Goddess (5 page)

‘I’m not an idiot.’

‘I never said you were. But you do lead a very sheltered life. So, for instance, are you aware that the unemployment rate is now at one in three? Or that over the last five years suicides have rocketed by thirty per cent, homelessness by twenty-five? There’ve been riots outside food banks in Birmingham and Bristol, anarchist bombs in the City. Drug gangs are fighting running battles in the middle of London . . .’

I’d always been told that a priestess’s conversation should demonstrate that she is both educated and well-informed. Which was easier said than done, seeing as our schooling was almost exclusively Classical Studies; we weren’t allowed to access the internet and our newspapers were censored. Aiden might have a point. Even so, I resented his patronising tone.

‘Shouting slogans and waving banners is hardly going to fix anything.’

‘Demanding free and fair elections might,’ he retorted. ‘And it sure as hell beats praying for divine intervention . . . Seriously, Aura, doesn’t it bother you that the country’s on the brink of collapse and yet it’s business as usual for the temple and Trinovantum gang?’

‘Of course it upsets me.’ In fact, I was embarrassed. I’d had no idea things were so bad. ‘And you’re right: the cult ought to be doing more for charity.’

‘The cult’s only interested in feathering its own nest.’

‘That’s not true.’

All the same, I felt a twinge of doubt. When Opis had lamented the state of our finances, there hadn’t been any mention of providing for the poor. It was all about keeping cult treasures like the Titian painting intact. To reassure myself as much as Aiden, I said, ‘We wouldn’t be so popular if people thought we were greedy and uncaring.’

‘True,’ he said thoughtfully, as if to himself. ‘If anything, you’re gaining in popularity. Just as people are losing faith in everything else this country stands for . . . And popularity means power. I wonder what Opis and Lionel will do with it?’

It was a relief when Aiden left. I didn’t like to think that we were deliberately kept in ignorance about events outside the Sanctuary walls. Aiden’s remarks about the cult’s power made me uncomfortable too. I remembered how easily Opis had dismissed my question about the man with the snakes, and how meekly I’d accepted it.

Scarlet, the girl who’d come to the dinner party, was waiting for Aiden to finish his shift. I peeped out of the archive window to get a better view of her outfit: black leather leggings and low-cut metallic top. According to Cally, she was a slut. According to the porter, she was the daughter of the rock star Rick Moodie. His last album had been named
Artemis Unchained
, and he was trying to get Opis to give him a private oracle.

I watched Scarlet sling her arm round Aiden’s shoulders and say something that made him laugh. I felt a pang. Not for the romance, I told myself, but the companionship. The Greek myths depict love as a bloodstained and vengeful business, and my only other source of information on the subject was the gossip mags that careless staff sometimes left in the bins. The stories in those are pretty vengeful too, full of jealousy and drama and betrayal.

But Scarlet and Aiden’s relationship didn’t look full of drama. They just looked like they were having fun.

Aiden and Scarlet weren’t the only dinner-party guests to revisit the Sanctuary soon afterwards. A few days later, on my way across the lawn, I heard voices in the High Priestess’s garden. I glanced through the wrought-iron gate to see Seb Winter and Cally strolling on the lawn. Cally wasn’t veiled. Her head was lowered modestly, but she was gesturing animatedly as she talked. Seb didn’t seem to be saying much. Even in the sunshine, his pale, regular features had a chilly sort of look, as if carved from marble.

‘How’s King Brutus?’ I asked her after dinner, my curiosity getting the better of me.

‘King –? Oh . . . you mean Seb.’ Her smile was sleek. ‘He’s well. He’s writing a magazine article about the younger generation of Trinovantum Councillors and their relations with the cult. Opis has asked me to help him with our side of the story.’

I thought of Brutus’s square jaw and heavy brow, and how Cally’s face had glowed in the sunshine. But Cally was surely too smart to allow herself to be compromised. She must know what she was doing. So must Opis.

Still, I was curious about Seb and his role within the council. The next day, I even asked Aiden about him, trying a casual, roundabout approach.

‘Your family must be disappointed you’re not joining the Trinovantum.’

‘Not really. They think I’d only do it to cause trouble. Which is tempting, I’ll admit.’

‘Sebastian Winter is quite active on the board. I . . . I heard you went to school together.’

‘So?’

‘I just wondered how well you knew him.’

Aiden raised one eyebrow. ‘I know he’s a thug. A thug and a bore who’s being groomed for greatness by his uncle Lionel. Why d’you ask?’

I glanced over in Leto’s direction. Our chaperone was cackling over the problem pages of
Women’s Own
.

‘No reason. He’s just been hanging around the Sanctuary a lot.’

‘Hmm.’ He tipped back in his chair. ‘Setting hearts aflutter, no doubt. I’d be careful if I were you. Seb Winter takes no prisoners.’

I regretted raising the subject. Starting any sort of conversation with Aiden only gave him the chance to goad me. I resolved to maintain a dignified silence from here on. Unfortunately, that same afternoon Leto told me to give our ‘volunteer’ a tour of the oracle display room.

‘You ever think about swapping the archive for the oracle?’ he asked, as I showed him in.

‘It’s not up to me. The goddess calls her own.’

Aiden laughed. ‘Yeah, right. I’ve heard that High Priestess elections are a cut-throat business. I doubt you’d be two-faced enough for the job – which is kind of a shame. You even look the part.’

‘I do?’ I was so surprised I spoke before realising it.

‘It’s your eyes. And your hair – all pale and silvery. A good match for a moonshine goddess.’

I didn’t know what to say. I’d never thought of myself like that. As if I wasn’t grey and shadowy but . . . silver.

Aiden’s attention had already moved on to the display cases. ‘Clever – like horoscopes,’ was his verdict. ‘You recycle enough vague phrases enough times, one or other of them will turn out to be relevant to something or somebody, somewhere.’

I pursed my lips. ‘These predictions aren’t vague. They’re specific. Like the oracle about the Gunpowder Plot. It actually said where to find the plotters.’

‘That’ll be because somebody had already given the High Priestess a tip-off. The cult’s always had its spies, and so has the council. I bet old Lionel’s pillow talk is very informative.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘C’mon, surely you can’t be that naive.’ He was amused and – even more infuriating – pitying. ‘Everyone knows he and your Honoured Lady are more than just good friends.’

‘Don’t be disgusting.’

I turned on my heel and went to the door. He put his hand on it to stop me leaving. His hand was like the rest of him – long and lean and brown. I stared at his bitten-down fingernails, my body tensed all over, ready to fight. But when he spoke his voice was gentle.

‘You may be sheltered, Aura, but you’re not immune to the real world. If you’re going to make it in this place, you’re going to need to be pretty hard-nosed. Else people will take advantage.’

I was glad he couldn’t see my face. ‘I don’t take life lessons from smutty gossip.’ I was only just able to keep my voice steady as I pushed past. ‘Don’t pretend you know anything about me or this cult.’

Later, though, I began to wonder. Aiden’s family were Trinovantum insiders. That’s why Opis wanted him, and his money, on-board. He could be as much of an insider as Seb, if he wanted.

Maybe he already was. Maybe all this heretical talk was designed to trip me up, entrap me . . . I remembered the feel of his hand on mine, and went hot and cold all over.

Chapter 5

‘How is young Mr Carlyle doing?’

‘He gets the work done, Honoured Lady. But he doesn’t respect it, or us. He’s too full of himself.’

‘Adolescent posturing, no doubt. Young men can be slow to mature.’

‘And learn manners, apparently.’

‘Aura. You have started to become rather sharp. It’s not an attractive quality.’

‘I’m sorry, Honoured Lady.’

I passed Lionel Winter on my way out of the Residence. He greeted me with his usual distant courtesy, and I was ashamed to think of Aiden’s insinuations.

Later that morning, I went to fetch a book and found Cally in our room. She was standing by the window, which overlooked the tall stone arch at the Sanctuary entrance. Seb and his uncle were talking with a man in military uniform by the gate. Her expression was unguarded and softer – younger – than I’d seen for a while. She didn’t even hear me come and stand behind her until I said her name.

She started. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that!’

I sat on the bed.

‘You know we have to be careful, right? About getting too involved with people outside the cult, I mean. Especially boys.’

‘What are you implying?’

‘Nothing bad.’ I was thinking of Aiden as well as Seb. I didn’t really believe he was trying to trap me and felt a little guilty about complaining about him to Opis. The trouble was I’d never met anyone who had such a knack for getting under my skin. Apart from Cally, of course. ‘Just . . . well, it’s easy to get a bit carried away.’

‘Easy for you, perhaps.
My
reputation is impeccable and I intend to keep it that way. If you’ve disgraced yourself, then Artemis will be your judge. Opis too, of course, once she finds out.’

I knew how reckless I was being. But, just once, I wanted us to speak openly to each other.

‘Cally . . . have you ever had any doubts that we’re doing the right thing?’

‘Doing what?’

‘Becoming priestesses.’

Cally looked at me, and then towards the window. She bit her lip and got ready to speak. Then something in her tightened.

‘Of course not. Unlike you,
I
have a calling. I’ve made my own choices the whole way, guided by the goddess.’

I felt a spurt of anger.

‘Oh please. You were dumped here, same as me, because your mother wanted to keep on partying.’

Cally’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You have no faith. No sense of respect. No reverence. That’s why you’ll be calling me Honoured Lady in a couple of years’ time.’

‘Cally –’

‘It’s Callisto. Priestesses don’t have nicknames.’

The next afternoon, Leto and I had an appointment at the British Library with a paper conservator who was helping carry out repairs on some of the archive material. Neither of us set off with any enthusiasm. ‘I’m too old for this babysitting nonsense,’ Leto harrumphed. ‘Between you and that looter idiot, I get no peace.’

I didn’t like leaving the Sanctuary at the best of times. Today was dark and wet and I had a headache. I was still feeling depressed about my conversation with Cally – Callisto – and the drive through the pouring rain did nothing to lift my spirits. Even in formerly affluent areas there was graffiti on the walls and piles of uncollected rubbish clogging the pavements. The people hurrying to get out of the rain had a hunched, anxious sort of look. I sat back in the warmth of our chauffeur-driven Daimler and was ashamed. Aiden was right: I’d been too sheltered for too long. It was time for me, and the cult, to go out into the real world and get our hands dirty.

Our business was done by five. No car, however, was waiting to collect us. A woman in the library’s back office let us use her phone to call the Sanctuary. We were told our driver had got stuck behind a protest march in central London, so we should get a taxi and come home the long way round.

Aiden had said he was going on the march. He’d even suggested I should come along too. ‘It would do you good to shout about something,’ he’d said, waggling his eyebrows at me. ‘I can see you’re secretly dying to unleash your inner hooligan.’

I’d ignored him, of course. But shutting him out was getting harder. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversations. I just wished I could tell when he was annoyed with me, and when he was teasing.

The taxi firms we tried said it would be over an hour’s wait. It took forty-five minutes standing in the rain before I managed to hail one. The driver was from Nigeria and thought we were nuns. At least he trusted us for the fare; priestesses don’t carry cash or even mobile phones. Our uniform is supposed to be both passport and protection.

As we rattled through the city, the driver kept up a stream of grumbles. Petrol prices meant that hardly anyone could afford taxis and nobody tipped any more. The country was bust, and run by criminals. He should get out and go home. In the background, the radio warned of more chaos. Today’s march was in response to the death of a political activist in police custody and had sparked ‘disturbances’ throughout the city –