E-Book, Englisch, 528 Seiten
Plichota / Wolf Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope
1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-1-78269-039-9
Verlag: Pushkin Children's Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
E-Book, Englisch, 528 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-78269-039-9
Verlag: Pushkin Children's Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark
After studying Chinese language and culture, Anne Plichota lived and worked in Korea and China. Her past jobs included working as a Chinese teacher, a nurse's aide, a public letter writer, and most recently a librarian. She enjoys American and Gothic literature and hearing people's stories. She lives in Strasbourg with her teenage daughter. Cendrine Wolf studied sports, and went on to work as a social worker in deprived neighbourhoods. She taught herself illustration, and loves fantasy literature and speed 'in all its forms'.
Weitere Infos & Material
GAZING INTO HER MIRROR, DRAGOMIRA BEGAN SCOLDING her reflection, wagging an admonishing forefinger.
“I can’t take you two anywhere! You’re supposed to be quiet, my Ptitchkins, you promised! Otherwise I’ll never take you out of your cage again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Graciousness, we get it! Message received loud and clear. Radio silence!” sang the tiny golden birds at the top of their voices, rubbing against Dragomira’s neck to earn her forgiveness.
She gently patted their little heads and they continued swinging enthusiastically on their golden perches—this time, silently.
“Ahem, Your Graciousness, Your Graciousness…”
Nearby, the creatures in blue dungarees were wringing their hands in distress and coughing softly to attract her attention.
“What’s the matter, my Lunatrixes?” she asked, turning round.
“The Abominari has snapped its nerves,” one of them told her, his eyes impossibly round.
Dragomira went over to the double-bass case and went inside. She hastily climbed the staircase leading to her workroom, which was strictly private. A creature just over a foot tall was standing in front of the skylight, scratching angrily at the glass. It whirled round, growling and glaring evilly at everyone within reach. The Abominari had stumpy legs, long arms and a skeletal body, and its head was covered in a greyish skin which gave off a nauseating stench. An iridescent white substance was dripping from its wide mouth, which revealed two sharp, protruding fangs.
“The Abominari has performed bitings on the Goranov plant,” explained one of the Lunatrixes. “We did attempt to initiate preventative measures but our limbs sustained stinging scratches.”
The two Lunatrixes held out their badly scratched arms as evidence of the violent encounter. When she saw this, Dragomira exploded with anger—anger which doubled in intensity when she saw the poor Goranov, which had been attacked and was writhing in pain. Sap was slowly oozing from one of its stems and pooling on the earth of its pot.
“ABOMINARI!” shouted Dragomira. “This is intolerable, you’ve gone too far! What on earth is the matter with you?”
The creature leapt onto some boxes and growled, revealing its pointed fangs and filthy claws.
“Curse you! Curse you all! You’re not my mistress, old lady, you are nothing to me! You won’t be so full of yourself when my Master comes to get me…”
“No, of course not,” replied Dragomira with cool indifference. “Let me remind you that you’ve been saying the same thing for fifty years or more and your so-called Master still hasn’t come.”
The Abominari gave an angry growl.
“You are nothing to me, do you hear? You’re just a stinking pile of garbage! A dirty speck of blowfly excrement!”
At these words, all the creatures huddling in the four corners of the workroom shuddered with indignation. Dragomira walked over to the boxes on top of which the insolent Abominari was arrogantly perched. But as soon as she came close, the creature leapt down onto the floor and pounced on one of the Lunatrixes, seizing him from behind and tightly squeezing his neck as if to strangle him.
“I warn you, old lady, if you touch me I’ll kill him, then I’ll tear you and your pathetic menagerie to shreds!” the Abominari spat at Dragomira.
Unimpressed, she gazed up at the ceiling with a vexed expression. She took a slim iridescent cylinder about six inches long from the folds of her dress and coolly pointed it at the threatening Abominari. In a weary voice, she said: “Get Set Croakettes!”
Then she blew softly into the cylinder. A flurry of green sparks immediately sputtered from one end with a loud crackle. Two small live frogs with translucent wings appeared and flew at the Abominari, grabbing it firmly beneath its puny arms and lifting it almost three feet into the air. They shook the creature to make it release its hostage and the Lunatrix tumbled heavily onto the parquet floor. Dragomira marched over to the Abominari and seized it by the scruff of the neck, holding her arms out in front of her to avoid being clawed or bitten. When she opened a cage to imprison it, though, the aggressive creature took its chance and viciously scratched her forearms.
“I’ll deal with you later,” she warned imperiously as she double-locked the cage. Then, addressing the Lunatrixes, she held out a small pot and said softly: “My Lunatrixes, I must go out now. Please put this ointment on the Goranov, it should ease its pain. I won’t be long.”
“Our obedience is never in doubt and your return our greatest desire,” they replied, still shaken by the attack.
Just before leaving her apartment, Dragomira readjusted her crown of hair braids. “That’s better,” she concluded, before heading back downstairs. “But I really am going to have to do something about that Abominari.”
“Is everything okay, Dragomira?” asked Marie Pollock a few seconds later. “You look annoyed. Oh! Have you hurt yourself?”
Dragomira looked down at the two bloody stripes on her forearms. She’d been so preoccupied with that insufferable Abominari’s malevolent behaviour that she hadn’t even realized she’d been scratched.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Marie. I had a fight with a pair of scissors when I was unpacking my boxes and I’m afraid I came off worst,” she fibbed with a grin. “But it’s probably time to go now, isn’t it?”
The little group set off for St Proximus, the French school which Oksa was about to see for the first time in a few minutes. She was going to be in Year 8 and, despite her seemingly laid-back attitude, she was feeling a bit apprehensive: everything was so new! Starting with her… Oksa often dreamt of being a heroic adventurer or an invincible ninja warrior, but high on the list of things she hated most in the world, along with leeks, the colour pink and creepy-crawlies, was drawing attention to herself. And new kids, as everyone knows, rarely go unnoticed in lessons. Nervously she put her hand in the pocket of her grey blazer and touched the talisman given to her by Dragomira the evening before—a small flat leather pouch containing seeds with relaxing properties—and remembered her advice: “If you feel tense in body and mind, hold this and gently stroke it. It will make you feel more at peace with the world, the sky will seem clearer and your path more sure.”
As she recalled these comforting words, fat raindrops softly began splashing on the London pavements that were bringing her closer to school with every step.
“Yeah, right! The sky isn’t likely to seem clearer today,” she grumbled to herself.
“OKSA!” She turned round. A boy accompanied by his parents was running towards her, his dark-blue eyes shining with joy.
“Gus! Gosh! Is that really you?” she asked with a laugh.
“Save your sarcasm for yourself,” he replied, looking her up and down. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? I’m finding it hard to believe my eyes—Oksa Pollock in a pleated skirt!” he added, sniggering.
“Yeah, and Gustave Bellanger in a suit and tie!” said Oksa in the same tone. “Stylish or what?! Actually, you look rather . Not bad at all.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Gus, flicking back his long dark hair, “and try to forget that these shirt collars are super-tight.”
“You could begin by loosening your tie. You might not look so flushed,” teased Oksa, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
After Gus had taken this good advice, the two friends picked up the bags they’d dumped on the pavement in the excitement of their reunion and everyone continued walking to the school, chatting.
“So how are you after all this time?” asked Gus, his face glowing. “It’s been a whole week since we’ve seen each other.”
“Great!” replied Oksa, looking just as happy. “I’m now the proud owner of a pleated skirt—have you any idea how long I’ve dreamt of that? And have you seen these ultra-cool grey ankle socks? I wonder how I’ve managed to live without them all this time,” she continued lightly. “Other than that, the house is a complete tip. You have to open thirty boxes to find anything you need. But that’s fine. I love the neighbourhood.”
“Me too… I can’t get over the fact that we’re here. We left France so fast! This place is incredible. It feels like we’ve travelled thousands of miles and ended up on the other side of world.”
As soon as Pavel Pollock had mentioned his plans, Gus’s father, Pierre Bellanger, had jumped at the chance to go into partnership with him and they were about to open up a world-class French restaurant. The Bellangers had been the first to cross the Channel a few days earlier, and had taken up residence a few streets away, right next to the colourful streets of Chinatown.
“I hope we’re in the same class,” continued Gus.
“You can say that again,” said Oksa. “If we’re not, I’ll make a scene. Or have hysterics. I’ll roll around on the floor, foaming at the mouth with my eyes bulging and I’ll bite the calves of anyone who comes near me.”
“I can’t wait to see that!” laughed Gus. “You obviously haven’t changed a bit, despite the uniform of a model student. Or, at least, not for the better.”
At these words, Oksa pounced on him with a roar and pretended to strangle him.
“Ungrateful so-and-so. After all...
