The Heart of Two Worlds

by Anne Plichota

  There was a growing sense of unease as Mercedica fell silent for a second. Then she stood up regally and added:

  “I’ve spent half my life waiting for you to return the love I felt for you, Orthon. I even killed for you. And what did you ever do to thank me? You used me like you use everyone else, whatever Agafon says… We’d have been so good together, you know. We could have ruled the world. You made a big mistake when you treated me as a mere flunky. But now I’m the one who has what you need. The roles have been reversed, Orthon… I’m the only one who knows where the medallion is.”

  “Whom did you kill?” broke in Reminiscens tonelessly.

  Despite her extreme weakness after two transfusions, Reminiscens was on her feet, shakily supporting herself against the back of an armchair. Her body was trembling. Abakum and Naftali rushed over to stand either side of her, both fearing the same thing. Mercedica turned and fixed her dark gaze on Reminiscens’ rheumy eyes.

  “I killed your son and his wife, Reminiscens, on Orthon’s orders. I DID IT BLINDLY FOR LOVE OF ORTHON!” she shouted, pointing at the Felon.

  Abakum and Naftali couldn’t react fast enough: quick as a flash, Reminiscens took out her Granok-Shooter and whispered a few words. Mercedica stared at her wide-eyed then crashed to the floor.

  30

  DISSENSION

  “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR TINY MIND?” ORTHON SPAT AT his twin. “You’ve just ruined our only chance of getting back to Edefia!”

  Abakum and Naftali were holding Reminiscens by the arms, shocked by what had just happened. A few Felons, realizing the gravity of the situation, rushed over to Mercedica’s inert body. Her heavy bun had come undone and her hair was spread out like a funeral shroud around her head. Reminiscens had fired a Stuffarax Granok at Mercedica and her face was slowly turning blue as it suffocated her. They were on the verge of disaster and Oksa, among others, began to cry. Warily, Dragomira walked over to Reminiscens and asked in a strangled whisper:

  “Why did you do that?”

  “She killed my son, Dragomira. She killed my son and his wife without any qualms. Imagine how you’d have felt if she’d done the same thing to Pavel and Marie… How would you have acted?”

  Dragomira shivered with horror. How could she answer that? It didn’t bear thinking about. She studied Reminiscens for a long time, then the Runaways. Her gaze lingered on Oksa, who looked panic-stricken.

  “I understand your desire for revenge, but you’ve signed the death warrant of everyone here!” she gasped, before collapsing onto a chair.

  “She isn’t dead!” Catarina suddenly cried, kneeling beside Mercedica’s body.

  Orthon was the first to react. Unceremoniously shouldering his way through the Felons around Mercedica, he shoved Catarina aside and squatted down, pressing his face against that of his former ally.

  “She’s still breathing,” he said after a few seconds. “Where’s the medallion?” he demanded, shaking her by the shoulders.

  “You’re not going to get anywhere like that,” said Dragomira, coming over. “It would be nice if you didn’t sabotage what little hope we have left.”

  “You should have reminded that madwoman of that fact before she did anything stupid!” roared Orthon, shaking an angry fist at his twin sister.

  “Out of the way!” ordered Dragomira, taking a small phial from her bag.

  Orthon didn’t move.

  “Perhaps you weren’t aware that Abakum and Leomido actually designed the Stuffarax,” continued Dragomira. “And, since they knew how it was made, you might have expected them to come up with a preparation to counter some of its effects…”

  Orthon immediately allowed Dragomira through. Baba Pollock didn’t look as confident as her words suggested, but only her closest allies would have realized this. She knelt down beside Mercedica, who was staring at her with large dark motionless eyes. Her head was cradled in Catarina’s lap and Mercedica’s daughter looked panic-stricken. Dragomira opened the phial and a dark plume of vapour rose from the bottle, smelling pungently of rotting plants. When it reached Mercedica’s nose, her eyes rolled back in her head and her body arched with such violent convulsions that it looked as if breathing in the fumes had been fatal.

  “What’s happening?” asked Oksa in a low voice.

  The Young Gracious wasn’t the only one appalled by the scene. Tiny insects were swarming from Mercedica’s nostrils and mouth, forming a seething cloud of black carapaces and wings. The swarm hovered for a few seconds above Mercedica, who was staring at it with indescribable terror, then exploded with a muffled bang.

  “Just in time,” murmured Dragomira, replacing the stopper on the phial.

  “You mean those vile insects would have exploded inside Mercedica, if you hadn’t done anything?” asked Oksa, wide-eyed with amazement.

  “Yes. In her throat, to be exact.”

  Although she’d been saved in the nick of time, Mercedica looked dreadful. Her face was white with shock and every breath seemed extremely painful. It cost her a great effort to lift her hand and pull Dragomira towards her. Orthon realized she was about to reveal her last secret. He launched himself at Catarina and yanked her up by the arm. Holding her captive against him in Mercedica’s line of sight, he displayed Catarina like a trophy.

  “Don’t even think of double-crossing me…” he snarled.

  “Mercedica’s dying!” Dragomira protested indignantly.

  “Exactly! She has nothing to lose. Unless she wants to take her daughter to the grave with her.”

  “You’re despicable!” hissed Dragomira. “Mercedica, tell us where the medallion is,” she begged, turning to her former friend. “If not for him, then for us! In memory of all those years you spent as one of us… Please!”

  Mercedica jerked. With a groan, she looked at her daughter held in Orthon’s vice-like grip and opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes widened, fixed on her daughter, who was struggling and crying. Then her head lolled to one side. Her chest rose, then fell as her last breath left her body and her face relaxed.

  “Her heart gave out,” announced Dragomira miserably. “She’s dead.”

  31

  THE KEY

  THEY BURIED MERCEDICA BEHIND THE HOUSE IN A GRAVE looking out over the roaring surf. Despite the formidable Spanish woman’s treachery, Dragomira and Abakum attended the brief ceremony solemnly given by Galina’s husband, Andrew, who was a minister. The Runaways were all there, except for Reminiscens who’d shut herself away in a room upstairs. No one had forgotten that Mercedica had once been one of them. Nothing she’d confessed could excuse her heinous crimes, but the way things had turned out aroused her former friends’ compassion, even though they’d never forgive her. Gathered around her grave covered with flat stones, they felt sorry for her knowing that she’d have hated that intensely—“Better envy than pity” had always been her motto. The only Felon who attended was Catarina, under escort by Agafon and Lukas, who’d been sent by Orthon.

  “It looks like the Felons can’t stomach felony,” Tugdual murmured to Oksa.

  She gave him a tearful look. Tugdual stroked her cheek with his index finger and smiled wanly. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time Oksa had watched someone die, and she found it very upsetting, even though Mercedica had hurt her family so badly. Which was odd, really… She kept rolling with the punches, but how long could she keep it up?

  After saying a last farewell to Mercedica, they returned to the living room, where Baba Pollock resumed negotiations.

  “I’ll leave our travel plans up to you youngsters,” she told Tugdual, Oksa and Gus quietly. “Your job is to work out a route that will enable us to reach Gashun-nur in less than twelve days. With one important condition: there are fifty-eight of us and we must all stay together.”

  “Consider it done!” said Tugdual, calmly taking out his mobile.

  “What about the medallion, Baba?” asked Oksa.

  “Let me handle that,” replied Dragomira enigmatically.
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  The three teenagers sat down some distance from the two feuding groups, near the towering, fully stacked bookcase. “They look so grown-up now,” Dragomira couldn’t help thinking, with a pang.

  “Anyway, back to business!” continued the old woman, looking at Catarina, whose shoulders were hunched in misery.

  “I’ve gone through that traitor’s room with a fine-tooth comb,” said Orthon.

  “And?” asked Dragomira. “Did you find the medallion?”

  “No… but I’m sure it’s in this jewellery box,” he replied, holding out a chest the size of a small suitcase.

  “Well, open it then!” exclaimed Dragomira. The Felon’s face darkened.

  “We’ve tried everything,” admitted Gregor, Orthon’s eldest son. “The lock won’t respond to magic or brute force.”

  “I know an excellent way to find out how to open it,” said Orthon, taking out his Granok-Shooter and pointing it at Catarina.

  “I don’t know how to do it!” objected Catarina, her eyes wide with fear. “My mother didn’t tell me, I swear it, Orthon!”

  “You’re telling me she’d have attempted to mislead us when she was dying?” he retorted, tilting his head to one side with a baleful glare. “She was looking at you just before she died.”

  “Only because I’m her daughter!” cried Catarina with a long wail of terror and grief.

  Orthon pretended to examine his Granok-Shooter with malevolent intent, then looked at Catarina, who was doing her best to hide her fear. Dragomira took a few steps forward, her eyes burning with anger.

  “We all know that violence is your first recourse, Orthon,” she said. “But perhaps it’s because you haven’t realized that there’s a subtler, more effective way of going about things…”

  Dipping her hand inside her jacket, she took out a dishevelled, extremely agitated Squoracle.

  “The temperature in this room may be acceptable, but let me tell you that the weather conditions outside are abominable!” squawked the tiny hen.

  Oksa looked up with a smile.

  “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to tell it that we have to cross the Gobi Desert,” she said quietly.

  “Unfortunately, it’s impossible to hide anything from it,” remarked Gus, looking up from the atlas he was examining.

  “It’s going to make our life hell when it realizes!” added Tugdual, continuing to tap on his phone’s keyboard.

  Oksa had feared the worst when Dragomira had entrusted them with this task. She’d sat down on the sofa in the middle of Gus and Tugdual, who’d tried not to look at each other for a few minutes, and the atmosphere had been very tense. Then, given the urgency of the situation, they’d each conceded a little ground, although this lull in hostilities didn’t last long.

  “Can I help?” asked Kukka suddenly, sitting down next to a surprised Gus.

  Oksa leant forward to look furtively at the Swedish girl, whose long blonde hair was casually brushing Gus’s hand. She felt a spurt of anger—Kukka certainly had some nerve!

  “Let her think she’s irresistible,” murmured Tugdual, noticing the Young Gracious’s annoyance. “She’s nowhere near as pretty as you think she is, you know.”

  Pressed up against Gus’s shoulder, Kukka whispered a few words in his ear which made him look at her in amazement.

  “If my adorable cousin wouldn’t mind shelving her seduction plans for now,” said Tugdual, concentrating on his phone. “We’ve got serious work to do.”

  Kukka gave a provocative giggle, which Oksa did her best to ignore.

  “Let’s hear what the Squoracle has to say!” she said, curbing her irritation.

  Perched stiffly on Dragomira’s shoulder, the Squoracle was jutting out its tiny beak at the four corners of the room in turn.

  “Six degrees centigrade with a ninety per cent rate of humidity and a wind gusting at fifty-three miles per hour, that’s not a temperate climate in my book!” it screeched. “You’re trying to mislead me again, but it won’t work—I’m not so easily fooled.”

  “Squoracle, we need you,” interrupted Dragomira, wrapping the sensitive little creature in a ball of cotton wool.

  “I’m listening, my Old Gracious. And thank you for being so sympathetic to your poor, ultrasensitive Squoracle, whose survival is continually under threat in these unfriendly climes.”

  “Do you know where the medallion is?”

  The Squoracle burrowed down in the cotton wool for a moment, then its tiny head popped out, with all its feathers standing on end.

  “OF COURSE I KNOW!” it squawked at the top of its voice. “I’m a Squoracle! I know everything, even the most closely kept secret. That’s been my job since I was a tiny chick.”

  It began screeching with annoyance. The Felons looked at each other in surprise. The oldest members of the group hadn’t seen a Squoracle since they’d left Edefia and the younger generations had heard of those tiny creatures, but had never seen one before.

  “Someone’s rattled its cage today,” whispered Tugdual.

  “It is looking a bit ruffled, I agree…” replied Oksa, with a smile.

  “There’s a howling draught in this room coming from the north-north-west,” continued the Squoracle, while everyone listened attentively. “Didn’t any of you ever consider insulating the doors and windows?”

  “Squoracle,” Dragomira said gently. “I asked you a question…”

  “Yes, yes, I know. But I’m freezing to death!”

  Suppressing a sigh, Abakum grabbed the cotton wool ball as gently as he could and went to stand as near as humanly possible to the fireplace.

  “At last someone understands what I’m going through!”

  “We don’t have much time, Squoracle,” begged the Fairyman.

  “Huh!” snorted the hen. “The medallion is where the Felon Mercedica hid it.”

  “Priceless!” sneered Orthon.

  “One woman in this room knows its hiding place,” continued the Squoracle.

  Orthon roared and seized Catarina’s arm in an iron grip.

  “It’s lying!” wailed the young woman. “It isn’t me!”

  “Don’t insult me! You know very well that Squoracles never lie for the simple reason that they can’t. If I say that one woman here knows the hiding place, then one woman here knows the hiding place. I never said it was you…”

  This made no sense at all to anyone and everyone looked around in panic. Everyone, except—

  “Stop trying to open that lock!” broke in Marie imperiously.

  There was general amazement. The Felons immediately stopped trying to break into the jewellery box. All eyes turned towards Oksa’s mother who, sitting up straight in her wheelchair, was boldly eyeing Orthon.

  “That’s right, Orthon,” she said. “I’m the woman who knows the secret of that chest.”

  “Well?” added the Squoracle, fluffing up its feathers. “Do you still dare to accuse me of lying? I demand an apology. Beg my forgiveness! Prostrate yourselves at my feet!”

  Dragomira stuffed the little hen in her pocket to silence it. The Squoracle’s demands slowly tailed off.

  “What did you think? That this cripple without magical gifts would stay shut in her room doing nothing?” continued Marie, addressing the Master of the Felons. “Well, Orthon, you thought wrong! I may not have your powers, but I’ve taken advantage of these long weeks of captivity to watch, listen and learn a great many things. Particularly when I caught Mercedica stealing the medallion from you. She could be cruel and unscrupulous and she had no qualms doing the things she did, but her heart wasn’t black through and through, like yours. Do you even know what a heart is, Orthon?”

  The Felon clicked his tongue in exasperation. Marie turned to Dragomira and Abakum.

  “Mercedica betrayed you in the worst possible way, but paradoxically she was telling the truth when she talked about her excitement and happiness at meeting you again in Paris. It was in memory of those years of sincere friendship that she told
me how to reclaim the medallion if the need arose.”

  Orthon approached her threateningly, looking triumphant.

  “Don’t try to intimidate me!” said Marie, stopping him. “You don’t think it’s that simple, do you? Mercedica took precautions. She told me the location of the medallion, but that’s not enough, as you’ll see…”

  “How do we open this chest?” roared Orthon.

  “Shouting won’t get you anywhere,” said Marie curtly. “There’s a password.”

  Orthon seemed about to explode with rage. The veins in his neck were bulging and his eyes were flashing, but he managed to maintain a semblance of icy dignity.

  “Catarina, everyone called your father Rupert,” continued Marie to Mercedica’s daughter. “But he changed his identity to escape from the Nazis, didn’t he? Only Mercedica and you know his real name.”

  Catarina looked at her in amazement.

  “Samuel…” she announced.

  Orthon immediately pronounced the name level with the lock.

  Nothing happened.

  “You really can be surprisingly naive,” mocked Marie. “Mercedica gave me the answer, not you. SAMUEL!” she said clearly in her turn.

  The chest opened, revealing a tangle of necklaces, earrings and bracelets.

  “Vocal recognition,” remarked Oksa, gazing at her mother in admiration. “How clever!”

  Orthon plunged his hands into the glittering pile: each piece was a masterpiece, a work of art sparkling with diamonds, emeralds and rubies. The Felon smothered a cry of frustration.

  “The second part of the answer is the keyword,” continued Marie.

  Orthon was frantically rummaging through the box, soon helped by his sons. Nearby, Agafon and Lukas were sorting through pieces of jewellery, tossing aside any that were too small to contain anything, even a tiny key.

  When there was only one thing left—an ostentatious ring topped with a huge diamond—the Felon’s rage reached fever pitch. He hurled a fistful of jewellery at the wall. The mood was tense and everyone stood waiting for something to happen, without knowing exactly what. Suddenly, Gus got up and went over to Marie. Despite Orthon’s discouraging glare, which filled him with fear, he took hold of her wheelchair and wheeled her to one side.