Voices in the Dark (23 page)

I had tried to make up a story about my real father, years ago when I was still a young boy. I had written the title ‘The Lost Son’ in my journal, naming it after a story of Diamonn’s, and had written seven very grand pages in Leo’s ink pen. In the story, my real father was a reckless young man who drifted through my mother’s life by chance. He was a soldier, and he truly loved my mother, but they fought, and
the war separated them before they could make amends. He had heard of my birth from a military camp and tried to come back and see me, but he was killed before he reached the city. ‘And the soldier left a fortune for his son, but it was never discovered,’ the story finished. ‘So, alas, the boy grew up poor and fatherless.’

But that seemed such a betrayal of Leo and so far from the truth that I could not leave it as it was. I was neither poor nor fatherless. I ripped it out of the journal and burned it and tried to stop thinking about my real father after that day. But now I was thinking about him. I could not help it.

As I left the graves behind, I noticed something strange. Every few yards, there was a space the size of a grave, with a rough square of turf that did not exactly match the rest, but with no headstone. It was as if one in every five graves had vanished from this part of the graveyard, when everywhere else they were packed closely. I stopped beside the last one. Had someone dug it up, or was it just a space that had never held a grave? The breeze raced low over the ground, making the grass shiver.

‘Anselm?’ said someone, and I turned.

Father Dunstan was standing a few yards away, his cloak drawn up to his neck and the faint light of the city gleaming in stripes on the side of his thick grey hair.

‘What are you doing here?’ I said.

‘Keeping watch,’ he said. ‘People were damaging the graves, so a few of us have agreed to come here and keep vigil every night.’

‘Is it not dangerous?’ I said.

‘Perhaps it is.’ He came closer and studied my face. ‘Is there something troubling you?’

I shook my head. ‘Nothing.’

‘And how are your family?’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘They are all well.’

‘I have been meaning to call and see your father. I have hardly spoken to him since his uncle passed away. How is he?’

‘He’s all right,’ I said.

‘Good,’ said Father Dunstan. ‘That’s good.’

The wind troubled the grass and set an empty can somewhere rolling with a mournful note. ‘I should go,’ I said. ‘It’s getting late.’

He nodded. ‘Goodnight, Anselm.’

Father Dunstan left me and went on his way, pacing among the graves with his hands behind his back. I wondered how many of these names on the stones had once been part of his congregation, and how many of them he had tended in their last illnesses. Then the wind caught at my hair, as though trying to hurry me away, and I turned and walked in and out of the graves towards the gate. I had to pass between the Imperial Order men to get out, and I did not turn back after that.

I didn’t want to go home after I reached Trader’s Row, so I went into Jared’s shop instead. The last customers were leaving as the clock struck five, and the glittering lines of furniture stood serene and empty in the front room. The Barones’ shop had never seemed large, but Jared had imposed a kind of grandeur on it. He was at the counter, packing something carefully into a leather suitcase. ‘Ah,’ he said, smiling when he saw me. ‘My young neighbour. Come in and close the door. Here, this will interest you.’

I crossed to the counter. He returned his attention to the suitcase and unfolded a couple of leather cloths. I breathed
in quickly, and he laughed at that. The case was full of jewels. They looked like they were worth what our shop turned over in a year. He rifled through them carelessly. ‘Diamonds, more diamonds, sapphires, and rubies.’ He glanced up. ‘You look dismal. I thought these might lighten your spirits. Value them for me, if you are a trader.’

‘Which of them?’ I said.

He handed me the biggest of the sapphires. I did not know what he meant by it, but I was captivated in spite of myself. I studied the jewel in the harsh light of the gas lamp on the wall. I had never seen a sapphire this size, but I multiplied by eight from the ones the Barones had sold once in their shop and added another hundred crowns for its clarity of colour. The way it was cut was some technique I had seen Michael’s father doing once. If you got it right, the value was doubled. ‘Eight hundred crowns,’ I said, looking up.

‘Very good,’ said Jared, taking back the jewel. ‘Very good, indeed. Do you deal in gold and silver?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not things like this. Mr Barone did.’

‘So I’m told,’ said Jared. He put the suitcase into a safe in the wall but left it unlocked. ‘It is amazing, what Alcyria is mining now. I have seen the machines they are using. They drive the pumps with steam, drain out the water, and go down deeper than anyone could before. Have you heard about this?’

Mr Pascal had given us his own version of the story. ‘Is it true, then?’ I said. ‘They have new technologies there?’

He nodded. ‘The military technologies are what I would watch. Armoured vehicles, and ships powered by steam, and the newest automatic rifles. No one can match them, I shouldn’t think, on this continent.’

‘They will take over for sure,’ I said. He was only confirming what I already knew.

‘There is no point in being sentimental about it,’ said Jared. ‘When a country falls apart, traders should be there to divide the spoils. It is our inherent nature – it would be dishonest to fight it.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want them to invade any more than you do. But I am not going to complain if the political uncertainty makes me a fortune.’

My heart felt so restless that there was no accounting for it. I supposed it was thinking of my real father and Aldebaran and Michael. In my head, all the people who were gone from me drifted like spirits, gaining in strength the more I tried to ignore them.

‘Tell me, Anselm,’ he said. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘What?’ I said, startled.

‘What’s on your mind? You seem troubled.’

‘I’m just thinking.’

‘What about?’

‘My friend who used to live here,’ I said. ‘And other things.’

‘What things?’

I studied the nearest picture and waited for him to ask me a different question, but none came. ‘I’m trying to find out about someone who died years ago,’ I said. ‘But I don’t know how.’

‘I’m told Daniel Markey is the man to ask. He is a veritable mine of information, according to that Pascal gentleman from the clothes shop over there. Apparently, he lost everything when the old regime fell. He is not a man whose company I like, but he knows a lot about those days.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I could ask him.’

‘What do you want to know?’ said Jared.

‘Just his name,’ I said. ‘I know the date he died, but I want his name.’

‘Go to the government records office and file an enquiry. That’s what I’d do. Not that those records are very reliable. Especially the ones from around the Liberation.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, though it was no help really. I went to the wall and studied the pictures that were leaning there.

‘How is your young sister?’ he asked.

‘She is well.’

‘You know, I could have sworn she was a magic child. But you don’t come from a family of great ones?’

I shook my head. He went on watching me. ‘I have heard that those born with powers sometimes see visions and write or draw what they see with no knowledge of it, and it’s accurate to the smallest degree. Fascinating. Think what use they would make as spies; no wonder the great ones used to be in such demand. Does your sister ever do that?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Do you know,’ he said,‘I heard a rumour that Aldebaran had written a last prophecy. Someone said that to me. “He wouldn’t have died without leaving one” – that’s what this man said. Imagine that. Imagine how rich you’d be if you discovered it.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘When I heard your name was North, I thought you might be related,’ he said.

‘You heard our name was North?’ I said.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know how you found out, that’s all.’

‘Mr Pascal,’ said Jared. ‘Who else?’

I smiled because he expected it. He was still studying me thoughtfully, and I could tell he wanted me to look up. I turned to the nearest picture and examined it instead. It was a portrait of a red-haired man with a patch over his eye, standing on a hilltop looking outward. His head was outlined in gold like a saint’s. Ahira again. I did not know what a picture like this was doing for sale in an ordinary shop. ‘Is this an original too?’ I said by way of changing the subject.

He did not answer. And when I turned, he was staring at me so strangely that I forgot the picture altogether. ‘What is it?’ I said.

‘My God,’ he said. ‘It’s not what I thought at all. You’re Maria Andros’s son, aren’t you? You’re Anselm.’

I did not know what to say. I opened my mouth to speak, then stopped. ‘You are Anselm,’ he said. ‘I am convinced of it.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

He reached out and gripped my hand. ‘My God,’ he said again. ‘How old are you now?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Sixteen years? Is that how long it has been?’

‘Sorry,’ I said, taking my hand back out of his. ‘But how do you know my mother?’

‘Oh, Maria? We were childhood acquaintances. Close friends at one point. But to tell the truth, you do not look much like her, and it was only when … it was only … my God.’ He lapsed into silence, still staring at me. ‘I’ve seen her,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen her walk past the window of my shop a dozen times, and I never once realized. I thought the Androses had left the city.’

He went on staring at me, running his hand absently over his hair. ‘But I must visit her,’ he said. ‘The coincidence is so strange. I never thought I would see you again. And the man you live with – North, the secondhand trader – is that your stepfather? I heard rumours that Maria had taken up with someone after you were born.’

I hesitated.

‘How is Maria?’ Jared went on without noticing. ‘What does she do now? I cannot see her as a trader’s wife, to tell you the truth.’

‘She is a governess,’ I said.

He nodded and his teeth flashed. ‘Very like her. Has she ever mentioned me?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe she has.’

‘Jared Wright.’

I remembered then. She had mentioned him once, years ago when we were walking through the city and she was pointing out places she had been. ‘The Wrights lived there,’ she had said, and pointed to an old mansion. ‘The father was in the government, and I was engaged to the youngest son for a day.’

‘Were you the youngest son of the Wright family?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘She has spoken about you.’

Jared regarded me like a lost relative. I did not know what to say, so I stood there between the counter and the door, putting my hands in and out of the pockets of Leo’s old leather jacket. ‘Anselm Andros,’ he said again. ‘I can hardly credit it. I must come and see Maria at once. I had no idea that she was still in the city.’

The wind moaned through the door, and we both started. Two men had come in and were lingering in the
draught. ‘Pierre, Westwood,’ said Jared Wright, nodding to them. ‘I will be with you at once.’

‘I had better go,’ I said.

‘Wait,’ said Jared, turning back to me. ‘Isn’t there anything I can do for you? As the child of an old friend, it is only right.’

The men were stepping forward now, throwing me suspicious glances. I turned to leave. ‘It is kind of you,’I said. ‘But I don’t need any help.’

‘I’ll come and see you,’ he said. ‘Later tonight, or tomorrow, when I finish with this.’

I nodded. Then I was out in the street, the wind attacking my face and whipping my scarf out fiercely. There was no snow in it, but I could feel it about to fall in the merciless cold of the air. The two men hurried into the back room of the shop, taking Jared with them. I turned and went inside.

I could not concentrate that night at dinner. I was thinking again of the graveyard, and everything the others said passed me by. Eventually I went upstairs, under the pretence of a headache, and sat at the table in the corner of my room, turning over the books on it aimlessly.

At seven o’clock, my mother came to the door. ‘Anselm, what’s wrong?’ she said.

‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘There is; I can tell. You are just like Leo – easy to read. Can I come in?’

I nodded. She sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off her shoes. It was not just my real father that troubled me; it was the way Jared had recognized me. From what my mother had said, that youngest son of the Wright
family had not been a good man. And she had never been happy to see a single old acquaintance. They came into the shop sometimes, always driving up in carriages – well-spoken women with their babies, and gentlemen who had once been her admirers. ‘Mother,’ I said. ‘Have you met the man who has moved into the Barones’ shop?’

‘J. W. Fortune? No. I’ve seen him once or twice, from a distance, but I’ve never spoken to him. Why do you ask?’

‘Jasmine and I met him the other day. And I went in today, and he told me – it came out – that he used to know you. Years ago.’

‘I never knew a man whose name was Fortune.’

‘That’s not his name,’ I said. ‘He’s called Jared Wright.’

The pitch of the silence changed. I turned. She was watching me without breathing, one hand raised to push back her hair. ‘What?’ she said.

‘Jared Wright.’

‘Anselm, what do you know about him?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was in there and he recognized me. He said he was a childhood acquaintance of yours.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is he the one you were engaged to for a day? The one whose father was in the government?’

‘Yes. That’s him. Anselm, are you sure he said Wright?’

‘It’s him. I told you, he recognized me. He said, “You’re Anselm Andros. You’re Maria’s son.”’

‘But you don’t look like me.’

There was a silence. The window rattled in the night breeze, and the lamp gave a strange cough. ‘He said he was never coming back,’ she said.