A Little Taste of Poison (4 page)

“That's too much,” Isaveth protested, but a scowl from the other girl silenced her. Wincing at the sight of good flour wasted, she turned to her own work.

After weeks of baking light-tablets to sell on the street, Isaveth knew her mother's recipe by heart. She leveled and sifted each cup of flour, then measured out the magewort and other magical ingredients. There were two eggs in her basket, which seemed extravagant, so she cracked one and set the other aside. She whisked the batter together until it ran creamy-smooth, then filled
the pan that had been set out for her and carried it to the oven.

As she returned to her station, stares and whispers followed her. One of the girls gave a nervous titter, turning it into a cough as Isaveth glanced her way. The clank of spoons and the clatter of bowls grew louder, and the girl who had used too much flour shot Isaveth a poisonous glare.

“Someone's been taking lessons,” she sniffed as she scraped at her lumpy, powder-streaked dough. “I suppose you think you're going to make the rest of us look like fools.”

Isaveth hadn't meant to show off. But she couldn't pretend not to know what she was doing. “Not at all,” she said politely, and set to tidying up her workspace.

One by one the students brought their pans to Yarton, who inspected them with approving nods or slight grimaces before adding them to the oven. Soon both ovens were full, and her classmates drifted into groups while they waited for the tablets to bake. Isaveth stood alone, watching the clock until she could bear it no longer. She crossed to Yarton and tugged his sleeve.

“Sir, may I take mine out now?”

She kept her voice low, trying not to draw attention, and was relieved when the undermaster nodded. He
pulled her pan from the rack, handed her the hot-glove, and let her carry it away.

Isaveth had cut the cooked batter into tablets and was shaking binding powder over them when a creak from the doorway made her turn. Mistress Anandri strode into the kitchen, robe swirling, and beckoned Yarton over for a brief, murmured discussion. Then she walked into the adjoining room and shut the door.

Yarton cleared his throat. “Time's up now. When your name is called, take your tablets to the sunroom and show them to Mistress Anandri. Mister Ableman”—he bent to pull a pan from the oven—“you're first.”

As Yarton passed out the remaining pans, Isaveth backed against the worktop, shielding her perfect tablets from view. But when her neighbor slammed her own half-cooked pan onto the counter and glowered at her, Isaveth knew she'd moved too late. She was glad to hear her name called so she could escape—if only as far as the glass-walled room beside the kitchen, where Mistress Anandri awaited her.

“Shut the door, Miss Breck,” she said, and Isaveth obeyed before setting her light-tablets down on the table. But instead of taking out her charm-glass and appraising them, Mistress Anandri pushed the pan aside.

“There has been a mistake,” she said. “You do not
belong in this class, and I do not wish to see you here again.”

A chill rippled through Isaveth. This couldn't be happening. Not with the one teacher she'd thought she could trust. “M—mistress? Did I do something wrong?”

“Nothing whatsoever, which is the point. Your presence here is a distraction to the other students, and a waste of everyone's time. Starting tomorrow, you will join Mistress Corto's class in the old charmery. Collect your belongings and go.”

Cheeks burning, Isaveth left the sunroom, avoiding her classmates' curious eyes. But as she pulled on her coat she heard a whisper, “Guess someone got caught cheating,” and her face grew hotter still.

At least they didn't suspect she was a commoner—they thought she'd made a special effort to learn spell-baking, rather than doing it as a matter of course. But right now Isaveth was too hurt and bewildered to care. If she'd done nothing wrong, why had Mistress Anandri ignored her in front of the other students? Why had she spoken so coldly even when the two of them were alone?

Perhaps the spellmistress had heard something bad about Isaveth and decided to distance herself. But it was hard to imagine what—or who—could have changed her attitude so completely.

Still, Isaveth had one consolation: She wouldn't have to spend the next ten weeks making spell-tablets. Starting tomorrow, she'd be learning Sagery at last.

*  *  *

Isaveth's second class of the morning was Uropian History, which should have delighted her; after all, it was hard to make tales of queens and kings and great battles dull, even with a teacher who spoke in a hoarse monotone and blew his nose every two minutes. But her thoughts kept straying to Eryx's speech, Buldage's strange welcome, and Mistress Anandri's unexpected rebuff, and she scarcely heard a word of Master Eddicot's lecture. All she could think was that she had to find Esmond and talk to him.

When the bell rang, her fellow students dashed out ahead of her, heading for the dining hall. But Isaveth's scholarship did not include meals, and all she had to eat was a cheese biscuit left over from supper last night. Even if she could find a seat, it would be obvious that she couldn't afford to eat like the others. So she hung back, leaning over the window-lit staircase of the Antiquities Building and gazing at the snowy courtyard below, until the halls fell silent. Then she found a bench on one of the landings and sat down to eat.

As Isaveth chewed her biscuit and sipped her flask of lukewarm tea, she pondered her next course of action.
Even if Esmond hadn't received her letter telling him about the scholarship, he must know that Isaveth was here. If she went to the dining hall while he was eating, perhaps she could signal him somehow. . . .

“Well, miss,” said a tart voice, and Isaveth choked on her biscuit as the chief housekeeper climbed the stair toward her.

“So this is where you've been skulking.” Meggery's harsh tone was strangely at odds with her apple-cheeked, motherly face. “I heard you were starting at the college today.”

Isaveth swallowed. It wasn't surprising that Eryx had known; he had spies all over the city. But if this woman had heard the news of her scholarship as well . . .

“Oh, you needn't look frightened. I've been told my opinion of you isn't wanted, so you've nothing to fear from me.” Meggery clambered onto the landing and planted her hands on her hips. “But I won't forget how you tricked me, with your lies and cunning ways. I'll be watching, and if I catch you making mischief . . .” She snapped her fingers in front of Isaveth, close enough to make her flinch. “I won't be the one who pays for it. Not this time.”

It wasn't hard to guess why Meggery was so angry. Hiring a Moshite girl without her employers' knowledge
could have cost the woman her job, and she'd only done it because Isaveth had pretended she and Annagail were Unifying instead. “I'm sorry I lied to you,” she said hoarsely. “But I was trying to save my Papa—”

Meggery sniffed. “I'm sure,” she said. “A right little heroine, you are. You won't fool
me
again.” She turned her back on Isaveth, then paused and looked over her shoulder. “And take your lunch to the dining hall. I'll not have vermin nibbling about everywhere, if you please.”

To anyone else that request might have sounded reasonable; crumbs would attract mice, after all. But the way Meggery looked at Isaveth when she said “vermin” left no doubt what she really meant. Burning with humiliation, Isaveth snatched up her flask, shoved the remnants of her biscuit into her pocket, and fled.

She'd nearly reached the steps of the dining hall when a paper dart soared down from an upper window and bounced off her head. “Ow!” she exclaimed, swatting it away. It dropped to the ground and began buzzing in circles, like a fly with an injured wing.

There was no sign of who had launched it, but they'd clearly used magic to make sure it hit the mark. Angry, Isaveth snatched up the dart to crumple it, charm and all, and throw it away. But when she touched the paper, it unfolded to reveal a secret message:

Meet me at the bell tower after school.

It bore no signature, but she didn't need one. After weeks of trading secret letters, she knew Esmond's handwriting as well as she knew her own.

Relief spread through Isaveth, loosening the knots inside. Whatever Mistress Anandri or anyone else thought of her, there was at least one person at the college who still cared. She smiled up at the window, tucked the paper into her pocket, and walked on.

*  *  *

Compared to the drama of that morning, Isaveth's afternoon was almost pleasant—except when she discovered that Betinda Callender, the girl who'd accused her of showing off in Common Magic, also sat behind her in Calculation. She pretended not to notice, but she could feel that hostile stare drilling into her, and when the bell rang she was glad to get away.

In the shadow of the bell tower, with the wind whipping past and little eddies of snow whirling about her boots, it was bitterly cold. Isaveth rubbed her arms and hopped from one foot to the other, wishing Esmond had picked a warmer place to meet. Where was he, anyway?

“Psst!” The voice came from above, like the dart that had summoned her. Startled, Isaveth looked up—and saw him leaning out of the tower window, a lanky blond
boy with a glittering lens over his left eye. “In here,” he said. “Quick!”

Sure enough, the door at the base of the tower was unlocked. Isaveth glanced about to make sure no one was watching, then opened it and slipped in.

It was dim inside, and almost as chilly as the open air. But when Esmond came bounding down the wooden staircase and seized Isaveth's hands in welcome, joy warmed her from head to toe. She hadn't realized, until now, how much she'd missed him.

“How did you get in here?” she asked. “You aren't one of the ringers, are you?”

If he'd really been Quiz she wouldn't have bothered asking; she'd assume he'd picked the lock or a ringer's pocket. But she was still learning what this new boy, the Sagelord's son, would do.

“No,” said Esmond, his blue eyes—one real, the other glass-framed illusion—wickedly bright. “But I'm glad to see you again. May I kiss you now?”

She should have known it was coming; he'd made the same joke in every letter he'd written her, after all. Once she'd got over being shocked, flabbergasted, then embarrassed as she realized that he must have been teasing her all along, she'd worked up the courage to fire back.

Sorry, I'm taking a dogsled to Borealis,
she'd replied
in her first letter, and since then she'd thought of several more witty comebacks so he'd never catch her unprepared.
Not today, I've got the Antipodean lip flu. Maybe, if you bring me the moon in a teacup.

It was different hearing him ask her in person, though, and she had to look away as she replied. “Not until you've grown a beard,” she told him. “A long woolly one, like Father Frost. And you still haven't answered my question.”

“Filched the spare key from the porter's office.” Esmond started up the staircase, beckoning her to follow. “Thought it would be a good place to talk without Eryx's telltales spotting us.”

Of course Eryx had spies at the college. With her luck, Meggery was one of them, and Isaveth would have to be even more wary of the housekeeper than before. “I saw Eryx this morning,” Isaveth said. “He was giving a speech in Founders' Hall.”

Esmond glanced back at her, surprised. “Really? What about?”

Isaveth told him.

“So that's his plan, is it?” His eyes narrowed angrily, all whimsy gone. “He's still trying to punish you for finding out the truth about him. Well, he can talk all he likes about his precious relief scheme, but he isn't Sagelord yet.”

Esmond stalked up onto the landing, and Isaveth climbed after him. The place was far from cozy: just a bare wooden platform stretching the width of the tower, with the bell rope dangling above. But he'd built a rough bench out of crates, sacking, and his own bundled-up greatcoat, while the snapped halves of a sage-charm—a warming-charm, by the balmy feel of the air—lay on the floor beside it.

“Maybe not,” Isaveth said as they sat down, “but he's got plenty of support on the city council, and your father listens to him more often than not. We can't just hope for the best, Esmond. We have to stop him.”

Esmond sighed. “Which makes what I have to tell you even more rotten. Remember that charm-band I was wearing when Eryx caught us searching his study?”

How could Isaveth forget? The magical recording device was their only proof that the Lording had arranged Master Orien's murder. Unfortunately, Eryx had confiscated it before they could turn it over to the Lawkeepers, and they'd been trying to get it back ever since.

“Well, I found it,” said Esmond, pressing something cold into Isaveth's hand. A black, lumpen ring that had once been silver, with a few broken shards of sound-crystal clinging to its surface. “I'm sorry, Isaveth. I didn't think he'd guess what it was for, but he must have.”

Isaveth closed her eyes, the tightness in her chest returning. For four months she'd waited, praying for a miracle . . . and now this.

“It doesn't matter,” she said, too loudly. “We'll get him some other way.”

“I'd like nothing better,” Esmond said, “but how? Nobody's going to believe my brother's a murderer just on our say-so. Even my own family thinks I ought to accept his apology for half blinding me and move on.”

He was right—they needed someone older and more powerful to speak for them. But who? There were only a few people in the city who knew the truth about Eryx, and none of them could testify against the Lording without ruining themselves.

“I don't know,” she said, dropping the charm-band onto the straw between them. “But we'll find something. We've got to.”