Tales of Downfall and Rebirth (36 page)

“Well, that's interesting,” Poppa said slowly. “Nice to have the bridge in any case. Up until last March you had to cross on a ferry. Took forever to get a convoy across. Yep, the Consolidated St. Mary–St. Martin Parish people say their shiny bridge matches anything the Before People built. Might be true, 'cause all the B.R. metal bridges that used to be here were swept away.”

Poppa attached their horse's reins to the wagon when it reached them and everyone climbed aboard, Petra and Liam on the bench, Momma and Poppa sitting behind.

“What's that down there?” Liam said, pointing to a latticed tower downriver.

“That's Mr. Charlie,” Pettibone said. “Used to be right next to the shore, but the new river left it stranded. One of them things the Before People used to dig out that magic black stuff.”

“Petroleum,” Poppa said.

“My old grenma use to say people could travel from Oakton to Old Morgan City in less than a day using that magical stuff in their machines. I never believe her 'cause they'd have to be almost flyin'.”

“That sounds silly,” Liam said. “People don't fly.”

“A lot of B.R. things sound silly,” Momma said. “Hard to know which is myth and which is truth.”

“Aye that,” Pettibone said.

“Where's Morgan City?” Petra asked.

“Athena was carved out of Morgan City. The idea was to repeat Alexandria, in ancient Egypt, the library, the harbor, and the lighthouse that you can see way down the river.”

Petra had to stand up in order to see the tall, white tower.

“At night, you can see the bonfire at the top. Ships that anchor here are asked to send any books they have to the library so they can be copied. Just like they did at the library at old Alexandria. The founders here were planning to call this place Alexandria, too, but there's already an Alexandria in the Louisiana Federation. So they named it for the Greek goddess Athena.”

“It's better they named it after a woman, anyway,” Petra said.

“Well put, my daughter,” Momma said as Liam made gagging sounds.

Once across the river, Poppa cut the book wagons from the main convoy and sent it to the central market with Yates in charge. As usual, Momma would go to the library, but for the first time, Liam was given a choice: the library or the Ranger barracks. Liam dithered less than a second and rode off with Annie, leading Momma's horse.

The library was a large structure, rising skyward in white stone. An even larger building was rising behind it, still incomplete inside its cocoon of scaffolding. Pettibone guided the wagon to a sheltered area and pulled up next to a low dock. Poppa went inside as Pettibone, Momma and Raphael, the teamster from the other wagon, lowered the railings. Poppa returned with a short, curly-haired woman, a taller dark-haired woman and three men pushing wheeled carts.

“My daughter, Petra,” Momma said after they all greeted one another. “Petra, this is Kathy and that's Elaine. The guys are Don, Dennis and Mark.”

The wagon teamsters began handing out the books as Poppa handed a notebook to Kathy, the short woman.

“OK, complete set of
Foxfire
books,” she said. “Can't have too many of those.
The Complete Book of Tanning Skins and Furs,
good. The
SAS Survival Handbook.
When Technology Fails. Seed to Seed. Tom Brown's Field Guide.
Books on Chinese and herbal medicine. My goodness, sounds like your bibliophiles were preparing for the Reckoning.”

“Except they didn't know it was coming,” Poppa said. “They must've thought some kind of catastrophe was, though.”

“Are these black books?” said Don as he and Mark lifted a large trunk wrapped in chains.

“Yes,” Poppa said. “The Satanic Bible, along with books of spells and curses and other black arts.”

“Don, Mike, that goes straight to the vault,” Kathy said.

“Yes, ma'am,” Don said.

“We think at least one raider in Lafayette was after them,” Poppa said. “He threatened Petra, but Liam took care of him. Later, we took a look at him. He had the CUT sun-sign on a metal disk, but he had a lot of icons attached to his armor. We didn't think he was one.”

“Did his eyes go black?” Kathy asked.

“Liam says no, but the guy was wearing a mask. That mask also precludes him from being a Cutter because they've never been known to wear any.”

“A wanna-be, likely,” Kathy said.

“Here's a 1956 Sears catalog,” Petra said. “Is it any good?”

“Doesn't matter,” Elaine said, leafing through it. “We can't buy these things anymore, but we might get ideas on how to make items we can use.”

“Like those frilly dresses? And those petcoats—”

Elaine leaned down and whispered. “Petticoats, right? And girdles? God, I wouldn't be caught wearing that stuff in a pigsty.”

Petra giggled.

“This goes on the wagon with the encyclopedias,” Elaine said. “What's in these boxes?”

“Mystery novels an old lady in Lafayette insisted we take,” Poppa said.

“OK, they go on that other wagon.”

“What's the difference?” Petra said.

“Fiction and nonfiction. What's real and what's made up.” She shrugged. “Most of the time.”

Petra didn't understand that last remark, but she felt a pang of regret as the last of the books came off her father's wagons. She felt sad she would never see them again.

“That's it, then, Pettibone, Raphael,” Poppa said. “You guys rejoin the convoy.” He unhitched his horse from the wagon, hitched it to a nearby post. “I'll probably catch up before you reach Center.”

“Right, sir,” Pettibone said as he climbed into the driver's seat.

“Wait!” Petra shouted.

“Yes, yes, missy, here it is.” Pettibone pulled the bundle from under the seat, handed it down.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Pettibone,” she said, clutching it to her chest.

“You're quite welcome, missy. We'll see you soon.” He touched his brow with his fingers as the wagon pulled away.

The library people wheeled the carts inside and pushed them against a wall. Poppa followed Kathy into an office and Momma led Petra through a double door into a huge room with long tables arranged in straight lines. Books were stacked on carts and the floor. People sitting on stools at the tables were bent over, until one would place a book on a cart behind, then take another from a stack.

“Are our books coming in here?” Petra said.

“Yes,” Elaine said as she joined them. “These folks are classifying the books, nonfiction by topic and fiction by type, for instance. Some we'll copy using the printing presses next door, duplicates we'll send out for trade in other cities. The ones we keep will be available for anyone to come and borrow.”

“Any new contact outside the Gulf Coast Coalition?” Momma said.

“Yes, we've heard solid reports of a stable government up in Oregon. It'll be tricky getting there, but it'll be worth it. We've also heard some strange tales about some sort of magic sword.”

She shrugged. “I hope it's more myth than reality, but you can't tell these days.”

“All done,” Poppa called from the door. “We got good prices and credit this time,” he said as they walked back to the dock. “As I expected, this will be a profitable trip.”

“Good,” Momma said. “I'd hate to go through all this for nothing.”

They embraced, kissed, then Poppa got on his horse. “Say hello to Grandpa for me,
petite fleur
, but don't give him that present until I get there.”

“All right, Poppa.” She waved as he left, turned to Momma. “What are we going to do now?”

“We are going to Grandma and Grandpa's in style, that's what.”

Momma hired a fancy one-horse, four-wheeled black carriage with red interior and brass fittings. Once settled on the thick velour seat, Petra took the book out of the bag and found to her dismay that the wrapping had wrinkled and torn.

“It's been through a lot,” Momma said as she untied the white string and smoothed and readjusted the paper. She rewound the string, tied it with a bow. “Small wonder it's a little ragged and worn. Just like the rest of us.”

After a while, the carriage turned into a curved street. Momma pointed out the window. “Look, that's the house we're going to live in.”

They passed a structure with only one floor and no roof. “See, it connects to Grandma and Grandpa's house right next door. You'll have your own room and there's a lake in back so you can still go swimming and a small woods to go exploring in.”

“In between chores,” Petra muttered, but Momma laughed. “Why did we come?”

Momma slipped an arm around her. “It's safer here, little flower. When I'm on duty and your Poppa is on another trip, you'll be safe with Grandma and Grandpa Landreaux. The old village area was getting too dangerous with those cultists and dark-arts people in the forests. Plus, we're a lot closer to Grandmére and Grandpére Gautreau in the Houma Nation. We'll go for a visit soon.”

The carriage stopped and as Petra got out, a screen door opened and a tall, lanky white-haired man came down the steps.

“Grandpa!” Petra shouted.

“Is this my
petite fleur
?” Grandpa said as Petra ran into his arms. “Not so
petit
anymore is she? Soon she'll be too big for old Grandpa.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and giggled as his beard tickled her. He set her down and she ran over to Grandma, who smelled of baked bread. Momma, after paying the driver, came up and more hugs and hellos were exchanged.

“Where's Liam?” Grandpa said.

“He'll be along later with Mycroft,” Momma said. “He rode in with the Rangers.”

Grandpa arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“So young,” Grandma said, a look of concern wrinkling her brow.

“He saved me, Grandpa,” Petra blurted.

He look down at her. “Did he!”

“Yes, I—”

Grandpa knelt, placed a hand on her shoulder. “Wait until he arrives, honey, so he can tell us in his own words.”

“All right.”

“Right now, my stinky
fleur
,” Grandma said, “it's bath time for you.”

Petra protested, but once immersed in the hot water, she found she enjoyed it. There were bubbles, there was Grandma scrubbing her back with a brush and washing her hair with sweet-smelling soap. She put on a clean-smelling shift that was soft against her skin. Momma then took a bath, and meanwhile neighbors came in whose names she quickly forgot. Grandpa showed her the communal gardens, the house and the stables, then took her to the greenhouse where she picked several big, ripe tomatoes and carried them into the kitchen.

Liam and Poppa arrived to another round of loud talking and hugs, and when Poppa gave her a hug, he said, “Someone smells sweet. Did'ja save any bathwater for me?”

“Was I supposed to?”

The neighbors stayed for a dinner of glazed ham, hominy grits, mustard greens, and a corn and red pepper dish along with fresh cucumbers, carrots and the tomatoes. Spiced apples and little nut cakes served as the dessert and the adults offered toasts with goblets of wine while Petra drank grape juice. She suspected Liam had wine in his glass, but he was on the other side of the table so she couldn't be sure.

Finally, Momma said, “Petra, the bundle.”

Petra raced upstairs. She carried the gift carefully into the dining room, noticing that Momma stopped talking when she did.

“I'm sorry this is so late, Grandpa,” she said. “But I wasn't here for your real birthday—”

“It is no never mind,” he said, putting his free arm around her. “I am truly touched by your devotion and determination to bring me this. Your Momma told us about the troubles you had.”

Petra felt her face flame. Grandpa didn't seem to notice as he untied the string and removed the wrapper.

“Ooo, pretty gold color,” Grandma said.

“This book still has a slipcase,” Grandpa said, turning it over in his hands. He tilted it and slid the book out, set the slipcase on the table and opened the cover.
“The Hobbit, Or There and Back Again.”
He gazed at the gold cover a moment. “I remember this.”

Petra's heart sank. “You read this already?”

He smiled. “Long time ago. Now it's your turn.” He slipped the book back into the slipcase. “But now—Jacob did you bring your accordion?”

“But of course.”

“Then we shall dance first.”

Once cleared and the dishes done, the tables were moved, leaving a large open floor. The music started and the dancing took over. Before long, though, Momma took Petra by the hand and led her upstairs, had her change into a long nightgown, say her prayers, then crawl into a soft bed.

“Don't fall asleep yet,” Momma said after kissing her good night. “Wait for Grandpa.”

Petra sat up in the bed when she heard the slow tread coming up the stairs. Light flickered on the walls as he made his way to her room. He set the lantern on the chest next to the bed, then pulled a chair over. He sat down, took the book out of the crook of his arm and slid it out of the slipcase, which he set aside.

“Are you going to read that whole book to me?”

“I am. Unless you have an objection.”

“I brought that for you.”

“And we'll read it together. This is something that should be shared. Besides, it's my duty.”

“Duty?”

“It's a grandpa's duty to read stories to his grandchildren. It's a tradition that reaches way, way back, before the Reckoning, back before they could print books, back before folks could even write, back to the ancient times when everyone lived in caves and listened to the old stories. So settle back and we'll get started.”

Petra plumped her pillow, adjusted the covers, put her hands together, rested them on her lap, looked at her grandfather with her best polite face.