“Oh, you know, I very rarely use these powers now. But I must admit they have come in very handy in some rather extreme situations!”
“Like when, for example?”
“Particularly when we were escaping from the Soviet Union and had the KGB hot on our heels. Metamorphosing certainly saved my life. I remember one soldier who had problems with his telephone just as he was about to give the alert. The cable had been severed, gnawed through by an animal with long teeth which had somehow found its way beneath the desk… That allowed us to board the plane which was taking Leomido to the West with the members of his orchestra and three stowaways, including your father hidden in a cello case.”
“Yes, he told me about that. You escaped by the skin of your teeth!” added Oksa with relish. “But I didn’t know all these practical details. You’ve certainly inherited one hell of a genetic legacy, Abakum; I hope you’ve never had to have a blood test, because you must be a real scientific enigma.”
The elderly man’s face lit up and his eyes sparkled.
“You think of everything, don’t you? No, fortunately, I’ve never had anything to do with the medical profession and I hope I’m spared that necessity until the end of my days. I can’t even imagine the consequences.”
“You’re not kidding!” said Oksa. “Er… Abakum, what about that? What’s that?”
She pointed to the fat book that Abakum had brought over with the wand, an impressive-looking book bound in worn pale-pink leather and inlaid with metal threads.
“Aah,” sighed the elderly enchanter, “that is the Book of Shadows. When I left the cavern of the Singing Spring, one of the two Corpusleoxes handed me a piece of fabric. As soon as I took hold of it, a shadow passed over the place where I was and I remember shivering. I was very surprised; I didn’t understand what it might signify. Then I discovered a book on the floor at my feet. The Corpusleox which had given me the piece of fabric, one of my mother’s scarves, explained that this was a Book of Shadows. Each Fairy has her own; in it, she writes recipes, incantations, spells and charms. The book I was holding, the book you see before you, belonged to my mother. Now the secret of my birth had been revealed, I was permitted to have it. There, my dear, now you know everything.”
Oksa carefully turned the pages of the incredible book. Obscure incantations, mysterious designs and cryptic poetry had been written on the thick yellowed paper in brightly coloured ink. But Oksa was not so much fascinated by the book as by its origins. A book which had belonged to a fairy was hardly something you saw every day! And, leafing through these extraordinary pages, her heart swelled with excitement and delight.
54
AN AMAZING ALARM
“S HALL WE MOVE ON TO PRACTICALITIES?” ASKED ABAKUM after about ten minutes. “I’ve prepared a room specially for you: a forest room. Do you want see it?”
“You bet!”
They climbed the metal staircase which led upstairs and Abakum opened a sliding door.
“Wow!” exclaimed Oksa. “This is amazing, I feel as if I’m climbing in the trees.”
This was because two of the room’s four walls were picture windows overlooking a copse of trees so close that it was like walking into a forest. Virginia creepers climbing up the outside wall and hanging down over the glass added even more to the natural beauty of this extraordinary view.
“You’re right, this is definitely a forest room,” remarked Oksa.
“Don’t forget,” recalled Abakum, “in Edefia, the Sylvabuls traditionally lived in the trees in the region of Green-Mantle. Or rather, they had huge houses built in the trees. I wish you’d seen Leafhold, our capital, my dear. I’m sure you’d have loved it. It was suspended in trees whose branches were so wide that they provided a vast surface area to build on, like Colossos and Feetinskies—banyan-like trees with aerial roots. It was a city of more than 500 houses linked by monkey bridges and giant zip-lines. Those who weren’t so athletic could travel between the trees on solar-powered cable cars.”
“All mod-cons, then!” remarked Oksa.
“Of course,” replied Abakum with a smile. “We’d left the dark ages behind us a long time ago!”
“I didn’t mean that,” said the girl a little defensively. “I know your civilization was really high-tech.”
“Exactly right. Although I’d say green technology was more our thing—we’ve always known how to safeguard the best of our environment and show infinite respect for nature as we’ve developed. The natural world is our ally. It’s a pity that the Outsiders haven’t done the same, a great pity.”
“What about the houses in Green-Mantle? You said they were similar to yours?”
“Yes, that’s right. The houses were made of wood, glass and metal, and each one gave the impression of being moulded to fit the branches of the particular tree it was built in. Over the past few years, I’ve noticed that the Outsiders have been adopting construction and planning principles similar to those that have been observed by the Sylvabuls in Edefia for over a thousand years. At last people seem to be understanding the advantages of ergonomics and eco-design. Better late than never, don’t you think?”
Oksa nodded thoughtfully.
“Well, my dear, I’ll leave you to unpack… come and find me when you’ve finished,” suggested Abakum.
A few minutes later, Oksa went back downstairs. Proud of the latest skill she’d learnt, she made an impressive entrance into the large downstairs room, her feet stuck fast to the wall and her body horizontal. Lying in a hammock stretched between two columns, Abakum was surrounded by creatures, some of which Oksa had never seen before.
“Welcome, Young Gracious!” they chorused.
Oksa laughed and, after performing a perfect backflip, thanked the creatures for their welcome.
“I see Dragomira hasn’t been wasting any time,” noted Abakum with a grin. “Well done, Oksa. Magnificent entrance and what a landing! There’s a definite kung-fu influence there, which has a certain style… why don’t you come and sit down, so that I can introduce you.”
Oksa sank into a soft armchair shaped like a pear and put her elbows on her knees.
“You won’t see any Lunatrixes at my house. As you know, they’re exclusively for the Gracious’s family,” explained Abakum. “But I have thirty or so small companions, some of which you may be familiar with: Poliglossiper, Getorix, Incompetent, Tumble-Bawler, Squoracle…”
“Have you any Goranovs?” asked Oksa, casting an eye over the creatures which were staring at her. “They’re hilarious!”
“Yes, one, from which I’ve managed to grow a few young plants. As you might imagine, cultivating them is extremely complicated. They’re still nurslings and, even though I hardly ever get the chance to make Granok-Shooters or identity rings, they come in very useful—for example, when a new Young Gracious is revealed.”
Oksa smiled and looked at the old man with deep affection. She felt very close to him. Even closer than before.
“Yes. Thanks for my Granok-Shooter.”
“Do you use it much?” asked Abakum innocently.
“Er… a little,” she muttered.
“Never in public, I hope?” he added, staring at the girl.
His tone was meant to be serious, but his eyes betrayed his amusement at torturing her.
“Never!” exclaimed Oksa, feigning a shocked expression.
“Just as well,” replied Abakum, teasingly. “We all know how sensible you are…”
“It’s formidable! It’s wunderbar!” said a spindly creature, letting Oksa off the hook.
“Oh! You’re so funny!” she exclaimed.
“Do you mean I’m absurde? Grottesca? Löjlig? Boohooboohoo…”
Suddenly the Poliglossiper began weeping copiously. Its lanky body, full of holes like a piece of Swiss cheese, began inflating to huge proportions then subsiding to its original size. Oksa opened her eyes wide in amazement.
“Don’t worry, Oksa,” said Abakum reassuringly. “As you can see, Poligloss
ipers tend to use a mixture of languages but their main trait is a keen sense of tragedy. Like several of the creatures who shared our exile, they’re much more sensitive than they were in Edefia. This may be because of the climate on the Outside or our long stay in Russia. No one really knows… so you’ll often witness tragic scenes on a grand scale.”
“…or comic ones,” suggested a Getorix. “Because we, at least, haven’t lost our sense of humour, unlike some I could mention!”
It started dancing round the blubbering Poliglossiper, which suddenly divided itself into several strips and began chasing the mocking Getorix, lashing its back.
“A whipping—that’s what you deserve, très mauvaise thing!” shouted the Poliglossiper, spluttering and spitting.
The Getorix took refuge behind Oksa and the Poliglossiper stopped dead.
“Just what I said, no sense of humour!” yelled the Getorix, mockingly.
Oksa couldn’t help gathering the little creature in her arms and the grateful Getorix laid its head on her accommodating shoulder.
“You’re tickling me,” said Oksa, wriggling.
“That’s because of its démoniaque hair,” said the Poliglossiper, which had resumed its initial shape. “Achtung, beware, Young Gracious, of the filth from that capella!”
“Comic scenes?” broke in the Incompetent, after a time lag of several seconds. “Because you think a Young Gracious with long hair is funny?”
“We don’t like filth and we don’t like the cold,” chorused the Squoracles, taking a more personal approach.
“You know, Abakum,” said Oksa laughing, as she put the Getorix back on the floor, “your creatures are as incredible as Dragomira’s and Leomido’s. But I’ve never seen a Poliglossiper before, it’s astonishing!”
“It’s an extremely interesting creature which is in service to Sylvabuls like me. You’ve had a glimpse of what it can do but, believe it or not, it can change into absolutely any utilitarian object, a ladder, a chair, a piece of rope, anything. Its body is made from a solid yet malleable material, similar to modelling clay or rubber. Handy, isn’t it?”
“You’re not kidding! What about the Getorix? What are its qualities? Apart from clowning around and annoying the others, I mean.”
“You see that generous mane of hair it’s so proud of? Well, we use that with other ingredients to make Excelsior Capacitors, which speed up thought processes. As for the Incompetent, its crest is used to make an anti-stress salve.”
“Oh yes, I saw that at Leomido’s. Dragomira had brought some with her to massage the leaves of his Goranov when it was over-anxious—which seems on average to be about fifty-two times a day, doesn’t it?”
“Very observant,” said Abakum with a laugh. “But Incompetent crest is also used to make the Memory-Mash Granok, whose effects I’ll leave you to imagine, as well as the granules you feed your Curbita-Flatulo every morning. How is it, by the way?”
In answer, Oksa smiled and raised her sleeve to show him her living bracelet, which was in fine shape and purring quietly. Abakum went over to her and gently stroked its sleepy little head, causing it to purr even louder.
“It’s doing great,” replied Oksa. “It played a nasty trick on me one day at school. But it was entirely my fault: I’d forgotten to give the poor thing its granule—what a noise it made, I can tell you!” she explained, laughing. “It was certainly an explosive experience. Since then, I keep the tools of a perfect future Gracious on me: my Granok-Shooter, my anti-farting box, my Ventosa Capacitors,” she added, patting the small canvas bag she wore slung over her shoulder. “I always have it with me now, even when we have games. I’m petrified someone might find it.”
“You have every reason to be cautious, particularly with Orthon in the vicinity,” remarked Abakum gravely. “But I’m going to give you something that will help put your mind at rest. Come over here, please, Tumble-Bawler.”
A creature less than three inches tall fluttered over to him. Its slightly conical mauve body was rounded at the base, which gave it the appearance of a tumbler toy—no doubt where its name came from. Rising out of the astonishing head which surmounted its strange body were two big eyes. These seemed to swivel a full 360 degrees, giving it a perpetually alarmed expression. Two long arms hung at its sides, counterbalancing the large body.
“Master? A mission?”
“Yes, an important mission,” replied Abakum. “You will now offer your services to this young person here. Oksa, may I present your own personal Tumble-Bawler.”
Intrigued and amused, Oksa looked at the creature which had landed on her lap and was gazing intently at her. The Tumble-Bawler greeted her, rocking back and forth, then steadied itself with what it used for hands. Abakum continued his introduction:
“Tumble-Bawlers are faithful, powerful alarms which can adapt to all kinds of situations and all kinds of needs. You can give them a mission to detect anything and order exactly the type of alarm you want. I advise you to ask the Tumble-Bawler to watch your bag. If someone wants to look inside, through curiosity or malicious intent, the Tumble-Bawler can warn you or activate an alarm, which will make any approach impossible. For example, you can choose a shrill, ear-splitting bell or a sharp scratch on unduly bold hands, it’s up to you.”
“Come here, little Tumble-Bawler,” called Oksa, “come here…”
The little mauve creature fluttered onto Oksa’s outstretched palm and began rocking again.
“Young Mistress, I await your instructions!”
Abakum winked at Oksa encouragingly.
“Listen carefully then,” she continued, putting the Tumble-Bawler in her bag. “You’ll guard my bag and scream very, very loudly if anyone other than me and Abakum tries to open it. We’re going to give it a try, okay? I’ll pretend to be someone nosy…”
Immediately Abakum put his hands over his ears. Oksa opened the fastening of the small bag and an alarm as loud as the siren of a fire engine blared out. Oksa dropped the bag and put her hands over her ears, like Abakum—the old man had obviously learnt from experience. A few seconds later, the dreadful alarm stopped and the Tumble-Bawler emerged with an enquiring look on its face.
“Young Mistress, was the alarm suitable?”
Oksa, a finger in each ear, her eardrums ringing, tried to laugh off this violent assault on her hearing.
“Perhaps something a little quieter? I don’t want to alert the whole school!”
“Oh, Tumble-Bawlers aren’t exactly overburdened with subtlety,” grunted the Poliglossiper, which had rolled into a ball in a corner of the room. “Villano!”
“Okay, okay, message received loud and clear, young Mistress,” promised the Tumble-Bawler, crawling back into the bag.
“That’s a good job done,” said Abakum. “Now, would you care to move on to something a little more serious? Follow me.”
55
THE SECRET SILO
ABAKUM TOOK OKSA UPSTAIRS, FOLLOWED OBEDIENTLY by all the creatures. At the end of the corridor, a steel security door opened onto the gangway which led to the mysterious silo. As with the outer gate, the door opened as soon as Abakum introduced the green scarab beetle into the lock. They walked along the gangway and came out into the silo, which had been converted into a giant hothouse. A translucent domed ceiling bathed the entire space in a milky light, and some tiny golden birds welcomed the master of the house and his guests by singing loudly.
“Hello, Ptitchkins,” said Abakum, greeting them.
“Hey! Baba has some bird-shaped earrings exactly like these,” blurted Oksa, blinking as she tried to focus on them.
“I wonder if they’re not actually real birds,” replied Abakum with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, Abakum, stop pulling my leg!”
“Look a little more closely next time your gran wears them,” he advised.
“You two are unbelievable,” said Oksa. “Arrrgh, what’s that?” she yelled, suddenly grabbing Abakum’s arm.
An enormous swarm of insec
ts had taken to the air and were abruptly changing direction like starlings as they flew. Oksa went white, her heart pounding with terror. The swarm reminded her of something that she’d rather have forgotten for ever—and certainly had no desire to relive. The image of the Death’s Head Chiropterans was still very traumatic. Abakum immediately realized she was panicking.
“They’re not what you think they are,” he said, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “Watch carefully.”
The swarm was magnificent. Except that Oksa hated insects—particularly when they travelled en masse and seemed to be taking a malicious pleasure in heading straight for her, only swerving right or left at the last moment, making her shudder each time they flew past. Realizing the effect their comings and goings were having on his young guest, Abakum whistled noisily between his fingers and the swarm immediately flattened itself against the wall of the silo to form a shifting picture, which spelt out the words:
WELCOME, YOUNG GRACIOUS!
“Oh, Abakum! What does that mean?”
“It means that my Invisibuls are welcoming you, can’t you read?” replied the Enchanter, smiling widely.
“Your what?”
“My Invisibuls. They aren’t insects, despite what you may have thought at first, but tiny creatures similar to flying tadpoles. In fact, they’re perfect little winged chameleons which can assume any colour they want. Watch.”
There was no longer any trace of the presence of the swarm on the wall. But in the next second, a new picture had formed—this time Oksa’s face surrounded by exploding fireworks. She burst out laughing:
“They’re incredible! I love them.”
“But, you know, their primary function isn’t artistic,” explained Abakum. “The Graciouses mainly use them as an invisibility cloak—they cover themselves with them and can go anywhere incognito owing to their imitative abilities.”
“Can I try?” asked Oksa enthusiastically.
Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope Page 32