The Tiger's Egg

by Jon Berkeley

  Doctor Tau-Tau was still staring at him with his mouth open. “Those are mine!” he spluttered. “Where did you get them?”

  “They fell out of your bag when you dropped it from the tree,” said Miles, forcing himself to breathe. “I’ve seen them before, on the floor of your wagon. The name Celeste is written inside the covers.”

  “Celeste? No it isn’t!” said Doctor Tau-Tau, his face turning an unhealthy puce. Miles opened the notebooks. “Of course it is,” said Tau-Tau. “But they were blank apart from the name. All that writing is a result of my research, made while I traveled through foreign parts in search of knowledge. And money, of course, but mostly knowledge. I . . .”

  Miles put the notebooks back in his pocket. The more he learned about this red-faced windbag, the more he found their lives were entangled. It seemed there were some ties that could never be cut. “Remember what Baltinglass said,” said Miles to Doctor Tau-Tau. “The diaries are mine.”

  Doctor Tau-Tau deflated at the mention of Baltinglass’s name. “You have a lot of things to put right,” said Miles, “and the first thing is your promise to help me look for my father. You may have forgotten it, but I haven’t.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A CHIME IN TIME

  Sergeant Bramley, red-eyed and road-dusted, blinked wearily as he drove the police van over the stone bridge and up Broad Street toward the police station. The sergeant avoided working overtime whenever he could, but it seemed that every time he became entangled with Lady Partridge he was sure to lose a night’s sleep. He and his crack search team had spent the night combing the countryside for The Null without success, but having dropped off the other constables in the surrounding villages and hamlets he decided that reporting to Lady Partridge could wait until he had spent a few hours in his comfortable bed. Fate, however, had other ideas.

  An unexpected commotion was waiting for him when he turned into the small square at the top of the street. Some fifty or sixty people were milling about in front of the police station, and the mood looked ugly. You may wonder how Sergeant Bramley could tell this at a glance, but he had many years of policing behind him, and he knew that when several of the people present have their hands wrapped around the throats of their neighbors it is seldom a good sign. Add to that several black eyes, at least two bandaged heads and a great deal of finger-jabbing and there is no longer any doubt that trouble is afoot. Sergeant Bramley groaned. He considered trying to do a U-turn before he was spotted, but he could see a couple of people that he had recently fined for doing just that, and they had spotted him already. He parked right in the middle of the square, and stepped down from the cab, brushing the dust from his uniform.

  “Now then,” he said in a commanding croak. “What’s all this? Obstructing the public thoroughfare. Causing an affray. Who’s in charge here?”

  “You are!” shouted Piven the baker, who had a firm grip on the sleeve of a pasty-looking boy with a worried expresssion. “And I want this delinquent arrested.”

  “I didn’t do nothing,” protested the boy. There were shouts from other members of the crowd, who were pressing forward to air their complaints. Sergeant Bramley held up his hand and glowered at them.

  “You haven’t done much work, maybe,” said Piven, “but you’ve managed to clean out the cashbox behind my back, and I only hired you a fortnight ago. And then—” He turned back to Sergeant Bramley. “Then he has the cheek to ask me for an advance on his pay.”

  The worried-looking boy held his hands out, palms upward. “I needed me bicycle fixed, else I’d have to walk three miles to work. He docks me wages if I’m late.”

  The sergeant took out his notebook and reached behind his ear for a pencil. He had no intention of writing anything down, but it was an old habit and it helped him to think.

  “Now let’s get the facts straight,” he said to Piven. “You say this lad’s been pilfering from you?”

  Piven nodded. “I picked up the cashbox yesterday to take it to the bank, and there wasn’t a penny left in it.”

  “If the lad has cleaned you out,” Sergeant Bramley pointed out, “he’d have to be a bigger fool than he looks to ask you for more money, wouldn’t he?”

  “That’s what I told him,” said the boy, “and I’m certainly not a bigger fool than I look, Sergeant sir.”

  A small man broke through the crowd at this point and planted himself in front of the sergeant. He had a nasty black eye and his arm was in a sling. “Never mind that,” he interrupted angrily. “What about that lying toe-rag who lives next door to me? Says I shinned up his ladder and stole a watch from his bedroom, when he’s the one who’s been helping himself to our silverware.”

  More shouts came from the crowd, and the people pressed forward. It seemed that everyone had a theft to report, and it was clear that the resulting investigations would last until Christmas and beyond. Sergeant Bramley placed his whistle in his mouth and blew with all his might. The piercing shriek had the desired effect. The people shrank back automatically, as though they expected a cordon of highly trained policemen to appear on cue and surround them.

  “Now then,” said the sergeant hoarsely, “all complaints will be dealt with in due course. The police station will reopen this afternoon at four o’clock sharp, and all allegations must be written in triplicate and signed by the allegator.” He was not sure if that was a real word, and for a moment he pictured sixty irate reptiles clutching crumpled papers and hammering on his door.

  An old lady stepped forward and poked the sergeant in the chest with her green umbrella. “Due course is no good to me, young man!” she shouted. “I need my money returned this afternoon. I’ve got cat food to buy, and the coal man comes first thing in the morning.”

  The shouting and jostling began again, and the sergeant was just wondering whether a second blast on the whistle would work as well as the first, when twelve o’clock came to his rescue. Now if you think that the arrival of midday is too ordinary an event to save a lone policeman from sixty feuding neighbors, you have not taken into account the strange phenomenon of the Pinchbucket clocks. The ugly clock that Fowler Pinchbucket had presented to Lady Partridge had spent the summer on the sideboard by the open window, and although it only chimed twice a day, everyone who heard it was captivated by its beautiful melody. Before long the Pinchbuckets were doing a brisk trade in the clocks, which sold for a remarkably low price. Every chime was different, but so skillfully were they made that each one joined with the next to create a spectacular symphony that floated and whirled through the narrow streets like the summer breeze itself, and for a short while work would cease and coffee would be brewed, and people would remember just what it was they liked about their day, even if they could not give it a name.

  It was this feeling that swept through the crowd as midday struck and the Pinchbucket clocks worked their spell. For a moment the urgency left their complaints, and they felt sheepish at having leaped to assumptions about their neighbors and friends. A moment was enough for Sergeant Bramley, who set a course for his bed and slipped through the crowd with the stealth of a much thinner man. The crowd began to drift away so that they could put their complaints in writing, which suddenly seemed a perfectly reasonable suggestion, and the sergeant breathed a huge sigh of relief as he turned his key in the police station door, leaving his dusty van right where it was in the center of the square.

  Miles Wednesday, breathless and mission-bent, slowed for a moment as he neared the police station despite the urgency of his task. A tinkling chime that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere was sweeping through the air. It was almost as beautiful as the music Little coaxed from the circus orchestra, and for a moment it seemed to lift the terrible chill that Doctor Tau-Tau’s revelations had laid on his heart.

  Little smiled as she caught up with him, and together they let the music wash over them as they paused to wait for Lady Partridge and Doctor Tau-Tau, who puffed and panted behind them in a tide of cats. “Do you hear that?�
� said Miles.

  Little nodded. “I heard it last night too. It sounds like the chime from many clocks like Lady Partridge’s. The tunes dance together like the stars. It’s very clever.”

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” said Lady Partridge as she caught up. “I sometimes wonder if that Pinchbucket man was just totally unsuited to working with children. He’s become quite popular since he started dealing in clocks, though they’re no prettier to look at than he is.”

  “It sounds like there are a lot of them,” said Miles, who was not ready to forgive Fowler Pinchbucket for the years of brutish treatment he had suffered in Pinchbucket House.

  “They’re being snapped up faster than the Pinchbuckets can import them,” said Lady Partridge. “A small foreign gentleman arrives every week or so with a new batch, and they’re usually sold out by the next day. They do tend to break down rather frequently, in fact my own clock hasn’t chimed since Tuesday, but I suppose such an airy sound must require a delicate mechanism, and Mr. Pinchbucket runs a very reasonable repair service. He does it for a song, in fact.” Lady Partridge bellowed with laughter at her own joke.

  “Fowler Pinchbucket repairs the clocks himself?” Miles asked in disbelief. Fowler Pinchbucket had taken care of all the repairs at Pinchbucket House, and the grim building had grown steadily more dilapidated until it seemed that only the paint was holding it together.

  The music of the clocks faded away, and Miles tried to quicken the pace again as they approached the police station. He was not prepared to rest until The Null had been found, and he was relieved to see that Sergeant Bramley appeared to be opening up for the day. The square seemed much busier than usual, and Miles noticed a number of rather bruised and battered-looking people milling about. They seemed in general to be dispersing, as though they had come for a riot and then changed their minds.

  “Sergeant Bramley!” boomed Lady Partridge’s voice across the square. The sergeant froze on the steps of the police station, and Miles distinctly saw his shoulders sag as he turned around to face them.

  “I’m so glad we’ve caught you,” said Lady Partridge. “We’ve had some news that makes it doubly important that we find The Null before it gets itself into trouble, unless of course you’ve got the creature in the back of the van already.” She glanced curiously at the stranded van in the center of the square.

  Sergeant Bramley, standing at the top of the police station steps, took a deep breath and folded his arms. “The investigation is ongoing,” he stated in his best spokesman voice. “You may be sure we are working around the clock to follow all lines of inquiry. The station will be closed until four P.M.”

  “You mean you’ve lost The Null,” said Lady Partridge, “and now you’re going to bed.”

  “Yes,” said Sergeant Bramley. “I mean no. The beast has slipped through the net for the present. I will be regrouping until four o’clock.” A pleading tone had entered his voice, but Lady Partridge showed no sign of noticing it.

  “I’m sure you’re in need of a cup of tea,” said Lady Partridge, who was convinced that tea held the answer to everything, “and we shall be happy to join you, while we discuss the best way to continue our search.”

  “Very well,” sighed Sergeant Bramley. He was too tired to argue. He slouched into the small police station and filled the kettle. The interior of the station was stuffed with loose papers, beige files, paper clips, faded posters of missing pets and desperate criminals, old raffle tickets, full notebooks, empty cigarette packets, used carbon paper, rubber stamps and ink bottles. Lady Partridge removed a pile of papers from a swivel chair and sat down, while Sergeant Bramley brewed tea in a battered pot.

  “Well, Sergeant,” she said. “What’s the plan of attack?”

  Sergeant Bramley shuffled the papers on his desk in a random sort of way, until a yellowed map came to the top. He opened it out carefully. The map had been folded so many times that it had almost separated along the creases into a pile of long rectangles. “We have conducted an intensive search of the area between Larde, Hay and Shallowford,” he said, stabbing at the map with a blunt finger. “And as yet have not managed to apprehend the suspect.”

  “The Null is not a suspect,” said Lady Partridge, “until he does something illegal.”

  “Not a suspect?” said Doctor Tau-Tau indignantly. “The beast kidnapped me and hung me in a tree!”

  “Yes, well . . . ,” said the sergeant, looking distinctly as though he sided with The Null on that one, “be that as it may, I will make a detailed study of the region to decide which way the beast is likely to have gone. He smoothed the tattered map on his desk and leaned forward on his elbows, pulling his cap low over his eyes.

  Miles and Little collected an assortment of enamel mugs and chipped teacups from around the cluttered office, and poured the tea. Doctor Tau-Tau swallowed his tea in two gulps, and stood for a moment staring into the teacup, which he had placed on the counter in front of him. He began to massage his temples with his fingertips. “I see something in the tea leaves,” he said. “A picture of the beast is emerging. It is somewhere not too distant, but where we have not searched as yet.”

  Miles peered curiously into the cup. “I can just see a blob,” he said.

  “Of course you can,” said Doctor Tau-Tau shortly. “You need a keen second sight to be able to read the leaves.” He went back to rubbing his temples. “The creature has gone south. It is near—just a moment—it is nearing the town of Iota as we speak.”

  “Are you seriously suggesting that we should follow the tea leaves to search for a frightened and dangerous beast?” asked Lady Partridge.

  Doctor Tau-Tau sniffed loudly. “You may take my advice or leave it,” he said. “As for me, I will come with you to Iota, if only to have the opportunity to test my extra-strength sleepwater.”

  “What would you say, Sergeant?” said Lady Partridge. “Sergeant?”

  The sergeant gave a little start and began to fold the map hastily.

  “Were you asleep, Sergeant Bramley?” said Lady Partridge.

  “Of course not, ma’am,” said the sergeant, and Miles heard him mutter under his breath, “No such luck.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  MISSING PERSONS

  Miles Wednesday, jolted, bounced and Iota-bound, stared at the little wooden dog that sat on the dashboard of Sergeant Bramley’s paddy wagon. It was the kind of dog that has a spring for a neck and is supposed to nod happily at each bump in the road, but the combination of the sergeant’s lunatic driving and a van without viable suspension had the little wooden beast in such a frenzy of nodding it seemed his head would fly off at any moment.

  Miles barely noticed. He was thinking of the monstrous creature that had once been his father, and try as he might he could not shake off the feeling that somehow he had let the beast down by not guessing its true nature before. Nonetheless he had stared into the empty eyes of The Null from much closer than he would have wished to, and when he thought of the howling void that he saw there it seemed that the hope of finding his father was more remote than ever.

  He peered through the dusty windshield for any sign of the town of Iota. It was the place of his birth, according to the story the tiger had told him by their campfire the year before, which meant it was also the town where his mother had died. In his mind’s eye he could see a place of storms and statues and strange gateways, and as he watched the road ahead the dim outline of a church spire came into view, rising above the trees. The van swerved suddenly into a small picnic area beside the road, and skidded to a halt. Sergeant Bramley jumped down from the cab and disappeared around the back of the van. He returned a moment later with Doctor Tau-Tau, who looked as though he had spent a couple of hours in a cocktail shaker. “I should have been traveling up front,” the fortune-teller was grumbling, “especially as I’m the one who knows the whereabouts of the beast.”

  “That remains to be seen. Besides, space in front is limited to authorized personnel, and I’m the one w
ho does the authorizing.”

  Doctor Tau-Tau stood by the van massaging his temples with a wounded expression. A column of steam rose from the engine, adding atmosphere to the proceedings. “We are close now,” he intoned, “but the danger is great. The beast is enraged by the chase, and it must be approached with great care. It will be best if just I and the boy go on from here.”

  “I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” boomed Lady Partridge. “Isn’t it, Sergeant Bramley?”

  “Er . . . quite,” said the sergeant. “Constables Flap and Wigge will accompany the boy and the oddball. As senior officer I will remain here in a command and control capacity.”

  “You are far too modest, Sergeant,” said Lady Partridge. “I shall stay here and look after the van. Your steely nerve will be needed if the creature is found, and your constables will be looking to you for leadership.”

  Sergeant Bramley, who had already pulled the peak of his cap low in preparation for a spot of quiet command and control in the cabin of the van, sighed deeply. “Well, if you put it that way . . . ,” he said. He tucked his truncheon into his belt with a resigned air.