Chapter 83: Vincent – And that’s how it was
When Vincent arrived, Debur was practically abandoned. There was a handful of people, a handful of soldiers, the king and his dead orchids. The city was dormant like a bloodless muscle, but it began to tingle when Vincent showed up.
A few soldiers recognized him, but even those who had never seen Vincent knew that he was coming from the Mouth of War; they saw the ashes clinging to his eyelashes, the calouses on his hands, hands that caused so much death. There wasn’t a lot of death in Debur: most deaths lurked in the sandy currents of the Mouth, clinging to the blades of soldiers like Vincent.
He didn’t think like that, so poetically. No. Vincent knew darkness, caused death with his hands, had a rough voice because the ashes had dried his throat permanently. He didn’t care about what happened after the revolution and he didn’t give a fig to the people of Debur. His world was ash. His soul belonged to darkness.
Then again, maybe his soul belonged to Neville and Neville had sent him to find Olivier. Which was why he went to the Emerald looking for information, but the soldiers there surrounded him and put all their doubts, fears and decidions at his feet. A bunch of lost people following Vincent over the Emerald walls.
Like ducklings and mamma duck, he thought.
Funny that he thought of ducks. There were none at the Mouth of War. If there had been ducks there, they’d have fangs and poison. At the Mouth of War everything was sinister. Here in Debur, with the sun slanting on the Emerald like that, the idea of poisonous ducks was hilarious.
Vincent laughed and the other soldiers laughd with him without knowing why they were laughing. Ducklings. Vincent could end it all with death. Kill until he was killed. So it was in the Mouth of war, except that Neville didn’t let them die nor would he be happy if one of his soldiers went around killing people in Debur. What would Neville do in Vincent’s place? If Olivier wasn’t in Debur, he must be in Tuen, in which case Manó would find him. Manó would find Thaila. Neville would find a way to bring some order into Debur, but Vincent was no leader. It wasn’t that he was not a leader as amazing as Neville; he simply didn’t know how to lead. Those soldiers came to him with doubts and decisions that he couldn’t answer or make, but he pretended to think about them while trying to find a way out of that mess without disappointing his captain. Assuming Neville was even alive.
I guess I’m a mamma duck.
When Fabec was destroyed, Vincent waited for Neville to come back to Debur, but it was Leatherhead who led what was left from the soldiers of Fabec, and Leatherhead was as much of a leader as Vincent. They got together to discuss what to do, but came to no conclusion.
‘We should wait for the captain,’ said Leatherhead.
Neither one of them wanted to ask the question that haunted them. What if he didn’t come back?
‘Where did the rest of Debur go?’ asked Leatherhead. ‘This can’t be everyone.’
He didn’t speak with conviction though. After all, only a hundred soldiers came back from Fabec.
‘They left,’ said Vincent. ‘I don’t know where they went, lured by magic. Somehwere in the south.’
‘Lured by magic?’
‘You haven’t met him, the Accident of Debur,’ said Vincent.
They thought about following the Deburian exodus, but they didn’t know if the Accident had gone to Tuen or to who knows where.’
It was on a sunny, very windy day. The dust on the streets softened the edges of Debur. A black silhouette walked in and out of the dust clouds; now blurred by the golden dust, then black and ondulating, holding her veil against the wind.
The watch called Vincent and Leatherhead. Nobody thought of calling Henrique. The silhouette came up the street and stopped in front of the library. For a moment she stood there, at the same time still and flapping like a raised banner. Then she opened the door and went in.
‘It’s her,’ said a soldier. ‘The Librarian is back.’
Maëlle was exhausted, her feet were sore, her skin was covered in dust, the stomach full of sand. The contrast between the wind outside and the silence inside the library paralized her for a moment, like she had crossed a portal between two worlds. How nice it would be if War stayed outside.
She found on the shelf the book about bushido. She remembered the word dapper, she wanted to cry. The door was opened and light, followed by wind and dust, fell onto the shelves. The sun hit Maëlle, holding the bushido book in her hands, her eyes glinted.
There were two soldiers at the door, covered in dust. Or was it ash? She thought they were here to arrest her, but one of them closed the door and she recognized his head, that looked like leather.
‘Leatherhead,’ she said.
It was the other man who replied, the one with very thin ears:
‘You are Maëlle, librarian and rebel.’
So they were here to arrest her. Or kill her, since there is no need to close the door when you are going to arrest someone.
‘I am,’ she sighed.
‘We need your help.’
The few civilians who stayed in Debur remembered the librarian, that she had been sent to Anuré. They were in awe of her, for surviving and for coming back. They left Vincent alone.
Poor woman, he thought, but he was wrong. Maëlle wasn’t afraid of questions or decisions, she could organize people as easily as shw could organize books. She was, after all, one of Neville’s parents.
Vincent and Leatherhead trusted her even with military issues.
‘I learned to follow your son and that was the wisest thing I ever did in life,’ said Vincent, ‘but I’m not truly a wise man and I have no idea what to do here.’
Vincent and Leatherhead made every single decision following Maëlle’s advice. Onde day they took her to the Emerald and simply presented her as their leader. They were worried that the other soldiers would refuse her, but the truth was the Emerald soldiers knew a leader when they saw one.
No ducklings after all.
Maëlle wanted to go to Tuen, but she promised to leave Debur in order before she left. That was why she and the two soldiers of Fabec were still there when Olivier arrived.
‘In Tuen,’ said Olivier. ‘Thaila is in Tuen.’
Maëlle didn’t give him any room to breathe. Olivier was still glued to the wall. His hands began to sweat. He said:
‘She was taken from me.’
Maëlle turned her back on him and Vincent saw Olivier’s face distort with anger. Olivier’s hand went to his sword and he seemed ready to kill Maëlle right there. Vincent moved his chin and Olivier writhed.
‘Fulbert must be in Tuen by now,’ Olivier said.
Maëlle turned and even Henrique raised his eyes.
‘We need Henrique,’ said Olivier. ‘We have to protect the crown.’
‘We need the crown to protect us,’ said Maëlle.
‘Fulbert has already crossed the Mouth,’ said Olivier.
‘Without Fabec,’ said the king, ‘there is only Tuen between Fulbert and the rest of Baynard.’
‘Vincent,’ said Maëlle. ‘Prepare the soldiers. We’re marching South.’
Olivier was so like the king. Afraid of action, horrified of change. At the Emerald’s gate lay his horse, eyes still open. Olivier and his shame. His legs shook from exhaustion. He knelt by the horse’s head. If he hadn’t been afraid of Henrique in the past, what would Baynard be like now? He closed the horse’s eyes, felt tears in his own eyes. What was the point in regreting now? The horse was dead.
‘You are under arrest.’
Olivier looked up to the soldier of ash, Vincent.
‘I would rather kill you, but Maëlle told me to arrest you.’
He took Olivier by the arm and shackled his wrists.