Truth Sister

by Phil Gilvin

  Everything was back to routine. No more surprises, no more unfounded accusations. Amy Martin got a merit; Clara turned her head away as she returned to her seat. How could Amy have the gall, Clara thought, when all the time she’s a Natural? The front door was heard opening and closing: Suzanne Gorman, gone from the Academy.

  One by one, the remaining girls’ names were called. Then, too soon, it was Clara’s turn. She felt herself standing, then making her way out of the row and up the long, long aisle that a minute ago had only measured a few feet. There was nothing in her head, nothing. Her heart was trying to get out of her chest. The three steps up to the dais were like mountains, and she dared not look at the teachers or the Prime Sister. Amy had let them all down, deceived them all. Naturals are animals …

  ‘Child,’ cried Ms Butcher. ‘Pay attention when Mater Hedera is speaking.’

  Clara started. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Had Hedera asked the question already? How could she have forgotten herself?

  But no; the question came now. Clara stared into the creased, wrinkled face before her. The hunched shoulders rose and fell urgently, and the breath came in gasps. Yet the voice was strong. ‘Tell me, girl,’ said Hedera. ‘Why do we have child licences?’

  Clara’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t think. The question sounded easy, but … but where was the answer? She felt her throat constricting, and she thought that even if she’d known the answer, no words could have got out.

  ‘Come, child. If you don’t answer you will fail, like the Gorman girl.’

  ‘Er, population,’ she blurted. ‘Ms Teacher said–’ she licked her lips ‘–that men had allowed the population to grow too great.’

  Hedera was sitting back in her chair, letting her eyelids droop.

  ‘Yes,’ Clara continued. ‘Er, and so when a woman wants to clone, she must get a licence. We can’t support too many people.’ That was the right answer, wasn’t it? Surely? She sniffed. A sweet scent rose from the bowl next to Hedera. Rosemary – wasn’t that for remembrance?

  Hedera was looking Clara up and down. ‘Clara Perdue. You need to pay attention. Concentrate. There’s no room for emotion in our world today. It’s a luxury. I hope you’re a sensible, rational girl?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am …’

  Hedera held out her hand, and Ms Butcher gave her a scroll. She didn’t lean forward, she didn’t whisper anything.

  ‘You’d like a first, wouldn’t you?’ Hedera grunted.

  Clara nodded. ‘More than anything, Ma’am.’

  The Prime Sister inclined her head. ‘More than anything, eh? So, have you anything to reveal about your sister pupils? Is there any falsehood among them, anything that must be rooted out?’

  Clara’s mind raced. Hadn’t she got a first then? Maybe she was only a couple of marks short. It was like with Suzanne: if she could tell Hedera what she wanted to know, she’d get the extra marks. But she couldn’t betray Amy.

  Hedera’s eyes were fixed on her, like a cat watching a bird. ‘Nothing you can tell me? No information?’

  Clara’s breath was coming quick, her skin burning. ‘No, Ma’am – nothing.’ But Amy had lied. Amy had deceived her, deceived everyone.

  Ms Butcher leaned forward. ‘Help the Prime Sister if you can, Clara. For the good of the Republic.’

  Ms Carrow stood, arms folded, peering around Ms Butcher’s huge bulk. Clara could feel Carrow’s eyes boring into her, willing her to fail.

  ‘Hmm,’ croaked Hedera. ‘Pity–’

  ‘No – wait! Wait …’

  Clara looked down. She spoke low, but the words came out clearly and all the silent room heard. ‘Amy Martin, Ma’am. Her … her Authentication’s forged.’

  The silence thickened. Clara kept staring at the floor. What had she done? But it was necessary, wasn’t it? Surely it was right. If Amy was a Natural, she had to be reported. And now Clara would get the first that she needed. So why did it feel so wrong? She became aware of a low murmur – Hedera and Butcher, whispering. Quick steps as Carrow bustled past, out of the room.

  Clara tried to make herself look up. What was happening? Why was it taking so long? There was a stirring from the audience. Someone coughed. She stole a quick glance: they were all staring at her, though she couldn’t see Amy, or Bella. Somewhere, a clock chimed.

  Then Carrow returned, clutching an envelope. She and Butcher retired to the back of the dais, conferring. Butcher glanced at Mater Hedera; Clara saw the old woman read the glance, and begin to chuckle and wheeze. She looked as if she might suffocate.

  ‘There’s always one, isn’t there, Harriet?’ said Hedera – Clara saw that Butcher had gone bright red, perspiration standing on her brow. Hedera beckoned to Carrow. ‘Take the Martin girl and her mother. Bring them to the office. I’ll meet you there afterwards.’ Then she held out the scroll to Clara: ‘You, girl. Here’s your diploma. Thank you for the information.’ She nodded to herself.

  Clara swallowed. Her knees felt like they’d turned to butter. ‘Ma’am – excuse me – I mean, do I get the extra marks?’

  ‘Extra marks, child? What do you want those for?’ The old woman gave that grating cackle again. ‘You’ve already got a first.’

  The room spun. Clara found herself leaving the dais, clutching a paper scroll and a cloth badge. She couldn’t remember having taken the oath. She was aware of Hedera’s laughter behind her, and of some other girl – she didn’t care who – making her way up to be examined. Crouching into her seat, she stared at the floor and clutched her diploma so tightly that it creased. What had happened?

  Meanwhile the Passing-Out continued. There were no more revelations – Hedera seemed to be satisfied now – but there was a restlessness among all the girls, and Clara became aware of Bella’s gaze upon her. ‘What did you do?’ whispered Bella.

  Clara looked away. She’d only said Amy’s Authentication was forged. She hadn’t said she was a Natural. She couldn’t be one, could she? Naturals are different: dirty, defiled, ugly – not like Amy, an ordinary girl with a fondness for sweets. But animals are natural, Naturals are animals. And now they’d caged Amy in the head’s office with her poor mother. Bella was right: what had she done?

  All at once Clara realised the room was emptying. There’d been a ripple of applause, she thought; but she hadn’t heard any speeches, hadn’t seen Mater Hedera leaving. Slowly she stood, staring at the scroll in her hand. Poor Amy – what was she going through now? No, she told herself, it had been the right thing to do. Get a grip.

  The last of the girls were bundling their way through the doors, and it seemed to Clara that they were making sure not to look in her direction. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to catch up with them. She might have to talk, and she wasn’t sure she could. She waited till the last one had vanished, then squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hallway, where Thomas the porter was adding the last of the girls’ trunks to a large pile. If only Mother were here. How she longed to get out of the Academy.

  She began to climb the darkling stairs but halfway up, she stopped. Bella was coming towards her, a blue cape draped around her shoulders.

  ‘Are you going then?’ said Clara. But Bella brushed past without a word.

  Clara turned. ‘Bella? Are you going already? Is your mother here? Bella?’

  Bella was halfway across the hall before she stopped and spun on her heel. ‘How could you, Clara?’ she hissed. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I … I wasn’t making it up,’ stammered Clara. ‘I went to her room – I overheard them.’

  ‘After all these years,’ said Bella, ‘I thought I knew you. Seems I was wrong.’

  ‘Now hang on a minute,’ said Clara. ‘Unlicensed Naturals have to be reported. You said so yourself! And if she’s–’

  ‘Shut up, Clara! Just shut up. It’s a good job I’m leaving now – because if this is how you treat your friends, you can count me out. I really don’t want to spend another night in the same room with you.’ Then she turned and disappeared t
hrough the doors. Thomas thudded after her, carrying her trunk and grinning.

  Half an hour later, there was a knock on the bedroom door. Clara sniffed, then dabbed her face with a wet handkerchief. ‘Yes?’ she squeaked.

  To her surprise, it was Harriet Butcher’s face that appeared around the door. ‘Ah, Clara,’ she said. ‘Did you know your mother’s cart is here? Her servant’s been waiting for the last twenty minutes.’ Then, catching sight of Clara’s face, ‘Are you quite all right, my dear?’

  Clara stood unsteadily, and hugged her cloak about her. ‘Yes, Ma’am. Please, Ma’am, what happened to Amy?’

  ‘Oh, nothing yet. There’ll be an enquiry first. And in any case, if her Authentication really is forged, I imagine it’ll be her mother who’s in trouble. And possibly the school.’

  ‘The school?’

  Butcher forced a smile. ‘Well, we shouldn’t have let her in, should we, without a valid Authentication? Questions will be asked.’

  Clara swallowed. Now she was causing trouble for the Academy as well as Amy. Why was doing the right thing so difficult?

  ‘Now,’ continued Butcher, ‘come along, your mother will be expecting you.’

  They reached the hallway in time to see Thomas disappearing through the front doors with Clara’s trunk perched on his shoulder. She peered out into the dusk. In a way, Clara was glad that Mother wasn’t here. The journey to the inn would give her time to recover, to get her thoughts together. And she was looking forward to seeing James. Nothing she’d learned about men – their violence, their pride, their corruption – seemed to apply to James. You’d hardly know he was a man, really.

  Behind her, the door to the head’s office burst open and Carrow came hurrying out. ‘Ms Butcher, please – come quickly. Ms Martin’s making trouble, and Mater Hedera says you’re needed at once.’

  ‘Very well, Medea,’ said Butcher. ‘I’ll be along. Goodbye for now, Clara. I hope we shall meet again.’ And with a brief bow she turned and was gone.

  Ms Carrow lingered for a moment, giving Clara a hard stare. ‘Go on, then, girl,’ she said, nodding at the doors.

  Clara shook herself. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ As she crossed the hall she turned to see the head re-entering the office. Through the doorway she caught a glimpse of a short, plump woman with wispy hair and a red face, and eyes that looked like a trapped rabbit’s: Amy’s mother. There was a red stain on the woman’s right cheek, and for one fevered moment Clara thought they’d started torturing her already. Then she realised it was nothing more than a birthmark. Probably. Carrow followed Butcher in, slamming the door behind her. Suppressing the urge to creep up and listen at the keyhole, Clara took one final look about her before passing out through the doors and out of the Academy for ever.

  A few bars of angry red cloud remained in the west, and through the evening gloom Clara saw a small cart with its yellow lamps flickering. Between its shafts a wizened black horse shook its mane. A man, tall and muscular with tight wiry hair and a slight stoop, was feeding the horse some apple. When he saw Clara, he waved. ‘How did you do, Miss?’ he said, as Clara drew near.

  She looked into his familiar face and saw the way his pale blue eyes danced, and the way his smile twisted at the corner. ‘Oh,’ she said, nodding, ‘fine. Thank you, James. I – I got a first.’

  ‘Really?’ The smile broadened. ‘You really got a first! Wow, that’s great. That’s fantastic. Miss Clara, I’m really pleased for you, and your mother. Well done.’

  Clara looked away. Despite herself, she wanted to confide in James and tell him everything.

  James lowered his voice. ‘Everything all right?’

  Clara looked up into his face. ‘Oh, James,’ she whispered. ‘Something happened – a girl got into trouble …’

  He nodded. ‘Mm. Well, perhaps you’d better come and tell your mother about it. We’ve got a room for the night over in Suthick. Nice and cosy, and not too expensive.’

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Clara. ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing her.’ Then she frowned. ‘You said, we’ve got a room? I mean, you’re not sharing it with us, are you?’

  ‘Blimey, Miss,’ said James with a chuckle. ‘What have they been teaching you in that school? No, it’s the stables and the hayloft for me. Anyhow, someone’s got to keep an eye on old Alf here,’ he added, slapping the horse’s neck. ‘Now, come on young Clara – or I should say, Ma’am,’ he said, bowing. ‘You’re a grown woman now. You look more than fifteen, you really do. But that’s not for me to say, eh? Let’s get you into the cart. It’s getting late.’

  A low, throbbing noise came from behind them, and they stood back as a grubby Waterco motor-van coughed its way down the road. James followed its progress while holding Alf’s reins and soothing him. ‘Nasty noisy things, eh, old feller?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Never get ’em down our way, do we?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Clara, ‘we see a lot of those. Did you know that it’s only Waterco and the army who are allowed to use motor vehicles now?’

  James grinned. ‘Is that so, Miss Clara? Is that so?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Clara.

  ‘I think you’ll find, Miss, that if you’ve got enough money, and you know the right people, you can always get hold of a bit of diesel. Come on, now. Let’s get along.’

  They were jogging away over the broken road before Clara realised that James had helped her in. It had been just a touch on the elbow, but she’d been taught that it wasn’t respectful for a servant to touch you, especially if the servant was a man. She’d have to mention it to Mother. It was never nice to tell a servant off, but it would have to be done.

  Then she gave a little cry, and looked back at the dark bulk behind them. ‘The Academy,’ she said. ‘It’s the last time I’ll see it …’

  In one of the windows Clara thought she saw Medea Carrow’s profile, and despite what she thought of the deputy head, she waved. But Carrow turned slowly away.

  ‘By the way, Miss Clara,’ said James, ‘we’ll have to take the long way round. Since the Holborn Viaduct collapsed it’s the best route. Safer, too, what with the Underground and all.’

  Clara hardly heard him.

  The cart clattered down narrow streets where slab-sided buildings loomed out of the swaying pool of lantern-light. James was concentrating on guiding them around the larger potholes, and the conversation had lapsed.

  ‘It’s very dark,’ said Clara.

  James hunched a shoulder. ‘That’s the way it is these days,’ he said. ‘Whoa there, lad. Over to the right, come on.’

  ‘I suppose I don’t go out much,’ Clara raised her voice over the creaking of the wheels. ‘Well, never at night. On Academy trips, we always get back by evening. That is, we always used to …’ She sniffed loudly.

  ‘Look,’ said James, gesturing ahead, ‘it’ll be easier now. This bit of road’s flatter, and they’ve already cleared away the mud.’

  Clara looked up. Ahead, there was a tall rectangle of lesser darkness where the tower-blocks ended and the wind whipped up from the river. From somewhere in the shadows came the cry of a small child, thin and keening; then a high, cackling laugh, cut short.

  ‘It’s only natural you’ll miss the Academy,’ said James. ‘Everything’s got to change, when the time comes. All your friends are facing the same thing.’

  Yes, things would change for every one of them, especially for Amy Martin and her rabbit-eyed mother. And there was Bella, too. She knew in her heart that Bella had been horrified by what she’d done to Amy. But it wasn’t fair. Bella had been Clara’s best friend, hadn’t she? So why hadn’t she understood? Why didn’t she even give Clara a chance to explain? Yet there’d been no mistaking that look, those words as she crossed the hall. It had been the end.

  Clara curled her lip. Bella might be Pureclone, but she’d always been too – well, too familiar. She knew she shouldn’t go touching people unless she had to, but she’d often given Clara, and other girls, a pat on the shoulder, a touch on
the hand. Just to tease them. She wouldn’t be able to carry on like that outside the Academy, not without friends like Clara to cover up for her.

  ‘James?’ she said. ‘What do you think about purity?’

  For a moment the servant didn’t answer. The eddying wind sucked up a cloud of dirt from the roadside and flung it in Clara’s face, making her twist away.

  ‘I’m sure I’m not qualified to say,’ said James at last.

  Something had lodged in Clara’s eye. She rubbed at it.

  James went on, ‘They say it’ll make people stronger, don’t they? D’you agree with that, Miss?’

  Clara blinked. How silly, she thought. ‘Agree with it?’ she said. ‘I’ve never thought about it. It’s what we were taught.’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ said James. His shoulders, that broad back, were slumped forward. ‘Come on, Alf,’ he muttered.

  Clara thought she heard shouts on the warm wind.

  After a while James broke in again, talking half to himself. ‘Old Missus Teacher’s idea, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘The Republic being for women only? But this purity thing, it’s taken time to catch on, see. There’s lots of places where it’s only just come in, and even now there’s folk that can’t afford the cloning.’

  ‘They can’t afford it? So what do they do?’

  He shrugged. ‘Best not to know, Miss. I suppose they die out.’

  ‘Die out?’

  They trotted on for a few hundred yards, then James tugged at the reins and eased the cart to a stop. There were definitely voices now.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said Clara. She peered over James’ shoulder to see, emerging from a side-street, half a dozen grey-clad Republican Security Guards. Everyone knew it was best to have as little to do with the Repsegs as possible. Crossing a Repseg could land you in trouble. If you were lucky, they’d beat you up. If you weren’t, they’d throw you in a cell, starve you, and then beat you up. As often as they liked.