A Pocket Full of Murder (5 page)

She'd finished her shopping, and was looking for the tram that would take her home, when she passed the Relief Shop and came to a halt so sudden she nearly dropped her basket. There in the window sat a pair of brown leather one-straps, exactly Mimmi's size.

All the Breck sisters needed new shoes, but Mimmi most of all: the ones she'd inherited from Lilet had been in poor shape to begin with, and by now they were little more than scraps of leather held together with twine.
Isaveth bent closer to the window, squinting at the price. One-and-twenty.

That would cost her all the coins she had left, even the two cits she'd been saving for tram fare. And with tired legs and parcels to carry, she could hardly bear to think of walking home. But Papa would want her to take good care of her sisters, and she couldn't let him down. Taking a deep breath, Isaveth opened the shop door and went in.

*  *  *

It was a long, hot journey back to Cabbage Street, and by the time Isaveth reached the coal-lane, her feet were dragging with weariness. The bell tower had rung six, and the neighbors were calling their children in for supper—a meal Isaveth had yet to prepare.

But she had a bag full of groceries, and Mimmi's new shoes, and the pride of having sold some of her spell-tablets, even if most of them had ended up trampled on the street. And despite her gnawing anxiety about Papa, the memory of Eryx Lording's kindness still glowed in Isaveth's heart. She could hardly wait for Annagail to get home, so she could tell her the whole story. . . .

“Well, now,” drawled a familiar, hateful voice, and Isaveth stumbled to a halt as Loyal Kercher strolled out in front of her. He was a head taller than she was and
nearly twice as broad: There would have been no hope of dodging him even if she weren't exhausted. “Where've you been, eh? Off to visit Papa?”

Isaveth's heart was pounding, but she lifted her chin in defiance. “I'm not playing your game, Loyal,” she said, shifting the grocery bag to her left hand and letting the one with Mimmi's shoes in it slide into her right. If he came any closer, she'd clout him with it. “Let me by, or I'll scream.”

“So what?” Loyal sauntered closer, his jaw working in circles. His teeth were black with chew, and she could smell his breath from three paces away. “Your papa's a dirty dissenter, and now he's locked up where he belongs. Scream all you want. Nobody's gonna care.”

Isaveth's fist knotted in the strings of her bag. “How dare you!” she said hoarsely. “My papa's innocent, and I'm going to prove it. Get out of my way.”

Loyal grinned. “Not till I see what you bought me.” He feinted left, dodged as Isaveth swung at him, and snatched the grocery bag from her hand. “Ooh, eggs!”

“They're for my sisters, not you! Give them back!”

“I dunno, there's a lot of food here for four scrawny little girls.” He pursed his lips, pretending to consider. “But maybe I will, if you tell me where it came from. Who gave you the money? Your Mishmosh friends?”

“I'm not telling you anything, Loyal.” Isaveth groped in the bottom of her basket, then set it down by the fence and dropped Mimmi's shoes beside it. “Now give my food back, or you'll be sorry.”

He let out a bray of laughter. “Who's gonna make me? You?” He pretended to cringe. “I'm so frightened!”

Paper rustled against Isaveth's palm as she twisted the first tablet open. “You should be,” she snapped, and flung her fire-spell straight between Loyal's feet.

She'd expected it to shatter and engulf his shoes in flame. But the tablet only bounced once and settled in the dust, unbroken. She bit her lip in dismay.

Loyal chortled. “You can't even throw a pebble straight.” He lifted her bag higher, swinging it teasingly from side to side. “So what'll you do to get this back? Sing a song, maybe? Do a little dance?”

“Please,” said Isaveth, hating the tears that sprang to her eyes. “Please give it back.”

The older boy moved closer, swaggering with triumph. He pushed back the brim of Isaveth's hat and wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “Tell you what,” he said. “I'll give you the bag if you give me two of those eggs . . . and kiss my feet.”

The thought of kissing any part of Loyal made Isaveth's stomach heave. She had only one hope left, and that was
escape. With trembling fingers she tore the wrapper off her second tablet—and crushed the light-spell right in front of Loyal's face.

“Aaargh!” The boy dropped the bag and staggered back. Isaveth snatched up her groceries with one hand, grabbed her basket and Mimmi's shoes with the other, and bolted.

But she'd only dazzled Loyal, not blinded him, and his legs were longer than hers. She was still struggling with her back gate when he grabbed her and wrenched her around. “You'll pay for that, you little—”

“If you touch her again,” came a languid voice from above them, “I will take the greatest pleasure in knocking your teeth down your throat.”

Loyal froze, hands braced on Isaveth's shoulders. She craned past him to see who had spoken—and stopped struggling, weak with disbelief.

It was the boy with the eyepatch.

“Y
OU RANCID GLOB
of pig's meat,” continued the boy in a conversational tone, swinging himself over the fence and dropping to the dirt in front of Loyal. “You ought to be trussed up with thorn wire and left for the gorehawks. Who gave you the right to even look at this girl, let alone bully her?”

Uncertainty flickered over Loyal's face. He might be big for thirteen, but the other boy was taller. “None of your business, One-Eye. Why don't you go back to the trash heap where you belong?”

The strange boy looked pained. “Oh, come, you can do better than that.” He strolled around Loyal, inspecting him critically. “Though considering the drool stains on your shirt, perhaps not. Pity. If I'm going to thump someone, I prefer it to be more of a challenge.”

“Thump me?” Loyal scoffed. “I'd like to see you try.”

“Oh, I really don't think you would. But since I abhor needless violence, I'm going to give you a chance to scamper off in, let's see . . .” He gestured at the top of the coal-lane. “That direction. You have fifteen seconds.”

“And then what?”

“Then,” said Eyepatch, “I thump you. I'm sorry, I thought that was obvious.” He put his hands in the pockets of his ragged trousers, relaxed and confident. “Ten. Nine. Eight.”

Loyal didn't wait for him to finish. Snarling, he shoved Isaveth aside and hurled himself at the stranger.

What came next happened almost too quickly for Isaveth to see. Eyepatch ducked under Loyal's swing, caught him neatly by the other wrist, and twisted his arm up behind his back. Then he kicked Loyal's feet out from under him, and the other boy toppled.

“Yeeeeeoooooowww!” Loyal writhed on the ground, beating frantically at his trousers. He'd landed on Isaveth's fire-tablet.

“Oh,
well
done,” breathed Eyepatch with an admiring glance at Isaveth. He waited until Loyal stopped thrashing and the last glowing crumbs of the spell went out, then stooped over him and said, “Hard luck. Care to try again?”

Loyal lay panting at his feet, eyes glazed with panic. An angry red burn showed through the singed thigh of
his trousers, and for a moment Isaveth felt sorry for him. But then he spat a curse, heaved himself upright, and lunged at the other boy again.

This time Eyepatch didn't bother to dodge. He planted his feet, crouched low, and drove his fist up into Loyal's stomach.

The air whoofed out of Loyal's lungs. He staggered against the fence, dropped to his knees, and doubled over, retching.

“We're done,” said the boy with the patch, and now he sounded angry—though whether at Loyal or himself, Isaveth couldn't tell. “Get out.”

Loyal groaned. Clutching his stomach, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled down the coal-lane to Mister Wregan's back garden. He wrestled the gate open, lurched through it, and was gone.

Isaveth's knees wobbled. She sank onto the dirt beside her parcels and put her hands over her face.

“Are you all right?” asked Eyepatch, crouching to peer at her. “Did he hurt you?”

Her grocery sack lay in the middle of the coal-lane, a dark stain soaking the fabric. She didn't have to look inside to know that the bread was crushed and every one of her eggs had broken. “Not . . . too much,” she said, sniffing. “But thank you.”

The boy winced. “Please don't. I'm the last one you should thank. If I'd got here earlier, none of this would have happened.” He dragged off his cap, adding heavily, “And here I was trying to make it up to you.”

Isaveth wiped her eyes on the Lording's handkerchief and studied her rescuer, unsure what to make of him. He had the look of someone who had done a lot of growing in a short time, with a long face, a cherry-stone throat, and ankles that stuck out past the ragged hems of his trousers. His skin was pale as parchment, with scattered freckles and a touch of sunburn, and the hair that flopped over his forehead was even blonder than Morra's. He looked like an Arcan choirboy, and if not for the patch and the ruthless way he'd thumped Loyal, she'd have thought him too soft to live on the street. But there were all kinds of people living rough these days.

“So it
was
you,” she said. “You ruined my spell-tablets and nearly got me arrested. And then you spied on me.”

The boy turned red. “I'm awfully sorry,” he said. “I was trying to get away from—well, anyway, I was in a hurry. And I was looking over my shoulder, so I didn't see you until it was too late. I wanted to come back and apologize, but it took me a while to dodge the
Lawkeeper, and when I spotted you at the butcher's, the Devaney brothers were sniffing around, so I had to deal with them first—”

“Devaney brothers?” asked Isaveth. “Who are they?”

“Nasty little sneak-thieves, that's who,” said the boy with the eyepatch. “And for some reason they had their eye on you. So I chased them off, but by the time I got back, you'd gone.” He sat down beside her, pulling his knees up to his chest and folding his arms around them. “Why were they interested in you, anyway? They don't usually steal apples. Or sausages, either.”

Isaveth could never have imagined she'd end up chatting to a street-boy about her troubles—let alone the same boy who'd caused half of them in the first place. But it would be ungracious not to answer. “The Lording gave me some money. They must have seen it, before I put it away.”

The boy made a disgusted noise. “Eryx Lording needs to stop tossing money about. Not that you aren't deserving,” he added quickly, “but it wasn't very bright of him to give it to you in front of everyone.”

“It wasn't his fault,” said Isaveth, defensive on her hero's behalf. “He did try to be discreet; he wrapped it up in his handkerchief. Anyway, who are you to tell the Sagelord's heir what to do?”

The boy grimaced. “You're right, I'm nobody. S'pose I'm just jealous, what with all his money and people fawning over him everywhere he goes.” He kicked a stone across the lane, then went on in a lighter tone, “I'm Quiz, by the way. What's your name?”

Isaveth hesitated.

“You can make one up if you like,” the boy suggested, cocking his good eye at her. She'd thought it brown at first, but up close it was a changeable shade of blue. “Call yourself Auradia Champion, for all I care—”

“Oh!” Isaveth sat up, transfigured. “Do you like
Auradia
too? Did you hear what happened this week?”

“Of course,” said Quiz. “Simkin's Category Store plays it over the squawker. Brings in customers, they say.” He sprang to his feet, sticking out a grubby hand to help her up. “If I tell all, will I be forgiven?”

It was hard not to resent the loss of her precious spell-tablets, even if she couldn't quite blame him for the eggs. But if Quiz hadn't barreled into her, Eryx Lording wouldn't have stopped to help—indeed, he likely wouldn't have noticed Isaveth at all. Loyal would still have been waiting to bully her when she came home, and she wouldn't even have had the satisfaction of seeing him get the drubbing he deserved.

Besides, Quiz really did seem sorry. And she'd feel
better about fetching her sisters from Aunt Sal's if she didn't have to walk alone.

“All right,” Isaveth said, and let him pull her to her feet.

*  *  *

“Auradia was sawing through the bars,” said Quiz in a dramatic hush as he and Isaveth walked along, “when the door of her cell burst open. And there, silhouetted against the light—”

“Why do you have a patch over your eye?” asked Mimmi, wriggling between them. Unlike Lilet, who was keeping her distance and watching Quiz with the suspicion she reserved for all new things, Mimmi had taken to the strange boy at once. “Does it hurt?”

“I gave it to a raven in exchange for wisdom,” Quiz said. “And no, not anymore. Did you know you have dirt on your nose?”

Mimmi squinted and rubbed at the smudge, then tugged his sleeve again. “Did you get it?”

“What?”

“Wisdom.”

“Mimmi,” said Isaveth, but Quiz held up a hand.

“No, no,” he said, “it's a perfectly legitimate question.” Then he bent close to Mimmi and whispered, “It was a bad bargain. Never trust a raven.”

Isaveth hid a smile behind her hand. Quiz cleared his throat and went on: “Anyway. There in the doorway, tall and proud, stood the last man Auradia Champion had ever expected to see—”

“How do you know he was tall?” demanded Lilet from two paces behind them. “It's a talkie-play. There aren't any pictures.”

“The pictures are here,” Quiz said, tapping his temple. “And if I say Peacemaker Otsik is tall, he's as tall as I want him to be.”