Tiger Thief

by Michaela Clarke

  Lemo still looked confused. “The name does sound familiar,” he admitted.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, stop pandering to the boy,” snapped Pias. “Can’t you see it’s just another one of his stories?”

  Sharat ignored him. He had no time to lock swords with Pias now. He turned to Hussein. “You remember the promise,” he said. “You were the one that told me about it. Tell him we have to get out of here!”

  Hussein’s face wore a shadow of concern, but he shook his head in regret. “It’s too late,” he said. “The Emperor’s guards have already arrived to escort us to Shergarh.”

  Sharat turned to look. There they were. Soldiers. On horseback.

  “Of course we’re not going to leave,” said Pias impatiently. “Have you forgotten how much gold we’re getting for tonight’s show?”

  “Nobody has forgotten, Pias,” said Hussein sharply, but then he turned to Lemo.

  “The boy is right, perhaps we shouldn’t have come back,” he said in a low voice. “I remember your promise, even if you don’t.”

  Lemo eyed Hussein thoughtfully. The mahout was his right-hand man. He trusted him completely. With a sigh he passed his hand across his forehead. “My memory hasn’t been its best since I got married,” he admitted. He glanced at Sharat. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now,” he said. “But let’s make tonight our last night in the City of Jewels.”

  Pias didn’t dare object.

  Hussein smiled down at Sharat. “A day can’t make that much difference, can it?” he said, trying to be reassuring. “Now go and get your things while we hook up Emira’s cage.”

  Sharat hesitated, but he could see that this was the best that he was going to get. For a brief moment he considered taking Emira and escaping to the mountains by himself, but he didn’t quite have the courage. After all, he had no idea what kind of danger he might be facing and he would feel a lot safer travelling with the circus … tomorrow.

  Reluctantly, he gathered together his props and pulled on his new white trousers. Then, with trembling fingers he reached for the amulet. As he looked down at it in wonder, he felt an unfamiliar tugging on his heart strings. Who was his mother? What had she looked like? And why wouldn’t Lemo ever talk about her?

  With a sigh, he slipped the amulet into his pocket. He would show it to his father later – perhaps it would jog his memory – but first they had to perform for the Emperor.

  The circus made a colourful procession as it wound its way through the cobbled streets of the old town towards Shergarh. Both elephants were painted with bold designs. Baba the bull-elephant led the way, pulling Emira’s golden cage, and Tara the she-elephant followed. On their backs sat Lemo and Hussein, looking majestic in their turbans, while Sharat rode proudly on Tara’s neck, guiding her with movements of his feet and a special language used only by mahouts.

  Behind them, the rest of the troupe – magicians, fire-eaters, contortionists and acrobats – trundled along on their painted carts, while Lara the horsewoman brought up the rear, her dark curls decorated with brightly coloured feathers as she looked down from the back of her Arabian stallion. Only Mohini wasn’t there. She’d gone on ahead to help with preparations at the palace.

  Sharat glanced down at the people that lined the streets as they processed through the City of Jewels. By the light of day he thought he could see a look of desperation in their faces and once or twice he caught sight of fights breaking out in the crowds as they jostled for position.

  Up ahead loomed the walls of Shergarh. Beyond those walls it was possible to catch a glimpse of a dome here and a spire there, gleaming in sharp contrast to the grubby streets below.

  Sharat kept his eyes on the tiger’s golden cage as Emira sat staring stonily into the distance. He still felt anxious as he remembered Uma’s warning, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The Emperor’s soldiers were riding alongside them, and soon they were crossing the drawbridge over the moat that surrounded the fortress.

  The gateway into Shergarh was cast in the shape of a dragon’s head with bulging eyes and pointed fangs. Flames spouted from its mouth, but as they approached, the fire subsided and the jaws of the mechanical monster opened to let them in.

  “Uh oh,” said Hussein. “Looks like there’s trouble up ahead.”

  Sure enough, Baba, the old war-elephant, was refusing to go through and, moments later, even sweet-natured Tara bellowed and came to a stop while the whole circus procession ground to a halt behind them.

  “You’ll have to let me take over,” Hussein told Sharat.

  With a nod, Sharat was about to change places with him when a flurry of horses drew up beside them – the Emperor’s soldiers. Dressed in smart brown uniforms and white turbans, they were armed with steel hooks – cruel weapons that were used to train elephants to fight in battles.

  “Stop!” cried Sharat when he saw the gleaming metal, but it was too late. With a harsh shout, one of the soldiers had swung his hook into Baba’s backside. Then another came flying towards Tara’s head.

  The metal pierced her flesh, drawing blood, and she let out a trumpet of pain, but she moved forward with a jerk. Sharat regained his balance and glared at the soldiers. He was about to say something, but Hussein put a hand on his arm.

  “Leave it,” he warned, in a low voice. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  Sharat controlled his temper and leaned over to whisper comfort into Tara’s ear as she was driven through the gates into the fortress grounds.

  Inside Shergarh, the Imperial Guard continued to escort them towards the palace. On either side they passed the mansions of noblemen and public squares that were decorated with tiled fountains and impossibly perfect flowerbeds.

  Sharat looked around in awe, then he frowned. “I thought there weren’t any gardens left in the city?” he said, remembering what Uma had told him.

  Hussein shook his head. “Look closer,” he murmured. “Those plants aren’t real; they’re made out of precious stones.”

  Sharat peered down. Sure enough, the flowers gleamed and sparkled in the sun, their leaves and petals painstakingly sculpted out of jewels to mimic the real thing. Then something else caught his attention.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a small shape that scuttled along the paving in front of them. As he watched, the creature lifted its wings with a metallic buzz and took off, flying straight at them. He snatched it out of the sky. A golden beetle wriggled in his hands.

  “It looks like some kind of toy,” he said, looking down at it in fascination, but as he leaned closer the creature lashed out with razor-sharp legs.

  “Ow!” Sharat dropped the beetle and sucked his finger. It had drawn blood.

  The mechanical creatures were crawling over every jewelled leaf, bringing the artificial gardens to life. Sharat wanted to jump down and catch another one, but they had arrived at the royal palace.

  It was a magnificent building made of white marble. At each corner rose an onion-shaped dome carved in intricate designs. Armed guards led them through an archway into a square courtyard where a pavilion had been set up for the performers and their audience.

  “That must be where the Emperor will sit,” said Hussein, pointing out an area lined with priceless carpets and strewn with cushions of brilliantly coloured silk. In front of them a low table was laid with golden plates and jewelled goblets.

  Next to the Emperor’s pavilion Sharat noticed a smaller enclosure, screened to hide whoever was inside. Just then he saw a flutter of movement and heard the sound of laughter. Despite his misgivings, he felt a thrill of curiosity. This must be part of the Imperial Zenana, where the royal women lived, protected from the eyes of strangers.

  The elephants were led into a grand stable with vaulted ceilings. Hussein whistled, impressed.

  “They say Suleiman loves his animals,” he told Sharat.

  Lemo had dismounted already and was calling out instructions. He caught sight of Sharat still sitting on Tara’s
back.

  “Are you ready?” he demanded.

  Sharat slid down the elephant’s neck and jumped to the floor. “Yes, Father,” he said.

  Lemo nodded and was about to turn away when Sharat caught his hand.

  “Father. Wait!” he said.

  Lemo frowned. “What is it?”

  Sharat pulled out the amulet Uma had given him. “Do you recognise this?” he asked.

  Lemo looked down at the golden bee. “I’ve never seen it before,” he said, frowning as he glanced up at Sharat. “It looks valuable. Where did you get it?”

  “The witch gave it to me,” Sharat told him. He studied his father’s face. “Are you sure you’ve never seen it?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” said Lemo impatiently. “Why are you bothering me with this now? We’ll be on any minute. Go and check on Emira.”

  Sharat felt a strange mixture of disappointment and relief. Surely his father would have recognised the amulet if it had belonged to his mother? And if Uma was a liar, perhaps he wasn’t in any danger after all. Still, once he reached Emira’s cage, he tucked the bee safely away with his things.

  Just then Risa flounced past, dressed in gold. He grabbed her arm.

  “Hey! How are you?” he asked.

  Risa stopped. “No injuries, thanks to you,” she said with a satisfied twirl.

  “I wanted to see you after the accident, but they said you were resting,” Sharat told her.

  “My father thinks it was all your fault,” said Risa.

  “It wasn’t me!” protested Sharat.

  Risa rolled her eyes. “Of course it wasn’t you,” she said. She leaned towards him. “I heard you saw a jinni,” she whispered. “What did it look like?”

  Sharat was about to reply, when Risa was whisked away by a scowling Pias and he found himself facing Mohini. He stepped back to avoid the smell of her heavy perfume, but she just moved closer.

  “Ah, Sharat,” she said. “Don’t run away. I have something for you.”

  She passed him a new hoop and whip.

  Mohini’s scent was making Sharat feel sick. With a grimace he reached out and took the unfamiliar equipment.

  “Why are you giving me these?” he said.

  “They’re gifts from the Emperor,” Mohini told him. “They’re for you to use in the show.”

  Sharat cracked the whip once or twice. He had to admit it was better than his old one.

  “Not bad,” he said.

  Mohini smiled. “The Emperor also left something for Emira,” she said.

  She lifted her hand. A ruby collar glistened against her white fingers, like drops of freshly drawn blood.

  Sharat stared at the glittering rubies. He knew he should be overjoyed to be given such a valuable gift but for some reason he didn’t want to touch them.

  “Go ahead, put them around Emira’s neck,” whispered Mohini, stepping forward to envelop him in a cloud of her perfume.

  Numbly, Sharat took the jewels and turned towards Emira’s cage. She was pacing angrily, but as he opened the door she turned to face him with a stony glare.

  “Come on, Emira,” he said gently as he reached out to grab the fur on her neck.

  She let out a yowl of protest as Sharat hooked the rubies around her throat.

  Mohini was waiting for him to finish. “Beautiful,” she said.

  “I’m taking them off after the show,” muttered Sharat.

  Mohini bowed. “As you wish,” she murmured.

  Just then Lemo hurried past. “The Emperor’s coming,” he called out. “Take your places, everyone!”

  Despite his sense of foreboding, Sharat felt a flutter of excitement. He hurried to find a dark corner so that he could watch.

  Bare-chested servants stood by, lighting the way with flaming torches. Golden lanterns hung from the ceiling of the royal pavilion, casting complex shadows in the twilight. As night fell, a flock of crows appeared from nowhere and darkened the sky, wheeling above the palace.

  Two of them, heavy, black birds with cruel beaks, flew down to perch on the supporting pillars of the pavilion. Blinking their yellow eyes, they turned to look down at Sharat in his hiding place. He shrank back with a shiver.

  Just then Emperor Suleiman arrived, surrounded by his courtiers and bodyguards. He was a stocky boy, not much taller than Sharat, but far more muscular. He wore linen trousers and a white shirt, and a curved sword hung from his belt. He was too young to grow a beard, but an enormous emerald sparkled at the front of his turban and his face was stern.

  He sat down with his courtiers. When they were ready, he clapped his hands.

  “Let the performance begin,” he commanded. His voice was high, but carried authority. Sharat was surprised; he had been expecting to see a spoilt, arrogant boy, but Suleiman had power and dignity and, if the rumours were true, the fearsome weapon around his waist was no toy.

  The flares sprang to life, casting a silver glow on to the circus ring. For a few moments Sharat watched the performance begin, then he went back to Emira’s cage. She let out a reproachful growl.

  “Only one more show,” Sharat told her. “Then we’ll be out of here.”

  Emira tossed her head impatiently. As well as the rubies, she had a lead around her neck. After what had happened the night before, Pias had insisted on it.

  “I’ll undo it when we get to the ring,” Sharat told her as he opened the cage door.

  Tugging the lead, he led her to the back of the circus pavilion. Hussein was waiting in the shadows.

  “How is she?” he asked.

  Sharat shook his head. “Not happy,” he said. “Calm her down while I undo this.”

  Again, Emira growled low in her throat.

  “Steady, girl,” said Hussein, putting a firm hand on her back as Sharat undid the knot. Emira lashed her tail, but there was no repetition of the previous night.

  Sharat let out a sigh of relief. From the corner of his eye, he saw Risa fly though the air towards the trapeze. This time there were no accidents as she spun gracefully through her routine and, at last, Lemo introduced Tiger Boy and Emira, the White Princess.

  “Here goes,” muttered Sharat, running into the ring as he flicked his whip. Right on cue, Hussein released Emira. With a roar, she bounded in after him.

  At first Sharat’s stomach was tight with nerves, but Emira behaved perfectly, and as they went through all their familiar moves, he was pleased to see the Emperor himself lean forward, his face alive with excitement. After that he lost himself in the act and soon it was time for the grand finale.

  With a crack of his whip, he tossed his ring of fire into the air and did a backwards flip, landing neatly on his feet. But this time, as the tiger leapt up to jump through the spinning hoop, the impossible happened. For a moment, Emira and the hoop seemed to hang, frozen in mid-air. Then, before Sharat even had time to blink, there was a flash of light and they both disappeared.

  Confused, he stared up at the empty space above him. Where had Emira gone? Had she landed behind him? Was she hiding? He spun to look around the ring.

  “Emira!” he called out harshly. “Emira?”

  There was no reply.

  “Bravo! Bravo!” cheered the young Emperor, a grin of delight lighting his face at this unexpected illusion. His courtiers joined in with whistles and applause.

  Sharat stopped in the middle of the ring.

  “Don’t clap!” he cried. “That wasn’t part of the show.” He stepped towards the royal pavilion.

  At this the Emperor’s guards glanced at each other and drew their swords.

  Lemo ran out into the ring, closely followed by Hussein. They grabbed Sharat’s arms.

  “What are you doing?” hissed Lemo. “Do you want to get us all killed? Bow down! Bow to the Emperor!”

  Lemo and Hussein threw themselves to the floor, dragging Sharat with them. As they bobbed up and down with their heads touching the dirt, the guards relaxed. At a signal from the Emperor, his men threw bags of gold into
the ring. Sharat forced himself to bow, but he continued to scan the room. Where was Emira?

  Just then one of the courtiers caught his eye. Unlike the others, he wasn’t cheering or clapping. Instead he stood behind the Emperor, watching silently through colourless eyes. Perhaps once he might have been handsome, but now his cheeks were hollow and there was a haunted, hungry look on his sallow face. Suddenly Sharat’s heart skipped a beat. This was the man who’d been waiting by Emira’s cage. The man in black.

  As he stared, Sharat heard the beating of wings and two crows dived down to rake their claws through his hair, cawing in triumph as they flew by. Then, as he ducked, he saw the man in black lift his hand and the crows landed heavily on his arm. One hopped up on to his shoulder, and the other jumped over to perch on his staff.

  Sharat wanted to cry out in alarm, but Lemo and Hussein had finished their bowing and grovelling and were dragging him out of the ring. In desperation he twisted his head for one final glance around the room. With a jolt of fear, he saw that the man in black was looking straight at him. The gaze from his pale eyes was cold and piercing.

  Quickly, Sharat dropped his head, but at the same time he clenched his fists.

  That man knows where Emira is, he thought. I’m sure of it!

  Chapter Seven

  CONSPIRITORS

  Rookh and Mohini stood in Casmerim’s shrine. In front of them lay Emira, tightly bound in spirals of golden wire – Mohini’s treacherous hoop.

  With a look of triumph in her eyes, Mohini waved her hand, and the wire hoop thickened and grew to form a golden cage. Inside, Emira looked stunned, her eyes as red as the rubies around her neck.

  Rookh eyed Mohini with approval. “Well done,” he said. “Not bad for a handmaid.”

  With a swish of his robes he lifted her hand to his lips and shivered as he inhaled her scent.

  A faint smile twisted Mohini’s lips, but she bowed her head in submission. “Thank you, master,” she whispered.

  Rookh eyed her with fascinated suspicion. Playing the subservient jinni, he thought. He knew Mohini only too well. Thankfully she couldn’t disobey him. “Tell me, how did you do it?” he asked.