A Little Taste of Poison (20 page)

“But Lady Nessa was one of my first and brightest students, and I have known Esmond since he was born. I have no desire to see him humiliated, you expelled, and J. J. Wregget suffer yet another injury to his reputation. So if anyone should ask . . .”

The spellmistress leaned back, brown fingers tapping her arm as she thought. “You were on your way out of the college when you noticed that the door to the bell tower had been left open. Being curious, you entered, and climbed to the top to see the view. You spotted a strange object on the pathway near the charmery, so you left the tower and went to find out what it could be.”

“What was it?” asked Isaveth, caught up in the story.

“A hat,”
said Mistress Anandri. “Which you showed me when I came to find you. I put it in the Found Box, of course, but I also reprimanded you for going into the bell tower. Your punishment is to clean the ovens in the spell-kitchen, which you will do tomorrow after school.”

Hard work, but infinitely better than expulsion. “Thank you, Mistress,” breathed Isaveth.

“By now Esmond will have tidied up the workshop,” the spellmistress said, lifting her hood over her close-cropped hair, “and found a discreet way out of the college. I will accompany you up the hill and tell Meggery what came of our meeting.” Her mouth tightened. “And let us both pray that will be the end of it.”

*  *  *

Still dizzy from her narrow escape, Isaveth caught the tram home, raced through her chores, and spent the evening searching the Book of Common Magic for a spell that might cancel sage-charms. But all the recipes in the book were of a homely sort—tablets to light a room or darken it, decoctions to numb toothaches or help find a missing child. She'd have to look elsewhere.

Perhaps her neevil-paper—what Wregget called Resisto-Paper—would work, if she covered the charms with it? If it could keep magic from leaking out of a cracked spell-tablet, it might stop Sagery too. Isaveth hunted through
the satchel she kept her spells in, took out a scrap of the paper, and laid it over the warding-charm she'd made that afternoon. Then, cautiously, she touched it.

No sound—not even a peep. Excitement surged up in Isaveth—then drained away as she studied the ward through her charm-glass and found its magic still glowing. So why hadn't it made that blaring noise? Puzzled, Isaveth prodded and poked the charm until she realized her mistake. Of course the ward wouldn't react to her, because she was the one who'd crafted it in the first place!

She turned to Annagail, sitting quietly with her sewing in the corner. “Anna, would you do something for me?”

Her older sister did not look up. “Lilet,” she said, “go and help Vettie, please.”

Lilet put down her book and struggled out of the armchair, a blanket clutched about her shoulders. “All right. What is it?”

Isaveth was surprised: Lilet wasn't normally so obliging, especially not with a book in hand. Then she realized the shirt Annagail was mending was the same red-flowered blouse that Lilet had worn to school that morning. It had looked perfect then, but now one sleeve was ripped half out of the seam.

“How did that happen?” asked Isaveth.

Lilet shrugged. “I caught it on a hook at school. What do you need me to do?”

“Touch this,” said Isaveth, sliding the paper-covered charm toward her. “Not hard, just—”

EEEEAAAAHHHH,
came the familiar wail. Isaveth grabbed the charm to silence it, then looked up to find all three of her sisters gaping at her.

“It's an experiment,” she said. “For Sagery. Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“That was scary.” Mimmi hugged her doll, lips trembling. “Don't do it again.”

No, thought Isaveth with sinking heart as Lilet stomped back to the armchair. She wouldn't.

*  *  *

The next morning Isaveth walked on snail shells, fearing she'd be called to the governor's office at any moment. But Meggery must have been satisfied with Mistress Anandri's report, because no one asked Isaveth why she'd been in the bell tower, much less the charmery, at all.

That wasn't her only worry, however. All last night she'd brooded over what the spellmistress had said about J. J. Wregget and his reputation. How badly had Glow-Mor's sales been affected by Su's article about Isaveth? Would her fellow Moshites make up the difference, or was Wregget already regretting his choice to support her?

“You're
awfully quiet today,” said Eulalie as they sat together at the lunch table. “And you haven't eaten much, either. What's wrong?”

Isaveth explained her worries, but Eulalie dismissed them with a shake of her head. “I'm sure it's not as bad as you think,” she said. “Maybe a few people switched to Power-Up or Fuller's Firelights because of you, but they'll soon switch back again.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nobody likes wasting money. Glow-Mor tablets aren't just cheaper than everyone else's, they work better—and that's
your
doing, remember. So it would be silly for Mister Wregget to quit supporting you now.”

Isaveth had almost forgotten about telling Eulalie she'd invented Resisto-Paper, but the other girl had a point. It was her recipe that had enabled Glow-Mor to lower its prices and increase the quality of its wares, while other spell-factories still had to use dampening wax, which protected the tablets but also made them weaker. Perhaps she didn't need to worry about Wregget having second thoughts after all.

With that heartening thought, Isaveth's appetite returned. She had almost finished eating when she spotted Mander Ghataj on his way out. Quickly Isaveth
excused herself and caught up with him. “Can I ask you something? In private?”

Mander gave a neutral shrug and followed her into the corridor. Once away from the dining room, Isaveth lowered her voice and said, “A while ago you told me Lord Arvis might not be Sagelord much longer. Had you heard something that made you think he was going to die?”

The boy's placid expression vanished. “I should never have said that. It was only—a guess.” But his eyes darted away as he spoke, and she knew he was lying.

“Who told you he was sick?” Isaveth persisted. “Was it Delicia?”

“No! Not like that. She would never—” He stopped, frowning. “Wait. How do you know my sister?”

“I don't, not really,” Isaveth said. “But she's good friends with Civilla Ladyship, isn't she? And from what I hear . . .” She spoke carefully, watching Mander all the while. “She's
quite
close to Eryx, as well.”

Mander's shoulders drooped. “I wasn't trying to eavesdrop,” he muttered. “The door wasn't shut properly, and I thought they were talking about politics, not anything . . . personal.”

So Eryx had told Delicia about his father's liver trouble. But had he done so as part of a plot to poison his father, as Esmond thought? Or had he been at the Ghataj house
for some other reason? Isaveth was about to ask what else Mander had heard, but the boy shook his head and backed away.

“I'm not telling you any more,” he warned. “If Esmond Lilord wants to know what's going on, he can talk to Delicia himself.”

Helplessly Isaveth watched him go, then walked back to the dining hall. She was not surprised to find Eulalie still there—except that now Betinda Callender was standing next to her, and the two of them appeared to be having a heated conversation.

“What was that about?” she asked the other girl once Betinda had gone. But Eulalie shook her head miserably, then got up and left without another word.

W
HEN CLASSES ENDED
Isaveth looked for Eulalie again, hoping to find out what had happened between her and Betinda. Yet the other girl did not appear, so at last Isaveth gave up and headed for the spell-kitchen.

The main room stood empty, with only a few battered tools and a half-empty box of scouring powder to greet her—Meggery's way of making her task as unpleasant as possible, no doubt. Sighing, Isaveth filled a bucket, tied on an apron and kerchief, and set to work.

She'd thought to clean the dirtiest oven first, but they were both so crusted with black grime that there was little to choose between them. Isaveth had her head and shoulders well inside and was scraping away when someone spoke her name, and she startled so violently she cracked her head on the roof of the oven. “Ow!”

“Sorry!” Esmond helped her out and pulled up a chair for her. “Didn't
mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

He looked so contrite that Isaveth nearly forgave him at once. But then she remembered yesterday and hardened. “No, I'm not,” she said. “You almost got me expelled. What are you doing here?”

Esmond leaned back against the worktop, crossing his long legs at the ankle. “I left you a note at lunchtime, but you didn't come to the bell tower. I had to ask Mistress Anandri where you were.”

“And she told you to stay away from me, no doubt,” said Isaveth. She knelt by the oven again, digging at a stubborn lump of char with the metal scraper. The box of scouring powder bore the slogan, “Works like Magic!” but so far it wasn't doing much at all. She'd be here all night at this rate.

“Actually,” said Esmond, “she asked me to give you these.”

He tossed a pair of wrapped disks in front of Isaveth, each the size and thickness of her palm. She'd never used one before, but she knew what they were—industrial-grade cleaning tablets, magically enhanced and more effective than any powder. She frowned up at him, uncomprehending.

“And I made you a few more charms to practice on, if that helps any,” Esmond continued, digging a handful out of his pocket and dropping them onto the counter. “We
might even have time for an experiment or two, unless you'd rather clean ovens. Do you know how those soap things work?”

A few minutes later, a tablet was foaming away behind each oven door, and Isaveth was telling Esmond about the trouble she'd been having with Eryx's sage-charms. “I couldn't find anything useful in the Book of Common Magic,” she said as she sat beside him on the countertop, waiting for the grime inside the ovens to soften. “And the school library was no help either. Do you think Mistress Anandri might have some more Common Magic recipes I could try?”

“I don't know,” said Esmond, hopping off the counter. “Let's look around and find out.”

A search through the kitchen cupboards yielded nothing of interest—only mixing bowls, canisters of flour, and other basic spell-baking supplies little different from what Isaveth had at home. The only books she found were a few battered editions of
Spell-Baking for Beginners
, and those were no use at all.

“Nothing here,” she said glumly as she shut the pantry door—then glanced about in surprise as she realized Esmond was no longer there. She was about to call his name when he leaned out the door of the adjoining room, beckoning her to join him.

Had he gone mad? That was the sunroom, glass-roofed and lined with windows on three sides. Isaveth shook her head and backed away.

“It's all right,” said Esmond. “The glass is privacy-charmed, so people outside can't see us. Well, unless they come right up to the window, but I don't think that's likely with all this snow.”

Reassured, Isaveth followed him into the sunroom. There, inside the cabinet, stood a full shelf of books on Common Magic. With Esmond's help she carried a pile back to the kitchen and sat down at the table to examine them.

The first few volumes were pure theory, comparing Common Magic and Sagery in language so abstruse she could barely understand a word of it. Others chronicled the history of Common Magic over the centuries, but Isaveth had more urgent concerns in mind. She kept on, leafing through each book and pushing it aside, until at last she came to a small, handwritten volume bound in cracked leather. It was a journal, its first entry dated nearly a hundred years ago.

Once she'd puzzled through the first few pages of crabbed writing, Isaveth realized she'd found a treasure: the diary of a Moshite country-mage, a woman who had spent her life seeking out herbs, roots, and fungi
with magical properties and cooking them into spells. Some of the recipes were similar to those in the Book of Common Magic, but others surprised her. Had this woman really invented a decoction that could cure warts overnight?

She was still reading when Esmond cleared his throat. “Not to rush you,” he said, “but it's getting late, don't you think?”

Sure enough, the light from above was fading. It must be past five bells, and she still had to wipe out the ovens. Isaveth jumped up and ran to do so, while Esmond grabbed a pile of rags to help.

“Do you think Mistress Anandri would be angry if she knew what we were doing?” Isaveth asked when they were finished, dropping the last black-stained rag into the laundry hamper and tossing her apron on top. The cleaning tablets had made the job easy if not exactly pleasant, but she'd made sure to dirty all the tools and sprinkle a bit of scouring powder about so that if Meggery came by it would look like she'd cleaned the ovens the hard way.

Esmond lifted her overcoat off the hook and held it for her. “She's not particularly fond of Eryx, if that's what you're wondering. His first year at the college, he tried to bribe her into giving him the top mark in Common
Magic, and she's kept a wary eye on him ever since.”

Perhaps, thought Isaveth as the coat settled on her shoulders, but being suspicious of Eryx wasn't the same as believing him a criminal mastermind. She'd have to be careful not to test Mistress Anandri's generosity too far. She stacked up the books on the kitchen table and carried them back to the sunroom—all except the journal, which she tucked into her school bag for further study. Surely the spellmistress wouldn't mind if she borrowed it for a day or two.