The Forest of Lost Souls (14 page)

“You'll never find it!” continued Dragomira. “It isn't here.”

The three Felons seemed taken aback by this possibility. Mercedica looked at Gregor with a frown. Then, brushing away a strand of hair with her manicured fingers, she challenged her captive:

“You're bluffing! We've been watching your every move since Impicturement. The picture hasn't left this house, I'm certain of it.”

“There's no such thing as a definite certainty,” remarked Dragomira, glaring at her.

“Dragomira? What's going on up there?” called a voice suddenly. “Dragomira?”

A wheelchair-bound Marie Pollock was calling out to her mother-in-law from the floor below. Dragomira caught a look from Mercedica and her face crumpled when she realized what the Felon woman had just decided.

“Catarina, would you please go and reassure our friend Marie, while Gregor finds what we're looking for?” asked Mercedica triumphantly.

Dragomira just had time to see Gregor disappear through the back of the double-bass case before a violent blow plunged her into darkness.

W
HILE THE
F
ELON
G
REGOR WAS RANSACKING
Dragomira’s private workroom, Oksa Pollock’s friend Merlin Poicassé was glancing nervously at the hermetically sealed tube that Oksa’s gran had given him. No one would guess that the
ordinary-looking
wooden object on his desk contained something so important or that the lives of several people, including Oksa, depended on the canvas rolled up inside! She was so amazing. His heart raced when she gazed at him with her slate-grey eyes… she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. The prettiest, fieriest and most magical—he probably wouldn’t ever meet anyone like her again in his whole life. From the first day he’d seen her, looking uncomfortable in her school uniform, he’d realized she wasn’t like everybody else. After observing her
covertly
for months, he’d become convinced that she possessed magic powers—which she’d eventually, and reluctantly, admitted. However, despite Gus’s warnings, she’d never had any reason to regret telling him the Pollocks’ secret: he’d never breathed a word to anyone. He’d never referred to it in public and had never dropped any cryptic hints. And, because of his discretion, Oksa and her family had come to trust him implicitly. He’d had clear proof of this a few hours ago when the phone had rung. He’d picked it up and had been surprised to recognize the voice of Dragomira Pollock, Oksa’s extraordinary gran. The old lady had seemed very anxious, breathing very fast and speaking very
quietly, as if afraid of being overheard. Not that they had said anything incriminating—they’d just made small talk.

“I was tidying Oksa’s room and I found a few books belonging to you,” Dragomira had said. “Could I pop over and give them back? You might need them over the summer and Oksa has already gone on holiday.”

“Books belonging to me?” Merlin had asked, remembering that Oksa hadn’t mentioned any planned holidays.

“Yes!” Dragomira had said urgently. “May I bring them over? I have to visit a friend who lives near you.”

“Er… yes, if you like,” Merlin had agreed, guessing that Dragomira had something important to tell him.

Half an hour later, the old lady was nervously drinking a cup of tea in the Poicassés’ living room. Merlin’s parents were at work, so he was alone with the accomplished apothecary, who gave him chapter and verse about what had been happening over the past few days, from Gus’s disappearance and the information from the Tumble-Bawler to the Impicturement of Oksa and the valiant Runaways. Merlin had been terrified by this awful news, but had immediately agreed to hide the wooden tube containing the rolled Imagicon.

“You’re the only one who won’t be suspected, my dear boy,” she declared.

“Are you sure no one followed you?” Merlin had asked, trembling at the huge responsibility he’d just been given out of the blue.

“Positive!” Dragomira had assured him.

However, a few hours after she’d left, Merlin couldn’t help wondering whether he was as anonymous as she’d believed. He twitched back his bedroom curtain and glanced outside, towards the terrace of the tearoom opposite. The man was still sitting there, drinking endless cups of coffee, his eyes glued to the front door of Merlin’s house. He hadn’t budged an inch for the past two hours. It might be a coincidence or a figment of Merlin’s imagination after hearing the Pollocks’ latest secrets, but he didn’t really believe it: that man was definitely watching his house. He
knew Dragomira had come. So what was he waiting for, sitting there, sipping coffee? If he wanted to steal the Imagicon, it would be very easy! He’d just have to break into the house, come upstairs to his bedroom, bash him over the head, tie him to a chair or kill him and it was job done.

Aaaarghhhhhh!

Merlin jumped, barely able to stifle a loud cry: someone had just rung the doorbell, which had never before sounded so scary. Instinctively he glanced out of the window.

“Oh no—I don’t believe it!”

The man was no longer in the tearoom. He was obviously
waiting behind the door
, his finger jammed on the doorbell! Merlin was sure of it. He crept out onto the landing and glanced at the frosted-glass front door. It was filled with a massive silhouette from top to bottom. Merlin’s legs buckled and perspiration beaded his forehead. He had to get out! He whirled round, stuffed the wooden tube into his backpack and dashed into the bathroom at the back of the house. Standing on the edge of the bath, he opened the small window overlooking the back garden and climbed through, his jaw clenched with fear. He was terrified of the empty drop below, but he soon had a more pressing problem, more frightening than a few feet of empty space below him: the man had just got into his house. Merlin could hear heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. If he found him, he’d take the picture and Oksa would be lost for ever! Merlin grabbed hold of the drainpipe and, using the gaps between the bricks as footholds, scrambled down the back of the building.

“My son? Are you sure, Meredith?”

“Yes, sir, he’s here in the lobby.”

“I’ll be right down!”

Edmund Poicassé threaded his way through the crowds of tourists on the staircases in the famous clock tower of Big Ben. Merlin’s father
was an intelligent, imposing man. He loved London so much that, in the space of just a few years, he’d almost forgotten he was French and saw himself as a true Londoner. He spoke perfect English with only the faintest trace of a French accent, and this only increased his popularity with colleagues and friends. As a result, when he saw his son waiting in the reception area, he spoke to him in English, which didn’t faze Merlin, who was bilingual.

“Merlin, what are you doing here?” asked Edmund Poicassé in surprise.

“I’ve just come to pay my dear old dad a visit at work!” replied Merlin with feigned cheerfulness. “Believe it or not, I was getting bored, and I suddenly had an uncontrollable urge to see Big Ben. I haven’t been here for ages…”

“I’m hardly going to complain about that, am I?” chuckled his father, tousling his curly hair.

“Will you take me to see the clock?”

“Of course I will, young man!”

With a wide smile, Edmund Poicassé guided his son through the maze of staircases leading up to the great bell. Merlin was still a little shaken up after his narrow escape, which had left his heart feeling like it had been put through a lemon squeezer. The tall, thin windows showed glimpses of London, Parliament, Westminster and St James’s Park in the distance. And somewhere in those streets a man was looking for him… He fingered the wooden tube in his backpack. Dragomira had given him a huge responsibility. He thought about Oksa, trapped in the Imagicon. Never had she been so close to him—and her fate depended on him! He felt dizzy for a moment. He stopped climbing the stairs and clung to the railing.

“You okay?” asked his father.

“Yes, thanks, Dad.”

He was very proud of his acting abilities because, although he sounded relaxed and cheerful, deep down he felt really agitated. After leaving the house, he’d set off like a marathon runner, his pace steady and regular,
his thoughts all over the place. Where could he hide the Imagicon? In St Proximus? No way! That was far too obvious for the Felons. In the left-luggage office at the station? Not bad… but still too easy, maybe. He couldn’t take any risks. “Of course!” he suddenly thought to himself. He’d then retraced his footsteps and headed straight for the Houses of Parliament. When he’d arrived at the foot of Big Ben, he’d looked up with a satisfied smile.

“Don’t worry, Oksa,” he’d murmured, patting his backpack. “No one will find you here!”

Big Ben was certainly one of the busiest tourist attractions in Great Britain, but Merlin had an advantage over hundreds of daily visitors: his father was a master clockmaker and, a few months ago, had been appointed to the sought-after position of custodian. This meant that he had access to rooms that were off-limits to everyone except him and the two other custodians.

“Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes, Merlin? I just have to check something with James!”

“I’ll be fine, Dad, see you in a mo.”

Merlin was now in the clock room, which was filled with huge toothed wheels. The hands of the most famous clock in the world could be seen through the small, opaque glass panes. Merlin opened one and leant out: the minute hand wasn’t far away. He stood on tiptoe to open the window opposite it. “Aaargh!” he raged. He was too short. And not only was he too short but he had to act quickly too. His father was going to come back any minute and the hand was moving too slowly. Merlin began
trembling
, feeling panicky. He leant out again through the window he could reach: the hand was almost level with him. Just a few more seconds… He took out the wooden tube and undid his shoelace. The enormous wrought-iron hand was about to appear in the little window. Merlin tied the tube to the hand as it continued its slow journey, knotting the lace as tightly as he could. Then, overwrought and breathless, he watched the tube move away as the seconds ticked by.

“There you are, Oksa, no one will ever find you there,” he murmured, closing the window. “I can promise you that!”

W
HEN
N
AFTALI
AND
B
RUNE
K
NUT
PARKED
IN FRONT
of the house in Bigtoe Square, they immediately realized
something
was wrong because the Lunatrix was leaning out of the third-floor window, wailing so loudly that any passer-by could have seen him, which went against every safety rule he’d obeyed for the past fifty years. Naftali and Brune frowned and dashed up to the house. The front door was
half-open
, which was also very strange. Particularly in these troubled times…

“The Swedish friends of the Old Gracious make a much-awaited arrival!” cried the Lunatrix, rushing downstairs. “Impatience and alarm have invaded the domestic staff of the Old Gracious.”

“What’s happened, Lunatrix?” asked Naftali gravely. “You look upset.”

Brune picked up the small creature in her arms. The Lunatrix was trembling and his teeth were chattering. He wrapped his long arms around the old lady’s neck and clung to her.

“The Felons have made the institution of terror in this house!” he wailed shrilly. “They have provoked catastrophe in the apartment of the Old Gracious. Their determination to seize the Imagicon has been thwarted because the Old Gracious was overflowing with suspicions and organized its escape.”

“Dragomira! Dragomira! What have you done?” muttered Naftali to
himself.

“The hiding place of the Imagicon holds supreme safety since only the Old Gracious has knowledge of the identity of its custodian. But the tragedy of this household is complete, boohoohoo…” sobbed the Lunatrix. “The Felons have demonstrated the cruelty that has embraced their hearts, and the Old Gracious has encountered injury. Her Swedish friends must climb to the rescue!”

Naftali immediately ran upstairs. Brune followed at a slower pace, weighed down by the Lunatrix in her arms.

“What about Marie?” she asked the small creature.

The Lunatrix dissolved into tears and buried his round head in Brune’s neck.

“The mother of the Young Gracious has sustained tragedy.”

“What?” cried Brune in alarm. “Don’t tell me she’s—
dead
?”

“No!” cried the Lunatrix. “The mother of the Young Gracious has not encountered death. But the Felons have performed a kidnapping. The mother of the Young Gracious has been taken!”

Brune wailed in astonishment.

“That can’t be true! Tell me it isn’t true, Lunatrix!” she cried, gazing at the small creature in despair.

“My mouth only makes broadcast of the truth. If the Old Gracious gains knowledge of the event, her heart is at risk of stopping its
beating
. Boohoohoo… The Runaways are shrouded in tragedy… Thanks to the help of the Ptitchkins, the Lunatrix Guardian of the Definitive Landmark encountered success in performing evasion, but it was by the chin of his teeth.”

“Skin… you mean skin of your teeth!” chirped the little golden birds, flying around Brune. Struggling to make sense of all this information, Brune joined her husband in Dragomira’s apartment. The large living room was a complete mess—there was smashed glass and broken
furniture
everywhere. The frantic search by the Felons hadn’t left a single object intact or a single armchair undamaged. Dragomira was lying on
one of the ripped sofas with a nasty red welt around her neck, bruises all over her face and a black eye. She looked completely devastated. Naftali was sitting dejectedly beside her.

“Brune,” murmured Baba Pollock, stretching out her arm towards her old friend. “Mercedica… it was Mercedica…”

Puzzled and concerned, Brune looked first at Dragomira, then Naftali. What did Dragomira mean? No way! Mercedica couldn’t have had anything to do with this chaos. But Naftali nodded, confirming the awful truth.

“Mercedica de La Fuente belongs to Felony!” declared the Lunatrix. “With the company of her descendant named Catarina and the son of the Felon Orthon-McGraw named Gregor, they showered acts of aggression on the Old Gracious and committed theft of her medallion and the Goranov!”

Naftali buried his face in his hands and Brune, her head reeling, collapsed onto a wobbly chair.

“Those scumbags,” groaned Naftali. “They had everything planned.”

“If only I’d been more observant!” wailed Dragomira. “Mercedica has always been uncompromising, she’d never change her mind about things and I’d noticed she’d become even more inflexible over the last few months. She seemed tenser and, on several occasions, harsher than I’d ever known her to be. I should have paid more attention and listened to my doubts.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Dragomira,” said Brune. “How could you have known she was a Felon? She was an old friend who’d been through so many hard times with you, a woman who’d sworn loyalty to your mother, Malorane!”

“That’s true,” agreed Dragomira bitterly, overcome with sadness. “But I should have realized. I should have noticed the signs!”

“Mercedica knew we were going to Abakum’s house this evening to tighten security,” added Brune. “She made the most of it to let her ‘friends’ in. She really pulled the wool over our eyes.”

“If I ever see her again, I don’t think much for her chances, I can promise you that!” thundered Naftali, his green eyes bright with fury.

“I’m so sorry, my friends,” whispered Dragomira.

“This isn’t your fault!” repeated Brune, hurriedly taking her hand.

“What about Marie?” asked Dragomira faintly.

Brune gnawed at her bottom lip and glanced despairingly at Naftali. She squeezed her friend’s hand even more tightly in hers.

“They’ve taken her, haven’t they?” asked Dragomira, her voice breaking.

Brune gazed at her mutely with tears in her eyes. Dragomira groaned and her face crumpled as her last shred of hope vanished. Baba Pollock’s strength deserted her—she was physically and mentally spent. Her head lolled against Brune’s arm and she began crying with worry and remorse.

“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “I thought I could tackle them alone… I’m just a stupid, pathetic old woman.”

Holding back her tears, Brune interrupted her:

“The Lunatrix told me everything, your instincts were spot on: by hiding the Imagicon, you avoided a huge catastrophe. But you couldn’t prevent everything. I would have done the same as you, you know.”

“Where is it, Dragomira? Where’s the picture?” asked Naftali as gently as he could, despite his fury.

“Naftali, Dragomira can’t tell us,” replied Brune. Naftali and Dragomira looked at her in amazement.

“She mustn’t tell us,” continued Brune. “It’s the only way to make sure she isn’t killed. If she’s the only one who knows where it is, the Felons can’t do anything to hurt her and, anyway, it’s a good way of ensuring our own safety.”

“You’re right, my dear Brune,” murmured Dragomira.

“On the other hand, I’m afraid that Marie will only be used as a bargaining counter now,” said Naftali. “Those scumbags couldn’t ask for a better way of putting pressure on us. And we know what they’re going to ask.”

“To swap Marie for Oksa…” groaned Dragomira, putting her face in her hands.

“They don’t know us very well!” growled Naftali. “The Felons have an advantage over us today, a sizeable advantage, certainly. But so long as we have Oksa, the ball is in our court. This may have weakened us, but we’re still in a position of strength. Oksa represents the supreme power and even the fiercest Felon can’t match our Last Hope. Hold on to that thought, Dragomira.”