The Alleluia Files (22 page)

She nodded, and he took off. In deference to his passenger, he flew fairly low to the ground, where the air was warmer, and at a slightly slower speed than he normally would have enjoyed. Once or twice, Peter grunted or stirred in his arms, but for the most part he lay listless and still in the angel’s grip.

Stockton was quickly arrived at, and it took only one or two inquiries to find a medical man. As Jared had expected, the doctor was extremely willing to take on an angel’s patient and waved off Jared’s offer of payment.

“But what happened to him?” the doctor asked as he stripped away the sweaters and shirts to expose the bony chest, still wrapped in Tamar’s inexpert bandages. “He looks like he was beaten almost to death.”

“That would be my guess,” Jared said. “This is how I found him, and he’s never been lucid enough to talk.”

“Who should I contact when he’s well enough to speak?”

Jared spread his hands. “Maybe he’ll be able to tell you. I know nothing about him. But you can certainly get in touch with me at Monteverde to let me know how he’s doing or if you’ve found out anything about him.”

“I’ll do that,” the doctor said, shaking the angel’s hand.

Twenty minutes later Jared left Stockton and headed back toward Ileah. He had paused to buy a few groceries, because he was tired of fish, boiled jerky, and mashed apples, and he was
sure Tamar must be, too. Although they obviously had no reason to stay at Ileah any longer, now that the injured man was gone. Although where she would agree to go with Jared remained an interesting question. He couldn’t picture her happily planning to sojourn in Monteverde or the Eyrie, making furtive explorations for the missing files. Well, they would think of something.

Or, he thought as he landed in Ileah and looked around for the Jacobite, perhaps not. For, though the sick man’s bed was still set up in one hut and the laundry was still hanging on the line, Tamar was nowhere to be seen. And she did not answer his hail when he called her name three times, with a little less hope each time. No, she had made good her escape, and there was no telling where in Samaria she could have fled to now.

I
t took a week to sail from Port Clara to Angel Rock, although technically, Lucinda learned, they weren’t always sailing.
The Wayward
had two masts and a variety of sails, and when the wind was strong enough, this was the captain’s preferred method of locomotion. But
The Wayward
was a powered ship, with a big, clamorous engine locked deep in her lower reaches, and she could travel on any sea, in still weather or riotous, and never be for an hour becalmed.

This and other fascinating facts Lucinda learned from Reuben, first mate of
The Wayward
, or, as he liked to describe himself, “the man who does everything he’s told to do and everything else that makes the ship go, and who still gets in trouble if a single thing goes wrong.” The captain, a weathered, wiry Edori of about sixty years, had heard this description and grinned. There seemed to be a warm affection between these two men, as well as the three others who crewed the ship, quite different from the stern relationships of the Jansai and Manadavvi seamen she had seen put in to Angel Rock. But then, the Edori were different in just about every way from all the other people of Samaria that Lucinda had encountered.

As on the trip to Lisle, on this journey Aunt Gretchen kept entirely to her cabin, and so Lucinda was free to amuse herself any way she could. Since they were the only two passengers, her single hope of entertainment lay with the Edori crewmen. And of the five of them, Reuben seemed the most happy to oblige.

He was a tall man, but lean, and constant exposure to the elements had deepened the color of his skin to a rich mahogany. He wore his waist-length hair in a loose braid, tied with a strip
of leather, and his sleeveless vests or carelessly buttoned shirts showed off his well-muscled arms and chest. Lucinda thought he was quite the most attractive man she’d seen, in Angel Rock or Samaria, and only the most threadbare remnant of guile kept her from saying so. Normally, she said what she thought—to anybody, on any subject. But Reuben was so handsome that she was just a little inhibited, and shyer on some subjects than she would otherwise be. But every time he spoke to her, however briefly, the instant his back was turned she put a hand in exaggerated ecstasy to her heart and allowed her face to register appreciation of his awesome beauty.

The times he talked to her were the highlights of those seven days aboard the ship.

The first couple of conversations were merely civil—though Edori, she had learned, had few of the automatic rituals of reserve most people extended to total strangers. Their welcome was immediate and sincere, and their goodwill was not dependent upon an acquaintanceship of more than a few minutes. It occurred to her to wonder if it would be possible to earn an Edori’s enmity, and if so, how, but that was a question she never got around to asking.

That first day, when she spoke with Reuben, it was to ask him simple things: how long the trip would take, how big the ship was, how long he had been a sailor. He showed her around
The Wayward
, told her she could pretty much go where she chose, and introduced all the other crew members to her.

“That’s Maurice, he’s the captain. He’s the oldest of the lot, but not at all hard of hearing, so you can’t mock him as you’d like. That’s Michael, you’ll remember him because he’s ugly. Part allali, you know.”

Michael had looked up at this description and grinned. He was not as handsome as Reuben, but in any other company he would have been a strong contender.

“He’s part what?” Lucinda repeated.

“Ah, now you’ve offended her,” Michael said. “Best go bury your head in shame and let me finish the tour.”

“Allali,” Reuben said with the most innocent expression imaginable. “It’s an Edori word that means anyone not of our race.”

“It means,” Michael said, “dirty, cheating, lying scum, or
roughly those words, which applies to anyone who’s not an Edori.”

“Ah,” Lucinda said solemnly. “Not a complimentary term, then.”

“Well,” said Reuben, “not always. Over there are Joe and Ricardo, you’ll never speak to them, so you’ve no reason to tell them apart, but Joe’s the tall one and Ricardo’s the one with the bad leg.”

“He’s turned that around,” Michael told her. “Rico’s the tall one and Joe limps.”

She looked from one to the other. They both looked entirely serious. “But who should I believe?” she questioned.

“Me, of course. In addition to being as ugly as a bail of fish bait, Michael’s a terrible liar. Never believe a word he says.”

“I’ll ask them,” she decided, and made her way over the coiled ropes and stacks of boxes to where the two men were checking a net and enjoying an amiable conversation.

“If I could just have a minute of your time,” she said, and they looked up with that universal Edori grin. “I was sent to ask you—which one of you is named Ricardo?”

“He is,” the men said in unison, each pointing at the other. Then they each tapped their own chests. “And I’m Joe,” they added.

Lucinda could not keep the laughter from bubbling up. “Oh. Well, that explains everything. It was nice to meet both of you.”

So that was how she met the crew members; and then, within a day, she was taking her meals with them, too. That first day, she brought food to Gretchen’s small cabin and ate with her aunt, but Gretchen had little conversation to offer except bitter comments on the pitching of the ship and the wretchedness of her stomach. Lucinda saved her own meal for the solitude of her room, and tried not to sigh too loudly over each lonely bite.

The next day, as Reuben called them all down to the galley for lunch, she impulsively asked him if passengers were allowed to eat with the crew. “If not, I do understand,” she said, but Reuben instantly waved her to a seat around the small, cramped table.

“Next I suppose you’ll be wanting to haul the sails, too,” he said. “Well, that can be arranged, mikala! We’ve always work for idle hands.”

“Mikala?” she repeated.

“Young lady. An Edori term.”

“And just as polite as the last Edori word you taught me?”

“No, this one is truly respectable. Me you can trust,” Michael said, entering behind them. “It would be ‘mikele’ if you were a young boy. Very nice words. Use them with pride.”

“The mikala Lucinda will be joining us for meals from now on,” Reuben informed Michael.

“Good! Then perhaps we will raise the level of conversation a notch or two.”

Reuben eyed Lucinda with his head tilted to one side. He was grinning. “Do you think so?” he said. “She does not look so much the intellectual to me.”

“Well, but it would not take much to impress you, or so I’ve gathered,” she replied, and was rewarded with a burst of laughter from both men.

“I’m thinking she took
your
measure quickly enough,” Michael said to his mate.

“At any rate, I’d rather look on her face than your ugly one,” Reuben retorted.

The whole conversation had to be recapped for Joe and Ricardo when they entered the galley (Maurice, who never joined the crew for meals, apparently stayed at the helm). Lucinda listened closely, but she still was unable to determine which man was which; the other two referred to them alternately by both names. It was annoying, a little, but it also continued to be amusing.

So the first few days on board ship passed in a lively and pleasant manner, and Lucinda tried not to abuse her privileges by getting in the way. The men were almost always busy, though they invariably had time to spare her a friendly word, and she was grateful just to be given free run of the ship and a frequent smile.

They were a little more than a day outside of Angel Rock before she had her first extended conversation with Reuben. She caught him in a rare moment of laxness, as he leaned over the railing at the bow of the ship, enjoying the cool liquid run of the wind against his cheeks.

“So are you looking forward to getting back to Ysral?” she asked as she came up beside him and put her hands on the rail to steady herself.

“It’ll be another week or so before I’m there,” he said. “And
I won’t be there long before we set sail again. Most of my life is spent at sea, you know.”

“I would have thought it would take longer than two weeks to get between Samaria and Ysral,” she said.

“Actually, you can do it in less time, if you’re willing to run the engine the whole way,” he told her. “But that takes fuel, which costs money, and we’re so rarely in a hurry that we don’t often use it. But many’s the time I’ve been glad to have it in the hold, ready to whisk us across the sea.”

“When the wind is calm,” she said, nodding sagely.

His face crinkled in a grin. “That, and when the wind is too rough and we want to outrun it if we’re able. And if the Jansai are prowling the oceans, looking for easy pickings. Then the engine is our lifesaver.”

“The Jansai?” she repeated, startled. “What do you mean?”

He glanced down at her, still grinning, but now it seemed that it was her innocence that amused him. “They’re a warlike people, the Jansai, and a covetous people, too. And they’ve never cared much for the Edori. They aren’t above a little theft on the open ocean, if there aren’t other ships too close and they think they can get away with it.”

“Theft—you mean, they
attack
you? Attack your
boats
? And steal your cargoes?”

He nodded, still faintly amused. She wondered for a moment if he might be teasing her again. “Aye, and sink the boats and all the men aboard them, though that hasn’t happened often in the past two or three years. We’ve got the edge, you see, since our engines are better and our boats are faster, and we keep a keen eye out for any ship sailing the Jansai colors. But there’s many an Edori girl weeping because a Jansai warship came close enough to board an Edori cargo boat, and the boat went down with all hands aboard.”

“But—surely—can’t you tell the Archangel? He would never countenance such actions! You’re not Samarian citizens, true, but the Jansai are, and he must be able to keep them in check.”

Now the grin faded, to be replaced by a thoughtful, considering look. “Aye, well, in fact the Archangel is none too keen to put a leash on the Jansai, seeing as he’s the one who let them out of the kennel,” he said. “In public I’m sure he’s against the piracy, but he has his reasons for allowing it to go on.”

“What reasons? What could he possibly—”

“Well, the Edori have been known to be friendly to the Jacobites,” Reuben drawled, “and Archangel Bael would be happy to see all Jacobites quietly removed from the face of the earth.”

“Jacobites,” she repeated. “I didn’t realize any still existed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “They wouldn’t, if Bael had his way,” he said. “But I assure you, there are more than a handful left.”

Now she leaned against the railing and stared at the teal sea without really noticing it. “My mother was a Jacobite,” she said. “So they tell me. She was a mortal, though born to an angel, and she was raised at Cedar Hills. But somehow she met up with Jacob Fairman and his friends, and she was converted. I thought all the Jacobites were wiped out when Fairman was killed. But then,” she added apologetically, “I don’t get all the current news about the mainland, and Gretchen doesn’t always tell me everything she knows.”

“Well, I’d say there are several hundred of them still active, and who knows how many living in secret who would embrace the Jacobite doctrine if it didn’t mean their lives,” Reuben said. “I was not joking, you know. Bael has made it his mission to exterminate the rebels and their heretical beliefs, and he has licensed the Jansai to do the work for him.”

“I believe you,” she said, “but I don’t see why.”

“Because all of Bael’s power rests in the notion that Yovah is a god,” he said, using the Edori pronunciation of the god’s name. “If Yovah is indeed a starship—some machine programmed to respond to certain voice cues—what does that make Bael? The custodian of a piece of equipment. It destroys his position as spiritual leader of the country. It shreds the mystique of the angels. It invalidates his life, basically.”