Voices in the Dark (22 page)

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘He must have made a mistake.’

‘No, he didn’t. I saw his face, and he didn’t. He knew you, Anselm, for sure.’

‘I’m certain it was someone else he was thinking of.’

But there was something about the man that made me uneasy. Perhaps it was just that old trader’s law, never trust the rich. Because this man, in spite of everything, was rich. The contents of his shop could have paid the debts of the rest of the street. ‘Come on,’ I told Jasmine, glancing back at his lights. ‘Let’s go inside.’

We passed Jared again on Monday morning, gingerly polishing the window of his shop as though he had never cleaned a window in his life. But that day things changed, and I had no time to think any more about him. When I got to school, the rest of the boys were crowded around a notice at the front of the classroom. ‘Settle down!’ Sister Theresa was calling vainly, rapping with her knuckles on the blackboard.

‘What’s this about?’ I said.

‘It’s about National Service,’ Gabriel Delacruz muttered to me. ‘They want us to sign up.’

‘This is a
provisional
list,’ Sister Theresa said, parting the crowd and striding forward to rip the notice off the wall. ‘The king has tightened the laws on National Service and has asked that all able-bodied sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds sign up too. There is no compulsion.’

‘Good,’ said John Keller, the doctor’s son. ‘Because I’m damned if I’ll fight for the king.’A few people muttered their agreement.

‘I am under orders to put this notice up,’ said Sister Theresa. ‘Don’t come to me with your complaints. The government has ordered that this notice be put up in every school and that I read it out. Which, if you will be quiet, I might be able to do. Sit down!’

The class drifted reluctantly to their desks. Sister Theresa
cleared her throat and read, in a voice without emotion,‘“A statement issued by His Majesty King Cassius in alliance with the government of Malonia, now the Malonian Ruling Party."’ People shifted mutinously. '“During the early hours of last night, the Alcyrian army made hostile advances across the border of Malonia. As a result, the government has taken full control of the ruling of the country. The government orders all able-bodied men of eighteen and above who have not yet signed up for National Service, either labour or military, to do so within the next two days. Those who fail risk arrest and prosecution-”’

‘Prosecution, indeed?’ said Gabriel, who thought himself something of a politician. ‘Where was the king’s government when the poor were dying in the streets last winter, and where was the king’s government—’

‘Silence!’ said Sister Theresa. ‘ ‘The government also asks that all able-bodied sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds register their willingness to volunteer, in order that the government can draw up a list for the quicker deployment of labour should a state of emergency arise.’ ’

The class glanced round at each other, and I could see the same expression on their faces that must be on mine. None of us wanted to sign up. ‘This whole thing is ridiculous,’ said John Keller. ‘Why should people like us have to sign up just because we’re still in the country, when half the class has already got the hell out of here?’

‘Half the class?’ said Sister Theresa, fixing him with a cold glance. ‘What do you mean, half the class?’

‘People like Michael Barone. He must have known this was coming and decided to get out, because he was too scared to fight.’

‘That’s not why he left!’ I said, startling even myself.

‘Why did he go, then?’ said John Keller, turning to me. ‘Did you have some kind of lovers’ quarrel?’

I began to stand up, but Sister Theresa said, ‘Sit back down at once, both of you!’ I could feel my face turning the darkest red. John Keller knew nothing about Michael or me, and yet he could still drive me to anger.

‘But I don’t see,’ he continued from his seat,‘why people like us have to sign up and bloody cowards and debtors and criminals are still hiding in their houses dodging the draft.’ He flashed another glance at me, and I was certain suddenly that he meant Leo.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ I demanded.

‘You don’t
have to sign up
,’ said Sister Theresa. ‘This list is provisional and voluntary. Now please be quiet, both of you. Let’s get this over with and carry on with our severely disrupted lesson. Does anyone want to sign?’

We were still glancing about uneasily. No one wanted to. And yet under the pressure of those glances and the silence, everyone except John Keller did.

On the way home from school, we passed a line of men queueing at an old butcher’s shop with a paper sign on its front window. Jasmine ran to look at it. It was a volunteering post, and the men, shifting from foot to foot with their hats in their hands or smoking grimly, were signing up for National Service. We passed another line and another. In the third was Mr Pascal, studying a newspaper and lecturing the man beside him between paragraphs. ‘Ah!’ he said. ‘Anselm and little Jasmine. How are you two?’

‘Well, thank you,’ I said. ‘Are you signing up, sir?’

He spread out his hands, losing several sheets of his newspaper to the wind. ‘There is no point avoiding it,’ he
said. ‘And perhaps it is not so bad. A man like me will never be called on to fight. No, they’ll ask me to repair some uniforms every fortnight and then leave me alone, I shouldn’t wonder.’

He nodded to us, and we carried on along Trader’s Row to the door of the shop.

‘Anselm,’ said Jasmine. ‘Is this a real war?’

‘I suppose so,’ I said.

‘It doesn’t seem like one.’

‘No.’

It was not how I had imagined war either, when my mother and Leo talked about it. Although people were dying for our nation all along the eastern border, it felt like a bad dream that the country would wake up from. And yet by order of the king, or his rebellious government, Leo should be in that queue where Mr Pascal stood. He should have signed up by now.

Leo was out in the yard when we got back. Jasmine ran to him, but he did not pick her up. He had piled up half the contents of the shop against the back wall and was sorting through them.

‘What’s all this?’ I said.

‘Nothing,’ said Leo.

I stepped forward and turned over the most recent layer. Two history books, a dingy oil painting, and a coronation medal in its box. ‘What is this?’ I said again.

‘Papa, why is everything out here?’ Jasmine murmured.

‘No reason,’ said Leo.

‘Papa?’ she said, tugging his sleeve.

‘I’m working – leave me. Jasmine, for heaven’s sake, can’t you behave?’

Jasmine caught my glance, and for a moment I saw tears
start in her eyes. Leo never spoke sharply to her. Then she drew herself up to her full four feet, marched inside, and banged the door. We listened to her stamp up the stairs and across the living room. ‘If Aldebaran was here, he would tell her to behave,’ said Leo, and went on working.

‘Papa, what’s wrong?’ I said.

‘Nothing is wrong. Honestly, it’s nothing, Anselm. Go on inside.’

I watched him from the doorway. His hair was troubled by every wind that blew; his eyes were glittering from the cold. He looked like someone I did not know. He was wearing a holey old scarf that Jasmine had knitted him; that was the only clue that he was still Leo. As he worked, he kept throwing the scarf back over his shoulder with a quick impatient sigh. ‘Papa, tell me what you’re doing,’ I said. He did not answer.

I went inside. The shop was different – I could see it at once. It looked strange and bleak with half its contents gone. I boiled water for tea and stood at the misted back window watching Leo work. After a while, I began to see what connected every object that had vanished. They all had some royalist link, from the medallions with the king’s face to the patriotic history books. And I knew what Leo was going to do even before he did it. He took out his matches, threw paraffin over the pile, and set it all alight.

Jasmine and I were at the back door at the same moment. ‘Stay there,’ I told her. I stumbled out into the thick smoke and caught hold of Leo’s coat. ‘What are you doing?’ I said. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘Let go of me.’

‘Those are worth hundreds of crowns! In God’s name, Leo!’

He shook me off and poured more paraffin onto the pile. The flames rose high enough to turn his eyes to a fierce red. I pulled him into the back room and slammed the door on the smoke. Jasmine was huddled in the corner, coughing. I emptied out the coal bucket and began filling it with water from the tap in the corner. I threw it over the flames and went back, again and again, although I knew there was no point in it. The fire dwindled and became a smouldering pile of wreckage.

Everything was ruined already; there was no salvaging it. I turned over a shattered lamp with one foot and bent to pick up a lucky coin in its charred display case. ‘Papa, what have you done?’ I said. The coin burned my fingers, and I let it fall again. ‘Do you think people will stop troubling us if you pretend not to be a royalist?’ I said. ‘Is that it?’

‘I’ve had them in here, Anselm,’ he said. ‘They come in every day, when you’re at school, and say, “Why are you selling these things? Don’t you know you shouldn’t be selling these things?” They come in with their blue uniforms and their guns, and they do it to every trader who looks like a royalist. The police don’t stop them because they can’t, Anselm. So tell me what else I should do.’

‘Who are they?’ I said.

‘I don’t know. The Imperial Order.’

I kicked at the ashes that had once been a history book. ‘So this is a solution?’ I said. ‘This melodrama.’

‘I’ll do whatever I have to,’ he said. ‘And don’t you condemn me for it, Anselm!’

‘You’re supposed to have signed up,’ I said. ‘John Keller was talking about it at school. Everyone is talking about it. So why draw attention to yourself, Leo?’

Jasmine started to cry and reached for his hand. The cold
wind drove ash against us. It clung to our boots and misted all our clothes. ‘Let’s just go inside,’ said Leo.

I turned and went to the yard gate instead.

‘Anselm?’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘A walk.’

‘When will you be back?’

‘Later.’

‘But, Anselm—’

I turned and left.

As I crossed the city, the air turned very still, and I heard what sounded like gunshots. I stopped on the corner of the square, beside the church, and listened. They were faint but real, somewhere in the east beyond the hills. They must be explosives, diminished by the distance into a faint cracking sound. I shoved my hands down in the pockets of Leo’s old jacket and decided to go to the graveyard. I had put it off too long.

The graveyard was different, I saw, when I approached it. Torches were burning at the gate, and shadowy figures stood at the end of the bridge, looking in. I was too close to turn back when I realized they were the Imperial Order. They saw me hesitate but made no move. In the lamplight, I could see them clearly. They wore modern rifles across their backs, not like the battered ones the police carried, but their uniforms were stained and worn through with age. I wondered if they had salvaged them from a trench somewhere. One man had a captain’s badge and the other a sergeant’s. The sergeant, a man about Leo’s age with wiry brown hair, gave me a grin and an exaggerated bow. I had no choice but to pass them. My heart thumped dishonourably fast, but I did it.

The graveyard was deserted. I walked quickly until I was lost among the ancient tombs, then stopped. Here on the edge of the city, I could hear the silence of the eastern country. I stood there watching the dark beyond the far gate. Alcyria was over those mountains, the army’s machine guns trained on all the passes, their armoured vehicles rolling slowly across our soil. That was what their army was like; it had been in the newspapers. ‘An unstoppable force’, the reporter had called it. A strange kind of panic twisted my heart. It came to me that no one really knew the rules. The castle lights, blazing over the city, seemed no protection at all.

I started among the old tombs, more to keep out of sight of the Imperial Order than anything else. These graves belonged to the noble families, and their names were carved over the entrances. They were names from the history books –
MARLAZZI
,
ST
.
JOHN
,
MARKOV
. Most of them had no living descendants. A cold thought came to me out of nowhere, that maybe this country was already the past. Maybe the new places, the nations with armoured vehicles and automatic rifles, were the real world now. Michael once talked to me about England, about how he could not believe in it, because how could the people living there be as real as us, and how could their lives matter as much to them? But perhaps we were the ones who did not matter. I had never thought about that before, and it made me melancholy.

As I was wandering along the line of tombs, the last one made me pause. The stone angels on the walls were damaged, as though someone had attacked them with a heavy object. And the name – ‘de Fiore’ – was nearly destroyed. I wondered what this ancient family had done wrong. Was it the Imperial Order who hated them? But
when I looked closer, I could see that the damage was old and weathered. This had happened years ago, probably when I was a young boy or even before. Or perhaps it was just chance. I knew people stole the marble off these tombs and sold it in the markets; maybe that was how this grave had been damaged.

One of the Imperial Order men outside the gate laughed and coughed, and when I glanced back, I saw his breath scudding upwards in the frosted air. I left the old tombs and wandered along the lines of newer graves. The sky in the east was a fathomless blue; the graveyard walls stood out darkly against it. The wind sighed in the branches of the trees. Aldebaran’s tomb still bore the skeletons of the flowers people had left there weeks ago. I passed it and started towards the far corner, beyond Stirling’s grave, looking for graves with the twenty-ninth of July as the date of death.

Suddenly I came upon them, a whole row of headstones. Forty people or more had died on that day. I read the names: John Worthy, Ishmael Salter, Andrew James Goldhart. They were resistance members and Lucien’s soldiers; they had all died on that day, because that was the day the old regime had fallen. And I had never thought about it. I had been stupid to think I would find my father’s grave by looking here. I thought of all the other graveyards in this city and in the countryside about it and suddenly knew it was hopeless.