by Laura Powell
The next moment, Mrs Galloway and Sal returned, looking very pleased with themselves. Mrs Galloway explained that her nephew worked in the local freight yard. All the trains there were for the transportation of goods, not passengers, and so weren’t subject to the same security checks. We could hitch a ride on one out of the city.
The first challenge was getting us to the freight yard now that curfew was in force. This was what Mrs Galloway and Sal had gone to ‘set up’. Five minutes after their return, there was a knock on the door, and two men pressed into the already crowded sitting room.
‘Meet the staff of Elite Cleaning,’ said Mrs Galloway.
I looked at them doubtfully. One was shaven-headed and hulking, the other was short and squat and beady-eyed.
‘They’ve got a pass for the curfew,’ she said proudly. ‘Essential service, cleaners. They’ll see you right.’
I tried to thank our host but she’d have none of it. Instead, she got me to sign the backs of a clutch of High Priestess dolls. ‘One for me, and the rest for my pension fund.’
Sal kissed my hand on parting. ‘Honoured Lady,’ she said reverently. ‘My whole life, I’ve wanted to be a part of something – something bigger and better than me. Now I’m part of your story.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘Nobody can take that away from me.’
The back of Elite Cleaning’s van was stuffed with cleaning products and kit. These were moved to one side to reveal the hidden compartment in the bottom of the van. Presumably this was where all those antique candlesticks and laptops were transported.
‘Good job you’re such a skinny little oracle,’ said the hulk, as I squeezed myself in, holding my bag to my chest. Aiden and the other man sat in the back, both in cleaners’ uniform, caps pulled low.
It was cramped and stuffy in the sealed compartment. Every time we stopped at traffic lights I seized up with panic, convinced we’d been discovered. We ran into a checkpoint at one point, and I could hear the van doors being opened, and a discussion of paperwork and passes. But whatever the guards saw must have satisfied them, because soon we were on the move again. Ten minutes later we were at the freight yard.
The place was a desolate tangle of oily black tracks and grimy cargo trains. Their clattering and grinding sounded eerie in the dark. It was cold and wet, and the wind was flinging little handfuls of rain in our faces, as Aiden and I waited in the shadows for our guide. Mrs Galloway’s nephew didn’t look especially pleased to meet us, though he produced a grubby timetable and informed us that the most suitable train would be arriving in an hour. He would come and fetch us when it was time to go.
So we settled down to wait, crouched among rusting containers and other rubbish on the embankment. Members of the yard crew milled about on the other side of the tracks, fluorescent jackets and tired faces shining under the lights.
After about twenty minutes our guide reappeared. He was out of breath and even more grim-faced than before. He’d just got word that the Transport Police were on their way. ‘They got a tip-off about thieving on the network. You need to get the hell out of this yard.’
But we had nowhere to go. We stared at each other blankly. Below the embankment, a goods train clanked slowly into life.
‘Where’s that headed?’ Aiden asked.
‘Swansea. But –’
‘It’ll do.’ He turned to me. ‘Ready?’
I wasn’t, but I still ran after him down the bank and towards the track. In spite of myself, I felt a spark of excitement as I heard the man behind us shout and swear.
Up close, the train appeared to be moving much faster. We stumbled alongside it as possible handholds rushed by. Sirens wailed from the other side of the yard; I thought I could hear shouting too. Aiden managed to get a grip on the frame of a goods van; grabbing me by the hand, he leaped upwards on to the ledge by the door, dragging me after him. The train seemed to shriek as it gathered speed.
For a moment, my feet swung above the track, as I clutched at the frame and at Aiden as he scrabbled to open the sliding door. My hands were slippery with sweat. Dirty air roared in our faces. Our bones seemed to rattle with the motion. And then Aiden flung himself inside, and I was there too, lying beside him and breathing hard.
Perhaps it was a sign of the times that the goods van was only half full. We propped ourselves up against sacks of fertiliser and got our breath back. I was shaking all over, but more from excitement than fear. So was Aiden. We looked at each other, and began to laugh, giggling like small children. It was almost as liberating as our crazy train jump.
‘I don’t know if those police were even looking for us,’ Aiden said after we’d calmed down. ‘But we should try and get off before the train heads into a station, just in case.’
‘OK.’ It was hard to think ahead. Now the thrill of our getaway had subsided, I was worrying about Leto and Argos again.
‘Getting out of London could work to our advantage,’ Aiden continued. ‘We’ve been too constrained in the safe house. With Scarlet’s help, we’ll have access to a much wider range of resources. If we’re going to make you a figurehead for the opposition, we need to move on from the fuzzy recordings and the amateur interviews. Go mainstream.’ When I didn’t respond, he added, ‘I know it’s a lot to take in and I’m sorry – I wish it didn’t have to be this way.’
‘There’s nothing to be sorry for,’ I said. ‘I want to stop these people as much as you do.’
‘And I’m really grateful. We all are. It’s just . . . well, Britain is a secular country. Religion and politics shouldn’t mix.’
‘So why are you helping ensure that they do?’
‘I have to be practical. You said yourself that the oracle’s a weapon in the propaganda war. At the moment, opposition to the coup is weak and disorganised. People need something to rally around.’
‘Like a flag. Or a slogan T-shirt.’ It came out more curtly than I intended.
‘You’re worth more to me than just politics, Aura. You know that, don’t you?’ I sensed, rather than saw, his smile. ‘From the first moment we met, you’ve surprised me. I like that.’
I didn’t know how to respond. Was he teasing me again? I decided to tease him back: ‘Sal called you the Lord Herne.’
‘I’m not Lord anything.’ This time, his voice had the edge of irritation. ‘And shoehorning Herne the Hunter into the cult has always been a bit of a joke. Since when did Celtic woodland gods hang out with ancient Greek goddesses?’
‘At Delphi, the Pythia had a Priest of Apollo to interpret her prophecies –’
‘I’m definitely not a priest.’
‘I’m glad you’re with me, though,’ I said after a pause. ‘I’m glad you’re my . . . witness. It would be too much to bear if I was alone.’
He reached for my hand. ‘You’re not.’
I felt my cheeks grow warm in the dark. Of course he’d touched me before; we’d held hands, too, when the goddess possessed me. But this was different. I was remembering how we’d clung on to the ledge of the train, the length of his body crushed against mine. I moved away. I must be careful. I was a priestess, after all. I’d made my vows.
Time passed. After a while, I saw that Aiden had got out his phone and was using its light to read the timetable Mrs Galloway’s nephew had given us. ‘We’ll be getting to a station before long,’ he told me. ‘So the next time the train slows down, we need to be ready to jump.’
We slid the door open a crack. So much had happened since the oracle telling us to flee, yet it was only just past midnight. A muddy bank rushed alongside us; the blurred tracks flowed underneath. Our progress seemed relentless. But just as I began to think we were trapped the train approached a point where the tracks diverged. The signal was red.
The train began to slow. I slid the door fully open and crouched on the ledge below. I was afraid of the tracks still sliding under me. I wondered if the rails were electrified. I might fall on to them, or under the wheels, and be crushed. I can do this, I told myself. I can do an
ything. Artemis is with me. We seemed to have paused, rather than actually come to a stop, but I couldn’t hesitate any longer. I jumped, landing clumsily on gravel near to the tracks. Aiden followed. With a wheeze and a clank, the train moved on.
When we got to the top of the scrubby bank, we could see the outskirts of a town only a short distance ahead, its streets broken down to dreary bungalows and the giant sheds of abandoned superstores. Most of the places I’d visited in Britain were like the Sanctuary: picturesque, with grand proportions and olde worlde styles. Since leaving the cult, I’d seen another kind of country, a country that was ugly and tired and cheaply made.
The trouble was, although we’d escaped London, we’d got out on the wrong side.
‘Scarlet didn’t manage to leave the city before curfew so won’t get to her dad’s till morning,’ Aiden announced, tapping away at his phone. ‘I’ll text her to say we’ll try and hitchhike part of the way.’
My eyes widened. ‘Won’t that be dangerous?’
He laughed. ‘I keep forgetting you’ve spent your life being chauffeured around in limos. No, hitchhiking’s pretty mainstream these days, especially since petrol prices got so high. And even if we did feel able to risk public transport, there’s nothing running at this time of night.’
First, we stopped at a twenty-four-hour supermarket and petrol station just off the motorway. The place had several security guards as well as CCTV, and Shoplifters Will Be Prosecuted signs were plastered all over the windows. As I waited outside for Aiden, I watched a heavily pregnant woman get out of a car and carefully count out a small handful of change. Three or four skinny children pressed tired faces against the window of her battered car. These are your people, I said to Artemis. Give them your protection. Have mercy on us all.
I met Aiden at the back of the petrol station. Furtively, he handed me the make-up he’d bought, and I slipped inside the toilet. The place stank. In the mirror, my tired face looked drained of all colour. White hair, white skin, eyes like glass . . . I didn’t know if I looked like a priestess, but I definitely looked like a fugitive.
I used a heavy foundation and bronzer on my face, and eye make-up to darken my brows and eyelashes, scraping back my hair into a high ponytail. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but I hoped it would reduce my resemblance to any ‘wanted’ images that might be in circulation. After a moment’s hesitation, I took a folded jumper from my bag and pushed it under my hoody, using the gold priestess belt to fix it round my waist. I’d got the idea from the woman outside the supermarket.
It was hard to keep a straight face when I saw Aiden’s expression. The extent of his own disguise was a woolly hat and an up-turned collar. ‘They’re looking for a mentally ill priestess and her partner in crime,’ I said, more breezily than I felt. ‘Not a pregnant teen and her boyfriend.’
‘Sneaky,’ he said. ‘And clever. I like it.’
I tried not to look too obviously pleased.
‘But you’ve smudged your mascara,’ he added. ‘Hold still a sec.’
He leaned in towards me and brushed his thumb under the corner of my right eye. His touch was very gentle, but my whole cheek tingled. Our eyes met. With effort, I moved away.
We walked towards the slip road, and a grassy verge near where the traffic slowed. Lorries thundered past and the wind blew grit into our eyes. I was worried there wouldn’t be much traffic at this time of night. But after only twenty minutes, a beaten-up car screeched to a halt a little way down from where we were standing with our thumbs out. The horn tooted.
Aiden took my hand and this time I let him. We had to look like a couple, I told myself, as the driver stuck his fat mottled face out of the window and bellowed ‘Roll up! Roll up! Baby on-board!’
While I slid into the back seat, Aiden sat in front and made small talk. ‘Yeah, I’m starting work in the morning,’ he explained to our new friend, Terry. ‘Or I hope so, anyhow. I’ve got a mate in construction who says he might have something for me.’
‘Never thought I’d see the day when a well-spoken lad like you had to thumb his way round the country for a job.’
I tensed. Of course Aiden’s voice betrayed his background.
However, his answer was relaxed. ‘Me neither. But things are tough for everyone.’
‘Too true.’ Terry eyed me in the mirror. ‘It’s a hard world to bring a kid into – and you’re hardly more than kids yourselves. Ah well. Maybe the new government will set things right. It’s about time this country found its backbone.’
After a while, he put on the radio. A string of mindless pop jingles was followed by the news. The final item was about the search for the missing priestess from the Cult of Artemis.
As the newsreader proceeded to describe me and Aiden, I couldn’t breathe. But Terry merely chuckled.
‘Sounds to me like there’s been a catfight in the cult. There’ll be more to this business than meets the eye.’
‘I heard they nearly caught the girl yesterday, but she got a tip-off from the goddess and escaped,’ said Aiden.
‘How about it, love?’ Terry glanced at me in the mirror again. ‘Which of the two oracles gets your vote? The bimbo or the lunatic?’
Chapter 13
The Civil Guard, under the command of General Ferrer, has raided addresses across the capital as part of a crackdown on anarchist groups. Up to a hundred people have been taken into custody on suspicion of conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism.
In response to the increasing terrorist threat, the Emergency Committee has announced the creation of a new State Security Agency and the introduction of compulsory ID cards for all citizens.
BBC News
Dawn was just breaking as we arrived in the small market town where Scarlet had arranged to pick us up. We’d hitched two more lifts after Terry’s. The other drivers we met were anxious and unsettled by recent events, but seemed resigned. ‘Nothing we can do about it,’ was the standard response. I was afraid we’d run into another checkpoint, but for now they were only set up in trouble spots and major cities.
There was nothing covert about Scarlet’s arrival. She roared up in a red sports car, music pumping from the stereo, her dark glasses the only attempt at camouflage.
‘Golly, darling,’ she said to Aiden, after kissing him on both cheeks. ‘You do pong.’
Then she looked at my bump. ‘Congratulations. I see you’ve made the most of escaping the nunnery.’
I blushed and mumbled something about the need for disguise. Scarlet laughed uproariously, and I felt even more at a disadvantage. I probably smelled too. I was newly conscious of the cheap make-up smudged around my face.
We weren’t in the car for long, but it still gave me plenty of time to worry about what kind of impression I’d make on Rick Moodie: rock star, revolutionary and, apparently, Artemis’s Number One Fan. Soon we were driving through a wood and on to a wide tree-lined drive that swept up to a sprawling mansion. It wasn’t the stately pile I’d been expecting, but a starkly modernist construction of curved glass panels and blinding white walls.
Scarlet parked the car at a rakish angle and hopped out. ‘Welcome to the madhouse.’
She led the way into the entrance hall, a glass atrium with a black marble floor. There were sliding doors at the end, leading outside to a paved terrace and a swimming pool. Someone was swimming in it with long, slow strokes. Heat rose from the water and steamed gently in the morning air.
As we stood out on the terrace, the swimmer, a thin blonde woman, swam to the steps and pulled herself out of the water. I looked away in confusion, for she was completely naked.
‘Hi, Crystal,’ said Scarlet. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Who cares?’ the dripping woman replied indifferently. She took a glug from the bottle of vodka on the side of the pool and returned to her swim.
Scarlet muttered something under her breath and went back into the house. ‘You’d better wait here while I track him down.’
‘Actually, do you have a secu
re telephone line I could use?’ Aiden asked. ‘I’d like to try and check on the others from the safe house.’
Scarlet told him to come with her. Though I didn’t want Aiden to leave me, I was too proud to cling on and so stayed behind in the atrium. There were elliptical stairs on either side, with mirrored steps that seemed to float upwards. Although music wailed and thumped through the walls, there were no other signs of life apart from the woman in the pool. The place felt too bright, too empty. It wasn’t long before I decided to follow the others after all. I opened the door I thought they’d gone through, and found a lift. The only option was down.
The lift was mirrored too. When the doors opened, I found myself in a basement corridor. The walls were lined with framed concert posters and record sleeves. At least it was quiet here. I looked into a chrome and black leather cocktail bar; it was littered with dirty glasses and bottles, but otherwise empty. The next door opened to an entertainment suite.
A wide aisle ran between rows of plush seats and slanted down to small stage. I supposed there would be a cinema screen behind the black velvet curtains. Small lights set into the floor glowed softly and built-in speakers hummed from the walls. The sound was faint and murmuring; like the sea, perhaps, or wind in trees.
I was about to turn back when the curtains began to part. They drew back to reveal the goddess.
I caught my breath. Just for a moment, I thought it was really her. Then I realised it was a life-sized replica of the statue in the temple. Bow drawn, hair flowing, hound at her side. The screen behind the statue showed a film of sun-parched mountains and cypress trees.
‘Ain’t she a babe?’
A little man had emerged from behind the curtains, and gave the statue’s behind a pat. ‘Real craftsmanship, that,’ he said proudly. ‘No expense spared.’
‘It’s, um, remarkable,’ I managed to say. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I’m here because . . . well, because I’m –’
