Goddess of Gotham (4 page)

‘You done, princess?’

She had almost forgotten the man still holding her. An idea popped into her head. She let her body go slack.

‘What the . . . She’s fainted!’ shouted the man.

‘Get her back in here,’ yelled the others.

At that very moment, Kumari kicked out with all her might. She heard a sharp crack as she contacted with the man’s knee. 1–0 to her! An angry bellow of pain. And then she was running.
Racing down a dull grey path, along the gulley between the towers, heels pounding, arms pumping, dodging people, in and out. They passed by in a blur. Faces streaking, featureless. Noises fading
into nothing.
Run! Hide! Get away!
Chest exploding with the effort. Squeezing through the mob. Too many people, getting tighter and tighter.

Behind her, she heard a shout. The men were gaining on her. She began to push through the crowd, her slight figure disappearing amidst the throng.

‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’ she screeched but no one appeared to understand. ‘I’ve been kidnapped!’ she shouted but nobody seemed to listen.

The mass grew solid, an impenetrable human wall. She had reached a dead end. A quick glance over her shoulder. The kidnappers were right behind her, shoving their way through the crowd. There
was no escape. The only way out was forward. Any moment now they would spot her and then she was finished. There was nothing else for it. She had to climb over these people. Scramble up on to
shoulders, use backs as stepping stones. Never mind the shouts of protest. This was life or death – hers!

Eyes swivelled round, people glaring and grumbling. One or two let out an encouraging cheer. Someone offered her a hand. And then she was at the front, staring down into a wide avenue. Closing
her eyes, she dived, twisting and turning as she fell. She landed with a thump, rolling over and over. Shouts rang out from the crowd, shouts that contained a warning note.

She heaved herself up. There were guards marching straight towards her. At least, they looked like the palace guards, their insignia glinting in the winter sunlight. Those in front were banging
drums, grim-faced in concentration. The guards were only feet away when Kumari flung herself to the side. Her efforts were not quite enough; the guards had to break ranks to avoid her.

‘There she is!’

Another cry from the crowd, one in a language that she understood. The kidnappers were yelling to one another, pointing at their prey. Scrambling to her feet, Kumari tried once more to run.
Weaving in and out of the musicians, dodging trumpets and whirling sticks, panic-stricken as on and on they came, knees lifted in unison. Fluffy pom-poms caught her on the cheeks. A flag bearer
bore down. Breaking through the rear of their ranks, she could see more marchers approaching.

Above them, something strange and wonderful: a giant dog flying in the sky. For a moment, Kumari gaped. The World Beyond was bizarre! Another yell and she tore her eyes away. A man was heading
towards her. She glanced at the crowd lining the avenue – an unbreakable phalanx. Turning, she ran the other way, straight through the procession. Racing for the giant dog, towards the people
beneath it. Their eyes were wide with surprise, their mouths open, calling. Ignoring them, she kept going, head down in determination.

Once again, a roar filled her ears but this was the roar of a hundred thousand voices.

And then a more familiar sound, the clip clop of horses’ hooves. Rows and rows of splendid beasts, ridden by men in uniforms. The horses were drawing to a halt, standing in formation.
Beyond them, a magnificent coach on which an old man sat in state. This had to be the king; his robes were red, trimmed with white fur, his throne ornate. Piled around his feet were brightly
wrapped packages, offerings perhaps from his subjects. A splendid beard sprung luxuriantly from his smiling face, crowned as it was with a scarlet cap.

Brushing through the horses’ flanks, Kumari ran towards the king, arms outstretched in supplication.

‘Oh, please,’ she gasped. ‘Please. You have to help me. I, too, am of royal blood! I have to get home! I have to get back to my father’s kingdom!’

The old man peered at her from his throne. Alongside, his handmaidens twittered.

Kumari tried once again. ‘Your majesty, I have been snatched from my homeland!’

From beneath his white whiskers the old man spoke. His words were unfamiliar. From his reaction to her desperate pleas, it seemed he found her equally incomprehensible. She felt the anger rise
up. This was ridiculous. How hard could it be?
Anyone
could see she was a goddess.

‘Look, your majesty, I realise I’m interrupting here. But really, you have to help me out! You know, one royal person to another!’

Hands on hips she stood, chin jutting in determination. And still the old guy gawped at her. To Kumari’s astonishment, he was beginning to look nervous. The handmaidens started to back
away, the bells on their hats jangling nervously. Exasperated, Kumari stared them out. What was with the weird outfits?

Tears of frustration began to well. Any minute now her captors would be upon her. She threw her head back and howled in despair. Suddenly, a strong arm grabbed her. She felt herself being
hoisted up, lifted from the ground. Kicking and screaming she tried to break free. The arm held her firm as it flung her down across a saddle in front of him. As hard as Kumari struggled, there was
no fighting this new assailant.

Twisting round on the saddle, Kumari stared at her attacker. She caught a glimpse of a shield-shaped badge gleaming against a thick, blue jacket. Across one shoulder, a leather strap; on one
hip, a holster. As the man kicked his horse into a trot, she felt the cold clutch of fear. The guy had a gun. Kumari hated guns, had only ever seen the ornate replicas kept in the museum. They were
banned from the kingdom, although the occasional shot rang out from the borderlands. Hunters and warlords liked to perpetrate the evil of these weapons. And now she was inches from one, being
carried off she knew not where.

‘Let me go,’ she snarled. ‘My father will have you for this!’

The man stared ahead.

‘How dare you!’ she snapped. ‘I am a
goddess!’

No reaction. Not a blink. Clearly he had no respect for anyone, let alone an immortal.

‘Very well,’ she announced in the haughtiest voice she could muster. ‘I shall now banish you to the fires of hell!’

Easier said than done, especially when it was yet another feat she had never managed. She tried first one incantation then another, finally combining a bit of both:

‘BY THE CRIMSON ROBES I WEAR

BY BASILISK AND BLOODSTONE

BY THE GARLIC IN THE FIELDS

BY THE POPPIES AND WHAT THEY YIELD

I BANISH THEE FOREVER!’

Pausing for breath, Kumari glanced at the man. Not so much as a twitch from him. Really, he must be made of stone. That or her magic was way off . . .

Eventually, she gave in, slumping across the saddle in exhaustion. When at last the horse drew to a halt, she scarcely bothered to lift her head. Helping her down, the man kept his grasp tight.
Kumari, however, was beyond running, beyond anything except black despair. She was taken through a doorway into a dim lobby. Before her stood a large wooden desk and behind that another man. This
one, too, wore a uniform, similar if less pristine. He peered at her from over the desk and tapped his pen against his teeth.

‘So this is the kid who accosted Santa Claus?’

Then she was being handed over and led away down a corridor. She did not bother to look back; one captor was becoming much like another. They placed her in some kind of cell, barren, bleak and
cold. Sinking down on to the solitary bench, Kumari cradled her head in her hands. People came and went; occasionally they spoke to her.

Their words were beginning to make a bit more sense, which meant she was starting to tune in. She hated to admit it but the RHM had a point. If she’d applied herself to the Gift of
Tongues, none of this would be so hard. She’d have had instant communication instead of this fuzzy noise in her ears. Been able to speak their tongue instead of struggling to be heard.

What kind of place was this, anyway, where they incarcerated a kid? OK, so they left her door ajar. It was not exactly a great welcome. She could try and make a run for it but the odds were
pretty lousy. Outside she could see them sitting at their desks. It would be impossible to get past so many. Besides, they all had guns, parading them proudly. Given that her strike rate on magic
was not so hot, it seemed she was pretty much stuck.

Eventually, two female guards brought some food, or at least that was what she assumed. Kumari stared as they mimed eating. These people were insane.

‘Cheeze-birrgirr,’ said one.

‘Frahze,’ said the other.

Kumari glared at the package they handed her. This had to be a joke. Food served in a bag? Not even peasants ate out of paper! She could forgive the lack of deference. Obviously they had no idea
who she was. But making her eat like this was tantamount to torture.

She glanced up at the women. They motioned towards their mouths again. Kumari rummaged inside the bag and pulled out a box. Opening it up, she saw an object. It was the only way to describe it.
A circular
object.
They expected her to
eat
this? Gingerly she poked at it. Her finger sank into a bread-like disc. Ever so carefully, she raised it.
Eugh!
Her nose wrinkled in
disgust.

A yellow ooze spilled from underneath. She scraped at it experimentally. Beneath it lay something else. Kumari bent close. She could not believe her eyes. They wanted her to eat this shrivelled,
grey-brown
thing.
Pushing it away, she shook her head. The guards looked at one another. Shrugging, they left the cell.

‘She don’t like cheeze-birrgirr?!’ said one, clearly mystified.

Kumari’s stomach let out a rumble. Despite herself, she was hungry.
Should I risk it?,
she wondered, bending forward again to take a cautious sniff. Digging in the paper bag she
found another sack. Inside that, pale strips, possibly some sort of vegetable. Alongside the strips, a tiny pot, its contents red and sticky. Emboldened, she stuck her finger in and, extracting it,
licked. A smile creased her face.
The stuff was exquisite!

Picking up a yellow strip, she inspected it. It looked pretty harmless. Shoving the strip inside her mouth, she crunched. The thing was tangy with salt.
Stupendous.
Throwing caution to
the wind, Kumari dipped the strips in the red sauce. A few moments later, she was sucking her fingers, delirious. Whatever these things were, she needed more. At once.

Dubiously, she eyed the bun thing again. It looked positively dangerous. Her stomach let out another growl.
What the heck,
thought Kumari. Holding her nose, she took an enormous bite. The
‘cheeze-birrgirr’ was not so bad, a little bland but edible. Determinedly, Kumari chewed. She would need all her strength to escape.

Outside, at his desk, Sergeant Rooney was in a quandary. The kid was obviously not from the United States but from quite where was another matter. There were so many tourists
in town for the parade that she could be from any place in the world. In all his time working the 14th precinct, Sergeant Rooney had not seen anything like it. Sure, he had come across all types.
But this kid was pretty different. There was something about her, something strange aside from her garments. A certain look behind those eyes, an imperiousness about her bearing.

‘I tell you, that kid is
someone,’
he said to his buddy.

‘Yeah, they’re all someone,’ scoffed his buddy.

‘No, I mean
really
someone. Like, you know, important.’

The other officer scratched his head. ‘Yeah, OK, whatever.’

Soon Child Services would be here. Then she was no longer their problem. What with the parade and all, it had taken time to find someone. Imagine the kid running through the marching bands,
accosting Santa Claus. It was a miracle there had been no accident. Sergeant Rooney sighed aloud.

‘I’m Lisa Anderson.’

A young woman stood before them, straight blond hair hanging smooth to her shoulders. Her blue eyes were steady, her handshake firm, her face sprinkled with a few freckles.

‘From Children and Family Services,’ she added.

The other officer glanced at his watch. ‘You’re the babysitter, right?’ he said, gruffly. ‘You sure took your time.’ These welfare types always sounded so
superior.

‘You try getting across town today,’ Lisa Anderson snapped back. She might look fragile but there was no messing with her.

‘She’s through here,’ interjected Sergeant Rooney, throwing a look at his colleague. Sometimes he could be such a jerk.

The welfare woman smiled slightly.

Sergeant Rooney had a soft spot for kids: so far, he had thirteen grandchildren. His heart went out to the little girl. What kind of parents would let her get lost like that? Surreptitiously, he
wiped a tear from his eye, then addressed himself to the holiday roster. He marked himself as on vacation for Christmas and New Year’s with a small grimace of satisfaction.

Lisa Anderson bustled down the corridor, following the officer’s broad back. Cops, they were all the same. Made her job twice as difficult. Under one arm, her briefcase
bulged, paperwork spilling from its split seams. There would be more forms to fill in with this one, an endless barrage of documents. At the door to the holding cell, the officer gestured.

‘The kid’s in there,’ he indicated with his thumb, then turned on his heel.

Slipping inside the cell, Lisa’s eyes fell on a red bundle. One tiny foot dangled over the bench, encased in a flimsy sandal. Sandals in November – now Lisa really had seen it
all. Bending forward, she brushed the little foot with her fingertips. The copper skin felt icy.

‘You poor thing,’ Lisa murmured. Amazing how this job could still get to you. At the sound of her voice, the bundle stirred. A sleepy head raised itself from within. Lisa found
herself staring into the most remarkable eyes, at once innocent and knowing. A curtain of raven hair fell straight around a perfect face. Despite her dishevelment, the child was breathtaking.