The Alleluia Files (55 page)

The Jacobite leader shook hands with the ship’s captain. “You’ve done a great deal for us already,” he said, adding some phrase in a language Jared couldn’t understand. Probably that godless Edori tongue again. “Do not endanger yourselves. With any luck, we’ll see you again in three days—or a few weeks, back in Sahala.”

When the little dinghy was once more in the water, moving soundlessly toward the ship, Conran gathered his band together. “We’ll camp here for the night and head for Chahiela first thing in the morning.”

“Here?” Jani said with distaste, looking at the damp, shifting sand. Conran grinned.

“No, not in this precise spot, mikala. Half a mile inland on dry ground, I hope. We should be safe enough, but just to be sure, we’ll all take a turn on watch. Anyone who’s not sleepy can take first shift.”

Jared would have volunteered except, again, he didn’t feel like anyone in this circle valued his skills. Damned if he was going to offer any service that they would reject with disdain. Although he would never forgive himself if he was snoring away when the Jansai arrived … He shivered slightly. Maybe he would just take care to sleep very, very lightly. Close enough to Tamar to smuggle her out of harm’s way should it come roaring up in the middle of the night.

They trudged up from the beach and found flat, dry land almost immediately. They appeared to be in the middle of nowhere, miles from the trade road or any farming community; there weren’t even any memorable features to the landscape around them, at least by the light of the half-moon. Not that any of them spent much time looking. They were all tired and a little cross. The hothead Duncan demanded the first watch. The rest of them dropped where they stood, made whatever pallets they could from their duffel bags and cloaks, and fell instantly asleep. Jared waited long enough to note Tamar’s position, and then he closed his eyes.

Morning came far sooner than he had expected, beating down
on them with a merciless cheer that was infinitely irritating. Conran roused everyone by stalking through the camp and slapping his hands together briskly. “On your feet, time to get moving!” Even zealots, Jared observed from his own jaundiced eyes, found it hard to be enthusiastic after four hours’ sleep on a wretched bed.

They ate fruit, dried meat, and bread rolls as they walked west, following the coast. Conran was in the lead, but Duncan, Horace, and Sal were only half a pace behind him. Wyman, who was probably the best built of the lot and could have outdistanced even Duncan had he put his mind to it, was loitering behind with the women to dally with Jani. Tamar made halfhearted conversation with Loa when she wasn’t skipping ahead to chat with Conran. Jared brought up the rear.

What in Jovah’s name was he doing on this enterprise? Looking for the Alleluia Files in the company of criminals who would be executed by the Archangel if Bael could ever catch up with them? And despite the fact that Jared had been the one to suggest this site as a hiding place, it seemed wildly unlikely to him that the secret documents would really be there. Since it seemed wildly unlikely that they even existed.

His mother and his friends wouldn’t laugh at this quite so merrily. Only Christian, who had sent him on this bizarre chase, would take him by the hand and say, “Well done.” Even Mercy, who had so reluctantly agreed to practice mild treason against Bael, would find this mad venture incomprehensible.

Though she might forgive him for love. If everyone else in the world laughed at him for that, Mercy would not. That thought gave him a little comfort and allowed him to tramp on behind the others, mile after weary mile.

Angels hated walking. Lucinda was the only angel he’d ever seen who would stroll down a city street rather than fly from end to end—but Lucinda, on so many counts, was hardly common. Most angels would rather forgo the most exquisite pleasure you could name than walk a block to see it. It was a game with them to compare the soles of their feet, tender and uncallused as a baby’s cheek. Jared was no exception. But he walked with the Jacobites. He did not want to be even three wing spans away from Tamar if the Jansai suddenly appeared. He was here to keep her safe and, by the god’s great grace, he would do it.

At noon, bowing to the pressure of many complaining voices,
Conran called a brief halt for lunch. It was more of the same and they ate quickly. The women disappeared for a few minutes behind a stand of trees, though Duncan called after them, “Hey, girls, what are you hiding?” When they came back, Loa threw a rock at him, and everybody laughed.

After this stop, they turned almost due north and walked about three more miles. They could see Chahiela half an hour before they actually crossed into it. It looked like any other small town on the edge of a trade route. There was a collection of squat new buildings lining the main road, and two distinct neighborhoods on either side of the highway, one belonging to the passably wealthy and the other devoted to the struggling poor. At the very western edge of the town stood a disorganized cluster of older buildings that had probably been there even before the road.

Where now?
Jared wondered. He didn’t think even Conran had the nerve to stroll up to total strangers and start inquiring after the Alleluia Files. For himself, he was stymied.

But Conran kept on walking and the others straggled behind. The Jacobite leader bypassed all the new homes, all the recent warehouses, and headed straight for the original buildings that must have housed the school when this little community was first haphazardly put together. Even now, Jared realized, the school still existed: As they approached the older outbuildings, he saw young children leading others by the hand and older youths navigating the streets with the aid of canes and deep concentration.

Conran came to a halt outside a large communal building and looked around indecisively. Jared, trying to reason like a Jacobite, wondered what he might say to the first person who approached and asked their business. The angel couldn’t think how anyone could frame the essential questions.

He didn’t have long to speculate. Within three minutes, as the Jacobites stood in an uneasy cluster, a middle-aged woman with a pleasant expression stopped in front of Conran.

“Can I help you?” she asked. “Are you looking for someone? Is someone in your group looking to become a student with us? I am Arla.”

“Conran,” the Jacobite replied with the big warm smile that most people found irresistible. “Actually, I’m looking for
information. Perhaps you can supply it. Which of these houses is the one where the angel Alleluia grew up?”

“Oh, the Wellin house! But none of her family owns it anymore, you know. Alleluia never lived here after her mother died, and the house passed into the hands of one of Hope Wellin’s closest friends.
Her
name was Mara Lanette, but of course she’s been dead since before I was born. It’s
her
granddaughter that lives there now, and I believe her granddaughter lives with her. She’s quite old, you know. Can’t hear a word. All the Lanettes have been born deaf—except this youngest granddaughter. Now,
she
can hear, though it’s my belief she reads lips as much as hears the words. Sometimes if you call out to her when she’s walking down the street, she passes on by as if you haven’t said a word.”

A lot of stupid gossip that no one could care about, Jared thought. But Conran was nodding wisely, as if all this talk of deaf women and great-granddaughters was precisely what he had come to Chahiela to hear. Jared was amazed that the woman would volunteer so much information to a total stranger, but then again, maybe she was not used to having a listening audience. Not everyone in Chahiela was blind, after all; it had been named
silence
for another reason.

“This woman who lives in the Wellin house now,” Conran said. “What’s her name? Do you think she’d mind if we came by to visit?”

“No, she’d be delighted to have company. She’s the nicest lady. If you want to talk to her, you’ll have to ask her granddaughter to interpret, of course, but she’s a good girl. She won’t mind.”

“And their names?”

“Maretta Lanette—she was named after her grandmother— and Caley Boster. Caley’s mother married that Boster boy, but it didn’t really work out. But it worked out for Maretta, because now she’s got Caley living with her and it’s made everything so much easier for her.”

“And the house? Can you point it out to me?”

“Why, it’s right over there.” And she indicated a small, two-story stone house with a painted white fence and a meticulously maintained lawn. Maretta and her devoted granddaughter certainly spent a lot of time in their yard, Jared thought cynically. Of course, they didn’t have to waste all day listening to the
inane chatter of their neighbors, so no doubt they were able to accomplish more than most of the residents. He admired Conran for his undiminished cheerfulness and the seeming sincerity with which he thanked their informant. After two more interminable exchanges, they were on their way again, all nine of them, to the house where the oracle Alleluia had been born.

The woman who answered the door was slim, dark, exhausted, and young, so Jared assumed she was the long-suffering granddaughter and not the elderly Maretta. She seemed startled to see so many strangers appearing on her doorstep at once, though she couldn’t summon the energy for true astonishment. “Can I help you?” she asked doubtfully.

“My name’s Conran. These are my friends. We wanted to ask your grandmother some questions.”

“All of you? Who are you?”

“We are researchers looking for biographical information about the angel Alleluia. The oracle Alleluia. We understand this is the house she was born in, and we thought there might be some—artifacts—here that would be useful to us.”

“Well, there are lots of old boxes and things in the cellar,” Caley said without enthusiasm. “I suppose you could look through those.”

“We were hoping to talk to your grandmother. She might know where to find what we’re looking for.”

“Oh. Well. I guess that would be all right.” She surveyed their little group again, and some of their tension must have communicated itself to her, for a little briskness came to her voice. “Why don’t you come into the parlor and I’ll go fetch her?”

So they tumbled in after her into the narrow hallway, Jared wondering how any angel could have endured living in such close quarters. His own wings brushed the walls on either side. The parlor was clean but sparsely decorated with somewhat worn furnishings; Caley and her grandmother certainly did not live a lavish life. There were not enough places to sit, and none of the chairs would accommodate angel wings. Jared and the other young men stood; Conran and the women sat.

Five minutes later Caley returned, with a smiling old woman in tow. Maretta Lanette was everyone’s vision of the perfect grandmother, with curly gray hair, rosy cheeks, a knitted shawl
thrown over her shoulders to ward off whatever chill the air might hold.

Caley led the old woman straight to Conran, who got rather stiffly to his feet. “My name’s Conran,” he said. “My friends and I are researching the life of the oracle Alleluia.”

Maretta continued smiling, but her eyes had gone to her granddaughter’s hands. Caley was weaving her fingers in the air, repeating Conran’s message in the silent language of the deaf. Jared watched with interest because, although he had heard of such communication, he had never seen it performed. When Caley was finished, Maretta asked her a question in the same language.

“My grandmother says, what do you want to know? What are you looking for?”

“Can she read lips?” Conran asked the girl.

“If you look straight at her and speak very slowly. But she usually likes to have me interpret anyway.”

Conran nodded and stared at Maretta. “We are looking for memoirs that Alleluia may have left behind here when she was an old woman. Something she would have wanted your grandmother to keep for her safely. Something she would not want many people to see. We don’t know what form these memoirs are in, but we think they were recorded somehow. They are very important to us.”

Maretta watched him intently, nodding once or twice, then looked over at Caley, who quickly sketched in the details. Maretta’s hands asked a question; Caley repeated it.

“But if she left them here to keep them safe, is there any reason I should give them to you now?”

Conran grinned broadly. “She has been dead sixty years,” he said. “It cannot possibly matter to her now what we may learn about her.”

“They say she was a secretive woman,” Maretta said through Caley’s mouth. “But my grandmother adored her.”

“Learning some of her secrets now may save a number of lives,” Conran said gently. “Do you know where we might find these memoirs I have described to you?”

“In her old room. There is something—I cannot describe it— a piece of equipment. It might hold the information you’re looking for.”

“A piece of equipment?”

“We found it eight or nine years ago when we had to do repairs to that room. It was behind a false wall. Caley guessed that it was meant to play music, but as I cannot hear it, I have never turned it on. It may have belonged to Alleya.”

“Alleya?”

“That is what the people here called the angel Alleluia,” Caley said.

“Charming,” Conran said. He had spoken slowly and calmly till now, but Jared could sense his excitement building. “May we see this equipment? May we listen to any recordings that are there?”

Maretta gazed at Conran for a long time while Caley watched impassively. Had Jared been the one to undergo such a searching gaze, he would have tried to make his eyes limpid and his expression saintly, but Conran stared back at her with all the intensity at his command. It was as if he was willing her to acquiesce, winning her over by the strength of his desire.

Finally, Maretta nodded once, sharply, and everyone from Conran on back let out a sigh. “This way,” Caley said, and everyone turned to follow her back into the cramped hallway. Maretta made no move to join them. Conran held out his hand to her.

“Won’t you come with us?” he asked, but she shook her head.