Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (31 page)

“G
US! GUUUS!”

Oksa was shaking her friend, who groaned, reluctant to wake from his deep sleep.

“Gus! Wake up, you sleepyhead!”

Oksa’s eyelids were still puffy from all that crying, which only Tugdual had witnessed in the cemetery. Tugdual… he was so fascinating. If only she could do something for him.

“What do you want?” grumbled Gus. “What time is it?”

“Four o’clock.”

“Morning or afternoon?” asked Gus, yawning.

“Morning, of course!”

“Of course,” he muttered. “Stupid question.”

“Do you feel up to getting out of bed?” asked Oksa, looking at the dressing that still covered the left side of his head. “I heard some funny noises and voices, we have to go and see!”

How could he resist? Gus got up and followed Oksa, seizing the opportunity to repair their close bond after the angry words they had exchanged a few hours ago. Creeping quietly downstairs, they could definitely hear someone speaking in a low voice in the back room, where Leomido’s creatures were housed.

“Hey, you must have really good hearing if you heard this from your room,” remarked Gus in a whisper.

“First of all, I heard a bell around 3 a.m.,” explained Oksa. “I wonder if it was that alarm-creature the Lunatrixa told us about the other day?”

“The Tumble-Bawler?”

“I don’t know—perhaps. I listened but all I could hear was footsteps and Dragomira’s and Leomido’s voices. I wonder what’s going on. C’mon, let’s try and find out more.”

“Oksa…” sighed Gus.

He felt much too shattered to try and stop his friend—to do that, he’d have to be in tip-top form, at the very least; and at four o’clock in the morning, after being attacked by a furious Felon and bitten by a Death’s Head Chiropteran, he might as well accept that it was mission impossible. They tiptoed towards the room at the end of the long
corridor
on the ground floor. The light filtered through the half-open door and they could vaguely hear the muffled voices of Dragomira, Leomido and Abakum. Oksa crept even closer, dragging Gus by the arm. The boy raised his eyes skyward and let her pull him along. When Oksa got an idea into her head, good or bad, nothing could stop her.
“She won’t let anything stand in her way when she’s set her mind on something,
” Gus thought to himself.

Standing behind the door, the two spies huddled against the wall in the corner to peer inside the room. They couldn’t see a great deal, but they could make out Dragomira and Leomido in profile, sitting round a table on which crouched a huge, magnificent hare with
greyish-brown
fur.

“I covered the entire estate to the sea first, but I didn’t find anything. Oh, my legs are aching like mad, it’s been a long time since I’ve run like that.”

It was Abakum’s voice. “
Where is he
?” wondered Oksa. “
He must be sitting on the other side of the table
.”

“Do you want some water? You must be exhausted, dear Abakum,” said Dragomira, putting a bowl in front of the hare and stroking it.

Dragomira was talking to the hare? Oksa frowned, looking completely baffled. Abakum? Abakum the hare? A hare called Abakum? What on earth did that mean? As for Gus, he was just thinking that he was still asleep and was having a really odd dream in which a hare called Abakum was speaking, talking… in Abakum’s voice. “
Rubbish
!” he thought to himself, leaning against the wall. “
I’m delirious
.”

“But I followed my nose to the village and there I saw and heard something very interesting.”

Oksa stared wide-eyed: it really was the hare talking! With its long ears pricked up, the animal was conversing seriously with Dragomira and Leomido at that very moment, there was no question about it. The hare and Abakum were one and the same! Indeed, McGraw and Orthon, Abakum and the hare—it was a string of double identities. Oksa squeezed Gus’s arm in amazement. He felt as if he’d been transported to another dimension and couldn’t believe he was wide awake. But, after drinking a few sips of water, the hare continued its tale, dispelling any doubts Oksa and Gus might still have had:

“I saw Orthon in front of the Dirty Liar Hotel. It was very dark, but I recognized him, mainly by his voice, which was as hard and curt as it was fifty years ago. He was loading the boot of a car. He looked as though he was injured and having difficulty carrying his bags. A young boy was helping him, his son… I heard them arguing. Apparently the boy wanted to stay and ‘
make one last-ditch attempt
’, those were his words. Orthon didn’t agree; he replied that things were more complicated than he’d expected and that he had to come up with a more effective plan. Then they got into the car and drove off.”

“Well done, Abakum!” Dragomira said to the hare. “That’s really interesting. If Orthon has gone we can rest easy for a while, but none of this bodes well and we’ll have to get ourselves organized before he attacks again, which he will.”

“Oh—and I also saw the Abominari with him,” added the hare.

“I suspected that and now I understand why it had become so
aggressive lately,” said Dragomira. “It must have sensed its master was in the vicinity. I should have thought of that before. Anyway, it’s no longer roaming the countryside, that’s one good thing, at least. It was so furious that it could have given itself up to one of the Outsiders, just to make trouble for us.”

“We’ve avoided the worst, that’s for sure,” confirmed the hare, its muzzle quivering.

“So Orthon has a son,” murmured Leomido, his hands steepled in front of his face, lost in thought.

“Why wouldn’t he have?” remarked the hare gently. “He’s made a life for himself on the Outside. Like you. Like all of us.”

Aware that the conversation was drawing to a close and that it would be rather tricky if they were caught blatantly spying, Oksa and Gus chose to make a swift retreat and tiptoed back to Gus’s room. There, they threw themselves on the bed breathlessly, their cheeks flushed.

“What do you think about that, Gus? Abakum is a hare!”

“It would be more accurate to say that the hare we’ve just seen is Abakum,” corrected Gus, who was now wide awake.

Oksa gave a jerky laugh.

“Whatever. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” retorted Gus, pretending to be blasé, “I really can’t see why you’re making such a big deal of it. Talking hares are ten a penny, after all! Just like girls who shoot into the air like rockets, hens six feet tall and plants that faint when they get stressed. For someone like me, this is all pretty run of the mill. But you let any little thing impress you! Honestly, you should try to get out more.”

Her only reply was to hit him over the head with a pillow, to which he retaliated by throwing a bolster at her.

“You’re lucky you’re injured,” growled Oksa with a laugh. “Otherwise I’d make your life hell.”

“I’m not afraid of you!” retorted Gus, throwing a sock at her. “Go back to bed and try to get a few more hours’ sleep.”

“Fine,” whispered his friend with a shrug, throwing back the sock lying on the floor with a flick of her eyes as she left the room.

“You’re nothing but a big show-off,” accused Gus, smiling.

When the two friends went down to the kitchen, all the Runaways were having breakfast around a vast table.

“What’s for lunch?” asked Oksa, sniggering. “I wouldn’t say no to a tasty hare stew…”

Dragomira suddenly glanced over at Abakum, who looked down with a knowing half-smile.

“With carrots? Wouldn’t that be nice? Carrots are so tasty! And crunchy,” continued Oksa, delighted with her veiled allusions and her ready wit.

“Stop it, Oksa,” whispered Gus, as Dragomira hurriedly changed the conversation. “You’re pushing it…”

“It’s just my nerves,” she replied in the same tone. “I can’t control them any more.”

“That’s because you’re mental. You really are a nutter.”

“My Young Gracious!” called out the Lunatrix, alerted by Oksa’s culinary suggestions. “I have the fear that the tasting of stewed hare is impossible to delight your stomach. But I make the suggestion of taking enjoyment in fillets of fish and garden peas in the proximity of thirteen hours. Oh! The dishwasher has rung the bell, the preparation is complete.”

“The dishwasher?” asked Oksa in astonishment.

Everyone turned to watch the chubby little creature open the
dishwasher
and take out a plastic box. The Lunatrix opened the container and a cloud of steam escaped—as well as a delicious fishy smell.

“Don’t tell me you cooked the fish and the garden peas in the
dishwasher
!” exclaimed Oksa.

“Young Gracious, the dishwasher brings to perfection steamed cookery, the certainty is tasty.”

“That Lunatrix is incredible,” remarked Gus in surprise. “I love him.”

“If the Young Gracious communicates the desire, some carrots can experience this cookery to make accompaniment with the fish. The wish must be told to be added to the next round of the dishwasher.”

“Okay,” agreed Oksa, “carrots get the thumbs-up from me! You’re a genius, Lunatrix.”

“The Young Gracious gives incredible honour,” replied the Lunatrix, flushing purple with pleasure.

Leaving the Lunatrixes to their domestic chores, the Runaways exited the kitchen, accompanied by Oksa and Gus. After a short, but
refreshing
, night’s sleep, they were less emotional and more thoughtful. Sitting in Leomido’s large living room, again doubling as their headquarters, they made the most of them all being there to confer at length, taking decisions and assigning activities: analysing the list, actively searching for Runaways—and Felons—who might still be anywhere in the world, keeping Orthon-McGraw under surveillance—the most important of all these measures being to train Oksa so that she could control her new skills and acquire others.

“And don’t forget: while there are people around, you aren’t in any danger. But we mustn’t let Orthon find any of us on our own when he comes calling,” continued Pavel.

“Hey, I know how to defend myself!” exclaimed Oksa. “You must admit that my Tornaphyllon was rather successful.”

“Yes, and let me take the opportunity to congratulate you on that right now,” replied Dragomira. “With everything that has been going on, we forgot to praise your magnificent first attempt! You controlled your Granok perfectly, well done Oksa.”

Everyone clapped fervently and Gus whistled loudly. Oksa’s face lit up in a big grin, but her satisfaction was tinged with bitterness, because it was Gus who should really have taken all the credit for her success. He’d remembered the words which had enabled her to shoot the Granok, when she had been in such a panic that she couldn’t think straight. She looked at the Runaways standing there in front of her, so full of hope and so confident. McGraw’s menacing shouts echoed again in her head and she was more aware than ever of how much rested on her head. What if they were all wrong? And what if she wasn’t as strong as they thought?

A
S THE
R
UNAWAYS HAD ANNOUNCED, ONE OF THEIR
urgent priorities was to consolidate Oksa’s powers. As soon as the Pollocks got back to London, Dragomira took things in hand.

“Come with me, Dushka.”

Dragomira walked into the double-bass case and led Oksa up the spiral staircase to her workroom, which smelt sweetly of the bergamot-flavoured tea that had been prepared for the two Graciouses. Everything had finally found its rightful place in the attic room, which looked neat and tidy. The scene was no less animated, though, because the creatures were busily doing chores on petrol-blue floor cushions.

Oksa headed for the darkest corner of the workroom, which was dominated by a giant alembic with countless brightly coloured glass pipes, some reaching as high as the ceiling.

“I’ve never seen anything like this! What do you use it for? Do you make bootleg alcohol?”

Oksa was feeling in a decidedly impish mood that day—which did not escape the creatures’ notice.

“Al Capone!” cried the Getorix. “Watch out! Eliot Ness is getting close! Beware of the Italian Mafia!”

Dragomira burst out laughing, and Oksa immediately followed suit.

“You’re very well informed,” said the old lady merrily. “I can see that everyone has benefited from the book on Prohibition I lent to the Lunatrixes.”

“It’s always this crazy then, is it?” remarked Oksa, indicating the Getorix, which was raking the soil around the Goranov with tiny gardening tools.

“Who’s Eliot Ness?” asked the Incompetent, standing bolt upright in the pink velvet armchair.

“Eliot Ness? He’s a detective who tracks down bootleggers and
hideous
creatures,” replied the Getorix. “And the ones he hates most of all are Incompetents. That’s hard luck for you!”

“Is Eliot Ness a hideous creature? Well, well! Poor thing,” said the Incompetent compassionately.

“And the Incompetent is just as slow on the uptake, from what I can see,” remarked Oksa, bursting out laughing. “No, Incompetent,” she continued, addressing the wrinkled creature. “Don’t listen to that naughty Getorix, you’re very attractive and I’m very fond of you.”

“What! What!” exclaimed the Goranov in its turn, coming late into the conversation. “Is the Italian Mafia distilling alcohol in the house? That’s extremely dangerous, you know.”

Its leaves shivered violently, threatening to collapse at any second. The Getorix rushed over, imitating an ambulance siren.

“Emergency! We must hoe the soil quickly, its roots have to breathe. Stand back, give it some air, give it some air… hang on Goranov, breathe deeply!”

And it began hoeing at top speed, as Oksa roared with laughter,
holding
her stomach.

“They’re mad, completely mad. I just love them!” she exclaimed, wiping her eyes. “Oh, Baba! What are you doing?”

What Dragomira was doing was very simple: she’d prepared a little surprise for Oksa.

“What? What’s the matter?” she asked, sounding disconcertingly matter-of-fact.

“But, but, Baba…”

“Not very original, Dushka, if I may say so. Your replies aren’t usually quite so vague,” remarked Dragomira mischievously. “Has something given you a shock, perhaps?”

That “something” would have shocked anyone—even Oksa, who had seen worse over the past few weeks. Dragomira had adopted a most unusual position: standing with her feet on the wall and her body completely horizontal, she was looking at her granddaughter with a completely straight face. Only her eyes betrayed her amusement. Oksa was flabbergasted. She was even more surprised when Dragomira walked along the wall as easily as if she were walking across the floor. She zigzagged between the pictures whistling, a feather duster in hand, and casually began dusting the giant alembic, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oho! You could knock the Young Gracious down with her Baba’s feather duster,” said the Getorix with uncharacteristic wit.

“Phew,” sighed the Goranov, which had regained consciousness.

The Croakettes, inspired by Dragomira, began beating their beautiful translucent wings and gracefully fluttered around their mistress.

“Would you be a great help, Dushka, and bring me a rag?” asked Dragomira innocently.

“Could I?
Really
? I’ve always dreamt of doing this. It’s…
MAGIC
!”

“Of course. Anything I can do, you can do! Empty your head of all thoughts that stop you believing it. I’m not saying that’s the answer to everything or that it’s the secret to doing anything you want… but when it comes to what I’m asking you to do, you’ll see it’s very good advice. Before you join me, take a white Capacitor from the jar on the table.”

“What’s a Capacitor? What’s it for?”

“There are a great many Capacitors,” replied Dragomira, still horizontal, turning to look at Oksa. “You’ll get to know some of them during your training. Generally, I’d say that they’re used to boost human abilities: balance, thought, speed—it’s extremely varied. The one I’m giving you
is a Ventosa. You’ll find out what it’s used for in a second. All I can say is that it’s made from a base of puréed climbing insects and ivy.”

Feeling rather sick, Oksa hesitated. The mental image of repulsive teeming insects crawling up tree trunks made her grimace. She turned the white capsule over in her fingers and held it to her ear to check for any signs of life inside. She really wanted to cut it in half, just to check, but Dragomira looked at her, smiling with amusement.

“You know how much we respect life, Dushka,” she explained to Oksa. “We would never harm a living thing. Never. It’s a fundamental principle.”

After shaking the Capacitor and inspecting it one last time, Oksa finally swallowed it with her eyes shut. Her mouth and throat were flooded with an incredible taste of blue cheese—those insects must love smelly cheese. But the most important thing was in front of her: the wall.

“I’m going to crash and burn, that’s for sure,” she muttered, beginning by putting one foot on the vertical surface. She attempted to lift her other foot, trying hard to picture it next to the foot on the wall.

“Not bad, Oksa, not bad!” said Dragomira encouragingly.

But Oksa was racked with doubt. She shut her eyes, tried to concentrate and felt… as if she was walking. One foot in front of the other, nothing to it—nothing to make a song and dance about.

“Well done, Dushka, you did it first time!”

Oksa felt vexed. Her gran must have lost her marbles. When she
realized
that the wall opposite her was actually the ceiling, though, she gave a cry of joy. She’d done it! A shiver of excitement ran down her spine and almost made her lose her balance—if you could talk of balance when you were horizontal. After her initial hesitation, she began moving with mounting confidence. So much so that it wasn’t long before she became more ambitious.

“What about the ceiling, Baba?”

Dragomira chose to reply with a demonstration and, standing with her two feet glued to the ceiling, she drew Oksa closer.

“Wow! Magic! This is great. It’s as if my feet are magnetic!”

“That’s exactly what the Capacitor does,” confirmed Dragomira.

“Fortunately we’re wearing trousers,” laughed Oksa. “You obviously anticipated this, Baba.”

With a wink, the Old Gracious straightened her embroidered kimono trousers.

“Do you want to try with your hands now?”

With growing astonishment, Oksa crouched down in a fluid
movement
and put her hands on the ceiling. Her two palms immediately adhered to it.

“This is amazing,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “Look, Baba, I’m a giant spider!”

“Very good, Spider-Girl,” said Dragomira, congratulating her, her feet still on the ceiling.

“And how do we get down?”

Without waiting for an answer, Oksa pulled away from the ceiling and performed a backflip which allowed her to land on her feet.

“Woohoo!”

Dragomira couldn’t hold back a scream.

“Quite risky for a first attempt, you could have hurt yourself badly,” she said with a frown. “Risky, but very spectacular, I must say!” she added, her eyes twinkling.

“Shall we surprise Dad and Mum?”

A couple of minutes later, they both went downstairs—without using the staircase, of course, that was far too boring. Oksa knocked at the door and found herself face to face—although upside down—with her father.

“Hi, Dad! You okay?” she said, trying to act naturally.

Pavel decided to play along.

“Come in Oksa. Oh Dragomira, you’re there too, what a surprise! Come in, ladies, come in.”

The ladies in question came into the room, stepping over the space between the top of the door and the ceiling.

“Your place isn’t very convenient, my boy,” remarked Dragomira, her plaits hanging down towards the floor and brushing her son’s face. “Hi there, Marie!”

Marie looked up and lifted her arm to ruffle Oksa’s hair.

“Oksa, could I interest you in a nice cup of spiced hot chocolate?”

“For sure!” exclaimed Oksa, repeating her brilliant backflip to get down from the ceiling and land at her mother’s feet. “Did you see that, Mum? Isn’t it brilliant?”

“Er, that’s pretty basic for any self-respecting witch, isn’t it?” remarked Marie, sounding unperturbed. “No, I’m teasing,” she continued with a wan smile. “Of course it’s brilliant!”

Then, turning to Dragomira, who had come back down a little less athletically:

“So? How do you rate your student? Is she being careful, at least?”

“She’s excellent, Marie, don’t worry.”

“I always worry, you know that. Always.”