Oksa shook her head: her answer was final. Mr Bontempi turned hopefully to Gus.
“Gustave, did you see anyone?”
“No, sir, when I arrived, Oksa was on the floor and there was no one around.”
“I see…”
Mr Bontempi stood up and said one last thing to the pair before leaving the infirmary:
“You know where my office is if you want to speak to me. Let me say again that what just happened is very serious. I could punish the person who did this to you very harshly if you would only co-operate. All I need is a name! The ball is in your court, kids.”
He turned on his heels and they heard his heavy footsteps going downstairs. Matron came over:
“You can go back to the classroom, Gustave; thanks for your help. Oksa, I called your home and your father is coming right away to collect you and take you to the hospital. I think you’ve broken a rib, but you’ll need an X-ray. Stay lying down while you wait, okay?”
And she went back into the small glazed office from which she kept an eye on her visitors.
“Thanks Gus,” whispered Oksa in her friend’s ear. “Thanks for not saying anything!”
“Oksa, I wasn’t dreaming, was I? It was Zoe who stopped you defending yourself, wasn’t it?”
“It’s even more serious than that, Gus.”
His ear practically glued to Oksa’s lips, Gus was completely taken aback when his friend told him the unthinkable news. In the space of a few seconds, they both realized that the number of McGraws had just tripled.
61
THE POISONED GIFT
FOR FEAR OF BEING QUESTIONED ABOUT THE STRANGE mark around Oksa’s belly button, Pavel took the injured girl straight home and didn’t go anywhere near the hospital. With her ribs tightly bandaged, Oksa was welcomed by Dragomira and the Lunatrixes, who had now taken up residence on the first floor.
“Oooohhhh! The Young Gracious has encountered an accident! There are great health deficiencies in this family, it’s a phonebook of disasters and we are held in the pincers of a total melodrama!”
The Lunatrixa began sobbing noisily while her companion hastened over to help Pavel support Oksa.
“Rest Your Graciousness’s hand upon my head, I will become a cane for you, that is my ambition.”
“Thanks, Lunatrix. Where is Mum?”
“She is seated at the table in the kitchen and awaits your accompaniment,” replied the Lunatrixa with a loud sniffle.
“In here!” rang out Marie’s voice.
Oksa and her father found her sitting in the kitchen with a fragrant cup of tea.
“You’re here at last!” exclaimed Marie. “How do you feel, darling?”
Before replying, Oksa kissed her mother, pulling a face at the pain, and asked for her news first.
“I’m okay, honestly. But we’ll talk about me later, tell us what happened to you.”
“I fell over and broke a rib,” replied Oksa softly.
Even breathing gently caused her a great deal of pain. She grimaced, and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible.
“A broken rib!” exclaimed Dragomira. “Don’t move, I’ve got just the thing for you.”
She leapt out of her chair and they heard her steps echoing up the stairs to the second floor.
“Don’t say anything, don’t do anything, don’t move. Wait for me!” she shouted in a ringing voice.
They heard a faint commotion and, a few minutes later, Dragomira reappeared holding a small jar.
“Take that bandage off now,” she said, beckoning to Oksa to come and lie down on one of the sofas in the living room.
“Are you going to give her a Bonigonum?” asked Pavel, seeing the bottle his mother was holding. “It’s a very long time since I’ve seen that, it’s a great idea. That will have you back on your feet in no time, Oksa.”
“Anyway, if it’s as effective as the Vermicula are, I advise you to have it, darling,” said Marie.
Dragomira opened the small pot and took out a large bright-blue slug, about three inches long and thick and shiny. Very thick and very shiny. Oksa cried out in horror, then immediately cried out again at the pain caused by the first cry.
“I’m going… you’re going…” she muttered.
“You can conjugate the verb ‘to go’ very well, Dushka,” remarked Dragomira smiling, the slug wriggling feebly between her two fingers.
“Have I got to eat that revolting thing?” continued Oksa, swallowing with difficulty.
This question caused general hilarity. Dragomira and Pavel exploded with laughter and the Lunatrixes, purple to the top of their heads with their mouths wide open, slapped their thighs frantically.
“Eat a Bonigonum? Distance that thought from your stomach, Young Gracious! The Bonigonum is not to be eaten and does not eat anyone, it will be the repairing of your bone.”
“Is that true, Baba?”
“Completely true.”
“Then you’re going to inject me with it like the Vermicula, aren’t you? I don’t want that, no, no, no,” panicked Oksa, imagining the size of the syringe that would be needed for such an injection.
“Don’t be afraid, my dear. It’s much simpler than that, just relax.”
Dragomira put her hand on Oksa’s forehead and, with her other hand, placed the revolting slug directly onto her bare skin, exactly where the pain was at its worst, the place where the broken rib was bulging under the swollen flesh. At first Oksa looked away, feeling totally nauseated. Then curiosity got the better of her and she ventured a glance. The slug’s eyes were bulging and were striped with little black veins. It had also started to produce an impressive amount of saliva: an abundant froth was spreading from beneath its glistening body and seeping into Oksa’s skin.
“You see, the Bonigonum acts like a powerful poultice,” explained Dragomira, gently pressing on the wiggling slug. “Its saliva has the power to make bones knit faster and, as you can see, your skin absorbs it immediately like a sponge. In a few hours, your rib will be as good as new.”
“The doctors would give their right arm for this!” remarked Oksa.
“Very true, darling,” agreed her father, “so we’ll stay away from the medical profession for a few days in order to avoid any embarrassing questions.”
“Can you imagine replying to concerned enquiries?” enthused Oksa. “My broken rib? Oh yes, I did have a broken rib this morning, but it’s ancient history now, you know!”
Oksa began to laugh and immediately grimaced: the pain wasn’t ancient history yet, she’d have to wait a few hours with that revolting, slobbering blue slug stuck to her side.
“Yes, let’s avoid attracting the doctors’ attention, they’re already asking far too many questions about me.”
And Marie explained to Oksa that her condition had improved at a pace that defied medical opinion: the lesions paralysing her nerve centre were visibly receding, which was unheard of according to the doctors. Also, in view of the severity of those lesions, whose cause was still unknown, she shouldn’t even be able to move a toe, let alone take a few steps, even with the continuous support offered by Pavel and Dragomira.
“Hurrah for the Vermicula then!” said Oksa cheerfully from her convalescent sofa. “And hurrah for the Bonigonum! You should patent it, Baba, you could be the queen of the pharmaceutical industry. You’d become a multimillionaire.”
“Probably,” agreed Baba Pollock, smiling. “Given everything we can do, Abakum and I could have founded an empire. But that’s never been our ambition. We’ve stayed true to our principles, which were shared by many Edefians: live and work according to our needs—no more, no less—and never abuse our powers. That is our rule.”
“Not everyone can say as much,” said Oksa, her face suddenly darkening.
“You mean Orthon? Or… McGraw?” asked her mother.
“Yes.”
“You mean your injury has something to do with him?” exclaimed Pavel, abruptly jumping up from his seat.
�
�Yes… well, no… It’s always the same snide comments with him, we’re starting to get used to it. It was his children who caused the problems today,” admitted Oksa, hanging her head.
“WHAT?”
Everyone immediately looked astounded. With her hand on her heart, Dragomira shut her eyes and tried to take in this shocking piece of news. Marie gave a cry and Pavel, standing behind her, clenched his fists in a gesture of rage. His face twisted in a grimace, betraying his anxiety. They all looked at each other, then stared at Oksa.
“His children? You mean that Orthon’s children are here? At school?” asked Dragomira, breathlessly.
“You remember the Neanderthal? I already told you about him,” said Oksa, realizing the effect that these revelations were having on her family.
“That rough older boy who keeps picking on you, the one you drenched with balls of water one day?” continued Dragomira. “You mean he’s Orthon-McGraw’s son?”
Oksa nodded and decided to tell the truth. Lying was too much of an effort and she felt so tired.
“His name is Mortimer. And I didn’t fall over. He broke my rib,” she blurted out, trying to stop her voice trembling. “He cornered me in the corridor, just after my phone call. He told me who he was and threatened to flatten all of us to a pulp. I hit him with an amazing Knock-Bong, I couldn’t help myself!” she added, chewing her lip.
“You attacked McGraw’s son with a Knock-Bong? In one of the school corridors?” exclaimed her mother in dismay.
“Oh Mum, you should have seen how powerful it was!” said Oksa excitedly, perking up at the memory. “He was thrown a good sixty feet. It was great! The problem is that he seems to have terrific powers too. He came for me at tremendous speed, I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. We fought, then his sister came up behind me and jumped on my back. I found myself flat on the ground and while I was down, Mortimer recovered. He kicked me in the ribs. That was when Gus arrived, and used one of those amazing judo holds on him. Which was just as well, because I don’t know what I’d have done to those two—I could have killed them,” she said angrily, blithely ignoring the gap between desire and reality.
“Or they could have killed you,” stressed her father, looking even more anxious than ever. “But you mentioned that boy’s sister. Is she also at St Proximus? Do you know her?”
“Yes. And so do you—it’s Zoe.”
“ZOE? The Zoe who came to your birthday party?” asked Dragomira in alarm.
“Yes,” replied Oksa angrily. “Now I’m convinced she became friends with Zelda just to get at me. I never liked that girl, I told you that, Baba. When I think that she gave us the impression that she was an orphan! I’m disgusted.”
“But that means Orthon-McGraw’s daughter has been in this house, doesn’t it?” her father said slowly.
Silently all four looked at each other gravely, thinking about the implications of this new and surprising information. Suddenly Dragomira cried shrilly:
“The SOAP!”
“The soap?” echoed Pavel and Marie in their turn, as Oksa nibbled at her last remaining nail.
“Where’s the soap that Zoe gave Oksa for her birthday?” demanded Dragomira hastily.
“Oksa gave it to me, because of her allergy to glycerine,” replied Marie dully. “I’ve been using it for the past few days.”
Abakum and Dragomira were adamant: their analyses of the remaining piece of soap proved that Zoe’s gift had been poisoned. Originally intended for Oksa, with the aim of weakening her and making it easier for Orthon-McGraw to get near her, even kidnap her as he’d apparently planned, the soap had found another victim: Marie Pollock. It was easy to understand now why she’d suddenly been taken so seriously ill.
“This is very clever,” explained Abakum. “Orthon added essence of robiga-nervosa to it. This is a highly toxic, very rare plant whose cells immediately attacked your nervous system, Marie. They act like rust. It’s lethal. I’ll take what’s left of that soap to examine it and I’ll try to find an antidote. Luckily we had the Vermicula, my dear Marie, because otherwise I think you’d still be paralysed in your hospital bed without any hope of remission. The Vermicula seem to be working, they’ve stabilized and improved your overall condition. But there may be something more effective that will allow you to regain full use of all the functions you’ve lost. The doctors didn’t beat around the bush about their pessimistic prognosis, did they?”
Marie shook her head and Oksa felt tears pricking her eyes. Would her mother have to stay like this for the rest of her life? That would be awful, particularly as she was the one who’d given her the poisoned soap, all because of her damned allergy.
“It makes me so livid to think that this was aimed at you,” murmured Marie, moving closer to Oksa.
“But you’re the one who’s ill!” retorted Oksa, swallowing back her tears.
62
CAUGHT OUT BY THE ALPHABET!
“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:
Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope Page 36