Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (38 page)

W
HEN SHE HEARD THIS,
O
KSA COULDN’T RESTRAIN
herself: her Knock-Bong somehow thumped into the boy she now knew as McGraw’s son with incredible force, sending him flying. He landed heavily on the flagstone floor sixty feet away with a stifled cry.

“
Wow
,” thought Oksa, rubbing her wrist, “
that was worth a little pain from the Curbita-Flatulo!
”

But the thick-set lout was already struggling to his feet, looking a little dazed but hell-bent on revenge—Oksa could see that clearly from his furious face, which didn’t bode well at all. Bent double, rubbing the small of his back, he lumbered closer with a threatening expression. Suddenly, like a flash, he lunged at Oksa before she could react, crossing the sixty feet between them at a phenomenal, totally unreal, speed. Less than a second later he pounced on her, slamming her against the ground, his speed increasing the impact. Crushed under her attacker’s body, Oksa gave a deep groan of pain mingled with rage.

“You didn’t think,” spluttered Mortimer McGraw, “you were the only one who could—”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence: Oksa had just delivered a relentless blow which weakened his resolve. Using the fingers of her right hand like the talons of an eagle swooping on its prey, she’d hit him hard
on the temple. Then she rolled to one side, athletically freeing herself as her father had taught her to do in karate, capitalizing on the boy’s surprise at her counter-attack. She was about to defend herself from a fresh attack from him when someone suddenly jumped on her back, pinning her to the ground. She had just enough time to put her hands out in front of her to break her fall.

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on Mortimer, understand!” hissed a voice.

With her face against the floor, Oksa couldn’t see who was speaking. All she could see were McGraw’s son’s shoes just in front of her. There was a savage kick to her right side. Making a superhuman effort, she tried to turn over. The grip on her relaxed and Oksa was able to sit up, her ribs hurting, to see who had spoken.

“ZOE? I thought it sounded like you! Help me!”

“Leave Mortimer alone! Don’t touch my family!” snarled Zoe in return.

“You mean… that Neanderthal is your brother?”

One by one, the pieces of information slotted into place, to her total incredulity.

“That means McGraw is your father too! But I thought you were an orphan. YOU LIED!”

“No, you don’t know anything,” muttered Zoe.

She released Oksa and ran off. At the same time, Gus suddenly appeared in the corridor, worried that his friend hadn’t yet come back. Oksa raised her head just enough to see her friend charging at the Neanderthal like a wild animal. The two boys were glaring at each other, eye to eye, and Mortimer McGraw had adopted the stance of a boxer about to throw a lethal punch. But Gus intercepted his move, blocking his sworn enemy’s throat with his right arm, then hooked his leg. Despite his massive build, the Neanderthal staggered and almost lost his balance. He stopped himself falling just in time by catching hold of Gus’s uniform tie.

“I’d advise you to let me go,” said Gus through gritted teeth.

But instead of following this sound advice, Mortimer McGraw tightened his grip and was clearly about to throw Gus against the wall. This
wasn’t something the boy fancied at all, his rage giving him the strength of ten men. Catching hold of the Neanderthal by the arms, he vigorously propelled him over his hip, and threw him to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Are you hurt, Oksa?” panted Gus, rushing over to her as the Neanderthal ran off.

“No, I’m fine… well, actually, no, I’m not fine all,” she said, sitting on the ground with her head in her hands. “Ow!” she cried, holding her ribs, as she tried to stand.

“What’s going on?” asked Merlin, who’d just turned up with a few other students alerted by the din. “Are you hurt, Oksa? Can I help?”

“Leave it, Merlin,” replied Gus breathlessly. “I’ll look after her. Come on, Oksa, I’m taking you to the infirmary.”

Matron refused to believe Oksa when she claimed she’d broken a rib falling over and badgered her for the truth. Confronted by the student’s stubborn refusal to change her story, she called Mr Bontempi, who got there a couple of minutes later.

“Oksa, you have to tell me who did this to you,” he said, sitting down by her bed.

“I fell over, sir, honestly,” she added, seeing his unconvinced expression.

Mr Bontempi sighed.

“Oksa, it’s very hard to break a rib just by falling down in a corridor. Personally, I think that some student or other was bullying you and you don’t want to give me their name for fear of reprisals.”

Oksa shook her head: her answer was final. Mr Bontempi turned hopefully to Gus.

“Gustave, did you see anyone?”

“No, sir, when I arrived, Oksa was on the floor and there was no one around.”

“I see…”

Mr Bontempi stood up and said one last thing to the pair before leaving the infirmary:

“You know where my office is if you want to speak to me. Let me say again that what just happened is very serious. I could punish the person who did this to you very harshly if you would only co-operate. All I need is a name! The ball is in your court, kids.”

He turned on his heels and they heard his heavy footsteps going downstairs. Matron came over:

“You can go back to the classroom, Gustave; thanks for your help. Oksa, I called your home and your father is coming right away to collect you and take you to the hospital. I think you’ve broken a rib, but you’ll need an X-ray. Stay lying down while you wait, okay?”

And she went back into the small glazed office from which she kept an eye on her visitors.

“Thanks Gus,” whispered Oksa in her friend’s ear. “Thanks for not saying anything!”

“Oksa, I wasn’t dreaming, was I? It was Zoe who stopped you defending yourself, wasn’t it?”

“It’s even more serious than that, Gus.”

His ear practically glued to Oksa’s lips, Gus was completely taken aback when his friend told him the unthinkable news. In the space of a few seconds, they both realized that the number of McGraws had just tripled.

F
OR FEAR OF BEING QUESTIONED ABOUT THE STRANGE
mark around Oksa’s belly button, Pavel took the injured girl straight home and didn’t go anywhere near the hospital. With her ribs tightly bandaged, Oksa was welcomed by Dragomira and the Lunatrixes, who had now taken up residence on the first floor.

“Oooohhhh! The Young Gracious has encountered an accident! There are great health deficiencies in this family, it’s a phonebook of disasters and we are held in the pincers of a total melodrama!”

The Lunatrixa began sobbing noisily while her companion hastened over to help Pavel support Oksa.

“Rest Your Graciousness’s hand upon my head, I will become a cane for you, that is my ambition.”

“Thanks, Lunatrix. Where is Mum?”

“She is seated at the table in the kitchen and awaits your accompaniment,” replied the Lunatrixa with a loud sniffle.

“In here!” rang out Marie’s voice.

Oksa and her father found her sitting in the kitchen with a fragrant cup of tea.

“You’re here at last!” exclaimed Marie. “How do you feel, darling?”

Before replying, Oksa kissed her mother, pulling a face at the pain, and asked for her news first.

“I’m okay, honestly. But we’ll talk about me later, tell us what happened to you.”

“I fell over and broke a rib,” replied Oksa softly.

Even breathing gently caused her a great deal of pain. She grimaced, and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible.

“A broken rib!” exclaimed Dragomira. “Don’t move, I’ve got just the thing for you.”

She leapt out of her chair and they heard her steps echoing up the stairs to the second floor.

“Don’t say anything, don’t do anything, don’t move. Wait for me!” she shouted in a ringing voice.

They heard a faint commotion and, a few minutes later, Dragomira reappeared holding a small jar.

“Take that bandage off now,” she said, beckoning to Oksa to come and lie down on one of the sofas in the living room.

“Are you going to give her a Bonigonum?” asked Pavel, seeing the bottle his mother was holding. “It’s a very long time since I’ve seen that, it’s a great idea. That will have you back on your feet in no time, Oksa.”

“Anyway, if it’s as effective as the Vermicula are, I advise you to have it, darling,” said Marie.

Dragomira opened the small pot and took out a large bright-blue slug, about three inches long and thick and shiny.
Very
thick and
very
shiny. Oksa cried out in horror, then immediately cried out again at the pain caused by the first cry.

“I’m going… you’re going…” she muttered.

“You can conjugate the verb ‘to go’ very well, Dushka,” remarked Dragomira smiling, the slug wriggling feebly between her two fingers.

“Have I got to
eat
that revolting thing?” continued Oksa, swallowing with difficulty.

This question caused general hilarity. Dragomira and Pavel exploded with laughter and the Lunatrixes, purple to the top of their heads with their mouths wide open, slapped their thighs frantically.

“Eat a Bonigonum? Distance that thought from your stomach, Young Gracious! The Bonigonum is not to be eaten and does not eat anyone, it will be the repairing of your bone.”

“Is that true, Baba?”

“Completely true.”

“Then you’re going to inject me with it like the Vermicula, aren’t you? I don’t want that, no, no, no,” panicked Oksa, imagining the size of the syringe that would be needed for such an injection.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear. It’s much simpler than that, just relax.”

Dragomira put her hand on Oksa’s forehead and, with her other hand, placed the revolting slug directly onto her bare skin, exactly where the pain was at its worst, the place where the broken rib was bulging under the swollen flesh. At first Oksa looked away, feeling totally nauseated. Then curiosity got the better of her and she ventured a glance. The slug’s eyes were bulging and were striped with little black veins. It had also started to produce an impressive amount of saliva: an abundant froth was spreading from beneath its glistening body and seeping into Oksa’s skin.

“You see, the Bonigonum acts like a powerful poultice,” explained Dragomira, gently pressing on the wiggling slug. “Its saliva has the power to make bones knit faster and, as you can see, your skin absorbs it immediately like a sponge. In a few hours, your rib will be as good as new.”

“The doctors would give their right arm for this!” remarked Oksa.

“Very true, darling,” agreed her father, “so we’ll stay away from the medical profession for a few days in order to avoid any embarrassing questions.”

“Can you imagine replying to concerned enquiries?” enthused Oksa. “My broken rib? Oh yes, I did have a broken rib this morning, but it’s ancient history now, you know!”

Oksa began to laugh and immediately grimaced: the pain wasn’t ancient history yet, she’d have to wait a few hours with that revolting, slobbering blue slug stuck to her side.

“Yes, let’s avoid attracting the doctors’ attention, they’re already asking far too many questions about me.”

And Marie explained to Oksa that her condition had improved at a pace that defied medical opinion: the lesions paralysing her nerve centre were visibly receding, which was unheard of according to the doctors. Also, in view of the severity of those lesions, whose cause was still unknown, she shouldn’t even be able to move a toe, let alone take a few steps, even with the continuous support offered by Pavel and Dragomira.

“Hurrah for the Vermicula then!” said Oksa cheerfully from her convalescent sofa. “And hurrah for the Bonigonum! You should patent it, Baba, you could be the queen of the pharmaceutical industry. You’d become a multimillionaire.”

“Probably,” agreed Baba Pollock, smiling. “Given everything we can do, Abakum and I could have founded an empire. But that’s never been our ambition. We’ve stayed true to our principles, which were shared by many Edefians: live and work according to our needs—no more, no less—and never abuse our powers. That is our rule.”

“Not everyone can say as much,” said Oksa, her face suddenly darkening.

“You mean Orthon? Or… McGraw?” asked her mother.

“Yes.”

“You mean your injury has something to do with him?” exclaimed Pavel, abruptly jumping up from his seat.

“Yes… well, no… It’s always the same snide comments with him, we’re starting to get used to it. It was his children who caused the problems today,” admitted Oksa, hanging her head.

“
WHAT?
”

Everyone immediately looked astounded. With her hand on her heart, Dragomira shut her eyes and tried to take in this shocking piece of news. Marie gave a cry and Pavel, standing behind her, clenched his fists in a gesture of rage. His face twisted in a grimace, betraying his anxiety. They all looked at each other, then stared at Oksa.

“His children? You mean that Orthon’s children are here? At school?” asked Dragomira, breathlessly.

“You remember the Neanderthal? I already told you about him,” said Oksa, realizing the effect that these revelations were having on her family.

“That rough older boy who keeps picking on you, the one you drenched with balls of water one day?” continued Dragomira. “You mean he’s Orthon-McGraw’s son?”

Oksa nodded and decided to tell the truth. Lying was too much of an effort and she felt so tired.

“His name is Mortimer. And I didn’t fall over. He broke my rib,” she blurted out, trying to stop her voice trembling. “He cornered me in the corridor, just after my phone call. He told me who he was and threatened to flatten all of us to a pulp. I hit him with an amazing Knock-Bong, I couldn’t help myself!” she added, chewing her lip.

“You attacked McGraw’s son with a Knock-Bong? In one of the school corridors?” exclaimed her mother in dismay.

“Oh Mum, you should have seen how powerful it was!” said Oksa excitedly, perking up at the memory. “He was thrown a good sixty feet. It was great! The problem is that he seems to have terrific powers too. He came for me at tremendous speed, I’ve never seen anyone move so fast. We fought, then his sister came up behind me and jumped on my back. I found myself flat on the ground and while I was down, Mortimer recovered. He kicked me in the ribs. That was when Gus arrived, and used one of those amazing judo holds on him. Which was just as well, because I don’t know what I’d have done to those two—I could have killed them,” she said angrily, blithely ignoring the gap between desire and reality.

“Or they could have killed
you
,” stressed her father, looking even more anxious than ever. “But you mentioned that boy’s sister. Is she also at St Proximus? Do you know her?”

“Yes. And so do you—it’s Zoe.”

“ZOE? The Zoe who came to your birthday party?” asked Dragomira in alarm.

“Yes,” replied Oksa angrily. “Now I’m convinced she became friends with Zelda just to get at me. I never liked that girl, I told you that, Baba. When I think that she gave us the impression that she was an orphan! I’m disgusted.”

“But that means Orthon-McGraw’s daughter has been in this house, doesn’t it?” her father said slowly.

Silently all four looked at each other gravely, thinking about the implications of this new and surprising information. Suddenly Dragomira cried shrilly:

“The SOAP!”

“The soap?” echoed Pavel and Marie in their turn, as Oksa nibbled at her last remaining nail.

“Where’s the soap that Zoe gave Oksa for her birthday?” demanded Dragomira hastily.

“Oksa gave it to me, because of her allergy to glycerine,” replied Marie dully. “I’ve been using it for the past few days.”

Abakum and Dragomira were adamant: their analyses of the remaining piece of soap proved that Zoe’s gift had been poisoned. Originally intended for Oksa, with the aim of weakening her and making it easier for Orthon-McGraw to get near her, even kidnap her as he’d apparently planned, the soap had found another victim: Marie Pollock. It was easy to understand now why she’d suddenly been taken so seriously ill.

“This is very clever,” explained Abakum. “Orthon added essence of robiga-nervosa to it. This is a highly toxic, very rare plant whose cells immediately attacked your nervous system, Marie. They act like rust. It’s lethal. I’ll take what’s left of that soap to examine it and I’ll try to find an antidote. Luckily we had the Vermicula, my dear Marie, because otherwise I think you’d still be paralysed in your hospital bed without any hope of remission. The Vermicula seem to be working, they’ve stabilized
and improved your overall condition. But there may be something more effective that will allow you to regain full use of all the functions you’ve lost. The doctors didn’t beat around the bush about their pessimistic prognosis, did they?”

Marie shook her head and Oksa felt tears pricking her eyes. Would her mother have to stay like this for the rest of her life? That would be awful, particularly as she was the one who’d given her the poisoned soap, all because of her damned allergy.

“It makes me so livid to think that this was aimed at you,” murmured Marie, moving closer to Oksa.

“But you’re the one who’s ill!” retorted Oksa, swallowing back her tears.