Goddess of Gotham (25 page)

‘I promised,’ said Kumari. ‘I need to be there for my friends. Rita Moreno needs the money. The World Beyond needs to hear HUNK’s message. I’m still alive,
aren’t I? I think I can make it through another day.’

‘There’s no changing your mind, is there?’ said Theo.

Kumari smiled. ‘Not a chance.’

‘Then promise me one thing – we leave straight after the concert?’

‘It’s a deal,’ said Kumari.

She dropped a kiss on Badmash’s head.

‘Hey, boy, we’re going home.’

Badmash rolled on to his back and waggled his belly for joy.

CHAPTER 24

T
he roar filled her ears like a thousand hungry lions. Ranked in front of the stage, a barrage of cameras. Madison Square Garden: home to some of
the greatest gigs in history. And now a platform for HUNK. Things did not get any better than this. Above the stage, a massive banner setting out HUNK’s manifesto:

Get Happy

Stay Happy

Spread the Happiness Around!

Beside her, Jack Raider, oozing charm and confidence. And then he was taking her by the hand, leading her back on to the stage.

‘Give it up, everyone, for Kumari!’

Another roar, this time deafening. He handed her the microphone. ‘Go HUNK!’ she yelled.

‘Go HUNK!’ they chanted. Now this was fun. She tried another.

‘Get Happy, Stay Happy!’

Dutifully, they echoed. Raider snatched back the microphone.

‘And now, everyone . . . Deranged!’

He did a sort of swivel-hip thing – Tragic Dad Dancing. Jack was not as cool as he liked to think. Kumari smothered a grin. In the front row she could see them all: Ma, the girls, Theo, Ms
Martin. Still no sign of Chico. Where on earth could he be?

A crescendo of guitar chords drowned out her thoughts. Deranged were running on stage behind her. She recognised the intro: ‘Heaven Sent.’ Her favourite song ever. All of a sudden
Pete, the lead singer, was beckoning to her.
Oh my god, no. This was not happening.
He was holding her hand.

Pete shot her a sideways glance, then grinned and began to sing. Behind them, a massive screen on which she was projected. The cameras were zooming in, the crowd singing along too. She thought
she must have died and gone to heaven. It was worth it, all of it. How could she leave here now? How could anything beat this?

She glimpsed the front row.

He was there. Chico.

Now things were absolutely perfect.

Just when it was time to go.

In his room at the YMCA, the RHM stretched out on his bed. Jetlag dulled his mind. He might as well flick through the TV channels. Tomorrow morning, he would try once more to
pick up Kumari’s trail. This was his last chance to find her, his final trip to Manhattan. The year and a day was all but up. If he failed, he would have to tell the king to give up hope.
Worse, he would have to alter his own plans. In the pit of his stomach, a lurking dread. Kumari was not coming home.

He gazed at the TV blankly, barely taking in the images as he channel-surfed. He was flicking through them so fast he almost missed the show. Scrolling back, he took another look. Astonishingly,
there she was. The hair and clothes were different but it was definitely Kumari, standing alongside some young man, her face filling the screen. A caption flashed up,
Live from Madison Square
Garden.
It was all the information the RHM needed. He was out in the street in a trice.

‘Madison Square Garden,’ he told the cab driver who stopped. ‘Please hurry’

He was only a few streets from his quarry. The hunt was back on.

On the other side of Central Park, someone else was watching television. Simon Razzle had it on in the background with the volume down as he tried to fend his creditors off by
phone.

‘Mr Razzle? I’m afraid he’s not in. No, this is not Mr Razzle. I will tell him you called.’

The hired heavy by the door yawned, never once taking his eyes from the state of the art TV.

‘Cute chick,’ he growled, shifting his considerable bulk.

Irritated, Simon glanced up. The man was not paid to talk. For once, though, he was glad he had done. It was
her,
up there on the plasma screen. The telephone rang again.

‘Mr Razzle? He’s not here.’

His creditors were closing in on him. Before his very eyes, the golden ticket out of this mess. The passport to millions in the slender shape of one girl. All these weeks trying to think up some
way to snatch her back without getting arrested and she was there, right in front of him. The kid. Kumari. The answer to his prayers.

‘We’re leaving,’ snapped Simon, throwing on his cashmere coat. ‘Where’s that other idiot?’ The heavies came as a matching pair.

At that moment, the door burst open and Simon instinctively ducked.

‘I got hot dogs for everyone,’ said the other heavy. ‘You OK, Mr Razzle?’

‘No, I am not,’ snarled Simon. ‘How many times have I told you not to burst in like that? You give the secret knock and wait. In any case, we’re leaving. Get me to
Madison Square Garden. Quickly, you morons.’

He had no idea what he would do once he got there.

But there had to be some way to get the girl.

CHAPTER 25

T
he stage lights dimmed. Another intro twanged out. As one, the audience flicked open their lighters. ‘Shoot Me Down in Flames.’
Kumari’s second favourite song ever. She could hear the crowd screaming over the sound of the guitar chords. Their yells punctuated the drum beats. This was what it must be like to be so
popular.

‘Kumari!’

Wow. They were calling out her name as well.

Smiling, Pete led her forward to take a bow, right to the front of the stage. Hands were reaching out towards them, the audience stamping and whistling.

‘Kumari! Kumari!’

They were pumping their fists, waving their hands in homage.

Suddenly, one of those hands had a hold of her. She stared down into eyes she recognised. It was that lunatic, Simon Razzle. And he was trying to pull her off the stage.

Staring up into the spotlights, Simon felt the fury rise. She was there, within feet of him. Salvation was inches away. He could hear the blood pounding in his skull; see it
rise in front of his eyes. A scream formed behind his teeth, trying to force its way out of his mouth.

The pressure. He had to relieve the pressure. His head felt fit to burst. He thought his heart might explode. The girl was almost within reach. All he had to do was grab her. Never mind that
there were thousands of people present. This was it, his one chance. And then she was right there, standing alongside the singer. Her smile was the final straw. How dare she look so happy? He had
meant to wait for a more opportune moment, but he could not ignore the blood rush.

‘Give me your gun,’ he snapped, snatching it from one of his heavies. Thank God the goon was thick with a security guard who owed him a favour. Tucking it in his belt, Simon lunged
for the girl.

It was almost too easy, the way he reached out and grabbed her ankle, holding on fast as she looked down and, horrified, met his gaze. Simon bared his teeth in a grin.

‘I got you now, baby’ he crowed.

No one else had yet realised what was happening. Another tug and she’d be his. Desperately, Kumari lashed out, kicking with all her strength. Finally spotting her
predicament, Pete hauled her back from the edge. She saw Simon’s face as she was ripped from his grasp. His eyes were crazed, his mouth twisted in a snarl. Like a dog refusing to let go of a
bone, he leapt after her, on to the stage. Suddenly, everything was chaos. There were people running on from the wings. And then the light glinted off something in Razzle’s hand. He was
waving a gun.

He grabbed hold of her once again. ‘Stay back or I’ll shoot!’

Now this was all too real. Security were hanging back, not knowing what to do. The band dived for cover. Everyone was screaming. And then someone else strode on stage.

‘Let her go at once!’ he demanded.

Kumari’s head whipped round at the familiar voice. Could it really be him? Yes, it was the RHM, his face like thunder. At last – they had found her at last.

‘Let her go,’ the RHM said again. ‘I command you to do so in the name of the king.’

‘Says who?’ sneered Simon, waving his gun. ‘This makes me king around here, buddy’

At that exact moment, a furious flurry of feathers attacked, pecking at Simon’s eyes.

‘Be careful, Badmash,’ yelled Kumari.

A loud report as the gun went off. A few feathers floated to the ground.

‘No, no,’ Kumari sobbed.

And then a familiar squawk as Badmash swooped from the lighting gantry. Lashing out with his sharp talons, he swiped at Simon’s cheek.

‘I’ll get you for that!’ shrieked Razzle, swivelling, trying to find Badmash in his sights. There was another, enormous bang. Far too loud for any gun. It sounded more like
thunder, a gigantic roar of rage from the heavens. As it died away, Badmash dived once more, slicing open Simon’s hand so he dropped the gun. It skittered across the stage, with Simon in hot
pursuit. Another rumble drowned out the yells of outrage from Razzle. One final deafening crack and the stage was plunged into darkness.

A figure emerged from the shadows.

Raised above the figure’s head, a sword, fashioned like a scimitar.

Kumari let out a gasp. She would recognise the sacred sword anywhere. The sacred sword of the kingdom: one of the few ways to kill a goddess. And now it was pointing at her heart, coming closer
and closer. A sudden blast of light illuminated the centre of the stage. Someone must have hit the emergency spotlight. Its beam bounced off the sword, momentarily blinding Kumari. Blinking into
the white glare she could only make out a silhouette. And then the figure spoke. It was a voice she had known all her life.

‘I should have killed you then. That day on the mountain. But it was far too dangerous. There are eyes everywhere in that wretched kingdom. Instead, I chose this, the World Beyond. A slow
death in some ways. A slow, complicated death as it turns out but with a profit margin that made it worth it. Or it would have done, if it hadn’t been for all those bungling fools and your own efforts. You are too much trouble, Kumari. But then, you always were.’

From behind the figure, more emerged, fanning out to form an arc. One in particular bared his teeth in a semblance of a ghastly smile. She felt a wave of faintness crash over her. She was
looking at her kidnappers. Suddenly, it all made sense. And it was that knowledge that broke her. Falling to her knees, she felt the fight drain away.

It had been her Ayah all along.

CHAPTER 26

T
he sword was at her throat now, pressing into her flesh. She could see the tooled and bejewelled hilt. Wrapped around it her Ayah’s hand,
knuckles white as she clutched it. She looked up then, into her Ayah’s eyes. They shone with pure hatred. How could she have been so blind? The Ayah was her enemy. The woman who had helped
bring her up now wanted her destroyed. Confused, disbelieving, Kumari could only stare. Her throat tightened at the touch of cold metal. She stifled a scream.

‘One stroke of this,’ the Ayah crooned. ‘And you’re dead, Kumari. As dead as that mother of yours. My saintly, beloved sister.’

Her sister? Surely not. Mamma had been the Ayah’s cousin.
Despite her breaking heart and bewildered mind, Kumari struggled to work it out.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ It was as if she’d read her thoughts. ‘You’re my niece, Kumari.’

‘Then how could you do this?’ said Kumari.

‘Believe me, it makes it much easier.’

She swung back the sword and the entire stadium gasped. At that precise moment, Kumari dived. Rolling backwards, she flung herself to her feet, arms outstretched as she had been taught. Karali
was a magnificent art but it was no match for a sword. Laughing, the Ayah lunged again and again, slashing with the deadly blade, trying to find Kumari’s weak spot. Jumping, ducking, dodging,
Kumari fought to evade her. She could see the kidnappers encircling, blocking off any exit.

Still the Ayah came at her, unstoppable, frenzied. For once in her life, Kumari was thankful a ritual had not worked. Not a single one of her Powers had been renounced. She was still a goddess.
And it looked like the only way out of this was to summon up divine help. Faced with the sacred sword, Kumari knew that not even her Powers would be enough. Frantically, she rubbed at her amulet,
trying to remember the ancient words.

‘OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA

MAMA SARVA RANDZA . . . ’

Duck, dodge. Slash, slash, slash. The Ayah was gaining ground. Any moment now she would thrust through her skin. And that would be the end of her.

I don’t want to die,
thought Kumari.
I’m not going to let her kill me.

‘DUSHEN DRODA SHINDHAM KURU SOHA . . . ’

Chanting, howling to the gods.
Come on, come on, help me!

And then she heard it, the roar again. The sound of a thousand lions. Except that there was only one and it was stalking across the stage. A gorgeous monster of a beast, its massive white head
framed by a flowing silver mane. Its tail swished as it padded towards the Ayah, a flick, flick of fury. A collective gasp of disbelief, the crowd paralysed by the spectacle. On the lion’s
back, a woman clad in burnished gold and scarlet robes, her black hair rippling down her back. The woman’s lovely face bore an expression that would turn fire to ice. Her eyes locked on to
the Ayah’s, inexorable in their hatred.

‘Mamma!’ cried Kumari.

The lion opened its jaws and roared again. Its massive teeth glinted. In one bound it was by the Ayah’s side and then it snatched her up. Dangling, shrieking, from its mouth, the Ayah
gibbered in terror. The sword fell from her outstretched hand and clattered to the floor.

Frozen to the spot, Kumari stared.
She had done it. She had summoned Mamma.

‘Mamma!’ she called again and staggered towards her, reaching out for her hand.