STANDING ON HER BALCONY ON THE TOP FLOOR OF THE Glass Column, Oksa was looking out over Thousandeye City in bemusement. The city, which was usually bustling with activity, seemed lifeless, almost dead, as if every single inhabitant had disappeared.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me, my Lunatrix?”
The pudgy little creature shook his head frantically from left to right.
“The will of the domestic staff of my Gracious encounters no opposition to providing the contribution of informative help,” he replied.
“Well then?” exclaimed Oksa, squatting down opposite him. “If you’re willing and able, what’s stopping you from telling me what’s going on?”
“The domestic staff of my Gracious provided a promise to the Fairy man and the father of my Gracious to keep muteness in his mouth.”
Oksa scratched her head.
“Oh, I see—it’s a conspiracy.”
She forced herself to look at him sternly, then said cuttingly:
“It’s very mean.”
The Lunatrix gave a gasp of surprise. His large blue eyes began spinning in their sockets and his face, round as a pumpkin, turned pale with panic.
“Um, my Gracious encounters an immersion in error,” he stammered. “Conspiration and meanness do not experience existence in the hearts of the Fairyman and the fatherhood of my Gracious!”
Her hands stuffed in her jeans pockets, Oksa gazed at him, then burst out laughing. She bent over to pick up the poor, crestfallen creature, who flushed even more vividly.
“I’m sorry, my Lunatrix, I was just teasing!”
That was all it took for the Getorix to mock the Lunatrix.
“Hey, servant! Do you know what humour is? H, u, m, o, u, r,” it spelt out, cavorting around the Lunatrix.
“Bad Getorix!” scolded Oksa. “We don’t make fun of each other, okay? Anyway, look at him, he’s all dressed up.”
The Getorix inspected the Lunatrix’s spotless dungarees, gave a cursory bow and went back to dusting the leaves of a Pulsatilla, which owed its birth and phenomenal growth to Oksa. The astonishingly affectionate plant couldn’t now imagine life without Oksa. Farther off, ensconced in its armchair in the corner of the large bay window, the Incompetent was counting on its fingers.
“H, u, m, o, u, r,” it repeated, its expression full of uncertainty.
The Getorix raised its eyes to heaven, whistling through its teeth while Oksa put her hand over her mouth to stifle a snort of laughter.
“That word has six letters,” concluded the Incompetent, clearly pleased with this discovery.
“Brilliant!” Oksa couldn’t help remarking, her eyes shining.
“For pity’s sake, don’t encourage it, my Gracious,” muttered the Getorix.
“The steward of my Gracious must make the attribution of a piece of information stuffed with importance,” broke in the Lunatrix.
“What’s that?” asked Oksa mischievously, pretending to be surprised. “Doesn’t ‘Humour’ have six letters?”
Proving the Getorix wrong, the Lunatrix gave a smile so broad that it split his lovable face from ear to ear.
“The communication of an imminent, cherished visit is to be announced,” he said.
Hearing this, Oksa rushed to the door and threw it open. Her father was a few yards away, in the corridor lined with timeworn colonnades.
“Dad!” she cried, throwing herself in his arms.
Touched by his daughter’s enthusiastic reaction, Pavel gave her an affectionate hug.
“To what do I owe this outpouring of affection?” he asked with a laugh.
“Hey, that’s not fair, I’m always like this with you!” protested Oksa. “Come in, my Lunatrix has made some crazy good walnut biscuits. You’ll go mad for them.”
“Aren’t I mad enough already?” he retorted, following her into the large main room.
Oksa grinned at him.
“I’m so glad to see you!” she said, dropping into an armchair.
The Pulsatilla stretched out its longest stem to stroke the arm of the person it loved most in the world.
“You look ever so smart,” she continued, taking in her father’s traditional Edefian outfit of dark grey wool. “It really suits you.”
The wide, flat-pleated trousers and double-breasted tunic, fastened at the side with leather cords, made him look like a samurai warrior. His short ash-blond hair peppered with grey emphasized the melancholy grey-blue of his eyes. When he leant forward eagerly to sample one of the biscuits Oksa had recommended, she took the opportunity to say:
“I hear you and Abakum are plotting against me.”
The Pulsatilla stiffened and turned the candy-pink petals of its single flower towards Pavel. There was clearly a certain amount of animosity in this reaction, even though the plant had no face or eyes.
“I’m only joking, Pulsatilla,” said Oksa, pushing the pot back a few inches, and adding to her father:
“It’s very protective of me.”
“I can see that!” said Pavel, looking amused. “You’re certainly in good hands.”
“Except that people are keeping things from me,” retorted Oksa. “Like, for instance, why there’s been all this activity in Thousandeye City, why people stop talking as soon as I come within earshot, the sly smiles… I’m getting paranoid.”
Her father’s face lit up as he announced:
“You’ve probably noticed I look even more elegant than usual. Well, you’d better put on your glad rags too, because today is a special day, my darling Gracious daughter!”
The Lunatrix went over to the Cloak, which was carefully draped over the wicker dummy. When he tried to pick it up, the garment pulled away and rolled into a tight ball, as impenetrable as steel.
“Did you see that? My Cloak has its own security system,” explained Oksa. “If anyone except me touches it, it armours itself.”
“Ingenious,” remarked Pavel.
The Lunatrix carefully handed the textile ball to his young mistress, who shook it out to reveal the magnificent embroidered fabric of the Cloak. Oksa smoothed her white blouse, adjusted the tie which she never took off, dusted down her jeans and draped the Cloak over her shoulders. The woven threads had lost none of their power. When they touched the Young Gracious she felt an incredible surge of energy as strength and warmth flooded through her, filling her with the same wonderment she felt every time she donned the Cloak. She looked around for her father, but he’d vanished.
“The advice is given to my Gracious to divert her gaze towards the balcony,” said the Lunatrix.
Oksa turned to look outside and saw what, deep down, she’d expected to see: her father was waiting for her with his Ink Dragon deployed above him, his face glowing with happiness.
Perched on the back of the giant creature, Oksa flew over Thousandeye City, her Cloak billowing in the wind. This bird’s-eye view of the city only confirmed her earlier impression from the top of the Column: the place looked deserted, as if all the inhabitants had upped sticks and left. The Ink Dragon hedge-hopped over roof terraces and semicircular streets already partially lined with vegetation, which boded well for the future. From time to time the dragon’s wing-beats sounded like a heavy velvet curtain being shaken to remove the creases.
“Where is everyone?” wondered Oksa.
Her creatures, which had climbed on board with her, looked at her without replying. They were under strict orders from the “conspirators” not to break their silence and they intended to obey. The Ink Dragon suddenly veered towards the northern hills where Tugdual had taken Oksa three days earlier. Still flying low over the ground, the dragon skimmed over some magnificent ruined buildings and sparsely paved avenues to reach the treeless hilltops.
Although Oksa might have had some inkling about what was going on, nothing could have prepared her for the scale of what had been planned by the whole nation without her knowledge. When the Ink Dragon rose above the hills and she discovered the truth about the surprise waiting for her—her surprise—she almost fell off its scaly back.
Seated on ten grandstands built on stilts around the dark waters of the lake were about five thousand men, women, children and creatures who’d joined forces with the New Gracious. When she appeared, everyone leapt to their feet and a loud clamour rose into the sky, bouncing off the Aegis rippling above them. The Ink Dragon dived towards the expanse of water and flew its entire length before doing a U-turn and cruising slowly along the crowded banks. The commotion grew louder as the dragon flew past, whipping Oksa into a state of exultation. With tears in her eyes, she saw thousands of people smiling at her. And it was not only the nation’s extraordinary show of solidarity in rallying to her cause but also their heartfelt joy at paying tribute to their Gracious that moved her more than words could say.