The Alleluia Files (29 page)

Well, of course, it was not laundry at all. The red shirt was a warning signal, a message of danger, a sign that said
TROUBLE
LURKS
HERE
;
PASS
BY
. All Jacobites carried a bit of red clothing with them and never wore it—unless they had been taken prisoner, unless they were in the company of enemies and did not want their friends to unwarily approach. The angel had asked her if she expected any more Jacobites to arrive at Ileah. She did, but she expected them to take one look and run back the other way.

He would think, if he knew, that she was warning them of Jansai predators. But she considered the angel a danger just as great. All this talk of helping her to look for the Alleluia Files—! As if she would trust an
angel
with such a task! With
anything
. Everyone knew that angels had nothing to gain, everything to lose, if the spaceship
Jehovah
was exposed for the combination of machinery and fraud that it was. She had no idea what his plan was, how he expected her to help him betray her friends, but she was smart enough to know no good could come of colluding with an angel.

She punched her makeshift pillow again and turned over, trying to find a position that was comfortable for even five minutes. He had not seemed as indiscriminately evil as she would have expected. He looked neither debauched nor cruel, and he had certainly been kind enough to her and Peter.
He had reasons to
be kind
, she reminded herself, for naturally he wanted to win her over. Thus the courteous manner, the helpful acts, the gift of flowers which she could not, to this hour, fathom.

It would be easier to hate a man—an angel—who was coarse or abusive. This angel, this Jared, had seemed sincere enough and, actually, good-hearted; but of course it was all a facade. A shame that a man with such a pleasant face should use it as a mask for malevolence, but there it was. An angel was only good to propagate lies; how many times had she heard Conran say that? “The only favor an angel will grant is the favor of a quick death.” It was not like one pair of sympathetic eyes could overcome all her bitter training.

She rolled to her back and stared at the shaking ceiling overhead. There were half a dozen small windows near the top edge of the truck’s walls, and these let in a little light and even less wind. Not that she needed to see, and she was getting resigned to breathing only tainted air. But it was a way to judge the hours of daylight left.

How far were they from Semorrah? How fast were they traveling? Would they drive straight through to the merchants’ city or stop for the night somewhere along the road? There might be any number of small villages along the way, offering cheap inns and poor food, but Tamar doubted she had enough money in her pockets to pay for even the least expensive room. She would prefer driving straight through, or even camping out for the night.

Although, as usual, her desires were not to be consulted. When the driver did halt, about two hours after he’d picked her up, they took a quick break for an afternoon meal. Tamar found herself feeling oddly shaky and disoriented as she carefully climbed down. The driver stood with his back to her, shouting directions to the children. Beside him was a woman, most likely his wife, whom Tamar had not noticed before.

The woman smiled at her sympathetically. “I know just how you feel,” she said. “It’s so noisy in the back of the trucks, and say what they will, I’m convinced there’s something in the fuel that swirls around in your head and makes you feel sick. If I’ve been on the road all day, riding in back like that, there are times I sit up and retch all night. Truly. But you’ll feel better if you walk around a few minutes now.”

“I’m fine,” Tamar said faintly. “Why are we stopping?”

“Well, the boys get terribly wound up if we don’t let them out every few hours,” the woman said with a laugh. “And I had some personal needs to tend to. And I thought we might as well all have a snack. Are you hungry or is your stomach too queasy from the ride?”

Tamar thought about it a moment and was surprised to discover she had an appetite. “I could eat a bite,” she said cautiously. “I have a little food with me—”

The woman waved her hand. “Oh, heavens, no, I’ve brought enough to feed half the merchants in Semorrah! It’s a good sign that you’re hungry. I don’t think you’ll suffer too much.”

“And I don’t want you to think I’m complaining,” Tamar said earnestly. “It was so good of you to offer me a ride.”

The woman smiled again. “Arthur loves to help people out. He was so poor growing up, you know, and as he tells it, so many people were doing him favors, giving him odd jobs so he could earn a little extra money, helping his father on the farm when his dad got sick—well, he says he could never pay back to others all the things people did for him. I always thought that was such a positive way to look at life, don’t you think? Because most people are always complaining about how others have done them wrong. It’s one of the things I like most about him.”

I don’t care about this. I don’t know you people
, Tamar wanted to say, but despite herself, she was a little intrigued by the story. To have met with so much kindness in your life that you felt you could never repay it; there was a new thought. Of course, she had had some experience in that area, for she had been taken in and cared for by people upon whom she had no claim at all. But their affection had bound her only to them; it had not opened her heart to the world at large.

Perhaps the fault was in her, and not in her mentors. She was too suspicious and unforgiving by nature to expect good from everyone around her. Or perhaps she was right and this Arthur was wrong, and someday he would offer succor to the wrong fellow and be murdered for his pains. Now there was a dour thought to nurse on a sunny day. She shook her head to clear out the melancholy.

“I’m Tamar,” she said, just to have something to say. She rarely offered anyone her name first.

“Gena,” the woman replied. “The boys are—well, I’ll tell you their names, but I won’t expect you to remember them!”
And indeed, Tamar forgot them as soon as Gena reeled them off, but she smiled politely and made sure to glance at each cheerful young face.

Then she helped Gena spread out a blanket on the grass and cover it with plates and cups and baskets of food. The boys came yelping up and plopped themselves on the checkered cloth; their father followed a bit more sedately. For a while everyone ate in virtual silence.

“So, Tamar, what’s taking you to Semorrah?” Arthur asked after he learned his passenger’s name.

“My cousin may have a job for me there,” she said.

“And you came from where?”

“Stockton.”

“All that way on foot!” Gena exclaimed. “You must be exhausted!”

“I had a ride partway. I don’t mind walking.”

“What kind of job?” Arthur wanted to know.

Tamar smiled. “Well, my cousin works at a hotel, and I said I’d take anything. I can cook, I can clean, I can even tend horses—and I understand they have a lot of horses in Semorrah, since they don’t allow motor vehicles inside the city.”

“It’s good to know horses,” Gena said approvingly. “Arthur thinks machines are the answer to everything, but my father always relied on horses and they served him well.”

“Mark my words, another fifty years, you won’t see a workhorse in the country,” Arthur said. “Some people may still ride them for pleasure, but I say, it’s not that much pleasure to ride a horse.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a pleasure to ride in your smelly old truck, either,” Gena replied with a sniff.

He laughed. “No, but it’s twice as fast! And ten times as strong and can carry a hundred times more. The days of the horse and the ox are over, I’m afraid.”

“What hotel does your cousin work at?” Gena asked. “One of the big ones? They have such lovely hotels there—so fancy! For myself, I see no reason to waste good money just to stay in a pretty room twenty-five stories over the city, though I will say I like the view from some of those big public towers. But if all I’m going to do is lay my head down on a pillow and sleep, well, I’d rather save my money and settle in
someplace a little less expensive. As long as it’s
clean
. I will not abide a dirty room.”

“I don’t exactly remember the name of the hotel,” Tamar admitted. Actually, she was hoping for a little guidance from her hosts. “She said it was a nice place, not too fancy but the kind of place a woman would feel safe in if she was traveling alone or a man would feel free to make a business deal in. Only about fifty rooms, she said, but big enough to have its own taproom and stable. I think it was called the—”

“The Berman House?” Arthur interjected. “I’ve often thought about staying there, but I’ve always had such good luck with the Grey stone that I’ve never bothered to change.”

“The Berman House?” Tamar repeated. “That sounds— where is it located?”

“Oh, it’s a few streets over from the River Walk. Still in the fashionable part of town, but not quite as pricey,” Gena said. “It’s Cathedral and Market streets, isn’t it, Arthur?”

“Yes, exactly,” he agreed.

“That’s it!” Tamar exclaimed. “Cathedral and Market! I kept thinking she said Market and Church street, but then I thought, no, there isn’t a
Church
Street in Semorrah.”

“Not that I ever came across. Must be the Berman House, then. Good for you,” Arthur said, beaming. “Not a bad place to work.”

“So when will we get to Semorrah?” Tamar asked. “I’m not sure how far away we still are.”

“Oh, not till tomorrow morning,” Gena said. “We could drive lickety-split all day and make it there by tonight, but it would be dark, and of course we can’t bring the truck into the city, so we’d have to find the warehouse on the east side and then still try to cross the bridge tonight and find our rooms, and frankly, it’s just too much work. Better to arrive fresh in the morning and deal with all the details then.”

Arthur was nodding. Tamar felt her heart sink; Gena did not seem like the kind of woman interested in camping out for the night. “And do you plan to stay somewhere along the road, or just sleep in the truck overnight?”

“Oh! My! The truck! No, no, there’s a town not twenty miles from Semorrah. The cutest little inn you ever saw. We stay there every time we go to town. They always have room. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble getting accommodations.”

“No, I hope not,” Tamar said, but of course she could not afford to pay for luxuries like a room for the night. Well, she’d talk to the proprietor, quietly, when she arrived. He might be willing to trade a few hours’ labor in the kitchen for a pallet in the stables. That had worked for her in the past. She would see what arrangement she could make.

But then she had her second stroke of luck.

They had climbed back into the truck and taken off at what seemed a faster pace with increased volume. Or maybe the strain of the past few weeks was finally catching up with her. Tamar squirmed on her pallet, punching the jacket one more time to improve its possibilities as a pillow—and her hand encountered a crumpled wad somewhere inside the coat. Frowning, she sat up and dragged it across her lap, turning it inside out and looking for a way inside the lining. If it had been ripped open, it had been neatly sewn shut again; but that just made it more likely that something had been deliberately hidden inside. Documents, maybe; incriminating papers. Evan had been notorious for keeping maps and personal letters that most Jacobites had trained themselves to destroy. She found a weak hem and tugged. The threads gave way with a quick, silent spiral.

She stuck her hand inside the ragged tear and pulled out the balled-up papers. Not letters and maps, oh no. The indiscreet Evan had amassed a sizable sum of money, all new dollars of various denominations, currency good across the three provinces. She stared for a moment, hardly believing her eyes, and then quickly counted the bills. Not a fortune, not by any measure, but enough to see her to Semorrah and keep her from sleeping in any barns along the way.

Like Arthur, she was benefiting from the kindness of good friends and chance acquaintances. Maybe she could learn from this a lesson of generosity in return.

They made the inn before nightfall and were all assigned rooms. Tamar agreed to join her benefactors for dinner, although she would have preferred an hour of solitude; but they had been so nice to her that she hated to appear aloof. She ate quickly, pleaded a headache, and went straight up to her room. Even the muted clink and buzz from the taproom below her sounded like blissful silence after the ordeal all day in the truck. She washed up, climbed into bed, and was asleep in five minutes.

The next day, the ride did not seem quite so torturous, but that might have been because she knew it would be brief. And sure enough, before they had been on the road an hour, she felt their speed slow enough for her to make herself heard over the noise.

“Are we there already?” she asked one of the boys. “In Semorrah?”

“In Eastgate,” he replied. “But there’ll be a wait. There’s always a lot of trucks lined up trying to get to the warehouses. This is the boring part.”

And indeed, it took nearly another hour, moving at a crawling pace, to navigate the crowded roads into the industrial city that serviced Semorrah on this side of the Galilee River. Tamar thought she would go mad with the inactivity, though it was certainly a relief to have the noise and vibration cut down so dramatically. She was even reduced to playing cards with the boys, who taught her a simple gambling game. She promptly lost every hand. Feeling magnanimous and giddy, she gave them the copper coins she’d gotten in change from the innkeeper when she had paid for her room last night.

At last, the truck came to a wheezing halt—somewhere indoors, because the level of light had filtered down to almost nothing. The boys were instantly climbing down the outside of the truck, and Tamar was only seconds behind them. Arthur was in earnest conversation with someone who looked like a dock official, and they appeared to be discussing the quality and quantity of cargo in the truck. Tamar looked around to locate Gena.