulders drooped. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” he muttered. “The door wasn’t shut properly, and I thought they were talking about politics, not anything . . . personal.”

  So Eryx had told Delicia about his father’s liver trouble. But had he done so as part of a plot to poison his father, as Esmond thought? Or had he been at the Ghataj house for some other reason? Isaveth was about to ask what else Mander had heard, but the boy shook his head and backed away.

  “I’m not telling you any more,” he warned. “If Esmond Lilord wants to know what’s going on, he can talk to Delicia himself.”

  Helplessly Isaveth watched him go, then walked back to the dining hall. She was not surprised to find Eulalie still there—except that now Betinda Callender was standing next to her, and the two of them appeared to be having a heated conversation.

  “What was that about?” she asked the other girl once Betinda had gone. But Eulalie shook her head miserably, then got up and left without another word.

  Chapter Nineteen

  WHEN CLASSES ENDED Isaveth looked for Eulalie again, hoping to find out what had happened between her and Betinda. Yet the other girl did not appear, so at last Isaveth gave up and headed for the spell-kitchen.

  The main room stood empty, with only a few battered tools and a half-empty box of scouring powder to greet her—Meggery’s way of making her task as unpleasant as possible, no doubt. Sighing, Isaveth filled a bucket, tied on an apron and kerchief, and set to work.

  She’d thought to clean the dirtiest oven first, but they were both so crusted with black grime that there was little to choose between them. Isaveth had her head and shoulders well inside and was scraping away when someone spoke her name, and she startled so violently she cracked her head on the roof of the oven. “Ow!”

  “Sorry!” Esmond helped her out and pulled up a chair for her. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

  He looked so contrite that Isaveth nearly forgave him at once. But then she remembered yesterday and hardened. “No, I’m not,” she said. “You almost got me expelled. What are you doing here?”

  Esmond leaned back against the worktop, crossing his long legs at the ankle. “I left you a note at lunchtime, but you didn’t come to the bell tower. I had to ask Mistress Anandri where you were.”

  “And she told you to stay away from me, no doubt,” said Isaveth. She knelt by the oven again, digging at a stubborn lump of char with the metal scraper. The box of scouring powder bore the slogan, “Works like Magic!” but so far it wasn’t doing much at all. She’d be here all night at this rate.

  “Actually,” said Esmond, “she asked me to give you these.”

  He tossed a pair of wrapped disks in front of Isaveth, each the size and thickness of her palm. She’d never used one before, but she knew what they were—industrial-grade cleaning tablets, magically enhanced and more effective than any powder. She frowned up at him, uncomprehending.

  “And I made you a few more charms to practice on, if that helps any,” Esmond continued, digging a handful out of his pocket and dropping them onto the counter. “We might even have time for an experiment or two, unless you’d rather clean ovens. Do you know how those soap things work?”

  A few minutes later, a tablet was foaming away behind each oven door, and Isaveth was telling Esmond about the trouble she’d been having with Eryx’s sage-charms. “I couldn’t find anything useful in the Book of Common Magic,” she said as she sat beside him on the countertop, waiting for the grime inside the ovens to soften. “And the school library was no help either. Do you think Mistress Anandri might have some more Common Magic recipes I could try?”

  “I don’t know,” said Esmond, hopping off the counter. “Let’s look around and find out.”

  A search through the kitchen cupboards yielded nothing
of interest—only mixing bowls, canisters of flour, and other basic spell-baking supplies little different from what Isaveth had at home. The only books she found were a few battered editions of Spell-Baking for Beginners, and those were no use at all.

  “Nothing here,” she said glumly as she shut the pantry door—then glanced about in surprise as she realized Esmond was no longer there. She was about to call his name when he leaned out the door of the adjoining room, beckoning her to join him.

  Had he gone mad? That was the sunroom, glass-roofed and lined with windows on three sides. Isaveth shook her head and backed away.

  “It’s all right,” said Esmond. “The glass is privacy-charmed, so people outside can’t see us. Well, unless they come right up to the window, but I don’t think that’s likely with all this snow.”

  Reassured, Isaveth followed him into the sunroom. There, inside the cabinet, stood a full shelf of books on Common Magic. With Esmond’s help she carried a pile back to the kitchen and sat down at the table to examine them.

  The first few volumes were pure theory, comparing Common Magic and Sagery in language so abstruse she could barely understand a word of it. Others chronicled the history of Common Magic over the centuries, but Isaveth had more urgent concerns in mind. She kept on, leafing through each book and pushing it aside, until at last she came to a small, handwritten volume bound in cracked leather. It was a journal, its first entry dated nearly a hundred years ago.

  Once she’d puzzled through the first few pages of crabbed writing, Isaveth realized she’d found a treasure: the diary of a Moshite country-mage, a woman who had spent her life seeking out herbs, roots, and fungi with magical properties and cooking them into spells. Some of the recipes were similar to those in the Book of Common Magic, but others surprised her. Had this woman really invented a decoction that could cure warts overnight?

  She was still reading when Esmond cleared his throat. “Not to rush you,” he said, “but it’s getting late, don’t you think?”