Petra K and the Blackhearts (11 page)

I was in no mood for Jozseftown. My mother deserved to see the best of Pava on a day like today. We made our way past the vendors and through the narrow streets, and walked past the guards that stood posted at the neighborhood gates. We strolled across the Karlow Bridge to parade ourselves in our old neighborhood under the Palace.

“Look,” Mother said. “The Palace Gardens are open. Let’s go see!”

At the gardens we saw rare flowers: kissing tulipan that made a slurping sound as their petals sought each other; orgona from the high Nepyls, which gave off the odor of bitter chocolate and whose petals were prized by top pastry chefs; and the dark violet
lavendula
, the touch of which causes an instant and deep sleep. As we strolled, we passed uniformed generals, ministers, and their families, and troops of gardeners who tried to make themselves invisible whenever anybody important approached.

“My heavens,” Mother exclaimed, grabbing me by the shoulder.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed back.

“There he is, stand aside. Curtsy. Do anything, just don’t misbehave!”

I saw at once whom she was talking about. A short person was walking toward us, his nose held high in the air. As he approached, we tried to flatten ourselves against the side of the path. It was Archibald the Precious himself, two Boot minders walking behind him. Every now and again one of the Boot guards would point out a particularly spectacular flower and bend it toward Archibald to smell, at which point Archibald would pluck the flower from its stem and hand it back to a guard, whose job it was to carry the bouquet. It was funny to see such huge men taking care over such a small delicate thing as a flower.

Soon, though, Archibald was right in front of us. I could see my mother shrinking from his gaze, trying to figure out if she should move left or right. But Archibald just stepped between my mother and me, parting us without a word. You see, behind us was a uniquely huge lavender orchid, with a blossom so big and inviting you could stick your whole face into its cupped petals. And that is just what Archibald did. I could have extended my hand and pet him on the top of his head as he bent toward the flower. He picked the flower himself, then after straightening up he held the orchid out to me, his face brightening as though in recognition. He was about to speak, then something surprising happened: he keeled over and fell flat onto the dirt. For a moment I saw him not as a dictator or enemy, but rather as a classmate who was playacting.

“Oh get up,” I said. I could see him taking deep breaths. But Archibald did not get up, and in a split second the Boot were pushing us out of the way. One bent over and lifted Archibald from the ground, then rushed off with the limp body. The other looked around, as though trying to pinpoint a perpetrator.

“You two,” he said to us. “Stay right here. Under order of the Boot, do not move from this spot,” he commanded, and then rushed after the other Boot guard. My mother looked petrified.

“Come on, Mother,” I said, taking her hand. “Let’s go!”

“He said to stay here,” she responded meekly.

“Yes, but we should really leave,” I said.

“You need to learn to do what you are told, Petra K. Who put the idea in your head that you can defy a Boot officer?”

I didn’t know how, but I had to get myself and my mother out of there. From where I was standing I could see a commotion at the entrance of the gardens. Boot officers were gathering, and I could see them pulling people from the crowd and leading them away.

“This way,” a voice bellowed from behind us. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to say something, to make any
excuse I could think of, but there in front of me was Abel, dressed in a Youth Guard uniform. He winked at me, and told us to follow him. I was so surprised that I could not move for a moment.

“This way,” he commanded again, though I could see he was also trying to keep from laughing.

“Come, Petra K,” my mother instructed, grabbing my hand. We both followed Abel out of the gardens, right under the eye of the Boot. Nobody even looked at us twice.

At once I felt relieved and worried. Why would my mother go with somebody, just because they wore a uniform? Abel was smaller than me, and not terribly convincing as a Youth Guard member. Was it a kind of subtle magic that people want to be deceived by, this complacence in the face of a uniform?

“OK, you are free to go!” Abel said with mock authority, once he had led us to the head of Karlow Bridge.

“But don’t you want to question us?” asked my mother.

“Yes,” said Abel, a mischievous glimmer rising in his eye. “Questioning. Where do you come from?”

“Jozseftown,” she responded dutifully.

“Do you like it there?”

“Not very much,” she said honestly.

“And do you like rabbits?” he said, as sternly as possible.

“Why, yes, I suppose.…” she stammered.

“Do you own any rabbits, madam?”

“No,” she said, still following his lead.

“Not even a small one? I find that a little bunny,” Abel said, laughing at his own stupid pun. I wanted to kick him.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with what just happened in the Palace Gardens,” she said. “We were right there. We didn’t do anything, he just fell over in front of us.”

“You know,” Abel said, trying to be serious, “Archibald has become quite sick. Nobody knows the source of his illness, but we are taking it very seriously, and thank you for your attention.”

“You are quite welcome,” my mother responded. At last, now we could leave. We began to walk away. But suddenly Abel called us back.

“Ladies, I insist you make haste in getting home, and don’t talk to anybody about what you saw.”

“We won’t, will we Petra K?”

“No,” I said.

“Can I talk with the little girl for a moment?” Abel said.

“Of course,” my mother said, pushing me in his direction.

“You are littler than me!” I hissed, out of Mother’s earshot.

“Friday, be prepared,” he said to me in a whisper, then turned and left, disappearing into the crowd that was gathering around the gardens.

“What was that?” said my mother. “I don’t understand. How do you know that person?”

“I don’t,” I lied.

“Then why did he say, Friday? I heard him say
Friday
from here.”

“He said that if I ever get a rabbit to name it Friday,” I said, mentally lashing Abel for his indiscretion. On the other hand, he did save us from the Boot, as though it was nothing but a game of charades to him.

“Let’s get home,” Mother said. “It’s what we were instructed to do. And he may be a Boot officer, but don’t think that you are getting a rabbit too.”

We walked in silence back to Jozseftown. When we arrived home, mother went straight to her room, closing the door quietly behind herself, secluded again. She would not emerge again for quite some time.

As
IT TURNED OUT
, I would see the Blackhearts before Friday. My mother, I could see, had submitted to a kind of forfeit, though there had been no actual battle. Now I had the run of the house, and Luma and I took full advantage of it. We did raucous exercises
on the stairwell, splurged on delicacies from the black market: now that Luma was a champion he was developing an appetite for finer foods. I stopped short of buying him a tin of Kaspian caviar, instead opting for cheaper roe of carp from the Pava River. I knew in my heart that we were behaving badly—people were struggling to just feed themselves in my own neighborhood; but for once I was able to indulge myself, and I was going to do it, all the while without a peep coming from behind mother’s door.

The chaos inside my house was only matched by the tense quiet on the streets outside. Boot incursions into the neighborhood were becoming more and more frequent. A man was flogged on Goat Square when it was discovered he had not surrendered his gold tooth; dragonka pups were captured from secret hatcheries. More worrisome, notices were tacked to the lampposts offering a thousand kuna for the deliverance of any dragonka to the Boot Guard, provided the beast was alive and not over a year old. What the Palace wanted with the dragonka was still a mystery to me. All the same, I would have to be doubly sure to keep Luma under wraps and at home.

I wanted to hear what the people of the neighborhood were saying about Archibald at the market, but with no school to attend I had begun to wake up later and later. The shopkeepers were notorious early risers, and were usually done with their trade by early afternoon, but that day I was just in time to catch a few of the last stragglers. I wove in and out of stout women’s legs, hanging around quietly until I heard Archibald’s name.

“They say he is quite sick,” said one woman, handing a few kuna to a vendor selling onions and turnips.

“Who is ‘they’?” said another.

“The same they as last time,” joked the woman. “Just
they
.”

“Only an operation can save him, but nobody dares try,” chimed in another.

“It is an issue of the heart,” said the grocer. “His heart is bad.”

“Bad?” said the young mother. “Try rotten through and through!”

“Shhh, shhh, now,” said the older woman when she noticed I was listening in. It was funny to be taken for a spy. A mischievous spirit overtook me, and just to make them nervous I took a pen and piece of paper from my bag and began to write.

“Oh!” exclaimed the grocer. “That’s just Petra K. Pay no mind to her. Jozsef K’s daughter, you know.”

“My,” cooed the older woman. My father had a reputation indeed. “Come here, child, and let me look at you. Daughter of the Thief of Hearts.”

But nothing made me more nervous than old-woman hands, so I backed away.

“And to think we were afraid of her,” added the young mother. “She has the blood of Pava’s greatest criminal running in her veins.” That’s the problem with information, sometimes you just want a sip, but a whole wave comes splashing down on your head. Then, instantaneously, my attention was drawn elsewhere. Across the square, I was sure I spotted Zsofia. I had not seen her since that night outside my window, a few weeks ago. Now was my chance to catch up with her.

I started after Zsofia quickly, but in no time she was lost in the crowd. I searched and searched until I saw her disappearing around a corner into a causeway that led away from Goat Square. I had lost her once on her mysterious late-night jaunt through Jozseftown, and I wasn’t about to let it happen again. I followed her, but she was rushing, so it was all I could do to keep her in the distance ahead. I called out to her, but in an instant she expertly scaled the wall that enclosed the Jozseftown cemetery. I saw that she had used a tendril of ivy to help her over, so I took a deep breath and started after her.

I looked around the famous Zsida cemetery from my place high on the wall. The graves were packed so close to each other that the gravestones fanned out from the ground like a hand of
sloppily held cards. Notes to the dead, kept in place by silver coins, were balanced on the tops of some of the stones—even in these destitute times people still offered the coins—such was the strength of superstition in Jozseftown.

After I jumped down onto the other side I began to doubt my wisdom in coming here. The place felt unnatural, and there was a fine mist forming in the air, seemingly coming from nowhere. There was no sign of Zsofia, but I could sense that she was here. I walked in between the gravestones, rounded crypts, and mausoleums, trying to spot her. It was totally dark by now, though the mist gave off an eerie green glow. I called out her name. The only response was the call of a raven that sat on a gravestone watching me quizzically.

There, from behind the door of a mausoleum ahead of me, came a glow. I approached on silent feet, dashing from tomb to tomb for cover. Once I was close, I peered around the stone. From where I hid I could see a shadow passing in front of the light, and heard a rustling coming from inside the mausoleum. I crept to the door quietly and pressed my head to where it was cracked open. The place was empty. Where had Zsofia gone? I pushed back the door and entered. After a thorough search I concluded that there was no other exit. But she had to have been here: I could smell, hanging faintly in the air, the black vial perfume from Ludmilla’s.

T
hat night came the dreams of gnashing fangs, of an invisible, formless evil chasing me in the fog: a shared nightmare with Luma, who shuddered beside me. I awoke, sitting bolt upright in bed.
Somebody was watching me as I slept
. A hooded figure hovered there, outside my window. Wormwood had followed me, he had come to take Luma. The window frame rattled as it was jarred loose, and before I had time to react, the window was thrown open and the figure tumbled into my room.

“You should lock your window at night,” said Abel.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“There was a change of plans,” he answered.

“What do you mean?” I asked, rubbing my eyes.

“Hey! A frog!” he said, picking up one of my stuffed animals and making a croaking sound. “Wow, you’ve really got everything.”

“Quiet, you’ll wake my mom,” I said.

“Somebody should,” he replied snidely. “Sleepwalking around the Palace is not safe.” I knew Abel was right, but still I didn’t like anybody criticizing my mother but me.

“Enough. Now what change of plans are you talking about?”

“The tournament. It has been moved.”

“What tournament? Where?”

“The
next
tournament. It’s outside the city now,” he whispered. “It has become too risky to stage them at the old Exchange. Boot guards are coming and going at all hours these days, and several dragonka were even turned in to them by their owners.”

“So where is the next Maiden and Minor Pup?”

“In a town near the Lower Tatras,” he said.

“But I can’t travel that far from home,” I said. “I need to take care of my mother.”

“Then you will have to give Luma to us for the night,” Abel responded.

I considered this for a moment. If I wanted to continue earning our keep through Luma, I felt I would have to agree.