Ravensborough by Christine Murray Page B

them in place were still seen on the buildings that stood on each side of the street.
    ‘Why are there so many gates?’ I asked Aradia.
    ‘They were used in the old days to section off different parts of the city, when the religious divisions were particularly bad. They keep them now so that, if rioting does break out, they can close the gates and stop it spreading to other areas.’
    After walking for around twenty minutes or so, we came to a small gate, around the size of a door, set between two buildings. Aradia opened the gate, which squeaked loudly, and gestured for me to follow her.
    Behind the gate was a steep set of steps set into rock. Aradia hopped up them lightly, as lithe as a mountain goat, but I walked up them carefully. They were damp, with dark green moss clinging to some parts of the stone, and I was afraid I would slip. The iron handrail was engraved with a beautiful pattern of leaves, but it was damp too. It was a relief when we finally reached the last step and opened another gate and stepped onto another street.
    ‘Welcome to the Pagan Old Quarter.’ The street was narrow, and had a winding medieval character. The hill that the quarter sat on was so steep that the upper levels were reached by a series of steep steps, like the ones we’d come up. On the eastern edge of the hill on a high point, stood the Castleost, a fortress that overlooked Lady’s Lake and the rest of the city. I recognised it from my guidebook.
    The shops were similar to the ones in the city quarter we had just left behind. Cafes and clothes shops, newsagents and restaurants. As we walked towards the castle I saw new shops nestled between them. Angel shops, shops selling nothing but herbs and, like Ben had told me, working forges.
    ‘Do you mind if we pop in here?’ Aradia asked as we came to a shop that proclaimed itself to be Ravensborough’s oldest chandlery.
    ‘Not at all. But what’s a chandlery?’
    ‘It’s the old name for a candle making shop,’ Aradia replied pushing open the door of the shop.
    I followed her inside. I’d never seen so many types of candle in the one place before. There was every colour imaginable, and dozens of different shades. They were all different shapes, and they ranged in size from tea lights up to thick candles that were taller than me.
    Aradia picked out four thick candles, about the height and width of a jar of coffee. They were different colours: blue, green, yellow and red.
    ‘Some of these are really pretty’, I said to Aradia, my hand skimming one that was intricately carved in the shape of a rose.
    My eye caught a small thin candle, no taller than my hand. It was the pale colour of beeswax, and there were small horizontal black lines along the edge of it, marking space. The side was marked with roman numerals. The base was marked I and at the top of the candle there was XXIV, twenty four.
    ‘What’s that?’ I asked Aradia.
    She peered over at what I was looking at. ‘Oh, that? It’s a clock candle. You light it, and it takes roughly an hour for the wax between each line to melt. It was an old way of keeping the time when the sun wasn’t out.’
    ‘There can’t be much use for those nowadays though, surely?’ I said.
    ‘You’d be surprised,’ Aradia smiled, as she paid for her candles.
    We walked further up the hill, winding around the other side until we lost sight of Lady’s Lake. We passed shops with notices in the window, saying that there were sales on chalices, goddess statues, candles, broomsticks. And yet, there in the middle of it all was a Starbucks. It was a strange mixture of the familiar and the unfamiliar. At the end of the street stood a huge granite building. It was at least a hundred years old, probably more. In the grounds was a statue of a woman, dressed in ancient robes. Her arm was outstretched, and on this outstretched arm was perched a stone owl. A sign outside was engraved with the name of the institution: Ravensborough Minervan Academy for