The Tigers in the Tower

by Julia Golding

  She gave Cook a dismissive look. “She won’t remember. We had a porter who was like this. Used to get roaring drunk one day, cause trouble, and then be as innocent as a lamb the next.”

  The woman was now sobbing into her cup, telling Ann how hard done by she was, ending up here in a filthy orphanage when she had dreamed of a house and family of her own, a handsome man to call husband, none of these ungrateful children and holier-than-thou teachers. Ann rolled her eyes at Sahira over Cook’s head.

  “Let me look at those bruises,” said Sahira. Ned had marks all over his arms where he had tried to shield his head. “This has to stop.”

  “But I’ve nowhere else to go,” he said in the saddest voice she had ever had the misfortune to hear.

  “Don’t take any notice of all her horrible words about you not being loved. You have friends.” Jeoffry came in, having decided the storm had blown over, and curled up next to Ned. “We’ll help you.”

  “I don’t need ’elp,” he said unconvincingly. His attempt to muster his pride was heartbreaking.

  “Then you won’t mind if I say that I need someone to help me carry my trunk to the Tower tomorrow. Would you give me a hand?”

  Emily touched her arm. “What are you planning, Sahira?”

  “Someone tried to open my Indian trunk today and failed. Tomorrow they might hack it to pieces. Ned is going to help me carry it to safety.”

  Emily gasped. “Do you know who did it?”

  “The Newtons, I suppose.” Sahira shrugged.

  Emily bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder in fear of being overheard. “Matron did have her eye on your dresses.”

  “Can she pick locks?” Sahira asked doubtfully. “Doesn’t seem like her style. Couldn’t she just demand I hand them over?”

  “What Emily is saying,” explained Ann, one arm patting Cook reassuringly, “is that it is unlikely even the Newtons would risk entering the girls’ dormitory. They obviously shouldn’t be there and even Matron would shoo them out.”

  “Then maybe someone did it for them? Or they sneaked in when she was dozing in her chair? The main point is that my trunk isn’t safe.”

  “I thought we were trying to save Ned?” asked Emily.

  “We are doing both.” She turned back to the boy. “So, Ned, will you help me tomorrow?”

  He nodded, no doubt a little confused as to how that would rescue him.

  Sahira washed her hands at the pump, then wiped them on a linen towel. “That’s settled. Let’s see if we can salvage anything for supper before we have a riot upstairs.”

  The next morning after lessons, Ned and Sahira struggled downstairs with the trunk.

  “Where are you going with that?” asked Matron, though she didn’t stir herself to get out of her armchair.

  Sahira pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m taking it to the menders. The lock’s broken. I can’t get at my clothes.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said, voice envious. “You have such nice ones. Never seen an orphan come here with so many fine gowns.” She nibbled the sweet biscuit she had chosen to accompany her pre-dinner sherry. “Then I’ve never met a real Hindoo princess before neither.”

  They bumped the trunk down the stairs. It was heavier than Sahira remembered and she wondered if they would be able to make it all the way to the menagerie, just the two of them. Ned must have been thinking the same thing.

  “Sahira, do you have any money?” he asked.

  She remembered the coin the lightermen had given her. “A little. A shilling.”

  “That’ll do.” Ned slipped off into the crowd and returned a few moments later with a tradesman who had an empty wheelbarrow. Having seen Ned beaten down in the kitchen, Sahira realized she had underestimated how capable he was on the streets where he had lived all his life. “Barty will take it to the Tower. You won’t need me.”

  Sahira grabbed Ned firmly by the elbow. “Oh yes I do. I have big plans for you, Ned.”

  He tugged free and levelled his gaze at her. “I’ve worked it out, you know.”

  “Worked what out?”

  “You pity me.”

  “Ned, what are you talking about?”

  “See someone worse off than you – there can’t be that many of those – and you ’ave to ’elp.” He straightened up and brushed off his threadbare jacket. “You don’t ’ave to do that. I’ve been looking after myself since I was born. I don’t need saving. You’ll just make things worse for me.”

  “I won’t,” Sahira pleaded.

  “You will. You might not have noticed but you’re ’ardly the favourite in the orphanage. Being your friend won’t ’elp me; it’ll just give them another excuse to bully me.”

  “I… I…” Did he not want to be friends? “I didn’t think about that.”

  “I ’preciate what you’re trying to do, but it won’t wash. I ’ave to look after myself. Always ’ave and always will.” Ned turned to walk away. “Off you go, Barty. Drop it at Lion Gate with the keepers. See you later, Sahira.”

  “Right you are, Ned,” said Barty.

  Sahira watched the man wheel her prized possessions toward the Tower. She wanted to go with him but she wanted Ned more.

  “You don’t want to be friends with me any longer?” Sahira called.

  Ned grimaced. “That’s not what I’m sayin’. But you shouldn’t treat me like you know best when you don’t.”

  Sahira understood that she had hurt his pride with her managing ways. Her mother had always accused her of jumping in with two feet when a cautious testing of the waters was better. “I’m sorry, Ned.”

  He gave her a nod. “That’s all right. I know you’re only tryin’ to ’elp.”

  A little crushed by his assessment, Sahira still didn’t want to give up completely on what she had thought a brilliant idea. “Wait – will you come with me anyway? I really did have a good plan. It involved a zebra.”

  He hesitated, his curiosity clearly getting the better of him. “A zebra? Like the animal at the end of the alphabet?” He had obviously been peeking at the infants’ reading books.

  “Exactly like that,” Sahira replied.

  She saw a change wash over him. “I’ll come with you to see the zebra. But I don’t need ’elp, remember?”

  “Oh yes, I remember. But I know a zebra who does.”

  Ned’s eyes were wide as they toured the menagerie. He had never been before so each animal was a revelation. Forking straw into the camel’s manger, Joseph Croney growled at them to stop dawdling, but there was too much to see for grumpy words to spoil Ned’s pleasure.

  “What’s that?” Ned asked, tugging the sleeve of Sahira’s work tunic. “A big dog?”

  “A wolf.”

  “Could it kill me?”

  “Maybe, if you were foolish enough to go in there with it. Mostly it preys on smaller creatures, like lambs and goats.” The wolf opened its eyes; they were the colour of a yellow diamond Sahira had once seen on a nobleman’s turban. The wolf ’s pelt had two tones: light and dark. Grey fur lay on top, with a creamy underside to muzzle, throat, and belly. It blinked once then rolled over, supremely bored by his admirers. “He’d normally have miles of territory that he patrols. Stuck in here, I think he’s got lazy.”

  Sahira towed Ned along to the tigers a few cages further on. “And here,” she said with a flourish, “are the jewels in the crown: Rama and Sita!”

  “Oh my word!” Ned stared at the tigers, who had come to the bars to greet them. “These are your friends?”

  Sahira pulled him back as he was swaying toward them like an iron filing to a magnet. “I’m not sure human terms work on tigers, but as far as they can feel affection for me, they do. But I have no illusions. In other circumstances,” she bent down to his ear, “I could be supper!”

  Ned gasped then chuckled with horrified delight.

  “But these aren’t why I brought you here. I want you to see the zebra.” She led him out beyond the yards where most of the ani
mals were penned, to the little green where the zebra strolled. Being only Tuesday, there weren’t many visitors so it was looking quite disconsolate at the empty ale stall.

  “Hey, boy!” Sahira called, holding out a handful of carrot tops she had begged off Mrs Cops.

  The zebra’s ears perked up and he trotted over, giving his series of little yips that meant he was pleased to see them. Sahira expected zebras to make sounds more like a donkey but normally he let out little barks more like some species of monkey she knew. The braying, according to Mr Cops, was reserved for when he was feeling amorous and then he had to be kept in his stable for the safety of visiting mares.

  “Here, you feed him. Keep your hand flat.” She placed the feathery leaves on Ned’s palm.

  “Oh, ’e’s splendid. What’s ’is name?” asked Ned as the zebra lipped up the treat and mashed the leaves between strong yellow teeth.

  “I’ve only heard him called ‘the zebra’. I think you can call him what you like,” Sahira said.

  “What name could do ’im justice?” Ned wondered aloud.

  “Stripey?” His twitching skin was fascinating, the stripes running up into the bristling mane.

  Ned gave her a friendly push. “Don’t be silly: your tigers are named after ’eroic characters from a famous story. There must be something suitable for a zebra.”

  She searched her memory for her father’s favourite Bible tales. “Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian king? He went mad and ate grass like a wild beast at one point.”

  Ned gave her a nod. “That sounds grand: Nebuchadnezzar the Zebra.”

  “Morning, Sahira.” Mr Cops approached across the lawn. “Who’s this you’ve brought with you?”

  “A friend from the orphanage, Mr Cops. Ned, this is Mr Cops: he’s the Keeper of the King’s Lions.”

  Ned gave one of his excellent little bows. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  Mr Cops gave him a nod of approval. “Met the zebra, I see?”

  Nebuchadnezzar was now nosing Ned’s pockets in hopes of more treats. Ned pushed him firmly away. “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s a pest, that one. For ever stealing the visitors’ sandwiches and I’m afraid to say he likes his drink rather too much. Have you ever seen a drunk zebra?”

  “No, sir.” Ned chuckled.

  “It’s not a pretty sight, I can tell you.” Mr Cops shook his head.

  This seemed the perfect cue for Sahira to mention her plan. “I suppose you can’t spare the men to watch him?”

  Mr Cops pushed his hat further back on his head, a little defensive. “Of course not. I can’t nanny all my animals – there’re over a hundred of them!”

  “But you want to keep the zebra?” Sahira prodded.

  “I do. Sahira, out with it. I know you are leading up to something.” He twirled a finger in the air like he was reeling something in.

  “So,” she said carefully, wondering how this would go. It seemed such an obviously good idea to her, but often adults didn’t take the logical path even if it were pointed out to them – like when he turned her away the first day. “If you had a boy to lead the zebra about, one who wouldn’t cost much to feed and house, someone like Ned here, then your problem would be solved?”

  “I can’t just go taking in boy-visitors to be a keeper.”

  “Oh, but you can, sir,” blurted out Ned, who seemed to have forgotten all about not needing Sahira’s help to improve his lot. “I belong to no one and no one wants me. Nebuchadnezzar and I will suit each other very well.”

  “Neb-who?” Mr Cops asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

  “We named the zebra – christened him if you like,” Sahira explained. “It’s quite shocking how so many of the animals lack names. Ned doesn’t want to be called ‘boy’, nor I ‘girl’, so why would the zebra want to be called just ‘Zebra’?”

  Mr Cops cast his eyes to heaven. “I knew the moment I saw you standing outside the Tower with the tigers that you would be trouble.”

  Sahira folded her arms. “I like to think I help solve problems rather than cause them.”

  “You really have no one, lad?” asked Mr Cops.

  “No, sir.” Ned was looking so eager that surely Mr Cops wouldn’t be able to harden his heart. “I’m boot boy at the orphanage but Mr Pence is trying to get rid of me.”

  The mention of Mr Pence settled the matter. Mr Cops had clearly taken against the gentleman. “Right then, I’ll take you on trial. You keep… what did you call him?”

  “Nebuchadnezzar,” Ned offered.

  “Nebuchadnezzar under control. No more sandwich stealing, no more getting drunk on visitors’ ale. Nebbie, old boy, this lad is going to keep you on the straight and narrow!”

  Ned gave a little whoop of joy and ran his hand down the zebra’s back. “Can I ride ’im?”

  Mr Cops laughed and shook his head. “He’s never been ridden, but I wager Sahira will have you riding in the Derby next if given her way.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Mr Cops had no qualms about offering Ned a bed over the stables, quite the opposite to his attitude toward Sahira when she had asked the same favour. She tried not to mind that she wasn’t allowed the freedom of a boy. But, of course, she did. It would have been the same in India, she reminded herself, so she knew she was fighting the world by finding that unfair.

  Walking back alone to Whitechapel as the shadows lengthened, Sahira tried to keep alert as she had in the bazaar at Calcutta. With a little imagination she could transport herself there: bakers tossing flatbreads between expert hands; baskets of cashew nuts, dates, and lemons; the little pyramids of spices laid out like a colourful range of Himalayas; swirls of muslins, plain and patterned, like sunset clouds above them; bolts of silk wrapped like Cleopatra in her rug, only to be unfurled when a rich customer requested; knives for sharpening; old pans for mending; fish and meat herded down one smelly end where the ground was splattered with guts and entrails. Compared with that, the London market she was walking through now appeared to have had all the colour leeched from it: dark greens, blood reds, greys, black, off-whites, and sticky browns – the same colours as the unappetizing dishes at the orphanage.

  She missed turmeric, ginger, cinnamon, cardamon. All that was offered here was mustard, salt, and pepper.

  The journey gave Sahira time to begin to regret her earlier actions. By finding a new home for Ned, she had done herself out of an ally at the orphanage. Added to that, she hadn’t considered the likely reaction of Mr Pence and Cook to her theft of their boot boy. She guessed that they would take the view that it was fine for them to threaten him with dismissal, but for someone else to rescue him, that was another matter entirely.

  “What have you done with my Ned?” screeched Cook on Sahira’s return. She must have been watching for her from the area basement and dashed upstairs to intercept her in the hallway. Sahira could tell from the state of the dining room that supper was not ready and the house in a Cook-inspired uproar.

  Sahira took off her shawl and hung it on a peg by the front door where the orphans placed their outdoor clothes. Pretend nothing unusual has happened and maybe Cook will go away. “He’s taken a new job.”

  Strong fingers, toned on kneading bread, pinched Sahira’s ear. “What do you mean, you dirty daggle-tail?” Reflexively, Sahira grabbed Cook’s wrist and dug in her nails. She howled, released Sahira’s ear, and shook her hand. “You little witch!”

  “It’s not my fault, Cook. Mr Cops of the menagerie has taken him in. It’s nothing to do with me,” Sahira pleaded. She wasn’t in the habit of lying but she dared not think about what pain Cook would inflict next if she told the truth.

  Cook threw up her hands. “But who’s going to do the work in the kitchen now?”

  Sahira wanted to say Cook would have to pay someone to work for her – and treat them a lot better than she did Ned if she wanted to keep them – but she swallowed her words. Now was not the time to wave the red flag before the bull.

  “Mr Pence!”
roared Cook. You’ve got to come!” Sahira tried to slip away but Cook blocked her exit upstairs. “Oh no you don’t!”

  Mr Pence emerged from his study, cane in hand ready to administer quick, painful reprimands to whoever had bothered her. “What is it, Cook? Don’t you know I am entertaining an important guest?”

  “This… this savage…” she pointed a trembling finger at Sahira, who stood quietly, hands folded meekly in front of her. “She’s spirited Ned away and left me high and dry in the kitchen. Says he’s got a new job – at the Tower, of all places.”

  Mr Pence squeezed his cane in his hands. “Has she now? Eleanor Clive, did you take Ned with you to the Tower this afternoon?”

  She was cornered. “Yes, sir.” Sahira’s heart pounded with fear. This was not good.

  “On whose authority?”

  She looked up, startled. “Authority? I hadn’t realized Ned needed permission.”

  Mr Pence cast his eyes to the ceiling. “Your own, I suppose, as an Indian princess?”

  Sahira sensed a trap. “No, sir. I… I just didn’t know Ned had to ask to come with me – to see the zebra.”

  Mr Pence flicked his fingers at his staff member. “Cook, get one of the other orphans to help you – take the whole pack of them for all I care. They laze around the house too much as it is. Eleanor, into the study.”

  Sahira hesitated, glancing longingly up to the girls’ dormitory, which had become something of a haven for her in this place. She could see faces clustered around the bannisters as the others watched from the shadows. The expression on Ann’s and Emily’s faces was fearful but the Newtons were gloating.

  “Now!” barked Mr Pence.

  Sahira trailed after him into his private domain. The last time she had been here was to sign the register. This tome lay open on the desk. In front of it sat a man in a crisp dark suit. He had a crop of bushy white hair like a parakeet’s crown of feathers and his smile was about as friendly as the bird’s hooked beak.

  “Mr Rummage, this is the girl,” announced Mr Pence. “As you might have heard, I regret to say that her troublemaking skills are well developed. And as you have revealed, she is also mendacious.” He turned on Sahira. “That means, girl, that you lie.”