Goddess of Gotham (23 page)

Eugh – get a grip Kumari. You kissed a boy, so what? People kiss every day. It doesn’t mean anything. But, actually, it did -mean something to me, I mean. Whoops – too many
‘means’ in one sentence. Ms Martin would not be impressed. OK, what I mean is – aaargh there I go again! What I want to say is that it felt really good and kind of significant but
ultimately I’m still the same person.

I tried to say that to Hannah and Charley in the restroom when we all took a break together – Hannah did her hand flapping thing to signal we had to leave the dance floor and meet up.
Very subtle. Anyway, they pounced on me as soon as I got in there and demanded to know everything. How I felt, who kissed who first (or is that whom?) – every single detail. And I said the
bit about still being the same person and they both burst out laughing and then gave me a hug. I still have no idea why they laughed but it doesn’t matter – they still love me. They
said as much when they finally stopped laughing. Friends! I couldn’t be without them.

CHAPTER 22

T
he butter lamps flickered, casting shadows across the picture. Instinctively, the king looked over his shoulder. There was no one there. Nothing
but an empty throne room in a sleeping palace. He turned his attention back to the portrait.

‘Help me,’ he whispered. ‘Give me a sign. I cannot bear to lose you both. I am so lonely’

But the portrait stayed silent. It was, after all, just a picture. A picture in a kingdom immersed in sadness. It was partly the king’s fault. He could barely bring himself to tend the
fires, to create the haze of Happiness for himself and his people. Instead, he spent hours in here, gazing at the image of his dead queen, thinking about the daughter he had lost, wondering where in the World Beyond she could be.

‘What should I do?’ he asked the portrait again. The queen looked back at him, enigmatic as ever. ‘Should I send someone else?’ he persisted. ‘Someone other than
the RHM?’

Silly question. The RHM was the best person for the task. It was so hard, though, to sit and wait. To be powerless for once.

‘Perhaps I should go myself,’ mused the king, instantly dismissing the very notion. If he went there would be no one to rule the people. Duty came above all else. Take one step into
the World Beyond and he, too, would be lost. Sometimes it was hard to be in charge. Especially when you were ill and weak and had apparently lost all your Powers.

‘A year and a day,’ he murmured. The sweat prickled on his forehead.

A year and a day. And her time was nearly up. Kumari was out there, alone, at the mercy of the ticking clock.

‘We have to find her,’ he cried to the heavens. ‘We have to find her,’ he told the portrait.

And all the while his queen stared serenely from within the gilded frame, her features etched in fine brush strokes.

‘You cannot talk,’ said the king. ‘How could you? I am a fool. A fool rattling around alone inside this palace. Perhaps the Ayah is right. I should take another queen. After
all, you are never coming back, either of you. Should I do that? I don’t know.’

The king let out a deep sigh. At least he had the Ayah to comfort him. She had proved herself a tower of strength in between her trips to tend her sick aunt. Mercifully, she only ever went for a
few days, insisting she did not want to leave him alone too long. Although when she reappeared this time she had done something rather strange to her hair. It had turned shades of yellow. How on
earth could that have happened? Something to do with her aunt’s illness? The mysteries of the feminine were imponderable. The king stared into space.

The butter lamps flickered again. He thought he saw something glisten. The king shuffled closer to the picture. There it was, without a doubt, a tear. A droplet forming in the corner of one eye,
spilling, coursing down the canvas. The message that he’d hoped for all these long and lonesome months. Reaching out a hand, the king scooped it up and licked his trembling finger.

It tasted of salt, of blood, of love. It was a resounding ‘no.’

‘Thank you,’ he sobbed. ‘Oh thank you, thank you.’

At last, his queen had spoken. He must never give up hope.

Some day he would be reunited with them both. Until then, he would wait.

From her hiding place, the Ayah watched, teeth clenched in rage. Wretched portrait! How she had hated that woman. Her
sister.
She had had it all: king, country, child.
Everything the Ayah secretly wanted for herself. And would still have, whatever it took. Kidnap, extortion. Double-dealing. Even murder. All right, so forget the child. King and country would
suffice.

In his weakened state, the king was the perfect puppet for her plans. She had been careful to act as his confidante, to induce the sense of dependence she desired. Despite all her efforts,
however, he still preferred to talk to the portrait of his dead queen. It was galling but no matter. She would get there in the end. She needed the king alive to ensure the docility of the people.
Their loyalty to him remained absolute despite the absence of Maximum National Happiness. It would be far easier to take the country with the king under her thumb. Simpler to subdue a nation whose
figurehead was almost helpless.

Slipping out the door, the Ayah headed for the hills. This time there was no RHM to follow her. She had known he was there, of course, but the man was easy to evade. Besides, he would never find
his way through the labyrinth within the rock. And him thinking himself so clever. The stone maze could only be navigated by those who knew it was there. Otherwise, it appeared impenetrable,
nothing more than a wall of granite. But the Ayah had played here since she was a tiny child, had explored it with her sister.

Her sister.

Curses on her. How she wished she had never been born. The green claws of jealousy had clutched the Ayah from the moment she set eyes on her sibling: beautiful, good. Perfect. Nothing like the
Ayah in any way. And then her sister had gone on to marry the king and jealousy had turned to hatred. Then she had had the child to compound everything. The day Kumari had been born the Ayah again
cursed the gods.

She could still remember her sister begging her to come to the palace although it was strictly forbidden. Once elevated to royal status, all contact with immediate family was lost. Posing as a
distant cousin had been the one way she could be smuggled in. Much as it rankled at the time, it had been too good a chance to miss.

For the Ayah had spotted her opportunity and had already begun to plan. The Kingdom was there for the taking, slumbering on as it had forever, its citizens stupefied by Happiness, the god-king a
gentle ruler. Seize the reins and it would all be hers, along with all the wealth and glory Then people would bow down to her, would tremble in her presence. Once she had suppressed them, of
course. Shown them who was boss.

All she had to do was proceed with cunning; stealth, for now, was the best way forward. It had enabled her to remove her sister and then her child without anyone being able to point the finger.
Once they had disappeared, the king was a sitting duck, victory almost a foregone conclusion. Prudently, however, the Ayah also preferred to take the long view. Which was why she had decided to use
Kumari to raise funds for her ultimate mission. She would need money to pay the warlords, to get them to help her take the Kingdom and suppress it. Then she would be its absolute ruler with access
to all the Kingdom’s secrets and riches.

She would even force the king to use one of his Great Gifts and grant her eternal life. Despite this, she still needed the warlords; it was unlikely the palace would fall without a fight. Too
many loyal supporters of the god-king and his family. Although she did not count the RHM amongst them. The man had his own agenda. For that very reason she had never left the kingdom for too long,
despite the urgent need to find Kumari.

To leave was to lay the way open for the RHM and he clearly felt the same way about her. Angrily, the Ayah pressed on, resentment fuelling her footsteps. Emerging from the rocks, she marched
over to the trees, thrusting her way through until she reached the clearing and the old shepherd’s hut. The door to the hut was never locked. There was no need; no one ever came near here.
Inside, she powered up the generator and switched on her laptop.

Connection to the satellite was instant. She scrolled through her messages. Nothing. Furious, she slammed the laptop shut. What were those idiots playing at? They seemed to have dropped off the
planet. There had been no communication from them for weeks now. Surely they could not have got themselves incarcerated again? Could they really be that stupid?

Time was running out, for her and for Kumari. Razzle would only pay up if he found the secret of eternal life. For that, Kumari had to be alive or freshly dead and her year and a day was nearly
up. There was nothing for it; she would have to go herself, back once more to Manhattan. Spin the king that line again about her ailing aunt. In the meantime, she might as well do some work. The
Ayah was nothing if not diligent.

It was how she had found Razzle, through relentless searching on the internet. Googling endlessly until she found the paper he had written on ‘The Cosmetic Holy Grail: Eternal Youth.’ The minute she saw that, Kumari’s fate was sealed. It was clear the man would pay anything for such a prize. And so it had proved, once she had initiated contact. All
she had to do was deliver and the money was hers. With it, she could put her plans into action. Insurrection was expensive.

‘I can get the girl myself.’
Imagine! He would never have known about Kumari if it wasn’t for her. Well, they would see who got there first. Simon Razzle was a surgeon,
not a sleuth. After all, the girl had slipped through his fingers yet again.

Calmer now, the Ayah reopened her laptop. It paid to keep a cool head, to think down the line. After all, she’d been planning this for ever. Or at least since the day that child was born.
The Ayah might not have been so favoured by the gods but she had made the most of what she’d got. Education, that was the key. Especially for the ugly sister, for the one who was not destined
to marry a king. Knowledge had been her weapon and she had wielded it well.

Logging in to her online English course, the Ayah picked up the day’s assignment.
Families.
What could be more appropriate?

‘Mother, sister, brother . . . ’ she recited.

‘Uncle, aunt, niece . . . ’

She stopped, choking on the words, snapping the laptop shut a final time. Forget this. Forget procrastination.

It was time for Plan B, for action.

KUMARI’S JOURNAL

(TOP SECRET. FOR MY EYES ONLY.

EVERYONE ELSE KEEP OUT!

THIS MEANS YOU!)

The World Beyond

November 21st – very, very late – 9 days to go

(stop it, Kumari, just stop it!)

I don’t know what to write. I’m so confused I don’t know where to start. It’s 1am and I can’t sleep. I just keep staring at Mamma’s
picture and thinking. Badmash looks so cute all tucked up, but when I look at him it makes me think even more. I mean, he’s stuck here too, like me. We’re all stuck, me, Mamma and
Badmash, in one place or another.

It all started with this TV show on the Geography Channel. We had to watch the Geography Channel on account of CeeCee’s project. She’s doing a whole thing about some place called
Borneo, where she says the people used to be headhunters. I found that rather hard to believe so I double checked with Ms Martin. Turns out, not only is it true but Ms Martin has actually lived
there! She says it was when she served with the Peace Corps and helped set up a jungle school.

I mean, respect! It’s kind of hard to imagine Ms Martin in the jungle, what with her A-line skirts and all, but she said she’d show me the photos of her with the Iban in their
long-houses (that’s the people who used to be the headhunters). She said in the old days the District Officer used to have to count the heads to make sure a new one hadn’t appeared!
Come to
think of it, Ms Martin does wear skeleton earrings so maybe she’s cool with bones. Whatever. I suppose she must be. She is a science teacher after all.

Anyway, CeeCee is doing her project about the same place so Ms Martin said she’d give her some information, but in the meantime to watch this show tonight on the Geography Channel which
is what we were doing when suddenly these mountains appeared. Turns out it was the show before the one we were supposed to be watching and it was all about this mountain range and I swear I
recognised the peak of one. I’m sure I saw it once, back home, in the distance.

I remember because it was when Mamma took me on a walk to show me where she had played as a kid and we climbed up these rocks and looked out towards the distant mountains. One had a peak just
like a bird’s beak and when I said that Mamma laughed and told me that’s what she used to call it: Eagle Beak Mountain, although that was not its real name. And that got me thinking
– I suppose there could be more than one mountain in the world shaped like that. Of course there must be. But it reminded me of home so much that it physically hurt.

I had that sudden flash of Mamma. It was like I could hear her voice all over again. ‘Eagle Beak Mountain,’ she said and then she laughed and took my hand. I had to leave the room
I was so shaken up. I suddenly realised I had forgotten Mamma there for a bit. I suppose that’s because I’ve learned to look after myself instead of expecting Mamma to do it. I’ve
worked out things Mamma would have explained – things like why people are sometimes mean. Or how often they can
be really kind just when you don’t expect it. Then all the stuff
about friends and boys – Mamma would have really liked Chico, I’m sure. I know I’ve had help along the way, from Ma and Ms Martin and my friends. Those people weren’t there
before – it was just me, Badmash, Papa and Mamma. So how could I forget about her when she’s still stuck in that awful limbo place? There must be something I can do to help. I mean,
what am I
doing
here?