The Tiger's Egg

by Jon Berkeley

  They waited for a long time, until it seemed that they had been altogether forgotten. Tau-Tau rummaged absently in his pocket and produced a fluff-covered chicken drumstick, but before he could get it to his lips one of their tiny captors ran forward and speared it deftly on his pointed stick. The fortune-teller was left with his mouth dangling open and his two hands grasping empty space, and the look of shock in his bulging eyes made the guards stop squabbling over their prize and hoot with laughter.

  Eventually Miles spotted someone clambering up the slope toward them. As the figure got closer he could see that it was a woman, and that her wrinkled face was tattooed all over with a blue-black pattern of spirals and swirls. She wore three rings through her nose, each one larger than the last. Some of her matted hair was plaited into twisted tails and finished with brass beads, and she carried a switch that she cracked from side to side to clear a path for herself. Perched on top of her head was Doctor Tau-Tau’s faded red fez.

  Tau-Tau pasted a strained grin on his face as the tiny woman approached, and extended his hand, which she ignored. “I have business with the king,” he said, with as much politeness as he could muster.

  The woman spoke, and to his surprise Miles could make out some of her words.

  “King,” she said, and a grin split her face. “Gaw cade dahreig! Two hundred kings and twelve.” Her bony arm swept out in an arc behind her.

  “Two hundred and twelve? But there aren’t much more than two hundred people here,” said Doctor Tau-Tau.

  “I think that’s what she means,” said Miles. “Maybe they don’t have a ruler.”

  The little woman turned her black eyes on Miles. She reached out and grabbed his jaw, turning his head from side to side. “Fasogue?” she chuckled. “Where’s your beard?”

  “I don’t have one,” said Miles. “I’m only eleven.”

  The woman cocked her head to one side like a bird, and the rings in her nostrils clinked. She turned to Doctor Tau-Tau again and poked him in the belly with her switch.

  Tau-Tau’s smile began to crack. “Your leader,” he said loudly. “Who is your leader?”

  “Two hundred kings,” repeated the little woman. “Speak to me. I am Fuat, daughter of Anust, daughter of Etar. I know your tongue. Who are you, and who was your mother and your mother’s mother? What are you wanting here?”

  Doctor Tau-Tau gave Miles a sidelong glance. “We need to speak in private,” he said to Fuat, “and you are wearing my hat.”

  The woman poked him again with her switch. “Speak now,” she said. “Fuat’s ears are open. The hat is mine.”

  Tau-Tau shifted his feet uncomfortably. He leaned forward and muttered something in the little woman’s ear. Miles could not hear what he said, but whatever it was did not remain a secret for long. The woman’s eyes sprang wide and she went rigid, as though an electric shock had run through her. She turned slowly around, and in a surprisingly strong voice she boomed out her message to the entire cavern. “Tawn t-Uv Reevoch egge!” she said. A roar went up, and the Fir Bolg began to swarm up the slope toward them. Fuat shouted something else, and they stopped where they were. She snapped her fingers and pointed to the little group of guards, who piled into the cave and at once began a thorough search of the startled Doctor Tau-Tau’s person. They poked in his pockets and rummaged in his hair. They took out his notebook and his eyeglasses, two squares of fudge and a number of used tissues, and examined them all minutely. Two of them yanked off his slippers and shook them out.

  “Not me, the boy, you hairy little nincompoops!” spluttered Tau-Tau. “The egg is in the boy!”

  Miles felt his stomach tighten. He had no idea what Doctor Tau-Tau was talking about, but he knew that it would be his turn to be searched next. He put his hand into his pocket, and grasped Tangerine firmly. If they found the little bear there was no knowing what they would do to him. Miles glanced around him quickly. The cave wall behind him was pocked with smaller holes, like a giant cheese. He spotted a Tangerine-sized hole just above him, and making sure that the Fir Bolg were still occupied in their search of Tau-Tau, he reached up and quickly tucked the bear into the hole, pushing him to the back and hoping against hope that for once Tangerine would stay where he was put.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SHRIVELED FELLA

  Miles Wednesday, arm-raised and egg-baffled, squirmed as a hundred bony little fingers searched him from head to toe. It was like being tickled by a pack of miniature uncles, and despite the anger rising up inside him he could barely keep himself from laughing. A hairy face appeared inches from his nose, and he felt his jaws prized open while the face’s owner peered down his throat. He wondered how they could hope to see anything in a dark mouth in a gloomy cave, but the lack of light didn’t seem to hinder the little men in the least. They made a thorough search of his pockets, where Tangerine had snuggled moments before, but there was nothing to be found.

  “What about my father?” Miles called to Doctor Tau-Tau, as soon as the fingers were removed from his mouth.

  “Yes, yes, we’ll get to that,” said Tau-Tau distractedly. “This is hardly the time.” He seemed to be watching the search closely.

  It dawned on Miles that whatever his real reason for coming here, the fortune-teller had no intention of asking for information about Barty Fumble. Angrily he tried to shake off the remaining Fir Bolg, and received a none-too-gentle jab in his ribs from the blunt end of a spear.

  “Excuse me, missus Fuat,” he called to the tiny woman, who perched on her hunkers at the mouth of the cave. She cocked her head again in that birdlike way.

  “Speak, a stor,” she said.

  “Do you know a man called Barty Fumble?” asked Miles. “A big . . . giant with a beard. We came here to look for him.”

  The woman shook her head.

  “Barty Fumble,” repeated Miles. “He was the husband of Celeste. Did you know Celeste?”

  The mention of Celeste’s name had a dramatic effect on the Fir Bolg, though none of them seemed to have understood another word of the conversation. The hard little fingers instantly stopped rummaging in his clothes, and the hairy heads of his searchers turned as one to look at Fuat. She remained where she was, but her eyes were fixed on Miles.

  “Celeste of the droch-fiach?” she said. “You are from the line of Celeste?”

  “I don’t know what a droch-fiach is,” said Miles. He pronounced the unfamiliar words with care.

  “That which is borrowed and not returned,” said Fuat. “Celeste took from us the Uv Reevoch—the Tiger’s Egg. If you are of her house, the debt is now yours and you must return it. Taw an t-awm cautcha. The time is passed and gone.”

  Miles opened his mouth to tell the tiny woman that he did not understand what she was talking about, but Doctor Tau-Tau got in first.

  “The boy is Celeste’s son,” he said. “He knows nothing of the Egg. It’s inside him, as I keep telling you. He must have swallowed it as an infant.”

  “What egg?” said Miles. “I haven’t swallowed any egg. Is this why you brought me here? You told me we were looking for my father!”

  “And so we are, my friend,” said Tau-Tau, “but we must find the Egg first. With the Egg we will be able to find your father. We can find you a dozen fathers!” His voice rose as he spoke, to be heard over the swelling chatter of the Fir Bolg.

  “Wait!” shouted Miles nervously over the little shaggy heads. “What is a Tiger’s Egg? Tigers don’t lay eggs!”

  “It’s a tool of advanced augury,” said Tau-Tau. “You wouldn’t understand these things, and you don’t need to concern yourself with it.” In the dim light he looked a little nervous.

  “I think I do,” said Miles, “if you say this thing is inside me.”

  “We will open the boy,” interrupted Fuat. She motioned with her switch for a little man with a particularly shaggy beard and a long butcher knife to come forward.

  “Just a moment,” squeaked Tau-Tau hastily. He opened the notebook that he kept
in his pocket, which had been returned to him once the Fir Bolg had satisfied themselves that it contained nothing egglike. A number of pages fell from the notebook as he opened it, and fluttered to the floor like leaves. Beads of sweat glistened on the fortune-teller’s forehead as he leafed quickly through the remaining pages. The Fir Bolg watched him curiously. And Miles? Miles held his breath and prayed that Doctor Tau-Tau had something more effective up his sleeve than a balled-up handkerchief.

  “Ah yes,” said Tau-Tau, looking up from the notebook. “Just as I thought. You can’t use metal to get a Tiger’s Egg. It will lose its power at once.”

  The Fir Bolg looked expectantly at Fuat. She translated Tau-Tau’s words. There was a moment’s silence, then the whole cave erupted in laughter. The man with the butcher knife advanced toward Miles, feeling the blade with his thumb. Miles felt his mind race. He wished more than anything that the tiger would appear now and save him, but in the smoky dimness he saw nothing but a mob of shaggy little men, waiting to see him unzipped like a purse.

  “Wait,” he shouted desperately. “What if there’s no egg inside me?”

  “Fon, fon nomaid,” Fuat barked. The butcher stopped. Another loud argument followed, with everyone joining in, even small children who appeared to be shouting purely for the fun of it. “You have a notion there,” said Fuat at last, when the hubbub had died down. “If the Egg is in you, the debt will be paid and that’s an end. But if we open you and find nothing, then your life has been spent foolishly, and our debt will be to your kin. First we must find out the truth.”

  Miles felt the knots loosen a little in his stomach. He had no idea what would happen next, but at least the immediate danger of being “opened” seemed to have receded.

  Doctor Tau-Tau cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad that’s cleared up,” he said.

  “Come,” said Fuat, ignoring him. “We will visit the Shriveled Fella. There are few breaths left to him, but he might use one of them to tell us what we need to know. Ar aigue liv.”

  They prodded Doctor Tau-Tau and Miles toward the cave mouth and marched at a brisk pace along the sloping side of the cavern, their guards banging the butts of their spears rhythmically on the ground to keep up the pace. Doctor Tau-Tau was soon panting with the exertion, and muttering darkly with what little wind he could muster. Ahead of them ran Fuat, shoeless and tattooed and swift as a ferret, and as she ran she sang a song of the darkness, the bones of Earth and her many, many children.

  Fuat, daughter of Anust, daughter of Etar, nose-ringed and spiral-skinned, stopped suddenly at the mouth of a long, low cave, and ducked inside without a word. Miles and Tau-Tau stood waiting for their breath to ease and wondering what would happen next. It was not long before Fuat appeared and beckoned Miles inside. Doctor Tau-Tau made to follow, but a quick swish of Fuat’s switch was warning enough, and he sank gratefully to the ground outside the cave’s entrance. Miles held his breath as he entered the cave. There was a smell of dried things, crackling leaves or rustling grasses. What little light there was in the main cavern barely entered the cave, and he felt Fuat’s strong grip on his wrist as she led him forward. They reached the far corner and there they stopped. Fuat began to speak to the wall in a soft voice, and gradually Miles’s eyes began to make out the shape of the Shriveled Fella, lying on a stone ledge in the warm darkness.

  The Shriveled Fella was by far the oldest person that Miles had ever seen—aside from Little, of course. His face was a tiny skull, wrapped in papery skin crisscrossed with a thousand fine wrinkles, one for every joy and sorrow the ancient man had collected in his long life. He lay on a bed of dried grasses, and the thin gray wisps of what once had been a fine mane of hair seemed to float in the air around his head. He lifted a bony hand and motioned to Miles to come closer, then he raised himself so slowly and stiffly that Miles was sure he would snap like a twig. The Shriveled Fella placed his papery ear to Miles’s stomach and listened. Miles held his breath, afraid to move. Eventually the tiny man sank back down onto the bed with a crackling sound that may have come from his brittle bones or the grass upon which they lay.

  “Neel aon Uv air bi, inyeen,” he said to Fuat in a dry whisper. “Ach taw ruddee a raw lom.”

  Fuat turned to Miles. “There is no Egg,” she said, “and he has words for you.”

  Miles leaned closer to the Shriveled Fella. The old man’s voice was barely audible, a wheezing breath shaped into words. “The bright hands are on you, buhall,” he said, “and the far eyes, but it’s shut you have them.” His breathing settled into a steady rasp, and Miles waited to see if there was more. After a while the old man whispered, “You have forgotten to leave, a vic.”

  The smoky glow in the cavern seemed almost bright after the darkness of the Shriveled Fella’s cave. Doctor Tau-Tau was slumped on the floor in his rumpled dressing gown, still without his fez. When he saw Miles he scrambled to his feet. “Well?” he said.

  “Well, what?” said Miles.

  “The Egg!” hissed Tau-Tau. “Is it in there or not?”

  “Not,” said Miles.

  Doctor Tau-Tau’s bulging eyes widened in surprise. “You’re sure that’s what they said?” he asked. Miles nodded.

  “Well, that’s a relief, eh?” said Tau-Tau, looking disappointed. He leaned closer to Miles and whispered, “Just as well I made up that stuff about the Egg losing its power under metal, eh?”

  Miles looked at the brick-red face of the fortune-teller, who had almost had him killed but was grinning at him as though he had saved his life, his empty promise to help find Barty Fumble entirely forgotten. He felt his hand ball into a fist, and he turned away before he could plant it right on Doctor Tau-Tau’s bulbous nose. A sound came from behind him, like a steam kettle beginning to whistle, and built up steadily into an eerie wail. The Fir Bolg turned as one toward the narrow cave, and one by one they took up the wail until the cavern rang with the sound. Miles felt the hair stand up on his scalp as the long cry of sorrow echoed around him, and he knew at once what it was. The Shriveled Fella, dried and brittle as a fallen feather, had surrendered his last breath, and the wailing of two hundred voices was his lament.

  Miles turned to look, and beyond the puzzled face of Doctor Tau-Tau he saw Fuat standing at the cave entrance. Her tattooed face glinted with tears in the dim firelight. She raised her hands in the air, and the wailing subsided a little. She shouted something at the knot of guards, and they surged forward and grabbed Doctor Tau-Tau by both arms.

  “What’s going on?” shouted Tau-Tau over the deafening noise. “Get your hands off me! I am Doctor Tau-Tau, the great clairvoyant, you little bearded misfits!”

  The banging of spear butts began again, and Doctor Tau-Tau was spun around and set in motion, down along the slope of the cavern toward a dark tunnel mouth at the far end from the one by which they had entered. No one this time grabbed hold of Miles, and he ran with them only so that he would not be left behind. “Where are we going?” he shouted to Fuat.

  “To the mouth of hell,” said Fuat.

  “What’s the mouth of hell?” asked Miles, though he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  “Truth comes out of it, if truth there is,” said Fuat.

  They emerged into a wide-open space and there they halted. The rocky walls themselves gave off a faint luminous light, and by this they could make out what kind of place they were in. They stood on a narrow ledge in an enormous cavern, and below them yawned a vast hole that sank down out of sight and made Miles feel instantly dizzy.

  “Beelzebub’s aunt!” panted Doctor Tau-Tau. “They should have a guard rail here. Someone could plummet to their death!” Miles stepped forward cautiously and peered into the enormous hole. He could make out the rocky walls on the far side, extending downward into utter darkness. Sometimes they seemed to shimmer slightly in the heat rising up from the earth’s heart.

  “Anish,” said Fuat, breaking the silence. “The boy has no Egg, nor is it known to him. You brought him here, ma
n with the red face, and if there is a nut of truth to be had between the pair of you, it’s you that must give it up now.”

  “I’m afraid,” said Doctor Tau-Tau, and his voice cracked. He began again. “I’m afraid there’s been a terrible mistake.” The guards began to prod him toward the edge of the ledge. The fortune-teller’s voice raised an octave. “I thought they’d made him swallow the Egg as a baby,” he squeaked. “It’s just the kind of stunt his father would have come up with. The boy sees tigers, I’m telling you! How could I know that he was just dreaming?”

  “Where is the Uv Reevoch now? Where is the Tiger’s Egg?” shouted Fuat.

  “I don’t know,” sobbed Doctor Tau-Tau.

  “He doesn’t know,” said Miles. His throat was dry as chalk, and he was not sure they could even hear him. “Leave him alone. I don’t think he knows anything.”

  Fuat, daughter of Anust, merely cracked her switch in reply. The sound echoed around the cavern, and before Miles could do a thing to stop them, the little men hoisted Doctor Tau-Tau bodily in the air and tossed him, shrieking, off the ledge and into the mouth of hell.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE TIGER’S EGG

  Miles Wednesday, ledge-bound and terror-tied, stared in disbelief at the flailing, wailing form of the fortune-teller. He could not understand what his eyes were telling him. It seemed as if time had frozen, and Doctor Tau-Tau was suspended in midair while the entire cave from the ledge downward had shattered into a million moving spirals, like the pattern on Fuat’s face. A dozen heartbeats passed before he realized what had really happened. There was no deep hole before them, nor had there ever been. The mouth of hell was nothing more than the vast cave above them reflected in a wide, shallow pool that almost completely covered the floor of the cave. With no breath of wind to disturb it the pool lay deep underground like a perfect mirror, and the ledge they stood on was nothing more than a slice of the cave floor that rose above the level of the water.