Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (49 page)

“It feels strange to be here.”

“You’re telling me,” murmured Oksa. “I didn’t think it would look like this.”

“You thought there’d be coffins for beds, did you? Black candles dripping in candelabras and vases shaped like skulls, stuff like that?” whispered Gus, nudging his friend.

If that had been what Oksa expected, she would have been
disappointed
, because the hall and what could be glimpsed of the living room were decorated in predominantly light shades. The white-painted
furniture
and walls created an understated, but not austere, effect. Oksa and Gus walked into the living room: two thinly striped beige sofas flanked a round table covered with a spotless tablecloth. Console tables of pale wood lining the walls held lamps with crystal drops or plaster busts. A frame hanging on the wall caught Gus’s attention:

“Oksa!” he called in a low voice. “Look, do you think that’s the island Mortimer kept going on about?”

Oksa went over and they both gazed at the framed photo, which looked as though it could be of an island. A jagged shoreline with numerous coves was lashed by angry, foam-capped waves. In the distance, a red and yellow lighthouse and a grey stone building could be glimpsed behind
treeless hills. But their inspection of the room was suddenly interrupted by the sound of muffled voices, which seemed to be coming from the cellar. Oksa seized her Granok-Shooter in one hand and spontaneously put her other on Gus’s forearm. They headed over to the small door under the stairs.

“Are you sure it’s coming from there?” whispered Gus, his heart pounding and his face pale—the thought of going down to the basement didn’t fill him with any great enthusiasm.

“I looked everywhere, the house is empty, Gus. There’s only the cellar left. And the doors leading to cellars are usually found under the stairs,” replied Oksa, her tone making it clear she thought she was stating the obvious.

She was right again. As soon as they opened the door, they could hear the voices much more clearly. Voices they knew well: those of McGraw and Dragomira.

O
KSA AND GUS WENT DOWN THE FIRST FEW STEPS AS
carefully and quietly as possible, holding their breath and keeping their backs pressed against the wall. A feeble light was coming from the back of the cellar but, despite obstructing their view, the staircase was dark enough to afford them a certain amount of cover. Suddenly there was a terrible commotion, immediately followed by a stifled scream. Oksa increased her pressure on Gus’s arm, which she was still holding, and looked at him anxiously. They waited—for what seemed like an eternity—until they heard a voice.

“So what do you say to that? Don’t you think my style has improved after all these years?”

Oh no! That was McGraw’s voice. Oksa inched down a step, then another, her breathing shallow and her heart thumping against her ribs. Behind her, Gus was quaking at the knees and he felt his courage desert him. Their gradual descent into McGraw’s cellar was turning into a descent into hell.

“This whole business has made you into a monster!” retorted Dragomira. “What a pity—I was so fond of the man you were on the Inside. You could have been a good person, but you’ve turned out just like your father.”

“Don’t bring my father into this!” grated McGraw in reply. “Our
virtuous
Malorane was no better than him. Anyway, look, I’ve got something for you, dear little Dragomira. A surprise to celebrate our reunion. I’d despaired of ever being able to use it, but you’ve provided me with an excellent opportunity.”

A loud crash shook the walls and everything began shaking as if there was an earthquake. The whole house seemed to rumble from floor to ceiling. There was a dreadful scream—a scream of sheer terror followed by the worrying din of breaking objects. Oksa shot Gus a panicked look. What if Dragomira was injured? Or worse? Gus pulled on his friend’s arm in the hope that he might be able to lead her back upstairs—what was going on down there didn’t seem to be a friendly encounter! He was very fond of Dragomira, but it didn’t seem very sensible to stay on that staircase. And even less sensible to get involved. It would be far better to leave this nightmarish house and raise the alarm. Oksa didn’t seem to share his opinion though. Her Granok-Shooter at the ready, she dragged her friend down the rest of the stairs towards the cellar, where a terrible fate probably awaited them. Once again, his heart beating fit to burst, Gus gave in and let himself be led.

They had only gone down a few more steps when the two friends heard the sound of footsteps coming closer to the stairwell. An angry growl immediately told them that the game was up. They froze, unable to go downstairs or run away. A shadow appeared on the floor and came closer until it loomed over the bottom steps. Suddenly the shadow became a person of flesh and blood. Oksa gave a shrill scream of terror and Gus’s head swam as the horrible feeling he was about to die washed over him. There was a fifty-fifty chance of it being Dragomira at the foot of the stairs.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

Luck was on their side. It was Baba Pollock standing there in front of them with a frown on her face and her hands on her hips. Gus preferred not to think what would have happened if it had been McGraw.

“Baba! I nearly fired a Granok at you! I think we’ve just had the fright of our lives,” exclaimed Oksa, throwing her arms around her gran’s neck.

“What are you doing here?” repeated Dragomira irritably, disentangling herself from Oksa’s embrace.

“I hope you won’t be angry with him… your Lunatrix told me that McGraw had called you and that you’d gone to his house. You should have seen him, he was in a right state! So was I. Then Gus and I decided to come and help you, but it looks like we got here too late. You don’t need anyone, you’re too strong, Baba!”

“Who knows you’re here?”

“Er… no one,” muttered Oksa, looking at her feet.

“No one?” said Dragomira in amazement.

She paused for a second then continued, gazing sternly at the two friends:

“What you did was very reckless. You could have been injured! Ah well, this is all very unexpected, but I have to admit it couldn’t be better.”

With this, the old lady’s expression changed completely and an unexpected look of satisfaction came over her face. She went up to Oksa and rested an authoritative hand on her shoulder. Then, turning to Gus:

“Thanks for coming with my granddaughter,” she said curtly, in a voice that didn’t sound like her at all. “You can go home now, your parents will be worried. I’ve got some things to sort out with Oksa.”

Dragomira pushed Gus with the flat of her hand, firmly motioning him to leave the cellar and the house. With growing astonishment, Gus’s eyes briefly met Oksa’s. Dragomira had never sent him packing like this! She must be feeling a little out of sorts after what must have been a rather violent encounter, if the state of the cellar was anything to go by. She again insisted on Gus leaving the house and the boy didn’t have
any choice. He climbed the stairs backwards, his eyes fixed on Oksa and a strange leaden feeling in his heart.

“Fine… See you later, Oksa! I’ll call you.”

But when he reached the hall, he headed towards the front door, opened it and slammed it shut immediately from the inside as loudly as possible. Then, quiet as a mouse, he retraced his steps to the cellar door, which was still wide open, and crept back down the staircase.

“Where’s McGraw, Baba?” asked Oksa, once she’d heard the front door slam. “I hope you smashed his face in!”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” replied Dragomira, sniggering. “Look! He’s over there, cowering on the ground
like a dog
!”

She pointed at a small, very dark room adjoining the main cellar. At the very back of this cluttered storeroom, in almost complete darkness, Oksa could make out a figure lying on the floor, writhing with pain. A guttural groan reached her ears, making her shiver.

“I haven’t yet got around to smashing his face in, as you put it,” explained Dragomira. “But since you seem to want me to, my dear Oksa, I’ll be happy to grant your wish.”

“It was just a figure of speech…” remarked Oksa, aghast at being taken at her word and terrified by the thought of watching something like that done, even to vile McGraw.

“Afterwards, since you’ve come to me,” continued Dragomira, ignoring Oksa’s remark, “we can finally get out of here. Everything will be much simpler now.”

Oksa stared at Dragomira in astonishment. Her gran must have been hit by a Muddler Granok because she seemed to have lost the plot. It was certainly time they got out of here so Dragomira could take one of those excellent tisanes which only she knew the secret of making, and which would unscramble her brain cells. Oksa screwed up her eyes and tried to peer through the darkness, drawn by the sound of McGraw’s groans. She was fascinated and troubled by the violent contortions of her sworn enemy’s body. The deathly silence was broken by strange,
incomprehensible sounds, which seemed to seethe with fury. Dragomira came over and pushed her back towards the stairs.

“Wait for me there! I won’t be long.”

The old lady stood in the doorway of the small room and said
contemptuously
to McGraw:

“Look! As you can see, Oksa’s here with me. That’s fate for you, we’ve come full circle, haven’t we? She’ll be able to take me back to Edefia and no one can put a spanner in the works for me now. I’ve waited for this moment for more than fifty years… What? What did you say? You too? That’s as may be, but your plans are nowhere near as big as mine. But before I leave here for good with my granddaughter, I’m going to give you a small sample of hell!”

Dragomira held out her arms and opened her hand, spreading out her fingers. From where she was standing, Oksa saw thin strands of light sizzle from her fingertips and fleetingly made out McGraw’s body, which was then hurled against the ceiling. She grimaced at the terrible thud made by the body as it crashed back down onto the ground,
followed
immediately by a hoarse moan. With a fixed smile on her lips, Dragomira turned round to look at her, and then renewed her vicious attack. The scream McGraw gave was even more agonizing than the last. Icy sweat trickled down Oksa’s spine, and she thought she heard a weak murmur, a barely audible voice breathing “Dushka”. As if things weren’t complicated enough, now her mind was playing tricks! She shook her head and backed away towards the staircase, as Dragomira triumphantly exclaimed to McGraw:

“Ha! Not so proud now, are you?”

Oksa looked at her in complete astonishment: how could her gran, who wouldn’t hurt a fly and who advocated respect for all forms of life, take such pleasure in hurting someone? This was a side of her she didn’t know—and didn’t particularly like. This unpleasant feeling was soon heightened by the Curbita-Flatulo writhing frantically on her wrist, which didn’t help matters at all. A wave of panic washed over the girl, 
as if the process had been reversed: the Curbita-Flatulo was doing its utmost to unnerve her completely! And there hadn’t been any cause for concern yet… naturally, she hadn’t forgotten she was inside McGraw’s house. But Dragomira had the upper hand. And convincingly at that. So long as she was with her, she was in no danger, even if this was a side of Baba Pollock she had never seen. So why was the Curbita-Flatulo so agitated? And now the Tumble-Bawler was getting in on the act too! Emerging from Oksa’s small bag, it fluttered up to its young mistress’s ear and whispered a few words.

“What did you say?” she murmured, looking at it incredulously. “I don’t understand.”

“The grandmothers aren’t all they seem to be,” repeated the little creature.

“This is no time to be making psychological observations, Tumble,” retorted Oksa in a low voice. “Things are already complicated enough as it is.”

“Oksa! Pssst… Oksa…”

Oksa whirled round: Gus was here! He was standing at the bottom of the staircase, gazing at her. He was pale and breathless and he looked terrified, although determined to stay near his friend.

“Gus! Am I happy to see you!” said Oksa, glancing anxiously towards her gran, who was still busy in the doorway of the other room.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this,” whispered Gus.

“You’re not kidding! We have to look into this,” said Oksa, facing dangerous facts. “We don’t have a choice. Is that okay?” she added, her eyes searching Gus’s terrified gaze.

“I’m scared to death, if you must know,” replied Gus. “But you’re right. We have to go and see who’s in that room. Let’s get a move on!”

With Gus a few steps behind her, Oksa stealthily walked over to Dragomira. When they were right by the doorway of the dark room, she took hold of her Granok-Shooter and said to herself:

A tiny orangey octopus immediately shot out of the Granok-Shooter and rose into the air, filling the cellar with such a bright light that it blinded Dragomira and Gus, who were taken by surprise. Oksa, her hand shading her eyes, stepped forward and glanced quickly into the room, confirming her awful forebodings.

“BABA!” she exclaimed, panic-stricken.

Oksa had every reason to panic. There, at the back of the room, slumped in a corner, was Dragomira—another Dragomira—her body contorted and her face covered in blood.