Goddess of Gotham (5 page)

‘Hi, I’m Lisa,’ she offered, holding out her hand.

The girl stared in bewilderment.

‘I’ve come to take you to a foster home,’ she continued.

Still, the girl gazed at her, dumbfounded.

With a sigh, Lisa helped the girl up from the bench. They would need to find an interpreter. Although goodness knows what language this girl spoke – some kind of Asian dialect, she would
guess. Brightly, Lisa chivvied the girl along, signing the appropriate paperwork. The kid’s head remained bowed until a sudden commotion in the corridor brought it snapping up.

A couple of officers were herding in four foreign men. The men were jabbering excitedly in their own language, clearly trying to protest. At the sight of them, the kid cowered, grabbing at
Lisa’s arm for support.

‘It’s OK, honey,’ soothed Lisa. ‘Those guys aren’t coming this way.’

Sure enough, the officers led them off to be processed although the kid trembled until they were out of sight.

‘Come on, sweetie,’ said Lisa. ‘Don’t worry, they didn’t see you. Time to get you out of here. My car’s parked out back.’

Outside, Lisa settled her into the car, showing her how to do up the seatbelt. All the way uptown to the Bronx, her conscience nagged at her. As gleaming skyscrapers subsided into the low-rise sprawl, her heart, too, began to
sink. It was hardly the greatest environment in which to place a girl like this. But there was nothing else Lisa could do; nowhere else to put her. Besides, it beat staying in some institution. Mrs
Hernandez might be a little kooky but she had a good heart. Finally, they arrived outside a shabby apartment block.

‘We’re here,’ said Lisa.

As she helped the girl from the car, she consoled herself that this was temporary. Probably even now her parents were frantically trying to find her. They must have got split up in the crowd. At
least it seemed the kid was not a trafficking case. Those were the ones Lisa found the hardest. Children smuggled in and out of countries, their fate too awful to contemplate. This girl was one of
the lucky ones. At least now she was relatively safe.

The apartment door swung back. Kumari blinked in astonishment. The woman who filled the doorway was as wide as she was tall.
Oh my goodness,
she thought.
This woman
is a giant plum.
A shiny purple top strained to cover an ample chest while her bottom bulged over burgundy leggings that cut in halfway up her calves. Her skin was bronzed, a shade darker than
Kumari’s, her hair a dazzling confection of twisted curls topped off with mauve tips.

Unsmiling, she led them through. The noise was deafening. In the corner of the shabby room, a box blared out at full volume. Kumari was mesmerised; across a glass screen pictures moved. There were people inside that box – how did they shrink them
like that? This was powerful magic indeed. A face filled the screen, a man with bouffant hair and orange skin. Even as she watched, the man disappeared to be replaced by a chicken dancing.

‘Honey’

‘Hey, sweetie.’

White noise buzzed through Kumari’s brain, as it did each time these people spoke to her. The sound seemed to grow louder and louder. Frantically, she scanned the room. She had to get away
from this place, this terrifying purple woman. They were between her and the door. She could only think of one way to go. Maybe those people in the box would help her . . .

Taking a deep breath, Kumari leapt headfirst for the screen. A sharp crack and she fell to the ground, clutching her skull in agony. Stars danced before her eyes. The room whizzed round and
round. She could feel herself falling down, down, giving in to darkness once more . . .

CHAPTER 3

H
er headache was beginning to subside as claustrophobia set in. She had awoken in a room so small that she could touch both walls at the same time.
Which is exactly what she did.

It beat staring out the window right next to the bed or counting the cracks in the wooden floor.

Beside her lay a pile of clothing that the plum-clad woman had left. She unfolded the first item: a thick, grey hooded top. Next, a pair of rough, blue trousers such as a peasant farmer might
wear. With a grunt of disgust, Kumari flung them to one side. OK, so she was not exactly hip, but even she had her limits. She would wear her red robes for the moment, dirty and stained though they
were. And then she remembered. She still had her ceremonial bag, concealed in the folds of her robes. Excitedly, she rummaged through it. Her journal was there. Everything else had been left on the
hillside, but this, the most important item, was safe in her hands.

All her notes on secret ceremonies, all her innermost thoughts, hopes and wishes. The stuff she would hate anyone else to read, especially the bits about Tenzin. Most precious of all, the
miniature portrait of Mamma, tucked carefully between the pages. Extracting it, Kumari placed it on the pillow before leafing through her book. Was it really only one moon since she had written
these words?

Imperial Blessing Day. Boring. Was yawning so much into my sleeve, I forgot to keep an eye on Badmash. Next thing I know, he’d eaten the Holy Honey Cake meant for Papa. By the time I
realised, all that was left was a pile of crumbs. Papa was unimpressed to say the least – I had to banish Badmash to my bedroom. Saw Tenzin in the front row but pretended not to. Ha! Should
have seen his face!

Or this entry, dated a few moons earlier:

Today there was a procession with Mamma’s portrait. All the school kids threw flower petals. I wish I’d been with them instead of all alone on my palanquin. I kept my head down
– my eyes are so puffy and red. I don’t want anyone to see them, especially not the person who might have murdered Mamma. I don’t want them to think I’m suffering. It’s much
better to appear strong.

And then there was one even earlier, the ink blurred by teardrops. Kumari stared at it hard, her eyes pricking once more.

They took Mamma away today. I miss her . . .

‘I miss her,’ whispered Kumari.

Now it seemed she would never get her back. She missed Papa too, in a different sort of way. Much as she loved her Papa, at times she felt as if she hardly knew him anymore. Right now, for
instance, she had no idea what he would be thinking. He might not even have noticed that she’d gone until someone else pointed it out. Even when he was well, Papa was somewhat distracted. It
was not that he didn’t care, more that he had so much on his mind. It must be hard being a god-king, with all that responsibility to bear. Or so Mamma had always told her. Poor Papa. Since he
had started to get sick, he had become more remote than ever.

Closing her journal with a sigh, Kumari tried to work out what to do. Although this room had no bars, it was as much a prison as the last. She had no knowledge of the World Beyond apart from the
RHM’s tales. No means of communication. No way of getting home. If she tried to escape, she would be lost in an instant. She was stuck in this foreign place without her only friend. Her heart
twisted at the thought. She could not bear to think of Badmash, to wonder what they had done to him, even to hope he was safe. She only knew that he was no longer there, her constant companion.
They must have abandoned him, or worse. Now she was truly alone.

The realisation bit deep. Kumari doubled over with the pain of it, rocking backwards and forwards, resting her head on her knees. She wanted to howl aloud, to scream out her helplessness.
Instead, she tried to think. There had to be a way out. Cocooned in despair, she became aware of a ticking noise. Glancing at the door, she saw an instrument above it, circular in shape, numerals
arrayed around its edge. As she watched, a thin arm swept round the circle while two others pointed in turn directly up and down. Fascinated, she stared as each arm shifted position, the two
fractionally thicker ones moving slowly, the thinner one keeping up its continuous sweep.

This instrument measured something, that much was obvious. And then it dawned on her. This thing was apportioning Time!

Its markings were gradations, signposts on its remorseless sweep. Kumari shrank in horror.
This was a clock,
mechanically counting down the days. For the people in the World Beyond, there
was no escaping Time. It hung over them like a sentence, the clock taunting them with the evidence. Look at me, it mocked, see how swiftly your life is passing. Listen to me ticking it off. Work
out how much you have left.

Kumari shut her eyes. She could feel the weight of it. Now
she
was trapped, too. And she had but a year and a day. A year and a day in the World Beyond and then she would succumb to it.
Time would claim her for its own, as it did everyone here. No longer protected by the Holy Mountain, she would die many miles from home. The breath stalled in her chest. A gulp choked up her
throat.

‘Help me,’ she sobbed.

The ticking intensified, matching the throb in her temples. It grew so loud that it filled her mind, blocking out all other sound.
Tick, tick, tick. Tap, tap, tap.

Once again, Kumari lifted her head. She waited, listening, and heard it again. Not a tick – but a tap. Her eyes flicked to the window. The tap had a hollow sound. Like fingernails on
glass. Or perhaps even the beak of a baby bird . . . She could make out a shape through the grimy pane, a shape at once blurred but familiar. Pressing her nose to the glass she took a good
look.

‘Badmash!’ she cried.

Kumari wrenched at the window, trying to open it. At last she succeeded and Badmash crawled through the gap. Bedraggled, emaciated, he fell into her open arms. His half-closed eyes showed
delight, despite the exhaustion of his journey across the world.

‘Oh, Badmash,’ Kumari crooned. ‘How on earth did you find me?’

His feet were gnarled, his claws broken as if he had clung on to something for dear life.

Gently, she stroked his feathers. Under her fingertips, she could feel his ribs poking through. And then something else; a hard ring around his neck. Parting his feathers, Kumari exposed a band
of silver.

‘My amulet!’ she cried. ‘Badmash, you clever thing!’

He must have found it on the hillside and wriggled his head through it. Dropping a kiss on his beak, Kumari slipped the amulet on to her wrist. It gleamed against her skin and instantly things
seemed better. If only she could remember how to activate it. Then she would feel truly safe.

Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door. Hastily, Kumari shoved Badmash under the covers. A few seconds later, the purple woman squeezed into the room.

‘Hi,’ she said brightly, exposing her teeth again.

‘Hi,’ mimicked Kumari. This must be their form of greeting. The buzzing was back in her ears but she did her best to ignore it. Instead, she parroted. It seemed like the best
idea.

‘Meeeee Maaaaa,’ said the woman, pointing a finger at her ample chest.

Kumari gawped at the finger. It was adorned with the biggest ring she’d ever seen. Come to that, so were all the others. It was amazing she could even lift her hand.

‘Meeee Maaaaa,’ Ma repeated, raising her voice and speaking slower. ‘Me Ma
Hernandez!’

Ma pointed to the clock and then held up seven and a half fingers, a manoeuvre that involved much complicated knuckle bending.

‘Gotta go get food. Be back soon.’

Kumari nodded and smiled. She had no idea what Ma meant. It was best to keep her sweet, though, until she could work out some escape plan. She leaned back on the pillow, as if to indicate she
would rest now; lull the woman into a false sense of security while she worked out what to do. Unfortunately, however, she had miscalculated. As Kumari settled back, an angry squawk rang out.
Hastily, Kumari coughed. Ma’s eyebrows shot up. Kumari coughed again then yawned, indicating Ma should leave.
Just go,
she thought fiercely. Mercifully Ma did. When the door clicked
to, Kumari let out a long breath.

‘That was close,’ she scolded Badmash, hauling him out from his hiding place.

Badmash nibbled her cheek. She could never stay cross with him for long.

Kumari waited a moment, listening, after the front door finally banged shut. Silence reigned in the apartment. Even the talking box held its tongue. Cautiously she crept from her room, cradling
Badmash in her arms. She tried the front door. Locked. These people were not stupid. Other doors led off the hallway. The first one she tried was also locked. The second opened on to a cupboard
stuffed with sheets and towels. The third hung off its hinges, revealing a narrow room lined with more cupboards. Cautiously, she opened the nearest. It contained nothing but cracked plates.
Another cupboard, larger and shinier, enticed her further along. She grasped the handle on the front and hauled its door open to reveal shelves. A blast of cold air hit her in the face. Light shone
into her eyes.

Startled, Kumari leapt back, banging her elbow on the sink behind. This was some kind of magic cupboard, she could tell by the fine mist that wafted out. On its shelves were packages. She picked
up a box at random. The finger-shaped cake she pulled from it looked nothing like its picture. Exploding creamily in her mouth, it was like eating sweetened cloud. She offered some to Badmash. Big
mistake. He stuck in his beak and sucked the cake dry of cream, gobbling the remnants with fierce concentration before looking up for more. Kumari fed him the rest of the box but still he looked
hungry. She reached into the cupboard again and pulled out a canister. There were red symbols emblazoned across it that read E-A-S-Y C-H-E-E-S-E.

No idea what that means,
thought Kumari, pressing the button on the top. A yellow stream shot forth, entangling Badmash in a sticky web. Kumari began to giggle, offending him deeply. He
might be a baby vulture but Badmash had his pride. Squawking with outrage, he began to jump up and down on the button. His first two attempts missed. The third hit her wetly in the ear.

‘OK, OK, truce!’ she cried, wiping his efforts from her earlobe. Thirsty now, she grabbed a bottle from the magic cupboard and held it up to the light. The contents appeared dark, a
gaseous, murky brew. Steeling herself, she took a slug.