Truth Sister

By Phil Gilven

Knowledge is power. Knowing it, could save you ... or kill you.

Year 2149 in the Women's Republic of Anglia and in the Academy, Clara Perdue is training to become a Truth Sister, a privileged position allowing her to maintain the new order of social purity. Men broke the world as it was, caused the changes in the climate that brought so much pain. Only women can bring order to the chaos and Clara wants more than anything to help bring it about.

But when she stumbles upon information that the Republic has tried to suppress, questions surface. And a family secret that brings danger to Clara's family only adds to her confusion. Is the social purity she believes in even possible? And in a world of lies, how can she know what is true?

Clara pushed herself into her position of influence and now she must choose. Will she bow down to the institution she was raised to believe in and grew to love, or will she risk everything for her family?

Clara's choices will impact not only her and her family, but potentially the fabric of the Republic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Impress Books
• Release date: Sep 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781912775637

Book preview

When she awoke that morning, Clara Perdue never thought she was going to betray a friend. She had other things on her mind: there was the Passing-Out that evening, of course. And, the school had been flooded.

The flood was the third that year, and once again London had been lucky. The Thames Barrier had held back the storm-surge, so that the flooding had come from the river itself, bloated after the recent rains with the run-off from half of southern Anglia. It had risen over the embankments, spreading as it went, and deposited a stinking layer of silt over roadways, pavements and lawns.

Next time there was a storm-surge, things might be different; but for now, people shrugged and began the clear-up. The river had forced its filth into houses, shops and offices alike, and people everywhere shovelled, salvaged and swept. Even the privileged pupils of the Academy had to help, which was why Clara had found herself swilling down the laundry-room all day.

‘It’s not fair,’ she moaned as she scrubbed at an especially gluey patch of mud with her broom. Her back ached, her tunic clung to her skin and her face ran with sweat. ‘I know we’ve all got to help,’ she went on, ‘but we’ve done our bit, haven’t we? They should get the third-years to finish off. We’ve got to get ready for this evening.’

‘Oh, come on, Clara.’ With a swing of her hips, Isabella Karah swept another wash of suds into the yard. ‘We’ll be finished by midnight.’

Amy Martin, plump and red-cheeked, looked up from her sweeping and mopped her forehead. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘I thought we were nearly done.’

‘I was joking,’ said Bella.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Clara. ‘I want to go and revise the Principles.’

‘Again?’ said Bella, swilling more soapy water over the tiles. ‘They’re only going to ask you one of them, you know. And we’ve all known them off by heart since first year.’

‘Yes, but what if they ask me the one I can’t remember? We’ve never had to recite them in front of half the school before. And then they’re going to tell us our results, in public, in front of everyone.’

‘Come on, Clara,’ said Amy, wheezing. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ve passed all your assignments this year. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

‘Yes, but I’ve told you – I need a first.’

‘Oh, you’ll be all right. A diploma from the Academy will get you a good job anywhere. Even if it’s only a pass.’

Clara threw down her broom. ‘I can’t be a Truth Sister without a first, stupid.’

‘Hey, hey,’ said Bella. ‘Steady on, Clara. Amy’s only trying to cheer you up.’

Clara hung her head. ‘Yeah. Sorry, Amy.’ She sighed, and bent to pick up her broom.

‘Did you get another letter?’ said Bella.

‘This morning,’ said Clara. ‘Aunt Grana tells me things are bad at the farm. If I get a good job I can send them money, to help. I’m just a bit – well, you know …’

‘It’s okay,’ said Amy. Now her breath was rasping and rattling, her face redder than ever.

‘Are you all right?’ said Clara.

‘Yeah. Just my asthma.’

Bella was scrubbing behind a cupboard. ‘You get it badly in the summer, don’t you?’

‘It’s the heat,’ said Amy. ‘And all this stink.’

‘Well,’ said Clara, ‘why don’t you rest for a bit? I’ve nearly finished this patch. Then I’ll come over and do yours.’

‘Oh, thanks, Clara,’ said Amy. She sat down and eased off her bracelet, rubbing at her wrist. ‘I’ll just sit for a minute, till I get my breath back.’

Clara and Bella worked on in silence, swilling down the floor and sweeping the mud into piles before shovelling it into a slimy heap in the yard.

‘I’m going to miss you two,’ said Amy. ‘And I don’t mean just ‘cause you let me have a rest when my asthma’s bad.’

‘Yeah,’ said Bella. ‘I’ll miss you girls too.’

‘I remember when I started here,’ said Amy. ‘Clara was my only friend then. I was so glad you were around.’

‘Oh,’ said Clara, blushing, ‘it’s okay. I mean, I needed friends, too.’

‘We’ve all looked out for each other, haven’t we?’ said Bella. ‘Like that time Amy persuaded old Johnson to let us off riding lessons.’

‘And like when we used to borrow Bella’s assignments,’ said Clara.

‘Yeah,’ Bella grinned. ‘Even when they had the wrong answers.’

Clara bent to shovel up some mud. ‘That’s your bit done, Amy,’ she said. ‘Anyhow, it’s not like we’re never going to see each other again. We’ll be back in London when we start work, whenever that is. You’ll still be in town, won’t you, Amy?’

Amy stood and stretched her back. ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘Mama’s got some job lined up for me in her chandlery. Making candles all day long. All government supply stuff.’

‘Just candles?’ said Clara.

‘No, not just candles,’ said Amy. ‘She sells other things, too. She says she’s got contacts, so she can get things the government wants. But they won’t let her put the prices up, even with the way oil’s gone these days, so she can’t afford to hire anyone. What am I going to do, work for free?’

‘Do you have to do what she says?’ said Clara.

‘No,’ said Amy slowly, ‘but I guess I should. And she has to work all day long, herself. She used to go to a lot of Sorority meetings, but she doesn’t have the time now.’

‘My mother used to go to those,’ said Bella. ‘All very earnest, she said. Faithfulness to the Republic. Big on purity.’

‘Yes, they are,’ said Amy, ‘but they do a lot of good stuff too. Mama used to help in a soup-kitchen sometimes.’

‘Is she coming tonight?’ asked Clara.

‘Yes. Said she wouldn’t miss the Passing-Out for the world. Did you say your mother can’t make it?’

Clara refilled her pail from the tap. ‘Cor!’ she said. ‘The water doesn’t half stink. Er, yes. Got a message this morning. She’s got to go and haggle about the price of carrots or something. Can’t be helped, I suppose.’

‘Here.’ Amy picked up her own pail. ‘I’m a bit better now. Pass me that broom? But at least you won’t be the only one.’

‘Sorry?’ said Clara

‘The only one whose ma can’t come. Milly Souza’s mother is ill, and Jodie Parkinson says hers has never been bothered. How are you getting home?’

‘Oh,’ said Clara, ‘Mother’s arriving later. She’s staying at an inn, and she’ll send James to fetch me. But,’ she added with a shake of the head, ‘I do wish the Passing-Out was over.’

‘Me too,’ put in Bella.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Amy. ‘So long as we don’t have to quote any of Edwina Codling’s bloody poetry.’

Bella turned her head. ‘Someone’s coming.’

The door banged open and in strode a tall stork of a woman with protruding elbows: Medea Carrow, Deputy Head of the Academy and popular as a toothache.

‘Isabella Karah, Amy Martin,’ she snapped, ‘your mothers are here.’ Then she spotted Clara, still with a shovel in her hand.

‘What’s this, Perdue?’ she shrieked. ‘Haven’t you finished? You’ve been slacking again, haven’t you?’

‘No, Ma’am–’

‘You’re lazy, my girl – lazy. You’ve been that way since the day you got here. Can’t you put in some hard work, child, for once in your life?’

Clara stood open-mouthed.

‘Nothing to say, eh?’ sneered Carrow. ‘You two,’ she added without taking her eyes off Clara, ‘go and get changed – the Passing-Out starts at eight. As for you,’ she added, stabbing a finger at Clara, ‘I want this floor spotless, and everything tidied away.’

‘I have been working,’ Clara protested.

Carrow’s finger was an inch from Clara’s nose. ‘Dare answer me back, child,’ she hissed, ‘and you’ll be in trouble. I’ll be back in ten minutes – and this place had better be tidy.’ She bustled off, slamming the door behind her.

The three girls looked at each other.

‘That wasn’t very nice,’ said Bella.

‘Not very nice?’ said Amy. ‘It was awful.’

‘Yes,’ sighed Clara. ‘But she’s always been like that.’ She gestured at the door. ‘Carrow is one thing I’m not going to miss about the Academy. But you two had better get off – you’ll want to see your mothers.’

‘We’ll stay and help,’ said Bella. ‘Won’t we, Amy?’

‘No, really,’ said Clara. ‘You go on. It won’t take long.’

After they’d gone, Clara chucked three extra buckets of water over the floor then swept the whole lot out into the yard. It’d leave the place wet, but no-one would come this way for ages – and at least it was clean. Then she threw the brooms into the cupboard and lugged the pails into the yard, where they could dry. But as she reached the doorway, she found herself face to face with a boy.

A boy! Skinny and pale, with hair like straw, he hugged a loaf to his chest. Clara stared, then opened her mouth to shout.

‘Don’t,’ he croaked. ‘Don’t turn me in. Please.’

He shouldn’t have been there: the only males allowed in the Academy were the porters. Commoners like this one shouldn’t be anywhere near the place. And he was obviously stealing. Clara should have given him up, and if it had happened that morning, she would have done. But now she thought, why bother? Carrow could go stuff herself. ‘Go,’ she said, and went on stacking the pails.

There was a rattle, and she turned to see the boy disappearing over the top of the eight-foot gates that sealed off the yard. She held her breath, sure that he must have broken some bones in the drop. But after a minute she heard footfalls, dying rapidly away.

For a moment Clara forgot to worry about the Passing-Out – she’d have to tell Bella and Amy about this. A boy, in the Academy! They hadn’t had so much news since – well, since two days ago when they heard another storm-surge was coming. She locked the door.

As she passed through the damp-but-clean kitchen, she noticed Amy’s bracelet lying on the draining-board, where she’d left it. Amy had a room to herself, up in the attic where you could get more air coming through. Clara hauled herself up the three flights of stairs – she’d just have time to give Amy her bracelet, then she’d better get to her own room and change. Near the top of the last flight, she noticed something flopping about on her foot: her lace was broken. Safety on the Stairs, said all the notices. She’d better fix it.

As she sat re-lacing the shoe, she noticed the light shining through a large gap at the bottom of the door. She could also hear voices: Amy’s and another, which she supposed was her mother’s.

‘Hush, dear,’ Amy’s mother was saying. ‘The whole five years, and never a word from anyone about your Authentication. I told you it’d be okay.’

Clara stopped, her lace half-tied.

Amy’s voice came now. ‘Mama, it’s been all right for you. I’m the one who’s had it hanging over me. If anyone had ever found out … I’m exhausted, Mama. Nearly every day, they tell us how bad Naturals are, and I want to vomit every time they tell us the penalty for forging your Authentication.’

‘Well, it’s over now. Here you are at the Passing-Out. We’ve got away with it, haven’t we?’

Clara dared not listen any more. As quietly as she could, she re-tied her shoe and tiptoed down the stairs, her heart beating fast.

One foot after the other. Down the stairs, along the corridor. Clara hardly knew what she was doing. Naturals! Amy and her mother had been talking about Naturals – people who were not Pureclone. People who’d been conceived in the old way, the animal way.

The bell was ringing downstairs. Soon it would be time for the Passing-Out. How could Amy be a Natural? Cloning was the whole reason for the Republic, wasn’t it? It had been drummed into them in their lessons: for all history, men had brutally dominated women, denying them their rights and their place in society. Then fertility rates fell, diseases wiped out most of the men and cloning had saved humanity. With cloning, women would never need men again. They could build a free Republic. Women had moved on from the old repression; they no longer had to breed like animals. Surely Amy fitted in, she had to be Pureclone. Surely.

Clara could hear a bustle below. Footsteps, doors opening and closing, a murmur of voices. What should she do? Amy and her mother had talked about a forged Authentication. But if it was forged, there couldn’t be any other explanation. Amy must be a Natural. Her mother had mated with a man.

There was a tightness across Clara’s chest. She recalled a chant they’d learned in their first year: Animals are natural, Naturals are animals … No, it couldn’t be. Amy was so normal. She wasn’t dirty, or violent or mad. She was her friend. She had to be a Clone. But they’d talked about Naturals, hadn’t they? And they’d said they’d got away with it …

She reached the bedroom she shared with Bella. ‘Bella–’ she began; but her friend wasn’t there. Should she tell Bella? Would she believe her? With a sigh, Clara sat down on the bed and gazed around the room. The cold bunks were bare, the coarse blankets folded, the last sheets gone to the laundry. Nearby stood her own trunk, a sturdy wooden affair close-tied with old rope, a bundle of books balanced on top. Beyond it were Bella’s belongings, also carefully packed. Ready to go, ready to leave the Academy. Gone was the watercolour of Briar Farm that had hung by Clara’s bed, gone was the array of Bella’s combs and brushes that had occupied the window-sill. Gone were the cloaks from the back of the door. In the open wardrobe only a couple of linen suits remained. This was the room where she and Bella had shared their secret hopes and fears, where they’d laughed and cried, where they’d worked into the night on their assignments and slept late on Saturdays. She should be fighting back tears at the thought of leaving this place. Instead, she was horrified, angry and a little bit frightened.

If Amy’s been a Natural all these years, she thought, and kept it from us … Unlicensed Naturals were illegal – they had to be reported to the authorities, didn’t they? Clara knew some Naturals were legally licensed: the older people, she supposed. But that couldn’t be the case with Amy, otherwise why hide it? No, it had to be true. And if Amy was a Natural, well, who else could be? Hetty? Camilla? Even Bella?

No, calm down. It can only be one. Otherwise there’d be forged Authentications everywhere. It must just be Amy. But it was against everything she’d learned. Naturals: vile, root them out …

She jumped as the door banged open and Bella bustled in. ‘Come on, lazy,’ she said. ‘Better get a move on.’

‘Bella,’ said Clara. ‘I – I’ve got something to tell you.’

‘Oh?’ said Bella, her head in the wardrobe.

‘I heard something.’ Clara swallowed. ‘Er, in the yard – and there was a boy.’ Why hadn’t she told her about Amy?

Bella was pulling a smart white tunic off its hanger. ‘Good,’ she said. Then she looked up and frowned. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?

Clara nodded. ‘He’d stolen a loaf.’

‘A real boy, here in the Academy?’

‘Mm-hmm.’

‘You’d better get changed. How d’you think he got in?’

Clara fetched her own suit down. ‘The gates were open all morning, I think, because of the clear up. He could’ve got in anytime.’

‘Ugh. He must have been hiding all afternoon. Do you think he was watching us in the kitchen?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Never mind. Are you going to put that tunic on, or are you going to wear your overalls to the Passing-Out?’

‘Oh!’ said Clara, and started dragging them off.

Bella winced and held her side. She pulled a bottle of spring water from a crate and took a swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Much better. So what did you do?’

‘Uh, he got away. Climbed over the gates.’

‘You should tell Carrow,’ said Bella. ‘She’d have loved to catch a Natural.’

Clara poured water into a dish, splashing her face and arms. ‘Do you think he was a Natural, then?’

Bella was leaning back on the bed, pulling white trousers over long dark legs. ‘I expect so. Pureclones don’t steal, do they?’

‘And you think I should have turned him in?’

‘What else does one do with Naturals? But I suppose you’d have had to catch him first. I wonder what’s the best way to catch a Natural? One doesn’t have to keep a respectful distance, I suppose.’

There was a loud knock on the door. Bella opened it. ‘Ah, Thomas,’ she said, slowly and clearly. ‘Our trunks are ready.’

Filling the doorway was a broad-shouldered young man, with cropped hair and banana-bunch hands. His face was lumpy and stubbled, and he smelt of grease.

‘Yes, Miss,’ he rumbled, scratching his head. ‘I take ’em downstairs then?’

‘That’s right. Leave them in the hall, with the other trunks.’

He blinked twice. ‘Right, Miss. In the ’all, with the others.’

‘Yes. And then come back for Miss Clara’s.’

Thomas stepped into the room, knocking the wardrobe shut. He planted his great feet either side of Bella’s trunk and, panting slightly, bent to grip it. His brown overall was too small: the sleeves rode up above his wrists, the muscles stretching the rough tattoo on his forearm. Thomas heaved the trunk onto his shoulder, turned in a slow circle and plodded away.

Bella shook her head. ‘Poor thing. It looks like it hurts him to think. Nice arms, though.’

‘What do you mean, nice?’

‘Oh, nothing. Strong, I suppose. Did you ever wonder what that tattoo means?’

‘What tattoo?’ said Clara.

‘The porters’ one. A star and a D. They have it on their arms.’

‘I’ve really no idea.’ Clara wondered about Thomas. She assumed he’d been cloned from someone tall, strong and stupid. Probably not a Natural, then?

Bella put down her comb and opened the door. ‘Ready?’ she asked.

Clara tried to focus her thoughts. The Passing-Out was about to start. She’d have to forget about Amy, if she could. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Come on then. Just one set of Principles to remember, hey?’

With a nod to each other, they stepped out into the corridor. A procession of girls were making their way down the staircase. Faces were pale under the grey light that struggled in through a high window; voices were subdued. Each girl was immaculate in her white trousers and tunic. Visions of purity, they’d been told – a purity they would have to uphold as they took their places the world. In a few minutes, the Passing-Out would reveal their fates.

Some of the girls’ outfits, like Bella’s, tastefully understated their mothers’ wealth: thin silver piping along the arms and legs gave the merest hint of fortune. Others had far more conspicuous gold trims, or had chosen expensive fabrics – one or two were clearly wearing polyester. Clara remembered her surprise on learning, in one of her lessons about the Oil Crises, that synthetics had once been so cheap that they were used for everyday clothes. Nowadays materials like polyester were expensive, and people had long since gone back to the wool and cotton that women used to weave. Then she remembered that, in that particular lesson, she had been sitting next to Amy. A Natural.

‘Are you all right, Clara?’ Bella’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘Yes,’ said Clara. ‘Trying to remember the Principles, you know?’ They had reached the hallway, and joined the back of the queue of pupils leading down the broad staircase all the way to the tall oak doors that led to the assembly hall.

Bella studied her face. ‘Are you sure?

‘Yes, of course,’ snapped Clara. ‘And you’re standing too close. You don’t want Carrow to see you.’

‘We’re at the back,’ said Bella. ‘She’ll never notice. Besides, I’ve never seen why there’s all this fuss about personal space. What’s wrong with touching each other?’

‘Bella!’

Bella rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, yes, I know all that stuff about being respectful, but we’re allowed to touch someone to help or to punish, aren’t we?’

‘It’s about purity–’

‘Nonsense. It’s not like we’re going to suddenly turn Natural just because we’ve touched each other, is it?’

Clara could feel her neck muscles knotting, but this wasn’t the time to argue. A few stairs in front, Amy was chatting away, looking no different to the other girls. She wasn’t wearing a big placard saying I am a Natural, she wasn’t corrupting anyone’s mind and she wasn’t causing the downfall of society.

‘Come on,’ Bella was saying. ‘Test me on the Principles.’

Clara tore her gaze away from Amy. ‘Er, okay.’ ‘What’s the punishment for unlicensed Naturals?’

Bella frowned. ‘That’s not in the Principles. Is it?’

‘You’d have to report them, right?’

‘Yes, but it’s not in the Principles. I’m positive. Are you sure you’re okay?’

The brass handles rattled and the doors swept open. Twenty heads snapped upright, and Ms Carrow stood stiff and straight in the doorway.

‘Get in order,’ she said in her ash-dry voice. ‘Now, girls, you are here for your Passing-Out ceremony. You know what an important moment this is. The Head wants you all to behave respectfully, as you take this first step in your careers.’

Clara tried to pay attention. Without letting herself touch anyone, she stood on tiptoe and tried to peer into the hall. Who was that, sitting on the dais? Somebody squat, and swathed in black. She couldn’t make out any more details from back here. Next moment, Carrow had vanished and the girls began to file in, half-reluctant, half-eager. At the dim rear of the hall they passed between three rows of mothers, faces proud as their daughters marched by. Clara saw Ms Martin, but turned her head away before she could catch her eye. Amy’s mother, the one who’d mated like an animal.

Under the girls’ feet the paved floor, now without its flood-soiled rug, had been cleaned and swept. The usual heavy russet curtains had been replaced by bright white ones. These were drawn tight against the approaching dusk, yet the room was alive with light. The chained chandelier and the brackets along the walls glowed full of scented white candles (no doubt from the Martins’ factory). Over the mantelpiece hung a soft-focus portrait of a woman in her fifties, the short fair hair waving crisply back from the temples, the pale eyes fixing the viewer with a stern gaze.

They filed into three rows of white-upholstered chairs that stretched across the room. There were clear two-foot gaps between the chairs, to emphasise that touching was disrespectful. These were Academy girls, some of them soon to be Truth Sisters, and they were pure. For a moment they stood in rows of angelic white obedience.

On the dais at the front of the room sat the Head of the Academy, Ms Butcher. Butcher by name, butcher by nature: Clara had once seen a picture of a mad man in a crimson-stained apron, from the old days, when they still allowed men to cut up meat. The head teacher looked the same. Ms Butcher bore no bloodstains, but she was large and thick-set – her broad shoulders and bust filled every inch of the smart dark suit she wore. She’d make short work of a pig.

Bella, in the next chair, inclined her head slightly. Now that they were on show, Clara dared not turn to look but she caught the movement from the corner of her eye. She let her gaze flick to the far end of the dais. A Prime Sister here tonight – old Butcher must be thrilled.

The Head now rose, and was joined, a pace behind, by Ms Carrow. ‘Girls!’ boomed Ms Butcher. ‘We are once again privileged to welcome to the Academy one of the Republic’s leading officials, to conduct our Passing-Out. This is a further recognition of the high standards set by our school. Will you please give an Academy welcome to Mater Hedera, of the Ministry of Knowledge.’

The old woman was seated in a great high-backed chair, her black eyes glittering in a puckered, grey-fringed face. Her billowing black suit was surmounted by a shiny purple scarf, fastened with a golden brooch. Clara had never been this close to a Prime Sister before. From here, she could see the fine detail on the nylon scarves that only they could wear, and the Horologe brooch, the shining hourglass-in-a-circle symbol of the Republic. Beside Hedera’s chair was a low table. On it lay a row of paper rolls: their diplomas. In her preoccupation with Amy, she’d almost forgotten why they were here. Which one was hers? What did it say? Had she managed to get a first?

The applause died as Ms Butcher raised a paw. ‘Sit,’ she commanded. Clara swallowed, and dropped into her chair. A few seats to the right, Amy caught Clara’s eye and gave a quick smile. Clara looked away. With an effort she drew herself upright.

‘Good evening, girls,’ Butcher continued. ‘Before we start, I have some good news. I know that, owing to the longer Academy terms, you have seen very little of your families over the last few years. So, in honour of her visit, Mater Hedera has kindly decreed that those of you who pass, and go on to a useful career, can have a holiday. You need not begin in your new jobs until September.’

There was a ripple of applause.

‘Indeed, indeed. We are very grateful to Mater Hedera–’ here she nodded to the Prime Sister ‘–for her considerateness. But now, to business. This evening, those of you who have passed your examinations’ – the pause was long enough for Clara to guess that somebody hadn’t – ‘will receive your diplomas from Mater Hedera. You have studied hard for five years, and this evening you will discover the fruits of your labour. As you go out upon your appointed paths, whatever they may be, each one of you will be expected to uphold the reputation of the Academy. You must set a shining example to the commoners – particularly those of you who qualify as Truth Sisters. You must become living embodiments of purity, of the Principles of our great Republic’s foundress, Ms Teacher.’ The Head faced the portrait over the fireplace and touched right hand to left shoulder.

‘Ms Teacher!’ chorused the girls, imitating the salute. Clara knew that she would see other copies of that portrait – there was one in every public building in London – but, Clara now realised, she’d never see that particular copy again. She was leaving – actually leaving – the Academy.

‘Those of you who do make Truth Sister,’ continued Ms Butcher, ‘will swear the oath of allegiance before Mater Hedera. I need not tell you what a great privilege it is. Truth Sisters are chosen for their intelligence, diligence and loyalty to the Republic, and only Truth Sisters may hold senior posts in any walk of life. But you will also have great responsibilities. You must show your respect for people by the way you lead your lives, by your selfless dedication to the Republic and by your pursuit of knowledge for the good of all womankind.’ She produced a small patch of embroidered cloth. ‘And when you have sworn your oath, you will be given your Truth Sister badges: they bear the sign of the book and compasses, the symbols of the precious gift of knowledge.’

For a moment, Clara forgot all about Amy. That was where she needed to be. Recovering old knowledge, helping all women. That badge was a pass to the life Clara had always dreamed of.

Ms Butcher raised her hand. ‘Camilla, bring water for Mater Hedera. Come along, child, don’t dawdle.’ The bowl was brought, and Clara saw the steam rising as the old woman washed her hands.

‘Now girls, in homage to Ms Teacher, we will be giving you one final test this evening. Before Mater Hedera presents you with your diplomas, each of you will be asked to recite one of Ms Teacher’s Principles. Should you answer wrongly’ – she paused while her gaze swept over them all – ‘you will fail, and receive no diploma. But I am sure this will not happen. None of you will fail this test.’

Clara’s throat was constricting. When she looked again at Mater Hedera, the old woman was smiling to herself. And so the Passing-Out began.

Medea Carrow called out the first girl’s name. Trembling, Hetty Bowring stepped up to the dais and almost fell down in shock as Mater Hedera pointed a clawed finger.

‘Well, child,’ rasped the old woman. ‘They tell me you’re good at painting.’

Hetty looked at Ms Butcher, then back at the Prime Sister. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

‘Hmph! Fat lot of use that is.’

‘W-well, Ma’am–’

‘What’s the first disaster that men brought upon the world, girl?’

Hetty’s mouth opened and shut twice. ‘Um–’

‘Come girl, answer the question. The first disaster brought by men!’

‘Uh, war, Ma’am. Men brought war–’

‘Enough.’ The old woman held out a hand. Ms Butcher passed her one of the paper rolls, and whispered something.

Hedera raised her eyebrows and nodded. ‘Seems you’ve got a first, girl. Well done. Stand in front of me, where I can see you.’

Clara watched intently. If only this could be her, in a few minutes’ time.

Butcher read out the oath. ‘Nice clear answer, then, Bowring. Hand on heart – that’s it. Now: do you swear to uphold and support this Women’s Republic, and to follow the Principles of our great founder in all that you think, all that you say, and all that you do?’

‘I … I do, Ma’am,’ said Hetty.

‘Very good.’ Hedera passed her one of the cloth badges. ‘I now declare you Truth Sister.’

All the girls clapped as Hetty stepped down from the dais, looking stunned. Hetty had never been at the top of the class, so she’d done well to get a first. If she can do it, Clara thought, so can I. She chewed her lip.

Up on the dias, the next girl was reciting one of the Principles: ‘Climate change, Ma’am, was brought upon the world by the greed of men. It was they that caused searise.’ Merit. Then another: ‘After the animals and man, evolution is complete in woman.’ Merit. Then: ‘Genetic Engineering is forbidden. To follow it would be to repeat men’s mistakes.’ Another first, another Truth Sister swearing her oath. With each girl, each question, Clara shook her head. I wish they’d asked me that one, she thought. I knew that one. Didn’t I?

Now Suzanne Gorman, a skinny girl with thick eyebrows, stood before the Prime Sister, and Clara could sense all the girls sitting a little straighter. This would be interesting. Suzanne had always been bottom of the class, and – well, it was always good to see someone else embarrassed. Especially a spiteful pusbag like her.

‘Now, girl,’ said Hedera, ‘why must we clone?’

To Clara’s surprise, Suzanne intoned the answer straight away. ‘Cloning makes us free, Ma’am. It keeps women pure and perfect. It keeps us strong.’

‘Good,’ said Hedera, and held her hand out. But Ms Butcher leaned forward and whispered something in the old woman’s ear.

‘Failed, eh?’ said Hedera, aloud.

There were gasps from the audience, but Suzanne’s face was set. She said nothing.

‘But, it seems, only just,’ went on the old woman. ‘Ms Butcher says you were only two marks short of a pass. And what do you think, girl? I can give you two more marks.’

Suzanne’s eyes widened. ‘Ma’am?’

‘You were saying about purity? The Ministry is keen to see that purity is maintained. Particularly among Truth Sisters, as you girls aspire to be.’

Suzanne studied her feet.

‘Come, girl!’ crowed Hedera, with a suddenness that made Clara jump.