Chapter 27 – Neville: A Visitor
A man came to Fabec. He had no arms and wore a purple hat on his head with a daisy on the flap. Neville worried about the clown traveling alone on the roads of Baynard. The War might be restrained to the Mouth, but death and violence roamed every road.
‘The Caravan is in Lune,’ said Lecoeurge. They were sitting at Neville’s table. ‘There are no criminals near the Mouth of War. And it’s been too long since I last heard you play.’
‘I sent my guitar back to Debur,’ said Neville.
Lecoeurge looked disappointed.
‘This is no place for music,’ said Neville. The notes and melodies perished in the Mouth of War. The guitar’s hollow swallowed the music instead of amplifying it. ‘My guitar is safer in Debur.’
‘Nothing is safe in Debur,’ said Lecoeurge. ‘Don’t you know about the revolution? The Caravan hasn’t been to Debur in two years. Death has become routine. They kill at certain times of the day so as not to get in the way of commerce, but Rimbaud wants nothing to do with that place anymore. This is a miniature version of the Civil War, is what he said. The difference is that, instead of fighting in the Mouth of War, they’re killing each other at the Market Square.’
Neville stood up and went to the window. Three years ago, before Vincent arrived, Henrique stopped sending soldiers to Fabec. At least one of the things the people demanded had happened: the draw stopped. Even so, Fabec resisted. Neville no longer doubted that there was darkness. There was a power in the Mouth and that power enveloped Neville and his men, now trained and active. They died. In the Mouth of War there was only grey and death. But they killed more than they died. Neville’s arrow had hit Faust of Patire more than once, though never fatally. The War became alive with Neville’s presence, incendiary battles, red and bellowing, like they must have been at the very beginning, before the War became routine.
‘They want you back,’ said Lecoeurge. ‘You are the solution.’
‘There is no going back for me,’ said Neville. ‘If they want a captain, they should look for my father.’
‘Don’t you know?’ asked the clown. ‘The legless captain left on the same day you did.’
‘My father is not in Debur? Where is he?’
‘There are rumors that he went to Anjário. You are the only Captain of Baynard, and the people need you. The rebellion needs a leader and the people look up to you.’
Darkness also liked Neville; it gave him strength. The soldiers of Fabec were few, but the people of Fabec began to train, began to kill.
‘We here sometimes want to help,’ said Leather Head, introducing his wife to Neville.
‘They must swear to defend Fabec,’ said Neville. ‘They have to act with honor.’
Darkness was a terrible friendship to indulge. It kept Neville alive but stole his will, his desire, his purpose. Sometimes he woke up ready to kill, it didn’t matter who: the soldier on the other side of the door, the child that sat on the mosaics outside and played with the marble wolves, frog, and fox.
No!
Neville had sworn to protect those people. He grasped that oath, that honor. He must resist. Darkness impelled him to destroy, but his sense of bushido helped him to focus that destruction on the enemy, on Beloú. If he was going to kill someone, let it be Faust of Patire.
Every time Neville woke up seeing red, he repeated his father’s words like a mantra:
Honor is the only concrete thing in this world.
Honor is the only concrete thing.
The only thing.
‘I can’t,’ Neville told Lecoeurge. ‘I can’t break my oath to the king.’
‘How can you still protect Henrique?’ asked the clown. ‘Your father is who-knows-where without his legs, and you are here without music.’
‘That’s not the issue.’ Neville knew that if he broke his word, he would break himself like crystal hitting rock.
Lecoeurge made as though he was going to argue, but he must have seen something in Neville’s eyes, because he changed his mind. All he said was:
‘I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I’ll try to go to Debur and get your guitar. You need more than death to keep on living.’
I was going to sketch Lecoeurge, who hasn't got a decent picture yet, but before I could stop myself, I was drawing Nuille and Lucille. Again.