NO ONE KNEW WHETHER DRAGOMIRA HAD USED HER legendary powers of persuasion or a more “Granokian” method but, whatever the case, it hadn’t taken the elderly fisherman long to comply with Baba Pollock’s wishes and the largest trawler from the nearby port was now miraculously anchored in the creek on the edge of Leomido’s estate. After much thought, given the mass exodus into Wales from the flooded areas of eastern England, the Runaways had decided to travel to the Island of the Felons by boat. It was the quickest, most discreet way to transport the thirty-one members of their group. Even though they did their best to avoid attention, the Runaways rarely went unnoticed and, despite the prevailing chaos, it was second nature for them to be cautious. Old habits die hard, after all. Even though none of them might be on the Outside in a few days…
Gathering for the last time in the huge living room with the shutters already closed, the Runaways listened gravely to Abakum’s wise advice.
“Our priority on this journey is to stick to our plan and remain on our guard,” he began. “The Felons have already proved they can attack first. This time, the roles are reversed: we’re attacking them, but we’re heading into unfamiliar territory…”
“You’re forgetting your faithful informant!” rang out the voice of Dragomira’s Tumble-Bawler.
“How could we?” disagreed Baba Pollock, stroking its head. “You’ve given us some first-rate information and we’re bound to call on you again.”
“At your service!” said the tiny creature, standing to attention.
“We must remember our strategy at all times,” continued Abakum, “and everyone should act according to their individual abilities while keeping out of danger as much as possible. I think we should leave now. All being well, we ought to reach the Island of the Felons in about twenty-four hours, which means we’ll arrive at nightfall, which would be perfect.”
There was a heavy silence. This departure felt like another exile and spelt the end of the Runaways’ life on the Outside. They’d all accepted that this expedition would bring them to the gateway to Edefia. That’s why they were all here. But, despite this firm conviction, the Runaways’ mixed feelings of excitement and sadness made it hard for them to catch their breath and brought tears to their eyes. A melody suddenly rose from the back of the room: Tugdual was sitting at the piano, the pallor of his thin face emphasized by his black clothes, playing a poignant piece which perfectly encapsulated the Runaways’ melancholy. Oksa looked up in surprise. “Another thing I didn’t know about him,” she thought, captivated by this beautiful acoustic rendering of a familiar rock standard. Leomido’s Lunatrixes were also staring at him, their huge blue eyes full of adoration.
“The initiative shown by the grandson of our friends the Knuts exerts enchantment on the ears of the domestic staff of the Gracious,” murmured the Lunatrixa. “No one has practised the use of that melodious instrument since the disappearance of the Master-Impictured-Forever and the rushing emotion is a feast for the listeners, the certainty is complete.”
Tugdual glanced at her unblinkingly, then shut the piano lid with a bang that contrasted sharply with his sensitive playing. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind, flustered by the Lunatrixes’ wildly grateful eyes and the solemn atmosphere.
Pavel suddenly broke the deceptive quiet by throwing water on the logs burning in the fireplace. Dragomira looked at him, surprised at the symbolic finality of his gesture.
“I’m probably being silly, but I’d hate this magnificent house to burn down because we hadn’t put the fire out properly,” growled Pavel. “For Leomido’s sake.”
Then he turned and strode out of the room into the hall strewn with suitcases. The Runaways trudged after him in silence and picked up their bags. Pierre and Naftali loaded themselves up with boxes of Granoks and Capacitors, as well as the two Boximinuses, and the small group miserably filed out of the house. Dragomira was the last to leave. She stood there for a moment, looking at the splendid staircase in the glow of the setting sun, then shut and locked the heavy front door. She ran her hand over the wood with a sigh.
“Goodbye…” she murmured.
Pavel put his hand on her shoulder and silently pulled her to him. Dragomira gratefully leant on the arm he offered and, supporting each other, they joined the rest of the Runaways resolutely walking towards the creek, battling the almost irresistible urge to turn back.