Tiger Thief

by Michaela Clarke

  “Poor Alcherisma,” said Aya. “I hope Rookh didn’t catch him.”

  “Never mind Alcherisma,” said Sharat. “What about Emira?” He felt like his heart would break as he remembered the sight of her desperate eyes. “How am I going to rescue her now?”

  All of a sudden, Aya clutched his arm. “Wait a minute!” she said. “Ghuls are jinnis.”

  “So what?” said Sharat miserably.

  Aya’s eyes were bright with excitement as she pointed at the ghostly forms that dangled in front of them.

  “Maybe one of them knows your jinni name?” she said.

  With a shiver, Sharat lifted his head to look up at their fellow prisoners. As they hung from the wall, their hoods had fallen back to reveal pitiful faces, barely more than skin and bone. Their hollowed eyes were closed in pain.

  “They’re half dead,” he said dismissively. “I don’t think they can even talk.”

  There was a steely look in Aya’s eye. “So what?” she said. “I woke things up from the dead in Fonke’s shop.”

  Sharat’s heart skipped a beat. “The Mazaria!” he said.

  Aya was already reaching into her bag. Quickly, she pulled out the little instrument. As she did so the silver fingers wiggled invitingly.

  Sharat took a sharp breath. “It’s showing you what to play!” he said.

  Aya nodded. Trembling with excitement she cupped it in her hands. Then, as she began to pluck the silver fingers, the clear, pure sound of the Mazaria broke the silence of the dungeon. The ghuls’ eyelids began to flutter.

  Sharat felt a thrill. “Keep going!” he said. “It’s working!”

  But before Aya could play another note, the iron maiden’s mouth flew open and she let out a series of blood-curdling screams.

  “Aiiiii! Aiiiiiii! Aiiiiiiiiii!”

  As she screamed, Aya froze. Moments later, there was a blast of searing wind, and before either of them could react, Doctor Rookh materialised before them, flanked by two of his demons.

  “Silence!” he called out harshly.

  Raising his staff, he took aim, and the ghuls disappeared in a flash of lightning as their robes crumpled, empty, to the floor. Then, with a sharp move, he flicked the Mazaria out of Aya’s hands and brought a boot-clad foot down on to the delicate wooden drum, shattering it with a single stomp. As he kicked it out of the way, the mangled silver fingers shrank into a fist and were still.

  “No!” cried Aya.

  Doctor Rookh looked down at her in disgust. “I’ll kill you, too, if you’re not careful,” he vowed.

  Aya’s face crumpled in despair and she began to cry, hot tears spilling down her face.

  Sharat felt sick with shock. Burning with helpless rage, all he could do was wrap his arms around his friend and hold her tight.

  “Leave her alone!” he spat, no longer caring what Rookh might do.

  Rookh’s eyes were cold. “You’re in no position to make demands,” he said.

  For a moment Sharat felt utterly helpless. Then suddenly he realised he did have one final bargaining point. Rookh wanted Emira dead, and if Fonke had been telling the truth, only he could use the silver sword. He shivered as he remembered the power of that weapon. If only it could find the right target.

  Swallowing, he looked up at Rookh.

  “Take me back to Emira!” he said. “I’ll kill her, but please, please … just let Aya go!”

  A look of horror crossed Aya’s face. “No!” she gasped. “Sharat … you can’t!”

  “What else can I do?” asked Sharat, turning to her in desperation. “One of us has to get out of here.”

  Rookh’s lips curled. “I’m afraid it’s too late for bargains,” he said. “Mohini has come up with a far more entertaining solution.”

  Sharat felt his stomach twist in revulsion. “What does she want?” he said.

  “You and your tiger are to meet again in the ring,” Rookh told him. “Only this performance will be much more interesting than it ever was at the circus. This time it will be a fight to the death.”

  With a click of his fingers he summoned the demons. “Take the boy to the workshop!” he ordered.

  The horrible creatures cackled as they seized Sharat and bound his arms to his body.

  “You won’t get out of that, tiger boy,” jeered one of them.

  Sharat felt a wave of panic as the demons dragged him towards the door. “Wait!” he called. “What about Aya? What will happen to her?”

  Rookh’s face was hard. “The girl stays here until either you or the tiger are dead,” he said.

  Sharat and Aya’s eyes locked in horror.

  “No!” Aya gasped.

  “I’ll come back and get you. I promise,” cried Sharat, but before Aya could answer, the metal door slammed shut behind him.

  There was a dangerous smile on Rookh’s face as he stepped towards the stone bench.

  “So, this is little Aya,” he said, his voice soft with threat.

  Aya shrank away in horror. She’d been hoping he’d forgotten her. “You know who I am?” she managed to ask.

  “I do now,” said Rookh. He glanced contemptuously down at the mangled Mazaria that lay lifeless on the floor. “You gave yourself away when you played your mother’s instrument.”

  Aya’s heart wrenched, but despite everything that had happened she no longer felt scared of Doctor Rookh. Slowly, she lifted her head, and for the first time she dared to look him straight in the eyes.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she demanded.

  Rookh leaned closer. “What would you do with a runaway daughter?” he said.

  “Daughter?” gasped Aya, staring up at him in disbelief.

  “Of course,” said Rookh. His lip curled. “You’re my daughter. Didn’t your mother tell you?”

  Numbly, Aya shook her head.

  Rookh leaned over her. “Just think,” he whispered. “You could have been enjoying life as the most important princess in the Zenana. Instead you ran away to live in the sewers.”

  Aya could feel his breath on her cheek, but she tried not to flinch in the flickering glare of his diabolical eyes.

  “Let me go!” she begged. “What have I ever done to you? What has anyone ever done to you?”

  Rookh’s face closed like a vice. “We’re not talking about me,” he snapped.

  Shaking with rage, he lifted his staff. Aya shrank back, expecting the worst. But Rookh had no intention of letting her go that easily. A gust of air whipped up his robes. And before she could blink, he was gone.

  * * *

  Moments later, Rookh was back in the womb-like chamber that separated his workshop from the mines. Cape swirling, he spun to face the urn that stood waiting against the blood-red walls. He’d caught the tiger and dealt with the brats. Now it was time for the Queen of the Forest to witness her final defeat.

  Putting his hand on the stone, his lips twisted.

  “So, Casmerim,” he murmured. “You thought you could outwit me, but you were wrong.”

  With a snap of his fingers, he summoned two of his demons. In an instant they stepped out of the shadows.

  “Take her out!” he said sharply. “I want her to watch the fight.”

  The demons hesitated. “Are you sure that’s wise, master?” said one of them. “She’ll wake up once she sees the light. What if she finds a way to escape?”

  “What can she do?” demanded Rookh. “She’s still my slave.”

  “But she’s the Queen of the Jinnis,” the other demon reminded him.

  A look of impatience crossed Rookh’s face. “Cowards!” he said. “You call yourself demons, but you’re as jittery as a pair of old hens!”

  Lifting his staff, he pointed it towards the urn and the stone shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Casmerim’s body tumbled out, as fragrant as ever. She wore only her underclothes, creamy white against her skin, and her luxuriant hair cascaded over her emaciated form.

  Eagerly, Rookh stepped towards her, hi
s actions betraying his true feelings, but as he gazed down at the skeletal body at his feet, his expression turned to one of disgust.

  “Look at you! You’re a ghul now, just like the rest,” he sneered. With a quick move he reached down to flip her over, but instead of the sleeping woman he’d expected to find, her skin was icy cold.

  Roughly, he brushed the hair from her face. Still she didn’t move, but to his horror he saw that her eyes were open. Worse still was the smile that touched her lips. Mocking him.

  He stepped back in shock. “No,” he breathed. “You can’t be dead. Not now.”

  So many times he’d tried to kill her. And so many times he’d failed. Until he’d assumed she was immortal, would always be his plaything, would one day call him master…

  Rookh pressed his lips together. It was to have been the moment of his greatest triumph, but in an instant everything turned sour. With the Queen dead who would there be to witness his victory? What chance now for redemption? What chance now for love?

  With a sharp movement he lifted his staff, and a blast of lightning enveloped the Queen’s body in a cloak of flames.

  “Yes, master! Yes!” cackled one of the demons. “Now she’ll never escape.”

  Rookh didn’t reply. He knew the demons were right. He was better off without Casmerim. Mohini was a far more suitable match. But even as the Queen turned to ash he knew that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to erase the memory of that final, taunting, smile.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  SIMILICKER

  As the demons pulled Sharat into Rookh’s workshop, the air was thick with the smell of despair.

  With lanky strides, Neek marched towards them and pinched the flesh on Sharat’s arm.

  “Looks healthier than most,” he remarked tonelessly.

  “Just make sure you don’t kill him,” one of the demons warned him. “He’s important.”

  “Oh, I won’t kill him,” said Neek. “I just need to make sure he functions properly.” With a sure grip he seized Sharat’s arm.

  “Good luck!” the demons cackled as they left.

  Sharat glared up into Neek’s expressionless face. “What are you going to do to me?” he asked.

  Neek didn’t catch his eye. “You’re to be prepared to fight the tiger,” he said. “Doctor’s orders.”

  Sharat felt a sudden rush of panic.

  “No! I’m not fighting Emira!” he said, struggling.

  Neek held on tight. “You can’t get away, so don’t try,” he said. “The lickers will get you.”

  As if in reply, a chorus of clicking swept through the room. With a shudder, Sharat glanced up at Rookh’s mechanical creatures as they swarmed in and out of their cells in the dome above. He knew he had to convince Neek to let him go, but how? All at once he remembered Suleiman’s cheering face as he’d watched the show.

  “Does the Emperor know what you’re doing?” he demanded as Neek pulled him through the workshop.

  “The Emperor’s out hunting,” said Neek mechanically. “He doesn’t know a thing.”

  Sharat’s heart sank. He scanned the room, trying to find Emira’s cage, but the iron box was nowhere to be seen.

  Then, in the midst of despair, he saw a flash of colour and heard a squawk.

  “Bite him!” cried a voice. “Bite him and run away!”

  Sharat turned his head. A pair of beady eyes and a great curved beak surveyed him from inside one of the cages.

  “Pay no attention,” droned Neek. “They always want to bite. They also try pecking, kicking, punching, etc, etc, but they can’t get away, and neither will you.”

  Quickly, he opened the cage next to the beady-eyed creature and shoved Sharat in. Then he turned the lock and strode away.

  “Wait!” cried Sharat. “You can’t lock me up like an animal!” But Neek was already gone.

  In dismay, Sharat tried to make himself comfortable, but it was almost impossible. He barely had room to squat. All around him were cages filled with silent, miserable animals – dogs, cats, a squirrel, several monkeys, and a host of mangy birds.

  “I told you to bite him!” squawked the raucous voice from next door.

  Sharat turned to see who was speaking. There was a shiver of feathers and he found himself facing a big, green parrot. He felt a nudge of recognition.

  “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” he asked.

  “Seen me before? Seen me before?” squawked the parrot. He clicked his beak, then his feathers shivered again and changed colour to blaze gold and red.

  “You’re Uma’s bird!” said Sharat in surprise.

  “Who’s a clever little boy, then?” crowed the parrot. “Ripiraja! Ripiraja!”

  “You can talk!” said Sharat. “I mean, you really know what you’re saying.”

  The bird blinked his eyes. “Know what I’m saying?” he asked in an outraged tone. Then he lowered his voice and sidled closer. “Of course I know what I’m saying.”

  Sharat eyed the parrot. “How did you end up down here?” he asked.

  “Got caught!” Ripiraja told him. “Nasty demons! Night-crows. Caaw! Caaaw! Caaaaw!” he crowed. For a moment his beak lengthened and his feathers grew dark. Then he shivered himself back to colour again.

  “What happened to Uma?” asked Sharat.

  “Ran away! Ran away!” said Ripi.

  Sharat shook his head. “I’m glad someone got away,” he said miserably. “Everyone else I’ve met in this city is down here. Nara, Aya, and now you…”

  Ripiraja clicked his beak and his head tilted sideways. “Aya?” he said. “Little girl? Curly hair?”

  Sharat nodded. “That’s her,” he said.

  “Where is she?” asked Ripi.

  “Stuck in the dungeons,” Sharat told him. “She was helping me find Emira.”

  The parrot looked crestfallen. “Poor little Aya,” he crooned.

  Sharat’s heart wrenched as he thought about his friend. What chance did she have now? “If only there was some way of finding the amulet,” he said, thinking out loud. “Aya’s still got one more wish.”

  “What amulet?” squawked Ripiraja.

  “It looks like a golden bee, with a big, blue diamond in the middle,” Sharat explained. “Uma gave it to me.”

  Ripiraja’s eyes flashed in recognition. “Jinni amulet!” he crowed. “Magic! Magic!”

  “That’s the one,” said Sharat.

  “Where is it?” asked Ripi.

  Sharat grimaced. “I don’t know,” he said. “Rookh’s taken it.”

  The parrot grasped the door of his cage with one of his claws and gave it a shake. “I’ll find it!” he cawed. “Let me out! Let me out!”

  Sharat felt a stirring of hope. “Do you really think you can?” he asked.

  “I can try!” squawked the bird.

  His heart pounding, Sharat’s gaze shifted to the latch on the parrot’s cage. Quickly, he tried to reach through the bars towards the lock, but his hands were too big. “If only I had some kind of stick!” he said, rattling the bars in frustration.

  Ripiraja clicked his beak. “Quick! Quick!” he squawked. “Here comes Neek.”

  Sure enough, the lanky technician was striding towards them.

  Sharat’s mind was racing. He had to get Ripiraja out of there. It might be their only hope. Suddenly an idea came to him. He pulled his hands away from the latch.

  “Play dead!” he hissed through the bars.

  Ripiraja didn’t stop to ask why. With a strangled caw, he collapsed on to the floor of his cage, a common green parrot again, but this time his feathers were dull, and his feet stuck rigidly into the air as a nasty odour began to waft from the direction of his body.

  By now Neek had reached Sharat’s cage. “Out you come, tiger boy,” he said tonelessly.

  Sharat grimaced. “Before you take me you should do something about that bird,” he said, pointing at Ripiraja in disgust. “It stinks!”

  The shadow of a frown cr
ossed Neek’s face. He shifted his gaze to Ripiraja and rattled the cage. The bird toppled over on to his side.

  “Dead?” said Neek in surprise. He frowned. “How did that happen?”

  Sharat shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t look after it properly,” he said. “I bet Rookh won’t be too pleased.”

  A faint trace of worry appeared on Neek’s usually placid face. “I’d better dispose of it before the smell gets any worse,” he muttered.

  Sharat held his breath as Neek unlocked the cage and reached for the parrot.

  “I know, I’ll feed it to the tiger,” he said, looking pleased with himself.

  “No!” cried Sharat. “You can’t do that… It’s … it’s diseased. It might make her sick.”

  “Parrots and tigers don’t have the same sicknesses,” Neek told him. “The tiger will be happy. They like bird meat.” He hurried off, holding Ripiraja tightly in his hands.

  Sharat knew only too well how much Emira liked birds from their hunting trips in the mountains. Normally the tiger wouldn’t eat rotting meat, but would Ripiraja be able to fool her too? And even if he did, what were the chances of him finding the amulet? Sharat’s stomach clenched, but he didn’t have long to think about the parrot’s fate. As he stared out of the cage he saw someone else coming. It was a girl dressed in yellow robes.

  She moved from cage to cage, dropping in bits of food for the animals, and changing their water. Once she reached his cage she gave him a quick glance and shoved a stale chapatti through the bars.

  Sharat felt a jolt of recognition. “Nara!”

  The sewer-girl stared. Her blind eye was repaired now. A ruby had taken its place and a golden plaque covered half her face. The other eye flashed coldly. Then she recognised him. “Tiger boy,” she said with a sneer. “So, he got you in the end.”

  “What are you doing here?” asked Sharat. “I thought you were being taken to work in the mines.”

  “I told you I knew how to make myself useful,” said Nara. “I’ve been chosen to serve Doctor Rookh himself.” Her face hardened into triumph. “He told me I was unusually talented. He’s going to make me his heir.”

  “That’s funny,” said Sharat. “He told me the same thing, but it’s not much of a job feeding the animals, is it?”