Voices in the Dark

by Catherine Banner

  I almost smiled. My grandmother and I had not made our peace, but the atmosphere united us. When the snow clouds parted, I could see a few stars. The crowds stretched in every direction, more solemn and motionless than they were on any national holiday. I pulled Leo’s old jacket tighter around me. Over the dark and overgrown far wall, I could see the top of Ahira’s house. I wondered if that boy and girl were still there beside their fire. I hoped they were far from here, already on some journey.

  A long way off, on the stage, I could see Mr Victoire. I recognized him from my own days at Sacred Heart. He was a very thin man with a glaring expression, marching about ordering the children into their positions. Another teacher was standing there too. ‘Let’s go further forward,’ I said. ‘I want to see Jasmine.’

  We began struggling through the crowd, but it was solid and we had to give up. ‘We’ll see her well enough from here,’ said my grandmother.

  Lanterns were coming out around the fences. With the snow swept away, and the fires burning, and the temporary stage there under the shadow of the castle rock, I imagined we were still living in the days when Malonia prospered, the days Harold North wrote about. A makeshift band was playing patriotic songs on the other side of the gardens, a violin and an accordion and an old four-stringed guitar. A few people joined in.

  ‘I hope Mother is all right,’ I said.

  ‘She will be. The baby is not due for another week or more.’

  I leaned forward, trying to see. In front of us, a group of rowdy boys were throwing a glass bottle about, almost knocking the surrounding people over every time they tried to catch it. ‘Stop it, William,’ said a girl beside them sternly, and one of the boys made a feeble attempt to look sober. The girl was jogging a baby in her arms. It was wrapped so tightly in shawls that I could not make out its face, but from among the shawls issued an angry wail.

  ‘Where is Jasmine?’ my grandmother kept asking.

  ‘She comes in from the left,’ I whispered. And at that moment, people began muttering. My grandmother started and put a hand on my arm, but it was only the beginning of the play.

  A small figure crossed the stage in a shawl and cloak and with an old-fashioned alms cup around her neck.

  ‘There she is,’ my grandmother whispered to me.

  I nodded, but I could hardly believe Jasmine was real from this distance. She looked like an imaginary child or like a real storyteller, one of the wandering minstrels in those noble days that were gone. She walked to the middle of the stage and stood there, waiting for the other character, the soldier, to come on from the other side. He was dressed in red, like the modern guards, a boy a year or two older than her.

  Jasmine waited while he sat down wearily at the edge of the stage. Then she knelt beside him and began: ‘Good friend, draw close and hearken to my tale …’ And in that whole crowd, in the thousands upon thousands of people, no one made a sound.

  My grandmother clapped harder than anyone when the play finished. She clapped until her hair fell down out of its neat scarf. The atmosphere had unfrozen suddenly; the silence had held us all united, but now the crowd drew apart again. Jasmine and the other children dragged each other by the hands to the front of the stage and bent into an uneven bow. Then two soldiers escorted them down to where the teachers were waiting. I could not see Jasmine unless I stood on tiptoes. Her eyes were moving over the crowd, trying to find us. I waved but she did not see it.

  A few snowflakes fell. I could taste their chill in the air.

  ‘Will she be all right?’ said my grandmother, still clapping.

  ‘I suppose we can go and fetch her after the speech.’

  ‘She was the best one in it,’ said my grandmother. ‘She was the star, wasn’t she?’

  People were still clapping. My grandmother glanced about with pride, as if to tell the rest of the city that the girl with the red shawl was her granddaughter. ‘Anselm,’ she said then, pointing. ‘I declare I know that man.’

  ‘Who?’ I said.

  ‘There. Over there, by the fence.’

  I followed her glance. ‘It’s Jared Wright,’ I said, startled. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Only a bit.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since before you were born. Someone told me he was back in the city. How do you know of him?’

  ‘He took the Barones’ shop after they left. He was living next door. I’m surprised you never met him.’

  ‘Heavens, no. I never thought I would see him again in my life.’ My grandmother took a final look, then turned back to me. ‘They say he has two hundred million crowns,’ she said into my ear. ‘I don’t know what he is doing keeping a shop.’

  ‘Nobody has two hundred million crowns.’

  ‘I spoke to Lady Marlazzi in the square; she often stops to see me. The rumour goes that he made his fortune running guns into Alcyria.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I never heard that.’And yet I could not help glancing back over at Jared. I told myself it was just my grandmother’s gossip. But I could not quite believe it.

  The king came up the steps, and the crowd began murmuring. I could see him more clearly than I had in my life as he emerged onto the platform. A tall man, with greying hair and a strange look that came from growing old too young. He was dressed in ordinary clothes, surrounded by four men in black suits. People bowed and knelt down around us. I knew it was only superstition, but I did the same. He looked so exhausted that he could hardly acknowledge the crowd’s applause. People were reaching up onto the stage to grasp his hands or the hem of his cloak. He took the hands of the people who reached out to him, but the bodyguards closed around him almost at once. They ushered him back into the middle of the stage, where soldiers were setting up a lectern. Before the speech began, there was a long silence in which the snow still did not fall.

  ‘People of Malonia,’ he said at last, leaning heavily on the lectern. ‘On this Christmas night, I greet you. I thank you for your sixteen years of good faith. But tonight I also ask you to keep this faith a while longer. I ask you to keep it no matter what trials lie ahead. I ask you to stand united, no matter how many of us fall behind in the struggle. Because there will always be another generation to carry on the faith, as long as you do not let it go out.’

  I stood on tiptoes again and made out Jasmine among the crowds. She was watching the king with her thumb in her mouth. I had heard all his speeches but never one that began like this. These were the most impassioned words that I had ever heard him speak. Then, as he raised his head to continue, there was a burst of explosions. They sounded less than ten miles off. Scattered gunfire echoed on the breeze. And I realized then why he was speaking differently. This was his last speech to us. The rest of the city realized it at the same moment and panicked.

  As soon as the crowd began surging, Jasmine started towards us at a run, breaking away from Mr Victoire and vanishing as the people closed over her head. I lost sight of her altogether. I struggled towards the stage, not caring who I knocked aside. Jasmine and I met close to the fence, crushed between two groups of boys. Then someone elbowed me hard in the head, and we both went down. We were on the ground, among the cigarette butts and the grimy snow, and the crowd was trampling around us now in terror. I struggled to stand up and fell again. A boot collided with my ribs. ‘Jasmine!’ I said, trying to protect her from their blows.

  Then someone caught my collar and Jasmine’s wrist and dragged us to our feet. I turned to thank him and met Jared’s eyes. ‘Come on,’ he said. He took out a pistol and the crowd parted. He threw his arm roughly over my shoulders, picked up Jasmine, and battled towards the gates. My grandmother was waiting, wringing her shawl in her hands. Jared delivered us to her, then turned to leave. ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said, catching hold of his arm. ‘Jared, why have you been avoiding me? I … paper—’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s too late.’

 
; ‘How is it too late?’

  He looked at me for a moment, then turned away. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘I will see you …’ He did not finish the sentence.

  ‘Did you make your fortune selling guns?’ I said. I don’t know why I asked it, but suddenly I had to know. I knew I would not see him again before this was over. Jared shook his head, but I could tell it meant nothing. He went on shaking it as he turned and vanished into the night.

  ‘Come on, come on,’ said my grandmother, pulling us after her.

  ‘I wanted to hear the speech,’ said Jasmine, dragging on her hand.

  ‘It was almost over anyway. Let’s go back and see your mother.’

  They went on arguing, but I did not listen. I had noticed the newspaper sellers. They were setting up their stands on the street corners, in spite of the late hour. The commotion in the Royal Gardens had died down again.

  ‘Look at that,’ I said into the silence. Neither my grandmother nor Jasmine looked; they were too intent on their argument.

  I could only remember the newspaper sellers doing this ten or twenty times in my life; usually it was not worth selling the next day’s paper when the city was already closing down for the night. They had done it last year when there was a series of murders and the whole city was in uproar. And they had done it the day Aldebaran was assassinated. I stopped at the nearest stand and tried to see the headline. But the girl unloading the papers kept them covered and did not seem inclined to speak to me. I wondered if it was the Alcyrian army, if the newspapers would proclaim that they had reached the city.

  ‘Come along, Anselm!’ my grandmother called. ‘Let’s get back home.’

  As we walked through the city, the newspaper sellers began shouting in chorus. At first I could not make out what they said. Then, as we came round a corner, I heard it clearly. ‘Aldebaran’s Last Prophecy!’

  I stopped, horror fixing me to the spot. Jasmine had stopped too, and she turned and looked at me. In that second, she understood; I could tell by the fierceness of her eyes. Then she ran away, her shawl trailing behind her.

  ‘Jasmine, come back this instant!’ my grandmother shouted. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  I could not call Jasmine’s name, but I ran after her. She was too fast for me. As she rounded the corner of Old College Lane, she collided with someone. He caught hold of her arms to stop her from falling. ‘Hey, Jasmine,’ he said. It was Father Dunstan.

  ‘Let me go!’ said Jasmine. She was angrier than I had ever seen her. ‘Let me go now!’

  ‘Shh, shh,’ said the priest. ‘Is your grandmother with you?’

  ‘She is just behind,’ I said. ‘Jasmine, listen. I swear—’

  Father Dunstan caught my arm. ‘Don’t go any further. I need to talk to you.’

  My ears had been pounding, but now I heard a clamour coming from the street ahead. Jasmine broke free, and I followed her round the side of the building. A hundred people were standing outside my grandmother’s house. Men with notebooks and shabby suits, what looked like half the police, and several members of the Imperial Order.

  ‘What are they all doing there?’ said Jasmine.

  ‘Where is Mother?’ I said.

  Father Dunstan caught my arm again to stop me from advancing any further. ‘She’s not there,’ he said.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I was on my way to find you.’ He picked Jasmine up to stop her from running away again, despite the fact that she kicked and struggled. ‘You can’t go back there,’ he said. ‘They are looking for you. Maria is already at the hospital, but when I came back, I saw all this commotion.’

  ‘At the hospital?’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’ He set Jasmine down; her struggles had died abruptly. ‘She was taken very badly, but they are looking after her. She sent me back to find you. When I saw this crowd, I knew you must still be at the Royal Gardens. I knocked, but there was no one in the building, so I started back to look for you.’

  My grandmother came running up at that point, her heeled shoes slipping on the icy street. ‘What is all this?’ she said.

  ‘Come away,’ said Father Dunstan, explaining again as he ushered us back along the street. At the next crossroads, we were separated by the crowds coming from the Royal Gardens. Jasmine would not push through, and on the other side of the road, my grandmother was shifting from foot to foot with anxiety. ‘You two catch us up,’ she shouted, when the flow of people showed no sign of dwindling. ‘Don’t lose Jasmine, whatever you do.’ And she and the priest went on ahead of us.

  As soon as they rounded the corner, Jasmine caught my arm and said, ‘We have to go back.’

  ‘Where?’ I said.

  ‘Grandmama’s house.’

  ‘What? Why, Jasmine?’

  She was running again before I could catch her, back the way we had come. I had no choice but to follow. I stopped her at the corner of the street. The building was still surrounded; a few journalists were trying to break in at the window. ‘Jasmine, come on,’ I said. ‘We have to go to the hospital.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Oh, Anselm!’

  ‘What is it?’ I said, alarmed now.

  As we watched, something began, so faintly that I was not certain of it. A drift of smoke started to rise from the building. We watched it curl into the still air. It steadied, then began billowing blackly. ‘My God,’ I said. ‘The house is on fire.’

  The police noticed at the same moment. They began blowing their whistles and running around the street.

  Someone filled his jacket with snow and threw it at the smoke-filled window.

  ‘What shall we do?’ I said. And as I said it, the whole house went up in flames. It did it suddenly and completely. The fire-service carts were already approaching from the distance, but I knew it was too late. The heat forced us back against the wall. We stood there in hopeless terror and watched the house burn to the ground.

  I don’t know how long we stood there staring at it. By the time either of us moved, the crowd had vanished altogether and only the police and the firefighters were there, putting out the last smouldering remains of the building. The neighbours were standing about in the street, shaking their heads or crying mutedly as they returned from the Royal Gardens to find everything gone.

  ‘Come on,’ I told Jasmine. ‘We were supposed to go to the hospital. We can’t stay here; let’s just go.’

  She took my hand when I held it out, and followed me. What we had seen had taken both our voices. ‘Listen,’ I said eventually. ‘Don’t tell Mama or Grandmama yet.’

  ‘Anselm,’ she said. ‘Let’s run. I have bad feelings about everything.’

  That was enough, and we broke into an uneven run, hand in hand across the hard snow. The newspaper sellers were still shouting about the prophecy. The Imperial Order were out on the streets. The city was in chaos now. People were running in every direction, dragging their children and the old people after them in an attempt to reach their houses and get out. We could hear gunfire, quite distinctly, but the snow distorted every sound, and I could not tell if it was in the city or outside it. We struggled up the hospital steps, Jasmine holding up her long costume so as not to trip. The entrance hall was eerily silent. An abandoned wheelchair stood near the doors; two lines of hard benches lined the walls, with only three or four people on them.

  ‘Anselm!’ said my grandmother, appearing at a door. ‘We have been waiting nearly an hour. We didn’t know what to think – come on!’ She dragged us down a dark corridor and up a flight of stairs. Jasmine kept tripping on her long dress, so I picked her up and carried her as we ran.

  ‘Is Mother all right?’ I said.

  ‘She is holding out.’

  ‘But is she all right?’

  My grandmother did not answer. As we passed a narrow window, I thought I saw fire along the horizon. ‘Come on,’ said my grandmother, and pulled me away before I could see properly. We hurried up more steps and along a room with curtains at the sides that were p
atterned in grimy leaves, then into another entrance hall. ‘We have to wait here,’ said my grandmother. ‘Father Dunstan has gone to check how things are going.’

  We sat down on the nearest bench. We were all breathing fast now. Jasmine’s shawl had come unfastened and was trailing from one shoulder. My grandmother had lost her headscarf entirely. She looked younger and less certain without it.

  ‘Anselm?’ said someone then. ‘Mrs Andros?’ It was Father Dunstan; he had appeared again through a swinging door at the end of a corridor.

  ‘How is she?’ said my grandmother.

  ‘Doing as well as can be expected, I think. They say these two women are very good doctors.’

  ‘Father?’ said Jasmine. ‘Can we wait outside the door where Mama is?’

  ‘The nurse said no …’ began my grandmother.

  ‘I don’t think there would be any harm in it,’ said Father Dunstan. ‘That nurse has left now. Come with me.’

  We got up and followed him. My mother was behind a door at the farthest end of the corridor, where a dingy staircase wound out of sight. There were two battered chairs outside. My grandmother sank onto one and Father Dunstan onto the other, beside her. Jasmine and I sat on the bottom step. She had her thumb in her mouth, and she would not let go of my sleeve. She kept clutching at it as though she was afraid I would leave her. We waited without speaking.

  ‘Is the baby going to be all right?’ said Jasmine after a long while had passed.

  ‘Yes,’ said my grandmother. ‘Of course.’

  ‘He has to be,’ murmured Jasmine.

  We lapsed into silence again.

  ‘Father?’ said Jasmine. ‘Will you say a prayer?’

  Father Dunstan nodded and took his prayer book from his pocket. It made me think suddenly of Aldebaran’s funeral. ‘“Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord,”’ he read, ‘“and in thy mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night …”’

  Jasmine went and stood beside him, one hand on his arm. I remained where I was. I could not listen. He started the Lord’s Prayer, and my grandmother and Jasmine spoke the words with him, and then he read the psalm that begins,‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.’ He read very quietly, with the book open across his knees. We could hear the fighting in the city clearly over his voice. Someone was shouting on the ground floor of the hospital, yelling something that we could not make out. Then after a while it went quiet. ‘“He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth,”’ Father Dunstan read. ‘“He breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire.”’