“Now that’s settled,” he continued briskly, “it’s time we finished this. Miss Breck, it’s possible Mister Rennick left some kind of confession. It could be that his wife kept it hidden from the Lawkeepers, to spare their daughter the shame of knowing her father was a murderer. But if she knew it could save an innocent man . . . well, perhaps that might persuade her to turn it over.”
Isaveth felt as though a millstone had been lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered, but Esmond held up a hand.
“Eryx,” he said coldly, “you can do better than that. How does she know this isn’t just another of your pretty promises? I think it would be best if you got into that very fast spell-carriage of yours and drove over to see Missus Rennick right now. I’m sure it won’t take you more than a few minutes.”
Eryx’s eyes narrowed, and Isaveth feared he would refuse. But at last he said, “Very well. As long as both of you sit down in those armchairs and stay here until I return.”
“Our solemn word on it,” said Esmond. He walked to the farthest chair and plopped down, leaving Isaveth to take the other. “See? Nice, obedient children. Now you can lock us in and go.”
* * *
“I can’t believe you were wearing a charm-band that entire time,” said Isaveth when the Lording had gone. “Did you know he was going to walk in on us? Was that your plan to catch him all along?”
“For all the good it did,” said Esmond gloomily, but there was a wicked glint in his eye. He dragged his chair close to Isaveth’s, wriggled to the edge of the seat, and leaned forward, beckoning her to do the same.
“We’re not beaten yet,” he said so quietly she had to read his lips. “We might still be able to catch Eryx, if my plan worked.”
“What plan?” Isaveth whispered, and Esmond flashed a grin.
“That charm-band he took from me wasn’t transmitting,” he said, “it was recording. Once I steal it back from him, we’ll have proof of everything he said tonight. But that can wait. I won’t do anything to put your father in danger.”
Relief warmed Isaveth all over. She’d hated to let Eryx get away with murder, even for Papa’s sake—but if Esmond was right, she wouldn’t have to. Of course, the Lording hadn’t actually confessed to arranging Master Orien’s murder, but the record of tonight’s conversation ought to make his guilt plain enough.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she began, but Esmond shook his head.
“Don’t. I’m still kicking myself for not figuring out it was Eryx from the start.” He gazed past her, his expression pensive. “I knew he was obsessed with becoming Sagelord and remaking Tarreton in his image. But even after what he did to my eye, I didn’t think he’d really go so far. I kept thinking—hoping—it was somebody else.”
And with that the last speck of resentment Isaveth had felt against him faded away. She reached out and put her hand over his. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you earlier,” she said.
Esmond turned his palm over, fingers grasping hers. “Isaveth,” he said, “I know I’m not Quiz, not really. But even so . . .” He looked up into her face. “Do you think we could go on being friends? Because I would like that very much.”
“I . . . I don’t know,” said Isaveth. “How can we, really? You’re the Lilord, and I’m just a girl from Cabbage Street.” And a Moshite girl, at that. Even if Esmond didn’t care where Isaveth went to temple, his family and friends surely did.
“You’re not just anything,” Esmond protested. “You’re ten times more clever and interesting than the girls I go to school with—and the boys, too, for that matter. Besides, we make a good team. . . .” He stopped, his head snapping up. “Wait. I think that’s Eryx coming back.”
“Already?” asked Isaveth. She’d thought the Lording would at least carry out the pretense of driving across the city, but it seemed he’d dropped even that.
Esmond got up, drawing Isaveth with him. “One last thing,” he said in a strangled tone. “Could I—would you mind if I kissed you?”
Isaveth’s mouth dropped open. She stared at him, too astonished even to blush.
“Sorry.” He let go of her, ducking his head ruefully. “That was a stupid thing to say.”
“Not stupid,” said Isaveth, finding her voice with an effort. She felt as though the ceiling had fallen on her head. “It’s just that I . . .”
She had no idea how to finish the sentence, but mercifully, she didn’t have to. The door opened, and Eryx Lording stepped into the room.
“I trust this is what you were looking for,” he said, handing an envelope to Esmond, who opened it and scanned the contents before nodding agreement.
“Though if you don’t mind,” he said coolly, tucking the envelope under his arm, “I’ll deliver it to the Lawkeepers myself.”
“As you like,” said Eryx. “In any case, it’s getting late, and the others will be back soon. I think it’s time I took Miss Breck home, don’t you? We wouldn’t want to distress Mother.”
“No, of course not.” Esmond turned to Isaveth. “Don’t worry, I’m sure my brother will see you safely back to Cabbage Street. Because it would distress Mother even more if I had to kill him.”
That startled a laugh out of Isaveth, but Eryx didn’t smile—and neither did Esmond. He made a little bow over Isaveth’s hand and walked out.
* * *
The Lording’s open-topped sportster was the most elegant vehicle Isaveth had ever seen, let alone ridden in. Under any other circumstances, the buttery softness of the leather seat and the breeze tossing her hair would have delighted her. Yet she was all too conscious of Eryx’s brooding presence at her side, the way his fingers clenched the steering yoke as they coasted through the twinkling lamp-lights of Rollingdale toward the darker streets beyond.
She wasn’t afraid that he would hurt her, not exactly: Even if he had plotted Master Orien’s murder, strangling a twelve-year-old girl with his own hands didn’t seem like something Eryx would do. Still, the journey back to Cabbage Street felt twice as long as any tram ride, and Isaveth almost wished she’d refused the Lording’s offer and walked home instead. When at last he stopped the carriage, she scrambled out so fast she nearly fell.
“Miss Breck,” said the Lording, and Isaveth froze. She wanted to slam the door and run, but she didn’t dare risk offending a man so powerful—or so dangerous. She turned back and gave Eryx a watery smile.
“I’m ever so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was thinking about my sisters—they must be terribly worried about me. But I’m grateful for all you’ve done tonight, I really am—”
“No need for that,” Eryx interrupted her. “There’s just something I’d like to say to you before you go.”
He patted the seat beside him, and Isaveth’s heart sank. She forced herself to open the door and sit down again as the Lording leaned back, gazing thoughtfully at her half-lit street.
“I couldn’t say this to Esmond,” he said, “because he’d never believe it. But I think . . . I think perhaps you might.” He switched off the carriage and turned to her. “It wasn’t my idea to have Master Orien killed. It was my father’s.”
Isaveth clutched the door handle, feeling as though the earth had shifted beneath her. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“I blame myself,” said Eryx distractedly, “because I told Father that Orien meant to support the Reps’ Bill—or at least that I’d heard a credible rumor to that effect. I should have known he would take it as a personal betrayal.” He sighed. “I tried to appease him, but he was too angry. For a moment I feared he meant to charge off to the college and murder Orien himself.”
“So you offered to do it for him?” The words came slowly, rough with disbelief.
“What else could I do? If I hadn’t taken over the assassination, my father would have bungled it and taken our whole family down with him. At least I could handle the matter discreetly, so there would still be something left for the rest of us to inherit when Father died.??
?
Eryx laid his gloved hands on the steering yoke, flexing them as though they ached. “I knew Buldage would do anything to become governor, and since Rennick was already selling secrets to the Lawkeepers, I knew he would do anything to save his wife. I knew Orien had been frustrated at having his plans for a new charmery canceled, so I encouraged Father to reverse his decision and tell Orien to start hiring workers right away.”
Which had not only provided Eryx and his fellow conspirators with a number of plausible suspects for framing, but kept Orien too busy to notice what they were up to. He’d gone to his death full of happy plans for improving the college, and the end had come so suddenly he probably didn’t feel a thing. It was the sort of scheme only Eryx Lording could come up with—ruthless and oddly generous at the same time.
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Isaveth. “Are you asking me to forgive you?”
If so, he’d be disappointed. She had no right to absolve him from what he’d done. Besides, until Eryx confessed his guilt to the people he’d wronged, and showed true remorse and repentance, it would be wrong to pardon him anyway. She might not be as devout a Moshite as Annagail, but she did know that much.
“Of course not,” said Eryx. “But since you worked so hard to uncover the truth, it seemed only fair to give it to you. And since we’re speaking frankly . . . I’d like to make you an offer as well.”
There was no threat in his tone, but Isaveth felt suddenly wary. She edged closer to the door. “What kind of offer?”
“Simply this. I know my brother too well to believe he would take my advice, especially now. But you strike me as a wise young lady.” He reached into his jacket, drew out a billfold, and opened it. “If you were to decide it was undesirable for your friendship with Esmond to continue, I believe he’d respect your wishes.”
He flicked out a money-note between his fingers, holding it just high enough for her to see. “I’m sure your family could use a little financial help. Perhaps you might think of their feelings, even if you find it hard to reconcile your own?”
He was offering her a regal—half a month’s wages. Isaveth was so flabbergasted, all she could do was stare.
Eryx must have misinterpreted her hesitation, because he pulled out a second note and held it next to the first. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Breck,” he added with a sliver of a smile. “Though you must realize that Esmond will soon lose interest in you anyway. I’m only trying to make it a little less disappointing when he does.”
His expression was arch, his dark brows slightly raised: It was clear that he expected Isaveth to take the money. How could a girl in her position do otherwise? Yet though she was still flustered by Esmond asking to kiss her, and not at all sure how they could go on being friends without great difficulty, Isaveth felt no impulse to accept the Lording’s offer. All she could find in herself was revulsion, and a touch of pity.
No wonder Eryx had been willing to arrange his old tutor’s murder, if he believed things like friendship could be bought and sold so easily. Everything was negotiable to him, even his principles. But what was the point of being wealthy and successful if you had to betray all the people who loved you to get there? Was it really worth having everything if it cost you your soul?
Isaveth opened the carriage door and climbed out. “Thank you for your offer,” she said as she shut it again. “But I think we’ll manage.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Breck,” said Eryx, “but do you not realize what I’m offering you?”
He sounded not only shocked, but faintly alarmed—which made Isaveth even more sure of her decision. Not because she liked Esmond, but also because he’d been right: They did make a good team. Together, they’d solved Master Orien’s murder and cleared her papa’s name . . . and now Eryx Lording, the second most powerful man in the city, was afraid of them.
“I do realize,” Isaveth said politely, stepping back from the carriage. “I’m just not interested. Good night, milord.”
Epilogue
ON THE DAY ISAVETH TURNED thirteen, the sky was clear and sunny, though the crispness in the air hinted at harvest and school to come. Since Papa was still recovering from his time in prison, and Annagail had yet to find another job, Isaveth didn’t expect much in the way of presents beyond the traditional lie-in while her sisters made her breakfast. But when Mimmi proudly carried up the tray with its plate of potato frycakes and bowl of creamed wheat, there was a little cloth-wrapped bundle sitting on it.
“It’s from Lilet and me,” she said, bouncing as Isaveth untied the ribbon. “We made it collecting bottles. So you can buy something you really like.”
Inside were fifty cits, lovingly polished until the copper shone bright as mage-gold. It must have taken her sisters at least three weeks to earn. Isaveth was about to protest, but Lilet gave her a look so fierce that she shut her mouth at once. It was clear that if she tried to argue, her sisters would never forgive her. So she ate her breakfast meekly, allowed Annagail to fuss with her hair, then hugged her family farewell and went off to buy her birthday present.
She hadn’t been downtown since she and Esmond parted, and even the most crowded streets seemed strangely empty without him. It was hard to believe she’d never see Quiz sauntering up the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets or zooming through the traffic on his pedalcycle again. In no mood to linger, Isaveth made straight for the stationer’s and spent every cit that Lilet and Mimmi had given her. Then she tucked her parcel of ink and paper under her arm and headed home.
No sooner had she started down the coal-lane, however, than she spotted Loyal swaggering up from the other end. Until now Isaveth had done her best to stay clear of the Kerchers, not knowing what trouble they might make for her next. But the Loyal’s cruel smile on his face, and the knowledge that if he got hold of her precious writing paper, he’d tear it up just for spite, filled her with new determination. She marched to meet him and spoke up in her boldest voice.
“Don’t even try it, Loyal. From now on you’re going to leave me and my sisters alone.”
He sniggered. “Who’s going to make me, your patch-faced boyfriend? I haven’t seen him in weeks.”
“No,” said Isaveth, “and you to see him again. But I don’t need his help to make you listen. Because if you bully me or anyone else in my family again, I’ll tell everyone in the neighborhood that the Kerchers have been spying on them and selling their secrets to the Lawkeepers.”
Loyal turned crimson. “That’s a lie,” he spat, but his eyes darted in all directions, and Isaveth knew her threat had struck home.
“Tell that to the Caverlys,” she said. “Ever since Morra and Seward got arrested, they’ve been wondering how the Lawkeepers knew where to find the Workers’ Club that night. Once I explain how your family managed to afford a crystal set, though, I’m sure it’ll all make sense.”
Loyal shifted from one foot to the other, his tongue working around his stained teeth. He didn’t reply.
“Well?” Isaveth prompted. “Do you want to tell your parents we have a bargain? Or would you rather be shamed out of the neighborhood than deal with a Moshite?”
“Fine.” He aimed a savage kick at the dirt. “I’ll tell them.”
“Good,” Isaveth said, and walked past him without looking back.
* * *
“Vettie! Guess what came while you were out!” Mimmi grabbed Isaveth by the hand, and practically yanked her inside. “Papa, is it ready? Can I show her?”
“Almost, almost, my Mirrim.” Urias Breck’s voice boomed from the front parlor, where Lilet stood blocking the door to keep Isaveth from seeing in. “Just a minute . . . yes, that’s done it. Come here, Vettie.”
Mystified, Isaveth put down her package from the stationer’s and walked to meet him. Papa opened his arms, and she snuggled into them. It felt good to lean against his solid warmth, knowing it meant he was home, he was safe, and most of all, he was alive. All because of her—and Esmond.
“You have a
wealthy admirer, my Vettie,” he said, turning her gently to face the sofa. “And whoever it is seems to know you pretty well. How do you like your birthday present?”
There it sat upon the end table, the most perfect crystal set Isaveth could have wished for. Nothing fancy, or even new: It was an older model with a slightly worn cabinet and tarnished dials. But when Papa switched it on, the music that flowed out was the sweetest she’d ever heard.
“There was a note in the box,” said Lilet. “Only it had your name on it, so Papa wouldn’t let us read it.” She thrust the letter at Isaveth. “Here.”
Birch-white paper, smooth against her hands. The envelope had been sealed with crimson wax; Isaveth broke the stamp eagerly and drew the letter out.
Dear Isaveth:
I hope this news won’t upset you (and if it does, I hope the gift will make up for it). But I found your satchel the other day, so I took the liberty of showing your neevil paper to Mistress Anandri, and she was quite impressed with it.
“Who’s Mistress Whatsit?” asked Mimmi, peering beneath her elbow.
“She works at the college,” said Isaveth distractedly. “Go away, Mim. I’m reading.”
Mimmi gave a gusty sigh. She would have flopped onto the sofa to wait, but Lilet dragged her out the door. With exaggerated care Papa tiptoed after them, and Isaveth went back to her letter.
She introduced me to a former student of hers who owns a spell-factory, and we showed him how the paper works. He became extremely excited and begged us to sell him the rights. I told him they weren’t mine to sell, but that if he wanted to make you an offer, I’d be happy to pass it on. So this letter is to notify you that J. J. Wregget, president of the Glow-Mor Light and Fire Company, is offering five imperials for the full and exclusive rights. . . .
Five imperials! Isaveth clutched the page so hard it crumpled. That would buy new clothing and shoes for everyone in the family, and food for weeks to come. Annagail could stop job-hunting and go back to school. Papa would still need work eventually, but now he could look for it without fretting over the coal bill or the rent. For the next few months at least, their money troubles were over.