Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (28 page)

I
F HER OWN CONCLUSIONS WERE ANYTHING TO GO BY
, Oksa had the awful feeling that they were getting mixed up in
something
much more dangerous than they might have thought.

“Are you going to tell us what you’re thinking?” asked Pavel tensely.

Oksa looked at him mechanically, her face expressionless. She shook her head to pull herself together and blinked.

“At St Proximus, there was a maths teacher called Williams,” she began hoarsely. “Just before we started school, he was found dead in the Thames—murdered. This appears to have been a horrible murder, and one shrouded in mystery, as our friend Merlin Poicassé told us.”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Dragomira. “And… does anyone know how the man died?”

This was clearly the question on everyone’s lips—a crucial question with a frightening answer.

“Er, no,” muttered Oksa. “But I have a few thoughts on the matter.”

With that, she jumped to her feet and rushed into Leomido’s office, which was adjoining the large living room. She turned on her
great-uncle
’s computer and, a few seconds later, was on the net. All the Runaways had gathered around her, their eyes fixed on the screen, which they could only partly see. A page from a newspaper, taken from the
Times
archive, flashed up. Oksa moved closer to the screen and scanned the article at top speed. Never had she read so quickly.
When she had finished she gave a low whistle, her hands tense on the computer keyboard.

“Tell us now!” said Mercedica curtly. “We want to know.”

“Well, not only is McGraw a Felon, he’s also a murderer!” exclaimed Oksa, looking both triumphant and terrified. “He killed Dr Williams to take his place.”

“But that’s terrible!” cried Dragomira in alarm.

“And that’s not all,” continued Oksa, fidgeting. “He also killed the journalist Peter Carter because he was becoming too dangerous. And here’s the proof.”

The Runaways felt their blood run cold. The
Times
article they were reading provided horrific details about the death of Lucas Williams, the highly respected maths teacher from St Proximus College, found in the Thames two weeks before school started. Scotland Yard
detectives
said that the cause of death was a mystery: the victim’s lungs had literally been dissolved by a substance whose origin had not yet been identified by any scientific laboratory. The foremost international specialists had studied this unknown toxin, but had been unable to determine its strange composition. No one had managed to shed any light on the murder of Lucas Williams when another, strangely similar, case had occurred. The body of Peter Carter had been found. And the famous American investigative journalist had died in exactly the same way as Williams.

“Dad?” said Oksa, when everyone had finished reading the article. “Remember when you said it
had
to be one of you who killed Peter Carter? Well, you were right, it was a Runaway—but that Runaway is a Felon: it’s McGraw! Or Orthon, if you prefer… he’s the one who fired a Pulmonis at Lucas Williams and Peter Carter.”

Everyone seemed glued to the spot in amazement as they tried to assimilate this incredible theory.

“Wait…” broke in Leomido unsteadily. “How can you be so sure when you’re just basing your theory on supposition; this is a very serious matter.”

“I’d swear to it or stake my life on it—anything you like—that McGraw did this,” retorted Oksa angrily, her hands on her hips. “He had one big fat motive, whether it was Williams or Carter.”

“A motive, however genuine it might be, doesn’t make someone a murderer,” replied Leomido sternly.

“That may be true,” admitted Abakum, looking at him. “But if it wasn’t him, then it was one of us. And frankly, my dear Leomido, I would doubt that. Oksa’s theory seems to vex you, but it appears more than likely to me. The death of Lucas Williams allowed Orthon to get close to Oksa. As for Peter Carter, he was about to discover our origins. He was becoming a danger to Orthon as well as to us, because we share the same secret, remember. However, even if he removed the threat of Peter Carter, Orthon still poses a very real danger for us. What happened today is clear proof of that and adds more weight to the case for the prosecution: unleashing Chiropterans on someone is not a trivial act. Particularly when used against children and his former best friend.”

A few of them exchanged worried glances without saying a single word. In the leaden silence, Oksa became aware of the seriousness of the situation and particularly of the consequences of the day’s revelations.

“I have to show you something!” she cried, whirling round so fast that she knocked over the Lunatrix, who was in her way.

Watched inquisitively by the Runaways, Oksa raced out of the room, almost tripping over her undone shoelace. She stuffed it into her trainer and rushed upstairs, taking the steps four at a time. A door slammed and she soon reappeared triumphantly brandishing a small piece of paper folded in eight.

“Gus and I found this in McGraw’s wallet,” she said.

“
Found?
” repeated her father, rubbing his chin with his hand.

“It’s some sort of list,” continued Oksa. “It’s very odd, I’m at the bottom. There’s also your daughter, Leomido… and you, Jeanne,” she added, looking at Gus’s mother.

The Runaways watched even more attentively as she unfolded the piece of paper and handed it to Dragomira. Then they gathered around Baba Pollock, who softly read out the mysterious list drawn up by McGraw:

From the first lines, there was unanimous consternation.

“Incredible…” said Dragomira with difficulty, laying the piece of paper on her lap. “How did he do it?”

Oksa waited, feverishly biting a nail. Finally Dragomira looked up and everyone stared at her.

“What you have found here is worth its weight in gold,” she said, trying to control her excitement.

“But what is it exactly?” asked Oksa.

“The list of girls who had the potential to be a Gracious.”

“Wow!” said Oksa, dumbfounded.

“Exactly, Dushka,” agreed Dragomira. “The information you’ve just given us is priceless. Orthon, or McGraw, which is the same thing since he’s actually the same person, has obviously dedicated his life to
finding
out how to return to Edefia. Firstly, through his scientific work on light, which has a direct connection with the Portal—the only way into Edefia, remember—and then by constantly searching the world for the Gracious who might be able to give him access. This list sends shivers up my spine, but it’s clear proof. We know most of the people on it and they are all the daughters or granddaughters of Runaways.”

“My daughter’s there,” confirmed Naftali, without taking her eyes off the list.

“Mine too,” muttered Leomido.

Oksa began thinking aloud:

“I’m so stupid not to have understood earlier… really stupid. I was so sure that McGraw was a secret agent that I just saw this as a list of people in our circle of friends and family whom he could use to get to us.”

“But that’s the case, Oksa!” broke in Pavel. “Most of the names on this list are known to the Pollocks. You couldn’t have realized that they were Runaways.”

“You don’t say…” remarked Oksa, gazing into space.

“Whether he’s a secret agent or a Felon, Orthon-McGraw is here for you, Oksa, this proves it,” explained Abakum. “You’re clearly in great danger—he won’t let you go. All his scheming and those terrible murders were just a way of getting to you.”

“Yes, and he’s succeeded perfectly!” added Dragomira.

“So, if I understand you correctly, you mean that this Orthon-McGraw, our children’s maths teacher, is a Runaway who is a Felon, as well as a dangerous murderer?” summed up Marie in a flat voice, addressing Leomido and Abakum.

“I wouldn’t call him a dangerous murderer,” remarked Leomido bitterly.

“You’re very lenient!” retorted Naftali.

“The reason I wanted you all to come here today,” continued Leomido without reacting to this remark, “was to keep you informed and also to reassure you. Even if many years have passed, I know Orthon well. Don’t forget that we were very close in Edefia, we were almost raised together. He’s not the person you think he is; you mustn’t judge a book by its cover.”

An agitated hubbub broke out and grew louder. Everyone was talking at the same time and the tone of the conversations made it clear that not everyone agreed with Leomido. Abakum was the only one who didn’t say anything—he just looked at him with deep disapproval. Leomido appeared unsettled, but he managed to continue in a dull voice:

“I know Orthon wouldn’t harm Oksa.”

“But he did try to kidnap her!” shouted Pavel. “And, in case you’re forgetting, let me remind you that he set Death’s Head Chiropterans on them!”

“That’s true,” acknowledged Leomido, almost reluctantly. “But they weren’t intended for Oksa, Orthon needs her too much. He’d never do her any harm, that’s for sure. She’s too valuable to him.”

“Well, you wouldn’t think so,” grumbled Marie.

“I agree with you, Leomido, we can’t judge by appearances,” interjected Abakum, smoothing his short beard with his fingertips. “Those who knew him know that Orthon wasn’t always a cruel man. But face facts, my friend. You may remember the boy he was, but don’t ignore the man he’s become.”

Leomido, his eyes unblinking, looked even more unsettled. He stiffened in his armchair, then slumped down suddenly, distraught. None of the Runaways dared to speak and silence descended on the large room. A log crackled in the hearth, making some of them start and others cry out.

“The boy he was?” whispered Oksa, turning to her gran. “What was he like?”

Dragomira’s only reply was to get up heavily from her armchair and take down a picture. She sat down again and stared at the bare wall. Immediately, some images appeared.

“The Camereye!” murmured Oksa, impatient to see this live broadcast of her grandmother’s memories.

The first scene which appeared on the wall seemed to date back to when Dragomira was still a child. The Runaways saw a birthday cake decorated with seven candles and Oksa recognized various people sitting around a heavily laden table from previous Camereye screenings: Gracious Malorane—Dragomira’s mother—her husband Waldo, as well as three young men.

“There’s Abakum,” explained Dragomira, “and that’s Leomido and Orthon.”

The latter boy looked about fifteen. Slender, almost puny, in appearance, he had a sweet face framed by brown hair. Oksa shuddered: since Dragomira was the focus of Orthon’s attention, the young man appeared to be looking straight at Oksa and everyone else watching the Camereye. There was nothing unsettling about his gaze, though; quite the opposite. Full of kindness and affection, it formed a complete contrast with the expression Oksa had seen that very afternoon.

“Come on, blow out your candles! And don’t forget to make a wish!” Orthon cried out to little Dragomira.

The Camereye broke off for a moment to move on to another sequence, this time a more athletic scene in the air: Dragomira was probably flying, with Leomido and Orthon.

“Leomido’s going to win again!” called Orthon cheerfully. “Quick, Dragomira, we’ve got to catch him!”

But Dragomira’s memories were racing past and no one ever discovered the outcome of that chase: the Camereye was already showing a third sequence. Orthon was sitting opposite Leomido and looked terribly sad.

“I’m far from being the perfect son for a man like him,” he said to his friend. “He can’t bear who I am. You’re the son he would have liked—someone brave with a strong, determined character…”

A fourth scene appeared on the wall and Oksa recognized the setting as the Glass Column, the residence of the Graciouses. A stormy conversation was shaking the glass walls and they saw the frail young Orthon rush out of a room. It seemed as though Dragomira wasn’t supposed to be there, because they couldn’t see part of the scene, as if she were behind a pillar.

“How could you hide something like that? Do you realize that
they
are the ones who’re paying for it today? You and your damn secret are entirely to blame. If anyone is immoral, it’s YOU, not them!” yelled Orthon, slamming the door behind him.

A weeping Malorane came out of the room and walked over to Orthon, who was shaking all over. She tried to get near him but he shoved her away roughly.

“I’ll never forgive you!” he yelled. “Do you hear me? NEVER!”

The last image shown by Dragomira’s Camereye was still clear in Oksa’s memory: a young man in a leather helmet was confronting Malorane’s supporters, who were trying to escape. Orthon. The Great Chaos. Of course… There was no kindness left in the face of the man who had become a Felon. Much to Oksa’s surprise and confusion, his hard, cruel eyes seemed to hold great suffering, something which she hadn’t noticed during the first screening of her gran’s memories. The Camereye went totally blank and Dragomira kept her eyes shut for a few seconds, looking totally unreachable. Opposite her, Leomido seemed to be having difficulty breathing.

“That’s what Orthon was like,” remarked Dragomira, coming back to herself. “A charming young man broken by his father; a fragile, unhappy man who was our best friend and who became our enemy. Will we ever know what happened?”

She gazed intently at her brother with moist eyes. Leomido opened his mouth but nothing came out. He swallowed with great difficulty and his face looked even more drawn.

“All I know,” he managed to murmur, “is that after his audience with Malorane, everything deteriorated. Orthon was never the same.”