Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (39 page)

“I
T’S NOT THAT
I
DIDN’T UNDERSTAND
, I
JUST DIDN’T LISTEN
!” The Incompetent was standing in the middle of Dragomira’s strictly private workroom, arms dangling at its sides. In front of it stood the Getorix and a Squoracle, wrapped in a big woollen scarf.

“Then you’re not just soft in the head, Incompetent, you’re hard of hearing too,” said the Getorix, looking even more dishevelled than ever.

“Who opens a window in the middle of winter?” continued the infuriated Squoracle. “Did you ever hear anything like it? What were you thinking, Incompetent? I said: whatever you do, please don’t open the windows. It’s not exactly complicated. It’s snowing outside, I saw that and, more than that,
I felt it
… If you want me dead, then say so!” it bawled through chattering teeth. “And did you even consider bird flu? Haven’t you ever heard of medical confinement?”

“What’s going on here? Why are you arguing?”

Oksa had just walked into the room after slipping inside the double-bass case, which had been left open. Dragomira was hard at work in front of her giant alembic, ignoring the creatures’ squabbling which had stopped bothering her a long time ago. Bluish wisps of smoke rose from the pipes and filled the workroom with their sickly sweet perfume.

“Hello, Dushka, how are you? I’ll be with you in a second, do sit down.”

“Young Gracious, do you have the wish to acknowledge receipt of my homage?”

The Lunatrixa was bowing so low as she approached Oksa that she overbalanced and crashed to the floor at the girl’s feet—which didn’t escape the Getorix’s notice.

“Haha, what a ridiculous bow! Do you think you’re at the Austrian Court?”

From the back of the workroom Dragomira, who’d been listening with at least one ear, provided Oksa with some useful clarification:

“I should explain, Dushka, that yesterday evening, the Lunatrixes watched a film on the life of Sisi, Empress of Austria. Since then, they’ve been totally obsessed with—how shall I put it—matters of etiquette.”

“Young Gracious, Old Gracious, would you be consenting to make me a crinoline? The dream is intense in my heart.”

Oksa burst out laughing, as the Squoracle came over shivering:

“And if you could make me a fur bodysuit, maybe I could survive the winter.”

Oksa picked up the poor frozen creature and rubbed its back to warm it up, while the Lunatrixa backed away, lifting the folds of an imaginary crinoline.

“What are you making, Baba?” she asked, going over to the giant still.

“Granoks, Dushka, Granoks… I have a small stock of them, but we’re all going to need ammunition in the coming months. I’ll have to work flat out.”

“Because of the McGraws?”

“Yes, because of the McGraws. We have to be ready to defend ourselves,” replied Dragomira gravely.

“Do you think Mortimer and Zoe have Granok-Shooters too?”

“No—or, at least, it’s very unlikely. As you know, Goranov sap is a key component in the composition of Granok-Shooters. When the
Great Chaos descended on Edefia, my mother, Malorane, was able to plan our escape, which is why Abakum took the Boximinus containing plant cuttings and creatures—”

“Like Noah’s Ark!” Oksa butted in.

“Exactly. But there’s no way the Felons could have foreseen that some of their number might be ejected from Edefia, no way at all. They passed through to the Outside with what they had with them: their clothes, their Granok-Shooter—and their dark ambitions. No, Abakum is the only person capable of making Granok-Shooters. Anyway, as I said, you’d need a Goranov to do that.”

“But there are quite a few Goranovs.”

“Yes, we shared the plants between us, just to be on the safe side. A single plant in a single place would have been short-sighted. What’s happening at the moment proves it,” sighed Baba Pollock.

“I saw some at Leomido’s house too. Don’t you think that’s a bit dicey?” added Oksa, gazing intently at her gran in the hope of finding out more about her great-uncle’s relationship with the sworn enemy of the Runaways.

“Why?” asked Dragomira, narrowing her eyes. “Because he lives alone in that massive house in the countryside? Don’t you worry about that. Leomido’s place is very secure, just like Abakum’s house, you can depend on that.”

Her gran clearly didn’t understand what she was driving at. Oksa had complete confidence in Abakum, no worries there. But she didn’t feel the same about Leomido. An image of the old man handing McGraw a phial of Goranov sap flashed through her mind…

“What are you thinking about, Dushka?” asked Dragomira.

“Oh, nothing, Baba, I was just frightening myself.”

“Ah, I think the Arborescens has finished distilling.”

The two Graciouses bent over the mouth of the smallest pipe of the still, where a thick, yellowish liquid was oozing into a small dish. When the last drop had dripped out, Dragomira poured the substance into
the lower part of a small apparatus which looked like an Italian coffee-maker, then put this on a portable stove. The blue flames licked up the side of the utensil and after a few minutes they could hear rattling noises. Reading her granddaughter’s thoughts, Dragomira explained with a smile:

“No, I’m not making popcorn for you!”

She took the weird coffee-maker off the stove and opened the top part: a large number of tiny Granoks were vibrating in the heat. Oksa looked at Dragomira in astonishment.

“Here’s a small stock of Arborescens already! Give me your Granok-Shooter, Dushka.”

“Oh, I know this Granok; Abakum told me about it. Arborescens, wasn’t it? You can tie your adversary up with it, if I remember rightly.”

Dragomira nodded, smiling.

“What ingredients do you use?”

“In Edefia, we used mainly roots taken from the Feetinsky tree. But, as you can imagine, we had to find an alternative plant on the Outside. After testing ivy, marrows and brambles, we managed to make Arborescens using the sap of voluble plants like bindweed and clematis. It’s not quite as effective as when we use Feetinskies, but it is satisfactory. It’s a fairly complicated manufacturing process: the base is made by steeping sap in perfectly pure spring water, in which chrysoprase—a stone which draws its strength from the night—lakeside algae and Croakette sweat have been submerged.”

“Do Croakettes sweat then?” asked the Young Gracious in amazement.

“Of course!” replied Dragomira, laughing. “In tiny quantities, certainly… but that’s what makes their sweat so valuable.”

Oksa pulled a face, while her Granok-Shooter sucked up a good twenty yellow granules. Baba Pollock poured what was left into a small jar, which she locked in a recess concealed behind one of the many paintings hanging on the wall.

“Is that where you hide the Granoks? Behind Dad’s portrait?”

“Yes, but I don’t need to tell you that this is top secret. Anyway, it’s not enough to know the location of this hiding place, because I’m the only one who can open it.”

“Oh! It’s like the gate at Abakum’s house and the back of the double-bass case: the lock only obeys its master.”

“Exactly.”

After filling her Shooter with Granoks and going over the accompanying words again with Dragomira, Oksa went back downstairs to her room and stretched out on her bed. With her hands behind her head, she stared at the starry sky created on her ceiling. She didn’t think she was afraid. With everything she’d learnt these past few weeks, such as the Granoks and the powers—particularly the Knock-Bong, her favourite—she felt stronger and ready to face new ordeals. When Mortimer had attacked her, she’d defended herself rather effectively and if that traitress, Zoe, hadn’t butted in she’d have managed quite well on her own. And when McGraw had chased them through the sky, she’d managed to fight back, forcing the elderly Felon to beat a hasty retreat. Then again, thinking it over, her victories weren’t all that convincing. If Gus hadn’t reached the school corridor in time, Oksa would have been at the mercy of the two junior McGraws. Which might have cost her more than a broken rib. Not to mention using her powers
in school
and stupidly running the risk of being seen—this was not the first time she’d broken the basic rule that had kept the Runaways safe for over fifty years: never attract attention. Thinking about it again, Oksa felt deeply ashamed. Then she thought back to the hot-air balloon episode a few weeks earlier. What would have happened if Leomido hadn’t managed to protect her and Gus from the Death’s Head Chiropterans that McGraw had unleashed? And, more recently, what if the Croakettes hadn’t flown to her aid in Abakum’s silo? Her dad sometimes said “if ifs and buts were sugar and nuts, the world would never starve”, and that there was no point dwelling on things you couldn’t change. But it didn’t make her feel any better. She was stronger, much stronger. But Dragomira was right: she had to be
careful not to become big-headed about her powers and think too highly of herself, or underestimate the other person, which came down to the same thing—because McGraw had managed to strike right at the heart of her family, despite everyone’s vigilance. And what if he weren’t the only Felon who had left Edefia? Would the Runaways be strong enough to fight? Did they present enough of a united front? Could they count on Leomido? And her dad? He seemed so opposed to this journey to Edefia… Oksa understood how he felt, really. He’d never seen this land, which was by all accounts fabulous but which wasn’t really his. Also, this affair wasn’t without its dangers and Oksa was on the front line, which seemed to be the main cause of his anxiety. But she’d never been to Edefia either! And yet she was prepared to brave a thousand dangers to return to the land of her ancestors. Was it because of the Ageless Fairies, who’d made such a strange and compelling plea? Or because of her growing strength and powers? Or because of the Mark—that incredible eight-pointed star—around her belly button, which became more noticeable with every passing day? She was fascinated and frightened by all these questions, in particular the one whose answer remained shrouded in mystery: what was going to happen?

“Class test! Take out some paper, please. Miss Pollock, as Mr Oyster is away, you will help me put the equipment away after the lesson.”

Dr McGraw’s deceptively casual remark had just taken Oksa by surprise.

“But sir, I have a lesson… a violin lesson afterwards,” lied Oksa, with good cause. “I can’t stay.”

“You play the violin, do you? Well, well, I’d never have thought it of you. I thought you were more interested in kung fu or some other exotic activity. Well, violin or no violin, it’s of no interest to me. We all have things to do after the lesson but you’ll stay behind and help in line with
what was agreed at the start of the school year: every Thursday evening a student will help me put everything away.”

“I can stay, sir!” Gus immediately offered.

“Mr Bellanger,” sighed McGraw with an exaggeratedly weary look, “we all know how gentlemanly you are. But it’s a rather old-fashioned quality these days and you’ll have to devise some other tactic to get yourself noticed by girls. Anyway, Miss Pollock comes right after Mr Oyster in the alphabet, which never changes its order and is constant, unlike gallant teenagers. So it will be Miss Pollock.”

There were sniggers from a few students, led by Hilda Richard. Embarrassed and furious, Gus hunched at the back of the class. His anger soon gave way to concern: there was no way Oksa could be left alone with McGraw. He gazed at his friend’s back and could sense how worried she was. Huddled over her desk, Oksa was thinking fast. She had to call home to warn her father or Dragomira! With the utmost care, she opened her little shoulder bag. The Tumble-Bawler stroked her fingers as a sign of recognition when she took out her brand-new mobile. Keeping an eye on McGraw, who was walking among the desks, she put the phone in her lap and began texting:

5.30pm = on my own…

Suddenly the screen went dead. Edgily, Oksa glanced in McGraw’s direction: he was barely six feet away from her, smiling maliciously. He made a small gesture with his fingertips and the phone immediately came on again. It made Oksa’s blood boil and she quickly resumed texting. Too bad if McGraw saw her! Which he did, of course; with clear enjoyment he made the same gesture again and Oksa saw a slender thread of light leaving the phone and heading straight for the despicable teacher’s fingertips. The power had just been sucked out of the battery! With a smug expression, McGraw continued his rounds, leaving Oksa with her unusable phone. She turned round and tried to catch Gus’s eye, which wasn’t easy because there were quite a few students sitting between them. It soon became totally impossible, because McGraw
kept standing between the two friends, preventing any eye contact. Oksa’s stomach churned with panic and her forehead was beaded with perspiration. Her panic was making her feel nauseated. Her head was a jumble of thoughts and she couldn’t think straight. The Curbita-Flatulo squeezed her wrist and undulated with increasing force beneath her sleeve. Oksa shut her eyes and tried to breathe in time with the movements of the living bracelet. A few minutes later, she felt a little less scared and more confident. Unfortunately, though, she still couldn’t see a way out of this mess. In frustration, she rummaged about in her bag and took a gold-coloured Capacitor from her Caskinette—the Excelsior, which was supposed to boost mental abilities. She hadn’t tried it yet, so maybe it would help her make the right decisions? Next to the Excelsiors gleamed the Ventosas, which were a pretty pearly colour. With her fingertips she picked out one of those too. She might need it, you never knew… She’d just swallowed the two tiny capsules when Merlin turned round to wink at her in encouragement. Thirty seconds later, Oksa slipped him a hastily scribbled note: