Petra K and the Blackhearts (6 page)

A
RCHIBALD, THE
M
ONARCH
’
S SON
, had become a source of both speculation and fear amongst common Pavains. After the Monarch’s rapid decline in health, and recent death, the boy had assumed power with a rapidity and ferocity that amazed most observers. Nobody knew exactly what his age was, but he did not look much older than me. Rumors about the man-child had abounded for as long as I could remember. It was said that he only had the appearance of a wizened child, but was actually quite aged. Other stories told of darkened carriages with exiled enemies of the Monarch being ushered into the palace gates late at night; of crypts being opened and ransacked for their scrolls of the
dead, of bizarre experiments of reanimation and alchemy taking place in the basement dungeons of the Palace, all under the supervision of Archibald and his Ministry of Unlikely Occurrences.

What was known for sure was that Archibald’s enemies were disappearing from the streets, and those who openly opposed him found themselves imprisoned in cages hung from the trees that lined the road to the Palace, kept like wild animals where boys could throw pebbles at them. Under Archibald the Precious’s influence, the Imperial Seat was taking a tighter grip on the citizens of Pava; newspapers that were previously critical of the government were shut down, their editors sent into exile in Sibernia. Tourists were thoroughly checked at the border and those without proper documentation were turned away. Even people in the markets felt less free to speak to one another when it came to the rise of Archibald the Precious. Only hushed tones were used, and only with those who could be fully trusted. It was known that Archibald had already engaged the use of spies amongst Pava commoners, and those overheard speaking ill of him would disappear in the middle of the night, never to reappear, or if they did, they were profoundly altered, as though a spell had been cast over them. For all this, Archibald was becoming widely feared.

A
FTER HAMMERING A BOARD
over the entrance of the building, a Boot commander addressed the crowd that had gathered. “The Dragonka Exchange has been deemed the source of all dragonka fever. The Dragonka Exchange is henceforth closed and quarantined. Any citizen found to be trading in dragonka will be subjected to arrest and reeducation. Your shops will be closed, your homes razed, your families impoverished. Dragonka—as you know them—have been deemed a national health hazard. All breeding and showing of dragonka is henceforth forbidden under direction of Archibald! All stray beasts shall be turned in to Boot Headquarters for processing, and all pets shall be officially registered with us. Nobody shall pass the gates of these walls
from this day forth. We appoint this spot to erect an information board, where you will be updated on our future policies regarding the dragonka.” With that, his underlings raised a bulletin board on wooden posts, hammering through the cobblestone.

From across the Square, I could just make out the figure of Deklyn, watching the completion of the raid. For just a moment, our gazes met, then he looked away defiantly, before turning and fleeing the scene. Luma had instinctively gone limp, as dragonka sometimes do under extreme stress. I quietly made my way home, the noise of the Dragonka Exchange’s pillaging falling silent at my back.

F
rom that time on, things became a little darker in Jozseftown, as if a thunderstorm was hovering just above, bursting with rain. The neighborhood was quieter, only sometimes a Boot cart would come rumbling down the street, filled with net-carrying officers, chasing a stray dragonka. I watched these chases from my window, like taking in a cheap shadow puppet show. Passersby would stop what they were doing and make bets on who would prevail; sometimes shopkeepers would hide the dragonka amidst their goods. But, of course, there were instances when the Boot would get lucky, and emerge from an abandoned building with a sorrowful looking dragonka caught in their net, flopping about like a fish out of water. The beasts were thrust into the back of a Boot cart and never seen again.

But there was more to it. Lingering in the Goat Square, I heard stories of dragonka trading hands within the walls of Jozseftown. The rich were bringing their beasts and selling them to foreign traders or exchanging them for small quantities of kuna. Suddenly there were all these strangers in Jozseftown,
carrying dragonka under their coats like illegal firearms. The Exchange still existed, it had just gone underground.

I
THOUGHT THAT PERHAPS
if I hung out around the markets, I might spy the dark figure who had dropped Luma from the bridge. Nothing unusual happened the first night, but on the next evening, while I was pretending to look over some old shrunken beets, I saw a well-dressed man half-heartedly browsing the vegetables, looking embarrassed and awkward there in the ghetto. He stopped at a notoriously unscrupulous greengrocer, who handed the man a slip of paper, after the exchange of a few coins. Following this, the man consulted a map, then began to make his way down one of the dark causeways that extended from the Square like tentacles. Perhaps he could lead me to the source of the illegal dragonka trade.

I followed the man, keeping to the shadows. His unfamiliarity of Jozseftown was obvious, as he kept stopping to consult the map. It was frustratingly slow, as I needed to get home to make my mother’s evening tea and check on Luma, who was nesting behind the shut door of my closet. Eventually, the man came to the address he was looking for and slipped inside the vestibule. It was the storefront of an abandoned pharmacy, the gilt letters peeled off by scavengers for their gold residue.

I approached the dark building. The window was dusty, and I could not see in. I took a brave step toward the door, and was about to open it when I was surprised from behind. “Who’s that lurking about?” came a voice. I spun around. I was often accused of lurking, even when, in my opinion, I was merely strolling furtively. Though in this case I was definitely lurking.

In front of me was Jasper, the biggest and meanest of the Blackhearts. He looked me up and down, as though unsure if I was for real or some mirage. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. His blonde hair flared from his head like a lick of fire.
“I heard you were snooping around the Exchange as well when the Boot raided the place.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I … I am on your side,” I said, unsure of what I meant.

“It doesn’t matter which side you are on. In fact, it is better if you are working for the Boot. You may have the others fooled, but I know who you are. I see through you. And you are dangerous,” Jasper said.

Jasper brushed past me and entered the pharmacy. I heard the sound of a lock being fastened behind him. I didn’t know how to respond. What can you say when somebody states your worst fears about yourself?

I
ARRIVED HOME LATE
; the smoky smell of my mother’s tea hung in the hallway as I entered. Had she prepared it herself? That would have been real progress. I breezed into her bedroom without knocking to discover that she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by Boot officers. No, they weren’t exactly officers. It took me a few moments to believe my eyes: there was Tatiana, Lenka, Bianka, Margo, and Sonia all dressed in Boot uniforms, sitting around her as though visiting a much-loved, or dying, relative in the hospital. They turned toward me, their faces displaying a strained expectation, as though I was a party guest whom everybody had been waiting on just a little too long.

“My, my,” Tatiana said, looking me over. “Who do we have here? That school uniform is very last month,” she said, with a wink that just might have been playful. Could it be Tatiana actually missed me? Now that I had a chance to take them in, I could see that it was not actually a Boot uniform they wore, but the uniform of the Boot Youth Guard, as evinced by a patch each wore on their arm. Gone were the gem-studded bracelets and blackpearl necklaces. Instead, each girl had a pin ornamented with a golden eye stuck to her jacket lapel. But even in this stiff uniform, Tatiana looked fashionable. She just had that way about her.

“Petra,” said my mother, suddenly alert, or perhaps, afraid, “your friends stopped by to say hello.”

“Where have you been?” Tatiana continued. “You are going to have to start the program from the beginning, but maybe when you catch up, they will put you in our troop.”

“What troop?” I asked. “What program?”

“After we were cured of the fever, we were put in the Youth Guard Facility to recuperate.”

“But what about your parents? What about your dragonka?”

“Dragonka! Ha!” said Sonia disdainfully. “Rats of the sky.”

“Perfect them by and by,” the others chimed in unison, as though it was a poem they had been taught to recite.

“What are they teaching you there?” I said, perhaps a bit too incredulously.

“The truth!” exclaimed Lenka, with an uncharacteristic zeal for learning.

“The teachings of the Number One Play Pal,” said Sonia.

“What is that?”

“Archibald. Number One Play Pal. We are learning the rules of the game,” Margo said.

“Fair and square,” said Sonia.

“No dragonka there!” the others rejoined.

I swallowed, though my mouth was dry. These were not the girls I had known from the Pava School. No—they were—only there was a blankness to their eyes, and their words came mechanically, as though they were part automaton.

“Where is Zsofia?” I ventured.

“What, you didn’t hear?” Lenka said, suddenly springing to life.

“Shhhh …” hissed Tatiana. “Zsofia—”

“You can come with us now,” said Tatiana. “We have a bunk for you and everything.”

“Besides,” Lenka commented, “your mother tells us she can’t even afford to feed you anymore, now that all her money was lost in the closing of the Dragonka Exchange.”

I looked at my mother; she averted her eyes and took a sip of tea. It was true that she hadn’t given me money for food in many days, and we had but scraps remaining in the cupboards. Even worse, I was concealing the fact that I had picked fruit from a garbage bin by Goat Square Market to feed myself.

“And,” said Sonia, redirecting my attention, “your mother said it was OK if you came.”

I looked at mother again, but her face revealed nothing. She had her tea and her bed.

“OK! I’ll be right back,” I said, with forced cheer. “I need to pack.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Margo.

“No,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “My room is a mess. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Don’t be too long, Strangeling,” said Tatiana with her trademark wink. She was the only girl who could make a wink look threatening.

I dashed up to my room and began to pack: I tucked Luma into his burlap sack; I grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds for food, and slid out my attic window. It was the first time I had escaped my room in the daylight, but aside from the few doves I scattered from the window sill, nobody took notice of me as I scaled the house’s façade.

I disappeared into the streets of Jozseftown, questions swarming about my mind. What were my classmates doing in the Youth Guard? Why their sudden hatred of the dragonka? Why had they come to find me? More importantly, how long would I have to wait before I could go home? I unexpectedly felt envy for the Blackhearts. They had no parent to answer to. They knew how to get by on their own.

I
WANDERED UNTIL IT WAS DARK
. I was hungry again. I would have to pick through the over-ripe and damaged fruit the vendors left behind at the end of the day if I wanted to eat. But quickly
I realized that I was not the only one with this idea. Other figures, ghoulish and pale, were furtively poking through the bins, coming back with half-eaten morsels. I found a promising looking bin in a remote corner of the food market and began to rifle through its contents, coming up with a still-edible cauliflower, a handful of quinces, and a packet of poppy seeds.

Then—from nowhere—a voice emerged from the darkness.

“Did you find anything good?” It was a small child, hiding in the shadows.

I rummaged around in my bag and found a ripe quince, then passed it into the shadows. The hand reached out and accepted the food. I heard a quiet munching come from the darkness, then silence.

“Thank you,” came the meek voice.

“You’re welcome,” I said. I was about to ask the child who he was (the truth is there were more and more orphaned children seen in Jozseftown these days), when I spotted Abel across the square. But I restrained myself from shouting out to him. There was something sly in his movements, like he didn’t want to be seen.

“I have to go now,” I said to the child in the darkness, and started after the Blackheart. Abel was, I can say, sneaky as a cat. He seemed to disappear in shadows, then reappear on the other side of the street altogether. But I managed to keep up, and soon enough we were at Goat Square. Abel slunk along the storefronts, then, after looking around, pulled the door to the Dragonka Exchange open and slipped inside.

Maybe my curiosity got the better of me, maybe I just wanted to prove I was a better sneak than any Blackheart, but I followed him. At the Exchange’s door, I noticed the nails to the boards the Boot had shuttered the entrance with had been pried loose, and replaced with hinges, so that it still looked closed. The Exchange was still being used—but what for?

I was intent on investigating, but Luma was growing more restless under my coat. Something was exciting him. In the entrance hall I tried to hush him, but suddenly there was no controlling the creature: Luma burst from my grasp, and sprinted toward the doors that led to the courtyard. He began scratching at the wood. Before I could grab him, those huge wooden doors cracked open, and Luma dashed through. I moved quickly, but was immediately drawn up short by what I saw there. The courtyard was packed with people: dozens, if not a hundred spectators were standing in a circle, cheering. At the center of the ring I could see two dragonka pups prancing around in circles, as though they were chasing each other’s tails. And, it turned out, that is exactly what they were doing: circling pylons in order to overtake the other, then administer a bite on their opponent’s tail, ending the race.