Goddess of Gotham Read online

  Amanda Lees was born in Hong Kong of British parents and survived both a convent boarding school and subsequent incarceration at a Jesuit boys’ school.

  A onetime stand-up comedian, she teaches presentation skills to authors and conducts workshops on story and dramatic form for children and is also now a successful author, actress and broadcaster.

  She has lived all over the world and now resides in London.

  AMANDA LEES

  Piccadilly Press • London

  Thanks first and foremost to Peter Cox, a good friend as well as a great agent. Also to the fantastic team at Piccadilly, especially Brenda Gardner, Mary Byrne, Melissa Patey and Anne Clark, my stalwart editor. Special appreciation to the sales team who are out there on the frontline, led by the lovely Finette. And of course a big thank you to my family and friends who are always there for me. Most of all, I would like to acknowledge my mum for giving me so much of what ultimately led to this book. I hope that its humour and sense of adventure are a true reflection of her spirit.

  First published in Great Britain in 2007

  by Piccadilly Press Ltd,

  5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR

  This edition published 2008

  Text copyright © Amanda Lees 2007

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

  reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in

  any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,

  photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the

  prior permission of the copyright owner.

  The right of Amanda Lees to be identified as Author

  of this work has been asserted by her in accordance

  with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  A catalogue record for this book is available from

  the British Library

  ISBN: 978 1 85340 956 1 (paperback)

  eISBN: 978 1 84812 179 9

  3 5 7 9 1 0 8 6 4 2

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon

  Cover design by Simon Davis

  Cover illustration by Anna Gould

  Set in Stempel Garamond and Trajan

  In memory of my mum

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 1

  An orange moon hung low over the hidden kingdom, tingeing the snow-capped peaks that surrounded it, protecting it from the prying eyes of the world beyond.

  Unmarked on any map, it was as if the kingdom did not exist. Spy satellites swept over it, registering nothing. Nestled deep within a distant mountain range, the kingdom lay untouched, as it had done for eons.

  Which was all very well for those who liked things the way they had always been.

  But not so great for a goddess-in-training who longed for a bit of life.

  Tucked up in her bed, Kumari tossed to and fro. Her silk sheets twisted beneath her as she thrashed around in her sleep. The nightmare was back again, this time worse than before.

  ‘Mamma,’ she murmured. The sweat trickled down her face.

  She could see her Mamma so clearly in her dream, walking ahead of her, but as fast as Kumari ran she could not catch up.

  ‘Mamma!’ she shouted, but the words stuck in the back of her throat. However hard she tried to scream, she could not make a sound. And all the time her Mamma carried on walking, blissfully unaware of the danger that lay ahead . . .

  Kumari could see it – knew just what was about to happen. But there was no way she could stop her, as hard as she tried. It was like running in quicksand, yelling into the wind. A great gulf yawned in front of Mamma, ready to swallow her up. And then – her Mamma was gone, falling into the darkness . . . disappearing into a void from which she would never return.

  Kumari woke with a start. She was sitting bolt upright, arms outstretched, empty. I couldn’t reach her, she thought miserably. I failed Mamma. Again.

  A tear rolled down her cheek and slid, salty, inside her lips. Her chest ached with emptiness; her heart felt hollow inside. And then she remembered. This was the night of her grand plan. The night she might – just perhaps – kill off the nightmares at last.

  The moonlight shone through the arched windows, casting shadows along the floor. It was well after midnight; soon bird song would herald the dawn. Flinging back her rumpled sheets, Kumari threw herself out of bed. Badmash, her baby vulture, sighed and rolled over into the indent she had left. His feet were twitching, a sure sign he was dreaming. And whatever those dreams consisted of, it was a safe bet they involved food. Kumari leaned over and tickled his fat little belly.

  ‘Badmash, wake up,’ she hissed. ‘Tonight’s the night!’

  Badmash opened his beak and let out a squawk of protest. Instantly, Kumari clamped it shut again. The last thing she needed was to get caught. She had to talk to Mamma – speak to her just one last time. And the only way to do that was through the Great Summoning Ceremony itself.

  The Great Summoning Ceremony: the most difficult of rituals. In attempting to bring her mother back into this world she might well destroy them both. Mamma was caught between two states, unable to make the final transition from queen to total goddess. Owing to her untimely death, she was in the most dangerous place of all. One slip of the tongue and it could so easily go wrong. Her Mamma might end up in limbo forever if Kumari made a mistake.

  The gods were not to be trifled with, even if you were a trainee one yourself. Incur the wrath of the heavens and the repercussions could be dreadful. Kumari did not relish the prospect but, still, she had no choice. Already she scented danger on the wind, could feel it stalking the palace corridors. And so tonight she would perform the ceremony. Get the answers she craved.

  There was just one tiny problem: she had never actually managed it. Never summoned up a god before, despite the Ancient Abbot’s best efforts. She could imagine her teacher now, his hands sketching shapes in the air.

  ‘This is how you do it, Kumari. See – sweep down and towards you!’

  Looked so simple when he did it.

  ‘It’s not working,’ she sighed.

  ‘Why not try it this way? Come, child, focus your energy. Magic is all in the mind, Kumari. In the mind and in the heart.’

  As teachers went, the Ancient Abbot was rather dull. But he knew more about rituals than any man alive. And it was not his fault he was so old. Sometimes he forgot entire incantations, stopping dead in mid-sentence. Other times he muddled them up, with spectacular results.

  Age was honoured in the kingdom, a fact that occasionally drove her nuts. It was tough to be thirteen in a place where one hundred was considered young! Even harder to be a girl-goddess, with all that it entailed. How she envied the ordinary citizens, hearts carefree, minds untroubled. Of course, it was all down to Papa and Maximum National Happiness.

  It was Papa’s job to generate National Happiness, but lately he seemed lost. As far back as she could remember, Papa had worked away at the holy fires, stoking them up with love and care, sending the smoke of Happiness to his peo
ple. Its haze drifted across the valley kingdom, infusing it with well-being. Except the haze was all but gone, the skies dishearteningly empty. National Happiness had not been at maximum for a long time, not since Mamma’s death eight moons before.

  Was it really eight moons? It felt like a heartbeat. A heartbeat that ached with unanswered questions both for herself and Papa.

  Kumari could see Papa now, sitting alone by the holy fires, unable to conjure up more than the odd wisp instead of the great clouds that had once billowed forth. Papa’s Powers had deserted him along with the ability to maintain Happiness. It was as if something was sucking the very life force out of him, rendering him impotent and withdrawn. As the holy fires dwindled, so did Papa’s spirits. The further the king sank into deep depression, so the kingdom followed suit. OK, so Happiness was not everything, or so the Ancient Abbot said. But then what would he know – he was a monk, for heaven’s sake.

  There was only one thing to do and that was to speak to Mamma. She had to find out what had happened, how she had really died. Only one person would tell her the truth and that person was Mamma. And how Kumari longed to hear her voice, to be soothed by its familiar sound. Since before she could remember, Mamma had sung her to sleep, had told her stories of fairies and dragons, had murmured her name. Later, she had been her source of wisdom, teaching Kumari of the ways of the world, talking about its biggest mysteries: magic, the meaning of life. Boys. Already, though, the sound of Mamma’s voice in her head was fading. It was as if someone was wiping all the good memories from her mind, leaving nothing but hurt.

  Tonight was the perfect night, the night of the Murmuring Moon. All over the kingdom, hundreds of people were gazing up at it, whispering their wishes in the knowledge that the gods would grant just one. Each year the lucky winner would give thanks at the temple while the losers smiled nicely and muttered snide asides. Well, as far as Kumari was concerned this was one lottery she was about to fix. She had a hotline to the gods and she intended to burn it up.

  Time to get moving. This mission called for mountain gear. Hardly a fashion statement but then no one would see her anyway. Her winter robes were what her Ayah called ‘sensible’, hanging like a red tent to her ankles. Beside the ladies of the court, she looked like a scarlet blob. A blob with a scowling face poking out of the top, pale and unadorned. Not that she particularly wanted to paint her lips or totter round in tight skirts. It would be nice to have the option, though, instead of always being treated like a kid.

  Next, her ceremonial bag, stashed in its secret hiding place. OK, so it was the back of her wardrobe. But it did the job. The strand of hair was still there, exactly as she had left it, laid just across the door handles so that she would know if anything had been touched. You couldn’t be too careful, as Mamma’s death had proved. If they were able to get to Mamma then Kumari could well be next in line. As for Papa’s malaise, Kumari was sure it was something more than grief. If even the god-king could succumb to outside forces, what hope was there for Kumari? Gain access to her magic tools and they were halfway there. Of course, she had no idea who they were, it was just her suspicions. It made it all the more important to guard her things. Through them they could harm her.

  Until the day they ascended the Holy Mountain, a living god or goddess was vulnerable. Like her Mamma and Papa, one per cent of Kumari remained mortal. Find that weak spot and you could kill off the human part, consigning the living god or goddess to the endless night of a limbo state. Someone had done that to her Mamma and it would take an awful lot to set her free. Now not even Papa was strong enough to rescue Mamma and the gods could not intervene. Only one of her own blood could save Mamma. If she found out how Mamma had been murdered, Kumari could help her heal and send her on, up the Holy Mountain to join her fellow deities instead of languishing in its foothills, unable to go forward or come back.

  Whoever it was had known where to strike, and that knowledge was kept from all but a very few which meant it had to be someone close to the royal family, perhaps even in the palace itself. Then there was the mystery of her death, the complete lack of evidence. There were only three ways to kill a living goddess: one being with the sacred sword. But that was kept under lock and key in the temple, guarded by the monks day and night. For the sacred sword was also vital to the first and most important Power of them all: Power No 1, the Power to be Invincible. Of the Eight Great Powers to be gained by a trainee god or goddess, this was the hardest to attain.

  The second way to kill a goddess was to turn her own magic against her but that, surely, would leave its mark. There had been no marks on Mamma. It was all very strange. Whatever the circumstances, it was clear Mamma’s death was no accident. Someone else had had a hand in it, and that someone was very powerful. Only a person with great influence could have murdered a living goddess like Mamma.

  Aha, here it was. Her ceremonial bag and it looked intact. Better check the contents one more time. This was too important to mess up.

  Summoning Cup

  Cowrie Shell

  Incense

  Charcoal

  Incantations Part One (in hardback)

  Journal

  Firesticks

  It was all there, present and correct. Kumari slung the bag over her shoulder. It rucked up her sleeve, exposing her amulet. The silver bracelet round her wrist was Kumari’s most precious possession, a gift from her Mamma that was intended to keep her safe. And so it would, if only Kumari could remember the mantra that activated it. Mantras were not her strong point. They all sounded the same. Still, she loved her amulet. It made her feel closer to Mamma. As if Mamma were protecting her through the slender band of silver that she always wore.

  Catching sight of it, she felt a rush of courage. All she had to do now was get past the guards to the western door. Once free of the palace, she would climb the hills opposite the Holy Mountain to perform her ritual with the dawn. The Great Summoning Ceremony had to be conducted in direct sight of the mountain. In its foothills Mamma languished, and it was from there Kumari hoped to summon her. The ascent was steep and dangerous; she needed to move swiftly. Too much haste, however, and she could make a fatal mistake.

  Carefully, she replaced the raven strand of hair and tiptoed towards the door. Scooping Badmash from her bed, she tucked him under one arm. Badmash glared up at her beadily but refrained from opening his beak. On the threshold, Kumari paused, listening for telltale creaks. Night watchmen patrolled the corridors. Bump into one of them and all was lost. They had strict orders to protect her, and that included from herself. No one left the palace alone at night, especially not the girl-goddess.

  Her heart was thumping so hard she could swear someone would hear it. It was now or never. She lifted the latch . . .

  The corridor was still, the butter lamps burning low. She glanced towards her Ayah’s door, half-expecting to hear her snore. Generally, her Ayah snored so loudly it reverberated right through the floorboards. Tonight, however, all was silent.

  Her Ayah slept in the next room, as she had ever since Kumari was born. Protocol demanded that the girl-goddess had a nanny, even though her mother had not been keen. Happily, the Ayah was a distant cousin and so kind it was impossible not to love her. It had been the Ayah who had held her tight the day they bore Mamma away.

  As they carried Mamma, cold and still, to the foothills of the Holy Mountain, Kumari had followed, holding on to her Ayah. They had placed Mamma’s pallet by the river that separated the Holy Mountain from the kingdom. Wide and very deep, its waters ran icy cold from the snowy peak. The mists had descended, rolling towards Mamma. Then the waters rose and took her pallet, sweeping it towards the distant shore. There she would awake to the living death of limbo, blessed with all her attributes of youth and beauty, cursed to remain stuck. The first step was to avenge Mamma’s death, to break the murderer’s curse. Then she would be free to ascend the mountain and take her rightful place among the gods.

  ‘I’ll find them, Mamma,’ whispered Kuma
ri as she gazed at the waters with streaming eyes, clutching her Ayah’s arm with whitened fingers until the pallet disappeared from sight.

  ‘I will look after you,’ said the Ayah. ‘I will take care of you.’

  And so she had, although it was never the same.

  Kumari could still feel her Mamma’s slender fingers stroking her face gently. Occasionally an unseen hand would brush her cheek and she knew it was her mother. Some people would say she was crazy and so she kept those thoughts to herself. But Kumari knew she was there, so close and yet so far. It was why she had to do this, for herself and for Mamma.

  Here was the Ayah’s door. Best to go s-l-o-w-l-y. Somewhere around here a floorboard squeaked. This might be the one . . . Toes down first . . . Nothing. On to the next one. Aha – a creak. Step over it very carefully. Excellent! Home and dry. Past the first butter lamp, then the second. Stick to the shadows at all costs. Weird that her Ayah wasn’t snoring. No time to ponder. Keep going.

  One down, two to go. There was Papa’s room at the end. Before him, the RHM. Ah yes, the Right Hand Man. Her least favourite person in the palace. In the universe, in fact. OK, so her universe ended at the borderlands, gateway to the World Beyond. And what little she knew about the World Beyond she had heard from the RHM. Frankly, having listened to all his tales, she rather wished he would move there. He would fit in really well, wrinkling up with the rest of them.

  They lived short but terrible lives in the World Beyond before their bodies crumbled to dust. Or at least, that was what the RHM said in their Social History sessions. Personally, she thought it sounded rather interesting, all this stuff about ageing. How weird would it be, seeing your face shrivelled up like a walnut?

  OK, so it was unlikely. Impossible, in fact. Amongst the many gifts bestowed on a girl-goddess, Kumari had been granted eternal youth. Even the ordinary citizens of the kingdom aged at a rate that was barely perceptible. Most lived to be well over three hundred, their skins still unlined, their hair black and thick. Maybe she could just slip over to the World Beyond, take a peek at these people. She’d be so close to the borderlands tonight. It would only take a minute. Even as the thought popped into her head, so did the RHM’s voice.