Ten minutes after the start of the French lesson, a haggard Mr Bontempi burst into the room.
“For your information, Miss Heartbreak will be absent for the day, so please go to the prep room at ten until noon. Also, Oksa would you come with me for a minute. You can have her back soon, Dr Lemaire,” he said to the French teacher with a strained smile.
Oksa stood up to follow the Headmaster, taking care not to limp. Her knee was no longer decaying, but it was still painful. She had to be strong—now more than ever.
“Some police detectives are investigating the damage to the lab,” Mr Bontempi told her monotonously. “They’d just like to ask you a few questions, but there’s nothing to worry about.”
Mr Bontempi didn’t say another word before they reached his office and Oksa felt a surge of sympathy for him. He must be very worried about Miss Heartbreak and she knew his fears were justified. Nervously she adjusted her small shoulder bag. “Oh dear, I hope they don’t search me!” she thought in alarm. “What if they find my Granok-Shooter and my Tumble-Bawler? No, Oksa, it doesn’t bear thinking about, don’t even consider it.” She dug her hands deep into the pockets of her blazer and felt a strange object. She looked at what she’d just found and recognized the talisman Dragomira had given her on her first day at school. She remembered what her gran had said at the time: “If you feel tense in body and mind, hold this and gently stroke it. It will make you feel more at peace with the world, the sky will seem clearer and your path more sure.”
“Oh Baba, thank you!” murmured Oksa emotionally, picturing her gran helpfully slipping the little pouch in her pocket just before she left for school.
Her strength and bravery came flooding back with that mental image. Her family was always with her. And she had Gus. She was never alone.
Two policemen were waiting for her in the office, but she had prepared herself and didn’t feel as overawed as she thought she would. Perhaps she’d get away with lying to them after all.
“Hello,” she said, walking through the door.
“Hello! You’re Oksa Pollock, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down and don’t be afraid, we just have a few questions to ask you. You stayed behind with Dr McGraw yesterday evening to put things away in the lab?”
“That’s right.”
So far, so good.
“What time did you finish? Do you remember?”
Now she had to play her cards close to her chest.
“I didn’t look, but it can’t have been long. Ten minutes, quarter of an hour, maybe. There wasn’t much equipment to put away because McGraw—I mean Dr McGraw—gave us a written class test.”
“And then? What happened then?”
“Then? Well we went downstairs, he unlocked the porch for me and we went our separate ways.”
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
Oksa squeezed her talisman hard. She had the feeling she was bright red from head to toe. Thank goodness there were no scratches on her face any more! She would never badmouth spiders again…
“No. Except that Dr McGraw called me by my first name and that’s totally out of character for him,” she said to lighten the mood.
The policemen smiled.
“Did you see Miss Heartbreak before you left school, Oksa?”
“Miss Heartbreak? No,” she replied, with a heavy heart. “I didn’t see anyone.”
The policemen stood up. They had obviously finished questioning her. Phew!
“Good, thank you, Oksa. Just one last question, before you rejoin your classmates…”
At that moment Oksa felt the blood drain from her face. Her thoughts were in a whirl. She squeezed her talisman even harder and fought with all her might against the panic which was in danger of undoing all her good work.
“One last question?” she repeated more firmly than she would have thought.
Through the window just behind the policemen she saw the clouds darken to black in the space of a few seconds. “Oh no,” she thought to herself. “Not a storm! This is really not the time.”
“We’d like to know if you’re related to Leomido Fortensky, the conductor?” asked one of the policemen, looking at her intently.
67
A BALL OF WORRIES
“THE YOUNG GRACIOUS HAS A COUNTENANCE COVERED in fatigue,” remarked the Lunatrix, staring at Oksa with his big round eyes. “The beverage I offer in suggestion will distil the strength in your veins, you can have unwarranted faith in it!”
“Thanks, Lunatrix. I am really tired,” admitted Oksa, taking the cup the creature was holding out to her.
“Juice of rubber repair patch, just the thing when you’re tyred!” yelled one of the Getorixes, rolling about on the floor with its customary lack of restraint.
Oksa was actually exhausted. She felt drained by the events of the last few days and could do nothing to combat the overwhelming lethargy that had descended on her since Friday evening. Her eyes vacant and her mind a blank, she spent all Saturday in pyjamas wandering aimlessly around the house or flopped in an armchair, unable to apply herself to anything—although it didn’t stop her understanding what was going on around her. She didn’t think she was in pain, yet all kinds of vague conflicting feelings were dragging her down to unknown depths. She didn’t feel afraid or anxious, or relieved. She just felt desperately empty, and powerless to stop herself from spiralling into a dark vortex of apathy. Her parents watched this unfamiliar behaviour helplessly and comforted her as best they could, but their sincerity and warmth didn’t seem able to reach her. She heard what they said, but their words didn’t register in her heart, which was beating alone in a vacuum. Sunday began exactly the same: an uncharacteristically silent Oksa stayed in her pyjamas and wouldn’t contemplate washing, eating or communicating.
“She’s in a state of shock,” diagnosed Dragomira. “I think it’s time I got the Nascentia out again.”
Marie looked at her quizzically, as Pavel exclaimed:
“You still have it? I could have sworn we left it behind in Siberia!”
“Yes, I still have it,” replied Dragomira with a wink. “And I’m sure it’ll do young Oksa the world of good.”
“Could one of you two please tell me what you’re talking about?” broke in Marie tensely.
Dragomira’s only answer was to stand up and leave the room. She came back a few seconds later with what looked like a tightly folded transparent space blanket, which she laid on the table. Intrigued, Marie touched it with her fingertips, marvelling at its incredibly soft, velvety surface.
“It feels like… baby’s skin!” she remarked, suppressing a shiver and giving Pavel a horrified and nauseated look.
“Don’t worry, darling, it isn’t. Although it’s not a million miles away from—”
“Not a million miles away?” exclaimed Marie, pulling a face.
“The Nascentia is actually a placenta,” continued Pavel. “But no ordinary one.”
“I should have known,” said Marie, exhaling in relief. “Ordinary and Pollock aren’t often spoken in the same breath!”
Pavel gave a wan half-smile.
“You know that Lunatrixes can only give birth once in their lifetime—they live for around 300 years and gestation lasts over two years. But, like humans, they can sometimes give birth to twins. Twins’ placenta is extremely precious and has amazing psychotherapeutic powers. I speak from experience, because I used it when I lost my father… It can only do Oksa good, I think it’s an excellent idea of Dragomira’s. Are you happy for us to try it?”
“Of course I am,” exclaimed Marie tensely. “We have to try something, we can’t just leave her like this.”
“There’s no harm in trying.”
This was said by Oksa, who had been standing in the doorway of the living room for a short time. She went over to her mother, knelt down in front of her and laid her head on her lap.
“I feel like a total zombie, Mum. It’s like I’m completely emp
ty inside.”
Dragomira picked up the Nascentia. The delicate, slightly opaque membrane unfolded into a circle around three feet in diameter, then began swelling on contact with the air until it had become a beautiful iridescent globe. The air seemed to condense inside it, filling it with dense vapour.
“Be careful,” warned Dragomira, gently patting the globe, “it’s very hot—about ninety degrees.”
“You’re not going to make Oksa go into that furnace?” asked Marie in alarm, her daughter’s head still on her knees.
“Don’t worry, Marie,” said Dragomira reassuringly. “The temperature will drop and stabilize at thirty-seven degrees, which is ideal. A few more minutes and it will be fine.”
The Nascentia had now risen and was floating above the floor. Inside, the vapour was disappearing. Droplets of condensation could be seen sliding down the transparent sides. After a few minutes, Dragomira placed her hands flat on the surface of the globe and stroked the membrane.
“She’s trying to find the way in,” explained Pavel. “Ah there it is, she’s found it.”
With her hands, Dragomira was carefully widening a slit about twenty inches high to form a passageway.
“Will you come over here, Oksa? The Nascentia is ready.”
Oksa stood up and went over to the strange bubble, while Dragomira held it open. She slipped one foot inside, followed by her whole body. Contrary to expectation, the Nascentia didn’t sink under her weight but continued to float above the floor. Dragomira relaxed the pressure of her hands and the opening closed. Once inside, Oksa had to crouch down. She instinctively curled in a ball against the comfortable membrane and let the humid warmth envelop her. As soon as she’d settled down, the Nascentia became covered with fine bluish veins which began to palpitate as if carrying some kind of life form. A few seconds later, it began pulsing with gentle contractions which sent ripples across its silky soft surface.
“It’s like a beating heart,” murmured Marie, squeezing her husband’s arm.
Inside, Oksa soon fell asleep, lulled by the regular beating. Unable to resist the torpor overwhelming her, she had the strangest feeling that the thoughts clouding her mind and dragging her heart down into unfathomable depths were slipping away and dissolving in the damp heat of the Nascentia.
When she reopened her eyes, she was still in the same position, her legs hunched under her chin and her arms around her knees. She had no idea what time it was. Had she been there for an hour? A day? A week? Anything was possible… One thing was sure, though: she felt happier than she had done for a long time, as if a huge, painful weight had been lifted while she’d been in that comfortable globe. Through the membrane, which was now opaque and grey, she could make out the silhouette of her mother, lying on one of the sofas. At her side sat her father, one arm on the armrest and, further off, a large aubergine blotch, no doubt her gran. From the Nascentia Oksa could hear them, and Abakum, speaking. Their voices sounded louder and distorted, as if she were underwater and surrounded by some kind of sea fog. Suddenly, a gap opened in the side and her father’s face appeared.
“How do you feel, darling?”
“Fine, Dad. I feel great actually, although it’s a little cramped. Have I been in here long?”
“Just over four hours.”
Her father grinned at her and, as Dragomira had done when she made an opening for Oksa, he widened the gap to form a passageway. Oksa twisted, put her arms around her father’s neck and let herself slide out of the Nascentia. Back on her feet, she stretched and gave a long, noisy yawn as her mother looked at her questioningly.
“How do you feel?” she asked, a little anxiously.
“Oh Mum,” exclaimed Oksa, rushing over to her. “I feel amazing. Like I’m… a new person!”
“Well, I hope you’re still the Oksa I know and love,” continued her mother.
“Oh, I don’t think you have anything to worry about on that score,” said Dragomira with a reassuring smile.
At that moment the Lunatrixa burst into the living room, holding the accessory she and her companion were rarely seen without: a tray heavily laden with a steaming teapot and some mouth-watering pastries.
“Has your sojourn in the Nascentia made the contribution of a beneficial effect, Young Gracious? The impression of relaxation can be read upon your face and brings comfort to my heart.”
“You’re right, Lunatrixa, I feel much more relaxed. That Nascentia works miracles! Who needs a therapist with something like this.”
“You’re right,” said Marie, with a relieved smile at Dragomira, “that’s our very own Oksa.”
“You should both take a look over there,” said Baba Pollock, pointing.
Abakum was standing in front of the Nascentia, which was still floating in the middle of the room. He had just taken a mahogany case from his jacket and he now opened it and took out an object that was very familiar to Oksa.
“That’s his magic wand!” she explained proudly to Marie. “The wand inherited from his mother, the Ageless Fairy-Who-Died-For-Love.”
“Oh right,” smiled Marie, hiding her surprise. “I was only just thinking… a fairy without a wand isn’t the real thing at all.”
The man whom Oksa had decided to name the Fairyman put his arm inside the Nascentia and rotated his wand, gently brushing it against the walls. Gradually, the bubble became lighter in colour until it was restored to its milky whiteness. After a few minutes, Abakum removed his wand. The Nascentia immediately deflated and once again assumed the appearance of a piece of delicate fabric, which Dragomira carefully refolded. Abakum went over to Oksa and her mother and showed them the wand; on its tip was a large, dark, almost black ball of down, which looked a little like the clumps of dust that gather under furniture.
“Is that dirt?” asked Oksa, making a face.
Abakum smiled and nodded.
“Yes, in a way. More precisely, though, it’s your black thoughts.”
“WHAT?” exclaimed Oksa and her mother in unison.
“The Nascentia unburdens the mind of its worries and, more importantly, leads it away from the depths it’s drawn towards. Some worries are necessary to move forward but others pollute the mind. What you see at the end of this wand is none other than the darkness taking you away from us and making you forget that there’s always light and hope.”
Oksa leant over the tangled ball of split filaments and studied it closely.
“You mean all that came out of my head?”
“Out of your head, your body, and your heart, yes,” replied Abakum, gazing at her intently.
“Is it… alive?”
“Of course! As much as you are. Thoughts aren’t inanimate, they’re just as alive as the mechanism which operates our bodies.”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Allow me to show you, my very Young Gracious,” replied the Fairyman with a mysterious smile.
With that, he waved the wand carefully over a lacquered box and dropped the ball of black thoughts into it. He then made a hole in a large granule taken from his Caskinette and dropped it inside. Then, after closing the lid securely, Abakum put the box inside his jacket, with his wand case, leaving Oksa in a state of deep astonishment.
68
CAPTIVE IN THE CRYPT
OKSA HAD TO WAIT UNTIL THE END OF THE MORNING TO tell Gus about her remarkable experience in the Nascentia. Immediately after lunch, they decided to give their friends the slip and have a private chat in the Statues’ Den, which had recently become Gus Bellanger and Oksa Pollock’s Personal and Exclusive Hideout. Unfortunately, the room had been double-locked by Mr Bontempi, who had become aware of these intrusions. Undeterred, the two friends went looking for a new place of refuge. It didn’t take them long to find somewhere which had not yet been explored due to its bad state of dilapidation: the tiny school chapel.
“Oksa, we can’t go in there,” said Gus, standing by the door, which was barred by a single plank nailed across it.
; “Yes we can, come on! No one will disturb us here.”
“Maybe we could find somewhere else,” muttered Gus, who didn’t like the idea of going into that gloomy chapel at all. “If a chapel appeals to you so much, we could just go to the new one.”
“Are you kidding?” said Oksa briskly. “The school choir will be rehearsing in there now. Listen—you can hear their voices all the way up here!”
Oksa gently tugged at the worm-eaten plank: the rusty nails gave way immediately and it came off in her hands.
“See?” she smiled. “It’s a sign.”
“Hmm…” Gus coughed softly, unconvinced by his friend’s incredible optimism. “A sign, you say? A sure sign of trouble, I reckon!”
The Young Gracious pushed open the door with her fingertips and poked her head inside.
“Nothing to report. Don’t be such a chicken! It looks perfect.”
“It looks a bit scary, if you ask me,” retorted Gus.
They walked in and closed the door behind them, checking one last time that no one had seen them. The chapel was stuffy and dark. The air was thick with the dust that also blanketed the pews and a few broken and neglected objects of worship. Outside, the sun must have broken through the clouds, because slender rays of brightly coloured light suddenly filtered through the filthy stained-glass windows above the tiny altar. The two adventurers started in surprise at this startling illumination—it was as if the chapel had just come back to life after years of neglect. Oksa’s immediate reaction was to narrow her eyes and assume a kung-fu attack position, with her hands pressed together in front of her and her right leg outstretched. Gus couldn’t help smiling.
Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope Page 40