The young man nodded, his features sagging with misery.
“And you needed the money,” said Quiz softly. “Because you’d already spent everything you had and more, trying to save your wife.”
Rennick made no answer, but the tears dripping down his face said everything. He closed his hand around the tablet and bowed his head.
So that was why he’d crept out of the meeting tonight. He’d learned the truth about Master Orien’s plans, and he’d been stricken with guilt and shame. But what part had he actually played in the murder?
“Tell us who hired you,” Isaveth said, stepping closer. “Maybe we can help.”
Rennick rubbed his eyes, as though seeing her clearly for the first time. His gaze dropped to the prayer scarf at her throat. “Moshite,” he rasped. “You’re Breck’s daughter.”
Until that moment, Isaveth had felt sorry for him. But when he spoke her father’s name, there was no mistaking the loathing in his tone. “And you’re the spy who betrayed him to the Lawkeepers,” she said coldly. “Aren’t you?”
A keening noise broke from Rennick, like the scream of a wounded rabbit. He flung the tablet—
“Isaveth!” Quiz shouted, and tackled her out of the way. They crashed into a stack of fishy-smelling pallets, which cascaded around them, burying them both.
For several seconds Isaveth lay gasping, crushed beneath Quiz’s protective weight. Then she started to wriggle and push, but the street-boy didn’t move. Was he unconscious? Please the All-One, let him not be dead!
Desperately she squirmed until she could turn over and shove the fallen pallets aside. Rennick had vanished: Either he’d bolted back down the alley, or he’d climbed the fence. The spell he’d thrown at her had disappeared among the shadows, but Isaveth was fairly sure it hadn’t been an exploding-tablet anyway. She pulled her legs out from under Quiz and rolled him over, feeling his neck for a pulse.
He was alive. Isaveth let out the breath she’d been holding, then opened her satchel and rummaged for a light-tablet. She was unwrapping it when Quiz stirred and gave a feeble groan.
“Stay still,” she ordered, laying a hand on his chest. “You might be hurt.” She stuffed the neevil paper back into her satchel, then crushed the tablet in her hand.
Sunlight burst between her fingers, banishing the shadows and leaping up the walls on both sides. Quiz sprawled beside her, an ugly bump on his forehead. The fall had knocked off his cap and twisted his patch askew, and for the first time Isaveth could see his other eye. The closed lid showed little damage, but a red, puckered scar slanted across the socket, slashing from cheek to eyebrow like a cut from a whip—or a knife.
Gingerly Isaveth began to probe his skull for damage, but Quiz pushed her hand aside. He sat up and said thickly, “Where’s Rennick?”
“Gone,” said Isaveth. She hesitated, hand hovering over the open mouth of her satchel, then palmed another tablet and shut it again. Moving like an old woman, all stiff muscles and aching bones, she retrieved Quiz’s cap from beneath the pile of fish boxes, tugged it into shape, and handed it back to him. “But we know where he lives, and that’s probably where he’s going, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, but we can’t be sure. And it’s too dark to chase him all over the city.” Quiz adjusted his patch, then carefully pulled the cap over his bruised forehead. “Ow.”
“Does it hurt very much?” Isaveth asked. “I have a decoction that might soothe it.” She paused, then added quietly, “Thank you. That was very brave.”
“It was nothing,” said Quiz gruffly. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
* * *
“So,” Isaveth began as the two of them walked back toward Goodram’s Wharf. A breeze was gusting off the lake now, cool enough to make her shiver. “Do you have any idea why Rennick was so frightened of you?”
“Me?” Quiz said. “I haven’t the slightest.” But his shoulders hunched and his eyes slid away from hers as he spoke. Isaveth caught his arm.
“You’ve met Rennick before, haven’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She expected anger, or at least another lie. But this time Quiz met her gaze without flinching. “I’d never seen him until tonight,” he said. “I swear. Maybe he thought he recognized me from somewhere, but I’m not sure how.”
“Not sure” was hardly the same as “haven’t the slightest,” but Isaveth let it pass. For a little while they walked in silence, and then she said, “You don’t think I’m right about the Sagelord murdering Orien, do you? You think it was one of the other nobles who did it. Who?”
Quiz stared out at the lake. At last he said flatly, “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
Isaveth halted midstride. There was only one noble he could be talking about. “You aren’t serious. You can’t actually believe—”
“I told you, it doesn’t matter!” He rounded on her. “Leave it, Isaveth.”
She’d left the crumbs of her light-tablet behind in the lane, but not even the feeble glow of the dock lamps could disguise the hectic color in Quiz’s cheeks. He was shaking all over, his lips twitching and his good eye glazed and unfocused. She’d never seen anyone look like that who wasn’t ill . . . or insane.
“You really hate him, don’t you?” she said, slow with disbelief. “Even though it makes no sense at all, you want Eryx Lording to be the murderer.”
“I don’t hate him.” His voice was rough. “I just don’t trust him. I don’t think you should, either.”
“Why shouldn’t I? What possible reason could the Lording have to kill Orien? Even if he didn’t know the governor was on his side, he’s not stupid. Besides, if he was really so obsessed with making sure his Reps’ Bill would go through, why didn’t he kill the Sagelord instead?”
Quiz gave a cracked laugh. “How do you know he hasn’t tried?”
Clearly it was no use arguing with him. It might not even be safe when he was in this mood. Isaveth inhaled slowly to calm her nerves and started walking again.
Quiz followed in sullen silence, and for a little while the only sounds were the distant clang of a ship’s bell and the waves lapping against the harbor wall below. Then Quiz seized Isaveth’s arm, wrenching her to a stop.
Half angry, half alarmed by the strength of his grip, she tried to pull away. But he only held her tighter. “Wait,” he said curtly. “Listen.”
Isaveth stood still, and now she could hear it: a muffled pop and crackle, like wheels rolling over crushed stone. She was glancing about, wondering where it might be coming from, when the square black front of a spell-wagon nosed out of the lane ahead of them.
Quiz dashed behind the base of a loading crane, dragging Isaveth with him. As they crouched in the shadows, the back of the wagon swung open and a swarm of dark-clad Lawkeepers poured out onto the dockside. They fanned out around the wharf, sleep-wands and clouters at the ready, then advanced with silent purpose toward the grain elevator.
Isaveth started to rise, but Quiz held her back. “Don’t. There’s nothing we can do.”
“How can you say that?” Furiously she pried at his fingers. “Morra’s in there, and her brother. I have to warn them!”
“It’s too late for that. And we’re not going to help anyone by getting arrested.” He glanced in the opposite direction. “We have to get out of here.”
“But the pedalcycle—”
“We can come back for it later. Come on!”
Keeping low, he darted off toward the warehouses. Isaveth backed after him, her gaze on the grain elevator. The Keepers had reached the door, and the officer in the lead was pouring something over its hinges. He nodded to one of his companions, and with a single powerful kick the bigger man smashed it down. Light erupted from inside as the Lawkeepers stormed in, and shouts of terror echoed through the night.
Until this moment Isaveth had dared to hope that Auradia’s principles of justice and compassion had not been wholly forgotten, and that the Lawkeepers of Tarreton were only doing th
eir best to keep the peace. No doubt there were cruel and heartless officers among them; she might even have been unlucky enough to meet one or two herself. Still, surely they were more the exception than the rule?
But as she watched one worker after another being dragged out of the elevator, women shrieking and young men begging for mercy as the clouters struck again and again, Isaveth could feel nothing but horror. These people were unarmed, and most of them weren’t even attempting to fight. Yet the Lawkeepers were treating them like wild animals who had to be beaten into submission.
“Isaveth!” hissed Quiz from the shadows. “Get out of there!” She’d frozen in the middle of the dockside, and the light was shining full upon her. With a sob, Isaveth turned and fled.
A shout from the wharf warned her she’d been spotted, but she didn’t dare look back. She dashed between two rows of shipping containers, then veered behind them to plunge up the dark, fishy-smelling lane beyond.
It was wet here, and she nearly fell as her broken-down shoes skidded on the cobbles. The light above her flickered and went out, and suddenly Isaveth could see nothing at all. She flailed at the blackness until her hand hit wood, and she let out a yelp as a splinter jabbed her skin. She could have sworn Quiz had run this way, but she must have been mistaken—and now she was trapped.
Panicked, Isaveth groped along the fence one way, then the other. The Lawkeepers’ boot steps pounded after her, and their light-beams sliced the dark . . .
A hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing Isaveth’s wrist and dragging her around the fence to safety. She had only a second to gasp her thanks before Quiz took off running again, and she had to follow.
They burst out of the dark mouth of the lane into the dazzling moonlight of the railway yard. Dodging among the shipping cars, they hopped the tracks and climbed a stony embankment to the street beyond.
“I think we’ve lost them,” panted Quiz. “Are you all right?”
Isaveth put her hands on her knees and bent double, partly to get her breath back but mostly to hide the tears that blinded her eyes. By now Morra and her brother would be crammed into the back of that spell-wagon with the rest of the Workers’ Club, and who knew what would become of them after this?
“I’m sorry,” Quiz said softly. “But there was no way you could have warned them in time.”
Now that she’d seen the brutal efficiency of the Lawkeepers, Isaveth couldn’t deny it. Still, she felt ashamed of herself for running away. How must it have looked when she and Quiz bolted out of the meeting, only to have the Lawkeepers turn up a few minutes later? Yet when she said as much to Quiz, he shook his head.
“I doubt they’ll blame us, especially since Rennick left the meeting before we did. I’m pretty sure he’s been selling out the Workers’ Club for a while now—that’s probably why the murderer approached him in the first place. He was only there tonight because he didn’t want the other workers to get suspicious.” Quiz put an arm around Isaveth’s shoulders. “Come on. We’d better get you home.”
Chapter Twenty-One
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO Harbor Street had been a fashionable thoroughfare, but now it was one of the grimiest parts of Tarreton, with broken sidewalks, rusty lampposts, and rubbish clogging the gutters on both sides. Every third storefront stood vacant, with boards nailed across the windows in a feeble attempt to keep squatters from breaking in, and even the ink-parlors and baccy-shops had closed for the night. The only lit windows in the neighborhood belonged to a tavern, whose faded and creaking sign read THE SAILOR’S KNOT.
As Quiz and Isaveth passed the tavern, a roar rose from inside, followed by a tinkling crash. They both jumped back as a man in dockworker’s slicks reeled out of the tavern, one hand clapped to his bleeding scalp, and stumbled off down the street. A second man burst out after him, yelling and waving a broken bottle, while the other patrons crowded eagerly into the doorway to watch the fight.
Alarmed, Isaveth started to cross to the other side of the road, but Quiz caught her. “Better not,” he muttered. “Too dark over there. Just walk faster.”
They passed one junction and then another, glancing nervously in all directions for signs of danger or pursuit. The next block held a few more lit buildings, their windows unmarked except for the occasional pair of gauzy red curtains or a battered playing card tucked into one corner, but none of them looked any safer or more welcoming than the tavern. The smell of stale beer and baccy-smoke hung heavy here, mingled with an odor of rotting fish, and Isaveth had to pinch her nose and cover her mouth tight to keep from retching.
“Not much farther now,” Quiz said, taking her other hand. “Once we get to Long Street . . .” All at once he stopped, his fingers clenching around hers.
“What is it?” Isaveth asked, but Quiz didn’t answer. He was staring at the next junction, where a lone spell-carriage, its lamps muted to a dull yellow, sat by the opposite curb. The rain top was closed and its windows were tinted dark, so there was no way to tell whether the car was occupied. But it was the wrong shape for a taxi.
“Keepers?” Isaveth whispered, but Quiz shook his head. He turned, gazing back the way they’d come. And at that moment, as though by magic, a broad-chested man in coveralls materialized from the shadows and strode toward them.
“Run!” yelled Quiz, and the two of them dashed for the corner. But every step took them nearer to the darkened carriage, and Isaveth prayed fervently that it might be empty. She had no idea who was chasing them, but she’d never seen Quiz look so frightened.
Then came the cough of a spell-engine sparking to life, and with a squeal of tires the carriage pulled out from the curb and veered to block the road before them. A second man leaped out, leaner but no shorter than the first, and planted himself on the sidewalk in their path.
There was no escape. All the shops on this side of the street were closed, and the alley to their right was piled high with rubbish. Isaveth dug frantically in her satchel, searching for a spell, but it was so dark she couldn’t tell which of her tablets was which.
“Get out of here,” said Quiz rapidly as the men closed in. “Don’t worry about me, I can sort this. Go.”
“I can’t leave you—”
“Yes you can!” He tore off his cap, his face white and desperate. “Isaveth, please!”
The men lunged. Isaveth ducked, unwrapped the first spell-tablet she could find, and hurled it to the pavement at their feet.
Magic billowed up, plunging them all into a blinding fog of shadow. One of the men cursed and swiped at her, but he missed. Isaveth backed up hastily, groping sideways along the wall until the blackness frayed and she could see again. Her dark-spell wouldn’t confuse the men for long, but if it bought Quiz even a few seconds to escape . . .
A flash of green lit the darkness, and her spell vanished. The lean man shoved a slim wand back into his pocket, while the bigger one seized Quiz by the collar and hauled him toward the carriage. He kicked and struggled with all the strength in his slim body, but his captor was twice his weight, and he opened the door and tossed Quiz into the backseat as though he weighed no more than a sack of feathers.
Quiz’s street-boy cap lay crumpled on the sidewalk. Frantic, Isaveth raced to snatch it up. She had only an instant to fling it after him before the carriage door slammed shut. Then, without so much as a glance at Isaveth, the two men climbed into the front and drove away.
* * *
Isaveth watched the spell-carriage until it disappeared, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. Then her knees gave out and she crumpled onto the sidewalk, exhausted.
Quiz had been kidnapped, and Morra arrested. Isaveth had no way to contact Anna and no money for a cab. Which left her alone and friendless in one of the worst parts of Tarreton, with nothing more than a satchel of homemade spells to protect herself.
Tears pressed at her eyelids, but Isaveth gritted her teeth until they went away. Frightened though she was, she had no time for self-pity—there were too many people counting on her. Sh
e had to put her terror aside and think.
What would Auradia do? Something brave, no doubt, because Auradia was always courageous. She’d also deal with the most immediate problem first and go where she could do the most good.
Where was that? Not home, to be sure. Isaveth’s sisters might be worried about her, but they were safe enough. There was no point chasing Rennick, either: Now that he knew she was Urias Breck’s daughter, he’d never tell her anything.
But if she could get back to Goodram’s Wharf, she’d find Quiz’s pedalcycle . . . and if the spell-tablet she’d slipped into his cap worked, she’d soon find him as well.
Isaveth rummaged through her spells and tucked a couple into the pocket of her skirt so they’d be ready if she needed them. Then she got up, slung her satchel across her shoulder, and started back toward the harbor.
* * *
By the time Isaveth reached Goodram’s Wharf, the grain elevator was dark, with no sign of the Lawkeepers anywhere. Fortunately, Quiz’s cycle was still propped behind the crates where they’d left it. She wheeled it out onto the dockside and climbed on.
It had been a long time since Isaveth had driven a pedalcycle, and at first her progress was wobbly. But the cycle worked well despite its battered appearance, and soon Isaveth felt confident enough to urge it to full speed. She pedaled up the hill to Fore Street and turned east, following the route Quiz’s captors had driven some twenty minutes ago.
Her journey began smoothly enough, especially once she’d passed the last few blocks of squalor and entered the open, brightly lit area of the power factory complex beyond. There was little traffic at this hour, so she could ride straight down the middle of the street, and the light-tablet she clutched against the steering bar made it easy to see her way. Soon, however, she’d traveled as far as her memory could take her. She stopped the cycle at the next junction and pulled out her little bottle of Mother’s Helper.
Even as she’d packed it with her other defensive spells, she’d doubted she’d have the need—let alone the chance—to use it. But Quiz had behaved so oddly tonight, especially after she suggested the Sagelord was behind Master Orien’s murder, that Isaveth had no longer felt comfortable not knowing what he was up to. Which was why she’d taken the chance to slip the source-tablet into Quiz’s cap while he lay half-conscious on the dockside . . . though she’d never imagined she’d have to use the tracking-spell so soon.