A Pocket Full of Murder (11 page)

“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. Sister
s.
”

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.”

I
SAVETH CLUTCHED
Q
UIZ'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 said, “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?”

“I'm sure they don't,” Quiz said. “Especially in this heat.”

The wardrobe in the lounge! That must be where the masters hung their robes when they weren't wearing them. “So,” Isaveth went on with growing excitement, “Buldage could have planted the charm and the exploding-tablet in Orien's robe early that morning, or even the night before. That way he could set it off at the end of the day, once everyone else had gone.”

“Yes, but he'd have to know Master Orien's schedule down to the last minute and be watching his door like a gorehawk. He'd also have to make a show of leaving and then sneak back into the college somehow, so the porter
wouldn't know he was there. And how could he know that the last person to see Master Orien alive would be such a plausible suspect—someone who had access to exploding-tablets
and
an old grudge against him?” Quiz rubbed his chin. “I don't know, Isaveth. It seems pretty unlikely to me.”

“If you say so,” said Isaveth, a little stung, “but who else could have done it? Or would want to?”

“I don't know. Maybe if your sister gets this job, she can have a look at that appointment ledger and give us some names. . . . Oh, look, it's our friend Loyal.” He lifted his hand in cheerful salute, and Loyal Kercher reddened and slunk back into the house.

“You shouldn't tease him,” Isaveth said, but she couldn't help smiling. It was nice not to have to worry about Loyal's bullying anymore, even if her other problems were so much bigger now. “Where'd you get the cycle, by the way?”

Quiz glanced down at its rusty steering bar, as though he'd forgotten he was still pushing it. “Oh. Borrowed it from a message boy I know. He's laid up with a broken leg, so I've been doing his work for him.”

Which explained how he'd paid her tram fare that morning. “How long . . . ,” Isaveth began, but then the front door of Aunt Sal's cottage banged open, and Mimmi came running out.

“Where have you been? Aunt Sal's getting frantic and I'm
starving
.” Then she caught sight of the pedalcycle and stopped, openmouthed with awe.

Mimmi was no stranger to exaggeration, but Aunt Sal was no stranger to hysterics, either. Isaveth turned to Quiz. “I'll only be a minute. Would you mind . . .”

“Hop on board,” said Quiz, scooping Mimmi up in one arm and plunking her on the seat. “Feet on the pedals, hands on the bar, hold on tight, and
go
!” He took off running, while Mimmi squealed with delight. Conscious of Lilet's silent, accusing presence on the doorstep, Isaveth pushed past her and went into the house.

“I'm so sorry,” she said when she found her frizzy-haired aunt, who was banging about the kitchen in a way that showed she was very upset indeed. “I didn't mean to be so late.”

“Oh no, of course not.”
Slam
went the cupboard door. “At your age it doesn't matter when you eat, or what you eat, or whether anyone else gets to eat at all.”
Rattle-crash
as she wrenched a drawer open and snatched up a long-handled spoon. “But I was raised with better manners than to leave two children hungry while the rest of us sit down to dinner, and it's not fair to expect me to conjure more food out of nothing!”

She thrust the spoon into her soup pot and began
stirring with short, furious strokes, while Isaveth clenched her fists behind her back and tried to breathe through her anger. “I don't expect you to feed my sisters,” she said when she trusted herself to speak. “I'm grateful you let them come here. I don't know what we'd do without your help.”

Never mind that Lilet and Mimmi kept Sal's children busy all day, and gave her plenty of time to ignore her dirty house and lie about reading books like
Magical Beauty Secrets
and
Your Future—Written in the Stars!
The one time Isaveth's mother had dared to point that out, Aunt Sal hadn't talked to her for a month. “Please, Auntie. I promise I won't let it happen again.”

Sal sniffed. “It had better not. Bad enough your father's in jail, though I warned Devra something like this would happen. I said, ‘Devra, a man who breaks rocks all day isn't going to make daisy chains when he loses his temper,' but oh no, she was in love, and nobody else would do—”

“I have to go,” Isaveth cut in quickly. Jory was plodding down the stairs now, and he'd done what he usually did when no one was paying attention to him: taken off his short-pants and draped them over his head. “Thank you, Aunt Sal. We'll see you tomorrow. Good night!”

She rushed out, grabbing Lilet as she went, and
stormed down the steps to the street. How
dare
Sal talk about Papa that way! Who gave her the right—

“Ow!” Lilet swatted her hand. “You're hurting me!”

Flustered, Isaveth let go. “I'm sorry. I just . . .”

“I know,” said Lilet, and for the first time in months the two girls shared a look of perfect sympathy. Then Lilet's face soured and she said, “Of course Mimmi
would
get a ride.”

Isaveth followed her gaze to the corner, where Quiz was showing Mimmi how to pedal. He'd perched his flat cap on her head, and she looked like a duck treading water.

“It's all right,” Isaveth said. “You can have a turn when she's finished.”

*  *  *

“You'll stay for supper tonight,” Isaveth told Quiz as she came out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. He was sitting on the front step with Mimmi, watching Lilet pedal determinedly up the street. “It's only soup, but there's plenty to go around.”

Mind, what was going around was mostly onions and water. But she refused to be like Aunt Sal, too stingy to feed anyone but her own family. “Mimmi, run inside and set the table.”

“But Anna's not home yet.”

“I know, but she will be soon. Go.”

Quiz got up, furrowing his dirt-smudged brow. “Are you sure? You don't have to, you know. I can manage.”