Tiger Thief

by Michaela Clarke

  Nara glowered at him. “This is just the beginning,” she snapped. She lifted her head in pride. “I won’t be staying here for long. I’m going to be a licker.”

  Sharat felt a chill pass through him. “What do you mean, you’re going to be a licker?” he asked. “They’re just machines, aren’t they?”

  Nara shook her head. “That shows how much you know,” she said scornfully. “The lickers aren’t machines. They are all real animals to begin with. Then Neek slowly replaces bits of their body with gold and jewels, until they become immortal.” She leaned forward. “That’s why the ghuls were stealing children,” she said. “Neek uses them for his experiments. I’m the first one that didn’t die.” She touched her new eye proudly.

  Sharat stared at Nara in horror. “But if you become a licker, you won’t even be human any more,” he said. “You’ll turn into a machine.”

  Nara shook her head. “I’ll never be a machine,” she told him. “I’ll always be a girl. A golden girl, living forever in my beautiful golden body.”

  Just then Neek came back to the workshop. He stood behind Nara. “It’s a tricky process,” he said. “It took me a long time to get it right. We have to take it one step at a time. Get it wrong, and you’ve just got a lump of metal and rotting meat.”

  Sharat’s flesh crawled. “What if Nara changes her mind?” he asked. “Can you reverse the process?”

  Neek shook his head. “Once you start there’s no going back,” he said. “If you remove the gold after it’s been implanted it tears away the soul, and the specimen dies.”

  He reached down and unlocked Sharat’s cage. “But never mind the others,” he said. “It’s your turn now.”

  Sharat stared at him. “Are you saying you want to make me into a licker?” he asked in horror.

  “Rookh’s orders,” said Neek, reaching into the cage.

  All of a sudden, Sharat was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread.

  “No! Don’t! Let me go!” he yelled as Neek grabbed him. But Neek had no mercy. With a vice-like grip, he held Sharat’s struggling body out at arm’s length as he carried him over to the workbench. Then he pinned him firmly down to the cold surface while Nara clamped his arms and legs so that he couldn’t move.

  Sharat twisted his head, desperately trying to see what was going on. As he watched, Neek opened a box and pulled out a small disc of gold with slender rays extending from its round body.

  “Stay still,” Neek told him. “This won’t hurt.”

  “No! Get off!” cried Sharat, wrenching his arms as he tried to get free, but no circus trick could help him now. Neek was already holding the disc over his heart. Then, with a sudden movement, the rays of gold lifted themselves up like a set of spiders’ legs and dived down into his chest, embedding themselves deeply into his flesh.

  Sharat gasped. For a moment there was a flash of excruciating pain, but it passed almost immediately. Instead, a sense of warmth flooded his body, and all at once he felt more blissfully happy than he had ever felt in his life.

  Basking in this unexpected sensation, he looked gratefully up at Neek and Nara, but he barely had time to smile before his eyes closed, and soon he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  PRISONER

  Aya was left shackled with the sound of rats gnawing in the dark corners of the dungeon and only the ghosts of the ghuls for company, but that wasn’t the worst. Doctor Rookh’s terrible words had left her feeling sick to the core.

  You’re my daughter.

  Aya had never wondered about her father before. Now, shadowy memories of Rookh’s frequent visits to the Zenana returned to her. He’d been the only man ever to intrude into the peaceful space her mother had created, bringing anger, violence, and ultimately murder. Her mother had hated him, but that wouldn’t have stopped him from making her his wife.

  The chains on Aya’s ankles clanked as she lifted her feet off the floor and curled herself into a tiny ball of pain. Hugging her knees, she cried until there were no tears left. Afterwards she lay huddled and still. How she wished her mother was still alive.

  With an aching heart, she folded her hands and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Mama, if you’re there somewhere, please help me find a way out of this prison,” she begged.

  For a moment she lost herself in her memories, remembering her mother’s laugh and the games they used to play in their little garden.

  Just then, she heard a jangle of keys at the door and her eyes flew open in the hope that by some magic her prayer had been answered.

  It was Mohini. As she entered the dungeon she slipped the keys into her pocket. She was carrying a wooden platter.

  Aya sat up in a hurry and pushed the tears from her eyes. She eyed Mohini with undisguised hatred.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Mohini put the platter down on the stone bench. On it was a clay pot of water and a loaf of bread. “I’ve brought you some food,” she said.

  Aya barely glanced at it. “Why bother?” she asked, her voice bitter. “Rookh’s only going to keep me locked up in this dungeon.”

  “Don’t worry, he won’t keep you here forever,” Mohini reassured her. “He just likes to frighten people.” She lowered her voice. “Between you and me, I think he was rather impressed by you. You are his daughter, after all.”

  Aya felt her soul shrink. Part of her had been hoping that it was all a horrible mistake. “So it’s true,” she whispered.

  Mohini’s mouth twisted. “Of course it’s true,” she said. “What did you think? That your mother was some kind of saint?”

  Aya pressed her lips together in pain.

  “That’s it,” Mohini told her. “Be a good girl and keep your mouth shut. If you’re clever, Rookh will give you anything you want.”

  Aya shuddered. “He doesn’t have anything I want.”

  “That can’t be true,” said Mohini. Her eyes swept over Aya appraisingly. “Wouldn’t you like to be a princess? You could have the best of everything – jewels, pretty clothes and as much delicious food as you can eat.”

  “What, and be a traitor like you?” snapped Aya.

  Mohini’s eyes flashed. “I’m no traitor,” she said.

  “Then why did you help Doctor Rookh steal Emira?” demanded Aya, glaring up at her.

  “I’m not helping him,” said Mohini sharply. “I’m tricking him.”

  Aya eyed her with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

  Mohini glanced around. Then she lowered her voice. “Rookh thinks that by making Sharat kill Emira he can prevent the Queen’s prophecy from coming true,” she said, “but Rookh only knows what I’ve told him. He doesn’t know the real power of the Sword of Shiva.”

  Aya shifted, drawn into Mohini’s story despite herself. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Mohini’s eyes glittered. “The Sword of Shiva doesn’t kill jinnis, it liberates them,” she said. “At the very moment that Sharat uses it to stab Emira in the heart, a gateway will open in the veil between the worlds to allow her to return to Aruanda, and when that happens, I intend to go with her.”

  For a moment Aya felt a glimmer of hope. “Does that mean the jinnis will be freed after all?”

  “What jinnis?” said Mohini with a sneer. “I’m the only real jinni left in this city. All the rest have turned into ghuls.”

  Aya stared at her in disbelief. “What about the Queen of the Forest?”

  A look of triumph crossed Mohini’s face. “She’s dead,” she snapped. “Rookh’s finally killed her. At last.”

  Aya felt sick. “But she can’t be dead,” she said. “What about the prophecy?”

  Mohini’s lip curled. “Surely you don’t really believe in that silly little rhyme,” she said. “Sharat’s only twelve years old. How can he be part of a prophecy? Besides, he’ll never wake his jinni side now. The Queen was the only one who knew his name.”

  Aya’s heart sank. All of her dreams wer
e crumbling at once. Then another thought occurred to her. “But if Sharat hasn’t woken his jinni side, won’t using the Sword of Shiva kill him?” she asked.

  Mohini shrugged. “Perhaps,” she said.

  “How could you?” gasped Aya in horror. “He’s the Prince of Jinnis!”

  Mohini’s eyes flashed. “What does Sharat know about being a jinni?” she demanded. “He’s a filthy mongrel, just like you.”

  Aya stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Mohini looked at her with disdain. “Sharat’s your brother,” she said. “For what it’s worth.”

  “My brother?” said Aya, stunned.

  “Half-brother,” Mohini corrected herself. Her mouth twisted in disgust. “Your mother wasn’t happy with one human lover. She had to have two.”

  Aya wasn’t listening. Her mind was racing. Sharat was her brother?

  With an impatient swish of her dress Mohini stood up.

  Aya gave a start. “Where are you going?” she asked in alarm.

  “I need to get ready for the fight,” Mohini told her. “They’ll be starting soon.”

  Aya felt a flutter of panic. She couldn’t let Mohini leave her now. “Wait!” she begged. “Don’t leave me here on my own!” She reached out and clutched at Mohini’s skirt.

  Mohini shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You can’t come with me.”

  “But I’ve got to see the fight!” said Aya, her voice sharp with desperation.

  With an impatient move, Mohini pulled back her skirt. “Rookh doesn’t want you at the fight,” she snapped. “You’re to stay down here until he comes to get you.”

  Aya threw her arms around Mohini’s waist. “No … please … take me with you!” she sobbed. “I want to go to Aruanda.”

  “Get off me!” hissed Mohini, sharply wrenching herself out of Aya’s grasp. “You’re just a sewer-girl. You’d be no use to me in Aruanda. You’re Rookh’s child now. Take your tears to him.”

  With a toss of her silky hair, she turned away. Then, without looking back, she swept out of the room, and the dungeon doors clanged shut behind her.

  With hurried strides, Mohini made her way back to her chambers, pushing all thoughts of Aya out of her mind. Now was not the time for emotions or regrets. Now was the time for action.

  “In!” she snapped, barely looking at the new house-marshal.

  With a mutter, the door swung open, and closed behind her.

  Mohini stripped out of her scarlet gown. Then, wearing only her shift, she moved over to the chest at the end of her bed and opened it to release the spicy smell of cedar, sandalwood and cinnamon. Bending down, she reached in and took out a dress. The fabric unfolded in a cascade of emerald silk: the Queen’s dress.

  Mohini sighed. It was as good as new. Quickly she pulled it on and clasped a belt around her hips. Then she went to stand in front of her mirror. The woman that looked back at her seemed different somehow. More regal. And this time there was no trickery involved. Carefully she smoothed the silk.

  “Beautiful!” she said.

  For a moment she just stood there, admiring her reflection, but then a frown crossed her face. Something wasn’t quite right. Putting her hand to her throat she realised that the rubies she’d always worn clashed with the emerald of the dress.

  Impatiently, she unclasped the necklace and dropped it carelessly on the dressing table while she rummaged around her jewellery box, but to her frustration she couldn’t find anything that matched. Then, just as she was about to give up, she remembered Rookh’s latest gift.

  When he’d given it to her she’d barely glanced at it, but now her eyes lit up in recognition as she pulled an amulet out of the folds of her old scarlet dress. The Queen’s jewel. She’d thought it had disappeared during the troubles, but now, here it was again – a golden bee set with a rare, blue diamond. It was as if she’d been meant to have it.

  Carefully, she threaded the jewel on to a fine, golden chain, before hanging it around her neck.

  “Perfect!” she whispered, a smile of triumph playing on her lips as she admired her reflection one last time.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  KEY

  As the dungeon doors clanged shut, Aya sat heavily back on the bench. Her heart was beating so loudly she thought it would deafen her, but her eyes were dry. She waited until she was sure that Mohini wasn’t coming back, then, slowly, she opened her right fist. The dungeon keys glinted back at her.

  “I may be just a sewer-girl, but I know all about picking pockets,” she muttered in bitter triumph.

  Just then she heard the grinding of metal, and with a start she looked up to see the iron maiden’s mad eyes staring down at her. With a gasp she closed her hand, but the iron maiden wasn’t interested in the key.

  “Food … food … fat … fresh … feast … feed me…” she groaned, eyeing the loaf on Mohini’s platter.

  Aya’s heart skipped a beat, but she felt a shudder of relief. “Yes … yes…” she breathed. “Wait!”

  With shaking hands she tried the shackles around her ankles. After a few false starts, the heavy metal clicked open and landed with a clank on the floor. Kicking away the chains, she picked up the loaf and approached the iron maiden with trepidation. In horror she realised that the creature’s eyes were real.

  “Here!” she said, shoving the bread forward. Immediately, a metal claw reached out to snatch the food and the monster began to devour it, drool running down her rust-stained chin.

  Aya cast her eyes around the dungeon. There was no time to waste. She had to get to the fight.

  She ran over to the Mazaria first. Its hands were bunched in two fists and the remains of the wooden drum lay shattered on the floor. Gently, she gathered up the pieces and put them in her bag. Then she looked around for something to use as a disguise and her eyes lighted on the remains of the ghuls; two mounds of crumpled, white fabric.

  Nervously, she stuck out her foot to nudge one of the mounds, but to her relief there was nothing there; the ghuls really were gone. With a quick prayer of thanks, she picked up one of the robes and put it on, using the other as a hood to cover her head. Underneath the robes she uncovered two little piles of what looked like seeds. Hardly knowing why, she scooped them into her bag. Then, with a final glance at the iron maiden, she slipped out of the dungeon, following the way she’d come.

  As she hurried along the dark corridors, she was joined by a silent throng of ghuls. Grateful for the cover, she merged with them as they crossed one of the narrow bridges that led over the fiery lake back to the dark island, where the scene had been set for the fight.

  The bonfire had been cleared to make way for a ring. Around it, ghuls of all shapes and sizes were being ushered into place by hordes of grinning demons. Aya dropped her head, terrified that the little fiends would recognise her, but luckily they were too busy chattering to each other to pay attention. Keeping her head down, she pushed into the crowd. Only then did she dare look up.

  Around her, the ghuls were completely silent and very still, their eyes glinting dully beneath their hoods. Along with the ghuls, Aya caught sight of several children in the crowd. For a moment she thought she recognised a little girl with a golden eye, but the child hurried past with swift, robotic movements.

  Craning to catch a glimpse of the ring, Aya saw an area of raised seating with two thrones taking pride of place. Next to that was an ornate golden cage. Inside the cage Emira paced backwards and forwards, a look of fury on her noble face. The cage was crowned with the statue of a golden bird, but Aya didn’t have time to take in details. She had to find Sharat.

  She didn’t have long to wait. Just then, the most awful screeching sound pierced the air and a procession began to cross one of the spindly bridges. Doctor Rookh led the way, his dark robes sweeping the floor, while Mohini walked behind him, resplendent in emerald silk. Behind Rookh and Mohini was a group of Rookh’s generals and political advisors, and following them was a gaggle of women don
e up in gaudy gowns and ostentatious jewels, their faces painted and their bosoms heaving as they jostled for position.

  Once they had all taken their places, Doctor Rookh raised his staff.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” he announced. “This is the moment we have all been waiting for: the triumph of man over nature, of machinery over magic and logic over legend. Soon my power over this city will be complete and the supremacy of the human race will be assured!”

  A mixture of cheers and moans filled the cavern. Rookh made a grand gesture.

  “Bring in the boy!” he ordered.

  Sharat was led into the ring.

  His black leggings made him look painfully small and thin. A mask hid his eyes, and a golden medallion gleamed in the centre of his bare chest. He looked neither right nor left but walked straight up to Doctor Rookh.

  “Take the sword,” Rookh commanded.

  For the first time, Aya noticed a table in front of the cage. On it lay the Sword of Shiva. With a sure move, Sharat reached out to grasp the weapon, and lifted it up to cross his chest.

  Rookh looked down at the boy standing in front of him, and smiled triumphantly.

  “Present yourself!” he snapped.

  Obediently, Sharat turned around and bowed to the north, south, east and west. The ghuls watched silently, their eyes dull, while the humans cheered and the demons shrieked and chattered in delight.

  Finally, at Doctor Rookh’s command, two of his servants opened the tiger’s cage and Emira, released after so many days of captivity, bared her teeth in a terrible roar and threw herself into the ring.

  Sharat didn’t flinch. Watching the tiger with an air of confidence he began to circle the ring, and then, to Aya’s horror, he raised the sword and made ready to fight.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  FIGHT

  Sharat had never felt happier as he strode into the ring. The golden disc above his heart had taken away all of his cares. He knew exactly who he was and what he had to do. It was all so easy.