“No,” I said.
“Can I talk with the little girl for a moment?” Abel said.
“Of course,” my mother said, pushing me in his direction.
“You are littler than me!” I hissed, out of Mother’s earshot.
“Friday, be prepared,” he said to me in a whisper, then turned and left, disappearing into the crowd that was gathering around the gardens.
“What was that?” said my mother. “I don’t understand. How do you know that person?”
“I don’t,” I lied.
“Then why did he say, Friday? I heard him say Friday from here.”
“He said that if I ever get a rabbit to name it Friday,” I said, mentally lashing Abel for his indiscretion. On the other hand, he did save us from the Boot, as though it was nothing but a game of charades to him.
“Let’s get home,” Mother said. “It’s what we were instructed to do. And he may be a Boot officer, but don’t think that you are getting a rabbit too.”
We walked in silence back to Jozseftown. When we arrived home, mother went straight to her room, closing the door quietly behind herself, secluded again. She would not emerge again for quite some time.
As IT TURNED OUT, I would see the Blackhearts before Friday. My mother, I could see, had submitted to a kind of forfeit, though there had been no actual battle. Now I had the run of the house, and Luma and I took full advantage of it. We did raucous exercises on the stairwell, splurged on delicacies from the black market: now that Luma was a champion he was developing an appetite for finer foods. I stopped short of buying him a tin of Kaspian caviar, instead opting for cheaper roe of carp from the Pava River. I knew in my heart that we were behaving badly—people were struggling to just feed themselves in my own neighborhood; but for once I was able to indulge myself, and I was going to do it, all the while without a peep coming from behind mother’s door.
The chaos inside my house was only matched by the tense quiet on the streets outside. Boot incursions into the neighborhood were becoming more and more frequent. A man was flogged on Goat Square when it was discovered he had not surrendered his gold tooth; dragonka pups were captured from secret hatcheries. More worrisome, notices were tacked to the lampposts offering a thousand kuna for the deliverance of any dragonka to the Boot Guard, provided the beast was alive and not over a year old. What the Palace wanted with the dragonka was still a mystery to me. All the same, I would have to be doubly sure to keep Luma under wraps and at home.
I wanted to hear what the people of the neighborhood were saying about Archibald at the market, but with no school to attend I had begun to wake up later and later. The shopkeepers were notorious early risers, and were usually done with their trade by early afternoon, but that day I was just in time to catch a few of the last stragglers. I wove in and out of stout women’s legs, hanging around quietly until I heard Archibald’s name.
“They say he is quite sick,” said one woman, handing a few kuna to a vendor selling onions and turnips.
“Who is ‘they’?” said another.
“The same they as last time,” joked the woman. “Just they.”
“Only an operation can save him, but nobody dares try,” chimed in another.
“It is an issue of the heart,” said the grocer. “His heart is bad.”
“Bad?” said the young mother. “Try rotten through and through!”
“Shhh, shhh, now,” said the older woman when she noticed I was listening in. It was funny to be taken for a spy. A mischievous spirit overtook me, and just to make them nervous I took a pen and piece of paper from my bag and began to write.
“Oh!” exclaimed the grocer. “That’s just Petra K. Pay no mind to her. Jozsef K’s daughter, you know.”
“My,” cooed the older woman. My father had a reputation indeed. “Come here, child, and let me look at you. Daughter of the Thief of Hearts.”
But nothing made me more nervous than old-woman hands, so I backed away.
“And to think we were afraid of her,” added the young mother. “She has the blood of Pava’s greatest criminal running in her veins.” That’s the problem with information, sometimes you just want a sip, but a whole wave comes splashing down on your head. Then, instantaneously, my attention was drawn elsewhere. Across the square, I was sure I spotted Zsofia. I had not seen her since that night outside my window, a few weeks ago. Now was my chance to catch up with her.
I started after Zsofia quickly, but in no time she was lost in the crowd. I searched and searched until I saw her disappearing around a corner into a causeway that led away from Goat Square. I had lost her once on her mysterious late-night jaunt through Jozseftown, and I wasn’t about to let it happen again. I followed her, but she was rushing, so it was all I could do to keep her in the distance ahead. I called out to her, but in an instant she expertly scaled the wall that enclosed the Jozseftown cemetery. I saw that she had used a tendril of ivy to help her over, so I took a deep breath and started after her.
I looked around the famous Zsida cemetery from my place high on the wall. The graves were packed so close to each other that the gravestones fanned out from the ground like a hand of sloppily held cards. Notes to the dead, kept in place by silver coins, were balanced on the tops of some of the stones—even in these destitute times people still offered the coins—such was the strength of superstition in Jozseftown.
After I jumped down onto the other side I began to doubt my wisdom in coming here. The place felt unnatural, and there was a fine mist forming in the air, seemingly coming from nowhere. There was no sign of Zsofia, but I could sense that she was here. I walked in between the gravestones, rounded crypts, and mausoleums, trying to spot her. It was totally dark by now, though the mist gave off an eerie green glow. I called out her name. The only response was the call of a raven that sat on a gravestone watching me quizzically.
There, from behind the door of a mausoleum ahead of me, came a glow. I approached on silent feet, dashing from tomb to tomb for cover. Once I was close, I peered around the stone. From where I hid I could see a shadow passing in front of the light, and heard a rustling coming from inside the mausoleum. I crept to the door quietly and pressed my head to where it was cracked open. The place was empty. Where had Zsofia gone? I pushed back the door and entered. After a thorough search I concluded that there was no other exit. But she had to have been here: I could smell, hanging faintly in the air, the black vial perfume from Ludmilla’s.
Chapter 11
That night came the dreams of gnashing fangs, of an invisible, formless evil chasing me in the fog: a shared nightmare with Luma, who shuddered beside me. I awoke, sitting bolt upright in bed. Somebody was watching me as I slept. A hooded figure hovered there, outside my window. Wormwood had followed me, he had come to take Luma. The window frame rattled as it was jarred loose, and before I had time to react, the window was thrown open and the figure tumbled into my room.
“You should lock your window at night,” said Abel.
“What are you doing here?” I said.
“There was a change of plans,” he answered.
“What do you mean?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.
“Hey! A frog!” he said, picking up one of my stuffed animals and making a croaking sound. “Wow, you’ve really got everything.”
“Quiet, you’ll wake my mom,” I said.
“Somebody should,” he replied snidely. “Sleepwalking around the Palace is not safe.” I knew Abel was right, but still I didn’t like anybody criticizing my mother but me.
“Enough. Now what change of plans are you talking about?”
“The tournament. It has been moved.”
“What tournament? Where?”
“The next tournament. It’s outside the city now,” he whispered. “It has become too risky to stage them at the old Exchange. Boot guards are coming and going at all hours these days, and several dragonka were even turned in to them by their owners.”
“So where is the next Maiden and Minor Pup?”
“In a town near the Lower Tatras,” he said.
“But I can’t travel that far from home,” I said. “I need to take care of my mother.”
“Then you will have to give Luma to us for the night,” Abel responded.
I considered this for a moment. If I wanted to continue earning our keep through Luma, I felt I would have to agree.
“How do I know you will bring him back?” I said.
“Do you think I would have saved you from the Boot in the Palace Gardens if I planned on stealing Luma?” said Abel. “Look, nobody will tell you this, but Luma is not the same when you are not around. He pouts like his world is doomed, doesn’t let Isobel apply the sparkles, and he even nipped my finger when I tried to feed him some pomegranate seeds.”
I could not conceal my pleasure on hearing this, and a smile broke out across my face.
“Don’t laugh,” said Abel. “It hurt.”
“I’m not laughing,” I said.
“Yeah, right,” said Abel, who began to investigate my room.
“So we agree,” I said.
“Sure,” replied Abel blithely.
“So you should leave,” I said.
“Oh,” rejoined Abel. “The only thing is, I need to take Luma tonight. The tournament is tomorrow.”
“What? Why are you telling me now?”
Abel just shrugged, and kept playing with the stuffed frog.
When I went to wake Luma, he protested fiercely, spitting at us through the bars of his cage. “You shouldn’t surprise us like this,” I said to Abel. “I’m going to have to take him as far as your lair. You can give him some lavendula to calm him for the trip.”
“Why don’t you just come with us?” said Abel.
I thought about my mother, how she would react if I just disappeared, or if she would react at all.
“I can’t,” I said. “I have a home, Abel.” His face momentarily fell. That was the real difference between us, not the stuffed frogs or schooling: I had a home, something Abel might never know.
“Fine,” he finally responded. “Just get him as far as the lair.” Then he put the frog down, went to the window, and slipped out, silent as a breeze. I thought for a second, feeling bad without any real reason to. I opened Luma’s cage and pulled him out. I stroked him until he was calm, put on my jacket, and tucked him and the portable nest into the inner pocket. I started out the window, then thought of something. I pulled myself back inside, then went and grabbed the stuffed frog.
“Hey Abel,” I called out my window. When he looked up, I tossed the frog out. He caught it, and couldn’t contain the smile it brought to his face. After that, I slipped from the window and joined him on the dark Jozseftown street.
Luma sensed our impending separation and it was all I could do to keep him from escaping from my coat. Dawn was breaking in the neighborhood: I could even see a few stalls being set up on Goat Square Market. There was a kind of silence on the streets, a silence that spoke, like a hot wind before a thunderstorm. Something was about to happen, this was clear to me. Oblivious, the rest of the city carried on as normal: street sweepers brushed the dust and trash from the gutters, and revelers sang drunkenly on their way home from long nights at the pubs. On the corner, an automaton creaked awake, a light glowing from behind its glass eye, seeking customers. An old beggar man stopped us to ask for alms. Abel handed over a few kuna. The thousand kuna that the Boot were offering would buy a lot of meals. I wondered just how many of these people would turn in Luma and me for the sake of that money.
Before long we came to the metal grate and descended into the sewers. Deklyn and Isobel were there, awake and ready to travel. I set Luma down on the table. He looked about anxiously, until Isobel fed him a petal of lavendula that she had produced from a vial. He took it greedily from her fingertips, and before long was snoozing on the card table.
“When will you be back?” I asked.
“It depends on Luma, but if he wins, not until tomorrow night.”
Something wasn’t right. Nobody was speaking much, or looking me in the eye.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“Nothing,” Abel was quick to answer.
“Yes, there is,” I insisted.
“Jasper was arrested near the palace,” Deklyn finally said. “He was trying to make contact with the other resistance movements.”
“What?” shrieked Abel.
“We just heard. Anyway, we have to move now. There is no time to waste. Petra K, it is time for you to leave. We have to plan.”
“Come,” said Isobel, taking me by the hand. “Deklyn needs to be alone right now.”
“But he is not alone,” I protested. “Even if I leave, he is not alone.”
“It is better if you get home right now. It is not safe here.”
In a daze, I let Isobel take me by the arm and escort me out. I found myself on the street. I began to walk home with a bad feeling in my stomach. Something was happening that I was not being told about, something more than Jasper. I was suddenly unsure if I could fully trust the Blackhearts.
In my path stood an old Half Not woman. I could see that she was blind, but she sensed me all the same, and beckoned me forward to read my fortune. Half Nots were famous for the accuracy of their fortunetelling, so I complied, taking a kuna from my pocket and placing it in her grimy hand. After I did that she began to run her fingers over my own palm, tracing the lines of my hand.
“Ahhh,” she moaned, her eyes rolling back into her head. “Mists of the night clearing! River clay molding itself! Betrayal is at hand! And it comes from one so close to you! You are in great danger. The time is now, you must act.” With that, the Half Not dropped my hand, her eyes becoming lucid for a moment. I would swear she could see, for she put her hand to my face and whispered, “So much depends upon it, Petra K.”
She knew my name! I knew right then that I had been betrayed by the Blackhearts. After the tournament, they were going to turn Luma in to the Boot and claim the money. I rushed back to the grate, lifted it, and descended into the sewer. I ran along the dark old passageways until I got to their lair.
I was too late. The place was empty. Barely a trace of the Blackhearts remained, just a few blankets and vials of useless potion. Jasper’s model of Ruki Mur was gone as well, though a few spare limbs lay discarded in the corner. The gang had instantly vanished.
I would have to catch up with them. This meant somehow getting to the Lower Tatras. Could I actually do something like that? I had never taken a train by myself, and only been out of the city on a few trips with my mother to pick apples.
I returned home, throwing open the front door rather than climbing up the ivy. But when I entered the foyer, I was greeted by two uniformed Boot officers and a man in a white lab coat.
“That’s her,” said the doctor. One of the Boot officers moved quickly to block my escape. The other closed in on me. I made a start toward the door but was grabbed from behind. He held me firmly by my arms, and struggle as I might, I could not escape. The doctor approached. He put the back of his hand to my forehead, then looked me closely in the eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “A case of dragonka fever in its incubation. But don’t worry, child, we will take care of you.” It was then that I noticed: in his other hand he held a dragon-headed staff. I registered the deathly astringent smell of camphor. It was Wormwood. He was not a trader at all, but an agent of the Boot.
Before they took me, I saw the door to mother’s bedroom open but a crack. I saw a shape darken that space, and then I saw it close. I called out to her—the woman who had betrayed me, the woman who had turned me over to the Boot. I was dragged from the house, without a peep from Katalin K.
Chapter 12
In a Boot cart I was taken on a familiar route: to the Pava School. Only now, from the building’s main entrance hall hung two long red and black banners, with Archibald’s Imperial symbol—a golden eye—peering out from it, as though gazing across the domain of the sch
oolyard. I saw two more Imperial insignias where the Pava School sign once was. Only now it read “Pava Youth Guard Facility.” Gone were the peacocks, and the flower gardens had been torn up, replaced by statues of Archibald. The guard escorted me into the building. With one whiff, memories of school came rushing back. They could change the name and hang posters of Archibald up and down the hallways, but the place still smelled like my old school.
As we passed one of the classrooms, I peered in. There were all my old classmates, minus Zsofia, concentrating on the lesson, delivered by a uniformed teacher.
“That is not for you,” said my escort. “Not yet. The Number One Play Pal’s teachings are still beyond you.”
There it was again, that silly name people had invented for the dictator. “Why don’t you just call him Archibald?” I said.
“Some do,” the escort answered. “But that is just one aspect of him. Here, he is Number One Play Pal. It is something of a nickname, because you are blessed with the advantage of enjoying the great fun our leader has to offer. You will realize there is no better playmate than our leader.”
We arrived at a basement room, the door was opened, and I was pushed into darkness.
“Quarantine,” the guard said, and then she locked the door and left me there, alone. I could not see an inch ahead of me, so I felt with my hands until I found a mattress on the floor. There I sat and waited. But nobody came. So I waited more. And more.
And still more.
THERE IS NO SUCH THING as darkness. That is what I came to realize. If you are put in a blackened cell for hours, days at a time, you create your own light. Where it comes from I don’t know, perhaps the tiny part of your mind where hope still shines. But there in front of me was Luma again, in a waking dream, frolicking in the air with his strange cursive flying. He was alive; he was well. I could feel it in my heart. I knew then that the Blackhearts had not betrayed me. It was my mother and my mother alone whom the Half Not fortuneteller had spoken of. Had my mother told them about my pet, or had she simply gotten rid of me like a house-plant that had outgrown its space? For that answer I would have to wait. And wait I did. I have no idea how long, because without the sun the days smeared into the night, night smudged into day, the whole thing a dark murky painting of time. But why did I feel no hunger? There had to be a reason for the madness, unless it was just for the sake of madness.
Petra K and the Blackhearts Page 9
