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Today, it is as it was when Nabonidus, the last Babylonian king, turned from the ancient ways and blasphemed. But these latter-day heretics do not wish to turn the Modern Babylon into a harem, they wish only to make of it a graveyard. It is strange to think that their morbid influence has had many a born Shulamite fall from grace and betray her sisters. But Ishtar is a moon goddess. And the dark phase of the moon augurs lunacy, sickness, and death.’ She looked up at the ceiling, as equally distracted by the gas-fittings, it seemed, as she had been by the horse-and-dray. ‘I fear our moon is waning, Madeleine. I fear Babylon is not in Her right mind. I fear Death means to make us his mistresses. And when that happens, surely Babylon the Great will fall a second time.’ She paused, as if to collect herself, and then sat bolt upright, her body galvanized by a mysterious fervour. ‘New blood, such as yours, is our only hope. Repopulated, renewed, Babylon may once again unite the spiritual and the chthonic, as it did in ancient times.’ She wagged a finger. And then, quite unexpectedly, her smile returned. ‘Oh yes, I think a clever girl like you should go far, Madeleine Fell.’
    If I heard what the Duenna said, I was careless of its import. All I knew was that I had achieved the impossible.
    I really was a whore of Babylon.
     

     
    During dinner break I loitered in the playground, so lost in reverie that I would occasionally bump into a girl who might be eating a fish-paste sandwich, or a group of younger girls playing chase, marbles, or hoop and stick.
    ‘Feeling better?’ I turned around. It was Cliticia. ‘I ’eard you made it through the interview,’ she added. ‘Congratulations.’ She placed her hands on her hips. ‘I thought you would. You’re not the kind of girl to get the strap, are you? I mean, you’re not a fewerbrain, like me.’
    ‘I had to wear the back straightener once,’ I said, lamely, and cursing the cleverness that, just an hour ago, had served me so well. ‘Anyway, how did your interview go?’
    ‘Yeh, no problem.’ She laughed. ‘Piece o’ cake for a born Shulamite, innit? Even if she is bleedin’ stupid.’
    ‘I don’t think you’re stupid,’ I said. ‘You know, Cliticia—’ ‘Wot?’ she said, with a hint of her old aggressiveness.
    ‘You’re so pretty,’ I said. ‘You really are.’
    She wrinkled her retroussé nose and grinned. ‘Silly,’ she said.
    ‘I mean it.’
    She tossed her head and shifted her weight from one leg to the other, like a shepherdess coyly acknowledging her swain.
    ‘We’re going to ’ave to write reports,’ she said, with a becoming I ill to her voice. Her skirts swayed from side to side, agitated by her rocking pelvis. ‘So, I wanted to ask you—’ She paused. I knew she was proud. What I was rapidly learning was that she was kind, i do , though I daresay she would have scratched my eyes out if I had suggested it.
    ‘If I could help?’ I ventured. ‘Yes, of course I could help. If you wanted me to, that is.’
    The pelvic rocking stopped. She cast her gaze around the playground, as if seeking out interlopers.
    ‘Do you want to come back to my lodgings?’ she said, with .ilfected casualness, while keeping her gaze fixed upon two little ^irls who were engaged with a skipping rope.
    ‘That’d be nice,’ I said.
    She took my arm and we sauntered out through the school ^ates and into Buck’s Row.
    ‘You could help me, too,’ I said. ‘I mean, you’ve grown up amongst Shulamites. You must have heard lots of stories about life off-world. I’ve had to rely on books.’ And dreams, I thought, on so many strange, beautiful dreams.
    ‘You are weird, y’know,’ she said, giggling.
    She drew to a halt next to New Cottage and outside the gate that gave on to Mr Brown’s stables.
    She cupped her hand to her mouth. ‘Murder! Murder!’ she bleated, like one of the boys who sold the Star and Echo. ‘Another ’orrible murder in