The Silver Blade (19 page)
‘I suppose that depends on what you call the truth.’
‘Every truth is just one man’s story, Yannick. You can believe whatever story you want.’
Yann was shaking with rage. ‘I don’t want some fairy tale. I want the truth.’
‘Tell me what has happened to the keymaker. I need to know,’ said Tetu, with a rising sense of panic.
‘I don’t care. Does that surprise you? I don’t care. Lord knows how angry I am. I’ve a mind to kill you, you whom I trusted completely. You whom I believed to be my friend, you whom I love. How could you do this to me? Why hadn’t you the courage to say who my father was when I asked? It would have been better then, when there was nothing to lose—’
He stopped. A lump in his throat made speaking difficult. ‘How do I live with this? How can I ever be with Sido, knowing what I know? Now my life hangs by this thread. The devil take you, I want the truth.’
Tetu went towards him.
‘Don’t touch me! Leave me be.’
‘Listen, listen,’ shouted Tetu, turning red in the face. ‘Kalliovski originally came from Transylvania to France.
When I first met him in St Petersburg he was a poor young gypsy with a pack of cards and a hatred for his own kind.’
‘You have told me before that Kalliovski was born a gypsy, but I don’t know if I believe a word of it. That could be another lie. After all, Kalliovski killed our people for sport. How can I trust a word you say?’
‘I have proof,’ said Tetu.
‘What proof?’
‘I met his people. I knew his family.’
‘When were you ever in Transylvania?’
‘Yann, stop this!’
‘No, I want to know. When were you ever in Transylvania?’
‘When I owned a dancing bear.’
‘A dancing bear? If I weren’t so angry, I would be laughing.’
‘“There are many earths on earth there be.” You, a gypsy, know this, you have evidence of it in the gifts you were given. Look at what you can do. How many men can work the threads of light? Some would say that none can. Is that the truth? Yes, in a way, because few have the ability to see such threads. Tell me, does that mean they don’t exist?’
‘And this,’ said Yann, feeling every nerve in his body on fire, ‘is supposed to comfort me? Well, it doesn’t.’
‘Your mother believed the spirit of her gypsy bridegroom was in you, even if Kalliovski is your father by blood. In her eyes you were never his child. She told me you were the ghost child of her one and only true love, a gypsy called Manouche. If you wish to think of Kalliovski as your father, you will be giving him a power he has no right to—’
‘I hate you for keeping the truth from me,’ cried Yann. ‘I despise you for it. When were you planning to tell me? Sometime? Never?’ He punched the wall.
‘You must try to calm down,’ said Tetu. ‘Go to London as planned. Tell Sido what has happened.’
Yann laughed, a hollow, dead sound. ‘No wonder, Tetu, that you thought we should disband and I go back to England. Did you think this might all disappear, that I would never find out?’
Tetu was silent.
‘How did my mother die? I think you told me … that’s right, my
father
murdered her.’
father
murdered her.’
‘I understand how upset you are, but once you have thought about—’
‘You could never in a lifetime understand how I feel.’
Yann slumped into a chair, his head in his hands.
‘I never told you because I was worried that it would destroy you. I have brought you up since you were an infant. I have never seen even a shadow of Kalliovski in you. The more you have grown, the more I believed Anis was right; you are indeed the child of her lost love Manouche. She made me swear never to tell you, so that Kalliovski wouldn’t have any power over you.’
Yann took a deep breath. ‘By my father’s hand, I am cursed for life.’
Tetu sighed. ‘Don’t go down that path, Yannick. You have all before you.’ He went over to the desk. ‘This letter arrived today.’
Yann took the envelope and looked at Sido’s writing. He handed the letter back.
‘It’s over,’ he said. ‘These letters are not safe. There will be no more.’ He was shaking with rage. ‘Do you think I don’t know that Juliette Laxton is terrified of her niece being in love with a gypsy? Let alone the son of the monster who tried to abduct her.’
‘Yann, please, I know I counselled you against this liaison but love is precious and it has given you so much strength. Think of what this will do to Sido.’
‘By my father’s hand, I am destroyed. What is left is nothing. Yes, it will break her heart. I now know how that feels - my heart is broken. But she will recover. Sooner or later, someone will tell her I am Kalliovski’s son. The Laxtons will sigh with relief that their niece was saved from such an ill-advised liaison. One day she will meet a good man, marry, be happy, and tell her children how once a gypsy boy saved her life in the days of the French Revolution.’
‘Yannick,’ said Tetu. ‘Go to London and see her.’
‘What could Sido possibly say? That it changes nothing? ‘ Yann got up and went towards the door. Tetu saw he was trembling. ‘What is the point? There is nothing left.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Here is another truth for you, Tetu. There are a lot of men out there who are the walking dead. Tonight I join them.’
‘Don’t let Kalliovski win,’ said Tetu. ‘He wants to destroy you as he destroyed your mother. Don’t let this ruin your future. You’re Manouche’s ghost child. Kalliovski was born with hatred and jealousy at the very root of him, like a rotten tree. You don’t have to be his poisoned fruit.’
Yann looked back at Tetu. He seemed suddenly even aller, as if he had shrunk, and Yann felt himself to have grown too big for the room. He had become a giant in anger. He needed air.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Tetu again.
‘To get drunk.’
Tetu watched him leave, tears streaming down his face. ‘Anis, what should I do? Tell me, what should I do?’
L
ater that night Didier wearily made his way back into the theatre. He found Tetu sitting at Citizen Aulard’s desk, his face tear-stained, looking as old as Time itself.
ater that night Didier wearily made his way back into the theatre. He found Tetu sitting at Citizen Aulard’s desk, his face tear-stained, looking as old as Time itself.
‘Is Yann back?’ Didier asked.
‘Yes.’
Tetu poured them both a glass of cognac.
‘Where’s Remon Quint?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Didier, moving his shoulders back and rolling his head around his neck. He was stiff all over. He took the glass. ‘We lost him down there. I searched and searched, but I couldn’t find him. It’s not good, is it?’
‘No.’
‘I could go down again.’
‘You will never find him. It’s too late.’
‘It can’t be.’
‘But it is,’ said Tetu, knowing the keymaker was already beyond help. He could only hope that Yann had the strength for the battle ahead.
‘I’m very sorry we failed Remon Quint,’ said Didier gravely.
‘So am I,’ said Tetu.
‘Where’s Yann now?’
‘Gone out.’
‘That’s unlike him.’
‘Yes,’ replied the dwarf.
I
n the Cafe du Coin the company of actors was celebrating its last performance. Colombine had just met a young man who seemed to be devoted to her. Tonight Anselm was capitalising on his newly discovered assets.
n the Cafe du Coin the company of actors was celebrating its last performance. Colombine had just met a young man who seemed to be devoted to her. Tonight Anselm was capitalising on his newly discovered assets.
‘Come on,’ shouted Basco, ‘give us another song.’ And standing on a table Colombine sang, her voice not strong, but sweet with an innocence that she had never possessed.
Yann knew he had chosen the wrong place the minute he opened the door.
A stagehand rushed over.
‘Yann,’ he said, louder than he meant to. ‘What has happened? Why are you back?’
Looking round the smoky room, Yann noticed Colombine’s latest conquest and instinctively sensed the darkness round him. Anselm glanced in Yann’s direction and recognised him immediately. This was the young man who’d killed Pa.
Yann walked past the stagehand to the bar. ‘I’m thirsty, that’s all.’
Colombine, who had been lifted off the table, rushed over to him. Anselm watched closely. Her obvious interest in Yann made her more desirable.
Yann drank up, not wishing to stay longer than necessary. He wanted to find a bar where he would be guaranteed some peace.
‘Don’t leave. You’ve only just arrived,’ said Colombine, sensing that something was wrong.
Ignoring her, he handed the barman a roll of
assignats
, then turned to the rest of the company and said, ‘Well done, everybody. Have a drink on me.’ And with that he was gone.
assignats
, then turned to the rest of the company and said, ‘Well done, everybody. Have a drink on me.’ And with that he was gone.
Colombine picked up her shawl to follow him.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Anselm, grabbing hold of her arm.
‘Let go of me.’
‘Not until you tell me where you’re going.’
‘That’s none of your business. Take your hands off me.’
‘What? A lovers’ tiff already?’ asked Pantalon.
Colombine shook her arm free, to see two white marks where Anselm’s fingers had gripped her.
‘Look what you’ve done!’ she said, and slapped him hard.
Red, raw rage surged through Anselm. His fingers itched to break every bone in her body, a longing that was almost beyond his control.
Only a small voice inside his head willed him to be still.
Colombine flounced out of the cafe.
‘Have another drink,’ said Basco, putting his arm round Anselm. ‘Take no notice, that one has broken more hearts than the guillotine has cut off heads.’
Yann meanwhile walked towards the Seine, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He crossed the Pont Neuf and reached the Cafe des Amis. The owner knew Yann well and was pleased to see him.
‘Not many out tonight,’ he said. ‘We miss you. You don’t come this way so often since you left the rue du Temple.’
Yann nodded, took a bottle over to the table by the window, sat down and poured himself a glass. Damn Tetu. Damn all the lies, damn the Revolution. Damn everything. He poured himself another drink. How can I live with this? Tell me that, Yann Margoza, son of Count Kalliovski?
He downed his drink in one gulp. If I’ve inherited anything from my father, I’d better hope that it’s his ability to feel nothing. Keep on tipping this vinegary muck down and nothing is all I will ever feel. Nothing is all I will ever be.
Why him? I could cope with a coward, a traitor, a fool - but not Kalliovski.
Yann looked down at the bottom of his glass and refilled it.
What is it that Pantalon always says? ‘Life is a bottle of wine. The art is to make it last and to know how to enjoy it.’ I don’t want it to last. The sooner the bottle is empty the better.
‘Can I join you?’
He looked up to see Colombine.
‘Why aren’t you with the others?’
She slid down next to him. ‘I thought you looked sad. And something has gone wrong, I could tell.’
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