Goddess of Gotham (12 page)

Stories?
For a second, Kumari thought she might explode with indignation. She’d talked to Ms Martin, trainee goddess to adult. And
this
was her reaction? The one person in
this cesspit of a school she thought might actually help her out. The one grown-up besides Ma in whom she had confided.

‘I’ll show you!’ said Kumari. ‘Watch this. It’s Power No 8.’

She squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists and chanted for all she was worth. After a few moments, Ms Martin’s voice cut across her efforts.

‘What exactly are you trying to do, Kumari?’

‘Whip up a whirlwind,’ said Kumari.

‘It doesn’t seem to be working.’

‘It doesn’t? You’re sure?’

Kumari snapped open her eyes.

‘I don’t understand,’ she wailed. ‘It’s the one Power I can almost manage.’

‘Kumari, you have to drop this. It’s bordering on the delusional.’

Delusional?
And was that
pity
in Ms Martin’s eyes?

‘Ms Martin, I really
am
a trainee living goddess. These men, they kidnapped me and brought me here. They wouldn’t do that to a normal person. My father, he’s the
god-king. They probably want something from him. Palace treasures, I don’t know. But I ran away from them and now I’m lost. All I want to do is get back home.’

The look on Ms Martin’s face said it all.

‘You’ve got to believe me,’ blurted Kumari.
‘Someone’s
got to help me get out of here.’ She had been so determined not to cry again but, despite
herself, her chin wobbled.

‘I do believe you’re someone special, Kumari,’ said Ms Martin. ‘I believe everyone is, in their own way. OK, maybe not
everyone.
There are exceptions. But
you’ve got a good mind, you want to learn. That’s rare in a school like this. I can see you’re really trying. You’re an asset to my class.’

‘I hate this place,’ wailed Kumari. ‘I hate being in school. At least when I was at Ma’s all day I could watch
Oprah
on TV. Sometimes I’d chat to her, tell
her my problems. I know that sounds crazy. But Oprah, she has a nice face. She looks like she really cares. Now I’m home too late to catch her and there’s no one else except Ma. Ma,
well, she’s great, but she’s the one that tells me I have to come here. And I so wanted to go to school because, well, I always did. I thought I’d have fun and make lots of
friends but this is
bakwas
!’

‘Bakwas?’

‘It’s what we say in my country when something really sucks!’

Ms Martin thought for a moment, then sighed and patted Kumari’s arm.

‘I’m not going to lie to you, Kumari. Yes, this school
does
suck in a lot of ways. Between you and me, when I first came I wanted to turn tail and run. But there is a lot of
good here. Ms LaMotta, she’s got big plans, but she’s only been here a short while, like me. Things are changing but it takes time. I promise you, in a year you won’t recognise
this place.’

‘I don’t have a year,’ sniffed Kumari. ‘In less than a year I’ll be dead.’

‘I thought goddesses didn’t die?’ smiled Ms Martin.

‘OK, so I won’t technically
die.
But I’ll be stuck, just like Mamma. There are only three ways to kill a living goddess and being here too long counts as one. I had a
year and a day from the moment I left the kingdom and now I’ve got 348 left. 348 days measured by
those
things. Those
clocks.’

Ms Martin glanced up at the clock on the wall then back at Kumari.

‘You don’t have clocks back home?’

‘No way.’

‘So how do you measure time?’

‘In the cycle of the moons.’

‘Well, that’s just the same.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ countered Kumari. ‘Moons are eternal. Clocks count your time off, tick, tick, tick. Until you have none left.’

‘Whatever you might think of them, Kumari, clocks are essential. Right now, for instance, I see it’s time for class.’

‘No, no,’ said Kumari, shrinking back. ‘I’m not going in there. The other kids, they all hate me.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Ms Martin. ‘They just don’t know you, that’s all.’

‘I don’t want them to know me,’ said Kumari. ‘I want them to leave me alone.’

‘If I promise they won’t hurt you will you come to class with me?’

‘What about Badmash?’

‘Badmash can come too. So long as he’s quiet and we keep this between ourselves. We wouldn’t want Ms LaMotta to find out, would we, Kumari?’

‘No,’ said Kumari, smiling at her new ally.

The classroom was in chaos, a bunch of kids crowding round something, shouting. Nobody noticed them enter until Ms Martin waded into the group. One boy was pinned to a desk
while the others pressed down on his head and arms. Kumari noticed one of the guys who’d shoved her in the locker, practically squishing the boy’s chin into his chest. The guy’s
name was Eddie. He considered himself the big classroom cheese. Come to think of it, he probably was. No one messed with his gang.

‘Up, up,’ the crowd was chanting, until they saw Ms Martin.

‘What do you think you are doing?’ she demanded. The boy on the desk looked pretty scared.

‘Levitating him, miss,’ said Eddie, winking at his cronies.

Levitation, pah!
thought Kumari. They didn’t know what levitation was.

‘I’ll levitate you in a minute,’ said Ms Martin spinning Eddie round in one swift motion so he landed on a chair.

‘You can’t do that!’ whined Eddie. ‘That’s child abuse. I’ll tell my dad.’

‘What are you going to tell him, Eddie? That I helped you sit down?’

At this, the class erupted. Eddie’s face took on a fetching shade of red.

‘Anyone else like to try out my judo skills?’ said Ms Martin. ‘I thought not,’ she smiled. Kumari glanced at Ms Martin in admiration. For a teacher, that was one
excellent move.

After that, the class was eerily silent. Even when Ms Martin later announced a written test on what she had just explained, there was not one single moan. Buoyed up by Ms Martin’s earlier
words, Kumari went all out to impress, scribbling her answers furiously. So, her spelling was a little erratic. English was not her first language. The Gift of Tongues might be her birthright, but
it sometimes skipped on the basics. Even so, when the results were announced, Kumari grinned in jubilation. She had come top out of all the class by a considerable margin.

Beaming, she rose to leave with the rest then felt someone press up against her.

‘Read it,’ muttered a voice in her ear. A piece of paper dropped on to her desk. As her eyes scanned it, her stomach plunged, landing somewhere around her feet.

Do that again and you’re dead,
read the note.

Kumari glanced over her shoulder.

Mean eyes stared at her menacingly.

Eddie and his boys were back on her case.

‘Hey’

It was him again, Chico.

‘How you doing?’

‘Uh, pretty good.’

OK, so that was a lie. She could have done without Eddie and the other weasels. Then again, maybe not a total lie. She felt all the better for seeing him.

‘You heading to the cafeteria?’ said Chico.

‘Um . . . I wasn’t planning to.’

‘I know what you mean,’ he laughed. ‘Food’s not so hot, is it?’

Hot. One of her new favourite words. Come to think of it, he’d made a little joke. Hot could mean two things. Excellent chance to show her sense of humour.

‘Oh, hahahaha,’ said Kumari. ‘Funny Not hot. I mean, you know, food can be hot or cold. Or not hot as in not hot.’

Chico looked at her strangely. Embarrassment prickled Kumari’s neck. It crawled up her skull, spreading like a rash towards her face. Her inner thermostat had risen by about ten degrees.
She had to get out of here before her cheeks gave it away.

‘I gotta go,’ she mumbled, slinging her bag over one arm.

‘Hey, wait,’ called Chico. ‘Wait a minute, Kumari.’

He was jogging alongside her now.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I, uh, I don’t know,’ said Kumari.

‘You don’t know? Are you lost? This place can be confusing.’

‘I, ah, I have to go to the bathroom.’

Why oh why did she have to say that? It had been the first thing to pop into her head. Now he looked embarrassed.

‘Oh, sure,’ said Chico. ‘It’s down there. Can’t miss it.’

‘Great. Thank you,’ said Kumari.

Neither of them moved.

‘Well, better go,’ said Kumari.

He really did have the most gorgeous eyes. Framed by thick, dark lashes.

‘Yup,’ said Chico, shifting from foot to foot.

‘OK, so see you later.’

‘Sure. Later.’

Great teeth, too, when he smiled. It lit up his whole face. Somehow it was hard to tear herself away. It was so nice talking to him.

‘Want to come with me?’ she blurted.

‘To the bathroom?’

‘Oh, ah, of course not. Just kidding.’

Flashing him a panicky grin, Kumari strode off as fast as she could.

‘Kumari,’ he called after her but she pretended not to hear.

‘Kumari, it’s the other way’

Oh my god. The humiliation.

Well, she wasn’t turning back now. Do that and she’d have to walk past him. Let him think she was crazy. He probably did anyway. Resolutely, she kept going, replaying it all in her
mind.

Every excruciating detail.

Over and over again.

CHAPTER 10

T
he RHM sat on his bed at the West Side YMCA, staring at a headline.
Manhattan Mystery Girl Arrest,
it read. Beneath it, a photograph.
Although blurred, there was no mistaking her. His contacts had been right. Kumari was here.

The RHM could not believe his luck. It was the break he needed. Had he not flicked through a pile of old
magazines and newspapers in the YMCA lounge, he would not have seen it. He had no idea why he had even looked at them. The RHM had no time for newspapers. Since his arrival, he had been busy,
taking the bus uptown, midtown, downtown. Looking everywhere for Kumari.

Of course, he did not expect to find her just like that. The RHM was searching for information. Trying to pick up her trail any way he could, sniffing the streets for clues. All he had to go on
was the knowledge that she was here, somewhere on the island of Manhattan. The RHM’s sources had been 99% sure. And now here was the proof. He read through the article again slowly, absorbing
the information.

Child Protection Services confirm that the Manhattan Mystery Girl was taken into custody by Immigration and Customs Enforcement at the University Avenue hair salon owned by her foster parent.
It is understood that she is now back in the care of her foster parent. The authorities will not release the girl’s name.

‘Kumari,’ murmured the RHM. He knew, beyond all doubt. Unfolding his map of Manhattan he pored over it. University Avenue was a very long street in the Bronx district, right up in
the north-west corner of the island. The RHM was on a tight budget; Manhattan was far more expensive than he had anticipated. It had been hard enough obtaining dollars from his contacts in the
first place. Palace treasures did not cut it as currency. Funds were now running low. With no money for a cab, it appeared he would have to brave the subway. The RHM trembled at the thought. The
subway ran underground.

Ordinarily, the RHM was tough. He had to be – ruthless, even. But there was one thing the RHM could not bear and that was being underground. It brought him out in a cold sweat. Gripping
the rail tightly, he walked down the stairs into the subway station. His train rattled up to the platform and he got on it, watching as the doors shut tight. Closing his eyes, he began to pray as
the train shot towards the tunnel, trying to breathe evenly and deeply, the sweat prickling his brow.

‘Say, man, you OK?’ muttered the man next to him.

‘Yes, yes,’ answered the RHM, keeping his eyelids shut fast.

Emerging at the 183rd Street station, the RHM tried to forget the rigours of his journey and concentrate on the task in hand. Still, his hands shook uncontrollably as he pulled his cloak about
him against the cold. Snow only ever settled on the mountains around the hidden kingdom. New York City was freezing in comparison to the temperate valley he now called home.

Map in hand, the RHM strode towards University Avenue, noting that everything here was built on a slightly more human scale. He passed shops that seemed to sell everything under the sun and
restaurants that smelt of their exotic provenance. No one so much as glanced at him. Interesting. Up here, it seemed he fitted in. Hardly anybody stared. Downtown it was different. Downtown they
all dressed rather similarly. This Bronx area appeared more diverse. People wore a variety of outfits. He passed a lady in a colourful headdress and bowed a courteous ‘good morning.’
The lady glared back at him in suspicion.

‘Whachoolookin’ at?’

His English must be rustier than he thought. He had clearly said something to offend. The RHM hurriedly looked away and pretended to consult his map.

‘You need help, man?’

A gentleman was tapping his elbow. Although ‘gentleman’ may not have been entirely the correct term. The RHM recoiled in alarm.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ he said, sidestepping this personage. The man grinned, exposing what few teeth he had and shuffled off.

If this was where Kumari was, he needed to get her out of here, fast. It was time to start making enquiries, knocking on likely-looking doors although it was best to take a softly, softly
approach. He would start here, in this shop. It seemed a lively place. The moment he entered, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. Most clutched pieces of paper in their hands; one man
had a stash of dollar bills in his fist.

‘You lookin’ for somethin’?’ enquired the man with the money.

‘I am looking for someone,’ said the RHM pleasantly.

‘Well, they ain’t here,’ said Mr Dollar Bills.

‘How do you know?’ asked the RHM.

The shop went very, very quiet. The man took a step towards the RHM.

‘Beat it,’ he said in a menacing tone.

The RHM cleared his throat.

‘Can I just ask you gentlemen if anyone has seen a young girl? She has a pet bird and her, ah, foster parent owns a hair-dressing establishment along this road.’