by Jon Berkeley
“If this is being dead,” grumbled Baltinglass of Araby, “I’d rather go back to being a living fossil.”
“Patience.” Nura laughed as she swept back into the room. “It will take a little time to extract you from there.”
It did indeed take some time, as the trapdoor through which their heads poked had to be carefully dismantled again before they could be released. They were stiff and cramped from crouching on the stone staircase that led down from the trapdoor into the storeroom below. Miles, who had toured with the Circus Bolsillo as a magician’s assistant, was more accustomed than the others to being confined in awkward spaces. It was he who had spotted the trapdoor in the corner of the room and had given shape to that part of Nura’s plan. They had cut three circular holes in the trapdoor and separated the wooden boards so that they could be assembled around their necks once they were in position. He knew that it would be no easy task to fool the Great Cortado with a circus trick, but as the rest of the floor was tiled in stone he reasoned that hiding the trapdoor with sand would make it look all the more convincing, and it seemed he had been right. A liberal sprinkling of berry juice had been enough to complete the illusion.
“There’s a small snag,” said Baltinglass of Araby, knocking his pipe on the table to dislodge sand that had found its way into it. “As things stand we’ll have to make the return journey without the boy’s head, which has proved fairly useful in the past.”
“Can’t we just give Cortado a box of ice and nail it shut?” said Little.
“We’d have to put a rock in or something,” said Miles. “Once the ice has melted and the water has run out the box will be too light. If he gets suspicious and tries to open it, it will be a disaster.”
“You’re right,” said Nura. “But we can do better than that. I’ll have a sheep’s head packed instead. When the ice runs out it will begin to smell, as I warned him. It will quickly become unbearable and I will persuade him to throw it away unopened. No ship will take him on board with it anyhow.”
Miles nodded his agreement. It was a little unsettling to be discussing the fate of what might easily have been his own head, but on the other hand he was pleased to discover that his aunt seemed to see the world from a perspective that was familiar to him. He thought of the plans he could have made with his mother had she lived, and the fun they could have had together; then he reluctantly put the thought out of his head.
They spent the morning preparing for the return journey of Miles, Little and Baltinglass, who would make a head start in order to get to Al Bab as quickly as possible. The air was unusually humid, and thunderclouds rumbled over the distant mountains. Miles helped Nura pack the saddlebags with fresh provisions and clean clothing, and they buckled them onto the camels in silence while a couple of the local children kept watch for any sign of Tau-Tau and Cortado. When they were finished Nura smiled at Miles and said, “You should say good-bye to your grandmother.”
“I think I got off on the wrong foot with her,” said Miles as they climbed the stone stairs into the coolness of the house. “And I don’t think she was all that pleased to see me in the first place.”
“It would be a mistake to believe that,” said Nura. “My mother hardened herself when Celeste died, but inside her heart beats the same as before.” They reached the old lady’s door and Nura knocked softly. Miles’s grandmother sat in her accustomed place, propped up on her pillows with her hands crossed in her lap.
“Miles will be leaving soon,” said Nura, and she pushed him gently inside.
The old lady patted the edge of the bed without a word, and Miles sat down.
“I am a little too old for surprises,” said his grandmother, “and on the rare occasions I meet one I usually just want it to disappear. You are obviously a boy of great courage and determination and I should not have dismissed you as I did.”
Miles shifted uncomfortably. “That’s all right,” he said.
“You plan to try to release your father from this stone,” said his grandmother, “and to restore him to himself?”
Miles nodded. “Do you think it can be done?” he said.
“If it were anyone else asking I would say absolutely not. In your case, Miles, I think it is unlikely, but not impossible.”
“Because I’m his son?”
“Because you are Celeste’s son,” said the old lady. “I never met your father. By all accounts he was a kind man and good with animals, but those talents would be of no use in what you are trying to do. It is the gifts that you inherited from your mother that turn the odds just slightly in your favor. Nura tells me you have both the far eyes and the bright hands.” She looked at Miles with her piercing eyes. “Do you know how unusual that is?”
“I’m not sure if I really have,” said Miles. He could not remember discussing anything of the kind with Nura.
“You can see things that have not yet happened?” said the old lady. Miles nodded. “And you have healed injuries that looked beyond curing?”
“I suppose so,” said Miles.
The old lady clucked disapprovingly. “‘I think,’ ‘I suppose,’” she said. “I never heard of anyone besides Celeste who possessed both gifts. You’ve grown up without anyone to teach you how to use them, though you are not to blame for that.”
She leaned forward and grabbed Miles’s chin as she had when examining his teeth the night before, but this time she looked into his eyes. “You have much to learn,” she said, “and a short time to do it in. To restore your father you will need the far eyes to see all parts of the puzzle at once, and the bright hands to steal the energy to do what’s necessary. The Tiger’s Egg is just a tool to help you focus your powers. You have learned the key?”
Miles nodded. “I don’t know what it means, though,” he said.
“You might never know until the moment comes to use it,” said his grandmother. She sat back against the pillow. “In this case the tiger’s power is entangled twice over. It is tied up with the soul of the very person you wish to save, and it is also bound by the promise your mother made. You will have to keep her promise to the Fir Bolg.”
Miles looked at her in surprise. “Yesterday you advised me to ignore it,” he said.
“Yesterday I told you to throw the stone in the sea. If you did that you’d have no reason to keep the promise. You did not make it yourself, after all.” She sat back and crossed her hands in her lap. “But you cannot undo the Tiger’s Egg without discharging any promise that binds it.”
Miles looked at his grandmother as he tried to take in everything she had told him. His strange abilities to ease pain and to predict what was about to happen had seemed up to now to be random accidents that were largely outside his control. Now that he had the Tiger’s Egg back and was about to set off for Partridge Manor he realized he could no longer afford to view them in this way.
“Can I ask you something?” he said to his grandmother.
“What is it?” she said.
“If I do manage to restore my father, what will happen to the tiger?”
His grandmother smiled sadly. “The tiger has had a long life,” she said. “Longer than most.”
Miles was surprised to see tears glistening in her red-rimmed eyes, and it made him embarrassed at the question he had asked. He waited to see if there was more to her answer, but the old lady just sighed. “Always the tigers,” she said, shaking her head. “You are just like your mother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE HICCUP MAN
The Great Cortado and Doctor Tau-Tau, villain-in-chief and fool-in-a-fez, sweated and snored in their no-star lodgings, sleeping away the afternoon heat. They had given the smallest coin they could find to a boy whom they found loitering in the street outside, and asked him to wake them before sundown. The boy had reported straight back to Baltinglass of Araby, who had given him twenty times as much to make sure that he woke them as late as possible. Now as they slumbered in their itchy beds three camels padded quietly past their windo
w, bearing on their backs a Song Angel, a blind adventurer and the boy whose head Cortado believed would be boxed and safely packed in his saddlebag.
Miles had agreed with Nura upon a story that would bring the Great Cortado and Doctor Tau-Tau to Larde in search of the grave of the Egg’s creator, where they could be arrested by none other than Sergeant Bramley. Miles had explained to Nura that the sergeant was familiar with both men and was sure to oblige without the need for explanations and evidence, two things in which he was not a great believer in the first place.
Now Miles and his companions were headed for Wa’il, where their camels could be watered and they could have a short rest before resuming their journey well before Cortado and Tau-Tau had even set out from Kagu. The prospect of a long camel ride had lost much of its appeal, but Miles had not forgotten that he was leader of the expedition, and he made it his business to keep up his spirits and those of his companions.
They reached Wa’il as the sun began to sink behind the bluffs. They had no difficulty finding Captain Tripoli’s house. Their camels remembered the cool stables and the fine feed they had been given on their previous visit, and almost broke into a trot as they made their way unerringly through the narrow lanes.
They were greeted warmly by Dassin, who told them that the captain had left the day before to repay his debt to Kadin al Arfam. He had taken Temzi and two of his sons with him, and to Miles’s disappointment they were not expected back until the following day. A supper was quickly laid out in the courtyard, and they sat down to eat while their camels were being tended. Miles was impatient to get back on the road, and he had to make an effort to be polite. As they finished their meal one of Captain Tripoli’s younger daughters came into the courtyard, giving Baltinglass a nervous sidelong glance as she approached her mother.
“The Hiccup Man is outside,” she told Dassin. “He says he knew Mr. Baltinglass before he was dead.”
Baltinglass paused, a mouthful of food halfway to his mouth. “Am I dead?” he said.
“The dead do not have such an appetite, Baltinglass effendi,” said Dassin. She seemed mildly irritated at the news of their uninvited guest.
“Didn’t think so,” said Baltinglass, “but when you get to my age it’s as well to check now and then.”
“Who is the Hiccup Man?” asked Little.
“He lives in a cave on the edge of town,” said Dassin. “He calls himself an inventor. He is always busy with some new contraption. There are sometimes explosions, but he is harmless enough.”
“Harmless in-hic-deed,” said the Hiccup Man, letting himself in without waiting for further introduction. He was a gangly man with bird’s-nest hair, and he peered about the yard through a pair of wire-framed spectacles. He spotted Baltinglass at once and marched over toward him, hand extended, like a clockwork stork. “Baltin-hic-glass!” he said. “I heard a rumor you had passed through here, but I didn’t hic-believe it! I’ve taken you for dead these many years.” He showed his buff-colored teeth in a crooked smile. “You won’t re-hic-member me, Baltinglass. I joined an ill-fated expedition of yours many years ago, when I was just a boy of six-hic-teen, working for the local paper.”
Baltinglass sat upright, and his jaw dropped slightly. “Tenniel?” he croaked. “Of course I remember, but I lost you to a sandstorm. I’ve had your death on my conscience all these years.”
“I was lost for a long time, but I survived,” said the Hiccup Man. “The people here took me in and they were good to me. When the time came to hic-leave I got half a day’s ride along the track; then I turned and came back. There was noth-hic I wanted that I didn’t already have, and I’ve lived here ever since.”
Dassin brought a clean cup for Tenniel and poured him a coffee. “Sit,” she said.
“It’s good to hear your voice again, boy,” said Baltinglass. “I don’t mind telling you that you drove me up the wall on that journey, but that’s nothing to the sleepless nights you’ve given me since you’ve been dead.”
The Hiccup Man hic-laughed. His hair, his clothes, even his skin were a uniformly sandy color, as though he were gradually turning into the stuff of his adopted home. “I’m no more dead-hic than you are, Baltinglass, but I’m hardly a boy either.”
“Do you have hiccups all the time?” asked Little.
“I’ve had hic-hiccups ever since the afore-hic-mentioned sandstorm. Xaali the healer says a bad spirit entered me while I was lost in the storm, but it’s hic-lodged so deep she can’t flush it out.” He leaned forward and spoke in a loud whisper. “You’ve arrived at the perfect time, Baltinglass. I’ve been working on a fabulous contraption—a machine that can fly! I’d be delighted to give you a demonstration after supper.”
“No time, I’m afraid,” said Baltinglass. “We’ll be leaving as soon as our camels have been plumped up and dusted. This young adventurer, Miles Wednesday, is on an urgent mission and we need to get going as soon as possible.”
The Hiccup Man turned to Miles, his eyes glinting. “Then perhaps I can shorten your journey!” he said. “My fly-hic-ing machine will go faster than any camel, with the right following wind and a high-hic-hoctane fuel and a little luck.”
“You can save your breath, Tenniel,” said Baltinglass. “We came down from our last sky jaunt in flames. I’m lucky to be talking to you without barbecue sauce on, boy.”
“Well, of course, a camel-hic ride is far safer—,” began Tenniel, but Miles interrupted him.
“How much faster?”
“Oh . . .” The Hiccup Man grinned, scratching his sandy hair. “Three times?”
“And it could carry all of us?” asked Little, her eyes shining.
“Without a doubt,” said Tenniel, looking like his doubts were being quietly smothered. “The design is based on the drawings of Leonardo da Vinci, with some modifications of my own. It’s pure hic-genius. I’ll just need to add a couple of extra seats.”
“How long would that take?” asked Miles.
“I can have her fueled and refitted in an hour, at hic-most,” said Tenniel.
Miles looked at his companions. He could see Little’s thoughts were already headed skyward, but Baltinglass was muttering darkly to himself from inside a plume of hookah smoke. “We’ll take a look,” said Miles, “and see what we think.”
“By all hic-means, do!” said Tenniel. “You won’t be disappointed.”
They thanked Dassin for their supper and said their good-byes, and Dassin promised that Temzi would look after the camels if they did not come back for them. They set off on foot for the Hiccup Man’s cave, keeping a sharp lookout for any sign of Cortado, Tau-Tau and Nura on the road, although they did not expect to see them for some time yet. Tenniel stalked ahead enthusiastically, jerking with each hiccup as if one of his cogs were missing a tooth. Miles carried the singed duffel bag over his shoulder. Something sharp poked into his back, but he did not want to spend time rearranging the contents, so he shifted the bag to a more comfortable position. The heat had left the evening air and a cool breeze blew, bringing the scent of distant rain and the sound of cicadas, chirping their washboard songs to the evening stars.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE RUNAWAY CLOUD
Baltinglass of Araby, once-bitten and fly-shy, stumped along beside Miles, his cane measuring out his temper on the dusty road. “You sure you’re not making a big mistake, Master Miles?” he said quietly. “It doesn’t sound like Tenniel has a reputation for mechanical genius. We’ll be lucky to get off the ground, never mind flying three times faster than a camel ride.”
“It’s not the speed I’m thinking of,” said Miles. “It’s the sea crossing. We can’t take the same ship as Cortado and Tau-Tau, and we certainly can’t wait a week for the next one.”
“Stowing away was good enough for me when I was a boy,” grumbled Baltinglass.
“We can’t risk it,” said Miles. “If Cortado were to see any of us alive there’s no knowing what he’d do to Nura.” Thunder rolled on the horizon, and Mil
es saw an unaccustomed anxiety in the old man’s face. “I’m sure it’ll be all right,” said Miles. “The design is Leonardo da Vinci’s, remember?”
They took a narrow path that wound up from the main track toward the Hiccup Man’s cave. The entrance was a natural arch in the rock face, and inside the cave it was surprisingly cool and airy. Tenniel lit an assortment of lamps that were suspended from the ceiling, and the cave was bathed in a warm yellow light.
Standing in the center of the floor, surrounded by a jumble of wood, wire and metal, stood Tenniel’s contraption. It was indeed a sight to behold. There was a pyramid-shaped wooden frame like the skeleton of a tepee, topped by an enormous conical screw, while mounted on the spars of the frame were four canvas bat wings attached to a series of pulleys and cables that issued from a squat engine inside the frame. The whole structure was built on a concave circular platform like a giant saucer, onto which a pair of rickety wooden chairs had been bolted. Miles let out his breath in a whoosh at the sight of the machine.
“Describe the thing to me, boy,” said Baltinglass.
“How long have you got?” said Miles.
The Hiccup Man produced a large book with yellowed pages and held it out for Miles to examine. The pages were covered in diagrams and spidery brown writing that Miles recognized from the entry on Leonardo da Vinci in Lady Partridge’s encyclopedias. There was a machine with many pulleys and four narrow wings sticking out at an angle, and another that featured the large conical screw that stood on top of Tenniel’s frame. In both drawings men were sketched inside the frame, where the engine stood in the Hiccup Man’s contraption. The men in the sketches were hard at work pedaling or cranking to provide power for their machines.
“Of course, I have combined-hic a couple of the original designs, and introduced the modern adaptation of an engine,” said Tenniel, “but essentially she is da Vinci’s ornithopter brought to hic-life. Isn’t she a beauty?”
