OKSA HADN’T COME TO THE COUNCIL ROOM UNPREPARED: she’d done a great deal of research before taking such a critical step for Edefia’s future. She’d had long conversations with elderly—and not so elderly—Edefians about the best way to approach things. Then, with the help of her Lunatrix, she’d spent hours among the dusty shelves of the Memorary, unearthing fascinating archives about the different High Enclaves over the centuries.
“My Gracious is full of exactitude,” the little creature had confirmed nasally. “The constitution of the High Enclaves and the attribution of the duties of the Servants experience variation and connection with the needs of the current moment.”
“Look!” Oksa had added, bent over the crystal pages of a fat register. “At one time, there was even a Servant for the Division of Wealth!”
“Affirmation fills the mouth of your domestic staff, my Gracious. It was needful to create that Mission in the reign of Gracious Edith, the prior grandmother of my Dear-Departed-and-Much-Beloved Old Gracious, in order to proceed to the prevention of the proliferation of imbalance. Because, as my Gracious possesses the knowledge, the nature of man occasionally propels him towards the inspection of his own navel rather than towards neighbourliness.”
A few hours later, sitting before the gathered throng in the Council Room, she smiled at this recent memory and winked at her Lunatrix, who flushed an eye-watering purple. On the table sat a new crystal register which would be added to the many others kept in the Memorary: her personal Elzevir, in which she’d have to record all the major events in her reign. A stylus was attached to the Elzevir by a slender chain, whose links formed the letters of her name: Gracious Oksa. Oksa placed her hands on the patinated metal table and suddenly noticed her Curbita-Flatulo. The little living bracelet was peacefully curled around her wrist, clearly unable to detect any anxiety in its young mistress’s mind. Pleasantly surprised by the smooth feel of the table under her hands, Oksa gazed for a few seconds at the crowd silently waiting in the auditorium. She met her father’s eyes and saw him nod. Then she felt ready to begin.
“Edefia has lived through some difficult years,” she announced, “But we must now put all the pain and suffering behind us. Goodwill and determination are vital if we are to make a full recovery. However, you know as well as I do that the circumstances are exceptional and that it will not be easy to restore equilibrium. There are those who will do everything in their power to stop us. Which is why, following the advice of the most experienced citizens among you and learning from the lessons of the past, I think it’s crucial to split the High Enclave into seven Missions.”
She broke off, flustered by her serious tone and by being the centre of attention. Where was the headstrong schoolgirl now? Zoe and Tugdual had to be thinking the same thing as they watched her admiringly, the former with fierce admiration and the latter with chilly approval.
“I don’t know you all, unfortunately,” continued Oksa. “But without trust or solidarity we’ll achieve nothing. So I’m going to appoint two Servants to lead every Mission: one Runaway and one Insider, which will make it possible to combine the best ideas from our two worlds. These Servants will then choose whomever they want to help them work more efficiently and, above all, motivate the whole nation.”
Everyone in the amphitheatre nodded vigorously.
“Now I’ll introduce the seven Missions and their Servants, giving you the reasons for my choices,” continued Oksa, her voice quivering with excitement. “First is the Reconstruction Mission, with Olof and Emica. Olof is the son of Naftali and Brune Knut. In our world, he was an architect and his experience will come in useful for rebuilding the towns, with the help of Emica who, I’ve been told, is one of the best carpenters in Edefia.”
The Ptitchkins took flight, chirruping joyfully and landed on the shoulders of the people Oksa had just named. The elegant, powerfully built Scandinavian, as imposing as his father, stood up and waited for Emica, a smiling woman with short hair and a sweet, angelic face. They joined Oksa on the rostrum and bowed low. “Oh I do hate it when they do that,” Oksa sighed to herself.
“The Water Conservation Mission will be headed up by Brune and Achilles. I think this is a matter dear to your hearts,” added Oksa, smiling.
The two new Servants, zealously accompanied by the tiny birds, nodded with unconcealed delight.
“The Essential Goods Mission will be led by Tin, a friend of Abakum’s, and Jeanne. This Mission is responsible for the sound management of everything that might be necessary for our survival,” explained Oksa.
She hesitated for a second before continuing shakily:
“My parents owned a restaurant on the Outside with Jeanne and Pierre. And Jeanne was an expert forward planner. She made sure that nothing ran out. Ever.”
Gus’s mother’s gentle face lit up with gratitude.
“The fourth Mission combines Granokology, Pharmacopoeia and Protection. Sven and Naftali will be its Servants, Naftali because he’s always been so vigilant against our enemies, and Sven for his supreme mastery of plants and minerals. You were trained by Mirandole, like Abakum, weren’t you?” asked Oksa, addressing the elderly man with long white braids.
“Abakum was and is the best of us,” replied the latter, “and I hope you’ll permit me to take advantage of his shrewd advice and long experience on the Outside?”
Oksa smiled at him: the Fairyman was universally loved and revered.
“The Integrity Mission will be well served by Sacha and Bodkin,” she continued. “Bodkin is a Runaway of great wisdom and I know that Sacha has devoted her life to fighting injustice and disloyalty at the cost of her own freedom.”
Bodkin, the Runaway who was dressed like an English dandy, politely offered his arm to a middle-aged woman with clear, piercing eyes. She wore her hair scraped back in an impeccable bun, which only heightened the intensity of her gaze. Sacha was one of the Sealenced prisoners who’d been freed two days earlier. She was said to be a woman of unshakeable principle and a passionate fighter for justice and fairness. Oksa had been struck by her determination—a stubborn, unwavering resolve which made her as immovable as a mountain.
“Thank you, Gracious Oksa,” she said, her voice still hoarse from weeks of Sealencing. “You can count on me.”
“I know,” said Oksa reassuringly, before continuing. “The sixth Mission is the Wealth and Property Redistribution Mission, which was directly inspired by the Mission set up by my ancestor, Gracious Edith. I think it’s important to rebalance things on this level too. Cockerell, as you know, was treasurer to the Gracious family before the Great Chaos. He’ll be an excellent Redistributor because he’s fair.”
She then looked over at a woman with a mass of red curls and freckled skin.
“Mystia, several people have assured me that you’d also be a good Redistributor. I hope you’ll be happy to work alongside Cockerell.”
The woman gave a dazzling smile and came to sit at the High Enclave’s table.
“Last but not least, the seventh Mission will be the Initiation Mission, led by Pierre and Olenka. Olenka has taught the pharmacopoeia to generations of Insiders and is a fine teacher, like Pierre. I’ll never forget that he was the one—sorry, Dad!—who taught me to ride a bike!”
The Runaways couldn’t help laughing, while the creatures showed their amusement in their own way: the Lunatrixes chuckled hysterically, the Squoracles cackled stridently, the Getorixes guffawed wildly. Only the Incompetents showed some restraint, and that was purely down to their lethargic mental abilities. Most of the Insiders, however, didn’t know what a bike was. Those who’d fortunately remembered Malorane’s public Camereye sessions explained what it meant to “ride a bike” and everyone soon understood why the Runaways were laughing.
“With regard to the Granok-Shooters,” continued Oksa, her cheeks scarlet, “I think it’s really important for everyone to get theirs back. After all, an Insider without a Granok-Shooter isn’t a true Insider, don’t you agree?”
Everyone was struck dumb by this announcement. There was scattered, hesitant applause at first, but when Leomido’s Lunatrixes arrived, weighed down by heavy locked chests, everyone erupted into joyful cheers. Oksa stood up and they all fell silent again. Embarrassed at interrupting this enthusiastic reception, she announced:
“In the sixth basement of the Column there’s a secret storeroom with two hundred chests like these. They contain the thousands of Granok-Shooters stolen from you during the Great Confiscation ordered by Ocious, as well as massive stocks of Granoks. I intend to task our Servants for Wealth and Property Redistribution with returning everyone’s property to them. Then we’ll get down to work. Edefia needs us badly!”
Oksa’s Getorix and another appeared, each clutching a pot of earth. Jumping up and down with excitement, they kept almost spilling their precious cargo on their way to the Young Gracious. By some miracle, the pots reached their destination intact and Oksa looked at them in surprise. She glanced questioningly at her father, but all became clear when she saw the gesture he made with a smile. She plunged both hands in the earth and the pots began shaking so hard that they made a loud clattering noise on the metal table. Finally, with great wonderment, Oksa saw two small green shoots emerge from the earth. The stems surged upwards and blossomed into a flower she’d seen before, an Inflammatoria with blazing petals. The stems climbed even higher and caressed her wrists and forearms with what seemed like true affection. From the centre of the flowers jumped a few tiny sparks which stung her skin, then the stems reared up, jiggling in their pots, which looked more like amputated stumps and unexpectedly shot towards the ceiling. When they reached a height of ten feet they showed their delight by putting on a scintillating firework display, which flared as brightly as the blaze Oksa had kindled in her people’s hearts.