Petra K and the Blackhearts

by M Henderson Ellis

  Chapter 14

  Again I awoke back in my darkened cell in the Dream Chamber. I had to get out of that room. I screamed and kicked against the door, but it would not budge. I felt along the wall for a crack I could chip away at, but there was none. The only sound was that of Lapis quietly panting above me. Again, I hit the door as hard as I could. After I realized I was helpless, I quietly withdrew into myself again. I prayed only for light and company. Any company but that of Lapis, who maintained his vigil above me—keeping me awake. How I regretted running loose from my mother’s control.

  MUCH LATER, I finally heard the telltale sound of footsteps approaching from the hall. They stopped outside the Dream Chamber. The door opened slowly, and I cowered in the corner. But when I saw who it was, I sprang from my place: there was my mother. She was dressed up again, wearing a sleek black jacket; her hair was smartly trimmed. She held me to her as never before. Then she put her face up to mine and brushed the small tears from my cheeks.

  “Everything will be alright,” she said. “I love you, Petra K.”

  “I want to go home,” I said.

  “This is home from now on,” she said.

  “No!” I said.

  “I can’t stay long,” she said. “Tell me, Petrushka, where is Luma now?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly.

  “Don’t be like that,” she said. My mother was never a convincing liar, and now I detected something false in her voice. “The sooner all of those beasts are off the street, the sooner we can be together again.”

  “But what do they want with the dragonka? What does it even matter?”

  “It is for their protection. Terrible things are happening to them.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to tell you. Oh, Petrushka, these child gangs are selling them abroad. People are making handbags out of them. Shoes, wallets, whatever you want.”

  “That’s not true,” I said.

  “It is, and if you had believed me from the start about them, you never would have been in this mess,” she said. “Everything is being done for their protection—and yours.” I hung down my head and closed my eyes in thought. I have to confess that my suspicions about the Blackhearts crept back in. Why did they take Luma away? Where was he now? How I missed my mother, and how I would love to boil a pot for her tea again. But wait—wasn’t she right here? How did I miss her if she was right here with me? I looked up again, but there was nobody. Where had she gone? The door was closed, but I had not heard her leave. Was it possible that she was not in the Dream Chamber at all? That I was only imagining her?

  It was then I realized that—like magic—the nightmares of the Dream Chamber came from me and nobody else. What I experienced is what I brought in with me. With that thought, I began to empty my mind. I tried to erase the memory of the shy Petra K who was afraid of her classmates; I banished my angry mother from my mind as well. Her place was at home, not here with me.

  Something cracked in me, all my emotion and self-pity and grief spilled out in that dark room. The tears were simply the still water drawn from the bottom of a very deep well. After I was finished, there was nothing left inside. I was an empty space waiting to be filled.

  Before long, footsteps sounded outside the door again. The small figure of Bianka stood in the opened frame.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I am ready to play.” But what I really meant was, “I am ready to play along.”

  IN CLASS AGAIN, Miss Kavanova held up a wallet for display, then a handbag, and then a belt.

  “Pure well-tanned dragonka leather,” she said, leveling her gaze at me. “Available at any Kina shop abroad.”

  “Where did you get that?” Bianka gasped.

  “It is not important,” she said. “But if you are willing to pay, you can even get them in Pava, on the black market.”

  “But how can they do that?” I asked, standing, feeling outrage rise within me.

  Miss Kavanova smiled, and walked over to me. She placed her hand on my shoulder. For the first time, she felt like my old teacher.

  “Don’t blame them too much,” she said. “They have not had an education like you. What they need is protection. Protection from themselves. That is what the Number One Play Pal offers. Isn’t that right, Margo?”

  “Yes,” Margo responded.

  “Who is ‘them’?” I asked.

  “Oh, I think you know them well. How do you think they survive? Children like those little monster Blackhearts.”

  “I see,” I said, though I really didn’t.

  “That young boy, the one from playtime a few nights ago. Jasper? Do you know how they caught him? He was arrested with an illegal muse of dragonka while meeting a Kina trafficker under the Karlow Bridge. He knew their fate would be in the tanneries or on the plates of a foreign fat cat. But, luckily, the Kina trafficker was actually a Boot agent in disguise.”

  I swallowed my objections.

  “Tatiana, call the hour to attention.”

  “Minutes, get in a circle!” barked Tatiana. Again the class jumped from their seats, surrounded Miss Kavanova, and counted off. When it came to my turn, I counted too. “One Fifty,” I shouted.

  “Now we have a complete hour,” said Miss Kavanova, as though that settled some unresolved question in her mind. “Class, what is a clock?”

  “A heart without music!” the class answered in unison.

  “One Fifty,” she said, addressing me. “What is a clock?”

  “A heart without music,” I answered dutifully.

  “Then let’s go find some music! Let’s make a heart today!” she said. “Class, take One Fifty on field duty today.” A twitter of excitement rippled through the class. Field duty was obviously something special.

  After we were dismissed from class, we parked ourselves in front of the mirror in our bunkroom. You would have thought the class was going to a ball, the way they fussed over their uniforms and hair, pulling it back in severe tight buns, then tucking it under their black caps. I imitated them, because now I wanted to seem as much a part of the troop as possible. When we were ready, we waited by the front door for Miss Kavanova to dispatch with us. She arrived and handed Tatiana an envelope.

  “Read it when you are outside,” she said. “And have fun!” With that she flung open the door, and we marched out.

  WE FOLLOWED TATIANA out of the school gardens and to the winding streets beneath the Palace. The people of the city treated me differently now that I was a member of the Youth Guard: bodies made way, conversations hushed as we passed. It was as though our uniforms were a kind of armor that protected us against the gloom that now hovered over Pava; like we were angels spinning music above the storm clouds.

  When we got to the market, we were given what we wanted for free. The vendors forced smiles at us as they handed us fruit and poppy buns, but I could sense the fear behind their gestures. Was I the only one who heard their grumbling behind our backs as we left? We took our breakfast to the Palace gates so we could watch the Boot Guard come and go. Tatiana picked out her favorite guards and swooned as though they were moving-picture stars. After some time, she read the envelope Miss Kavanova had given her. Her eyes flashed between the paper and me.

  “What’s in it?” asked Sonia.

  “I don’t want to tell you,” she responded demurely.

  “Come on! What are we supposed to do?” asked Margo.

  “Jozseftown,” she responded direly.

  Then she handed the paper to me. One word was written there: Luma.

  I must have looked shocked, because Tatiana put her hand on my knee, consolingly. “It is a rescue mission,” she said.

  “But how did they know?” I asked.

  “Of course they know,” she said. “They know where each and every Jozseftown dragonka is. It is just a matter of extracting them, like veins of gold in a dangerous underground mine. You pull too hard, and the whole thing will come tumbling down on
you. It was only a matter of finding the right tool.”

  “That’s what I am, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “The right tool,” I said.

  “You can do a lot of good here,” said Tatiana, evading my question. “I know we never really liked each other. But I have to tell you, this is the right thing to do. The way they are treating the dragonka. This is the only way to save them. My own beast, Sabadka, was personally selected by Archibald for the Palace collection. I know he is getting the best treatment, the best food, the best of everything.”

  “I tried to save Luma,” I said.

  “You still can,” said Tatiana. “Just take us to him.”

  “I will,” I said, wondering if playing along was going to get me in more trouble than I’d expected.

  WE PLOTTED OUR INCURSION into Jozseftown. It was agreed that I would take off my Youth Guard badge and precede the group as a kind of scout. But before we stopped at the Jozseftown gate, Tatiana pulled a map from her waist pouch. She unfolded it and smoothed it out on the cobblestone in front of us. “I hate this map. It makes no sense. It follows the sewers, but what are all these other things?” she said, exasperated. Indeed, it wasn’t just the sewer system on the map: I could see the demarcations of the routes of the pneumatic mail system, complete with a coded legend in the margins. Tatiana traced her finger over our route, apparently unaware that she held one of the last remaining maps of its kind, if not the very last. I don’t know why I violently fought the urge to tell her what it was. My mouth only locked up when I tried.

  “OK, Petra K—I mean, One Fifty—will lead us from a distance above ground, then we will go underground until we find the Blackhearts’ lair.” She looked slyly up at me, then back at the map again when she registered that I had noted her mistake. It crossed my mind that Tatiana was playing along as well. It was the first time I had ever seen her blush.

  “I think I should handle the map,” I said. “I mean, it might be easier for me to find the path there. After all, I am from Jozseftown.”

  “Yeah,” she said, handing me the map. “I can’t read this thing at all. I will make you the underground navigator. I am troop leader, so I have that power. Agent One Twenty, you have a city map, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Sonia responded.

  Tatiana handed me the map. I folded it into my pocket and then began to play my part. I took my armband off and went into Jozseftown just as I had left: Petra K. Even in the short period I had been away, things had changed in the neighborhood. Posters of Archibald lined the street, like a thousand pairs of secret eyes spying on passersby. But there were so few passersby to speak of. It was like the place had been emptied of humankind. When I walked past open windows, they shut as if on their own. Curtains were pulled tight, and doors of shops slammed like the sound of falling dominoes behind me. The place looked drained of color and charm. I felt my heart strain, then immediately rebelled against that feeling. Feelings are sortable; you can take them and push them away if you like, or tweeze out the ones you want if you choose to. The problem is they don’t really go away. That is what was happening to me as I passed through Jozseftown. Feelings that I didn’t want, that didn’t work like clockwork, were surfacing within me. I was angry, but I missed it here, too. Above all, I wanted to find and protect Luma, even if it meant sacrificing the Blackhearts.

  I stopped at the sewer grate by the broken fish fountain. I looked behind me to make sure the others registered where I was. I pried the grate open with my fingers. I looked around me before descending down into the city’s depths again. I could smell the familiar dankness, but it was somehow different. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the sewers appeared deserted. I should have been afraid there, but I felt no fear, only a justness and dedication toward my mission. I wondered where the other girls were, but at the same time felt no need for their support. I would handle the Blackhearts.

  But, as it turned out, there was no handling to be done, because their lair was still deserted. A few empty potion bottles lay around, overturned on the damp floor. Otherwise there was no sign of them. I looked about hopelessly. I despaired I would never know where Luma had gone. Then I heard a noise behind me. I turned, expecting to find Abel or Rufus, but instead there was the small Kubikula girl, Sytia, the one Deklyn had greeted when we visited their camp. She looked both fearful and curious, and almost human in those capacities. I went to her, and she immediately flung herself at me, clinging to my chest and letting out a sorrowful wail.

  “Sytia,” I said. “What is wrong?”

  Before she could answer, from down the sewer corridor a troop of Boot officers sprang forth. The first one tore the girl from me, while the rest stormed the room. They overturned the remaining mattresses and flung the empty vials against the wall.

  “Where are the Blackhearts, Agent One Fifty?” a Boot officer I had never met before bellowed at me.

  “I don’t know,” I responded. I looked around for the rest of my troop, but they were no longer behind me.

  “Take the Kubikula,” he said, turning from me to his colleague. “Let’s see what she knows.”

  “She doesn’t know anything; she can’t even speak,” I said. The officer made no indication that he had heard me. He merely continued surveying the empty room and shaking his head. He had expected more.

  “I said, she can’t talk,” I repeated. “You shouldn’t take her anywhere.”

  “Dirty Kubikula. Their days of subversion are numbered,” he said. “And take her, too,” he said of me. “A lot of good she has done for us,” he added spitefully. It was then that I knew I had been used. The girls were never going to show up. It was part of a plan that they had kept from me. Like Tatiana said: I was a tool, and had been used as such.

  They threw us into the back of a Boot cart again. Sytia crawled to me and shivered against my side. Though I found her a bit repulsive, especially in the sunshine, where her skin looked unnaturally green and scaly, I pulled her close to me to give her comfort. I had little to give but I gave it anyway. She cried silently on my shoulder, shielding her eyes from the light.

  I suppose it was my own fault for finding myself where I was. If I had “played along” from the start, as Bianka suggested, I am sure I would have been treated as an equal by the Youth Guard. If I had been more generous in my judgment of the Blackhearts, they might have accepted me as one of their own, instead of treating me like a strange, foreign cousin. But I had no choice but to be Petra K—and if that meant being alone, then that is what I would accept.

  When we arrived back at the Pava Youth Guard Facility, they had to tear Sytia from me, then carry her off over the shoulder of a large Boot officer. I was surprised that I was not taken from the cart as well, for more time in the Dream Chamber. Instead they closed the back door, pulled the hatch down, and we continued on our way. It was not long before I discovered that I was being taken toward the Palace. Then, the gated walls to the Palace itself were thrown open, and the cart was driven onto the grounds. There we stopped, and I was pulled out, lifted over a shoulder, and carried through a small back door of the great building. I was delivered to a room, then pushed inside. After the officer’s footsteps receded down the hallway, I flew at the door, only to find it locked. When I realized I would not escape that way, I turned and looked around myself. There was no window, but there was a soft, well-dressed bed. In fact, it was the biggest bed I had ever been in, with pillows like a small mountain range across the head. Moreover, there were fresh-cut scarlet tulipan in a crystal vase, and a bottle of juniper-flavored soda water on the nightstand. I drank the soda greedily. After some time, I lay my head down and fell asleep.

  LATER, WHEN I WOKE, I found a new clean dress on the clothing rack. Mine had become so ratty, there was nothing to do but accept the offering and put it on. But just who was offering it?

  It was then that I heard a distant singing. Not that of human voices, but that of dragonka. I went to the door to better hear. Yes, there was a ch
orus of dragonka somewhere in the Palace! I twisted the knob, only this time I found it open. Out of the room I crept. Down the hall I snuck, toward the sound of the dragonka song. Soon I came to a door. The charm of the chorus was coming from behind it, so I pushed it open. I discovered that I was outside, and it was the dead of night. The autumn Pava air was cold and unmoving, as if petrified by the dragonka song. I started in the direction of the sound. As I wandered I realized I was in a sprawling garden. It was no doubt Archibald’s private space: there were great lavendula plants straining toward the moon (unlike most flowers, they lived off moonlight), and winter violettas bursting in glowing, radiant purple. The moonlight gave everything a silver sheen like a fading photo still.

  Down a side path I strode, drawn by the noises. Entering a huge courtyard revealed their source. I had come upon the greatest collection of dragonka I had ever seen. Some were restrained from the neck with leather collars, flying about in frustrated circles; others (smaller ones and kiš-dragonka) were kept in large pens and great heated glass terrariums. Some had burning, translucent bellies, which lit up the night, little orbs of wonder. I had never seen anything like it. The spectrum of colors was fantastic: every shade and type imaginable was held there. At my approach, their excitement grew. One—a small umber-red pup—raced up my shirtsleeve, desperate for attention. Others buzzed in the air, executing magnificent tricks, hoping I would notice them. Tiny muses of kiš-dragonka burned luminescent in the night like fireflies, creating spectacular patterns in their confinement. I held the red dragonka that had jumped on me until it calmed.