by Lynne Jonell
Fia’s meow splintered the air. “He’s going to pounce!”
Fear gave Duncan’s hands a sudden, desperate strength, and a jagged piece of wood broke off at last. With unconscious reflex, he fell into his fencing stance: one foot back, his body balanced, and the wooden slat raised like a sword. The words he had been taught to say before every fencing match emerged without thought.
“In the name of the king!” he cried as the tiger leaped.
Everything slowed down strangely. Duncan saw it all in one vivid moment: the clear morning light, the dark cliff, the sharp-edged shadows lying blue on rock and sand; the body of the tiger in midair, white, black, and tawny, every hair tipped with brightness. Then—much too close—open mouth and gleaming fangs, and in the next instant, the tiger rammed into Duncan with the power of a crashing wave. The wooden slat was brushed aside as if it didn’t exist, and Duncan went over on his back, hard. Heavy paws pressed down on his chest. The tiger’s breath was hot and rank on Duncan’s face.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even breathe. Duncan suddenly knew that he did not want his last sight on earth to be the slavering jaws of a tiger. Pinned, helpless, he flicked his eyes to the sky beyond, to a blue so pure it made his heart ache. He waited for the end to come, his heart beating like the wings of a moth.
But the end didn’t seem to be coming. Instead there was a lot of high, furious meowing and low, anxious growling.
“I’m sorry, already! I wouldn’t have knocked him over if I’d known he was a king’s man!” The tiger’s rough tongue licked up one side of Duncan’s face all the way to his eyebrows, depositing a fair amount of saliva. “Is he dead? Why isn’t he saying anything?”
“Get OFF him!” shrieked Fia. “You must weigh a TON—look at him, he can’t even BREATHE!”
“Oh, all right,” grumbled the tiger. “Calm down. You don’t have to be so piercing. I have sensitive ears.”
The relief was incredible. Duncan rolled onto his side, his cheek damp from tiger drool, trying to breathe again. The animal must have put over a hundred pounds of pressure on his chest.
“You have sensitive ears?” Fia’s meow scaled up even higher. “You probably just broke all his ribs, you overgrown tomcat!”
The tiger made a chuffing sound of exasperation. “How was I supposed to know he came in the name of the king? I was already pouncing before he said anything!”
“Did it ever occur to you to ask?” Fia demanded. “Or are you stupid? Did someone drop you on the head when you were a kitten?”
Duncan would have laughed if he had had the air in his lungs to do it. Kittens weren’t known for their scolding abilities, but Fia had learned from the best—her mother, Mabel—and had developed a fine cutting edge to her meows.
“I wasn’t a kitten; I was a cub.” The tiger’s voice was turning sullen. “I said I was sorry. You don’t have to insult me.”
Duncan lay still, taking shallow, wheezing breaths, in and out in a careful rhythm. Clear water slipped across the pale sand, frothing a little at the edges, and slid back to sea. He watched as the next wave lapped at his outstretched fingers. The tide was coming in.
He pushed himself up with his elbow, groaning only twice, and took a good look at the sheer rock wall that enclosed the beach. It stretched high above him, gleaming a lighter gray in the sun’s glare, but there was a wide, dark band along the base, marked at its top with a white rim of crusted salt. It was the high-tide mark, and it was over his head. In a few hours, the beach would disappear beneath ten feet of water. And the opening to the cave would fill with water, too. Where had the tiger come from?
Duncan gazed at the animal. The tiger’s tawny coat seemed to almost glow in the sun, and the black stripes were strongly marked. A salt breeze ruffled the white fur at his throat. He looked magnificent, if somewhat apologetic.
The tiger cleared his throat politely. “Welcome to my island.”
Fia groomed herself behind a foreleg. “Some welcome,” she muttered.
The tiger ignored her loftily. “I am honored to greet a king’s man, sir.” He bowed his head with stately courtesy.
Duncan blinked. Of course, the tiger was only following the usual rule for cats. If a cat did something embarrassing, it always pretended nothing had happened. But given that the tiger had been about to kill him only two minutes ago, it was a little strange.
Fia gave the tiger a withering glare. “Who says it’s your island, anyway, you big bully?”
The tiger looked suddenly uncertain. “I’m not a bully. I was just doing my job.”
“Like what?” Fia lifted her eyebrow tufts. “Pounce first, ask questions later?”
“Go easy, Fia,” said Duncan. “Listen, tiger—” He paused. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Brig,” said the tiger, “at your service. Short for Brigadier.”
Duncan scratched under the edge of his cap. “That’s a military title,” he said, mystified.
The tiger sat back on his haunches, stiffened his neck, and pressed the edge of one paw to his forehead. It took Duncan a moment to realize he was trying to salute.
Duncan felt a sudden spasm of inner mirth, and he bent over at once, hiding his expression. He didn’t dare laugh. He mustn’t. He smoothed down Fia’s bristling fur and got his face under control. If Brig was saluting him, he had better act like a superior officer and return the salute.
“All right, Brig,” he said, “at ease. Right now we need water, and food, and a way off this beach before the tide comes in and drowns us all.”
“Of course, sir,” said the tiger. “Follow me.” He gazed over Fia’s head as if she were beneath his notice, turned on his massive paws, and paced with injured dignity across the damp sand to the cave.
Duncan stepped through the rocky opening. It was cooler out of the sun’s glare, but his eyes were not used to the dim light. He walked cautiously forward, feeling his way, one hand trailing against the slimy wall. This was no tiger’s den, as he had first supposed. This was a sea cave, dry only at low tide, and its walls were damp with algae.
The sand under his feet was packed hard in little ridges, and the cave grew steadily darker as he walked. The small hairs lifted on Duncan’s arms in the chilly draft, and he looked back at the entrance, now only a faint triangle of light in the distance. He shivered lightly. Where was the tiger taking them? He started to ask, but his throat, dry and salty, scratched on the first word. Now that he wasn’t in immediate danger of drowning, or of being eaten by a tiger, he remembered how terribly thirsty he was.
Duncan cleared his throat and tried again. “Where are we going?” He couldn’t see the tiger at all, but he could hear a snuffling sound ahead. Two golden eyes blinked like small, round lamps as the tiger turned.
“Come along, sir, if you please.” Brig’s low rumble echoed hollowly in the cave.
Duncan took one blind step toward the tiger, then another. Suddenly his feet splashed in something wet.
“Don’t chase away the fish, sir.” Brig’s reproachful voice came at him out of the darkness. “Why don’t you wait on the stone ledge with the Fia kitten?”
“I can’t see in the dark,” Duncan said, exasperated. “I’m not a cat, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Water swirled against Duncan’s ankles, and there was a sense of something large approaching. Brig’s eyes blinked out of the darkness. “Don’t worry, sir. The others have the same problem. I suggest you catch hold of my tail.”
The others? How many tigers were on this island? Duncan grasped the thick, ropelike tail that swished into his hand, and he was led to one side. His feet left water and found a ledge of smooth, flat stone. It was covered with algae, like the walls, and was as slick as ice. Duncan managed three careful steps before he stumbled and fell to his knees.
“Ow!” Duncan touched one knee with a cautious finger. It felt damp and slimy, but with blood or seaweed? Suppressing a groan, he sat up. He stretched his legs over the rock’s edge, and his feet san
k into water. There must be a pool here, in the inner cave, filled with seawater left over from the last high tide. He splashed a little up onto his knees and then licked his finger, just to be sure. Salty.
“We need water,” he croaked to Brig.
“Please, sir! A tiger in the act of catching dinner must not be distracted!”
Fia whispered, “I don’t like it here. This cave smells like eels.”
Duncan drew his feet out of the water and rested them on a little knob of rock. Eels had teeth.
His eyes were growing used to the light. High above, from some crack or flaw in the rock, a thin sunbeam came filtering down, hanging in the air like a straight golden thread. By its light, Duncan could just make out the bulky form of the tiger as he stood in the pool, staring intently at its surface with one paw lifted. Then, so fast that Duncan hardly saw it, the great paw flashed down. With a scooping motion, Brig pulled up a small fish, neatly hooked on his claws, and tossed it into Duncan’s lap. Duncan tried to grasp it, but it was all slippery scales, wet and firm and flipping back and forth.
“Use your claws,” said Fia. “Like this.” She pounced on the wildly flopping fish, hooked her claws neatly behind its gills, and bit through its spine. Then she dragged the fish off his lap and began to devour the head with smacking sounds and small kitten growls.
Duncan wiped his scaly hands on his shirt. “Brig, how about water?”
“Soon, sir,” said Brig. “I have to catch dinner for five.”
For five? Duncan frowned. There must be other tigers on the island. But where? The cave seemed to end at the pool; he could just make out the rear wall, shiny with algae. Maybe back on the beach there was a way up the cliffs—for tigers. If it involved leaping twice his height, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to make it.
He had to get himself and Fia to safety before the tide came in and drowned them in the cave. The tiger seemed to be a military sort; maybe he would take orders.
“Brigadier!” Duncan said in his most commanding voice. “Attention!”
The tiger reared up out of the pool. “Sir! Yes, sir!”
“We need to get to a safe place—away from the tide—and we need water to drink. Now, Brig!”
“Impossible, sir. I have my orders to catch dinner before I go back.”
“Well, I’m giving you new orders,” said Duncan.
Brig shook his shaggy head. “She outranks you,” he said, “and her orders came first. Sorry, sir. Now, excuse me. I have a job to do.” The tiger took up his fishing position.
She? Duncan grabbed his hair in frustration. This tiger was driving him mad. “Tell me where the safe place is, then, and I’ll go there myself!”
“That will not work, sir.” The tiger spoke very low, still watching the water. “You need me to guide you, because you can’t see in the dark.”
This was infuriating. “Fia can show me! Tell Fia where to go!” Duncan’s last word echoed eerily in the cave: Go! Go! Go!
Brig reared out of the water with a roar. “PLEASE, sir! Shut UP, sir! Allow the tiger to do his JOB, sir!”
Duncan clamped his mouth in a tight line. It was impossible to reason with a determined cat. Apparently there was some queen tiger on the island, who gave the orders. He just wished he knew where the tigers lived. He was getting heartily sick of the dark.
Suddenly Duncan realized that his feet were wet again. The water had risen to the knob of rock where his feet rested; and now that he paid attention, he could feel a little tugging current pushing against his ankles. The tide was coming in. They would be trapped in the cave.
Fear scooped a hollow under Duncan’s breastbone, and for one frozen moment, he couldn’t move. Fia, still chewing on her fish, made a small contented noise nearby. The sound released him from his trance and all at once he was in action, his mind clicking into gear and his body following. He lifted Fia up to a higher place on the rock, and then he was splashing back toward the entrance, running with knees lifted high above the water, the sound of his heart beating loud in his ears. Maybe the wooden crate was still there. Maybe he and Fia could float on it; maybe there would be air trapped near the ceiling of the cave that they could breathe.
But the water rushed in with more force as he neared the narrow cave entrance. With each succeeding wave he stood still, legs braced, hanging on to the wall as best he could against the water that raced furiously in. As the waves pulled back he splashed forward, only to stop and brace himself a moment later. The entrance was now partly filled with water, but before he reached it, he saw the crate. It was bobbing in the sea, in the inner curve of the cliffs, fifty feet away. As he watched, the crate rolled over in the surf, crashing into the unforgiving stone. He heard it crack—he watched it break apart—and then the sea, pouring through the entrance to the cave, knocked him off his feet.
Duncan was swept back into the dark cave as if by a powerful hand. He tumbled, rolled by the water and scraped along the sand, helpless as a rag doll.
“Sir! Are you all right, sir?” The tiger’s muzzle was near Duncan’s head, his voice barely louder than the echoing noise of the water.
Duncan struggled to his knees, spat out a mouthful of sand and grit, and sucked in air with great, wheezing gulps.
“Come along, sir, unless you prefer to swim.” Brig’s furry shoulder nudged Duncan onto the stone ledge. “Follow me, up and around! No time to waste!” He bent his head to the large fish he had caught and gripped it in his jaws once more.
Shaken and bruised, Duncan ran his hand along the tiger’s back until he found the long, thick tail. His eyes were still adjusting to the dark; he had looked too long at the light past the entrance, and he could barely see where they were going. Half-blind, his senses dulled by the roaring of the tide in the cave, he took two steps, then a third, before his feet went out from under him.
“OW, SIR!” Brig yowled. “THAT WAS MY TAIL, SIR!”
Duncan sprawled on the slimy rock, breathing hard. He had barely managed to keep from sliding off into the pool. Below him, another wave came pushing in and smacked against the back wall of the cave with a muffled boom. If he had fallen then, he would have been dashed against the rock, just like the crate.
Brig hooked a claw in the fish he had dropped, and growled in Duncan’s ear. “You must keep your footing, sir. We’re going much higher up. See where Fia is?”
Higher up and farther on, two small, mismatched eyes shone in the dark. Beyond the shining eyes, Duncan could see a flaw in the wall—a natural formation of the rock like a jagged gash that went up and across the wall in a series of irregular steps. The path climbed higher than his eyes could see by the light of one thin sunbeam, and it was narrow. There would be no second chances if he slipped. And he would slip; there was algae on the rock as far as the waterline.
Duncan put his mouth to the tiger’s ear. “It’s too slick. Isn’t there another way?”
Brig shook his head. “Just dig in with your claws, sir,” he said earnestly. “Didn’t your mother teach you how to grip with your claws?”
Duncan shook his head. His mother hadn’t taught him to use his claws, but she had taught him almost everything else. Would she ever know what had happened to him? What lies would the earl tell her when he returned?
Something fierce choked Duncan’s throat. He had a sudden vision of the earl’s fingers, long and graceful, patting Sylvia McKinnon’s hand as he made up a story about what had happened to her son. The earl might even ask her to play her violin, to comfort them both.…
Duncan wiped his cheeks, wet with spray, and got to his feet. His mother would want him to be brave. She would want him to keep on trying to the end.
He fell again, but this time he landed in the pool. With great good fortune, he did not fall at the moment when the waves were rushing in but when they were sliding back. He was dragged only a little way along the bottom of the pool, although his shirt and shorts filled up with sand.
He scrambled back onto the ledge, the sand falling f
rom his shorts as he stood. The rock beneath his feet seemed suddenly easier to stand on—gritty, not slippery—
The sand! He could use the sand!
Duncan fumbled at the buttons of his father’s shirt with trembling fingers. He tied the sleeves around his waist and tied the bottom corners together to make a pouch. He watched for the next receding wave, jumped down, and feverishly scooped sand. He got back on the ledge in time to avoid the next incoming wave and gripped Brig’s tail with his free hand. “Ready,” he said.
It was a nightmarish journey. The rock path was broken, uneven, and Duncan had to feel his way with his feet, but he sprinkled sand before each step and didn’t fall. Halfway up, the ledge widened to a broad shelf, and he sat down a moment, dully wondering how long he could go on. His hand touched the rock, and it wasn’t slimy. He was above the high-tide mark, and from then on, the going was dry and much easier.
All at once, it was over. The path leveled out and turned into a wider cave. The feeble sunbeam of the sea cave was left behind, and a dim light ahead grew gradually brighter. Soon Duncan could see the colors of the tiger padding before him, and Fia’s prancing white form. Now Duncan could even see something like stick figures painted on the cave wall. He didn’t stop to examine them; what he saw ahead pulled him onward in a hurried, anxious rush.
Water! Clear, clean, it fell past the opening at the cave’s end in a glorious scattering of mist and sunlit drops. Duncan was so eager for it that he tripped and almost fell off the ledge at the rocky door that opened onto a vast valley. He had come to the hollow interior of the island, but he had no eyes for the beautiful sight. He rolled over onto his back under the waterfall and opened his mouth wide to drink. He could feel life and energy pouring back into him, and he laughed out loud. A bush full of flowers, scarlet and gold, grew from a crack in the stone near his head, and its perfume filled the air. Beside him, Fia lapped busily with her small pink tongue from the puddles on the stone ledge.
There was a motion at the edge of his vision. But it wasn’t Brig. It wasn’t even one of the other tigers Brig had spoken of. It was a girl, about his size or a little taller, her dark hair in two long braids and her face pale with fright.
