Читать книгу Before Winter - Nancy Wallace K. - Страница 16

Marcus slithered unceremoniously down the slope and landed next to Devin. “Those people were from Rodez. They had actually gathered to learn Tirolien’s Chronicle. One man was a friend of Absolon Colbert, Dariel Moreau’s apprentice. He’d heard Absolon tell the tales from the Chronicle over and over and learned many of them himself. He’s passing them on to the others.”

“So they had already heard of Dariel and Absolon’s murders?” Devin asked.

“News of a murdered Master Bard and his apprentice travels fast,” Marcus said. “Dariel’s murder was more lurid than most. There was no attempt to cover it up as an accident or natural causes. When Absolon was murdered as well, there was no evidence to prove that the murders might have been prompted by robbery. The people of Tirolien are furious!”

“As well they should be,” Devin agreed. He gave a violent shiver. “Aren’t you cold? I’m about to freeze to death. Is it safe for us to retake our hut?”

“Yes, they’ve all gone home,” Marcus said, scrambling back up the hill. “I’m chilled, too, but I thought you’d be relieved that at least Tirolien’s stories are being retold.”

Devin followed him up, his wet boots rubbing his feet in a dozen nasty places. “I was just afraid you were going to get caught, lurking behind them like a thief,” he said. “I had hoped that some of the bards who knew the stories would retell them and teach them to others; even though that isn’t the way that tradition dictates that the Chronicles be taught. I hope it happens all over Llisé and the stories of their murdered Master Bards spread across this empire like a plague!”

The moon slipped slowly toward the western horizon, leaving the stars to shine bright and glassy in the dark sky. The grass crunched beneath their feet as though a crust of frost had covered it in the still, cold air after midnight. It seemed that fall had already laid its icy fingers on the northern part of Llisé and their mission seemed more urgent than before.

The hut felt warm and still held the smell of lamp oil, wool, and sweaty bodies. Devin dropped down on the hay, shrugging out of his wet jacket and rehanging it on a stray branch.

Marcus began shifting the hay around by the wall, piling it up and spreading it out again, his back to Devin.

“It’s unfortunate when you are warmer without your jacket on than with it,” Devin observed, scooping out a small nest for himself in the hay.

“Don’t!” Marcus said suddenly.

“Don’t what?” Devin asked.

There was a sudden deafening silence. Devin looked up but Marcus’ face was hidden in shadow. His voice when it came sounded ragged. “Don’t move the hay around. I left the journal here when we ran. I think it’s gone, Devin.”

Devin fumbled for the lantern, jamming it into Marcus’ hands. “Light the lantern so we can see!”

Marcus struck a spark and the lantern illuminated the small space. Though they searched for at least an hour, moving every wisp of hay at least twice, there was no sign of the journal in the hut.

Devin fought an irrational urge to yell at Marcus. “You could hear what these people who met here were saying, couldn’t you?” he snapped.

Marcus nodded. “Most of it. I wasn’t close enough to hear everything.”

“Did they mention the journal?” Devin demanded. “Did anyone say anything about it?”

Marcus shook his head. “No.”

Devin paced the small space, his breath misting in the cold air. “Do you think that whoever took it, kept it a secret? Just pocketed it until he could look at it later?”

Marcus threw out his hands. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure where I dropped it. When we heard the voices and saw the lanterns, my only thought was to get you away safely. I realize what I’ve done, Devin, I’m not minimizing it. It was what I warned you about doing and why I told you to put the journal back in your jacket lining when you weren’t using it.”

“You didn’t …?”

Marcus patted his pockets. “No, I’ve already checked.”

Devin sank down on his knees.

“I know how much it meant to you,” Marcus said.

Devin steepled his hands against his mouth. “I felt as though we were on the verge of understanding the beginning of this Shadow Government. Father Sébastian mentioned the Forneaux family and the fact that there were two brothers and some apparent feud between them. It sounded as though the people of Albion might have become innocent victims of that feud. We have to find the journal, Marcus. It would strengthen our case if I had some written evidence to present to Council.”

“We can’t take the time to look for it, Devin,” Marcus said. “I’m sorry. If we are to get back to Coreé before winter, we have to reach La Paix as soon as possible.”

“And yet, Rodez is on the way,” Devin pointed out. “It’s only a few miles north of the route we took when we went to Calais to search for the Provincial Archives. We didn’t pass it then because we stayed on the main road.”

“We don’t have time, Devin,” Marcus repeated.

“We’ll have to stop for food,” Devin rationalized.

“How would you determine which person took it?” Marcus asked. “There were ten men and two women here tonight.”

“Who seems most likely?” Devin asked.

“No one!” Marcus snapped. “No one seemed like the type to take it without telling the others. They were here to remember and repeat their history. They were meeting in secret … afraid for their lives. Something like that journal would only have added to their goal. They would have been happy to discover any information against the government.”

“But none of them could read!!” Devin exclaimed suddenly. “They would have taken it to someone who could, probably the closest priest! I wonder if there is still a church in Rodez?”

“Was there a church there on the map?”

Devin nodded. “Yes, but that map was old. There was no indication when it was drawn up or by whom. It’s worth taking a chance though, isn’t it, Marcus? It would only mean a few hours out of our time and it might provide valuable information.”

Marcus sighed. “Get some sleep. It’ll be dawn before you know it.”

“Marcus, we can’t allow this journal to disappear,” Devin begged.

Marcus held up a hand. “Don’t push me. If you do, the answer will be ‘no.’ Let me think about it. In the meantime, shut up and get some rest.”

Initially sleep seemed impossible, but Devin did finally nod off. His dreams were filled with soldiers, floods, and last of all, just before he wakened, Lavender appeared. She held the journal in her hands. “We gave this to you,” she said. “If you lose it, there isn’t another one. We’re depending on you.” He woke with a startled exclamation and the determination to find the journal whether Marcus agreed or not.

“What’s the matter?” Marcus asked.

“I’m going to go to Rodez,” Devin said, “with or without you. I can’t let you dictate whether this journal is significant or not, Marcus. I need it to present to Council and I intend to find it before we go back.”

Marcus raised his eyebrows and bowed his head, with a grand sweep of his arm. “Then I guess I’ll have to go with you, Monsieur Roché,” he acquiesced, his jaw clenched.

Rodez was only two miles from the main road, which Devin and Marcus were closer to than they realized. The rural community consisted of a scattering of houses, a small bakery, a store, and a stone church, much like the one at Albion. They heard the bell in the tower as they topped the small rise leading into town.

“Is it Sunday?” Devin asked.

“I have no idea,” Marcus responded. “If it is, I don’t think it’s wise to join the congregation. It makes it much more obvious that we are strangers and a lot more people would be able to attest to our whereabouts.”

Devin went off the road into a tangled shrubby area with a good view of the front of the church and sat down. “Then we’ll wait.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Mass must have begun before they arrived and the parishioners trooped down the steps in a little over an hour, saying their farewells to the large priest who greeted them at the door.

“Do you recognize anyone?” Devin whispered.

“That man,” Marcus pointed out, “is Absolon’s friend. He seemed to be the leader of the group. If I had to guess, I might think he had taken the journal.”

Devin watched as the tall, lanky young man bent to speak privately with the priest. “He could be making arrangements to meet him later or confiding that his wife is expecting another baby. It’s impossible to know.”

Marcus grabbed his arm. “That woman was there, too. I remember the unusual white streak in her hair.”

The woman shook the priest’s hand and descended the steps, holding a small boy by the hand. Several people followed in quick succession; none was anyone that Marcus recognized until a very large man gripped the priest in a bear hug.

“He was there,” Marcus added. “It makes you wonder if he might be the priest’s brother. They are surely built the same.”

Devin sighed. “Anyone else?” It was well past noon and his stomach was rumbling. How nice it would be to go to the baker’s and buy some fresh bread. But in a village this size, strangers would be noticed right away, and possibly reported to the nearest authorities. The people of Northern Llisé were afraid for their lives. Their bards had been brutally murdered and their heritage was in jeopardy. Any stranger had become a potential enemy.

Marcus shook his head. “There is no one else that I recognize. It was dark and I was peering through the branches on the wall of the hut. I think I was lucky to have remembered three of them. Wait a few minutes and we’ll go in and speak to the priest.”

“I pray he doesn’t have another service to perform at a nearby church, the way Father Sébastian did,” Devin commented.

“It’s entirely possible. I doubt that a village this size could support a priest,” Marcus said.

The area around the church had cleared and Devin and Marcus stood up. Devin pulled the bandage from his head, scrunched it, and placed it in his pocket. He combed his hair down over his wound with his fingers as they moved out from their hiding place.

The priest was just swinging the one door closed as they reached the church. “Good afternoon,” he said, shading his hand against the sun. “Do I know you?”

“No, Father,” Devin said. “May we speak to you?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’m Father Mark. Would you like to come inside?”

“Please,” Devin said, as Marcus surveyed the empty street for observers. The priest held the door for them and they entered the darkened nave; sparse sunlight pierced the only two windows.

“How can I help?” Father Mark asked. “Are you in need of food or lodging?”

Devin’s stomach took that inappropriate moment to growl loudly.

The priest threw his head back and laughed. “I see what the trouble is. I have some food in the back. Let me get it.”

Devin restrained him, his hand light but insistent on his arm. “We don’t need food, Father, but information. I hope you can help us.”

Father Mark sobered. “I believe your stomach would differ with your words, young man, but tell me what you are looking for.”

“Last night a journal was taken from the place where we camped. The contents are valuable. We believe the person who took it lives in Rodez and might have brought it to you. It is vitally important that we have it back,” Devin said.

Father Mark nodded slowly. “If I were in possession of such a thing, would the person who took it be subject to charges of theft?”

“No,” Devin replied. “We simply need it back.”

“I’ve looked at the journal. The book seems to have value to the parish of Rodez also,” Father Mark declared. “It fills blanks in the history of our church and the men who have served it.”

“It does,” Devin replied. “But it also provides background for some of the current political turmoil. There is not only unrest here, in the provinces, over taxes and education, but a man is vying for Chancellor Roché’s position in Coreé, as well. I ask you to trust me in this. If you allow us to take the journal with us now, I will see that a copy of it is returned to you.”

There was a sudden flurry of activity outside, the sound of horses’ hooves and men shouting. “Soldiers,” Marcus hissed. “Is there somewhere we can hide?”

Devin rummaged in his jacket, coming up with the tiny key they had taken from the Bishop’s Book, which supposedly granted them access to the underground tunnels. He held it flat on his palm and extended it to Father Mark.

Father Mark hesitated only a moment then motioned with his hand. “Come with me.”

They ran the length of the nave and crouched behind the altar. Father Mark, who was a bear of man, hoisted a stone from the floor himself, handed them an unlighted candle and sent them down a ladder just as the doors to the sanctuary were thrown back against the walls of the church. The stone locked down smoothly in place, leaving Marcus and Devin in total darkness.

Devin felt carefully for each step until he reached the bottom rung. He held out a hand to guide Marcus down, then with arms extended, he felt his way toward the foundation wall of the back of the church. The wall ran straight until it reached the corner and there he and Marcus sat down in complete darkness and waited.