Petra K and the Blackhearts (16 page)

“Can’t you tell me what that really means?”

“I shouldn’t say,” he said, with a mischievous grin. “I was planning on giving you a tour of the Imperial Gallery, but I can show you all about our experiments instead.”

“OK,” I responded.

He took me by the hands and led me into the Palace. He opened a door and we descended into a different part of the cellars than the one we had been in the night before. We entered a long corridor, which was lined with doors. There was a strong smell present, something like sulfur and molten copper.

Suddenly, Archibald’s eyes rolled back in his head. He swooned, then tripped and fell down the last step. I jumped to assist him. He pushed me off, and picked himself up—he was not hurt, but he looked humiliated. He hid his face from me.

“It’s OK,” I said. “You can cry in front of me.”

“I can’t,” he said.

“Why not? I cry all the time,” I said.

“I want to.… I feel like I should, but something is missing, I cannot cry.”

“Everybody can cry!” I said.

“I don’t feel sad, though. Just blankness. I can’t cry. My heart does not allow it.”

“What has your heart got to do with it?”

“It … how can I say this? It is not my real heart. I mean, it is my heart. I own it, but it is not real. I know it sounds incredible.”

“It does,” I said.

“But it quits on me. It winds down and just stops ticking.”

“You mean beating,” I said.

“No, ticking,” he said. “Listen.” I put my ear against Archibald’s chest. Indeed, I heard a ticking sound as though Archibald had an alarm clock rather than a heart.

“I don’t feel like a tour any more,” he said.

“That’s alright,” I said.

“Shall we play a game instead?” he said.

“Sure,” I responded.

“This is my favorite; I used to play it all the time before I found my friends. It’s called Haints and Saints. You are the Haint, you have to hide. I am the Saint, I will find you.”

“But the Palace is huge!”

“That’s why it’s fun. We have all day.”

H
AINTS AND
S
AINTS
? Only partly right. It was time to find the Haints—real Haints—and I had all day to do it. In particular, I wanted to find the one that had passed through me the night before, who had fanned such sadness in me. And so it began. I ran through the rooms of the Palace, throwing open any door I pleased, coming across luxuries beyond belief. The kitchen larders were filled with pheasant, wild boar, exotic truffles, and edible flowers. Ancient tapestries and paintings decorated the bedrooms, studies with silver-plated pens and mood shards everywhere. It was in a remote parlor that my eye caught a dark mood shard in the corner of the room. The shard was a dark amber color that quickly changed to black as I gazed at it. Only it wasn’t a mood shard at all, but a black piece of silk that lifted from its place and hung in the air, fluttering as though in a breeze. Then the scarf elongated, until it was the size of a cape. It fluttered toward me, then over my head and out the door, as though beckoning me to chase it. I ran out of the room just in time to see it vanish down a circular stone stairwell. I chased it down the stairs into a dank cellar corridor.

Again I was apprehended by the smell of sulfur, molten metal, and incense. It was acrid and hurt my nose, but still the
charm was too strong to resist. I spotted the cape, just before it disappeared through a door. I went to the door, to find it closed. Then from within the room, I heard an ungodly howl. And then I felt the charm, mixed in with the howling. Dragonka were behind that door, braying in misery. The black cape had led me here, for some reason. I turned the door handle, and entered a pitch-black room. The crying stopped as suddenly as it had begun, but I still felt the charm.

I heard footfalls approaching. Archibald’s meek voice called my name, sounding like a ghost come to haunt me. His footsteps stopped outside the door. I heard the doorknob turn slowly: Archibald was coming in. I backed up and flattened myself against the wall. Archibald entered. He called my name, then, when he got no response, lit a paraffin lantern, sending an orange glow along what looked like a storeroom. A shot of terror raced down my spine when I registered what the light revealed. The walls were lined with dragonka. But they were not alive. They were in jars, preserved in liquid like specimens in some horrific museum. Archibald walked up and down the rows of shelves, appraising the jars as though admiring a much-loved collection.

In a surge of revulsion I lifted my arm to cover my mouth, trying to restrain a scream. But in doing so, I knocked a jar from its place with my elbow. The jar fell crashing to the floor. The smell of camphor and death filled the room. I saw the small dragonka lying amidst the shattered glass and preservatives. Its heart had been cut out. It was then that I actually did scream.

“Petra K,” he said, turning in delight. “I found you!”

“What is this?” I cried. There were innumerable dragonka, all with their hearts cut from them.

“This is my playroom,” he said. “I wanted to show you, but you found it on your own. These are all my favorites. I try to visit every day.” Now I knew what was happening to the dragonka that disappeared from the streets. They were not taken abroad as we
were told, but instead met their fate here in the laboratories under the palace.

“What do you want to know?” he asked earnestly. “I will tell you everything. I see you are upset, but it is all for the good of Pava. Just let me explain. Will you come upstairs, have a poppy bun, and listen?”

He did not wait for an answer; instead he took me by the hand and led me upstairs to the Palace ballroom, where he sat me in a huge chair. He picked up a glass of juniper soda and handed it to me. Recovering from my shock, I lashed out, knocking the glass from his hand.

“Tell me why I am here!” I demanded.

“Because I get lonely. Do you know something? When I was much smaller, I used to play Haints and Saints. But I had no one to play with. It may sound sad, but I could do it for hours, hiding and waiting. That was how I came to know the Palace so well. In time, I discovered places in the basement. Those were the best hiding spots. I wasn’t afraid, because I felt like I wasn’t alone. I began to dream of creatures, no,
people
living down there. The spirits communicated with me through my dreams. They beckoned me to help them, and I did. You see, there was a wall downstairs that was obviously concealing something. The spirits called me through it. All I did was chip away at it, and there they were. By doing so, I released them from a curse that kept them there. They promised to be eternally grateful. We have been caring for each other ever since.”

“How do they care for you?” I said dubiously.

“They help me with my sickness,” he said.

If there was one thing I knew for certain at that moment, it was that the Palace was haunted, and Archibald was being made deranged by that haunting.

“I want you to stay here,” he said. “The Haints are nice, but not fun to play with. I think if I ask them they will let you. What do you think?”

I was about to open my mouth when I saw a thoughtful look pass over his face.

“Oh,” he said placidly, as though his babysitter had caught him reading under the covers late at night. “Here they come.”

“Here come who?” I asked, for I couldn’t hear anything, and felt but a quiver in the air.

Then, into the room trod a stout, squat man in a centuries-old army uniform with a peacock-feathered hat. Behind him slinked a tall, thin man who appeared made of nothing but a shadow. Then came a low rumbling, which turned into an explosive clattering, and through the wall burst two warhorses carrying a chariot and a rider in a leather vest. Another two spirits sprouted up through the floor. Still others hovered over us on the ceiling, shimmering and quaking like storm clouds at night. Before long the room was filled with spirits from the past ages of Pava. They surrounded Archibald as though protecting him from me. One cradled Archibald in his arms, and before long the small dictator was fast asleep. Now it was just me and them.

“What is your business here, child?” the stout one demanded.

“We were playing,” I said. My answer caused a ripple of low, heated chatter amongst them. Finally the stout one came forward again. “What were you playing?” he ventured. “
Exactly
what?” the tall shadowy one rejoined.

“Nothing,” I stammered.

“Nobody plays nothing,” the shadowy one said. “Everybody plays
something
.”

I gulped. I had no answer.

“Where do you live?” one asked.

“I … I don’t know,” I responded.

“Have you any gold?” another asked, as though he was a beggar looking for food. Indeed, they all had a sickly look to them. Their ghostly limbs were deteriorating, and appeared moth-eaten.

“No,” I said. “No gold here.”

“Then what good are you?” he sputtered, and disappeared into the floor.

“Is she spirit or human?” the spindly one said to the stout soldierly one, who appeared to be the leader of the group.

“Human, of course,” said one in the back.

“But there is something so familiar in her ghostly attractions,” said the stout one. A spirit from the ceiling swooped down next to me and inhaled, smelling me. The Haint howled with disgust and retreated.

“She is human indeed,” came a voice from behind. I turned to see Wormwood in a white lab coat.

“Then what is she doing here?” demanded the general.

“I knew it was a bad idea, but it was Archibald’s wish,” he replied.

“He is not allowed to wish!” said the stout general.

“He
is
the monarch,” said Wormwood, in a voice of conciliation.

“Have her removed!” said the stout one.

“Archibald will not be happy,” said Wormwood.

“Get him more dragonka. More mood shards. Anything but this girl.”

“Very well,” said Wormwood. He approached me and held out his hand. In it was a small peppermint. “Here,” he said, offering it forth. But I was not so easily fooled. I turned to flee, only to find myself in the grasp of a Haint who had snuck up behind me. I struggled, but he held me tight as Wormwood pressed a handkerchief to my face. From it I smelled the sweet pungent smell of camphor. I kicked with all my might, but it was no use. I passed out in his arms.

I
awoke in a cage in the back of the same cart that had delivered me. I was delirious at first, but when I came to my senses, I could see that we were traveling at a quick pace on a road out of Pava. I poked my head up to see the thick neck of a Boot officer cracking a whip over the heads of a pair of mighty horses.

“Where are you taking me?” I called to him, but he didn’t even turn to acknowledge my voice. I repeated my question to no avail.

“We are going to the mines,” came a voice from behind me. I turned my head. The cart was loaded with cages just like the one I was in, all filled with children. I scanned them until I saw a face I recognized. “There we will be worked to death.”

“Jasper!” I called. It was him, indeed, though he had lost weight, and his threadbare shirt allowed his Blackheart tattoo to show on his chest.

“How are you?” I asked.

“That is a strange question coming from you,” he responded with bitterness in his voice. “You are one of the Boot Youth Guard. We know about you.”

“I am not! It was you who betrayed the dragonka,” I said.

“If that is what you think, I cannot stop you. But the traitor is
you
.”

“If I was a traitor, what would I be doing here?” I countered.

“The only reason you are here is because the Boot kill their own if it suits them.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. But I remembered the ceremony where he was treated with such violence. I had lost all trust of the Blackhearts, if I had ever really had it.

“I may go to my death with dignity. But you … you will die a coward,” said Jasper.

I slumped in misery. Then a horrible thought jolted me. “Jasper,” I finally said. “Jasper!”

“What?”

“Did the Blackhearts sell Luma?”

“Sell Luma?”

“For his skin,” I said.

“Ha!” he guffawed. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” I said.

“Well you will have plenty of time to ponder it in the mines. There they work you until you can no longer stand upright,” he said.

“Stop with that talk. You are scaring the others,” I said when I noticed a small Half Not child listening in.

We stopped speaking. A dread wound its way between all of us, like a snake amongst sleepers. It was freezing cold, and I held myself tight to keep from shivering too much. It wasn’t until the cart came to a lurching halt that I looked up again.

“Get out of the road!” the driver shouted. I pressed my head against the top of the cage to see what was holding us up. There in the middle of the road was a small potbellied pig. “Rufus!” I began to yell, but my voice was cut short by Jasper, who grabbed me through the bars. He shook his head gravely. I turned back to watch. The driver stood up to threaten the pig.
Rufus stood his ground, then began to grow! He was puffing up, as though he was a balloon and somebody was filling him with air. Suddenly, when he was the size of a cow, he burst, and gold coins went flying everywhere.

“What?” the driver exclaimed in disbelief. Then he began to chuckle when the coins showered around him. He sprung from the cab and began to gather the gold into his pockets, laughing and amazed. Stealthily, from behind a tree, a figure emerged. Deklyn leapt into the cab and yanked the reigns hard, taking control of the confused horses. Isobel too emerged from hiding and jumped into the back of the cart. In a flash, Deklyn had the cart moving. We circled the confused Boot officer. He made a few stumbling grasps for the reigns, but Deklyn was too fast. In an instant, we were back on the road to Pava, galloping full speed. We stopped briefly, and Rufus jumped into Deklyn’s arms. No doubt the gold had turned to clay by now, and the Boot officer was cursing his birth star.

As we fled, Isobel climbed nimbly amongst the cages, releasing us one by one. All the other children clamored to get to the front of the cart and pat Deklyn on the shoulder. We were free. With the wind rushing about us, it felt like we were going to rush straight into the city and recapture it for the people. But Deklyn stopped short of the city border.