Petra K and the Blackhearts

by M Henderson Ellis

  Tatiana turned and looked Bianka in the eye, her lips tight with rage. Then she struck her. Bianka appeared stunned, then struck Tatiana back. Sonia and Margo jumped between them, trying to pull one from the other. A glance passed between Deklyn and me, and we both set off running.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” shouted Tatiana. “Go after them!” But her command took some seconds to follow, during which time we were able to disappear behind a closed door, using a chair to prop it closed. But instead of even searching the room, we heard their arguing voices travel past the door.

  “Luma!” I said. Soon it would be too late.

  “Quiet!” commanded Deklyn. “We can’t help him from the dungeons.”

  “No!” I shouted. I felt a tear in my chest. It was like I was being cut open as well. I went sprawling on the floor. Deklyn knelt down and held me in his arms. The pain was too much for me to keep quiet.

  “Go!” I yelled at Deklyn. “Go now! The operation is beginning!” He looked torn, his face tight with fret. He bent over and kissed my forehead. I could just see the top of the black heart poking from the top of his blouse. I concentrated on the image—holding the broken black heart there in my mind—to try to calm myself, to keep it in my head and push the pain out. By the time I opened my eyes, Deklyn had removed the chair from the door and had fled the room. I let my head fall back, and cried out in pain. It was too much. I took the dragonka voice machine from my pocket and cranked the handle. The soft song lulled me. Soon, I was asleep.

  In a place in my dreams the dragonka song found me. A figure appeared to me momentarily, its form transparent, like the outline of a body emerging from the fog.

  “I cannot stay long,” the shape said. I could see that his outline was vague, blending into the wall behind him. “The spirit world has a claim on me, and it is difficult to hold my form.”

  “Father?” I said, startled by my sudden realization. I started to get up, but he halted me with a wave of his ghostly hand.

  “It will do no good,” he laughed. “Your touch would go right through me.”

  “There is so much I want to ask,” I said.

  “We don’t have time now,” he replied.

  “But … what happened to you … Mother said—”

  “Petra K, listen to me,” said Jozsef K. “I want to talk to you and tell you everything that happened. My life was complicated, and ended too soon.”

  “Ended?”

  “Like I said, I live in the spirit world, Petra K.”

  “But you are here now,” I said. “Are you one of them? Do you work for the spirits?”

  “I did. I had no choice. There is a gateway in the Palace to the spirit world. I steal in, I steal out. I steal. The Haints needed help in attaining materials for their experiments, so I helped. I am not proud. But I quit when I discovered their real purpose.”

  “You tried to drown Luma,” I said. “How could you do that? You don’t go deserting helpless things to their fates. It’s not fair!”

  “I can’t explain it all,” he said. “Besides, you saved him. Now the entire responsibility is on your shoulders.”

  Then my father began to fade. He waved his arms around in front of himself like a blind man.

  “Are you there? Are you there Petra K?”

  “Yes, Father,” I said.

  “I am sorry, Petra K.”

  “Goodbye,” he said. “I am fading, for good right now. But if you play the dragonka song, you will be able to call my presence, if not in shape, then in feeling.”

  “Goodbye,” I said, and then he was once again lost to me.

  WHEN I WOKE, I WAS ALONE. The door was wide open, and the pain had disappeared from my chest. I ran my finger along the spot where the attack had been, but felt nothing except smooth skin. It was as though the cut had healed. Luma was safe, I could feel it: I still felt his presence. Deklyn had succeeded.

  I heard footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway, approaching. It would be Deklyn, I was sure, come to retrieve me. We would return to Jozseftown, and I would go home, to where I belonged, with the dragonka free from harm. We would have festivals, and I would invite the Blackhearts to live with us in the spare rooms of our house. We would live happily.

  A child’s shape crossed into the doorway. Archibald appeared neither young nor old, but ageless, his face looking like a shrunken apple. He was beatific. Now that he had the heart of a dragonka, the heart of Luma.

  “Are you well?” he asked.

  “I should ask you the same thing,” I said bitterly.

  “The Haints are waiting in the ballroom. We are going to have a celebration. Every child in the Youth Guard had a birthday, and now it is my turn. We did not want to start without you.”

  I ignored the invitation. “So all this dragonka fever, all the quarantine was about finding the dragonka that was growing your heart?”

  “It was the Haints’ doing. It is what they have worked on for so long. For longer than either of us have been alive. But look! We are both alive now! Let us go and celebrate. You can live here with me. I already asked the Haints. They say it is OK. They are not mad at you at all. In fact, Wormwood is quite fond of you.”

  “I would never live here with you,” I said levelly, but not as cruelly as I had hoped. I could feel that the attraction to Luma now had me confused about Archibald. He was so familiar in his presence, with Luma’s heart.

  “Don’t say that. I feel that you could do good in the Palace affairs. You could have a whole muse of golden dragonka to yourself. As many as you want. You wouldn’t even have to care for them, it would all be done for you.”

  “Where is Deklyn?” I said.

  “Your other friend?” he asked, and not without jealousy.

  “My only friend,” I said.

  Archibald looked stung. “He and his organization are still a threat, or so say the Haints. He is going to be sent to the mines. It is out of my control.”

  “So, you say you are a human now?”

  “Yes,” he stated calmly.

  “Without a mechanical heart?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will make you a deal,” I said.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “I’ll stay if you can do one thing.”

  “What?”

  I took an empty potion vial from my pocket. “Fill it with tears. Pay me in tears, and then we’re even.” Archibald looked at me with surprise. I closed my eyes. I waited as Archibald held the vial in front of himself.

  “It’s no use …” he said.

  “Then just one tear,” I said.

  “I can’t,” he said, handing the vial back.

  “Then let Deklyn and the other Blackhearts go, let the dragonka live free, and I will stay.”

  Archibald looked touched, as though he actually might cry. I felt nothing but pity for him, my brother in spirit.

  “It shall be done.…” he said.

  “It shall not,” came a voice from behind Archibald. It was Wormwood, who had been listening outside the door. He entered the room. He was wearing a black dinner jacket, ready for the celebration of Archibald’s perpetual reign.

  “Come now,” he said. “The Ministry of Unlikely Occurrences is expecting the both of you. Petra K, you will find your dress in the wardrobe.”

  Archibald smiled at me. It was clear he was used to being directed by the Haints; that his own will had dissolved under the direction of theirs. But somewhere inside him was a piece of Luma, and I still had control over that part. I could tell by the way he could not take his eyes off me, as though looking for my approval.

  “Very well,” I said. “I will put on the dress and join you. But you must not leave my side all night.”

  “Absolutely,” he stated, eyes entranced with me. “And you will stay with me in the Palace. I shall learn to cry. For you.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes you will.”

  I CHANGED WHILE Archibald waited outside the room. Now that I had his confidence, I
was going to use it to its fullest. At the very least, I would be able to kill him, even if it meant risking my own life. I owed Luma, Deklyn, and Jozseftown that much. After I had dressed, Archibald escorted me to the ballroom in the cellar, where the Haints were already comfortably into their celebration. The room was spectacularly changed from when I was last there. Crepe-paper depictions of the Haints festooned the walls; alchemists and charlatans alike were mixing with each other. Sonia was there, but the other girls were absent. Moreover, leaders from the Zsida and Half Not community were present, as were members of Pava society; even a few members of the Stink Clovers. The Palace doors had been thrown open, now that the Haints had nothing to fear. It was like everybody had just given up. The spirits of murdered dragonka floated harmlessly above.

  “Come on,” he said, tugging me into the room by my hand, toward the Haints. “May I present you to Jacob of Mangolia?” said Archibald. I recognized him as the general I had met earlier. “There was a time when he could weave yarn into gold.”

  “Hello,” I said as politely as I could. An elegantly dressed man glided across the ballroom. “And Nester Nessesarian,” said the dictator. Nester had formerly been on the chariot. “Inventor of the fire stone, still available at certain Zsida shops.” Another Haint drifted over. And so it happened, one after the other was introduced to me. Some even apologized for the way I was treated. Forthrightly, a ghastly looking string band struck up a waltz. The Haints began to dance, twirling each other around expertly.

  “They dance well,” I said to Archibald.

  “They are not bad spirits,” he said. “They are not evil, not like you think. It is just that they want to stay here, in this world. In this palace. Who wouldn’t, after all?”

  We watched from the side of the room. The Haints poured mead and amber-sweet wine down their gullets. They flew under tables and around chairs, chasing anybody who showed fear. They were repulsive, and the room reeked with the smell of their living death. I did my best to stay still, as Archibald had instructed.

  “Aren’t they wonderful?” Archibald said.

  “Oh yes, they are super,” I lied.

  “Come, let’s dance,” he said.

  “So, if you had died, the Haints would have withered away.”

  “Eventually, yes. Or they would have been cast out of the Palace. I saved them, you see. And they saved me. You can see how happy they have been made.”

  Archibald took me by the waist and swayed awkwardly to the music. I looked at him: he appeared transcendent.

  “I want you to try something with me,” I said. “It’s a game we can play.”

  “Oh good. I love playing with you.”

  “Breathe at the same rate as me,” I said.

  “Like this?” he asked, synchronizing his breathing with mine.

  If it was true that Isobel could meld with Luma’s heart, then I could do the same with Archibald. It was the same heart. And, indeed, as we breathed together I could feel the spirit breaching begin, and Archibald’s will succumbing to mine. Nobody noticed what was happening, but I had Archibald under my control. I could do anything. I could stop that stolen heart from beating. And that is exactly what I did. He inhaled deeply and clutched at his chest. Only a few more moments now…

  But then I was suddenly caught by the look in his eyes. It was innocent. He did not deserve to die. There would have to be another way. I took a final deep breath and released him from the spirit breach.

  He looked at me sharply, as though I had slapped him.

  “I don’t like that game,” he said.

  “It’s not nice to control people,” I said. “The way you control the kids in the Youth Guard, the way you send people to the mines, the way you control the fate of the dragonka.”

  “I don’t like how you are talking, either.”

  “Too bad,” I said. He dropped my hands in frustration. Now, the Haints were beginning to notice the rift. They flew closer, to protect Archibald if needed.

  “I don’t want to play with you anymore,” he said. He began to whimper, then tightened his face to control himself. “You won’t have a single tear, Petra K! That is the last thing you will get from me! Take her away from me!”

  At his command the Haints dove at me. I was defenseless against their overpowering fury. They swallowed me up as though I was caught in a tornado. I rose from the ground, the haunted, ghastly faces swirling around me.

  “Stop,” somebody yelled. It was Wormwood. Only he was not facing us; he was facing the balcony that looked out over the city. “They are coming!” he said.

  “Who?” asked Archibald.

  “Look!” he said. The Haints suddenly lost interest in me, letting me fall to the floor with a thud. I gathered myself and hobbled to an unoccupied window to see what was happening. Outside the Palace walls, a mighty crowd of people had amassed. It looked like some sort of riot, as though the entire city had gone mad. Some were carrying torches, many were armed. The JRM must have brought the people together. Huge banners flew, with broken black hearts painted across them. Moreover, men in the freezing winter air had ripped their shirts from their bodies, revealing black hearts they had etched onto their chests with coal. I saw more than one Boot poster adulterated, with Jasper’s likeness superimposed over that of Archibald. There was an army of Blackhearts outside, because of Jasper’s courageous death. They were coming to overtake the Palace.

  “Where is the Boot Guard?” shouted Wormwood.

  “Overrun,” came a voice from the chamber door. It was Bianka, only now she had changed from her Youth Guard uniform into street clothing. “Overrun, or they switched sides and joined the resistance. Just like me.”

  “This is impossible,” shrieked Wormwood. “It is tyranny. It is treason.”

  “No. It is none of those things. It is justice,” came another voice. I recognized it immediately. It was Deklyn. He had escaped, and behind him were Tatiana and Margo, who had also shed their uniforms in favor of street clothing. Plus, to my relief, Isobel hovered above him, her wings radiant in the paraffin light.

  I looked to see where Archibald was, but the Haints had surrounded him, protecting him.

  “Raise the battlements,” said Wormwood. “Let loose all the wolfhounds and the golden dragonka, whether they are battle-ready or not. Let’s see how strong their resolve is.” Boot faithful rushed off to do his bidding. Great shutters closed over the windows, blocking everybody inside from the battle that ensued. Once the room was sealed, a strange calm fell, as though we were all waiting out a storm. It was noiseless, but for the pathetic sound of Archibald’s renewed whimpering. I took his hand in a moment of compassion, but he only pulled it away from me. I sighed, then returned to the ballroom.

  THE REVOLUTION HAD INFILTRATED THE PALACE, and the people of Pava were rising up against the Haints. But all was not won. Once I entered the ballroom, I saw Wormwood directing the Haints in a last attack on the living.

  “You may win the battle outside, but what is important is in here. And, as you know, you cannot kill what is already dead. You, on the other hand, will die quite easily,” Wormwood said to one and all.

  Then the Haints turned their fury on Deklyn and my former classmates. They were plucked from the ground and carried in the air. Deklyn and Bianka were tossed to-and-fro across the arched ceiling, like birdies in a game of badminton. The Blackheart leader, for all his bravery, was no match for centuries of brooding evil. But in the midst of that mayhem, something curious happened. The dragonka spirits began to nip at the Haints with their jaws. First, they did so tentatively, as if to test their reaction, then they acted with more force. Soon, there was a flurry of dragonka attacking each Haint, with only more coming through the portal. All of the Haints got involved, leaving Archibald alone. He crouched in the corner, shivering.

  The city had to be banished of the Haints for good. But, unfortunately, the dragonka were no match for the fury of the dark spirits, whose time in the world had nourished them with an agility th
at was near human.

  But the battle was not over. As the hole into the spirit world became more porous, other creatures began seeping through: first a school of seahorses bobbed in the air. Then a griffin emerged, decided it didn’t like what it saw, and disappeared again. A white, ghostly elephant also made an appearance, then charged off through the palace wall and into the Pava night sky. This gave the Haints no pause. Soon they had chased the very last of the dragonka through the hole, back into the spirit world.

  When they were finished, they returned to the ballroom floor. Jacob of Mangolia—the fat general—drew his sword, and held it high.

  “Long live Archibald!” he bellowed.

  “Long live Archibald!” the other Haints repeated.

  He pointed the tip of his sword at me. “Hail Archibald, or lose your head.”

  “That is not necessary,” said Archibald.

  “Nobody will stand in our way, now. Pava will gratify our goldlust for centuries. We will bleed you of the stuff.”

  “But I am the leader,” said Archibald, as if somebody had broken the rules of a card game.

  “Wormwood, silence the child,” said Nester. Wormwood put his arm over Archibald’s mouth, and kept it there despite how the boy squirmed.

  “Now,” he said to Deklyn and me, “Hail.”

  “Never,” I said. “All hail the Blackhearts and Jozseftown. Hail Jasper, whom you murdered. Jasper,” I called. “Jasper!” I do not know if he actually would have cut my head off. I never had to find out, because from the hole came a rumbling. As it grew louder, it began to shake the ceiling, and bits of plaster rained down on us. Every last being—living and spirit—cocked its head upward. Then, through the hole, taking out a good portion of the ceiling with it, burst the spirit of the ancient Pava dragon—Ruki Mur—and on its back was Jasper. The progenitor of every living dragonka had returned to Pava, and it too had revenge on its mind.

  Chapter 23

  If anybody wants to know if Haints bleed, I have the answer. They do not, though a light green mist escapes where their plasma has been torn. Ruki Mur ripped through them like hungry teeth through boiled cabbage leaves. It was not pretty. Jasper, or, the spirit of Jasper, rode expertly the back of the beast. His black heart tattoo was still visible; it had followed him to the spirit world. Smaller dragonka, too, came to get in their licks, tearing what remained of the Haints to tattered shreds. I think I was the only one who noticed, but Wormwood slipped into the portal uninjured.