A Little Taste of Poison (26 page)

“If I did,” Mander shot back, “I'd have told
your brother
when I saw you talking to Isaveth in the library. But she asked me not to, so I didn't.”

So he did have a spine after all. “Good for you,” said Esmond. “Tell me about Betinda.”

Mander glanced at Eulalie, who gave him an encouraging nod. Then he adjusted his spectacles, cleared his throat, and explained how he had ended up sitting behind Isaveth in Calculation. His voice was level, but
Esmond saw the spark of anger in the boy's eyes and felt his own fury rising to match it.

“I'm a fool,” Esmond said bitterly, when Mander had finished. “I knew it wasn't easy for her after Su wrote that article, but I didn't realize they'd turned on her so soon.” He slid his fingers under his half glass, pressing away a twinge of headache. “Why would they single Isaveth out even before they knew she was Moshite? And why would anyone hate her enough to do
this
?”

A gloomy silence descended over the table, until Eulalie spoke. “Paskin danced three times with Betinda at your sister's ball,” she pointed out. “And they've been seeing a lot of each other since.”

Tadeus Paskin. The boy who, according to Eulalie, resented Isaveth for winning the Glow-Mor scholarship and spoiling his five-regal bet. There was more to it, though; there had to be. “Paskin,” muttered Esmond. “Why is that name familiar? Who are his parents?”

“His mother's a shipping heiress, I think,” said Eulalie. “And they own some sort of spell-factory. . . .”

“Power-Up!” Esmond's fist thumped the table. The librarian popped up, ready to scold him, but he was already halfway to the door.

“Where are you going?” Eulalie asked, running after him. “Can we come?”

Mander had followed as well. Esmond looked from the boy's sober face to the girl's eager one and shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said. He needed to think about what he'd just learned, collect some more pieces of the puzzle . . . and one of those pieces, he suspected, would be waiting under a loose brick in Sage Allum's Park. “When I need you, I'll let you know.”

*  *  *

Isaveth gaped at Mister Paskin, too appalled to speak. She'd known these people were greedy and ruthless, but she'd never thought they'd go as far as murder. . . .

Except there was a chance they already had. What if they'd poisoned Lord Arvis because they knew he planned to stop them taking over Glow-Mor?

“But you can't,” Isaveth spluttered. “When Mister Wregget gets the note, he'll know who it came from. He'll go to the Lawkeepers—”

“Who will dutifully investigate, yes,” said Mister Paskin. “But they won't find enough evidence to trouble us. I have that on the very highest authority.” He gave her a wolfish smile. “Think how upset old J. J. will be when he realizes he's put a sweet young girl in danger. I don't think he'd let you die just to keep his recipe secret, do you?”

Isaveth closed her eyes in despair. If she couldn't escape, couldn't
bargain, and couldn't be sure her captors wouldn't hurt her, there was only one thing to do. “All right. I'll tell you.”

The man leaped up. “Laraine!”

Missus Paskin strolled into the room and sat down, taking a notebook out of her purse. “Go on,” she said. “I'm ready.”

Isaveth's shoulders drooped. She hung her head and whispered, “Null-pepper.”

The woman leaned closer, lead-point hovering over the page. “What did you say?”

“Six parts null-pepper,” Isaveth repeated huskily, “to one part magewort. That's what you need to make Resisto-Paper.”

Missus Paskin raised a sculpted brow at her husband, who answered with a shrug. “Thank you, Miss Breck,” he told her. “We'll have our people test your recipe, and get back to you if it turns out.”

Panic fluttered in Isaveth's chest. She'd thought to buy her freedom, or least a more comfortable prison. “You're leaving me here?”

“Of course,” said Missus Paskin. “We're not fools, you know, and we have business matters to attend to. But don't worry,” she added slyly as she turned off the spell-lamp, “you're quite safe here. For now.”

Then she shut the door and left Isaveth alone in the dark.

*  *  *

Isaveth's note was waiting in the old letter drop, just as Esmond had hoped—and feared. She'd been suspended for three days, and he'd been too busy mourning a man who'd never cared two cits for him to realize his best friend was in trouble. Esmond sat on the edge of the fountain, its stony chill seeping through his overcoat, and read the message over again. Then he jogged back to the main road and hailed a taxi.

Overnight the temperature had soared above freezing, an unseasonable thaw that made the roads filthy as well as slick. A shroud of gray mist hung over the rooftops as the cab splashed into the factory-dotted neighborhood known as Gardentown—named not for its flowers, but for the pathetic little vegetable plots its residents cultivated to survive. At last they turned down Cabbage Street, bumping over the ruts and potholes, and halted in front of Isaveth's tiny cottage. “Wait here,” Esmond told the driver, and ran to knock on her front door.

No answer. He peered through the window, cupping both hands around his eye for a better view, but inside all was dark.

Where would Isaveth go, in this weather? Frowning,
Esmond returned to the taxi and directed it to the shops on Grand Street. Yet even after searching the dry grocer's, the butcher's, and several more local businesses, he found no trace of her. Frustrated, Esmond was about to climb back into the cab when he caught sight of a skinny girl stomping up the far side of the street, fists clenched as though daring the whole world to fight her.

“Lilet!” he shouted, and her head snapped up. She splashed across the road to meet him.

“Splendid boxer's eye you've got there,” Esmond said, taking her by the chin to admire it. “Is that why they sent you home?”

Lilet pushed his hand away. “Maybe. Why aren't
you
in school?”

“I'm looking for Isaveth, but she isn't home. Do you know where she might have gone?”

The eye that wasn't swollen shut narrowed in suspicion. “Of course Vettie isn't home. She's supposed to be at the college.”

So her family didn't know she'd been suspended. “Ah, yes,” he said quickly. “I must have missed her somehow.” He turned toward the taxi, but Lilet grabbed his arm.

“Something's wrong, isn't it? You're worried. Is Isaveth in trouble?”

It was tempting to put her off with some light-hearted
answer, but Lilet was too sharp to be fooled easily. If he lied to her, he might well regret it.

“I don't know,” Esmond admitted. “But I'm starting to think she might be.”

Lilet chewed her lip. “You'd better come home with me, then. Maybe she left a note.”

*  *  *

“Help me! Please, someone, help!”

Isaveth had shouted herself hoarse, but no one answered, and she felt miserably sure that they never would. If none of the workers had reacted when they saw the Paskins dragging her through the warehouse, why would they take pity on her now?

“Help,” she whispered. The rope around her wrists chafed, her ankles throbbed, and her bladder felt as full as her stomach was empty. But the Paskins wouldn't care about that.

Isaveth drew a long breath and screamed until her air ran out. Then she sagged, panting, and prayed for an answer. But all she heard were clomping boots and muffled voices, the distant creak of a pulley, a clatter of hooves and cart wheels as a new load arrived on the warehouse floor.

Desperately she cast her mind back over the last fifty-six episodes of
Auradia Champion
, remembering all
the ways the intrepid Lady Justice had escaped captivity. But most involved her having a secret charm or weapon hidden in her clothing, and the rest required some brave ally like Wil Avenham or Peacemaker Otsik finding her at the last moment. Isaveth had no such advantages . . . and, it seemed, even fewer friends than she'd supposed.

Nobody likes a girl who can't keep secrets.

Isaveth yanked her wrists against the rope, focusing on the pain to keep back fresh tears. Had Eulalie truly betrayed her? Had she been spying for Isaveth's enemies, willingly or unwillingly, all along? Isaveth didn't want to believe it. Yet her mind kept returning to the memory of Betinda talking to Eulalie in the dining hall, and how evasive her friend had been afterward. What if she'd been less upset with what Betinda had said to her than ashamed of what she'd said herself?

Misery squeezed Isaveth's throat, but she swallowed it down and tried to think of a new plan. Now that her eyes had adjusted, the room wasn't completely dark; she could make out the shadows of the furniture and the dim outline of the door. If she could get close enough to rattle the knob, maybe the workers would think she was escaping and come to check? With grim determination Isaveth began rocking her chair from side to side, twisting her body to shuffle it forward.

There were a few heart-stopping moments when the chair teetered, and one where it almost crashed over. Still Isaveth persisted, inching her chair past the table and along the wall until she reached her goal. Licking her dry lips, she bent to inspect the doorknob. It was too smooth to turn without a hand free, but perhaps she could unlock the thumb-turn with her teeth . . .

She was leaning forward, mouth open to try it, when the knob rattled and the door swung inward. Startled, Isaveth jerked back—and the chair tipped with her, balancing on two legs for one sickening instant before toppling over.

“Miss!” cried a man's voice, but it was the last thing Isaveth heard before she hit the floor.

R
UMMAGING THROUGH ISAVETH'S
satchel of neatly organized and labeled spells made Esmond feel guilty as a grave robber, but he needed to know what, if anything, she'd taken with her. Had she been at all concerned for her safety when she left the cottage? Or had she gone out unarmed, believing she had nothing to fear?

It was impossible to be certain, but he was leaning toward the latter. The main compartment appeared fully stocked, with at least one of every kind of Common Magic spell Isaveth had made so far. There were even a couple of soap-tablets in case of . . . what? A cleaning emergency?

“What's this?” asked Lilet, plunging a hand past him and seizing a small cloth bag. Before he could stop her she'd dumped Isaveth's sage-charms onto the table.

“Don't touch those,” said Esmond, more sharply than he'd
intended, and Lilet gave him an exasperated look.

“I'm not
stupid
,” she said. “They're Sagery, aren't they? How do they work?”

Isaveth hadn't taken any charms with her either. He could still see one of every type she'd made so far, including the warding- and sealing-charms he'd crafted for her. Esmond started to pick up the silvery squares, then paused in surprise as his fingers met an unexpected texture. Two of the charms were coated with a rubbery, herb-flecked substance he'd never seen before.

One of Isaveth's experiments? Curious, he pulled out his charm-glass for a closer look.

There was no trace of magic coming from the charms, not even the faintest glow. In fact, if he hadn't known better, he'd have thought they'd never held any power at all. . . .

Lilet eyed him warily. “Why are you grinning?”

She'd done it. Somehow Isaveth had discovered a spell that would cancel out Eryx's charms. Could that be why she'd left the house? Could she be searching for Esmond at this very moment, eager to tell him the good news?

His elation fizzled as he realized that made no sense. If she'd wanted to share her discovery, she'd have brought the charms along to show him. Instead, she'd left the house early that morning (said Lilet), only to return
home by the coal lane and enter through the back door (as shown by the melting footprints on the step). She'd stamped the snow off her boots (the mat was still damp), walked to the front (where she'd left the salt-stained ghost of a puddle on the floor), then turned around and went out again. Yet she couldn't have thought she'd be gone long, or she would have left a note. . . .

A note. Esmond dropped the charms into the bag and spun around, staring at the mail slot in the front door.

“Someone sent her a message,” he mused aloud. Someone who knew Isaveth had been suspended and wanted to talk to her about it, yet whom Isaveth trusted so completely she hadn't even thought of protecting herself.

Someone like J. J. Wregget.

*  *  *

“Miss! Can you hear me?”

The man spoke softly, but to Isaveth's ringing ears he might as well have shouted. She squirmed against the ropes that bound her, fiery horses galloping through her head.

“That was a nasty crack you gave yourself,” said her visitor, easing her chair upright. His square face was lost in shadow, but she could make out his knitted cap and the breadth of his workman's shoulders. “What were you doing right in front of the door?”

“Please,”
Isaveth mumbled. “I want to go home.”

The man straightened up. “Sorry, miss. I got a family to feed, so I do what the boss tells me. I only came to see if you need the toilet.”

“Yes,”
gasped Isaveth, and the workman bent to untie her.

It would have been the perfect chance to bolt, if she'd had the strength. But her head still thundered and her legs felt weak as a baby's. She had to cling to the man's arm as he led her down the corridor to the toilet.

It was scarcely bigger than a broom closet and stank as though no one had cleaned it in weeks. Light filtered through a single vent above her, but it was too high to reach, and so small that even Mimmi would have struggled to get through.