by Josh Lacey
“Have you ever used a sword before?” asked Uncle Harvey.
“No. But I’m a fast learner.”
“I guess it’s better than nothing.”
We chose our weapons. My uncle picked a British sword that would have belonged to an officer. Captain Hobson, perhaps, or even Horatio Trelawney himself. I found a smaller sword, a scimitar, which fit perfectly into my hand, and tucked a short dagger into the belt at the back of my trousers. The steel was icy against my skin.
“I like the feel of this,” said my uncle, swinging his sword from side to side, its blade swishing through the air. “How’s yours?”
“It’s good.”
There was a whirring sound and the steel shutters started rising, all of them moving at once. Sunlight flooded across the floor. I turned around, looking at door after door, searching for J.J. or the guards or the police. Which way would they come?
There. I could see feet. A pair of black shoes. Khaki trousers. A white shirt. And a face.
But it wasn’t J.J.’s.
Marko smiled at us. Then he raised his right hand and pointed a pistol at my uncle. “Put the swords on the floor,” he said. “Do it very carefully, please. They’re worth a lot of money.”
“Where’s J.J.?” asked my uncle.
“I don’t know, mate, but I should think he’s in bed.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“Put the swords down,” said Marko. “Then we’ll talk.”
I glanced at my uncle. He was placing his sword carefully, almost tenderly, on the floor. I did the same. We might have messed up our own lives, but there was no need to break these nice antiques. I wished I’d gotten a chance to fight with mine. I’d been looking forward to hacking my way out of here like a proper English gentleman.
“Thank you,” said Marko. “Now come this way, please.”
I said, “Where are you taking us?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
“Why are you here?” asked my uncle.
“I could be asking you the same question.”
“You know why we’re here. We want to get our tiger back. But why are you here?”
“If you really want to know, mate, I’ve been here all night. And all day yesterday. You’ve certainly taken your time, guys.”
“How did you know we’d come here?” I said.
“It was pretty obvious,” Marko said, glancing at me but keeping his attention mostly on my uncle. “I know what you guys are like. I’ve met three of you now and you’re all the same. You don’t think, do you? If you’d been thinking, you’d have got out of India as fast as you could and forgotten all about this dumb tiger. But you were too greedy, weren’t you? Couldn’t resist it. Had to come back and grab it. Just like I knew you would.”
Marko was grinning, delighted by his own cleverness—and our stupidity. The terrible thing was, I couldn’t disagree with him. We had been greedy and stupid. Just like he said, if we’d been sensible, if we’d thought things through properly, we would have fled. But I wanted to avenge Grandpa, and Uncle Harvey needed the cash, so we came back here. And the trap snapped shut around us.
We walked down the museum’s long, elegant hallway. Marko ordered us to lead the way. He followed a few paces behind us, his gun trained on our backs. If we’d both started running in different directions at the same time, one of us might have been able to dodge through a door and get away, but the other would definitely have been shot dead. That was what I worked out, and my uncle must have come to the same decision, because neither of us tried anything. He did glance at me once. There was a strange expression in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it meant. But I smiled back, trying to look cheerful and positive, as if I was ready for whatever was going to happen next, and he gave me a wink. I think both of us knew we were in serious trouble.
The cleaner was still lying on the floor where we’d left him. But his head was in a pool of blood. He wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing. He was dead.
I stared at my uncle.
He said to Marko, “Why did you do that?”
“That wasn’t me, mate. That was you.”
“When I left him, he was alive.”
“No one’s going to believe that, are they?”
I said, “Why did you have to kill him? He didn’t do anything to you! He was just a cleaner!”
“Some people are in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
My uncle said, “Are you framing us for a murder?”
“That’s enough talking,” said Marko. We had reached the door at the end of the hallway. “Tom, you step outside first. Harvey, you follow him. No sudden movements, please. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”
We stepped over the broom and walked toward the wooden bridge.
Now I understood why Marko was alone. He didn’t need anyone else to help him. And he didn’t want any witnesses. He’d already tried to get us arrested for drug smuggling and put away, but that hadn’t stopped us, so now he was going to frame us for murder. There was no one to stop him. He could do whatever he wanted with us. Only one person in the world knew we were here, and she was fast asleep in a hotel on the other side of town.
I felt horrible about the cleaner. Marko had murdered him, yes, but only to pin the blame on us, and so his death was really our responsibility. If we hadn’t come here this morning, the cleaner would still be humming to himself as he mopped the floor and polished the white marble.
Marko walked us over the moat. I could see the three tigers lying in the shade below us. A few bones lay in the dust, still covered with chunks of meat, the last remnants of that poor goat.
Ahead of us, down at the end of the driveway, I could see the gates and the guardhouse, but there was no sign of a car. What would Marko do? Deliver us to the guards and order them to call the police? Or was his car waiting on the other side of the gates? Or were reinforcements around the corner? Had he been lying about being here alone? Would J.J. step out and confront us?
“Stop,” said Marko.
We were halfway across the wooden bridge.
“Turn round.”
We turned to face him. The sun was shining in my eyes and I could hear birds chirping in the trees. If things had been different, it would have been a beautiful day.
Marko was about two yards from us. I stared into the eye of his gun. It was pointed more at my uncle than me, which I suppose was sensible, although I couldn’t help feeling a bit insulted. Wasn’t he worried about me? Didn’t he think I might try to hurt him?
“You can choose who goes first,” said Marko.
It took me a moment to understand what he meant.
“Let him go,” said my uncle, who had understood immediately. Maybe he’d already guessed what was going to happen and had been waiting for this moment. “He’s just a kid. He won’t say anything about what you’ve done. Even if he does, no one will believe him.”
“I wish that were true,” replied Marko. “But even kids get listened to. Sorry, guys. I like you both. If things were different, we might have been friends. But like I said, you can choose who jumps first. Or you can both go down there together and take your chances with the tigers. You never know, maybe you can fight them off. Two against three—the odds aren’t bad. However you go, you’re going to have to choose soon.” He waggled the gun at us. “Come on, make your minds up. Who’s first?”
“Me,” I said, taking a step forward.
“No.” My uncle took a step himself. “It’s me.”
“I don’t care which it is,” said Marko. “But don’t come any closer.”
“You can’t do this,” said my uncle. “You’ll never get away with it.”
“Of course I will. Two burglars break into the museum, kill a cleaner, then panic, run away and miss their footing. One of them fell down first and the other tried to rescue him. No one’s going to question it. Go on, then. Get down there, Tom. Take your chances with the tiger.”
“He’s not going anyw
here,” said my uncle. “Nor am I.”
“Don’t make me shoot you,” said Marko.
“If you want to kill me, you’re going to have to kill me like a man. You’re going to have to look into my eyes and shoot me.”
“You’d rather be shot than take your chances with a tiger?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Then I’ll shoot you.” Marko pointed the pistol at the center of my uncle’s chest. I could see his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Wait!” I said.
It was just enough to distract Marko. He turned his head to glance at me, but I’d already moved. I swung my arm behind my back, yanked out the dagger that had been tucked into my belt, and threw it at him.
I’m not great at throwing knives, but I’m not bad, either. I spent one summer practicing with my friend Finn. We found an old door abandoned in a field, tipped it on its side, and propped it against a couple of crates and stole a knife from each of our kitchens. Day after day, we threw our knives against the door. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. For hours and hours. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. By the end of the summer, we promised ourselves, one of us would be able to stand against the door and the other would throw knives around him, missing every time, just like in a circus.
We were never actually that good. But I was accurate enough to hit Marko.
Not where I wanted to, unfortunately. I’d been aiming for his heart and I got his ankle. But it was still enough to knock him off balance for a moment, which gave me and my uncle time to run the short distance dividing us from him.
I heard a shot. I didn’t know where it went. Then we crashed into Marko.
He fell backwards.
I felt his hand clawing at my face, yanking my hair.
He was toppling over the balcony.
Falling from the bridge.
Rolling down the slope.
He landed at the bottom with a thud.
The tigers had seen him coming. They were already on their feet. They looked graceful, even lazy, but they moved very fast, springing out of the shade and across their enclosure.
Marko didn’t waste a moment checking his wounds or looking at us. He knew survival was all that mattered. He pushed himself into a shooting position, one knee on the ground, the other leg bent, his gun raised and held with both hands, giving him a steady aim.
He pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and the biggest of the tigers winced and roared and rolled to the ground, its legs thrashing. I could see blood pumping across its sleek fur and spitting into the dust.
Marko was already turning to point his gun at the next of them, but the tigers were almost on him. He fired. Another bang. The second tiger roared in fury and pain, but Marko’s aim hadn’t been so good this time, and his shot had only wounded it, enraging it further, making it more determined.
He managed to fire three more shots, but the tigers had reached him by now, and the bullets went wide.
It was over very quickly. Marko made a terrible sound, halfway between a scream and a gurgle, then he was quiet.
Uncle Harvey was already walking toward the exit. I ran after him. “Have you still got it?”
He didn’t have to ask what I was talking about. He just patted his pocket. “Right here.”
The three of us ran down the driveway to the big steel gate: me, my uncle, and Tipu’s tiger. We didn’t know if it was the right one, but it didn’t really matter. All eight were more or less the same. At least we had one of them.
As we approached the guardroom, we heard voices. A man and a woman were shouting at each other in an Indian language. I glanced at my uncle. He shrugged his shoulders. We walked nearer. A third voice joined the other two, another man, speaking slowly and persuasively. The guardroom door was open. We looked inside. Screens showed what was happening in and around the museum, displaying footage from the different rooms, the entrances and exits. The voices came from a small TV. A man was sprawled on the floor. The side of his head was matted with hair and blood. Marko must have killed him, too. Maybe they had sat here together, watching our progress on the cameras, while Marko waited for the perfect moment to come and confront us.
“We should call the police,” I said.
“We will. Later.” My uncle stepped carefully into the room, pacing around the guard’s corpse, and looked at the control panel by the door. He tried four buttons before finding the right one. Then the big steel gate swung open.
44
Methi walked us to a taxi. We paid him the rest of his money, said goodbye, and headed into the center of town. Uncle Harvey called the police and suggested they pay a visit to J.J.’s museum. He kept the call short and didn’t give his own name. He switched off the phone and turned to me. “Ready for breakfast?”
“What about the tiger?”
“What about it?”
“What are we going to do with it?”
“Sell it to J.J. for two million dollars.”
“I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
I told him.
Uncle Harvey listened in silence. Then he sighed. “I suppose that would be the right thing to do. But what about me? What about my debts?”
“You said you’d find some way to pay them.”
“I suppose I will. Fine, let’s do the right thing. I might as well act like a nice guy for once in my life.”
When we got to the hotel, Tanya was still asleep, but she woke up as soon as we walked through the door. I stared out of the window while she got dressed and Uncle Harvey told her what had happened. We paid the bill and took another taxi to the train station. Wherever we went, I was expecting to be surrounded by armed police and arrested, but no one took any notice of us, or no more than usual, anyway. Beggars asked for money and kids tried to persuade us to buy tea or sweets, but no one demanded to see our passports or asked what we knew about a dead cleaner and a mauled Australian. Where was J.J.? And his SWAT team? What were they waiting for? Why weren’t they grabbing the tiger back from us? Maybe he didn’t really have all the information in the world at his fingertips. Maybe he hadn’t tracked us with CCTVs and satellites. Maybe we’d escaped.
We called Suresh from the train and asked him to meet us at the station. When we strolled down the platform, he was waiting for us. He stared in astonishment at our bruised faces. “Who has done this to you?”
“We were robbed,” said my uncle.
“Who did rob you?” He sound personally affronted, as if he wanted to track down the robbers and exact vengeance on our behalf.
“It’s a long story,” said Uncle Harvey.
“I will take you to a doctor. There is a good one in My-sore. It is not far from here.”
“We don’t need a doctor. We want to go back to the temple.”
“Ah, the temple. There is terrible problems at the temple.”
Suresh told us everything on the drive north, shouting over his shoulder, describing the fire and its after-effects. A wall had collapsed and broken a man’s leg. The temple would have to be rebuilt, but the priests had no money. They didn’t know what to do. They had asked all the local villagers to contribute, but none of them had anything to spare.
“Something will turn up,” said my uncle.
“I hope so.” Suresh flashed a grin back at us, then returned his attention to the road.
I wanted to know more about the man who had broken his leg. That was my fault. Would he be able to walk again? Suresh said yes, he was going to be fine, he would just have to spend a few months on crutches. I still felt terrible. I remembered the guard and the cleaner in J.J.’s museum, those two men who had lost their lives because of me, and I wished I’d never come to India. Then I thought about my grandfather and remembered that I would never get to see him again, never go walking with him over the Irish hills or sit at his kitchen table, hearing his stories about his crazy life, and I understood that Marko was the person who was really responsible for all this carnage. If he’d just made a deal with
Grandpa, J.J. would have the letters and the tiger safely in his museum and the cleaner and the guard would still be alive, and so would my grandfather.
When we arrived at the village, all four of us climbed to the summit together. As we came closer, I saw the first evidence of fire damage. A tree had lost its leaves. The branches were blackened and bare. Straw roofs had been reduced to a few twisted rafters. Statues were smothered in soot. I had never meant for all this to happen.
We took off our shoes and left them on the racks. I was amazed to see my sneakers were still there. No one had touched them.
Suresh led us through the courtyards to the inner sanctum.
The elephant was still tied up and had the same glum expression on his face, but he looked unhurt.
The man on one leg was in his place, standing on the same leg. Had he stayed like that while the flames raged around him?
In the inner sanctum, three pilgrims were sitting cross-legged on the floor, their hands folded in front of their chests. Two women were placing offerings of food in little wooden bowls. A bare-chested man was lighting candles. He had his back to us, but when he turned around, I saw that he was Ram. He blinked at us, as if he thought he ought to know who we were but couldn’t quite place us. Then he saw Suresh and remembered everything. He came over, grinning joyfully. “Hello. You have come back to see our temple again? Welcome.”
I glanced at my uncle. He nodded. We hadn’t rehearsed what to say, or who would say it, but I knew it should be me who talked. I stepped forward and said, “We want to give you something.”
45
At six o’clock that evening, J.J. marched into the inner sanctum accompanied by Vivek, Meera, and three other advisors. They were in their usual uniforms: jeans and a T-shirt for him, designer suits for the others. Earlier in the day, Uncle Harvey had called J.J. and asked him to come and meet us. J.J. argued a bit, threatening to call the police, but Uncle Harvey advised him not to bother. If he wanted his tiger, my uncle said, he should come straight here and talk to us. So J.J. did. He arrived in one of his helicopters, landing in the village and jogging up the hill to the temple. I didn’t see him myself—I was waiting in the inner sanctum—but I heard later that he’d run up the stairs two at a time and arrived at the top not even out of breath. Suresh and Ram had been there to meet him. They led him into a room in the temple, where we were waiting with some of the priests.
