“Your gran’s just a bit tired,” broke in Abakum, glancing sombrely at his old friend.
He put his arm round Oksa’s shoulder and led her towards the wheelhouse.
“We’ll be in Glasgow soon, sweetheart,” he said. “So could you round everyone up?”
“How much do the Felons know about where we’re going?”
“Not a lot, to be honest. It’s driving Orthon mad.”
“It must be quite a blow to his megalomaniac pride!” said Oksa.
“Indeed, and I have to admit it gives me a fair degree of personal satisfaction.”
“Oh, Abakum!” said Oksa, pretending to be indignant. “A wise and honourable man like you?”
“I may be a Fairyman, but I’m still human and there are a few little pleasures I couldn’t do without,” confessed Abakum with a laugh. “Picturing Orthon totally dependent on us and fuming on his magnificent ship gladdens my heart.”
“He must be livid!” sniggered Oksa.
Abakum gave her a knowing smile. Making the most of this moment of complicity, Oksa couldn’t help returning to her gran’s worrying behaviour.
“Don’t forget I have a better understanding of things now I’m over sixteen. Is she frightened? Does she think we’ll fail?”
“We’ve all had some terrible shocks to deal with in the last few days,” replied the old man calmly.
Then he turned round to occupy himself with the two Boximinuses and the chest of Granoks, which he firmly strapped up: the subject was closed.
“We’ll reach Glasgow in half an hour!” announced Pavel on the intercom.
Oksa took a deep breath and looked up at the louring sky. She shivered. Would the Runaways be strong enough to face the endless ordeals that fate seemed to have in store for them?
Glasgow had escaped the worst of the flood. Only the lowest parts of the town were still under muddy water but there was a palpable sense of panic. Long queues were forming outside shops and pharmacies, and the volume of traffic in the cluttered streets was totally baffling.
The Dog and the Eagle navigated with difficulty past countless boats adrift in Glasgow’s port after the wild night. The Runaways and Felons moored their ships at one of the landing stages and disembarked onto the quay, each clan keeping themselves to themselves. Despite the rift, Annikki dared to go over to the Runaways to make sure Marie was OK and Oksa was surprised to see an expression of kindness and respect on her face, which reassured her. Annikki seemed to have made it a point of honour to protect the ailing woman, as if she were genuinely fond of her.
“Let’s go, my friends,” said Abakum.
None of them looked back as they headed towards the devastated town, which was in absolute chaos.
“We need to find a way to get to the airport,” Dragomira told the Felons.
“You mean we have to catch a plane?” asked Orthon furiously.
“We have to take an eleven-hour flight to Urumqi,” replied Dragomira icily. “Which leaves us barely two hours to get to the airport,” she added, looking at her watch. “We don’t have any time to lose.”
The Felons looked furious. They weren’t in charge and Orthon was finding this harder than anyone to take.
“Is the Definitive Landmark for the Portal in Urumqi?” he roared, grabbing Dragomira by the shoulder.
Baba Pollock shrugged him off, as Abakum and Pavel headed menacingly their way.
“Urumqi is the second leg after Glasgow,” she said, indignantly. “Frankly, Orthon, do you think I’d tell you any more than that?”
And she turned her back on him.
“There’s a shuttle to the airport in ten minutes,” announced Tugdual, his telephone pressed to his ear. “The bus stop is a couple of hundred yards away.”
“Well done, Tugdual,” congratulated Dragomira. “You at least know how to make yourself useful!” she finished, glancing meaningfully at Orthon.
“Thanks a million, Zorro,” muttered Gus. Oksa glared at him.
“Don’t you get bored with harping on the same string?” she asked sullenly.
The two groups walked to the bus stop, where Gus suddenly sank to the ground. Folding his long legs under him, he put his head in his hands. A few seconds later, Oksa reluctantly joined him, assailed by a sudden pain.
“What’s the matter?” asked Pavel in a panic. “Are you ill?” Oksa gave him a glassy stare.
“Splitting headache,” she replied, rubbing her temples hard.
“As if you had something boring into your skull?” groaned Gus.
“Exactly!”
Immediately, Dragomira rummaged around in her bag and took out her Caskinette. She gave Gus and Oksa a tiny silvery ball each and instructed the teenagers to swallow them.
“My dear sister and her pharmacopoeia,” remarked Orthon sarcastically.
“Without your ancestors’ diabolical inventions, we wouldn’t need it, would we?” retorted Dragomira. “And may I remind you that our future depends on the good health of these two youngsters.”
“Let me die here. It wouldn’t change much anyway,” moaned Gus, earning himself a sharp dig in the ribs from Oksa.
“Shut up, Gus,” she groaned. “Do as I do, please: suffer in silence!”
The small silvery balls gradually lessened the agonizing pain, leaving them both feeling nauseated, which made it hard to see and think straight. Meanwhile, the Runaways and Felons were impatiently waiting for the bus. Some of them were leaning against the dripping walls of buildings, others were pacing up and down, but they were all tense.
Oksa eventually stood up to stretch her legs. Glimpsing her reflection in a shop window, she felt even dizzier. “Is that really me?” she thought, going closer. With her nose virtually touching the glass, she ran her fingers over her face, fascinated and a little startled by her own image. So long as she couldn’t see herself, it wasn’t too hard to deal with this change—she just had to become accustomed to her new height and shape, which she definitely liked. Controlling her emotions was harder. Everything she felt was stronger, more violent, more overwhelming. When Gus was near her or when Tugdual gazed at her, she couldn’t think straight. Things had been so much simpler when she’d been two years younger, a few days ago… As if to press the point home, she glimpsed Tugdual’s reflection in the shop window. There was no escape! Everywhere she looked, she saw him. Fair-haired Kukka suddenly appeared between them, her perfect figure regal, oozing self-confidence. Oksa turned and saw her walk over to Tugdual. To her amazement, Tugdual did nothing to avoid his malicious cousin. “Leave him alone,” thought Oksa angrily, overcome with jealousy. “Why doesn’t he just walk away? He hates her!” Despondently, she went back to sit on the curb next to Gus in miserable silence, rubbing her temples in a vain attempt to banish her black thoughts.
Twenty minutes later, the shuttle still hadn’t come and impatience had given way to restless irritation. Realizing there was no point waiting any longer, they were all trying to find a solution.
“Let’s Vertifly!” suggested Gregor.
“And risk attracting the attention of the army again? No thanks!” retorted Pavel.
“We could easily overpower any soldiers, even if they were heavily armed,” objected Gregor.
“Of course we could—but we’d also have to be devoid of human compassion to do that, which isn’t really like us.”
Orthon applauded sarcastically.
“That’s all very well, but we won’t achieve our goals with such elevated values!” he remarked.
“The bus depot is only a stone’s throw from here,” broke in Tugdual, with the Tumble-Bawler perched on his shoulder. “Maybe we could borrow a bus?”
They all looked at each other, open-mouthed at such a simple solution.
“Brilliant idea, Tugdual!” said Abakum. “Let’s act fast, time is short.”
The mechanic saw the group of almost sixty people walking into the bus garage, but had no time to react: Dragomira had already hit him with a Memory-Swipe Grano
k. The man was immobilized in front of his toolbox, eyes blank.
“What about this one?” said Pavel, indicating one of the many buses parked there. “It’s big enough to take us all. Tumble, can you tell us how to get there?”
The creature nodded.
“Stay with me then, please. You can show me the way. The quicker we get to the airport, the greater our chances of catching that plane today,” he added, gazing in concern at his watch.
The Runaways and Felons began climbing into the bus. Gus sat down next to Oksa.
“Has your father ever driven a bus before?” he quietly asked her.
“Er… no,” she replied, smiling. “But he’d never sailed a ship either!”
“Well, I hope the Airplane has a pilot!” This reference to a film they’d enjoyed so much made both of them laugh, despite the serious circumstances, and attracted a deceptively disinterested look from Tugdual. Oksa winked at him and he ducked his head to hide a smile.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” suddenly roared a voice.
A man had just appeared out of nowhere. The three Felons who hadn’t yet climbed into the bus turned round defensively.
“You’re trying to steal that bus!” yelled the man. “Get out right now or I’ll call the police, you lousy thieves!”
The Felons smiled, intending to make mincemeat of the reckless individual, but Oksa acted first. The Young Gracious quickly opened the window and fired a Granok. The man’s face immediately relaxed into a blissful smile. He walked over to Agafon, the unsmiling Felon, and embraced him warmly.
“Come back soon, godfather!” he exclaimed. “I’ll make sure I have a bottle of that single malt you like so much and I’ll get my revenge on you at cards, just wait and see,” he chortled.
Gus looked quizzically at Oksa.
“I was hoping I’d get a chance to use my new Granok,” she said.
She turned towards Abakum with a broad grin.
“Your Hypnagogo works like a dream. I love it!” The Fairyman smiled back at her.
“The road’s clear, so sit tight,” shouted Pavel, starting up the bus.
After a few tentative manoeuvres, Pavel soon got the hang of driving the huge vehicle and they headed off through Glasgow’s congested roads.
35
A CHAOTIC ESCAPE
COMFORTABLY SETTLED IN HER SEAT, OKSA RELAXED to the steady rocking of the train as it sped towards Saihan Toroi. Even though the last two days of travel by air and rail hadn’t involved much physical exertion, she felt exhausted. She watched the magnificent yet monotonous landscape racing past. Nothing disturbed the tranquil appearance of the hills and plains of the Gobi Desert, which were covered with a thin dusting of snow. Everything looked so peaceful that it was hard to believe that the Outside was slipping inexorably into chaos. It felt as if this part of the world had been shielded from the disasters: the scattered towns served by the railway line seemed to be going about their daily lives as if nothing had happened; times were just as hard, but the inhabitants had lost none of their welcoming ways and beaming smiles.
The start of the journey hadn’t been as peaceful. Despite Pavel’s skilful driving, getting to Glasgow airport had been quite an ordeal. No one had ever seen such nose-to-tail traffic in the suburbs and on the roads out of the city centre. Fearing more floods along the coast, those who could leave were attempting to take refuge inland and, in the light of warnings from the leading specialists in Earth Sciences, no one could blame them for this exodus. In Glasgow, as all over the world, massive traffic jams were forming on the outskirts of towns at risk from tidal waves, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions, earth tremors, landslides, etc. Although the cause of some of these hazards could be traced back to human neglect and several decades of disregard for the most elementary concepts of universal ecology, there was no accounting for most of the disasters ravaging the world. The dangers remained inexplicable and unpredictable.
The traffic was so bad that the Runaways and Felons had almost missed the plane to Urumqi. Dragomira had been forced to use a discreet magical manoeuvre to clear away a broken-down car blocking the road. The bus had finally arrived at the airport less than an hour before take-off and tensions were running high. They were able to buy tickets very quickly since their destination was not very popular and the flight was far from full. However, the terminals were packed with hysterical passengers wanting to catch a plane out of danger at any cost. They had to use their elbows and, occasionally, their fists in this concrete jungle where civilized values were evaporating before their eyes. Oksa had been traumatized by a particularly nasty incident: one man had hurled himself at Marie and had thrown her to the floor to steal her wheelchair in the hope that appearing disabled might improve his chances of getting a ticket. Pavel and Naftali had immediately pinned him to the ground and had immobilized him with a Dozident Granok. Reminiscens and Zoe, still in shock at Mercedica’s death, had also been easy prey for various predatory men. Someone had snatched Reminiscens’ bag and Zoe had been punched in the shoulder trying to get it back. This time it was Tugdual who stepped in with magic, using a Magnetus to retrieve the bag and a Putrefactio to punish the lowlife who’d stolen it. A wave of panic had surged through the airport when the man’s arm had begun to rot, giving off a vile stench.
“You certainly don’t do things by halves, do you!” Oksa had exclaimed.
“You can say that again, Lil’ Gracious,” he’d remarked with an irresistible smile.
Remembering that scene, Oksa looked around for Tugdual. The Runaways and the Felons were sharing the same carriage on the train speeding into the heart of the Gobi Desert. Since the start of the journey, Tugdual and Gus had taken every opportunity to try to sit beside her, but neither of them had succeeded: Marie, Pavel, Dragomira or Abakum had claimed the “privilege”. Still, the two rivals kept a protective eye on the Young Gracious, as did Orthon, who was never far away… the Felon hadn’t stopped fuming since they’d left the island. Dragomira was a closed book: she wouldn’t let any information slip about their destination. All the Felons’ schemes had been thwarted by their unstinting vigilance. Even a truth potion, poured secretly into Baba Pollock’s tea, hadn’t allowed Orthon to achieve his ends.
“Orthon’s such a creep,” muttered Oksa, looking away from the Felon.
“What did you say, darling?” asked Marie.
The Young Gracious studied her mother sadly. Marie never complained about the pain, but her condition was deteriorating so obviously that she didn’t need to say anything. Over the last two days her face had turned a nasty grey colour and had become deeply lined. Her body was hunched over, wasted by illness.
“I was thinking that Orthon hasn’t spared our family much,” replied Oksa, with a heavy heart.
“You can say that again,” said her mother, blinking nervously. “How do you feel?”
“Um… like I’m crossing a crater full of molten lava on a tightrope. One false step and I’ll fall! Dragging everyone else down with me—you get the sort of thing?”
“Perfectly,” sighed Marie. “We’ll survive this!”
“Damn right we will,” said Oksa.
She focused on the sky traversed by long black streaks and the snow-covered hills, finding it soothing to gaze at such endless expanses. She watched the landscape for a while in a cocoon of lethargy, until her gaze reluctantly drifted towards Gus. He was in her line of sight, looking perfectly calm, although she was sure his expressionless mask concealed intense anxiety. Crossing the Gobi Desert seemed to bring out his Chinese side. Was he thinking about the woman who’d given birth to him and who was living somewhere in this vast country? Perhaps… unless his mind was fixed on the harsh reality of living on borrowed time.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, going to sit next to him.
“Nothing special,” he replied, moving away slightly.
“It’s a long journey…” she urged.
He hunched down in his seat and looked the other way. She
studied him out of the corner of her eye.
“Have I ever told you how much I love your company? You’re so… chatty!” she teased.
“Hey! Don’t come over here and annoy me just because you’re as bored as a sloth!”
Oksa chewed her lip and stretched out her legs. Studying the seat in front intently, she scratched the worn fabric and pulled out a loose thread.
“I’m not a sloth,” she said after a while.
Gus furtively glanced at her.
“Sorry.”
“Forget it!” she said, relieved that he was open to a suspension of hostilities.
She waited for him to continue, but he kept quiet, his forehead lined with worry.
“Are you trying to unpick that seat?” he asked suddenly.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” retorted Oksa, turning to look directly at him, her elbow propped on the headrest.
“Has it occurred to you that some of us might not be able to get into Edefia?” he asked tremulously.
Oksa looked at him wide-eyed, her chest tight.
“What do you mean?”
“What happens if all the Outsiders end up stranded at the entrance to Edefia?” continued Gus. “What happens if they’re not allowed in?”
Oksa scrubbed her hand over her face. Beads of cold sweat appeared on her forehead and her head swam as she was seized by a terrible fear.
“Why did you say that? Why do you have to think such awful things?”
Gus met her eyes. She flinched.
“I’m not the only one, Oksa. Everyone thinks the same, your parents, mine, Dragomira… You just want to bury your head in the sand. But just because something is ‘unthinkable’ doesn’t make it any less probable.”
“PROBABLE?!? But, Gus—”
The words caught in her throat. She looked around frantically. Her mother had her head on Pavel’s shoulder and he was gently stroking her hair. Marie suddenly looked up and gave him a crooked smile. Oksa’s heart turned over; she was suddenly convinced that Gus’s fears were far from being unfounded. Oksa looked round the carriage. Olof and his wife were cuddling Kukka; the Fortensky clan were discussing something in low voices; Cockerell was clutching his wife’s hands to his chest… The Felons were doing the same, she noticed: they were lavishing a great deal of attention on Outsiders. An unusual amount of attention? Her question remained unanswered; Gus had just tensed on his seat, his hands gripping the armrests. Was he having another attack? “Oh please, not another one,” pleaded Oksa in her head.
The Heart of Two Worlds Page 17
