“Because it comes from the inside,” I said. “The magic.”
Ludmilla looked impressed. “Yes,” she said. “Are you by chance part Half Not?”
“No,” I said.
“Oh, well never mind.”
“They are breeding them in the Palace,” I informed her, eager to help. “The Haints are performing experiments on the dragonka up there. Archibald says they are trying to perfect the dragonka.”
“Perfect them into what?” said Ludmilla. “Killers? Machines of war? What else are those bitter spirits doing up there?”
“They are growing hearts.”
“I know about that. They tried to get my help, blackmailing me with my stores as bait, but I refused. It would be reputation ruining. It can’t be easy to create a heart, even with their black magic, but that has been the mission of the Ministry of Unlikely Occurrences since their inception.”
“They are the Haints,” I said. “The Ministry of Unlikely Occurrences.”
“You’re quick,” she said. “Now, let’s see exactly what they are up to. Zsofia, bring me a scalpel.” Zsofia complied, finding Ludmilla a sharp, unused blade. Ludmilla turned the sleeping dragonka over. On its chest was a scar.
“If you are squeamish, I suggest you turn away,” she said to me. “Don’t worry about the dragonka, it is not much more than machinery and body tissue. Its spirit departed long ago.” She made a quick incision and pulled back the gold scales. I gazed at the specimen, now sliced open. Inside the dragonka was not a heart but a clocklike contraption. “That is why they have no charm. They have no heart.”
“But they are growing hearts in the Palace.”
“Maybe, but not for the dragonka,” said Ludmilla.
“For Archibald!” I said, making the connection with Archibald’s story. “They need a heart for Archibald.”
“That might be,” agreed Ludmilla. “If they can put a mechanical heart in a dragonka, they can put a dragonka heart in a child. But they would have to incubate it in a living body.”
“It’s Luma!” I said. “Luma is growing Archibald’s heart!”
I understood everything now. That was why Luma had such strange energy, and why they were eviscerating dragonka. They were looking for the right heart. The one I had all along. Or, the one Luma had, I should say. Now, with that heart, Archibald would live forever, the Haints would rule over Pava for perpetuity. And the people would do their bidding—controlled through an army of vicious charmless dragonka.
“That’s what Luma is,” she said. “An experiment gone right, after so many tries.”
LUDMILLA INVITED ME TO STAY, offering me shelter and a job with her. As much as I wanted it, I had far greater obligations. I needed to find my dragonka. The Newt doorman gave me the copy of the map he had copied, then showed me the route out—through a mausoleum floor and from an empty grave. I fled the graveyard at top speed, dodging the gravestones, jumping over flowers that were laid over the resting places of the dead, and out onto the streets. I hastened through my old neighborhood, Jozseftown, which I had never seen so quiet. Nobody was on the streets now, not even the shops were open. Only empty stalls populated the markets, letting the wind whistle around the cold bare metal. On the walls, instead of posters of Archibald, black broken hearts were scribbled in chalk or paint. I saw the Blackhearts’ symbol everywhere.
On Goat Square I paused by the street that led to my house. My mother was there, languishing inside, cold and alone. Even after she abandoned me, I could not help but feel pity for her, wondering if she had enough food and hoping she still had tea to get her through the day. But I could only spare a brief thought for her. I needed to find Deklyn and, most of all, Luma.
As it happened, I would not have to find them: they would find me. One moment I was walking down the cobblestone street, the next I was being hoisted into the air, caught in the net of a trap. In a flash I was surrounded by children with JRM arm patches.
“Aww,” one of them said. “I thought we had a Boot Youth Guard in our hands.”
“Wait!” called another. “I know her.” I spotted Abel. “Let her down!” The net was lowered. I fought my way to a standing position to face him. I immediately noticed a change in the boy. He now assumed an air of authority, like he had grown a few sizes in my absence. The others in his group, none of whom I recognized, fell in behind him, waiting for his command. I struggled with the net, and finally exhausted myself, still entrapped. Abel waved.
“Where is Luma?” I asked.
“He is safe,” said Abel. “He is doing real well as Luma the Illuminator. We have buckets of money. Of course it all goes to the JRM, but I got a stuffed frog of my own!”
“I know that’s not entirely true,” I said.
Abel looked away. “Fine, he hasn’t won a tournament since you disappeared.”
“We had a deal,” I said, “the Blackhearts and me.”
“I know,” Abel said.
“Besides,” I said, “there is something I need to deliver to Deklyn. It will help the resistance.”
Abel considered this. “OK, let her out. You know that Deklyn is the most wanted person in Pava now. His raids on Boot warehouses are the stuff of legend. The Boot has offered a ten-thousand kuna reward for him.”
“Then he shouldn’t be afraid of me, should he?” I said.
“I don’t know why I like you, Petra K, but I do,” he said, smiling.
I was blindfolded, and led by him and his troop through the streets of Jozseftown. The others pushed me when I didn’t walk fast enough. They probably thought I was still in the Youth Guard.
I was led through a door and into a room. I was left alone—still blindfolded, but it appeared as though I had been deserted. There was a familiar smell in the air that I was trying to place, when I heard a voice.
“It’s OK, you can take it off now.” It was Deklyn. I removed my blindfold. He was there, behind a huge oak desk, with my map of the pneumatic mail system spread out in front of him. “Look,” he said, pointing to a coordinate. “We can make contact with the province resistance beyond the Palace by sending a message here. And the Newt Resistance, here. We can coordinate everything with this map. It is even more essential than I thought. The pneumatic system goes everywhere!”
“That’s mine!” I said, realizing they had surreptitiously emptied my pockets.
“Actually, the inventor of the underground mail delivery system—who now rests in the Zsida cemetery—was a friend of the Blackhearts. This map was his first, property of Jozseftown second. So it will be used by the people of Jozseftown. It belongs to us. Not to you.”
“I am from Jozseftown,” I said. For the first time, I felt proud of that fact. “I am a Jozseftown daughter too.”
“Then why did you betray us?”
“I didn’t. I only wanted Luma back.”
Deklyn took a deep contemplative breath.
“You can go, Petra K. I believe you.”
“I don’t want to go,” I said.
“Do as you like,” said Deklyn. “Sytia told me about how you helped her. Just don’t get too near Jasper. He doesn’t trust you. But I guess he never did.”
“Take me to Luma,” I said.
“Luma,” he said absentmindedly.
“Yes,” I said, taking the map from his hands. “I want to see my dragonka.”
“Tonight, perhaps,” he said. “At the League of the Maiden and Minor Pup.”
“He is still competing?” I was outraged.
“We are barely able to feed ourselves, thanks to that beast’s losses. Forget about buying new weapons or fighting automatons. We should have sold him to a leather tanner long ago.”
“You wouldn’t,” I said.
“No. I was kidding,” Deklyn said.
“Take me to the tournament tonight.”
“All the JRM will be there,” he said. “If you told anybody, it would be the end of us.”
“I can help Luma win, this one last time,” I said. “You’l
l get the money you need.”
Deklyn looked down, considering. Finally he met my eyes. “Find me by the fountain with the broken fish. We will go together underground.”
“OK,” I said.
“Here,” he said, handing me a winter pear. “Have something to eat.” And with that he got up to leave the room.
“Wait!” I said. “Where am I?”
Deklyn guffawed. “Don’t you recognize your own house?”
I WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR and breathed in the stale but familiar smell. The hovel had fallen into further disrepair. I could only wonder where my mother was, and what Deklyn was doing there.
But as I descended the stairs I knew what would happen: I would knock on my mother’s door. She would instinctively know who it was and call me in. She would be in bed: uncared for, filthy, but still alive. The sight of me would revive her, however. Her arms would open as I ran to her. And then we would be reunited. She would beg forgiveness, and I would forgive. It would be nothing at all. I longed to do just that, in fact: relieve her guilt.
But I could not open the door. It was as though some dark spirit held my arms at my side, preventing me from reaching for the knob. It is the worst thing I have done, not going in. That was my real betrayal. Half my heart was on the other side of that door, but right then I couldn’t do anything to mend it.
THAT AFTERNOON I BATHED for the first time in days. I put on fresh clothes from my closet. I suspected that even though I had escaped the Boot, they still might know where I was, and could show up at any moment to spirit me away again. But I needed to feel at least a bit normal, if I was going to be ready for the trial ahead.
The Jozseftown clock chimed the time. I was late. I grabbed my coat and ran from the house.
Chapter 18
When I arrived at the broken fish fountain, I found the place deserted. I was too late. In frustration I kicked a fallen twig. But, from a dark causeway, two figures appeared. It was Abel, Rufus by his side. “What ’cha doing?” he asked. I could have kissed him, that sweet little grubby face.
“Waiting for Deklyn,” I said.
“He couldn’t come,” Abel said, almost shyly.
“What’s wrong, Abel?” I asked.
“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry for catching you in a net and not letting you out.”
“It’s OK,” I said.
“I can take you to the tournament, if you like,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied. “That would be great.”
ABEL LED ME THROUGH a maze of streets. Along the way I discovered that the neighborhood was not as deserted as it seemed. Once we got near the graveyard I noticed shops that were open, selling marionettes, or repairing automatons as though nothing had ever changed. Shopkeepers greeted Abel; one threw him a candied apple, which he handed to me. I had not realized how hungry I was until that moment. I devoured the fruit greedily, tossing the whittled core to Rufus.
How fascinating the ghetto was to me even in its degraded state: this was the place where I belonged; amidst the Zsida students who were lost in holy books, mumbling prayers as they walked, black shawls trailing like great wings, which might lift them skyward at any moment; and the Half Nots who frequented the betting galleries. We walked amongst the traders who kept their stalls huddled together, as if for protection against winds that heralded destruction. And the things they sold were like none other: I saw strange astrological charts where the planet was resting atop a coiled, three-headed serpent; hats made of fur that made the wearer look like an upright bison; and bottles that contained blazing fires. When the proprietor caught me gazing at them he picked one up, tossing it from hand to hand to show it did not burn, then opened the bottle, poured some into a glass, tipped it back, then blew a ring of fire into the night. This was my home, and I was a part of it.
Abel led me further into the district. We soon came to an enormous old tenement, the entrance adorned with a frieze of a nude woman who had the head of a dove. The doors were open, so Abel escorted me in, Rufus running ahead in excitement. Inside I was surprised to hear the rumble of a crowd. It was amazing to me that anybody was having a festival of any sort at this time; it seemed the neighborhood itself was reflected in Abel’s indomitable spirit.
BUT THIS TOURNAMENT was somehow different from the others. The first thing I noticed was that only children were there. They were divided into groups, which I soon recognized as separate gangs. Abel explained, “Over there are the Big Thumb Devils. Next to them are the Stink Clovers. Disgusting bunch. Lots of former government kids. You might like them, but they deal in dragonka trafficking. That’s when they sell dragonka in another country.”
“I know,” I said.
“Sorry,” he said sarcastically. “Then there are some kids who haven’t joined anybody, because they don’t want to or they couldn’t get in. Some of them are just waiting to see who’s got the best stock, and they’ll try to join with them. Others are here just cause they got nowhere else to go. You know, like you.”
I looked at him hard, but he was right.
“There are no Zsida, no Half Not elders; there are no adults at all,” I said.
“They are all hiding in their homes. They gave up, for fear of arrest. It is only us who care now.”
“And where is Luma?” I asked, looking around.
“Being prepared by Isobel, I imagine.”
“Take me to him.”
Abel looked doubtful for a moment before agreeing. He led me up a staircase and through the door into the former custodian’s quarters. No sooner did I enter the room than Luma flew from Isobel’s clutch, homing in on me, and almost toppling me over when he used my body to break his flight. I held him tightly to my chest. It was like our hearts were two magnetized halves that had come together. And how splendid he had turned out—when I thought of the sick little pup I had plucked from the wet sack. Now, he seemed to be thriving in the squalor and mystery of Jozseftown.
“First,” I said, “take these silly sequins off him. He is a champion, not a minnow.” Isobel did as I said without protest. “Now, leave us alone.” Isobel quietly shooed Abel from the room.
I held Luma before me and looked into his eyes. My breathing quickened, and I felt the blood race as my heart quickened to meet the pace of my dragonka’s. But it was more than our hearts beating at the same pace: a part of me now inhabited Luma, and a part of Luma inhabited me. I felt myself becoming one with him in the instant before the start of the race. When Luma would be flying up there, so would I.
The infinite depth of the dragonka’s gaze was broken by Abel’s voice.
“Come on,” he said. I took Luma and descended the stairs to the courtyard. “We’re going to start after we burn some toys.”
“Burn toys?”
“It’s a sacrifire.”
“You mean a sacrifice?”
“I mean sacrifire. It’s what I said.”
As we walked down the stairs, Abel explained.
“Deklyn says there will be time for toys only after Pava is free of Archibald and the Boot. Terrible, but that’s the way it is. It’s how we begin the races these days. Just watch.”
We joined the crowd. I didn’t recognize anybody, so I waited next to Abel. Then from their group one child stepped forward and ran toward me.
“Petra K! I can’t believe it’s you.” It took me a moment to recognize Margo. Her clothing was in tatters, and she looked like a kitchen girl who spent her days peeling potatoes and hauling coal.
“Petra K,” she said. “I can’t believe you escaped.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t play along anymore. They are killing dragonka.”
“I know.”
“And they expected us to participate. It is sick.”
“I saw it, too,” I said, putting my hand on her arm to comfort her.
“Come stand with us, I am sure you will find some friends,” offered Margo, indicating the Stink Clovers, the gang she had apparently joined. At this
invitation, Abel perked up his head, interested about how I would respond. I realized I was being given a choice. I slowly shook my head and put my arm around Abel. “I’d better stay over here,” I said.
“Suit yourself,” said Margo. “The festival is about to begin, so I should get back.” Without another word she rejoined the Stink Clovers.
FORTHWITH, A BONFIRE WAS BUILT, blazing up toward the stars. Of course no fire in Jozseftown was entirely free of the neighborhood’s charms: it flared and whipped like it was alive. Invisible spirits danced around the flame, exciting it into a fury, feeding off its energy and heat, lonely and outcast from the world, bored and bleeding it for anything they could. The air was infused with a tension that made the gangs excitable, and every movement and word spoken was filled with significance.
It was Deklyn who stepped to the fire first. He carried a rocking horse in his hands. It struck me as odd that they should be burning valuables when there was nothing but poverty around them, but in a way it was fitting: these kids who all came from broken homes, discarding what they should have cared for, just as they had been discarded. Like the dragonka they kept, they were living within their most honest impulses, defying logic and good sense.
“In the name of the Blackhearts, grant us luck!” Deklyn shouted. With that, he tossed the rocking horse onto the fire. A cheer rose from the crowd: a wild, animal sound. The toy ignited instantly and was soon blackening into char. A girl, the leader of the Stink Clovers, brought forth a music box, opening it to show a tiny, twirling dancer.
“In the name of the Stink Clovers, an offering for luck in the races!” A flame appeared to whip out from its place and snatch the box from the girl’s hands, drawing it back hungrily in to its belly. But the biggest cheer came when a Big Thumb Devil took from a pillow case a barking automated Kina dragonka (that the metal would only scorch did not matter) and threw it into the blaze, where its rice benzin cartridge exploded in a shower of sparks.
Petra K and the Blackhearts Page 14