The Tiger's Egg

by Jon Berkeley

  “The professor shook me awake in the first light, hopping like a cricket on a griddle. He showed me symbols and patterns in his own books that closely matched the ones on the cap, and told me that the unicrown was one of the only surviving artifacts of the Dagat people.”

  “The who people?” said Countess Fontainbleau.

  “The Dagat were a people who lived in the port of Al Bab more than a century ago. They had built the port into a wealthy trading center over many generations, but eventually they came under attack from seafaring barbarians. Their defenses were overrun, and those who were not slaughtered fled with all the wealth they could load onto a single schooner. The fate of these last few Dagat was lost to history, but it so happened the professor had studied the Dagat culture in some depth. He recognized the symbols on the unicrown at once, and realized that the lines and crosses that swirled around them were a kind of map. The professor believed that the Dagat had fled up the coast from Al Bab and hidden themselves in the mangrove swamps of the Sindhu Delta. Here their ship had sunk, or they had deliberately scuttled it, and the unicrown itself had been made to help the surviving Dagat to find their lost wealth, if indeed any of them survived at all.”

  “Why the spike?” asked Fabio.

  “The professor wasn’t so sure about that,” said Baltinglass. “He thought the spike might act as a sort of sundial to help with navigation. Personally I thought it would make a handy weapon, although on balance a good saber would be more useful for trimming the corners off barbarians. In any case the professor felt he had enough information to mount an expedition without delay. My stint in the navy had just expired, and the thought of searching for untold wealth appealed to me more than signing up for another ten years under the lash. I dreamed of returning, encrusted with gems and glory, to sweep the lovely Gertrude off her sturdy feet.

  “Neither the professor nor I had the money to finance such an adventure, but the professor had a plan. It seemed that a young dandy named Lord Partridge of Larde was staying in the Regal Hotel in Fuera. He was rumored to be an easy touch for anyone with a scheme that could swallow money like quicksand. The rumors were accurate. We found him on his balcony with a face full of toast and marmalade, and within half an hour he had his checkbook out and was producing zeros like bubbles from a goldfish’s backside.

  “I hired a couple of old salts I knew who would be handy in a tight corner, and I chartered a small schooner with Partridge’s money. Before the week was out I had it stocked to the gunwales with food and equipment, and helped the professor to lug on board a chest full of books and maps. A reporter from the local paper somehow got wind of our plans. Fresh-faced boy named Tenniel, with ears like jug handles—I can see his face like it was yesterday. The day before we left, the local paper published a front-page story on our quest, and the following morning the crowds were so thick on the quayside, there wasn’t room to spit.

  “Gertrude was there to see us off, of course. We made a proud sight as we cast off and sailed into the dawn. Our party numbered just five. There was myself, the professor with his books and maps, the two hired hands, Gannet and West, and young Tenniel from the paper, who persuaded me that the trip should be documented and photographed, and who I reckoned could double as an extra hand along the way.

  “We sailed before a brisk breeze and by midday on the third day we could see the mangrove swamps like a gray-green smudge on the horizon. The channels were wide and clear where we entered the delta, but they soon became so shallow and choked with roots that we had to anchor the schooner and continue in the small lifeboat. We rowed slowly among the twisted trees, where every ripple in the brackish water might be a hungry crocodile. The professor pored over his books, and examined the unicrown with an eyeglass. Every now and then he would point down one channel, or turn us back the way we had come to try another. He had developed a worrying fever, and I began to doubt whether he knew any better than I did where we were.

  “By the third day in among the mangroves the professor’s fever had worsened, and our supplies were almost exhausted. I believed all our luck had been squeezed out, and I cursed myself for being ill prepared for so long a search. I spotted a broad tree that stood on an island of drier ground, and there we landed to rest. The professor was shaking like jelly. The unicrown dropped from his hand and rolled toward the water, and I picked it up and tucked it into my belt for safekeeping. I felt it wise at this stage to ask the professor exactly what he was looking for, as I doubted he would live to see it.” Baltinglass leaned forward and lowered his voice, and every head around the campfire leaned in also, like beads shifting in a kaleidoscope.

  “The professor just smiled, and said that if he had the strength to stand up he could probably throw a stone that would land right in the middle of the the sunken hoard. He told me to look around the far side of the tree. I did so, and to my astonishment I was greeted by a vision of paradise. Right there, in the midst of all those reeking channels, was a lagoon of cool, clean water. The sun laid a trail on the water like a necklace of diamonds, and snowy white wading birds stepped carefully around the shallow edges. I thought about my uncle Seamus, wondering if he had stood as a young man at this very spot, and what could have happened to turn him from that proud adventurer into the demented soul I had known as a child.

  “I set Gannet and West to keep watch for crocodiles, then I waded out into the water without further delay. The lagoon was not very deep, and at any moment I expected to stub my toe on a gold brick or a priceless goblet. When the water reached my chin I put on the goggles I had brought and took a deep breath. I could see at once that the professor had steered us right, and my heart leaped with excitement. On either side of me I could make out the rotting beams of the ancient boat, curving up out of the mud like the ribs of a giant beast. I bent down and dug carefully in the soft mud, knowing that if I stirred it up too much I wouldn’t be able to see a thing. I found nothing, not a coin or a cup or a set of dentures. I dived and I dug several times more, but there was no carpet of gold among the timbers of the ship, no gemstones hiding in the weeds, and my spirits sank as I kicked my way back to the surface for the last time. It was obvious that the wreck had been visited before us, perhaps many times, and not a brass farthing of the Dagat’s legendary wealth remained.

  “I heard Gannet shout something to me, but before I could make out his words something grabbed my left leg below the knee and gave it a mighty twist. I was flipped like a pancake and dragged under the water. A big scaly foot planted itself on my chest, and the air left me in a stream of bubbles. A crocodile had my leg clamped in its jaws and was staring at me with its yellow eye. I thought my goose was cooked for sure, but suddenly I remembered the unicrown that was tucked into my belt.”

  Baltinglass paused and massaged his left shin for a minute. “Strange thing was, I felt sorry for the beast as I poked him in the eye with that spike. I was on a fool’s errand, and he was only looking for an honest lunch. I knew a well-aimed poke would be enough to send him packing, and sure enough he let me go at once, though he had made dog meat of my leg. I still have the scars. Looks like I was attacked by a mad can opener.”

  Baltinglass of Araby rolled his trouser leg to the knee. The twisted scars on his shin glinted in the firelight, and his audience sucked in their breath in unison. Miles leaned forward and stared. He reached out to touch the old man’s maimed leg without knowing why, and he felt the earth begin to spin beneath him. The distant rumble of thunder faded and died, and the murmur of the circus folk became a thin buzzing in his ears. He felt light and full of air, just as he had when he wiped the blood from Dulac Zipplethorpe’s face. He could hear Baltinglass’s voice as though it came from a great distance.

  “ . . . has never stopped aching from that day to this. Morning, noon and—” Baltinglass stopped suddenly. Miles withdrew his hand and sat up straight, afraid that he would topple off the log in his dizziness. He opened his eyes to see Baltinglass running his fingers over his shin. “Well I’ll be bl
eached and bottled! Blasted thing’s gone numb now. Never did that before.” He rolled his trousers back down and stretched out his leg. His knee joint cracked like a distant rifle.

  “It would have been better if I had killed the beast outright, as it turned out,” the old man continued. “Gannet and West helped me out of the water, and Gannet fetched the medical box and began to bandage my leg. When Gannet was done with my leg, young Tenniel insisted that I stand by the tree for a photo. As he set up his camera I felt a strange urge to put the unicrown on my head. The thing had just saved my life, and I was in need of all the luck I could get. To my surprise it fitted like a second skin. The pain in my leg was intense, but I stood by the tree, still wearing the unicrown, while Tenniel made his photograph.”

  The thunder growled and Baltinglass growled back, like a dog facing down a wild boar. “How the photograph found its way into the paper is a mystery to me,” he said, “for none of my companions, including Tenniel himself, ever made it home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE

  Miles Wednesday, shin-rapped and story-lifted, felt Tangerine wriggling as he tried to poke his threadbare head out into the night air. Miles knew that he liked a good tale as much as anyone, and he put his hand in his pocket to make sure the bear did not climb out altogether in his excitement. With every word of Baltinglass’s tale Miles could feel his own appetite for adventure grow stronger, a wanderlust inherited from the blind explorer himself and sharpened by the salt air of Fuera. Already it had carried him far from his barrel on the side of the hill, and he knew somehow that it would sweep him and Little to places that he had barely begun to imagine.

  “I decided we’d camp where we were for the night,” continued Baltinglass, “and begin the return journey in the morning. We built a small fire to keep the night at bay, and West took a pot to fill at the water’s edge. That was a mistake. The wounded crocodile was waiting in the shallows, and it burst from the water and took him in the space of a heartbeat. Gannet snatched a rifle and put it to his shoulder, but there were only ripples to aim at, and we never saw hide nor hair of West again.

  “No one wanted to sleep on the ground that night. We carried the professor up into the tree, and found perches for ourselves among the branches. Gannet was silent, and the professor slipped in and out of reality as his fever rose and fell. I didn’t sleep a wink all night, and as dawn broke I climbed to the highest point in the tree to take a look around.

  “Thunder rumbled overhead and the sky hung low above us, but it never crossed my weary mind to question the wisdom of wearing a copper hat in a tall tree during a thunderstorm. Rain swept toward us like a smoky curtain, and I looked up at the purple clouds at the very moment they split open and sent a rope of lightning down toward me. I knew then that the unicrown demanded a high price for the good luck it brought to its wearer.”

  Miles glanced at Little. She was looking into the fire as though she did not want to hear what came next. Tears glinted in her eyes.

  “The lightning hit me like a burning sledgehammer and left me hanging upside down in the smoking tree, my body humming like a bee. My surviving companions were all blown clear into the swamp and were relatively unhurt, but I had taken the full wattage through my copper hat. My senses were shuffled like a deck of cards, and for a long time after that I traveled the lands that Shaky Guano had described in his wildest ramblings. I heard the howling of the rocks buried deep beneath my feet, and I didn’t know days from hours, or seconds from weeks. I became aware that I was blind in one eye, and still I considered myself lucky to be alive. Our dinghy had been pulverized by the lightning, and without maps or compass we wandered further from the sea into the trackless jungle. The professor died in that soggy place, thin as a rail and eaten up by fever. Our supplies had long since run out, and we were forced to drink the moisture that had collected in leaves, and eat whatever had drowned in it. After some time I became dimly aware that we were no longer in a jungle at all, but in a scrubby desert that stretched to the horizon. How long we tramped through dust and sand I can’t say, but a mighty sandstorm overtook us one day, and when it had passed I could find no trace of Tenniel or Gannet.

  “I wandered alone through a world that would make the devil tremble, and forgot my purpose and my road. At night I stuck the unicrown upside down in the sand and by morning I would have a cup full of dew. I stumbled from oasis to scrub and gnawed on whatever root or nut I came across. Once I killed a stray goat who had been frightened by a sudden squall, but in the desert there is no greater crime, and when its owner caught up with me he told me with great courtesy that he would remove my head as soon as he had given his camel a drink. I took out the unicrown and placed it on my head. I had a desperate idea that I could convince him I was some class of ragged royalty with goat-killing privileges. That move saved my life, but not in the way I intended, and the unicrown took my remaining eye in payment.”

  Baltinglass reached into his pocket for his pipe, but his hand shook so much that he dropped it in the long grass. Little picked it up and handed it to him. She laid her hand on his knotty wrist, and his shaking eased a little.

  “They say that lightning never strikes twice, but I’m not one to stay within the rules. The squall had grown stronger, and no sooner had I placed the unicrown on my head than I was blasted by lightning again. It blew the shoes off my feet and turned the sand around me to glass, but oddly enough it unscrambled my wits this time around. For the first time in months I could remember my name and where I came from, but my good eye had been poached like an egg, and now I could see nothing but whiteness on every side.

  “The goat owner had a loud and urgent discussion with his god, who told him, apparently, that I had been taught my lesson. From that moment the laws of desert hospitality took over. The man became my host and my protector, and took me all the way back to the port of Al Bab, though it was hundreds of miles from his road. He booked me a passage to Fuera and paid for it from his own pocket. The moment my feet were back on dry ground I stumbled straight to the professor’s house to bring Gertrude news of her father’s death, and ask her forgiveness for my part in it.”

  Little squeezed Baltinglass’s hand, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “It was the professor’s expedition as much as yours.”

  “He was in my care nonetheless,” said Baltinglass. “I should have brought him back alive to his daughter, but there were more ugly surprises in store for me. I found that I had been gone for three years, and we had all long since been given up for dead. Gertrude had married that buffoon, Lord Partridge, and retired to his mansion in Larde. I sent her my apologies in a letter, and I took to the road again, eyes or no eyes, because I knew no other life. I never saw Gertrude again until she came to my door many years later with a gaggle of policemen and we took to the road to find out what had become of you two. It was only then that I learned Partridge had blown himself to bits with an exploding pudding several years before.”

  “It must have been much harder to travel without your eyes,” said Little.

  “That’s what I believed at first, but I was wrong. I found a whole other world behind the one I had known before. What you smell and hear and feel tells you more than your eyesight ever will. I’ve heard the beating heart of a deer that no one else could see, and felt the darkness on my tongue. Sometimes, when the night is still, I can hear the moon sliding through the sky. The world comes alive when you can no longer see it, little girl.”

  “What happened to the unicrown?” asked Miles. “Do you still have it?”

  “Maybe I do,” said Baltinglass, sticking out his jaw, “and maybe I don’t. To tell the truth I’m in no hurry to see it again. One end is sharp enough to put your eye out, and the other end seems to do the job just as well.”

  “Weren’t you afraid to put it back on after you were struck the first time?”

  Baltinglass reached out, quick as a snake, and grabbed Miles by t
he wrist. He leaned forward until his nose was inches from Miles’s face. “Sometimes you can only win by reaching right into the jaws of what scares you the most. If I hadn’t put that blasted hat back on my head I wouldn’t have had a head left to put it on, and I wouldn’t be sitting on this log telling you stories, would I now, Master Miles?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A KNOT OF PITCHFORKS

  Little Sky Beetle, mountain-bound and sun-striped, poured thick coffee from a dented silver pot in the cluttered wagon of the Bolsillo brothers. The wagon shook and swayed on the bumpy road, but Little swayed with it and did not spill a drop. Baltinglass had stayed at the circus overnight, and in the morning Miles and Little had walked him to the door of his whitewashed house. “Tell me this,” he had yelled, turning to Miles and Little as the door swung open, “did my little bedtime story give you nightmares?”

  “A few,” said Miles, “but they were good ones.”

  Baltinglass chuckled. “It didn’t take the wheels off your wanderlust, then.”

  “It didn’t stop you exploring, and you were the one with the crocodile chewing your leg,” said Miles.

  “You’ve got a point there, and that reminds me . . .” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I don’t know what you did to my old leg last night, Master Miles, but the pain that’s dogged me for forty years has vanished without a trace.”