Tiger Thief

by Michaela Clarke

  Again, Mohini bowed her head. “It was easy,” she said. “They were already fighting over money, just like humans always do. All I had to do was mention the Emperor’s gold and Lemo’s promise was forgotten. As for the tiger, the circus brat did most of the work. He even put on the collar.” She glanced at the rubies that glittered against the tiger’s fur.

  “May I?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” Rookh told her.

  At a word from Mohini, the rubies unhooked themselves and flew to land in her hand. With a snarl Emira threw herself against the golden bars. The candelabra flickered overhead, but the cage didn’t budge.

  “Good,” said Rookh. “Now we just have to make sure she doesn’t get away.”

  He snapped his fingers and two dark little men with hunched shoulders, hooked noses and scrawny legs appeared out of the shadows and bowed. As they lifted their heads their eyes glittered, uncanny replicas of their master’s.

  “Take the tiger to my workshop,” Rookh ordered.

  The servants’ eyes shone with approval. “Yes, master!” said one. He glanced at the tiger and licked his lips with a maggoty tongue.

  Rookh gave an involuntary shudder. “Quickly!” he snapped. “I don’t have all night.”

  Sniggering, the servants approached the golden cage. As they did so, Emira lunged again, roaring in fury, but the bars held as solid as steel. With cackles and jeers they wheeled her away.

  Once they were gone, Rookh looked over at Mohini again. She was waiting, demurely as ever, for his command.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  Mohini’s eyes were shielded with secrets. “To keep your Empire safe you will need to kill the tiger,” she said. “But first you must find the Prince of Jinnis.”

  “Where do you think he is?” said Rookh.

  Mohini shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “The Prince of Jinnis is hidden by a spell that not even I can break. All I know is that he’s bound to come looking for the tiger, and when he does, we will be ready for him.”

  Rookh almost smiled. He admired Mohini immensely, but he trusted her less than a snake in the grass. “Why are you doing all of this?” he demanded. “You’re a jinni. Don’t you want your queen to be restored to her throne?”

  Mohini tossed her head. “I don’t care about the Queen of the Forest,” she said. Her eyes flashed as she glanced at him, quickly, flirtatiously. “I would rather be your queen.”

  Rookh drew her closer. “You would make an excellent queen,” he agreed. “Ruthless, ambitious and dangerous. We can discuss terms once we’ve dealt with the tiger and her prince.”

  He glanced up at Casmerim’s picture. He would show her. He didn’t need her.

  Mohini saw his glance.

  “Forget her,” she said. “Am I not just as beautiful?”

  Rookh’s laugh was harsh. Seizing her long, shining hair, he wrapped it twice around his hand, and pulled back her head.

  “Show me!” he hissed, cupping her pale face with his other hand.

  In an easy moment Mohini’s face had changed, darkened, modelling itself on the face in the picture. Even the hair was thicker. Only her eyes remained the same.

  “Very good.” Rookh lowered his voice. “Now close your eyes!”

  Mohini obeyed, lashes trembling on her cheeks.

  “Beautiful!” he sighed. “Now you are my queen.”

  Mohini’s mouth curved in a smile. “Yes, master,” she said.

  Losing himself to the moment, Rookh leaned down for his kiss.

  For a moment there was silence. For a moment there was peace. Even the voices inside were still.

  Afterwards, he held her close, as if relieved. There was no denying it. Mohini might be poison, but her lips were as sweet as Casmerim’s.

  Chapter Eight

  RUNAWAY

  Sharat felt sick with shock as he watched Emira’s empty cage bouncing along the cobbles. His guts twisted in regret. Why hadn’t he listened to Uma?

  Behind him, Hussein kept a protective hand on his shoulder.

  “Maybe she’ll find her own way home,” he ventured, but his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears.

  Sharat twisted to stare at him in disbelief. “Emira’s not lost,” he said. “She disappeared.” He turned to look back at Shergarh. “Let me go back and find her,” he begged.

  Hussein shook his head. “I’m sure Lemo’s doing all he can,” he said.

  The ringmaster had stayed behind to talk to the Emperor’s men.

  “It won’t do any good,” said Sharat angrily. “Emira’s been stolen.” He glared at Hussein. “You knew about the promise. Why didn’t you stop my father from coming here?”

  Hussein looked down unhappily. “Believe me, I tried,” he said. “But he hasn’t been himself since he married that woman.”

  Sharat grimaced. He didn’t want to think about Mohini right now. All he wanted to think about was Emira. “If he doesn’t find her, I will!” he swore.

  They continued their journey in silence.

  Back at the camp, the troupe gathered around the fire, their faces weary in the flickering light. After a big show they usually liked to sing, dance and swap tales, but tonight everyone was subdued as they waited for Lemo to return with news of Emira.

  As Sharat stared miserably into the flames, Bhim the magician tried to cheer him up with a new trick.

  Sharat pushed him away. “Leave me alone!” he snapped.

  Risa came to sit next to him, murmuring words of comfort, but he didn’t want to listen to her either. He felt furious with everyone around him but, most of all, he was furious with himself. Emira was gone. He didn’t know how he would bear it. They’d never been apart for more than a few hours. Losing her was like losing part of himself.

  “Emira. Where are you?” he called out silently.

  In the past he’d always been able to sense her presence, near or far. Now he felt nothing.

  “I’ll find you, Emira,” he whispered, in the vain hope that somehow she would be able to hear him. “No matter where you are, I’ll come and find you.”

  An eternity passed. Finally there was the sound of horses’ hooves and, moments later, Lemo appeared by the fire.

  Sharat jumped to his feet, his heart beating as he ran up to his father. “What happened?” he demanded.

  The ringmaster’s face was grim. He dumped sacks of gold and jewels on to the ground. “They gave me all this treasure,” he said bitterly. He handed Sharat a bag of gold. “This is for you.”

  Sharat dropped the bag and stared up at his father in disbelief. “I don’t want gold,” he said. “Where’s Emira?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Lemo. He looked down at Sharat, his face crumpled with helpless regret. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I did my best. I spoke to the Emperor’s secretary, but he just warned me not to cause trouble.” He jerked his thumb towards a group of men on horseback that were waiting in the darkness. “They even sent soldiers to escort me back to camp.”

  “What for?” asked Hussein, his voice sharp.

  Lemo glanced at his friend. “They want to make sure we leave town first thing tomorrow,” he said. “Somebody doesn’t want us asking any more questions.”

  “But we can’t leave Emira here!” cried Sharat.

  “We can’t stand up to the Imperial Army either,” said Lemo unhappily. “Do you know how many troops are stationed in this city?”

  Sharat felt sick.

  Lara had just come back from tending to the horses. Her dark eyes were heavy with sorrow. “Oh, you poor boy,” she said, stepping forward to embrace him, but he wriggled out of her grip. He was in no mood for sympathy.

  The circus crew stood around helplessly. Silent tears wet Risa’s face. Even Pias and Ram looked sorry as they hung back in the shadows. Sharat glared at them.

  “You’ve got your gold now. Are you satisfied?” he demanded.

  Pias looked as though he’d eaten something bad and Ram just bowed his head.r />
  “All this is your fault!” Sharat told his father, bitter with grief. “You promised Uma you wouldn’t come back to the City of Jewels. Now look what’s happened.”

  A look of horror crossed Lemo’s face.

  “The promise!” he said.

  “Oh, you remember it now, do you?” snapped Sharat.

  Lemo passed a hand across his forehead. He looked confused. “Yes, of course I remember,” he said. Then he shook his head. “It’s just that Mohini wanted to come here so badly … I … I somehow forgot.”

  Sharat stared at his father. “Mohini?”

  Lemo nodded miserably. “It was her idea to perform for the Emperor. She told me she knew someone at court. I thought it would solve all our problems with money.”

  Suddenly Sharat felt everything fall into place. Mohini had arranged the show. Mohini had sometimes called herself the Mistress of Illusion. She’d even given him his new hoop and whip.

  “Where is Mohini?” he demanded. “Did anyone see her come back?”

  There was a stirring of movement around the fire, but Mohini was nowhere to be seen.

  “I haven’t seen her since the show,” said Risa with regret.

  “She didn’t travel back with me,” said Lara.

  “Or me,” added Bhim.

  With a murmur, the rest of the crew shook their heads, their faces looking sombre by the light of the fire.

  “I’ll go and check your caravan!” said Ram. He ran off without looking Sharat in the eye.

  “She was supposed to come back with Lemo,” Hussein remembered, “but he stayed behind.”

  “I didn’t see where she went,” Lemo admitted. “I was too busy trying to find Emira.”

  Ram came running back.

  “She’s not anywhere in the campsite,” he said. “I checked all the tents as well as the caravans.”

  A feeling of sick certainty passed through Sharat.

  “She’s the one that made Emira disappear and now she’s disappeared as well,” he said. “It must have been some kind of trick.”

  “I never did like that woman,” muttered Lara.

  Lemo was pale. “How could I have married someone who would do something like this?” he asked.

  Fezzik the fire-eater shrugged. “She was very beautiful,” he admitted.

  Lara tossed her head in disgust. “I wouldn’t call that beautiful!” she snapped.

  Bhim puffed out his chest importantly. “As a fellow magician, I would say that she was some kind of enchantress!” he said. He waved his pudgy hands dramatically in the air. “She wove a web of illusion around us all.”

  “She didn’t fool me,” said Sharat bitterly. “I never liked her from the start.”

  Lemo let out a deep sigh, but he didn’t look like he’d just lost a wife. Instead he looked as though a heavy weight was slowly lifting from his shoulders.

  “I can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone,” he admitted. “I never really felt like myself while I was with her.” He frowned. “It’s as though I’ve been under some kind of spell.”

  Hussein sighed. “Well, if she did steal Emira she won’t be coming back,” he said. “Perhaps we should all get some rest.” He reached down to put a comforting hand on Sharat’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go back with Lemo to the caravan? You’ll feel better after you’ve had some sleep.”

  Sharat pushed his hand away. “No!” he said. “I’m staying by Emira’s cage. This is where she’ll come if she escapes.”

  Lemo and Hussein exchanged worried looks.

  “Maybe I could stay with him?” Risa volunteered. “We could put up a tent near the animal enclosure.”

  Lemo nodded. “Do whatever makes Sharat happy,” he said. His voice was tired.

  While the arrangements were made, Sharat sat brooding by the fire, trying to make sense of it all. For a moment he almost looked around for Emira to comfort him. His stomach wrenched when he remembered she wasn’t there.

  Just then Risa came over. “Come on, I’ve made your bed,” she murmured. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  Lemo put a hand on his shoulder. “Go on,” he said.

  Numbly, Sharat followed Risa to the tent and collapsed back on the sheepskins while she crawled in next to him.

  “I know how you feel,” she whispered once they had settled down. “I remember when my mother died.”

  Sharat bit his lip. “Emira’s not dead,” he said. “She’s been stolen.”

  “Why would Mohini steal Emira?” wondered Risa.

  Quietly, Sharat told Risa Uma’s story.

  “It could be that Emira’s a jinni,” he said.

  He heard Risa gasp in the darkness. “Do you think this has anything to do with the creature in the rigging?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” said Sharat. “It could have been a spy. I don’t think Mohini was working alone. I saw a man hanging around Emira’s cage last night. That same man was there tonight with the Emperor.”

  “Which man?”

  Sharat described the man in black.

  Risa drew in a sharp breath. “I saw him!” she exclaimed.

  Sharat remembered the triumphant look on the man’s face. “He was the only person who wasn’t surprised when Emira disappeared,” he said. “I’m sure he’s got her.”

  “Watch out,” Risa warned him. “That man must be important if he’s at court. He could have you killed.”

  Sharat squeezed her hand. He was used to Risa bossing him about, but this time he had no intention of listening to her. He remembered the Emperor. Hussein had mentioned that he loved his animals, and Sharat felt sure that he would understand the bond he shared with Emira. All he had to do was find a way to speak to him, but first he had to wait until Risa fell asleep.

  Staring out into the darkness, he waited impatiently. Luckily she was always exhausted after a show and soon her breathing became shallow and regular.

  As quietly as he could, he peeled back his covers and crawled out of bed, but as he was lifting the door-flap Risa sighed. For a moment he froze, silent and wary, but she was just turning over, so he slipped out quickly and made his way to his own tent.

  Only the waning moon lit his way. Sharat was glad. He knew the soldiers were waiting nearby and the darkness made it easier for him to move around unseen.

  Packing a small bundle with a change of clothes, he slipped in the bag of gold that Lemo had given him. Then he tucked his new whip into his trousers and threw on a woollen shawl. Finally he retrieved his mother’s amulet. He still had that at least. For a moment, as he held the winged jewel in his hand, a different kind of yearning nudged at his heart. If only his mother was still alive. With a sigh he tied the leather cord around his neck. He knew there was no use in wishing, but perhaps it would bring him good luck.

  Looking out over the city, he wondered which was the best way back to Shergarh. At first he considered following the river, but in most cities the homes of the wealthy faced on to the water and he didn’t want to risk being caught by sentries or guard dogs. And after seeing the faces of the people earlier that day he didn’t want to walk through the centre of town either.

  Feeling a chill, although the night was still warm, he pulled the shawl tighter and decided to take the long way around, climbing the western ridge to put as much distance as possible between himself and the circus. Once the sun rose he could move in towards the fortress.

  Silently, he crept past the soldiers who had tied up their horses and were playing cards by the dying light of the fire. Once he was out of range, he paused and looked back. The circus tent loomed in the night sky, but he could hardly see the caravans that were huddled behind it. With a shiver, he realised that if they were really driven out of town he might never see them again. He wondered whether they would miss him. Hussein and Lemo might, he thought. Pias would probably be glad he’d left. He set his mouth in determination as he turned away. None of that mattered anyway. All he cared about now was finding Emira.

  The faint light of the moon
guided him until it set. After that, there was only the glow of the stars. Several times he heard rustling in the scrub at his feet and, once, the shriek of some nearby animal, which almost made him jump out of his skin. He threw up his staff, but nothing came at him so he moved on with a hammering heart.

  The noises of morning started before sunrise: cockerels, wild dogs and the call to prayer. Then, as the sun rose, Sharat found himself descending into the city.

  This was the poor side of town. Behind the fortress were low buildings, spewing out black smoke that choked the morning air. The city was as famous for its foundries as it was for its jewels. Children wandered naked on the streets, flies buzzing around their eyes, while a group of angry-looking boys threw him dirty looks as they played dice on a corner. An old man with no fingers hobbled up to Sharat with his begging bowl held out. Sharat stepped away from the leper in horror.

  “I have to go! I’m in a hurry!” he said, forgetting the gold in his bundle. The old man cursed and spat.

  Sharat ran on, past a woman with a baby in her arms, mutely holding out her hands, past gaunt cows with dried-up udders and dogs who were too weak even to lift their heads. Keeping Shergarh in his sights, he ducked from alley to road until he stood on the banks of the moat. Up close the fortress walls looked even more formidable and the water at his feet was deep and murky with scum floating on the surface, but he followed it around until he reached a bridge that led to a gate in the thick walls.

  It was a different gateway to the one that had frightened the elephants the previous day. This one was cast in the shape of a great bird, its beak open wide. There was a guard standing on either side.

  Lifting his chin defiantly, Sharat crossed the bridge as if he had every right to be there. Immediately the bird’s mechanical eyes swivelled to look at him, and the beak slammed shut with a raucous clang. Sharat barely had time to jump aside.

  One of the guards sniggered. The other, a burly man with a boxer’s face, stuck out his sword.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he grunted.

  “I need to speak to the Emperor,” said Sharat.