Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope

by Anne Plichota

  “Then I’ll soon be able to speak English as well as the Queen of England, won’t I?” asked Oksa hopefully.

  “Perhaps,” smiled her father.

  “Amazing! I’ll be getting wicked marks! But you haven’t told me what happened in Switzerland.”

  “Oh, Switzerland…”

  After a few long minutes lost in thought, Pavel continued.

  “It was awful; I spent my time trying not to overstep the mark. But after a few days, my true nature got the upper hand.”

  Pavel fell silent, upset by the memories he’d buried for so long.

  “Well? What happened, Dad?” asked Oksa, impatiently.

  “What happened? It was a bit of a catastrophe,” he replied. “I performed several Magnetuses at the bakery I hated.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Anger, Oksa, anger… that’s something you’re familiar with, isn’t it?” he remarked casually. “This baker was a spiteful woman who wasn’t very tolerant of foreigners. She made the big mistake of saying something which particularly upset me, then all the loaves of bread took off like rockets and crashed into the ceiling while the cakes dropped down on her like bombs. She didn’t really understand what was going on, but the next day Leomido came to get us, so it was my fault that we had to leave Switzerland as a matter of urgency.”

  “Like Tugdual’s family,” remarked Oksa. “And like us too, isn’t that true?”

  “Why do you say that?” asked her father, taken aback.

  “We had to leave France,” explained Oksa unable to restrain herself, her heart pounding. “We ran away because of that journalist who died.”

  Pavel Pollock scrubbed his hand over his forehead, his face white as a sheet. He looked helplessly at his daughter, then shut his eyes with a deep sigh.

  27

  EXPLANATIONS

  “THAT JOURNALIST, PETER CARTER—HE DIED BECAUSE of us, didn’t he?” pressed Oksa.

  She felt some remorse when she saw how upset her father was at this question, but all the guilt in the world couldn’t overcome her need to know. With a resigned expression, her father said:

  “Yes. Peter Carter died because of us.”

  “But that’s horrible!” shouted Oksa furiously, staring at her father in alarm. “Why? Who did it? Which one of you?”

  Pavel Pollock flinched.

  “Which one of us? Why do you ask me that, Oksa?” he said in amazement. “And anyway, how do you know? Who told you?”

  “I overheard you and Baba,” replied Oksa miserably.

  “Oh Oksa, one day your annoying habit of listening at doors will land you in big trouble. Fine, since you heard us, I may as well tell you everything—but, I warn you, it may be a bit of a let-down, because I don’t know very much. You really are the most infuriating daughter a father could have!”

  He sighed noisily before continuing.

  “It all began with one of us, Petrus, a Runaway who found himself ejected into the United States. He’d decided to make a living as an art thief, a career which, thanks to his gifts, soon took off in a big way. For years he travelled the world ‘visiting’ scores of museums, galleries and private collections. But one day his luck changed and he was caught red-handed. In his haste to escape, he used his powers to get out of the apartment of a wealthy collector he was robbing, which was on the forty-seventh floor. The police officers who’d come to arrest him panicked and fired at him, killing him instantly. At his house they found hundreds of pictures, some of them priceless, whose disappearance had mystified the most experienced detectives. And with good reason. How could they have imagined what was going on? The problem was that a journalist, Peter Carter, had already been on his trail for a few months. He’d met Petrus at an art sale and had been intrigued by him. He’d begun to follow him, slowly becoming convinced that he was an extra-terrestrial. When Petrus was killed, Peter Carter continued his investigation and discovered things which enabled him to get closer to us.”

  “What sort of things?” asked Oksa, fascinated.

  “Oh, souvenirs from our land which Petrus had kept very carefully, particularly a notebook containing names, dates, information about Edefia and newspaper articles about Leomido.”

  “Oh no!” said Oksa.

  “Yes, exactly,” agreed her father. “Carter arrived at some conclusions which weren’t altogether unfounded. And that’s when our problems started. He investigated Leomido, then your gran and our family. Shortly afterwards, he contacted us asking us to pay him to keep quiet.”

  “Really!” exclaimed Oksa. “What a lowlife. I hope you didn’t give in to him.”

  “What choice did we have? He was threatening to reveal everything. Imagine what a disaster that would have been. We paid, once, twice, three times…”

  “And then, off to London, is that it?”

  “Too right! Because of that man, we had to disappear as a matter of urgency and in the utmost secrecy, without leaving a trace. And it wasn’t easy, I can tell you.”

  “Now I understand why you were in such a rush,” breathed Oksa. “But the guy is still dead.”

  “Yes, and that’s very worrying,” added her father. “Carter was an unscrupulous predator and I can’t say I’m sorry he’s dead. But we should never take delight in a man’s death.”

  Oksa narrowed her eyes, vaguely suspicious.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, Oksa?”

  “Who killed him? Who killed Carter? Do you know? Why did Baba say it had to be one of you?”

  Pavel Pollock’s gaze grew troubled and he gave an annoyed scowl.

  “Carter was killed by a Pulmonis, a substance which can only be made by the Runaways,” he explained. “But all I can tell you is that neither I nor your gran are responsible for his death.”

  “That’s a relief!” exclaimed Oksa. “Oh Dad! You don’t know how worried I was—this business had me imagining all kinds of crazy things. But do you think it could be Abakum or Leomido?”

  “No, neither of them could do that. None of us is capable of it. That’s what makes it even more mysterious. It’s as if whoever did this wanted to protect us.”

  Pavel Pollock stood up and went to pour himself a fizzy drink, which he downed in one gulp, trembling, then slammed the glass on the mantelpiece so hard he almost broke it. Oksa jumped and stared at her father in concern. But before she could ask any more questions, he gave her such a grave look that she changed her mind about continuing her cross-examination.

  “We’ve had to run away a great deal, you know,” he continued. “Edefia, Siberia, Switzerland, France—”

  “How did you get to France?” broke in Oksa, listening intently.

  “That’s partly down to Malorane, believe it or not. You remember when Dragomira told you about the powers of the Gracious?” asked her father.

  “The one that made it possible to escape from Edefia?”

  “Indeed, the Graciouses do possess that enviable power: to open the Portal and leave. But Malorane was familiar with France because there’s another power that only Graciouses have—the legendary power of Dreamflying.”

  “Dreamflying?” asked Oksa, interrupting him.

  “Dreamflying involves travelling by thought alone while your body stays put. The mind or consciousness undergoes some kind of transformation, if you like. Malorane was an inquisitive woman, so she Dreamflew frequently to see how the Outsiders lived. Unlike most of the previous Graciouses, she preferred to know what was happening on the Outside, instead of shutting her eyes and pretending that Edefia was alone in the universe. Afterwards, she’d put on public Camereye shows of her travels. She Dreamflew several times in France, a country which she liked a lot and she’d hold special screenings just for Dragomira to ‘show’ her France the way other mums tell their children bedtime stories. That’s why we set off for that country which has become so dear to my heart. It’s an odd story, isn’t it?”

  “An odd story? You mean am-az-ing, surely!” replied Oksa enthusiastically.
“But you have to admit it isn’t the most unbelievable thing ever—I can tell you at least a hundred more bizarre things I’ve heard over the past few days, if you like!”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Pavel, playing the innocent. “E.T. phone home,” he added, rolling his eyes, his little finger in his ear. “No, nothing weird here.”

  Oksa burst out laughing, exhaling with a loud whoosh. Then, looking serious again:

  “Dad, something else has occurred to me.”

  “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  “If the Graciouses have the power to Dreamfly, does that mean I can too?”

  She looked at her father in excitement. Pavel gave a deep sigh, stretched his long legs out in front of him and paused for a couple of seconds before replying.

  “It’s perfectly true. You do possess that power. But you could only use it if you had entered the Cloak Chamber. The Cloak activates the power.”

  Oksa felt a little disappointed; she would so love to Dreamfly! Seeing her vexed expression, Pavel hugged her tightly.

  “You know, it’s something I’d love to do too. And I don’t think I’m the only one. But there are many other powers we’re going to teach you. At least, your gran and Leomido will for the most part. Abakum will also be a very good teacher for you; he’s very strong, the strongest of us all.”

  “Stronger than the Gracious?” asked Oksa.

  They were interrupted by the telephone ringing. It was Marie Pollock. Every evening she called to talk to her daughter for a while. Her voice sounded strained, emotional and choked, but Oksa tried not to notice how deeply this whole affair seemed to have upset her. It was all because of her. It broke her heart to hear how sad her mum was, so she tried to take her mind off things by telling her about her day, as if she were at home, as if she were sitting opposite her at the kitchen table in front of a plate of steaming piroshki. And when she sensed Marie was smiling at the other end of the phone, she felt better.

  “Eighteen out of twenty in maths, what do you say to that, Mum?”

  “Not bad,” Marie replied, feigning indifference.

  “Mum! Let me remind you that it was with frightful McGraw, the fearsome dictator of St Proximus!”

  “Ah well, given those extreme conditions, I accept and acknowledge your excellence, my darling daughter.”

  “You should have seen his face when he gave me back my paper. It was a scream!”

  “I’m proud of you, sweetheart. Are you okay otherwise? Is your dad okay?”

  They chatted like this for a few minutes, as they did every evening, then wished each other goodnight, blowing kisses down the phone. Oksa asked if she wanted to speak to her dad, but when he took the handset, Marie had already hung up.

  “Why does she do that every time?” asked Oksa angrily, a lump in her throat.

  That evening, more than usual, it would have been nice to hear them talk to each other. Talk normally.

  “Is she that angry with you? But why?” she continued, her cheeks flushed with frustration and her heart near to breaking.

  “You were also angry with me, if you remember,” replied her father sadly. “Things will sort themselves out, you’ll see.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I’m sure of it!”

  Oksa rested her head on her father’s shoulder and closed her eyes, as if making a wish.

  “So long as she’s here for my birthday.”

  “Don’t you worry about that, I don’t think she’d miss that for the world.”

  After a brief pause, he continued:

  “Would you like a bit of light relief?”

  “You bet!” exclaimed Oksa, suddenly interested. “What did you have in mind?”

  By way of an answer, Pavel took her hand and led her up to Dragomira’s apartment.

  28

  AN INCREDIBLE DISCUSSION

  AS SOON AS THE DOOR OPENED, THE LUNATRIX PLANTED himself in front of them and gave a comical—but sincere—bow, performing flourishes with his long arms and frantically bending his plump body.

  “Oh, granddaughter and son of my Gracious, your presence in this hovel is welcome!”

  “Hovel?” asked Oksa in surprise.

  “You know, Oksa,” said her father, “the Lunatrixes read absolutely everything they can lay their hands on: newspapers, dictionaries and Dragomira’s books, of course. Not to mention directions on bottles of cleaning products, food ingredients, clothes labels—nothing escapes their notice. They’re compulsive readers who use the words they come across in a highly individual way. Our friend the Lunatrix must have read that word; it appealed to him and now he’s using it. In a rather ludicrous manner, perhaps, but the Lunatrixes are ludicrous creatures,” explained Pavel.

  “Oh, son of my Gracious, you are so magnanimous!” exclaimed the creature, obviously beside himself with joy at being described this way. “The son of my Gracious pays a compliment which engulfs my heart in delight!”

  “See what I mean?” said Pavel to his daughter with a wink.

  “He’s ad-or-a-ble!” murmured Oksa, articulating every syllable.

  “Have you come visiting up to this floor to make a request, son and granddaughter of my Gracious? It is with delight that the Lunatrixa and I will provide assistance, you can count on our fervour for ever,” broke in the Lunatrix, quivering.

  “Oh—talking about the Lunatrixa, where is she?” asked Pavel.

  “In the side of this room, son of my Gracious; she is performing the application of a salve to relieve the stress of the Goranov plant, which has been jittering since my Gracious has been in the countryside for convalescing. Would it give you pleasure to have sight of her?”

  Pavel nodded. Oksa took advantage of the Lunatrix’s absence to express her enthusiasm, speaking softly to avoid being heard:

  “You bet I’d like to ‘have sight of her’! And the Goranov? What’s that?”

  Her father didn’t have time to reply, as the Lunatrix was on his way back followed by the Lunatrixa, an equally incredible creature. Looking out of all proportion, the female was as long as her companion was wide, with her legs accounting for two-thirds of her body. Apart from the fine lemon-yellow hair on top of her head, her face was exactly like her companion’s: rumpled brown skin, small, squashed nose, ears sticking out at right angles to her head, two large, round teeth protruding from her mouth, if you could call it a mouth—it was more like a long, curved slit that split her face from ear to ear. Both were wearing dark-coloured, perfectly ironed dungarees sporting a cheerful smiley. As soon as she saw Oksa, the Lunatrixa ran towards her. But, flustered by this encounter and hampered by her two long legs, which were as spindly as broom handles, she stumbled and fell flat on the carpet. The plant she was holding in her hands flew into the air and was caught by Oksa, startled at this surprising sight.

  “Oooh, granddaughter of my Gracious,” cried the clumsy Lunatrixa. “How ridiculous I am to make a fall like this! My legs are madly absurd, can you ever forgive me?” she wailed, rubbing her back.

  Oksa turned to her father, who looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh at the creature or feel sorry for her.

  “Are they like this all the time, Dad?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yes!”

  Pavel really began laughing this time.

  “Hey! What’s going on?” exclaimed Oksa suddenly.

  It seemed as if the plant she was holding had just woken up. Delicate round, flat leaves of a beautiful glossy green were growing out from a slender stem about sixteen inches tall. The plant looked as if it was swaying, its foliage shook as if it were trembling and it gave a cry of alarm.

  “But it’s alive!” cried Oksa, open-mouthed.

  “Plants are generally alive, Oksa,” remarked her father, stifling his laughter.

  “Yes, but not to this extent.”

  “Alive, alive… I’m not so sure about that,” the plant protested angrily all of a sudden, calling Oksa to witness and turning all its leaves tow
ards her. “That Lunatrixa has lost her head.”

  “No, Goranov, my head has not encountered any loss, it is my balance which is suffering a deficiency,” said the Lunatrixa, correcting it.

  “But you must be mad to make me perform a loop the loop! You want me dead, is that it?”

  “The loop the loop is going to extremes, Goranov, you performed a perfectly executed gliding flight,” retorted the Lunatrixa.

  “Loop the loop or gliding flight, same difference!” yelled the Goranov, all its leaves trembling. “You wanted to murder me, you serial killeress…”

  And with these words, all its leaves collapsed down the length of its stem.

  “It’s just fainted,” Pavel explained to Oksa, who was crying with laughter. “But don’t worry, this happens quite a lot.”

  “They’re amazing, I love these creatures!” said Oksa, holding out her hand to help the Lunatrixa up.

  She looked at Oksa gratefully and accepted her help. Suddenly, they heard the phone ring. Oksa put the still unconscious Goranov on the floor, and rushed off:

  “I’ll go. That must be Gus. See you soon, Lunatrixes!”

  And she raced cheerfully downstairs at breakneck speed.

  “Definitely see you tomorrow then?”

  The week was over and Oksa, surrounded on the pavement by her friends, was reminding Gus, Merlin and Zelda one last time before they all went home. They were getting to know and like each other better and were becoming a close-knit group.

  “Oksa, do you mind if I bring a friend?” asked Zelda. “Her name is Zoe, she’s in Year 8 Oxygen. We’re in the same dance class and she’s really cool. I invited her to a sleepover at my house this weekend and I don’t want to leave her on her own, or miss your birthday.”