Aya watched them, her face worried. “Be careful!” she called.
They lifted their grimy hands and waved.
While the girls were saying their goodbyes, Sharat took the opportunity to dive into the river and wash away the filth of the sewers. When he was finished, he pulled himself back on to the bank and shook out his hair.
“What happened to you?” demanded Aya. “I went to the circus like you said, but there was no one there.”
Sharat glanced in the direction of the circus encampment. So they really had gone. A desperate wave of loneliness swept through him. He swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault. The circus was forced to leave town.”
“Why aren’t you with them?” asked Aya.
Sharat bent down to pick up a stone, avoiding her gaze. “I’ve run away.”
“What about your tiger?” said Aya. “Where’s she?”
With a quick movement, Sharat skimmed the stone across the river. “Emira’s gone,” he said, unable to hide the misery in his voice.
Aya frowned. “Wasn’t she with that old lady I told you about?” she said. “Uma?”
“Oh, she was with Uma when I saw you,” said Sharat, “but she disappeared again when we performed for the Emperor. Only this time it was for real.”
“What do you mean, disappeared?” said Aya sharply.
Sharat took a deep breath. “She jumped through a hoop at the end of our show, and never landed,” he said.
“Do you mean she disappeared by magic?” asked Aya, her eyes widening.
“Magic, or some kind of trick,” said Sharat bitterly, thinking of Mohini. “Either way, she’s been stolen.”
A look of anxiety played across Aya’s face. “Maybe she really is the tiger from the rhyme,” she said, more to herself than to Sharat.
Sharat looked at her, puzzled. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
Aya hesitated. “It’s a nursery rhyme my mother used to tell me,” she said. “I remembered it when I first saw Emira.”
“What nursery rhyme?”
“It goes like this,” said Aya.
“Earthbound, breathled, firefound and watermet,
Brought to his fate by tiger white, and called by name
from death to life,
The Prince of Jinnis will come again,
To overthrow the rule of men,
And save our queen from slavery,
So all her creatures can be free.”
Sharat felt his skin come out in goosebumps. “What does it mean?” he asked.
“It’s a prophecy,” Aya told him. “My mother said that when the jinnis were enslaved, there was one who escaped – the Prince of Jinnis. She said he was the most powerful jinni of them all, and that one day a white tiger would lead him back to the city to free the Queen of the Forest and overthrow the Empire.”
Sharat stared at her. “Who is this Prince of Jinnis?” he demanded. “Uma never mentioned him to me.”
“That’s because he’s a secret,” said Aya. “He’s hidden by magic – only his white tiger knows where he is.”
His white tiger? Sharat felt a pang of jealousy. “We don’t know if Emira is the tiger from your mother’s rhyme,” he pointed out.
“Oh, I know,” said Aya, “but wouldn’t it be wonderful if she was?”
Sharat bit his lip. He didn’t think it would be wonderful at all. Both Uma and Aya seemed to think that jinnis were a good thing, but he still wasn’t convinced. Besides, Emira belonged to him, not to some long-lost prince.
He hesitated. Aya seemed so hopeful, he didn’t know how to voice his fears. “Even if Emira is the tiger from your rhyme, she’s still been stolen,” he said. “All I want is to find her.”
“Let’s go and see Uma,” suggested Aya. She lowered her voice. “She’s a witch, you know.”
Sharat nodded. Aya was right. If anyone could help him now it would be Uma. Magic had made Emira disappear, and he was beginning to think it would take magic to get her back, but he couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
“When I was there looking for Emira, Uma made me run away,” he said. “There was something coming from Shergarh. It was heading for her garden.”
Aya took a sharp breath. “In that case we definitely have to go,” she said. “She may need our help.”
Quickly, she gathered her few possessions into a little bag. Then, slinging the bag over her shoulder, she turned to make her way towards the cremation grounds as Sharat hurried to follow her.
Although it was still only morning it was almost too hot to breathe. Mirages shimmered in the dusty plains all around and the air was deathly still. Soon they arrived at the burning ghats. Today there were no grieving relatives sitting with their dead, but a few funeral pyres still burned here and there, guarded by the stray dogs that lay panting nearby.
The only people present were the sadhus, who sat together in a circle around the bones of a dead fire, their legs in the lotus position. They looked like statues as they meditated with their skin, long hair, and beards covered in ash, barely moving, except to pass their pipe. They didn’t seem to notice the boy and girl that tiptoed past them.
Sharat looked towards the temple on the banks of the river. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to get his bearings.
“This way,” said Aya, leading him towards the narrow door hidden in the temple wall.
Sharat lifted his fist to knock, but at the pressure of his hand the door fell away and came crashing loudly to the ground. Too late, he saw that it had been ripped from its hinges. With a sense of foreboding, he ducked to go through the low doorway and entered the garden.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
“What is it?” asked Aya as she followed him through. Then she gasped.
In front of them was a terrible scene. Uma’s hut had been reduced to a pile of rubble, while all her possessions lay jumbled in the dust. Most terrible of all was the state of the garden. Every one of her beautifully tended plants had been chopped into a thousand wilting pieces that lay smouldering in the wreckage.
Aya’s face crumpled in pain. “No!” she whispered.
Chapter Thirteen
FLUTE
At last Mohini found time to be alone. Hurrying through the covered walkways of the Zenana she reached her chambers. A disembodied head with bulging eyes and pointed teeth grinned out from the door.
“Greetings, mistress,” the house-marshal called as the door opened to let her in.
Mohini barely glanced at it. “Lock up!” she snapped.
With a creak of metal the door swung shut and the head swivelled to face into the room.
Moving quickly towards her dressing table, Mohini took a deep breath. So far so good. She’d convinced Rookh to let her catch the tiger, but she wasn’t finished yet. For her plan to work, she needed one more ingredient.
Sitting at the table, she gazed into the mirror. Muttering a few quick words, she reached over as if to touch her reflection. But instead of stopping at the glass, her pale, slender hand slid through the surface like a bird through water. When she pulled it back she was holding a silver flute.
There was a hiss from the door. “Oooh, mistress!” whispered the house-marshal. “Secrets!”
Mohini swung round. There was a strange expression on her face. “Do you have any idea what this is?” she asked, lifting the flute.
“No, mistress,” replied the creature.
Mohini’s lips twisted in disgust. “This is the instrument that brought on the downfall of the jinnis,” she said. “And all because your queen – the Queen of the Forest – fell in love with a man.”
A look of distaste crossed the creature’s face. “Nasty!” he said.
Mohini’s gaze grew distant. She remembered it as if it was yesterday. It had all started in the garden in the middle of the city. Human beings were scared to go there – they called it the Garden of the Jinnis. But there was a young musician who wasn’t afraid. He used to
come there every day to practise under the shade of the trees.
“His name was Krishna,” she said. “At first he only had a wooden flute, but his playing was so beautiful that the Queen left him a magic flute that had the power to open a passageway into the land of the jinnis.”
The creature let out a slow hiss. “Dangerous!” he said.
“Exactly!” said Mohini. Her hands tightened around the instrument. She’d been furious. For thousands of years Aruanda had been safely hidden from the world of men, and rightly so. Men were a blight on the world. Unnatural. An aberration. Parasites. Vandals. She’d warned the Queen that giving Krishna the flute would only bring danger to them all.
Casmerim hadn’t agreed. Blinded by love, she’d insisted that Krishna was different from other men. The only condition she’d placed on him was that he had to leave at sunset, for after dark, the jinnis disappeared and Aruanda was overrun by hungry ghosts – disincarnate spirits who were tied to earth by their anger and greed and who would be lying in wait to possess any man who might be foolish enough to spend the night there.
“What happened next?” asked the house-marshal eagerly.
Mohini glanced over at him. “For a while, everything went to plan,” she said. “Every morning Krishna came back to the garden to entertain the Queen, and every evening he went home.” Her lips tightened. “Then of course the inevitable happened. A second man followed him into Aruanda.”
The house-marshal took a sharp breath. “Rookh!”
“Yes,” said Mohini. “Rookh.” She clenched her fists as she remembered that fateful day. Rookh was Krishna’s brother, but they’d been as different from each other as night and day. Where Krishna was good, kind and beautiful, Rookh was cruel, jealous and ambitious. As soon as he’d set eyes on Casmerim, he’d decided he had to have her for himself. Hiding in the shadows, he’d waited until Krishna left, hoping to surprise the Queen, but as darkness fell, the jinnis disappeared and he was surrounded by hungry ghosts.
Mohini could only imagine what happened next. All she knew was that Rookh and the hungry ghosts had entered into some kind of diabolical partnership. The next morning, fed by the power of a thousand hungry souls, Rookh had knocked down his brother and kidnapped the Queen. Then, once they were in the land of men, the hungry ghosts flew out of his eyes and possessed the crows that were said to guard the garden. Turning into demons, they swept through the city, hacking down the trees. This trapped the jinnis underground, where they would soon be put to work mining for jewels. Only two jinnis had escaped that fate. Foolishly believing that he could win her heart, Rookh had brought the Queen to the surface with Mohini as her handmaid.
Mohini could hardly remember anything about that day, but Casmerim hadn’t lost her wits. Somehow she’d managed to find Krishna’s flute. Afterwards she’d given it to her handmaid for safekeeping.
“Hide it!” she’d said. “One day a white tiger will lead the Prince of Jinnis back to the city to free us all, and when he plays this instrument it will dissolve the veil between the worlds, so that jinnis and humans can live in peace and harmony again.”
Mohini shook her head. Casmerim’s dream was her worst nightmare. Live in harmony with human beings? Never!
A look of determination came over her face as she stepped towards the house-marshal.
When he saw her expression, the little monster tried unsuccessfully to draw back. “What are you doing?” he squeaked.
Mohini didn’t reply. She had no real power of her own any more, unless she did Rookh’s bidding, but with any luck there was enough magic left in the house-marshal for her to complete her task.
With lightning speed she reached out and grabbed him by the throat. “All I need is a kiss,” she said.
The house-marshal shrieked as he tried to twist his head away, but it was too late. Mohini’s lips were already clamped on his, sucking away his life force, until soon, all that was left of the unfortunate creature was an empty husk dangling helplessly from the door, his eyes wide with shock.
As she stepped away, Mohini felt slightly nauseous, but she had no regrets. She would do whatever it took to escape the City of Jewels.
Quickly, she lifted the flute, and her hands began to dance around the gleaming metal.
A muttered incantation left her lips, a bead of sweat appeared on her brow and her skin began to burn with supernatural heat. For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly but surely, the silver flute began to change its shape.
Chapter Fourteen
GARDEN
As they stood looking around the ruins of Uma’s garden, a trail of silent tears rolled down Aya’s face. With shaking hands she reached out and touched the shredded remains.
Sharat felt sick. “Who would do something like this?” he asked in horror.
Aya turned to him, her eyes torn with helpless fury. “They’re called lickers, short for similickers,” she said. “They come from Shergarh.”
Sharat remembered the jewelled golden beetle with the razor-like legs and a chill passed through him.
“I wonder what happened to Uma?” he asked. “Do you think they caught her, too?”
Aya’s face was tight. “I hope not,” she said.
With a grimace, Sharat turned back to face the door. “Well, there’s no point in hanging around,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Aya put out a hand to stop him. “Wait!” she said. She was scanning the garden with a practical eye. “Don’t go yet. Let’s see what we can salvage first.”
Sharat glanced back through the doorway. He could see Shergarh downriver. It felt like the fortress was watching them.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Food,” said Aya.
Suddenly Sharat realised how hungry he was.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he admitted.
“Get the fire going and I’ll see what I can find,” Aya told him.
Sharat nodded. “All right,” he said.
While Sharat stoked the flames, Aya rummaged through the wreckage of the hut. Soon she gave a cry of triumph as she unearthed a couple of clay pots. “Found it!” she called. “All I had to do was dig.”
Sharat lifted his head. “What do you mean?”
“Uma always kept her food buried,” Aya explained. “Just in case the demons ever found her garden.”
Sharat stiffened as he remembered the creature in the rigging. “What are demons exactly?” he asked.
A dark expression crossed Aya’s face. “During the day they look like horrible little men with thin legs and hooked noses,” she said. “But at night-time they turn into crows and gobble up all the seeds that have fallen to the ground, to make sure nothing grows.”
“I knew it!” said Sharat. “There was one in the big top the first night we were here. It almost caused an accident.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Aya. “They feed on evil. That’s how they get their power.”
Sharat shivered. The more he learned about the City of Jewels, the less he liked it, but he knew that if he was going to find his tiger he was going to need his strength. He picked up a dented copper pot. “I’ll fetch some water,” he said. “The sooner we eat, the sooner we can get out of here.”
Leaving Aya sorting through the lentils, he went down to the river, past the sadhus, who were still sitting in meditation. This time two or three of them looked up as he went past, so he hurried back to Uma’s garden with his head bowed.
Putting the water next to Aya, he carefully propped up the doorway so that they couldn’t be seen. “I’ll see if I can find any vegetables,” he offered, rummaging through the greenery.
Aya lifted her head and gave him a quick smile.
As they prepared their food, Sharat noticed that there was something refined about her movements and the way she spoke.
“What are you doing living out here all on your own?” he asked. “Where’s your mother?”
For a moment Aya didn’t reply. When she lifted her eyes, t
hey were heavy with pain.
“I don’t have a mother,” she said. “She’s dead.”
“Oh.” Sharat felt a pang of pity. “I’m sorry.”
He paused, not sure what to say next. “How did you end up with the sewer-girls?” he asked.
A shadow crossed Aya’s face. “I met them when I escaped from the Zenana,” she said.
Sharat stared at her in surprise. “What?” he said. “The Zenana inside Shergarh?”
Aya nodded.
Sharat remembered the screened ladies’ quarters inside the palace. His eyes widened. “Are you a princess?” he asked.
“No,” said Aya firmly. “My mother was a princess. I ran away.”
Sharat frowned. “But I thought the Zenana was guarded. How did you get out?”
Aya lifted her chin defiantly. “I got out through the latrine,” she said.
It took a moment for Sharat to understand what she was saying. “Do you mean you jumped into the sewers?” he said in disgust.
Aya’s face tightened. “I didn’t have any choice,” she said. “My mother was being murdered. If I’d stayed I probably would have been murdered, too.”
Sharat was shocked. He wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry,” he ventured.
“Don’t be,” muttered Aya. “At least I’m still alive.” She turned to stir the pot that was bubbling over the fire. “Nara was the one that rescued me,” she added after a moment’s silence.
Sharat gave a short laugh. “I’m surprised she didn’t kill you.”
“Poor Nara,” said Aya. “She can’t help how she is. Terrible things happened to her above ground. She wasn’t dumped in the sewers like the other girls. She ran away.”
Sharat grimaced as he thought of the sewer-girl’s vicious, one-eyed face.
“The sewer-girls aren’t so bad once you get to know them,” Aya told him. “I learned a lot more from them then I ever did in the Zenana. They taught me how to survive in the city.”
“If you say so,” said Sharat.
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