It was like looking at the past two weeks through a warped mirror. Or perhaps it was Isaveth’s vision that had been distorted, and only now was she beginning to see Quiz clearly at last. Hadn’t she wondered about his odd whims and reckless impulses, his mysterious past, his hostility toward the Lording from the first time she’d spoken Eryx’s name?
Though he wasn’t completely mad; he could still be clever, and funny, and kind. Delusional or not, there must have been moments when Quiz knew who he really was. Yet he’d allowed Isaveth to go on believing they were more alike than different, that he’d been cold and hungry as often as she had, and that he understood how frustrating it was to be a commoner in a city where nobles held all the power. Worse, he’d pretended he was helping Isaveth out of friendship, when he’d had his own secret motives all along. . . .
Eryx lowered himself into the chair behind the desk, bracing his elbows on the arms and steepling his fingertips together. “You’re the young lady who was selling spell-tablets in the city a couple of weeks ago, aren’t you?” He spoke in a soft, wondering tone, as though he’d only just made the connection. “Was that how you met my brother?”
Isaveth still had the handkerchief Eryx had given her, tucked away in the box that held her mother’s lake-pearl necklace and the few other personal treasures she possessed. He’d been kind to her that day, and tonight had been no different: He’d given her a generous tea, apologized for the distress his men had caused, and now was talking to Isaveth so frankly she might have been his equal. Quiz had begged her not to confide in Eryx. But there seemed no reason to hold back now.
“Yes,” she said, then added in a rush, “He thinks you killed Master Orien.”
Eryx recoiled. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know. Except Quiz—I mean, Esmond said whoever murdered the governor used Sagery as well as Common Magic, so we thought there must be a noble involved somewhere.”
“And of all the nobles in the city, he suspected me.” Eryx rubbed a hand across his eyes. “But Master Orien was my tutor as well as Esmond’s, and I considered him . . . well, like a father. So when he told me he planned to support my Reps’ Bill, I was overjoyed. I never dreamed anyone would . . .” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
He sounded so bewildered, and so sad, that Isaveth’s heart went out to him. If he’d played any part in the murder, it could only have been by accident. “Did you tell anyone what Master Orien was planning?” she asked. “Your father, maybe?”
Eryx’s eyes flew open. “Great Sages, no! That would have been an unforgivable breach of trust. I did confide in two of our allies on the council, with Orien’s permission—Lady Marcham and Lord Amaraq. But I assure you, they’re both above reproach.”
Isaveth bowed her head, despair welling inside her. She’d been so sure that finding Quiz would lead her to the murderer as well. But she’d pedaled across the city for nothing, and she was no closer to saving Papa than before.
“I didn’t realize you felt so keenly about politics,” said Eryx, leaning forward to peer into her face. “Unless . . . I hope you’re not so terribly disappointed that I’m not a murderer?”
And that was so Quiz of him, despite the tailored suit and the two-reel-hero looks, that Isaveth couldn’t bear it. She covered her face with her hands, and burst into hiccuping sobs. An awkward few seconds later Eryx offered her a handkerchief, which she took gratefully, but he didn’t try to interrupt. Not until she had wept herself dry and slumped from sheer exhaustion did the Lording clear his throat and speak.
“Clearly there’s something going on here that I don’t understand,” he said. “Would you do me the honor of taking me into your confidence? I might be able to help.”
Isaveth was so tired she could barely think, and there was a cold lump of misery in her chest that had Quiz’s fingerprints all over it. Except he wasn’t Quiz at all, he was Esmond—and Esmond was insane. If the Lording didn’t help her now, who would?
“It’s my papa,” she said. “I’m Urias Breck’s daughter, and I’ve been trying to prove that he’s innocent.”
* * *
As Isaveth poured out her story, the Lording’s expression alternated between astonishment and concern. When she finished, he let out a little laugh of admiration.
“I knew you must be brave and clever, to have tracked Esmond all the way here on your own,” he said. “But I’d no idea how extraordinary you are. You and my mad brother made a better job of investigating Master Orien’s death than the Lawkeepers and the news-rags put together. Certainly you’ve learned more than I ever could.”
“Then you believe me?” asked Isaveth, trembling with hope. “You can help Papa?”
Eryx’s face sobered. “I wish I could,” he said. “Master Buldage was never one of my favorite teachers at the college, and I wouldn’t put it past him to murder someone. He undoubtedly had the skill to make an affinity-charm, and enough wits to manipulate this man—Remick? Sorry, Rennick—into helping him.” He sighed. “But I’m afraid it’s not so simple. I know the Healer-General personally, you see, and he gave me a copy of Master Orien’s postmortem. He found no evidence that anything but Common Magic was involved.”
“But what about—”
“The silver Esmond found on his robe? The examiner noticed that too and put it to all the usual tests. It was nothing more than a melted waistcoat button.”
Isaveth’s stomach turned over. The stain on Orien’s robe was the one clue she’d never doubted, or even thought to question. Yet she’d only believed it was charm-silver because Quiz had told her so. . . .
And now she knew with sickening certainty that she could never trust Quiz’s word again.
“It does seem as though Mister Rennick was involved in the murder somehow,” the Lording continued, rising from his chair. “I’ll talk to the Lawkeepers tomorrow and urge them to bring him in for questioning. Still, given the evidence we have . . . I’m afraid it’s hard to imagine how anyone but your father could have done it.”
Isaveth’s heart cried out in protest, but she had no strength left to give it a voice. She twisted Eryx’s handkerchief between her hands and breathed slowly so she wouldn’t cry again.
“You’re welcome to look over the Healer-General’s report, if you like,” Eryx continued, opening a cabinet in the corner and taking out a large envelope. “It’s a bit gruesome in parts, but quite comprehensive. Perhaps by the time you’ve finished, Esmond will have calmed down enough for you to say good-bye.”
Esmond. Even the sound of that name was enough to make Isaveth’s stomach clench. She knew she ought to pity Quiz, or at least be willing to forgive. But she’d believed in him, trusted him, and he’d failed her.
And now Eryx Lording, the shining hope of the city, the one who was supposed to bring justice to poor folk like herself, had failed her too.
“No, thank you,” said Isaveth. Her voice sounded small, but if she spoke any louder, she’d end up screaming. “I don’t want to talk to him. I just want to go home.”
* * *
Once the Lording’s driver had let Isaveth off at the top of Cabbage Street, she ran home as fast as her weary legs would carry her. She’d barely made it inside when Annagail flew out of the kitchen and seized her in a desperate hug.
“Thank the All-One,” she gasped. “I was so worried, Vettie. Where have you been?”
There were at least five answers to that question, and Isaveth didn’t want to talk about any of them. She pulled away from her sister and sat down on the stair. “I can’t explain,” she said wretchedly. “Not right now, Anna. Please.”
“But . . .” Annagail hovered next to her, wringing her hands. “You’re all right? You’re not hurt?”
Oh, she was hurt. Every thought of Quiz brought a fresh stab of grief and anger, and for the first time since her father was arrested, a tiny part of Isaveth feared he might actually have done it. What if Rennick and Papa had plotted Master Orien’s death together, as fellow stoneworkers and
members of the Workers’ Club? What if Rennick had panicked at the sight of Quiz because he’d recognized him as Esmond Lilord and feared the Lording and a troop of Lawkeepers wouldn’t be far behind?
But then Isaveth remembered the way Rennick had stared at her prayer scarf, the loathing in his voice when he spoke her father’s name. He’d never work with a Moshite. And though it seemed impossible to prove otherwise, deep down Isaveth knew Papa would never take part in a murder plot, either.
“No, I’m not hurt at all,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “I’m sorry I was late. It won’t happen again.”
Annagail dropped onto the step beside Isaveth and turned her face against the banister. She made no sound, but it took Isaveth only an instant to realize her sister was weeping. “Anna! What is it?”
“I had a message . . . from the Lawkeepers . . . this evening,” gasped Annagail. “The Lord Justice asked Papa . . . if he was willing to be truth-bound . . . and he . . .”
She broke off, sobbing, while Isaveth waited in an agony of suspense. A moment ago she’d been exhausted, but now she’d never felt so wide awake.
“What?” she asked, clutching her sister’s arm. “What did Papa say?”
“He . . . said no. And I . . .” Annagail sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I don’t understand, Vettie.”
Isaveth exhaled a grateful, silent prayer. “I do,” she said, and went on to tell her sister everything she knew about truth-binding. When she had finished, Annagail looked as relieved as Isaveth felt.
“I had no idea it was so horrible,” she said. “I thought if he agreed, they’d know he was innocent, and I couldn’t imagine why he’d rather go to trial than speak the truth.”
“Go to trial?” Isaveth sat up straighter. “They’ve fixed a date, then? When is it?”
Annagail brushed a knuckle across her cheekbone, wiping away the last of her tears. “It starts on Duesday. And oh, Vettie, I know it could be dangerous, but . . . I think I ought to go.”
Three days from now. That left Isaveth only two days to find Master Orien’s murderer—and one of them was Templeday, when the trams stopped running and every business in the city was closed. Unless the Lawkeepers found Rennick quickly and forced him to confess, there was no chance of stopping her father’s trial before it started. And once it began, Isaveth couldn’t testify, or even sit in the audience, because children weren’t permitted in court.
Of course Anna had to be there for Papa. She was the only one who could.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ISAVETH WOKE THE NEXT MORNING feeling like she’d been drugged—or knocked out with a sleep-wand, which was probably more accurate. She sat up, knuckling the crumbs from her eyes. The little room was flooded with sunlight, and both the mattress next to her and the bed across from it lay bare. Somehow her sisters had got up and sneaked off to temple without waking her.
Which meant Anna had gone with them. And judging by the emptiness of the bedpost, she’d taken Mama’s prayer scarf as well. Isaveth didn’t know whether that was a good sign or not, but her brain was too foggy to think about it. She clambered out of bed and went downstairs to have breakfast.
Once she’d eaten the porridge Annagail had left for her and bathed last night’s grime from her body, Isaveth felt better. But when she remembered her conversation with the Lording, the old hopelessness came flooding back. What could she do now? Without spare money for taxis to take her around the city, she was limited to the few places she could reach on foot. Besides, Eryx had forgotten to give back her satchel, so she didn’t even have any spells left to protect herself.
She couldn’t bear to leave Papa’s fate in the hands of the Lawkeepers, especially after what she’d seen at Goodram’s Wharf last night. But what choice did she have? Everything she’d learned about Master Orien’s death had been cast into doubt, if not disproved altogether. And Quiz, with his bright mind and quicksilver tongue, his knowledge of Sagery and city politics, and his surprising talent (not so surprising now) for getting people to give him whatever he wanted, had vanished like a dream.
The thought of trying to prove Papa’s innocence in just two days, with no one to help her and no evidence to support her claim, seemed so impossible that Isaveth was tempted to give up and admit defeat. But how could she? There had to be something she could do to help Papa, someone else she could talk to who might take an interest in his case. . . .
Su Amaraq! She’d told Isaveth to get in touch if she had any news to share. She’d also boasted that the Trumpeter had a reputation for telling the truth even when the other news-rags didn’t. What if Isaveth offered Su a first-person account of the events at Goodram’s Wharf in exchange for help investigating Papa’s case?
Isaveth was halfway to the door before she realized her plan had two flaws. First, it was Templeday, so the Trumpeter office would be closed. Second, and far more fatal, were the names of the people Eryx Lording had told about Master Orien’s plan to support the Reps’ Bill: Lady Marcham . . . and Lord Amaraq.
Whether the latter was Su’s father, grandfather, or uncle, Isaveth couldn’t tell. But as long as there was a chance Lord Amaraq had played a part in Master Orien’s murder, there was also a chance that Su was protecting him.
Yet whom else could she turn to? Whom, in all this great city, could she trust?
Isaveth was still brooding over the problem as she rinsed and scrubbed the dress she’d worn last night, then headed outside to hang it on the line. Preoccupied, she scarcely noticed the shadow on the far side of the fence, until a hoarse voice whispered, “Isaveth!”
Isaveth dropped the clothespin, and caught the dress just in time. “Morra! I thought you’d been arrested!”
The older girl gave a wan smile. “I can’t talk long,” she said. “Mam’s that upset just now. But yes, the Keepers took me and Seward like all the rest. Only, the cells at the station were full, so they shoved us girls and a few of the younger lads into a little room and kept us under guard for half the night. Then they let us go with a warning.”
No wonder Morra looked so exhausted. “What about your brother?” asked Isaveth. “Did they release him too?”
“Not yet, but we’re hoping.” Morra sighed. “Fear there’s not much chance for Alban and the other leaders, though. They’ll end up in Dern Valley, like as not.”
“So that’s the end of the Workers’ Club,” murmured Isaveth, but Morra shook her head with a vigor that took her by surprise.
“We’re not giving up,” she said. “It may look bad for us right now, but we’ve still got allies on the council, and the Reps’ Bill isn’t defeated yet.”
“It isn’t? When’s the vote?”
“Tomorrow night. We may have lost Master Orien, Sages comfort him. But we’ve still got the Lording on our side.”
Once, any mention of Eryx would have made Isaveth’s stomach tingle with excitement. Now she felt nothing but a dull ache. “Of course,” she said, trying to echo Morra’s confidence. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re home now. I’m only sorry I was off chasing Rennick and didn’t get back to the wharf until it was too late.”
“That’s right! I’d forgotten all that, what with everything else going on.” Morra clutched the top of the fence. “Did you catch him? What did he say?”
She sounded so eager, Isaveth felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps she wasn’t alone after all. “We did,” she began, “but—”
The Caverlys’ back door crashed open, and Missus Caverly stalked onto the step. “You get inside this minute!” she snapped at Morra. “Haven’t you brought enough grief on this family already?”
Morra turned crimson, and her mouth opened as though to snap back. But no words came out, and after a few seconds she deflated.
“Sorry, Mam,” she mumbled. Then she turned away from Isaveth and slunk into the house.
* * *
On Mendday morning Annagail went to work at the college—bare necked as usual, but she hadn’t returned the prayer scarf to Isav
eth, either. She seemed calmer now, as though she’d let go of the doubts and worries that had been troubling her. Isaveth could only wish she felt half so confident.
“Is Quiz coming today?” Mimmi asked as the three younger sisters left the house. “I want another ride on his cycle.”
Isaveth had been dreading this moment, but she knew it had to come sometime. She started to explain that Quiz had left the city, never to return. But then she spotted Loyal Kercher glowering at her from his front step, his sneer even more malicious than usual, and thought better of it.
“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” she said, loud enough for Loyal to hear. The last thing she needed was for him to get cocky in Quiz’s absence. “Now you two hurry off to Aunt Sal’s. I’ve got some errands to run.”
That much, at least, wasn’t a lie. Annagail had given Isaveth a little money to buy groceries and other essentials—including the morning edition of the Trumpeter, which they hoped would tell them more about Papa’s case. A brisk walk brought Isaveth to the local market, where she paid five cits for the paper, practically snatched it from the grocer’s hand, and sat down at once to read it.
The leading story was indeed about Papa’s trial, but to Isaveth’s disappointment, it told her nothing that she didn’t already know. She was about to turn the page when another headline caught her eye.
HEXTER BULDAGE APPOINTED GOVERNOR.
Her gaze drifted to the picture below, which showed the master standing at the entrance to Founders’ Hall, holding his wand of office and looking modestly smug about his good fortune. It was much as Isaveth had expected, except for one detail.
Buldage had the wrong face.
Instead of the little bearded master who’d been so angry to find Isaveth looking at the wardrobe, this was his tall, gray-eyed companion, the one who seemed to have nothing to hide. In fact, he’d even opened the wardrobe door so she could look in. Isaveth stared at the new governor’s picture, her heart sinking lower with every beat.
She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Again.