Angel-Seeker (49 page)

“I don't think you'll accomplish that any time soon. My brother says there have been no women on the streets these past few days, not even the poor women from the tent circle, who come in from time to time to buy produce. Not even going from house to house under the protection of their men. He says he thinks every Jansai woman in the city has been confined to her house—locked inside—probably guarded more closely than ever before. I don't think your friend will make it out tonight.”

Obadiah stopped his striding and stood before Zoe's desk. “I would not even want her to make the attempt,” he said bleakly.

But Rebekah would not have to go far. Just up the stairs. Just to the roof. He would carry her to safety if she could just make it those few steps.

“I'm sorry,” Zoe said. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

He nodded. “I will stay a day or two anyway,” he said. “Just in case she—just to see what might happen.”

“We are always happy to have you in our establishment, angelo,” she said formally.

He nodded. “Thank you for the information. It is horrifying, but it comforts me a little to know what her circumstances are, and that if she does not come to me, it will not be because she does not want to.”

Zoe allowed herself to smile. “If I were you, I would not permit myself any doubt.”

He made his way to the restaurant, suddenly stripped of all appetite, but he forced himself to eat anyway. He did not know how quickly or violently he might be forced into action, and he wanted to keep himself fit and fed against the possibility of sudden flight. It was possible—quite possible—that the house doors and garden gates were guarded at Hector's house, but that no one had thought to post sentries in all the interior corridors. How much ground did she have to cover, anyway—perhaps a hallway or two, a couple of stairwells? If she could just win free to the roof! Even if her stepfather was chasing after her madly, even if the whole mansion was roused to fury, she would be safe if she could just get close enough to be swept up in the angel's arms.

That
would cause an incident between races, to be sure. That would send Uriah into a screaming fit of rage, would obliterate any progress Obadiah had made in negotiations with the Jansai. Gabriel would be furious—but then again, Gabriel would understand. The Archangel had a deep and abiding intolerance for injustice, fueled even more by Rachel's passionate hatred of slavery in any form. Gabriel also had some conception of what it meant to behave irrationally for love.

So Obadiah ate a reasonable dinner and returned to his room to await nightfall. He had not brought much with him—a shoulder bag that carried a few personal items and changes of clothes—and he would take this with him tonight when he left for his rooftop vigil. If Rebekah joined him, he would scoop her up and carry her off, flying as far as his strength would take them before the dawn arrived. That meant bringing water and at least a little food as well. He repacked his bag to add the necessary items.

Back out once the night was relatively advanced and the streets were almost empty of strays. Back to the house where his love lay sleeping—or fretting or scheming, wondering how to get in touch with him. The scarf on the windowpane was undisturbed, so at least no one other than Rebekah had come up here to investigate its appearance.
Look what the wind blew all the way to our rooftop . . . how funny. And this little rock, landing right on top of the fabric. You never know what next the god will send your way.

As he had the night before, Obadiah settled himself comfortably,
relaxed enough to endure a long wait, alert enough to spring to sudden action. He toyed with the idea of leaving one of his feathers behind, alongside the scarf, to reinforce his message, to underscore his longing. But he decided not to press his luck. He did not know what conversations had been occurring between these walls, what scraps of detail sharp eyes might have noticed. Rebekah knew the signal; she would answer it if she could.

But she did not.

Again, Obadiah lingered until dawn was almost upon him, until he ran the very real risk of being observed by a neighbor or a curious passer-by. He flowed to his feet and took off, low, over the rooftops and alleyways of wealthy Breven. He was stiff and even a little cold from the long, fruitless wait, but not even a little discouraged. He would return tomorrow night, and the night after that, hoping for a glimpse of Rebekah.

Obadiah slept most of the day, emerging in late afternoon when hunger chased him from his room. Zoe was not at the desk when he went into the dining room, but when he emerged an hour later, she was there. She waved him over.

“This arrived for you a little earlier today,” she said, and handed him a folded note. It was not sealed, meaning anyone—even Zoe—could have read it, and for a moment Obadiah was afraid to scan its contents.

“Who knows I'm here?” he asked. “Who brought it?”

She shook her head. “I didn't see the messenger. My brother said it was a young Jansai boy—fourteen or fifteen—who looked very ill at ease. He just handed it to my brother and said, ‘This is for Zoe.' ”

“For you!” Obadiah exclaimed, and turned the paper over.
Zoe
was written on the front in a slanted, painstaking script.

“I read it because it was addressed to me,” she said quietly, “but I am certain it was meant for you.”

Obadiah's mind was racing, trying to puzzle this out. From Rebekah, of course, but who had she found to deliver it and what tale had she told? Her younger brother Jordan seemed the likeliest courier, but Obadiah could not imagine how she had explained to
him that she had a friend among the Manadavvi. He unfolded the paper and quickly read the carefully composed words.

Dearest Zoe:

By now you must have heard about the terrible tragedy that has befallen my cousin Martha, who was discovered wickedly consorting with a Manadavvi man. . . .

Obadiah looked up at Zoe, so stunned that for a moment his vision went blank and he did not clearly see her face. “Sweet Jovah singing,” he whispered. “Her cousin—”

“I know,” Zoe said.

Obadiah dropped his eyes to the page again but it was a moment before he could take in the rest of the words.

. . . I am sure you must be worried about me, since you have had no word from me in so long. I just wanted to write to tell you that I will not be able to see you for some time—days, certainly, and weeks perhaps. My stepfather and my uncles are understandably upset. They are taking all precautions to make sure that their beloved women are safe. I have given myself over wholly to their care and do not expect to leave my own house any time soon, for any reason.

So you must not worry when you do not see me! I am well, though I wish very much to visit with you again, as soon as possible. How I wish we could fly away somewhere, to one of those cities you have told me about, and see all the marvels of the world.

Give my affection to all of our common friends. I do not think I will be able to write again, but I think of you often.

The letter was signed with a single looping “R.”

Obadiah looked over at Zoe again, his heart pounding. Rebekah was alive, she was safe, but she was not completely out of danger. And, unless he totally mistook the sense and meaning of her words, this missive held a delicate promise.

“She is willing to leave Breven and come with me to Cedar Hills,” he said, almost not even aware that he spoke aloud.

Zoe nodded. “I think she would be wise to do so.”

“But she cannot get free just now. There is no point to me camping out here another night.”

“We are happy to accommodate you, but I think you're right. There is nothing you can do at the moment. She's safe.”

“For now,” Obadiah answered.

“
I
've been thinking about the Gathering,” Rufus said.

“Good. You've decided to go,” Elizabeth said with an encouraging nod. They were having dinner at a very small, very new cafe on the west edge of town. Half-built structures loomed all around, skeletons of houses and shops, and the smells of lumber and tar mingled rather pleasantly with the scents of cooked meat and baking bread. Rufus had commented the other day that neither of them would save a cent if they spent all their money eating out, but it hadn't stopped them from making plans for the next night and the night after that.

“I've decided I'll go,” he said, “if you'll come with me.”

“Me! I don't belong there. I'm not Edori.”

“The Edori are always happy to receive strangers. They say strangers are just friends they haven't met yet.”

“Well, maybe that's true in the general run of things, but I'm sure they feel differently during the Gathering.”

“No, you're wrong. If you come as the guest of an Edori, they'll welcome you. They'd welcome you if you simply wandered in off the desert. You should come with me.”

“I know you're nervous about going alone—”

“Oh, I won't be going alone. There are three other Edori who have decided to make the trek from Cedar Hills to the Gathering.
But I want your company. Two weeks on the road with you. There's nothing we won't know about each other by then.”

He gave her a wicked grin—or what, among the Edori, passed for wicked. Elizabeth had long since concluded that if all Edori were like this one, there was no malice or cruelty in any of them; the worst they could conjure up was mischievousness.

“Maybe I already know you as well as I'd like,” she said.

“Maybe I'm the one who's still trying to dig deeper. Surely there's a core of sweetness somewhere in this girl, buried under all the spite and bile?”

“Dig right through to the bone,” she invited. “No sweetness here.”

“So I think you should come with me,” he said.

“I thought you'd found a few others to travel with.”

“I did. But I want you to come along, too.”

“Rufus, I—”

“Please,” he wheedled. “It won't seem so strange if you come.”

“You need to go to the Gathering so you can find the people you lost,” she said. “Find out if they're the way you remember. Find out if that's where you really belong. You can't do that if I'm there with you, distracting you, pulling you back.”

“If you're not there with me, that will be an even greater distraction,” he said. “I won't be able to focus on the people, what with all the time I'll be spending missing you.”

“Rufus, you know I can't go.”

“Why? Is it the travel or the company you can't abide?”

“I don't mind the travel, and I suppose I can endure your company for a while, but I can't possibly be gone for two weeks or more. Mary needs me.”

“You could ask her. She might be able to spare you for a little while. She might have a friend who can help out in your place.”

“There's no chance she would have a friend that good.” Elizabeth sighed. “But I'll ask.”

“And if she says yes? Will you come with me?”

She looked at him, at his dark, smiling face, lit just now with hope and affection. It astonished her, sometimes, how quickly he had become attached to her, how genuine his emotion was. He only had
to see her walking in his direction, separated from him still by the span of the road or the width of the room, to be wakened to a dazzling smile. Even from the same distance, that look on his face would flush her with warmth and pleasure. Even before he touched her, she felt cradled in his love.

They had not yet slept together. Elizabeth wasn't entirely certain why this was so, for Rufus could have no illusions about her purity and could not be worried that she was unwilling or shy. She thought—she really thought—he wanted to be surer of himself, surer of the two of them as a couple, committed to some future that envisioned them together, before indulging in the act of love. She had never operated from such reasoning before. She had always thought that offering the act of sex would result in her partner offering the gift of love. It had not occurred to her that the exchange could be postponed or reversed.

“Yes,” she said finally. “If Mary says I can go, I will come with you to the Gathering. But, Rufus, don't get your hopes up. I can't believe she would be able to spare me for so long.”

As it happened, Mary could spare Elizabeth for twice that long. “Diana's back in town for the month!” Mary greeted her the next morning. “Starting to show a little around the belly, but not due for another four months yet. I didn't realize how much I'd missed her until she showed up at my door last night.
With
her young man in tow, though I have to admit he still doesn't impress me that much.”

“I don't suppose she'd be interested in working with you for a couple of weeks,” Elizabeth said pessimistically. “To earn a few extra dollars.”

Mary gave her a sharp look. “Now how did you know that? She didn't say it in so many words, but it's clear to anyone with two eyes that she's the one holding that household together. She said, ‘Mary, if you need an extra pair of hands while I'm here, I'll be happy to help out as much as you like.' ”

How rare that Jovah juxtaposed one individual's set of desires so neatly with another's! Elizabeth was suddenly flooded with an excitement she had not allowed herself to feel when Rufus first made his proposal. “Then—but only if you're agreeable to it—I'd like to
take a couple of weeks off. And go on a trip. I said no, because I didn't think you could spare me, but if you
can,
and you're
willing
—”

Mary was instantly intrigued. “A trip? With that Edori man you've been seeing? I like him, I must say.”

“Yes, with Rufus. To the Gathering. I feel a little awkward going someplace like that among so many strangers—”

“To the Gathering! Oh, I don't think that's something you should miss. I've heard tales of it from time to time and always wished someone would invite me. Go, go. Diana will be delighted to hear she can earn two full weeks' salary. She's not as steady as you are, never was, but she's a good-hearted girl. I'll be happy to have her.”

And as simply as that, the matter was settled.

Rufus was as excited as a boy when she told him that night she would be able to join him. He insisted they sit down instantly and plan what they needed to bring—clothes, food, and camping gear—and got out a map to show her their proposed route.

“Looks pretty close to the desert,” she observed.

He nodded. “And Paul says that sometimes, in late winter when the storms blow off the mountain, it's actually easier to travel through the desert than to try to stay on fertile land. He knows the locations of a half a dozen waterholes scattered around the sand, so we shouldn't have to carry all our water with us. But some. You never know what to expect when you're traveling through the desert.”

“And you think it will take us five days to get there?”

“And five days back. And we'll camp four days with the people. My foreman has agreed to my absence for so long.”

“And I could be gone even longer and not fret for Mary's sake.”

He smiled at her happily. “Then it's all settled. Paul and Jed and Silas would like to leave in two days' time, early in the morning.”

Elizabeth shook her head a little, still not quite believing. “I've never camped out,” she said. “Until I was sixteen, I never stayed in anything but the most luxurious accommodations. Then we moved to the small house, but it was a pretty place with two water rooms and a garden out back. Then I moved to James's house and was told to be happy that I had my own room, even though it was tiny. Then I came to Tola's, and I share my room with someone else—but at least it's still a room! Walls around me and a roof over my head, and
a water room down the hall.
Now
I take one step farther down into obliteration, sleeping in a tent on the side of the road. What's next for me, I wonder?”

Rufus grinned. “We throw away the tent and let you sleep on the ground under the stars.”

“I wouldn't be surprised!”

“Oh, and did I mention that the five of us will all be sleeping in the
same
tent?” he said casually.

She stared at him, and he broke into a laugh. “Joking,” he added. “But the Edori do, you know. Sleep many and many to a tent. When we arrive at the Gathering, we'll be invited—I think we'll be invited—to join some family or some clan and sleep in a tent with five or ten others. But I thought you might not like that so much, so I thought we should have a tent of our own.”

“Yes, you're quite right! A few yards of material between me and no privacy is all that I really require, but I do require that!”

“So I think we've got everything we need,” he said. “Two days from now. Better start packing.”

Faith was sad to see Elizabeth leave, even for so short a time. She sat cross-legged on her bed, brown hair piled haphazardly on her head, and watched Elizabeth sort through her clothes.

“Will you be warm enough?” Faith asked. “It's so cold now at night. And you'll be heading north.”

“I guess we'll have a fire most nights. And sleep two together in the tent. And bring plenty of blankets! But it will be cold,” Elizabeth agreed.

“So do you think—on the trip—you and Rufus—”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I don't know. How private is a tent, anyway, when you've got three men sleeping just a few feet away? I'm assuming we'll just go on as we are for a while longer.”

“Maybe that's best,” Faith said softly.

Elizabeth folded a sweater, bulky and soft and bought for quite a dear sum at one of the new Cedar Hills shops. “Maybe it is.”

Faith was doing better these days, though she was imbued with an air of haunted fragility that made everyone treat her with extraordinary tenderness. She had nearly died almost five weeks ago—nearly
died, and when she learned the costs, wished she had. Elizabeth couldn't count the number of nights she'd woken up to the sound of Faith's bitter, muffled weeping. To never be able to bear any child at all, even a mortal baby, was a blow so severe that it had seemed Faith would not recover from it. Certainly the fact would shape her course and personality for the rest of her life.

Her angel lover had left only days after Faith's dreadful episode. He had come by several times to see her, refusing to leave the city until he had been assured that she would live. Elizabeth gave him great credit for that. He had even written a few times from Monteverde, hasty, brief messages about the coldness of the weather and how much he missed her. But these letters were growing scarcer and scarcer, and no one, least of all Faith, expected to see Jason hovering around Tola's door any time in the near future, looking for the beloved but barren girl.

“Why do they have it in the dead of winter?” Faith asked suddenly. “It seems like a strange time to make people travel all over the country.”

“I think the Edori travel all over the country all the time anyway, so it doesn't matter to them if it's summer or winter,” Elizabeth said. “Anyway, I think that's why they do it—to hasten spring. You know, to remind Jovah that winter has been long enough, time to send the sunshine again.”

Faith smiled weakly. “I don't think Jovah needs reminding.”

“No, I suppose it's really the rest of us who need reminding. Winter can't last forever, after all.”

Though it had seemed like it might. Between Faith's illness and the coughs and aches of half the residents of Cedar Hills, it had seemed the longest winter Elizabeth had ever endured. Even now, she thought, standing on Tola's front porch and gazing at a dismal gray sky, winter didn't seem any too likely to loosen its grip just because the Edori chanted a few rhymes and pronounced spring in the offing. It would be a cold trip to the Gathering and a cold trip back, and they would be lucky if they didn't wake up some morning to find their tents covered in snow.

“Elizabeth!” It was Rufus, hurrying down the narrow lane to
fetch her. “We don't think the wagon will fit down the alley. Come on, I'll carry your bag.”

He stooped to grab the long leather strap and swing it over his shoulder, then paused to give her a quick kiss on the mouth. He looked different somehow, buoyant; it took her a moment to come up with the word
joyous
. “Are you excited?” he asked.

She couldn't help laughing at him. “I certainly am.”

In a few moments she was settled into the wagon and they were on their way out of town. Rufus, Elizabeth, and a thin Edori man named Paul were seated in the back of the open wagon, among the luggage and the camping gear; Jed and Silas were on the seat up front.