The Alleluia Files (37 page)

Christian nodded. “Even better. Apparently some artist in Bael’s pay sketched up portraits based on these descriptions, and so we have pictures. Would you like to see them?”

“Of course. Just so I’ll know them when I come face to face with any escaped Jacobites.”

Christian laid aside his fork and took up a small leather portfolio that he had brought with him. “This is the key one. Conran. Looks like any old man you might meet on the street.”

Jared took the paper and studied it a moment. True enough, but even in this badly rendered sketch, the man possessed a certain force of personality. He had been limned with high cheekbones, dark eyes, and a full mouth; the thinning hair, lightly shaded to indicate gray, must once have been black. “Is he Edori?” Jared asked.

“I don’t know. Does he look Edori?”

“A little. He has that—undomesticated expression.”

“All the Jacobites do. At least in these pictures.”

Jared glanced at the next three and heard Christian pronounce
their names, but none of these portraits conveyed the same sense of intensity as the first one. Two of them were men; the third was a woman. Jared forgot their features immediately.

“I confess I’m not sure I’d recognize any of them if I passed them on the street,” Christian said. “So I don’t know how the Jansai will. But I suppose—”

“Jansai?” Jared repeated.

“Oh, yes. Copies of these have been circulated to all the interested Jansai. There’s a reward for their capture, too. Not much for your run-of-the-mill Jacobites, mind you, though for Conran Atwell I believe the sum is fairly substantial. As it is for this woman, for some reason. She doesn’t look like she’d be particularly ferocious, now, does she?”

And Christian handed him a portrait of Tamar.

And Jared felt the Kiss in his arm explode in a painful burst of fire.

“I know this woman,” he said carefully.

“Really?” Christian sounded amazed. “During what unlikely social function did you make her acquaintance?”

“In Ileah. I told you. There was a Jacobite there. This is her.” The shape of the face was not quite perfect, and the expression of the mouth was too serene, but it was Tamar; there was no question. “I can’t imagine that she could be on anybody’s list of criminals most dangerous to the realm. She scarcely had enough strength to keep body and soul together.”

Christian took the picture back to study it more closely. “Perhaps she has unsuspected depths. She looks here like she’s fairly determined.”

“Indomitable,” Jared agreed. “But—powerless. I have never seen anyone who looked so alone and friendless.”

“Well, she’ll certainly be friendless if Bael’s Jansai catch up with her,” Christian said. “Where do you suppose she disappeared to?”

“I wish I knew,” Jared said. He took the portrait back. “Could I get a copy of this? Of all of them, when it comes to that?”

“Certainly. I’ll have copies made immediately. So you plan to look for her again?”

“For any of them. Although, based on my luck with Tamar, I don’t know that I’ll be able to convince them that I am not the enemy.”

“Well, they must come to trust us, and you’re as likable as any angel,” Christian said. “Though that’s not saying much. Where do you plan to look?”

“You’re the one with the mysterious connection to information. Where do you suggest?”

“Ysral,” Christian said promptly. “That’s where many of them are thought to have sought refuge. And the Edori, of course, have welcomed all of Samaria’s castoffs for the past hundred years.”

“All right, then. That’s where I’ll try. Right after Isabella’s party.”

“I’d love to join you for the fete,” Christian said with a grin. “Unfortunately, I have other plans that weekend. I was invited, you know.”

“Well, Isabella promises to introduce me to any number of respectable and charming young women. I have to admit I’m dreading it.”

“For a man with your gifts and attractions, you seem remarkably eager to escape romantic coils.”

“With respectable young women,” Jared said with a grin. “I do not mind entanglements with the reprehensible kind.”

“Mercy was right,” Christian said. “It’s time you grew up.”

Jared considered his friend for a long moment. “Since you brought up her name,” he began, but Christian forestalled him with a laugh.

“Spare me the fatherly advice. From you it would be ludicrous.”

“She’ll never leave Cedar Hills,” Jared went on unheeding, his voice slow and serious. “And she’s not likely to jeopardize a friendship that means as much to her as yours does. And— you know—”

“And I don’t believe I expressed an interest in your opinion, anyway,” Christian interrupted.

“We’ve spent the past two days discussing
my
love life.”

“Which is of some interest to the realm. Mine is not. Besides, I have already produced two fine heirs. I appreciate your concern. But I’ve no wish to discuss it.”

Jared hesitated, shrugged, and finished his meal. “How quickly can you get me the copies?” he said at last. “I’d like to leave today if possible.”

“Within the hour. You will let me know as soon as you discover anything—or anyone?”

Jared patted his hip and grinned. Christian had devised a waist sling for carrying the communications device, and Jared had made a point of wearing his around the merchant’s house all morning. “I’ll contact you immediately. Good enough?”

“Good enough. Good luck.”

In the afternoon, Jared left for Monteverde, though it was impossible to reach the hold before dark. Still, he was impatient to get back, and he actually enjoyed flying at night. He liked the way the ground slowly disintegrated beneath him and the blackness of the night intensified around him; he especially liked the sensation of being suspended in a net of starlight, cold and brilliant. Some angels complained that they grew dizzy or lost their way when they attempted to fly after sundown, but Jared always felt his mind hone down to a diamond-hard clarity; his bones were suffused with exhilaration. It was like breathing the god’s air, clean and intoxicating. Jared loved it.

It was past midnight when he arrived at Monteverde, so it was late the next day before he was up and making the rounds. His mother greeted him with her usual affectionate sarcasm— “Is that my son? Have you remembered my existence?”—and Catherine more helpfully filled him in on events that had transpired in his absence. But Monteverde had been quiet. No Jansai, no Jacobites, no predatory women. He could use a spell of quiet reflection.

Except all his meditations led him back to Tamar.

Where
could
she be? Was she in danger? How could he find her?

Why had his Kiss lit once in her presence, and once when she was nowhere nearby?

Or had she been nearby? Had she been in the Berman House? Not that she could have been a guest there, but perhaps she had come to the door while he sat there, selling something or asking for information. Or perhaps—stupid man not to have thought of this before!—she had sought employment there. She had seemed like a woman who would not be afraid of hard work, and she was certainly presentable enough to be hired at a place like the Berman House. He should have investigated. He should not
have so cavalierly dismissed the significance of the agitated Kiss.

If she was still at the Berman House, he could have Christian seek her out immediately. His hand went to the cylinder at his waist, and then he paused. But she didn’t know Christian and would be suspicious of any wealthy merchant who came asking after her. Of course, she knew Jared and was suspicious of him, anyway, but somehow he felt this was a task that was supposed to fall to him. He could not redirect it to his friend.

Therefore, two days after his return, he sought out his sister. “I have to go to Semorrah for a day or two,” he told Catherine, who rolled her eyes in resignation.

“Didn’t you tell me yesterday that you would be here until Isabella Cartera’s grand dinner party?”

“I did, but I lied. But I’ll be back in a day or two. Promise. And this time I’ll stay. Well, a few weeks. Until the wedding.”

“I don’t believe you. But go. Go. Have fun disporting with Christian Avalone and the Semorrah girls. We do just fine without you.”

He felt like he should justify himself, but when he opened his mouth to explain, he found that it was too complicated. Therefore, he smiled, shrugged, and let her think what she would.

He left that morning for Semorrah and arrived in the city by early evening. Without even stopping at Christian’s, he made his way to the Berman House and, after a few inquiries, found his way to the steward who oversaw the entire staff.

“I was wondering if you could tell me if you had ever employed this young woman—or seen her anytime this past month,” Jared asked. He unfolded the portrait of Tamar that Christian had given him. Mysteriously, the merchant had been able to produce a copy in minutes but would not explain how that had been possible. “She’s fair, with short, light brown hair and green eyes, and she’s called Tamar.”

The steward had taken the portrait just as Jared pronounced the name, and he started visibly, shaken either by the word or the picture. He studied it for just a few moments before handing it back.

“I know her,” he said quietly. “Is she in trouble?”

Jared considered. “She could be in danger,” he said. “But not from me. Please believe I mean her no harm. I could have
Christian Avalone vouch for me if that would reassure you.”

The older man made a brief, quickly repressed gesture of negation.
No, no, I need no character references. “
I could not betray her to you even if I would,” he said. “She left two days ago, somewhat abruptly.”

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

“To her sister, who had fallen ill. She did not leave an address or anything personal behind. My own opinion was that something had frightened her and she felt the need to run away. I was sorry she did not trust me enough to confide in me.”

Jared refolded the paper and slipped it back in his vest pocket. He was cursing himself for failing to heed the pressure of his Kiss that night he had dined here with Christian and Mercy. She had been here, not fifty feet away, and he had sensed it somehow…. “Do you think she might come back someday?”

“I hope so. But I doubt it.”

“Would you get word to me if she does?”

The steward considered. Jared had to like him for it, though his was the soul being weighed; but he was glad to see Tamar had won at least one friend during her sojourn in Semorrah. “I would be willing to tell her you want to speak to her,” the old man temporized.

“Fair enough. Tell her that I think she is in danger, and that Christian Avalone will give her sanctuary. She won’t believe you, but tell her anyway. I appreciate your willingness to help.”

The steward inclined his head. He had a certain majestic dignity; he probably led a much more productive, demanding existence than Jared had even contemplated. The thought was somewhat lowering. “It is a privilege to serve the angels.”

“And you don’t have a clue where she might have gone? You don’t know this sister’s name or what province she lives in?”

“I believe the sister was fabricated. Had she given a direction, I suspect it would have been false.”

All too likely. “Thank you again for your assistance,” Jared said. He added impulsively, “And for your kindness to her. I will look for her elsewhere.”

But as he left the Berman House, feeling completely dejected, the question remained: where? It seemed unlikely she could have made it from Semorrah back through Jordana to Breven and thence to safety in Ysral, particularly if Jansai were looking
for her and knew her face. So she was probably in Bethel somewhere, taking odd jobs and trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. There were any number of places to hide in Bethel— small towns or farming communities, for instance, and there were literally hundreds of those—and he did not know how he would begin to comb through them all.

Well; it was back to Monteverde now, because he had promised. But he would leave early for Isabella Cartera’s and make a few unscheduled stops on the way. Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe he would find the Jacobite where he least expected her.

L
ucinda had never known time to pass so slowly. During the first three weeks after
The Way-ward
‘s departure, every day seemed a thousand hours long; the sun seemed to crawl toward its unreachable zenith of noon, then descend hesitantly, reluctantly, toward the indifferent bed of the sea. Night was interminable, rubbery, each minute stretched to accommodate ten. No dreams could speed the passage of the hours, and sleep, of course, was unattainable. When—impossible to delay any longer—the next dawn made its unwilling debut, there was no need to look forward to any hope of relief. There was no diversion, no employment, engrossing enough to nudge a single hour into a faster pace.

Well. If this was how it felt to be in love, Lucinda could not imagine why the poets praised the state so exultantly. She found it a wretched business all in all.

She did not speak a word of her unhappiness to Gretchen, who most assuredly would not approve of romances conducted with Edori sailors. Nonetheless, the older woman sensed that something was wrong, and eyed her niece often with a measuring glance. Several times during those three dreary weeks, her aunt would surprise her with a quick, pouncing question: “Do you have a headache?” “Are you suffering your monthly distress?” “Is your stomach bothering you? I have a potion you could try.” To all inquiries Lucinda answered firmly, “I’m fine.” She was fine. She was just heartsick. And lonely. And terrified of never seeing Reuben again.

And more terrified of having him sail back into the harbor at Angel Rock.

Every night before she went to bed, she softly sang the notes
that unlocked the silver box, and she took out the emerald ring Reuben had given her. She wore it while she slept (on the rare occasions she actually slept), and it gave her a peculiar, bitter comfort to wake in the middle of the night and feel its weight around her finger. Each morning, she replaced it in its case and sang the measures in reverse, and then she hid the box under a pile of clothes in the bottom drawer of her dresser.