Chapter 80: Vivianne
Vivianne sat by the window and opened her sketchbook. It was almost at the end. The first half were drawinsg of the Plume and Tuen: maps, shutters, tiles, streets. Then there were sketches of Germon, Pierre, Coalim, Pierre, Joanna, Pierre Pierre Pierre. She sketched him again today. No smile, shadowed eyes.
Now, seeing Captain Neville of Fabec united with Thaila and the Eslarian, Pierre recovered some of his lightness, but he was different. Vivianne wished shw could understand people better so she could read his expression. Was it worry? Fatigue? Confusion? She could think of half a dosen reasons for each of those feelings.
‘You seem worried,’ said Pierre.
Vivianne was so focused on her sketch that she didn’t notice him approaching.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘you are worried.’
Pierre’s face became somber again. Before he could say anything, Coalim came in followed by a man Vivianne had never seen. He had almost white skin, almost straight hair, almost straight nose, very smooth hands. This man froze when he saw Germon and Bojet at the table. The two burnt ones pretended not to notice.
‘Gregoire,’ Pierre went to Gregoire’s side and they exchanged words Vivianne couldn’t hear.
Pierre seemed dissatisfied. Was the Frontier not coming after all? Even so, with Tuen and CHambert united, surely they could fight Fulbert.
Right?
‘Captain Neville,’ said Pierre. ‘Vivianne. We need to talk. Coalim, could you find Captain Gaul and ask him to join us?’
Bojet and Germon, the Eslarian and Thaila Stood up to leave.
‘Stay,’ said Pierre. ‘We’re all here together because we were forced to change our plans, our lives.’ He turned to Bojet and Germon. ‘Our skins. Somehow we all came to stand here, side by side and I think we should stay that way. Please listen to what I have to say.’
Coalim came back with Gaul and Líran followed them in like a purple coloured shadow. Menior and the Grey One also came.
‘Is there something wrong with the Frontier?’ Vivianne asked.
‘The Frontier will come when summoned,’ said Gregoire. ‘What worries you, brother?’
‘The North.’
‘Why?’ asked Gregoire. ‘We haven’t heard any bad news from the North.’
‘Have you heard anything from the Norht?’ asked Pierre. ‘Four weeks ago I said farewell to Fulion. Either she or someone else should have brought word by now. Fulion is never late.’
‘Could Fulbert have blocked the ways?’ asked the Eslarian.
Neville shook his head. ‘Patire may have blocked the roads, but these people know more ways than the wild animals.’
Pierre picked up his backpack and took a map. He smoothed it on the table and traced with his finger the invisible divide between Deran, Baynard and Patire.
‘It’s too much land for Fulbert to cover,’ he said. ‘He would have to build a wall and man it with hundreds of thousands of men.
Gregoire came up with other theories, as well as Neville and Thaila, but Vivianne stopped listening the moment she laid eyes on that map. She touched, or rather, caressed the paper so old that it was soft like a baby’s skin. It was drawn in the Satironese style, with detailed geography and beautiful illustrations all around it: an eagle at the top, its wings open wide; a delicate frog at the bottom left corner, sitting by a red fox with beautiful tail.
‘It’s perfect,’ said Vivianne.
‘It’s Franária,’ said Pierre.