Voices in the Dark (8 page)

‘What’s this?’ he asked absently instead, picking up another book from the counter. It was
The Darkness Has a Thousand Voices
, still lying there from last night.

‘That’s something else,’ said Leo.

Mr Pascal picked it up and flipped over the pages, from front to back and then the other way. ‘Harlan Smith,’ he said.

‘Do you know anything about him?’ said Leo.

Mr Pascal shook his head and studied the first page of the book. ‘This is old-fashioned writing,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if there is much call for it nowadays.’

‘I’m not selling it,’ said Leo.

‘Seven Sisters Press,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘It doesn’t sound like a real publisher to me. Not that I know much about book
dealing, but if it was a real publisher, I would have seen it about the city. What about John Worthy, the printers?’

‘They closed down two years ago,’ said Leo.

I glanced at him. He must have looked that up somehow. Mr Pascal set the book down again distractedly and said, ‘I don’t know what we are going to do. I’m worried, North, and I don’t mind telling you so.’

‘Maybe it will all turn out all right,’ I said, but I did not sound convinced.

‘Anselm?’ said Jasmine. ‘What will turn out all right?’

‘Nothing,’ I said.

That was too much for Jasmine. She stamped her feet and pulled the box of books off the counter. ‘Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?’ she demanded, fighting Leo’s attempts to restrain her. ‘And why haven’t we gone to the gardens to dance like everyone else? It’s not fair!’

‘You’ll have to go tonight, North,’ said Mr Pascal, shoving the newspaper into his pocket.

‘Why?’ said Leo.

‘The twenty-ninth of July,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘The king’s speech. You’d be a fool to miss it at a time like this.’

With that he left. ‘Shh, shh,’ Leo told Jasmine, taking hold of her arms. ‘If you want to go to the gardens, we’ll go, all right?’

All that day, people were hanging out their flags again and decorating their windowsills with white flowers. It was the tradition; the twenty-ninth of July was the day on which the Liberation had started, the day Lucien had been assassinated. The contents of the newspaper seemed to have brought out new patriotic feelings in the city. At six o’clock, the Barones called round to ask if we would go with them to watch the procession.

‘Come on,’ said Jasmine firmly, and put up the
CLOSED
sign.

‘I don’t know, Jas,’ said my mother.

‘Papa said we could go,’ said Jasmine.

‘Did he?’ said my mother.

‘He promised, Mama.’

‘Then let me go and get ready.’

She disappeared upstairs. We stood out in the street to wait. From the gardens, music was drifting over the rooftops in the still evening air. People hurried past in twos and threes.

‘Anselm, go upstairs and check to see if Maria is all right,’ said Leo when several minutes had passed.

I ran up the stairs. The evening sunlight was falling in rays through the high window. ‘Mother?’ I said. ‘Are you coming?’

‘I won’t be long.’

Her voice sounded strange, as though it was coming through a thick wall. ‘Are you all right?’ I called.

‘I’m fine.’

I went back down again, and we waited. The clock struck seven. We could already hear the muffled applause as the king and his procession moved through the gardens. ‘Come
on
,’ Jasmine said. ‘We’ll miss the whole thing.’

‘You go ahead,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait for Mother.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Leo.

‘Yes. I’ll meet you by the fountain, where we always stand.’

I watched them start along the street, Mr and Mrs Barone arm in arm, Jasmine with Michael, and Leo glancing back every few yards. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. The house seemed very quiet after I went
back upstairs. The whole city must be at the Royal Gardens tonight. I sat down on the top of the stairs and watched the sunlight turn golden on the rooftops. From time to time, a wave of applause rose in the still air.

As I sat there, I began to hear another sound, so soft that at first I thought I had imagined it. I stopped breathing and listened. My mother was crying.

I went to the door of the bedroom. I wanted to speak, but the sound of her crying constricted my throat, and I could not make a sound. ‘Mother?’ I said at last. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’

But she went on crying. I pushed open the door. She was dabbing at her eyes with her old coloured shawl and searching about for her shoes, and all the while, the tears ran down her face. ‘What is it?’ I said.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out for my hand. I thought she would tell me it was the war or Aldebaran. But instead she shook her head and said, ‘This was the day your real father died.’

The silence closed around us, and neither of us could speak. I tried to several times, but I could not. Then the clock chimed the quarter hour, and my mother looked up. ‘Is it past seven already?’ she said. ‘Anselm, we have missed half the speech. It’s my fault. Why didn’t you tell me?’

She was brushing the tears from her face and struggling to lace up her boots, and then she took me by the hand and hurried me after her down the stairs. A thousand questions were burning in my mind. But then we were out in the street and running along the deserted alleys. The voices still rose from the Royal Gardens. A few white flowers lay trampled in the dust. All the way there, I wanted to ask her.
But as we reached the gates of the gardens, the crowds came surging back towards us.

‘What is it?’ said my mother, tightening her grip on my hand.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Can you see them?’

‘No.’ I glanced about. ‘Wait – over there.’

I made out Jasmine on Leo’s shoulders, somewhere near the fountain. We struggled towards them through the crowds. Halfway there, they met us. Jasmine was crying. Mr Barone and Michael were arguing loudly.

‘What’s going on?’ I said.

‘The king has declared war on Alcyria,’ said an old man close by. ‘Get back home, because there’s going to be trouble.’

The gunshots started just after we reached Trader’s Row. They were all over the city, quick rifle volleys and angry shouts. People were still hurrying past the shop windows or calling for their relatives. Leo put up the grilles on the shop windows. Next door, I could hear Michael and Mr Barone still arguing.

‘I just don’t believe it’s true,’ my mother kept saying. ‘Another war. I just can’t make myself believe it.’

‘If Aldebaran was here …’ said Leo.

The shouting and the gunfire went on until the early hours. Eventually we went upstairs and tried to sleep, out of disbelief more than anything. There was nothing else to do. On the way to Mass the next morning, we passed people leaving the city. They were driving north in old horse carts with their belongings piled around them, avoiding our glances as if they thought we would condemn them for their loss of nerve. The church was more crowded than it
had been for weeks. Father Dunstan preached about the steadfastness of the Lord in times of trouble.

When we came out of the church, Michael was waiting by the fountain.

‘Michael!’ called Jasmine, and ran towards him, but he did not swing her up into his arms as he usually would have done.

‘You had better come,’ he said.

‘What is it?’ said Mrs. Barone.

Michael led the way back towards Trader’s Row, and we followed at a jog. I could see nothing wrong at first. Then I made out the letters on the wall of the shop and the black space where the front window used to be. Leo ran ahead and went in at the side door, and I heard him go quickly up the stairs. ‘I was in the back room,’ said Michael. ‘I heard the noise and came out, but they had guns.’

‘Who was it?’

‘I don’t know. The Imperial Order, I think, but I don’t know.’

We caught up with him and stopped in front of the building. ‘They didn’t take anything,’ said Michael. ‘They ran away down the alley as soon as I came out.’

‘This is it,’ said Mr Barone, shaking his head. ‘I can’t stay here any longer.’

It could have been worse. But my skin turned cold all the same, looking at the destruction. While we had been at Mass, someone had smashed all our windows and the Barones’, and
NONE OF YOU ARE SAFE
was daubed in six-foot letters on the wall.

I wanted to talk to Michael that night, but the light never appeared at his window, and when I called his name, he did
not answer. There was only air between us now that the windows were smashed, and I could hear him walking about his room. ‘Michael, I need to talk to you!’ I said in exasperation, but he did not stop his pacing. Eventually I gave up and put a board across my window and went to bed. The whole city seemed in a stupor the next day. No one went out.

‘Have you spoken to Mr Barone?’ Mr Pascal asked us when he came into the shop late that afternoon. Leo shook his head. ‘All he has been talking of today is getting out of the city,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘North, I think he is really going to do it.’

‘I should go and talk to Michael,’ I said.

‘Yes, do,’ said Mr Pascal. ‘And perhaps you can put some sense into their heads. I told him this whole thing will blow over—’

‘Will it?’ said Leo, startling us both. He had been silent all day, but he got up now and began locking the windows. ‘Let’s close up,’ he said. ‘No one will come in anyway. Jasmine!’

‘Yes, Papa,’ she said sullenly. She was lying under the table drawing. Leo had forbidden her to go out and play with Billy and Joe in the street.

‘Nothing,’ said Leo. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, Papa.’ Jasmine rolled over and began kicking the underside of the table.

‘Stop that,’ he said. ‘Anselm, help me tidy up.’

As soon as we had finished sweeping the floor and rearranging the boxes in the shop, I went next door to the Barones’. The door was locked, but Mrs Barone let me in. ‘Is Michael here?’ I said.

‘Yes. You had better go up and see him.’

The place was strangely silent today. I knew the
Barones’ shop as well as our own; it was a bare and dusty place, with a crucifix on the back wall and a grille across the counter and a shabby sign that said NO GUNS BOUGHT OR SOLD. Our two shops were the only ones in the street that still clung to a no-firearms policy. Today the shop looked barer than usual. ‘Have you opened today?’ I asked Mrs Barone.

She shook her head. ‘Michael is in his room,’ she murmured, then hurried out of sight into the back of the shop.

Michael did not answer when I tapped on his door, so I went in. He was lying on his bed with his arm across his face. ‘Anselm,’ he said when I came in.

‘Are you sick?’ I said.

He shook his head and rolled over but did not say anything.

‘Can I sit down?’ I said.

He nodded.

I moved his hat aside and sat down on the rickety chair beside the bed. The glazier had already been in and replaced the windows in both our shops, though Dr Keller had complained about the bill. The broken shards of the old window were still lying on the floorboards. ‘You should clear this up,’ I said, for want of anything better.

‘All right! Don’t fuss, Anselm!’

‘What are you angry about?’

‘It’s not you.’

I waited. Eventually he sat up and looked at me. In the dim light of the falling evening, with his black hair that went in all directions and his dark grey eyes, he looked like the picture of some melancholy sufferer. ‘My father wants to leave the city,’ he said. ‘He isn’t joking – he says
next week or the week after. And I don’t know what to do.’

‘Can’t you talk to him?’

‘I’ve tried.’

‘But if you tell him—’

‘Anselm, I’ve tried.’

He got up and went to the window. ‘Talk to me,’ he said. ‘Tell me about something else, Anselm. I can’t stand all this.’

I watched the dark falling across his face. ‘The day before yesterday,’ I said, telling him out of habit what was first in my mind, ‘when you went ahead to the Royal Gardens, my mother told me something. Out of nowhere, she just told me. The twenty-ninth was the day my real father died.’

Michael glanced up. ‘She said it just like that?’

‘It was terrible, to be honest with you.’ I stood up and went to the window, then came back. ‘She was crying, and I didn’t know how to ask her. I can’t now. The moment passed, with all the trouble that happened afterwards.’

Michael turned and studied my face. ‘So what do you think about it?’

‘I don’t know what I think.’

‘Did she say anything else?’

I shook my head.

‘But you didn’t ask her?’

‘I couldn’t. It would have made her too upset.’

‘But you could find out, couldn’t you? I mean, you could try and find out who he was some other way?’

‘How?’

Michael thought about that, studying the glass on the floorboards. ‘Go to the graveyard and see who died on the twenty-ninth of July.’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘Or look in the government register of deaths, or …’ He shrugged.

We fell into silence. The fact that he was leaving overtook the room again. Darkness was coming down outside. Nightfall had invaded the alleyways and was creeping further in. Starlings began to settle in the trees, circling downward in clouds that shifted endlessly. Michael got up and lit the lamp.

‘Michael, if you leave—’ I said.

He shook his head and went on shaking it, like an old man. ‘I thought about staying and letting them go without me. I was almost sure I was going to. But if there really is an invasion …’

‘Do you think there will be?’

‘From the way my father is talking. The Imperial Order are maniacs, I swear. I couldn’t live in that world. There are things about me that government will never accept.’

‘Maybe if you just kept your head down—’ I began.

‘Is that what you are going to do, Anselm? Keep your head down all your life?’

Mr Barone called from downstairs.

‘I had better go,’ I said. Michael nodded. But as I left, he reached out his hand to me, as though in apology. I took it. He had strong fingers, like an artist’s. I had always wondered if it came from the ten generations of Barones before him who had made their living as jewellers, or if it was just chance.