by Amanda Lees
Suddenly, life was looking good.
KUMARI’S JOURNAL
(TOP SECRET. FOR MY EYES ONLY.
EVERYONE ELSE KEEP OUT!
THIS MEANS YOU!)
The World Beyond
First Night
It’s so noisy here I cannot sleep. Those things with wheels rush up and down all night. I can hear people shouting in the street and other sounds. I have no idea what they are. The light shines in through the window so brightly I can see to write – far brighter than moonlight. Weird thing is, I can’t even see the moon or stars. I need to find the moon to work how long I’ve been here.
If I can work out how long I’ve been here already, I’ll know how much of my year and a day I have left. But there doesn’t appear to be a moon. Instead, the sky is a kind of orange. At least Badmash is asleep. He looks so tired it makes me think he must have travelled far which means I must also have come a very long way from home. The scariest thing is not knowing where I am.
These people seem to be friendly enough although I don’t like the way that boy stares at me. I think he must be Ma’s son, the brother of those girls who look the same. Except for the boy, they are all very kind, although I suppose it could be a plot. They could be working with those men who snatched me. At least those guards with guns have got them now so they can’t take me again.
I don’t think the people here are working with those men, though. I trust Ma – she’s a good person. She has gentle eyes and a kind face. She reminds me of the Ayah a little bit, like a big, soft cushion (in a nice way). I like her hair – it’s mad. And her clothes are something else. But I wish I could understand what she says. The words just don’t make sense. The RHM would feel so smug – ‘You should have listened,’ that’s what he’d say. Yeah, right. Accessing the Gift of Tongues.’ I mean, it didn’t seem exactly relevant before all this.
I wish I was back home. Everything here is really strange. Even the food they eat is bizarre. Instead of plates, they seem to use boxes to eat from and all the food appears to come from packages. I’d give anything for a bowl of spiced lentils and rice. Or maybe the Ayah’s special momos. Tonight we all sat looking at the talking box and ate some kind of bread and cheese thing they called ‘peetza.’ Do people watch the box every night? Or do they read or talk or practise rituals? The talking box is pretty cool, although I still can’t work out how they get the people in it.
There certainly seems to be some powerful magic in the World Beyond – I don’t know yet just how strong. They might even be using some now to keep me here, although I’m sure I would feel it. Plus I have my amulet back – that must be doing something to protect me. Or it would do if I could only remember how to activate it.
It’s not like I can test it by trying to escape, seeing as I don’t even know where I am, right now. What’s the point of running away if you don’t know where you’re heading? I don’t know a single person in the World Beyond so it’s not like there’s anyone to help me, anyway. I did try with that king guy but it was pretty clear he didn’t recognise a fellow royal. The best thing to do is sit tight and think. At least, that’s what Mamma would say. I can see her picture now on the pillow beside me. I miss her more than ever.
CHAPTER 4
Kumari tiptoed into Ma’s bedroom, casting a last, nervous glance through the living room door. Blue light flickered from the talking box. Poking above the couch in front of it, she could see the backs of three heads. Ma and the two girls were watching a small, yellow boy called Bart scrawl in chalk across a blackboard. The angry young man had left some time before. Now she had her chance.
Tucked in her pocket, Badmash snoozed, exhausted from his endeavours. Kumari refused to be parted from him, not even to take a bath. It was where she was supposed to be right now, immersed in the tub Ma had filled for her. Instead, she was here, in Ma’s room, standing before the altar. Holding her breath, she stood before it, feeling her throat tighten and fill. If she could only call upon the gods to help, they would get her out of here. But she had tried so many times and each time she had failed.
‘OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA
OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA
OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA . . . ’
Once again she was chanting, eyes closed, body swaying. Had it worked on the mountainside or not? She couldn’t tell. She had smelt Mamma’s perfume, seen the royal ring on her finger. And yet Mamma’s touch had felt different, somehow. Colder. Less tender. Of course it would feel different. Mamma was different, for heaven’s sake. Caught halfway between two states. No longer the Mamma she once was.
Kumari opened her eyes again. The room remained unchanged. No divine presence cast its light upon the heaps of clothes. No holy wind stirred up the dusty air. She was quite alone.
‘Help me, Mamma,’ she whispered, fingering the portrait in her pocket. There was no answering murmur.
Sinking to her knees, Kumari rested her head against the table. Her cheek rubbed on the golden cloth, ruffling it up. As it did so, she spotted something poking out from underneath, the edge of a wooden chest from which blue satin spilled. She pulled at the satin, revealing a cloak lined in deeper blue, an indigo softness scattered with silver stars that matched a glittering moon on the front. Kumari stroked the silky fabric, sensing the power steeped in every fibre. As she wrapped the cloak around her, a feathered stick fell from its folds.
Kumari raised it in the air, swishing it backwards and forwards. It made a satisfying sound. She could do some damage with this.
‘Hey! Careful with that!’ said a voice from behind.
That static filled her ears again, like a radio seeking the right station. Kumari whirled round to see Ma standing by the door.
‘You be careful,’ Ma repeated. ‘That’s no ordinary feather duster. And the thing you’re wearing, that’s my ritual cloak. You don’t want to mess with that.’
The static cleared; Ma’s words began to coalesce and make sense.
‘S-sorry,’ stuttered Kumari.
Ma’s eyes bulged like a bullfrog’s. ‘Say what? You speak English?’
She advanced upon Kumari, seizing her by the shoulders.
‘Come on,’ she commanded. ‘Say something else.’
Kumari gazed at Ma’s mouth, marvelling at the sounds it made. She was still tuning in to this language. Unpractised as she was in the divine arts, Kumari was a goddess, nonetheless. The Gift of Tongues was her birthright. But understanding was one thing. It was much harder to get the words out. She thought for a moment then a smile broke across her face. She remembered something from the talking box, from the yellow boy.
‘Eat my shorts,’ she said.
Ma threw back her head and guffawed.
‘You are one of a kind, girl!’
Gently, she freed the feather duster from Kumari’s fingers and unwound the cloak from her shoulders.
‘You don’t want to go playing with things you don’t understand.’
In response, Kumari raised her right hand and extended her little finger. In one swift, chopping motion she sliced the feather duster’s handle in half. It was a simple trick, part magic, part martial art. Ma let out a yelp.
‘That’s my hoodoo duster you broke!’
Kumari took the two halves, pursed her lips and blew upon them. She handed the duster to Ma. It was back in one piece.
Ma’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling.
‘You some kind of witch, girl?’
Kumari smiled and shook her head.
‘I . . . goddess,’ she said.
‘Yeah, goddess. Right.’
Ma was still staring at the duster, trying to figure it out. She was not to know that it was just about Kumari’s only trick. Every other charm she tried was so far doomed to fail.
‘So, where you from, girl?’
There was no answer to that one. Kumari shrugged her shoulders.
‘You telling me you don’t know?’
Ma looked at her, incredulous. Kumari shook her head.
‘Guess I can’t talk,’ said Ma. ‘Me, I’m from all over the place. Puerto Rican, Irish, Jamaican, you name it. My blood is so mixed up it’s a wonder it don’t need therapy. My folks moved around so much it just shook it up all some more.
How ’bout your folks, honey? Where are they now?’
Searching desperately for an answer, Kumari had a brainwave. She whipped Mamma’s portrait from her pocket.
‘M-mamma,’ she stammered.
Ma took it gently in her hands. ‘What you saying? That’s your mother? So where is she now, honey?’
At that, Kumari crumpled.
‘Someone killed her,’ she managed to whisper. As the tears trailed down her cheek, Ma’s eyes widened in shock and began to well up as she crushed Kumari to her chest.
‘There, there, sweetie, you let it out. Everything’s going to be just fine.’
Snuffling into the endless acres of Ma’s bosom, Kumari knew that this was not the case. It was good to hear it, though, to feel Ma’s reassuring pats. They reminded her of her Ayah. She, too, was kind of big. Many a time she had taken Kumari on her lap and told her everything would be all right. The thought of her Ayah only intensified her longing. As her sobs increased, Ma rocked her back and forth. Even if Ma were willing, there was no way she could help. The kingdom had no name, no location on any map. Kumari’s one hope was that someone would could come and find her. Right now, it was a possibility that appeared frighteningly remote.
Many thousands of miles away, inside his palace, the god-king paced to and fro. His face was thunderous. The courtiers had never seen him so angry. In point of fact, they had never seen him angry. But this was different. His only child was missing. Vanished without a trace. Somehow she must be in the World Beyond. And he blamed the night guard. Roused from the stupor into which he had sunk, the god-king’s face ran with sweat. The very effort was weakening him, but still he raged.
‘You should have spotted her,’ he cried, as the Ayah wept noisily.
Before him, the guard hung his head. No words would suffice.
Beside the god-king stood the RHM. His eyes bore into the Ayah’s. They stared back at him, red-rimmed, glinting with suspicion.
‘RHM!’
‘Your Excellency?’
The RHM bowed low before his ruler.
‘You must be the one to go. You will find my daughter.’
The RHM stiffened momentarily.
‘Yes, your excellency,’ he murmured.
The RHM’s impassive face hid a multitude of emotions. It had been a long time since he had left the kingdom. A lifetime, in fact. He, too, was granted only a year and a day in the World Beyond. He would have to move swiftly. And the king was ailing. It would be foolhardy to leave his side for long. Besides, there was another reason to keep any absence to the minimum. He stared at the Ayah once more. He dared not leave her to her own devices.
The Ayah met the RHM’s gaze with equal mistrust then glanced away quickly. His eyes followed hers to the empty throne where once the queen had sat. On it, the queen’s portrait, a picture at once lovely and terrible. So much was at stake here; so many possibilities.
Kumari’s life.
The royal line.
The very kingdom itself.
KUMARI’S JOURNAL
(TOP SECRET. FOR MY EYES ONLY.
EVERYONE ELSE KEEP OUT!)
THIS MEANS YOU!
The World Beyond
Day 5 – 361 days to go
At least now I’ve found the moon I can tell precisely how long I’ve been here. If I climb up and look through the bathroom window I can see it above the lights. Almost a moon’s quarter has passed since I left home – Time really does move fast in the World Beyond. It’s easier now that I can understand them. It’s pretty cool, this Gift of Tongues. Makes me think there’s good bits to being a goddess.
I mean, I know there’s good bits because Mamma told me so – as did Papa and the Ancient Abbot. The RHM doesn’t seem so sure, but then I think he’s jealous. Weird how I miss even him. It’s not what I expected, being here. I thought the World Beyond would be so exciting, but really it’s sort of grey. I don’t mean grey in colour – although it is in parts -especially the buildings. I mean it feels grey, like there’s a heavy weight pressing down on my shoulders. I think it’s because they have no Happiness.
Or at least they don’t seem to have a lot of it although Ma is generally always smiling. But I watch the people in the street and they don’t look so happy. I guess there is no haze of Happiness and no one tending its fires. When I asked CeeCee and LeeLee they looked at me as if I were mad. They do that quite often. They do things differently in the World Beyond – too many things to list them all.
They have all these amazing machines, for example, they even talk to one another by a machine called the ‘phone’, which is pretty cool. And they have this thing called a ‘computer’ which seems to do just about everything. It sits in LeeLee and CeeCee’s room and they said they use it to send messages to their friends. What is wrong with just going and talking to their friends, that’s what I want to know! Although I wish I could use it to send a message to Papa, to tell him where he can come and get me. That’s got to be why no one’s come for me – they can’t work out where I am.
So many machines and yet they can’t stop Time. Makes me think they should have been concentrating on that rather than on coming up with more mechanical things. Weird thing is, they have all these people on the TV who talk about creams which can perform miracles and stop people from ageing. Perform miracles – what a joke! As if a cream can perform a miracle. It’s hard enough to perform miracles if you’re a goddess and I should know.
I like the TV though, and the people on it – especially Oprah and The Simpsons. The Simpsons are not like any family I have met before – for one thing, they’re yellow. Marge, though, is very kind and Homer reminds me of the Ancient Abbot. Not that the Ancient Abbot has the same personality but he does get things wrong. Actually, he isn’t much like Homer at all. Homer gets pretty angry. That’s the other thing about people’s faces here – they all look sort of tight.
CHAPTER 5
Simon Razzle smiled over the tops of his designer spectacles. He did not strictly need them, but they added a certain sang-froid.
‘Come, my dear,’ he purred. ‘There is no need to cry. A little nip here, a tuck there and you’ll be restored to your former self.’
Sitting on the opposite side of his imposing desk, the blonde woman dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘You really think so?’ she simpered, blue eyes awash with tears.
‘But of course,’ insisted Simon. ‘You have the bone structure. Your natural assets . . . ’
He said the same to all his patients but she was not to know that. She patted her blond curls. Dyed, of course, like her eyelashes. Under them, her forehead stretched too tight, testament to a bad Botox job. Simon was the king of Botox; he knew just where to inject it, along with his impressive range of fillers, smoothers and plumper-uppers. Fake, the lot of them. But now the ultimate cure was in sight. A wholly natural cure for ageing. A way to turn back the clock.
Simon drummed his fingers on the desk, impatient now to get rid of her. When the blonde looked at him, startled, he covered with a smooth smile.
‘Finger exercises,’ he said. ‘Excellent for youthful hands.’
‘Oh, really?’ she sounded intrigued. ‘I must try them some time.’
Surreptitiously, Simon pressed the concealed button located under his antique desk. A moment later, his secretary buzzed through. Simon raised a regretful eyebrow.
‘My next client has arrived.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she fluttered.
Simon smiled and half-rose from his chair. Luckily, she took the hint.
As soon as the woman had gone, Simon picked up the intercom.
‘No interruptions until I tell you,’ he barked.
‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply.
Simon sat and stared at the telephone, willing it to ring. This was the most important call of his life; the one that would tell him she was here. His eyes almost crossed with the effort; a bead of sweat trickled from his brow. No Botox for Simon. He preferred a more long-term solution. And if this girl was all that had been promised, she would provide it. The ultimate cure for wrinkles; eternal youth at his fingertips. The passport to billions. Global fame and respect.
So caught up was he in his reverie, Simon jumped a foot when the phone rang. Fumbling, he dropped it, then recovered himself.
‘Simon Razzle,’ he said, smiling into the receiver. At last, the signal. The girl was here!
Thirty seconds later, he was scowling.
‘What do you mean they lost her?’
Two minutes later, he shouted into the phone. ‘You’d better find her, you hear?’
Thrusting his leather chair backwards, Simon leapt to his feet. He kicked his desk once, twice, then slammed down his fist.
‘Are you OK, sir?’ It was his secretary, full of concern.
‘No I am not!’ Simon shouted. ‘And shut that darn door!’
Throwing himself down on his couch, Simon pounded the cushions. So near and yet so far. They had let the girl slip. Some cock-and-bull story about her running off into the Macy’s Parade, then getting picked up by the police and carted off they knew not where. In viciously succinct fashion, Simon had made it clear that was not good enough. He expected a return on his investment. They had to bring him the girl.
Alive, if possible.
But a well-preserved corpse would do.
* * *
Kumari surveyed the Hoodoo Hair salon, taking in the orange walls and silver fittings.
‘What do you think?’ said Ma proudly.
‘Ay caramba!’ said Kumari.
Kumari had been at the apartment seven days now and her vocabulary was growing, fed by a constant diet of TV and her one-sided chats with Ma. Ma had an opinion on everything. It was what made her such a good hairdresser. People came from miles around to Hoodoo Hair, just to hear what Ma had to say.
