Unmaking Percy

Part II - III, continued (The Hushing Manor)

Percy had never before heard such pitch-black tar in Evan's voice. It lasted only a moment. Evans placed his hands on the harpsichord and leaned over Armand.

"Stop this. Stop committing yourself to being miserable. Stop taking more prisoners to keep you company in your misery. You are worthy without your gift. You do not owe greatness to anyone. Listen to what you just played. Did you not smile just now? You did not need a muse for that."

The piece came to an end. Armand waited, his paws hovering above the keys, for the last golden baubles of his music to stop ringing in the room. As the sound faded, a heartrending shudder tore through Percy. His breath quickened, and he looked around, falling prey to a strange panic. But nothing and no one in the room had changed.

"Would you please play us a new one?" Evans asked, dipping each word in the warmth of a sincere smile. "It would bring me great joy."

Armand stared up at him. He looked lost.

"A new one – now?"

"If you feel able to? Something small and simple, of course."

Evans never pressured; he invited. Percy knew that by now. But the earlier intensity of his voice still lingered in the room, and it gave his words a white-hot edge, even as he spoke them gently as ever. Armand must have felt it sear him, too: he soon relented, turning his attention to the instrument once more.

The first notes had a choked and faltering sound to them as he struggled past his reluctance. They went to and fro with no direction, sometimes lumbering in heavy, bloated chords that reminded Percy of his recent music. Soon their weight dragged them down into a bog of cumbersome measures, and Armand hid behind a little cough, wrestling with his embarrassment as he was forced to stop and untangle the mess of notes before he could carry on. Evans watched, all of him patience. Percy envied that patience of his. He could feel himself fidgeting already, his attention ever eluding its tether. But Evans simply looked on, glad to spend his time right where he stood.

An artless harmony came to Armand. His shoulders loosened. He coaxed each note, lured them in, and waited for them to come willingly, rather than chase after them with his great big nets of chords. A melody started to unweave. Percy smiled. It was simple, and a marvel. It was the single thread that brought the unravelling of an old, dusty tapestry. And soon, Armand was grinning, too. He shaped a waltzing pattern, only to trip it up soon after; he hopped between two chords before leaping with no warning to a third; he spun each note into a delirious rhythm. It was not yet a song, but Percy could easily imagine the gloriously unrefined words that would come to it soon.

Armand rounded up every note into a frenzied crescendo, delight spinning from his fingertips. Percy recognized the familiar steps that danced their way to a cadence. Armand let out a little chuckle, which grew into wordless glee. With a final jolting chord, he shattered the music over the keyboard, leaving its shards to ring in the air.

As Armand held his paws over the silence of the keys, Percy felt it again – that strange shudder that took hold of him and tamed him. But this time, it lingered, draping an odd veil over the moment. He was somewhere between the end of music and applause, and he could feel that in-betweenness seize him and bring him to heel. He had always felt it, every time others played, or when he played himself; but he had never felt it quite like this. He found he was afraid of what might happen were that moment to linger for too long. A familiar urge came to him: to dig his nails sharply into his skin and ground himself in pain, when everything else threatened to untether him.

He looked at Evans. Evans, with his eyes closed, murmured something under his breath. Even in the fierce stillness of the room, Percy could not hear his words.