ALTHOUGH COMFORTABLE, OKSA’S FIRST NIGHT IN Leafhold was unusual, to say the least. Sleeping in a hard-earth hollow between the roots of a giant tree was hardly run-of-the-mill, even by Oksa’s standards, and she’d racked up an impressive list of bizarre experiences. Her hosts had showered her with kindness, giving her an area with a canopied bed surrounded by fine grey linen curtains and covered with a purple wool throw, a small chest of drawers topped with a basin and a tiny mirror, as well as some clothes laid out on a bench formed by one of the roots. She was too exhausted to wash, though. On the ceiling, a Polypharus cast a gentle light, creating restful movements reminiscent of those in an aquarium. Oksa collapsed onto the bed, fully dressed. All feelings of suffocation, claustrophobia and anxiety gradually ebbed away and sleep soon claimed her.
It was strange waking up somewhere like this. Being a few hundred yards below ground made it a little airless and, although she knew where she was, she had no idea of the time. Was it still dark or already light? Had she slept for two or twelve hours? One thing was certain: she felt perfectly rested. Somewhat reluctantly, she clambered out of her cosy bed and proceeded to scrutinize her appearance.
“Hmm… I’ve definitely looked better,” she groused, inspecting parts of her face in the tiny mirror.
Since she’d undergone that accelerated ageing process, she hadn’t had many opportunities to study her reflection or get used to it. Her face was so drawn, with purple bags under her slate-grey eyes, and her hair so tangled that she struggled to recognize herself. She ran her fingers over her cheeks, leaving streaks of black dust. Her jeans and tee-shirt were covered in glistening marks like snail slime, clearly showing where the Invisibuls had been.
“I look disgusting,” she sighed.
Instinctively her thoughts turned to Tugdual. How did he manage to be so irresistible all the time? Whatever the circumstances, he remained ab-so-lu-te-ly flawless, as if he were untouchable. “It’s like he’s from another planet,” thought Oksa, giggling at that incongruous thought. “He’s just a bit more supernatural than everybody else here!”
“What’s so funny, my Lil’ Gracious?” asked a familiar voice behind her.
Oksa turned round and blushed when she saw Tugdual casually leaning against the earthen wall, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on her. He was wearing that incomparable half-smile that made his cheekbones stand out and left his cheeks in shadow.
“Oh, I was thinking that I look awful compared to you!” she replied, incapable of saying anything else. “The grubby scullery maid and Prince Charming, you get the sort of thing?”
Tugdual approached with feline grace. He put his hands on her shoulders and landed a light kiss at the corner of her mouth.
“A grubby scullery maid, yeah right,” he sighed, looking her up and down.
“Stop looking at me!” murmured Oksa nervously.
Rather than obeying, Tugdual picked up a cloth, dampened it in the water in the basin, then gently washed Oksa’s face while she trembled with embarrassment.
“That smells nice,” she whispered.
It didn’t help that Tugdual was so close to her, which made her flush even redder. Why couldn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? Why did she keep saying such stupid things?
“It’s essence of Nobilis,” explained Tugdual. “If you like, I’ll show you where they grow in their hundreds.”
Oksa nodded. She remembered her first “encounter” with a Nobilis. She’d been in Abakum’s secret silo and the plant had chuckled with pleasure, caressing her with its petals. Another bizarre experience. Meanwhile, Tugdual continued to clean her face, the bridge of her nose, her eyelids, and her fingers, while she was desperate for him to kiss her. But he didn’t, signalling the end of this wash by gently stroking her cheek.
“Put those on now,” he said, pointing to the clothes laid out on the root bench. “I’ll wait for you next door.”
He went out, closing the curtain that divided the room from the rest of the underground dwelling. With a great deal of difficulty, Oksa pulled off her jeans stained with pearly streaks and her dirty tee-shirt and put on a pair of trousers and a short khaki tunic fragrant with a clean, comforting smell that reminded her of their house in Bigtoe Square, her mother and normal life. Tears sprang to her eyes. No. It wasn’t a good idea to dwell on the past. Not when it spoilt the present, anyway. She took a deep breath, held her head high and opened the curtain.
She hadn’t seen them when she’d arrived, but the creatures and the “living” plants were also there beneath the tree. There were those she knew well—Incompetents, Squoracles, Getorixes, Ptitchkins, Polyglossipers and Goranovs, all belonging to the Runaways—and others she’d never seen before, particularly a kind of hedgehog with soft spines and a strange marmot-like animal with an electric blue pelt.
“Watch out! Watch out!” cried the Goranov. “The Young Gracious is among us!”
“That should make you happy, not upset, lettuce!” retorted the Getorix, tossing back its abundant hair. “If the Young Gracious is here, it’s to save our skins.”
Shivering violently, the Goranov uttered a long wail. Then, after one final convulsion, all its leaves collapsed down the length of its stem. The shock had overloaded its sensitive mind.
“I like it here, and there’s nothing wrong with my skin,” remarked the Incompetent languidly.
Oksa couldn’t help it: she burst into contagious laughter, attracting the attention of all the men, women and creatures, who laughed too. Except for the Incompetent, which didn’t know what was funny and was staring at her with a blissfully stupid expression on its face.
“I’m so happy to see it again!” she said, wiping her eyes.
She tried to regain a straight face before greeting everyone who was eating lunch, sitting cross-legged on big cushions before trays on three-legged stools. Her father and Abakum looked tired, but less worried. As for Zoe, although her smile didn’t hide her sadness, Oksa appreciated it and smiled back with genuine warmth.
“The presence of my Young Gracious in this forest site meets with honour reinforced with unanimity on the part of all beings endowed with life,” announced the Lunatrix from a work surface where he was cutting bread.
Beside him, the comical creature with soft spines was spinning round and busily hoovering up every falling crumb.
“Would my Young Gracious experience the desire to ingest a piece of bread and butter?” went on the Lunatrix. “And does she express the wish to proceed with quenching her thirst?”
“Yes, please,” replied Oksa. “I have to admit I’m a bit hungry.”
No sooner said than done: the Lunatrix rushed over, almost dropping the little tray he was carrying. It was Zoe who reacted first, rescuing the tray with a flick of her index finger.
“I keep forgetting I know how to do that,” whispered Oksa, winking at her friend.
The piping-hot white bread went down a treat. She devoured five slices of bread and butter thinly spread with a delicious jam, whose taste she couldn’t place. However, when she took a sip from the cup of steaming liquid brought by the Lunatrix, she couldn’t help pulling a face.
“Boohoo, the face of my Young Gracious makes the demonstration of deep disgust,” lamented the small steward. “Her domestic staff encounters failure stuffed with smarting pain, boohoohoo…”
He slumped against the wall, inconsolable.
“Poor thing!” exclaimed Zoe. “He forgot to tell you he’d added some Zestillia bean extract. You have to think how you want your drink to taste and the Zestillia will do your bidding.”
Oksa smacked her forehead with the flat of her hand. Of course! She concentrated, sipped her drink again and smiled. The Lunatrix, watching his mistress’s reactions closely, immediately raised his large head.
“The forgetfulness of that instruction will perpetuate remorse in the heart of your domestic staff until the end of his days,” he sobbed.
“There’s no harm done, my Lunatrix,” cried Oksa, kneeling in front of him. “You’re a miracle-worker!”
She hugged him and gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek. The Lunatrix turned as purple as an aubergine.
“What flavour did you choose?” asked Lucy.
“Black tea with citrus and spices,” replied Oksa. “A Russian ‘Dragomira-style’ recipe.”
Her eyes misted over. She buried her nose in her cup and drank the rest of the tea, despite the painful lump in her throat.
“Right, Lil’ Gracious, now I’d like to show you something,” said Tugdual. “Come on!”