Authors: Laura Powell
I jerked about violently, but this time I didn’t black out, or only for a moment. Several of the people gathered around me were holding up their camera phones.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said one of them.
‘Artemis Selene,’ someone else corrected him.
Other voices chimed in.
‘What
was
that?’
‘What do you think? The priestess had another oracle!’
‘No, she had a fit.’
‘So you’re deaf as well as blind?’
‘But what does it
mean
?’
‘It means we’ve got to get out of here,’ said Aiden.
More questions were flung from every side. I was too dazed to respond. Argos was at my side and licked my hand, tail wagging cheerfully.
‘Let the Lord Herne speak!’ Sal cried, cutting through the noise.
Aiden looked uncomfortable but spoke up all the same. ‘Aura’s prophecy referenced the Battle of Thermopylae. And the local man, I can’t remember his name, who showed the invading Persian army – that’s the archers – a secret path around the pass, so they could attack the Greeks.’ He gave me a lopsided smile. ‘You’re not the only one with a Classical education, you know.’
‘Ephialtes,’ I whispered. ‘The traitor’s name was Ephialtes.’
‘All right, but why does this mean we have to leave?’ someone asked impatiently.
‘It means that Tiggs has got into trouble and told the authorities where to find us,’ Aiden replied. ‘The police or Civil Guard are probably already on their way.’
There was a babble of protest and alarm. The group had an evacuation plan for just this kind of emergency, but while some people immediately rushed off to collect their things, others huddled together, still arguing.
Aiden took me by the arm. ‘Don’t worry, Scarlet and her dad will give us a place to stay. It’s high time we got you out of London anyway.’
‘This is where all the action is,’ I objected. ‘Don’t we need to be in the centre of things?’
‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘But how can we even leave the city? Aren’t there checkpoints on all the roads and at every train station?’
‘Honoured Lady,’ Sal whispered. She plucked at my sleeve with shaking hands. ‘If you and the Lord Herne come with me, I have a friend who might be able to help.’
The search continues for a young woman with mental problems who has gone missing from the Cult of Artemis.
It is feared that she has fallen into the hands of insurgents, who are setting her up as a puppet oracle to promote their extremist agenda. A substantial reward is offered for her safe return.
Citizens are advised that publicising the impostor’s claims is now a criminal offence.
BBC News
There was no time to say more than a hurried goodbye. I had to trust that Artemis had given all of us enough time to flee. Aiden, Sal, the dog and I squeezed out through the wire fence and into a rain-soaked early evening. It helped that it was the pre-curfew rush hour and the streets were busy. I did my best to conceal my face with my hooded top and a scarf. Argos stuck to the shadows of his own accord.
Just as we turned a corner a few streets away from the library, Aiden abruptly drew me and Sal into the doorway of a crowded supermarket. Two unmarked black vans were speeding down the road. ‘Those belong to the private security firm used by the Trinovantum Council,’ he said. ‘We got out just in time.’
I looked round for Argos but the dog had vanished. I couldn’t call him because it would draw too much attention.
‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ Aiden said. ‘He’s a smart animal. He’s probably just headed home.’
I continued to scan the street, eyes blurry with tears, the aftershock of the oracle still thrumming through my body. I knew the goddess would protect Argos, but I felt abandoned all the same. The wolfhound was my last link to my old life. I couldn’t even risk the shelter of a veil any more.
We didn’t dare take public transport or even Aiden’s car, so it was fortunate Sal’s friend didn’t live far, in a dilapidated tower block. The lift was broken and we were all breathless by the time we climbed five flights of stairs in a dank stairwell. The door to Flat 203 was opened by a fat middle-aged lady with a frizz of badly dyed red hair.
‘My,’ she said when she saw me, ‘you’re just a wisp of a thing! Not like that other girl on the telly. Still, I suppose Blessed Artemis knows what she’s doing.’
Her tiny living room was a shrine to the goddess, stuffed with statues, prayer beads and prints I recognised from the temple gift shop. Floral incense sticks failed to conceal a strong smell of cat.
We drank cups of stewed tea, while Sal’s friend – Mrs Galloway – explained the security situation. As we’d feared, there were checkpoints operating on all roads out of London and police patrols in the train stations. ‘The official line is that they’re looking for terrorists,’ said our host. ‘Chances are, they won’t want to make the hunt for you public, in case it gives your story more cred.’
I wondered how she knew all this, and how she knew Sal. Sal had said they went to the same book group, but I didn’t see any books in the flat. Mrs Galloway certainly seemed well connected; she said her contacts would be able to get us out of the city undetected, no problem. Meanwhile, Aiden was busy texting Scarlet on his phone – a cheap, disposable model that couldn’t be traced.
After tea, the two ladies went off to ‘set things up’. Looking for the toilet, I opened a door to a small room bursting with random stuff: antique candlesticks, electronic equipment, a mink coat . . . even a mini-fridge.
‘What’s all this?’ I asked Aiden. ‘There’s enough here to open a shop.’
‘I’d say Mrs G is a fence.’
‘A what?’
‘Someone who takes in stolen goods. Cheer up – she can’t be any more of a crook than the lot you ran away from.’
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.’