The Alleluia Files (28 page)

“Even so, I’m surprised you noticed. A song sung backward sounds nothing like the composition as it was intended.”

She smiled faintly, finally looking up at him. “I am good with music,” she said. “I remember notes and phrases. If an artist saw one image on a canvas and in a mirror, wouldn’t he instantly recognize it as the same piece? That is how it is with me.”

“So Yovah perhaps operates on the same principle as this little box,” Reuben said. “The prayer for sunshine reverses the prayer for rain. What other prayers might be mirror images of each other?”

She spread her hands. “There aren’t many other prayers you would want to reverse. If you asked the god for medicines, you would not then ask him to scoop them back up again. The same for grains and seedlings. I suppose, if you had begged for a thunderbolt and then no longer wanted it to fall, you could sing that song backward—” She paused a moment, then laughed. “Although, to be frank, I don’t believe that is one I could do in reverse without a lot of practice. It’s a
very
complicated piece.”

“And how often have you prayed for thunderbolts?” he asked, smiling.

“Never,” she said, smiling back. “In fact, that is the danger of learning such a song. You have to practice it in pieces, and
sing something else in between, so the god does not really smite you when you are just learning your lessons.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding wisely. “I always wondered how that was done.”

She was about to describe to him the days she had spent learning her prayers, Gretchen tirelessly and exactingly going over every note, every song, teaching the young angel prayers she herself would never offer to Jovah. Gretchen believed that no one but an angel could call directly upon the god; but she knew the songs, every one. She never had to look at the music to correct a missed note.

But Gretchen herself entered the room before Lucinda could say another word. “Goodness, Lucinda, are you still up? Don’t you realize how late it is? I’m sure you’ve taken up quite enough of Reuben’s time today, now let him go to bed, and you be on your way, too. Go, now. No argument. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And in fact, she
was
tired, so tired that thoughts and disconnected bits of song were floating through her mind in no particular order. So tired that she could barely marshal a good night for her aunt or a smile for Reuben, who rose to his feet but did not follow her through the door. As she left the room she heard him ask after Maurice. In three minutes she was in her own chamber, undressed and lying under the covers. In four minutes she was sound asleep.

Three days later
The Wayward
sailed from Angel Rock. In those three days Lucinda had almost no opportunity to speak alone with Reuben. Gretchen kept her busy, cleaning out the recently vacated rooms, going over the storage bins with Jackson, dragging out the spring linen with Emmie’s help, and generally running errands. Soon enough she began to suspect that Gretchen’s desire for her assistance really masked her determination to keep her niece from spending too much time with the attractive Edori sailor. Not that she blamed Gretchen. If she’d been the aunt, she would have found much more time-consuming tasks for her niece to perform.

And she was not sure it was a bad thing to find herself separated from a man who would be sailing away any day now, to return who knew how often, if ever? But she sighed as she buried her face in the clean, cedar-scented folds of the spring
sheets, and her steps were slow every time she left the inn.

But the morning Reuben and Maurice packed up their scarce belongings and carried them to the ship, Lucinda abandoned all pretense of scrubbing the kitchen pantry, and accompanied them down to the harbor. Jackson had come with them so Maurice could lean on his arm if need be, but the captain seemed perfectly able to navigate the street on his own. He was paler than an Edori should be, but quite cheerful, and he seemed delighted to be returning to his ship.

Lucinda skipped along beside them, carrying two baskets. “This is bread, Emmie and Aunt Gretchen baked it this morning, so it’s quite fresh. And this is roasted salmon, but it will spoil soon, so you have to eat it tonight, Aunt Gretchen says. But there’s dried beef in here, too, that will last a few days. And there are oranges and limes, although they aren’t very good this time of year, but better than nothing. Is there anything else you need? I could run back to the inn and fly to the ship in no time.”

“This is plenty. This is generous. You’ll have to thank your aunt for us,” Reuben said gently. “She has been most kind.”

She was chattering, and she knew it; but he was leaving, and how would she say good-bye? and so she couldn’t stop. “And she says anytime you’re near Angel Rock, you’re to come stay with us, even if you all want to sleep on the ship, you’re to come have meals with us. And she says if you
want
to stay at the inn, there will always be room—”

“Ship’s good enough for a whole man,” Maurice said with a smile, “but next time I’ve been shot by Jansai, be sure I’ll take her up on her hospitality.”

And that was it, they were at the harbor, Joe and Rico had come ashore to help the captain carry his things on board. In a few minutes they would be gone; she might never see any of them again. Reuben had promised to return, but what did an Edori’s promises mean? This might be the last time she ever laid eyes on his beautiful face, saw the sun send white streaks down the sleek black braid—

And she was, somehow, alone on the cobblestoned street with Reuben. Jackson had disappeared with the Edori, and none of the usual onlookers seemed to be present on the dock this morning. Reuben was looking at her intently, his expression more
sober than normal, as if he was finding this farewell no easier than she was.

“It’s a week or two to Ysral, depending on the weather— and the Jansai,” he said, with a small grin. “And a week or two there. And a week or two back. So you may see me again in as little as three weeks, and certainly before two months are out.”

She kept her eyes on his, afraid to look at him too closely, afraid to look away. “Maurice might not want to come back so soon,” she said. “And he’s captain.”

“Ah, Maurice had visits from half the people of Angel Rock while he lay there pretending to be sick. Your doctor was asking about some new medical machine that he thought they were building at the Augustine school, and your harbormaster wanted some tool he’d heard about that only the Edori craftsmen make. Maurice has a dozen commissions on the island. He’ll want to come back.”

“I look forward to seeing you again,” she said, because if she didn’t say it straight out she would never say it, and maybe he didn’t know? “I’ll miss you while you’re gone.”

“Well, I’ll think of you while we’re away, and that way I won’t miss you quite so much,” he said, smiling a little. “And here—you take this, and it will help you remember me.”

He had caught hold of her hand and now pressed a rounded metal object into her palm. She knew without looking that it was the music box.

“I can’t take this,” she protested. “It’s so special—it was made for you by a friend—”

“It’s so special,” he said, smiling broadly now, “that I promised myself I would only give it to the girl who could learn the key.”

“The key—to the box?” she said, stammering a little.

He shook his head slowly, smiling still, and laid a fist against his heart, but he made no other answer. She felt herself blushing. From the ship, someone called his name in a loud, impatient voice.

“You must go,” she said. “I’ll look for you. In two months.”

“More likely less,” he said. And without another word, he bent down and kissed her quickly on the mouth. Then he sprinted for the ship, leaped up the gangplank, and called something to whichever sailor was already hauling on the ropes.
In a matter of moments
The Wayward
began to move, idling out toward open sea like a girl coyly slipping away from her guardian’s notice. Reuben and, she thought, Michael stood at the railing and waved to her so vigorously that she finally lifted her free hand and waved back. But she did not want to. Her heart was leaden, her whole body was cold; even her lips, where she could still feel the pressure of his kiss, seemed icy and bloodless in the playful spring air. He was leaving, he was leaving, he was gone.

She watched for another thirty minutes as the sails of the ship grew smaller, indistinct, and finally invisible against the hazy blue of the eastern horizon. She should return to the inn; Aunt Gretchen would be wondering where she was. (Aunt Gretchen knew very well where she was.) She had a dozen chores to do, and the activity could not but do her good, wake some of her shocked, abandoned blood, prod her heart into motion again. She was a fool to be standing here, forlorn and bereft, watching the waves swallow the shadow of a vanished Edori boat.

She gave one long sigh, shook her head, and made herself turn back toward the inn. She had not taken three steps when she felt a faint shift and roll inside the silver box. So she stopped in the middle of the street and softly crooned the short melody that would turn aside the silver rose. The lock slid back, and she lifted the painted glass lid.

Inside was the emerald ring.

He would return as he had promised.

T
amar had two strokes of luck as she fled from Ileah. One came almost immediately, twenty minutes after she snatched up a few bundles and the rest of the dried beef and hurried west down the road. She had gone less than two miles along her way when she heard a dull rumble behind her and, looking back, saw a big farm transport vehicle bearing down. She scrambled out of the way (in her experience, the drivers of the big trucks weren’t always careful about keeping faithfully on the road) and slowed her pace to watch the truck pass.

She was surprised when it came to a growling idle beside her. A man riding high on the elevated driver’s seat waved down at her; she saw heads pop up in the windows of the mammoth cabin behind him, children’s faces, children’s eager, indiscriminate waves.

“We’re on our way to Semorrah! Looking for a ride?” the man called down to her.

It was almost outside of her experience that anyone could extend such kindness to a complete stranger, but then, she had heard many tales of the friendly midland farmers who picked up wayfarers just for the company. The presence of children on the truck was reassuring; even a man who offered assistance so he could eventually turn to assault seemed unlikely to do so in the presence of little witnesses. Even so, had she not been desperate, she probably would have refused.

“I don’t think I can pay you,” she called back up to him.

He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, no, I don’t want your coins. Just wanted to save you a few hot, weary miles.”

The angel would be back in half a day; on foot, she was unlikely to get far enough to elude him. It was a gamble, but she was running out of safe choices.

“Then, yes, thank you very much,” she said. “How do I climb in?”

Three giggling boys swarmed out of the back of the truck and demonstrated for her the footholds and handholds built into its thick metal sides. She hauled herself aboard and tumbled into the cavernous cabin, a huge, rattling, odoriferous compartment that seemed stocked with all manner of mysterious cargo. She could smell leather goods and what might be grain; in addition, there were boxes that could contain anything. The truck roared into its traveling mode again, and Tamar felt the vibrations enter her bones from every part of her body in contact with the metal—her feet, the palms of her hands, her hip against the interior wall. The droning ricocheted through her head and set up a steady quiver in her back teeth. It was instantly too noisy to hear anything except the roar of the motor. She could not imagine how she would endure this for more than five minutes.

But it was a hundred and sixty miles to Semorrah. They might be traveling at a rate of thirty miles an hour or so (she had no aptitude for judging the speed of a motor vehicle). She had a day of this to endure.

Two of the boys made their way to her side, nonchalantly navigating the piles of merchandise and bracing themselves against the unsteady sway of the truck. One of them carried a sheepskin rug in his hands, the other what looked like an oversized feather pillow. They offered these to her silently. When she stared at them blankly, they went into a pantomime routine: the one laid the rug on the jouncing floor, the other placed the pillow on top of it then sat himself squarely in the middle, crossing his legs under him. He grinned up at her as if to say, “See how comfortable?” and she could not help smiling in return. He jumped to his feet, almost fell over when the truck took a rapid turn, then held his hand out to indicate that she should now sit down.

So she did, and was relieved to find that the padding substantially cut down the awful vibrating sensation. In fact, if she was careful, she could lie on one side, half curled up but comfortable enough, and still remain within the shelter of the pillow. She gave the boys a big smile of thanks and they laughed back
at her. She was glad it was too noisy to talk. Otherwise, she was sure, they would want to sit and visit with her, and she had no conversation to offer young farm boys whose lives were so serene that they could so joyously welcome grim strangers into their midst.

So she rearranged her body, piling all her bundles under her head to further cut the vibration, and lay completely supine. The boys watched her till she closed her eyes. She did not hear them rise and leave her (she couldn’t hear a thing), but when she peeped out through half-closed lids, they were gone.

She sighed and turned to her other side, punching the pile of clothes under her head to make it more comfortable. She had Evan’s jacket, one of Dawn’s sweaters—she had run to the storeroom cabin and just grabbed anything that looked useful, anything that she could fit into one fairly tight bundle. She had left Peter’s pallet unmade, the breakfast dishes scattered on the floor, the well uncovered, the laundry on the line….