A Little Taste of Poison

by R. J. Anderson

  She wasn’t far wrong, but Esmond had no intention of telling her about it. He had to find Isaveth right away. He started past her, but Civilla caught his arm.

  “We need to talk,” she said, low and earnest. “I know you don’t think I understand, but—”

  “Yes, fine, lecture me later!” He shook her off and sprinted up the stairs.

  “Esmond, wait!”

  Her distress sounded genuine, but he ignored it. Slamming his bedroom door, he dropped the bags onto the carpet, flipped open his knapsack, and started pulling out the clothes he’d bought from a relief shop on the way home.

  His father had made him charm-swear that he would never dress up as a street-boy again. But magical oaths only lasted six months at the best of times, and Lord Arvis’s death had ended it even sooner. Until Eryx found a new way to compel his obedience, Esmond was free.

  He kicked off his school slacks and tugged on the musty-smelling trousers, then traded his linen shirt and waistcoat for a fraying pullover and grease-stained navvy’s jacket. The leather eye patch Quiz had worn was long gone, so he combed his hair over his scarred eye with his fingers and tugged on a knitted cap to keep it in place. A handful of soot from the hearth, liberally applied to clothes and skin, and Esmond’s disguise was complete.

  He was halfway out the window, a float-charm gripped in one hand, when the bedroom door swung open. Blue eyes blazing, Civilla crossed the carpet in three strides and seized him by the collar.

  “Not this time, little brother,” she said tightly. “I need you to listen to me now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THEY DUMPED ISAVETH into the wooden crate, where she landed on a heap of filthy sacking. She screeched against her gag in protest, but Barto, the shorter and hairier of the two men, only grinned at her before hammering the lid shut.

  There was no point in fighting any longer. All the workers knew she was here, but if it troubled them they showed no sign of it. Isaveth gave one last kick at the crate and collapsed, spent.

  As she lay there, she caught snatches of what sounded like an argument between Lanzy and his companion. But Barto must have won, because it was his voice she heard giving orders to the other men: “Ziyan! Poyle! Take our little friend down to the Raider, and make sure she’s loaded before you go. Boss’s orders.”

  The workers tramped over to Isaveth’s crate and hefted it up. They lugged her across the warehouse, arguing good-naturedly about whether the Harbortown Sharks or the Lockland Gaters had the better chances of winning the Cup this year, then shoved Isaveth’s crate into the back of a wagon and drove away.

  The journey only lasted a few minutes, but by the time they stopped Isaveth had lost all sense of direction. The wagon opened and a chill breeze swirled around her crate. More painful jostles and thumps followed, a rasp and a metallic click, and finally a hoarse shout: “Take ’er up!”

  With a sickening lurch, Isaveth’s crate swung airborne. They were loading her onto a ship—but what kind? If it was one of the short-haul freighters that carried goods across Lake Colonia, Isaveth would have an unpleasant night ahead of her, but at least there’d be a chance of escaping in the morning. If it was one of the great ocean-bound cargoes, though, she’d die of cold and thirst long before they reached port. Even if the Paskins knew she’d lied about her recipe, would they really be as cruel as that?

  Two bells later, shivering in the darkness of the ship’s hold, Isaveth still had no answer. Every part of her ached, the gag in her mouth was sodden with spit and tears, and she wished with all her heart that she’d told someone where she was going this morning. She’d heard a dock bell clanging a few minutes ago, echoing the peals from the great clock tower at the top of Council House: It was past six now, and Papa and her sisters must be getting anxious. But Tarreton was a huge city, and even if the Lawkeepers cared enough to search for an insignificant Moshite girl whose father was too poor to bribe them, they’d never find Isaveth here.

  It was so cold. She still had her coat and boots, but her hat had tumbled off when Lanzy dumped her into the crate, and her gloves were stuffed uselessly into her pocket. She’d curled up as tight as the crate allowed her, but the slats that let her breathe also let in the dank air of the hold, and no matter how she squirmed, she couldn’t get warm.

  She’d pushed the gag with her tongue, trying to dislodge it. She’d kicked at the crate until every bone in her legs felt bruised. She’d reminded herself of all the stories she knew about Auradia and other brave women like her, and prayed to the All-One to give her courage like theirs. But she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, her wrists stung like they’d been wrapped in thorn-wire, and Isaveth was too exhausted to fight any more.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” she mumbled, and closed her eyes.

  Half dozing, she’d lost track of time when she heard footsteps above her, and the groan of rusty hinges as a hatch opened and shut. It sounded like a dockhand making the rounds, so Isaveth thought little of it until something thumped into the hold beside her and a voice spoke out of the darkness: “Isaveth?”

  Hope blazed up in her like a trodden fire-tablet, and she snapped awake. “Help!” she screamed, though the handkerchief choked it to a feeble moan, surely too weak to carry. She thrashed inside the crate, kicking and pounding the walls with all her might, until with a splintering noise the lid popped open and the blue glow of a light-charm flooded in. Esmond—no, Quiz—stooped over her, pry-bar in hand and his blond hair falling over one eye.

  “It’s all right,” he said huskily, pulling Isaveth’s gag out and cupping a hand against her cheek. “I’m here, you’re safe now. Well, safer, anyway.”

  “How?” gasped Isaveth. “How did you find me?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.” Pulling a knife from his belt, he sawed through Isaveth’s bonds, then lifted her from the crate. Her legs wobbled as he set her down, but he kept an arm around her waist, holding her steady until the pins and needles began to fade. “Can you walk? We need to get out of here.”

  Isaveth nodded, and Esmond helped her across the near-empty hold to a metal ladder. It was closer than she’d expected; it must be quite a small freighter after all. But her muscles felt watery, her wrists too raw and stiff to bend. How could she climb all the way up to the deck?

  “Here,” said Esmond, dropping into a crouch. “Get on my back. I’ll carry you.”

  * * *

  It was even colder on the deck of the freighter, but Isaveth was so glad to be free she didn’t care. As they huddled together in the lee of the ship’s wheelhouse, waiting for her strength to return, Esmond explained how he’d found her.

  “Tambor told us everything he knew about the Paskins, but he wasn’t sure where they’d taken you. I wasted a bell or so snooping around the Power-Up factory with a fake parcel under my arm, pretending to be a message-boy, before I realized the warehouse made more sense. It was getting late, so I hitched a ride over on the last delivery wagon and started asking people outright if they’d seen you.”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t toss you into the lake.” Or rather, onto the ice. What a gobblewit she’d been to worry that the ship might sail away with her: The harbor had been frozen for weeks.

  “They almost did,” Esmond said. “One big workman dragged me out of the warehouse with a zeal that was—er—quite convincing.” He rubbed his throat ruefully. “I thought I was done for. But once we were out of sight he let go and asked why I wanted you. I told him you were a schoolmate of mine who’d been kidnapped, and that was all it took to win him over.”

  So she’d gotten through to Lanzy after all. “He told you where to find me?”

  “He did, but I had to hang about waiting for the dockhands to go off shift so I could sneak aboard.” Esmond shuffled sideways, peering around the corner of the wheelhouse. “Seems pretty quiet now, though. Think you’re feeling up to—”

  “Shh.” Isaveth grabbed his arm. “I hear something.”

  Voices echoed across
the dockside, rough and indistinct. Then a burly figure staggered out of a laneway, flanked by five brutish-looking workers armed with heavy tools, and Isaveth caught her breath in dismay.

  The captive man was Lanzy.

  “Boss won’t be pleased if his little bird’s flown away,” growled Barto, prodding Lanzy ahead with his crowbar. “You’ll be lucky to keep your hide after this, let alone your job.”

  “I told you, I didn’t—”

  “Save it, Lanzy. I don’t care.” Barto spoke a few curt words to the other men, who seized Lanzy, dragged him to a bollard, and forced him to sit while they lashed him to it. “Should have known you were too soft to do a real man’s work.”

  “You mean beating on a one-eyed street kid, or tying up a little girl?” Lanzy shot back, and Barto drove the hooked end of the crowbar into his stomach. He groaned and slumped, all defiance gone.

  “Get on board,” Barto told two of the men, jerking his head at the freighter. “Check the hold and make sure she’s still there.”

  Esmond swore softly. “Time to move,” he muttered as he crept back to Isaveth. “It’ll be tricky with this thaw, but we’ll have to chance it.”

  Below, the chain-ladder rattled against the ship’s side as the two thugs began to climb. “Chance what?” Isaveth whispered, but Esmond touched a finger to his lips for silence. Half-crouching, he held out his hand.

  Isaveth took it, trying to ignore the jellylike feeling in her legs, and they crept toward the prow of the freighter. Behind them, the clattering grew louder and the first man landed on the deck with a thump. He flicked on a spell-torch and played it across the deck, its yellow beam sweeping toward them.

  Ducking low in the shadow of the wheelhouse, Esmond scrabbled in his pocket and pressed a charm onto the heels of each of his boots. Then he stood up gingerly on tiptoe and slipped an arm around Isaveth’s waist.

  “By Sage Trofim,” he murmured, and Isaveth clutched him in alarm—but it was too late. Esmond rocked back on his heels, grabbed the rail with his free hand, and vaulted them both over.

  Isaveth hid her face against his jacket, half-certain they’d go rocketing off into the sky, then drop like an anchor onto the ice below. But Esmond clearly knew some trick to using charms that she didn’t, because they arced smoothly away from the ship’s dark prow and landed with barely a crunch on the lake’s surface.

  “Stand on my boots,” he whispered. “The ice here is weak—I’ll have to float us both across.”

  He wasn’t exaggerating. Cracks webbed out around them, spidering in all directions. Isaveth stepped onto Esmond’s toes and hugged him tight as he skated toward the shoreline, propelling them forward with slow, cautious strokes.

  High above, a hatch banged open, and a hoarse voice shouted, “She’s gone! He broke her out!”

  “Search the ship!” yelled Barto. “We’ll check the dockside. They can’t have gone far.”

  Isaveth bit her lip, silently urging Esmond to go faster. They had almost reached the shelter of a neighboring pier when headlamps shone out across the dockside, and a carriage door slammed. Isaveth stood on tiptoe, straining to see over Esmond’s shoulder as Mister Paskin strode onto the quay.

  Barto rushed to meet him, pointing first to the slumped and silent Lanzy, then the ship. She couldn’t hear their conversation, but she didn’t need to: Impatience was written in every line of Mister Paskin’s silhouette. He waved Barto away and stepped forward, cupping his hands around his mouth as he called up to the ship.

  “You may as well give up, kids. There’s nowhere for you to run. Why don’t you come down, and I’ll get you something nice and warm?”

  “Like a bullet, no doubt,” Esmond muttered, pushing off for another glide. But his boots scraped ice, and it turned into a stumble. The float-charms’ magic had worn off.

  “Run!” Esmond gasped, shoving Isaveth away, then flailed and fell hard on one knee. The ice crackled—but Isaveth had already skidded into the shadow of the pier, safe from view. She spun and reached out for Esmond.

  He hadn’t just tripped, as she’d first thought. He’d flopped onto his belly and was crawling toward her on his elbows, a jagged starburst of dark water behind him. His leg had plunged straight through the ice into the frigid lake below.

  She had to get him to safety before Barto’s men spotted them. Already their torch-beams were flashing along the shore. Isaveth stretched out flat to grab Esmond’s wrists, ignoring the fresh pain in her own, and dragged him beneath the pier.

  He was soaked from the hip down. Isaveth pulled off her gloves and tried to undo his bootlace, but the frozen knot refused to budge.

  “Leave it,” Esmond whispered, but she could feel him shivering. He pushed himself back into the darkness, and she crawled after him as the workmen stalked the wharf above. The deep overhang should make it impossible to spot them, but if their pursuers climbed down . . .

  “Just the ice breaking up,” said one of the men at last. “Come on, boss’s waiting,” and they trotted back toward the freighter. Isaveth exhaled and began to slide in the other direction, but Esmond grabbed her shoulder.

  “C-can’t go,” he said through chattering teeth. “G-got to help Lanzy.”

  Esmond was right: They couldn’t just abandon the man. Yet if they stayed here much longer they’d freeze. Isaveth tugged off her knitted scarf and started rolling up Esmond’s trouser leg to wrap it around him.

  “No, don’t. You need it.” He shifted onto one hip, digging into his pocket. “Warming-charm in here somewhere.”

  “We can’t, it’ll melt the ice.” Now she was shivering too.

  Esmond blew out a weary breath. “Course not. Stupid of me. Sorry.”

  Isaveth wound the scarf around his leg and tugged the half-frozen pant leg over it. She could hear the occasional shout from the men searching the freighter and dockside, but they were too far away for her to make out the words. Pulling her knees up against her chest, she squeezed closer to Esmond. Please let them give up. Please let them go away. . . .

  Esmond put an arm around her. She could feel him trembling and knew she was doing likewise, but she was glad of the extra warmth, however slight. Please, All-One, keep us safe and bring us home again.

  “Are you praying?”

  She must have whispered the words without knowing it. Isaveth nodded, shy.

  “Huh. Didn’t know it was that easy.”

  “Really?” She twisted, trying to see his expression, but he was nothing more than an outline in the dark. “You’ve never prayed?”

  Esmond shrugged. “Not like that, just talking. Anyway we never went to temple much. Father wasn’t . . . he didn’t . . .” He cleared his throat and fell silent.

  Isaveth felt a sudden yearning to comfort him. She reached out, and her fingers brushed his scar.

  “Don’t.” He jerked his head away. “S’ugly.”

  “It’s not,” said Isaveth, with a rush of protective anger. “It’s you.” Impulsively she stretched up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for saving me, Esmond.”

  He swallowed. “Isaveth . . .”

  Whatever he’d meant to say was interrupted by distant shouting, accompanied by the clatter and thump of workers climbing off the ship. An argument broke out on the dockside, Mister Paskin snapping orders while Barto and his men barked and whined in protest. Then came the sound of a gunshot, and an abrupt, horrifying silence.

  Isaveth flinched, but Esmond gripped her arm. They stared across the frozen lake as a limp body rolled off the dock by the freighter, hit the ice with a shattering crack, and tumbled into the deadly waters below.

  “No,” she whimpered. “Please, no, not Lanzy—”

  Esmond pressed the scarred side of his face against Isaveth’s, his soft hair brushing her cheek. He held her tightly as the workmen yelped and scattered, a carriage door slammed, and with a crackle of tires on gravel, Mister Paskin drove away.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE DOCK BY the Raider stood empty, s
ilent except for the soft lapping of water against the hole in the ice that had become Lanzy’s grave. Like Mister Paskin, Barto and his fellow workmen had vanished; only the sagging loops of rope around the bollard and a dark stain at its base showed that a man had been murdered there.

  “He had a family,” said Isaveth, her voice thick from crying. “He told me so.”

  Esmond put his arm around her shoulders. “The Paskins will get what they deserve,” he said. “And so will Eryx. I promise.”

  She scrubbed her eyes with the back of her glove, wishing she had a handkerchief. “You sound confident.”

  “With good reason, for once. I’ve got a plan—but we’ve got to get moving or we’ll miss our chance. Come on.”

  They limped away from the dockside, leaning on each other like a pair of wounded soldiers. All the while Isaveth kept glancing over her shoulder, afraid that Barto or one of his companions would reappear. But they reached the main road in safety, and when Esmond fired off his cab-hailer, a taxi appeared as quickly as though he’d conjured it.

  “Rollingdale Court,” he said, and flashed a money note at the driver, who lost his skeptical expression at once. Esmond opened the door for Isaveth, and the two of them climbed in.

  “I can’t take you home yet,” he said, pulling a warming-charm from his pocket. “I know your family’s worried, but you’re not safe there as long as the Paskins are looking for you.”

  After what she’d seen tonight, Isaveth couldn’t argue. She nodded, waiting for Esmond to say the invocation as he broke the charm. But he only held his hand over the pieces a moment, then glanced up and flashed her a smile.

  The charm must have been a strong one, because all at once Isaveth felt as flushed as she had on her first visit to J. J. Wregget’s office. She slid toward the door and started unbuttoning her coat as Esmond spoke again.

  “I’ve got your satchel of spells back at the mansion, and I grabbed that old journal Lilet said you’d been using. Do you have any of that sticky stuff left, or do you need to make more?”