The Time Traveller and the Tiger

by Tania Unsworth

  Mr Gordon had described Sowerby as imposing, and now Elsie understood why. At school the previous year, she’d learned about tectonic plates. They lay beneath the surface of the earth’s crust and when they shifted, the force of the impact made canyons split and mountains rise. Sowerby had the same look. As if vast, subterranean forces had formed his features, from his jutting chin and stone-slabbed forehead to the high, lonely ridge of his nose.

  He stared at the children, although it was impossible to read any expression in his eyes, buried beneath his overhanging brows. All Elsie could see was that they were black and utterly unblinking, despite the grey thread of smoke rising from a cigarette smouldering beside him.

  ‘John Lassiter,’ John said, advancing a little uncertainly. ‘And this is Kelsie…’

  ‘Corvette,’ Elsie muttered, following him.

  Beneath her feet she felt an unfamiliar texture. At first glance, she’d thought the floor was covered with rugs. But they weren’t rugs. They were animal skins; deer, zebra, lion, leopard and bear; so many that they overlapped, flattened legs spread, as if reaching for each other. Elsie drew a sharp breath. A musky odour filled the air, mingling with the cigarette smoke.

  ‘Gordon tells me he picked up the pair of you on his way here,’ Sowerby said. He took a drag on his cigarette, his eyes not leaving John’s face, then tapped the ash in a bowl at his elbow. ‘Rather far from home, aren’t you?’

  John nodded.

  Sowerby glanced at the window, as if judging the angle of the light.

  ‘One of my men could drive you back, although you’d have to leave immediately,’ he said.

  Elsie was startled by his rudeness. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he wanted them gone. But she didn’t care. She suddenly felt desperate to be gone herself. There was something disturbing about Sowerby’s chair. It had elephant tusks instead of arms, the ivory stained and worn to a polish where his hands had rested. And she couldn’t help noticing that the bowl where he had stubbed out his cigarette wasn’t really a bowl at all. It was a lacquered turtle shell, gilded around the rim.

  ‘What about Mandeep?’ John said.

  ‘Ah, yes, the Indian boy,’ Sowerby said. ‘The one who’s put Gordon’s nose out of joint.’

  ‘But that’s just it, sir,’ John said. ‘There’s been a mistake. Mandeep hasn’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘That’s not what Gordon says.’ Sowerby rose from his chair and crossed the room to the desk. ‘He tells me the boy sabotaged his hunt. Frankly, he needn’t have bothered, since Gordon was unlikely to get anything anyway. The man’s completely inept.’ Sowerby reached into a box on the desk and took out another cigarette. ‘But that’s hardly the point, is it?’ he said, turning his gaze back on John.

  Elsie was aware of John saying something in reply, although she was too distracted to listen. She had suddenly realised why everything in the room looked strange. Sowerby’s chair, his ashtray, the twisting legs of the desk, the mottled picture frames, the lampshades, the peculiar ornaments…

  They were all made out of animals, or parts of animals.

  She hadn’t spotted it straight away because a great deal of trouble had gone into making the animal parts look like completely different things. The wastepaper basket was an elephant’s foot, the candelabra an assortment of tusks, the lid of a chest the broad back of a crocodile. Zebras had given their legs to chairs and monkeys their paws to dresser handles. The clock ticked in a skull and tails that once whisked flies away now tied the curtains back.

  Hundreds of living animals, Elsie thought. Murdered and turned into stuff.

  ‘Are you sure of that?’ Sowerby was saying.

  ‘Yes,’ John said, although there was a catch in his voice. Perhaps the horrible contents of the room were getting to him too.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s impossible,’ Sowerby said. ‘Gordon’s determined to keep the boy here until he can turn him over to the authorities. And I’m not inclined to argue with a guest. Not when they’re paying me as much as he is.’

  The cigarette lighter on Sowerby’s desk was made of bone, highly polished and curved to fit the hand. He lit his cigarette with a flick.

  ‘You’ll have to go back without him,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t do that, sir,’ John said, with a brave straightening of his shoulders. ‘He’s a friend, you see. He saved my life.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Sowerby said.

  For a second, Elsie was too outraged to be frightened. ‘But you have to let Mandeep leave!’ she said, her voice coming out in a squeak. ‘You can’t just keep him!’

  Sowerby glanced over, as if noticing her for the first time, then looked away.

  ‘If my father was here and could talk to Mr Gordon, I’m sure he could explain everything,’ John said in a rush. ‘Can’t you send word to him? He could be here in the morning.’

  Sowerby’s expression didn’t change. Elsie wasn’t sure it could. But his eyes narrowed for an instant. He shook his wrist and looked down at his watch, then crossed the room and pressed a button by the door.

  ‘It’s later than I thought,’ he said. ‘Too late to send anyone out this evening. We’ll discuss it tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest you get cleaned up and give your clothes to be washed. You’ll be shown where everything is.’

  John looked upset, as if he wanted to say more, but the bearer had arrived to escort them away, and Sowerby was already closing the door behind him.

  They were shown to a room on the ground floor. The furniture was sparse, the rug was threadbare, and the two beds little more than metal cots. But it was a relief to find themselves alone.

  They sat on the beds in silence for a moment or two.

  ‘That room…’ Elsie said at last.

  ‘Ghastly.’ John’s shoulders slumped. ‘Good job Mandeep didn’t see it. He’s potty about animals.’

  ‘Do you think Mr Gordon’s right about Mandeep spoiling his hunt?’

  ‘Pretty sure. Unfortunately.’

  ‘I don’t care. Mr Gordon’s still in the wrong.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something else that’s wrong,’ John said. ‘Sowerby didn’t mind about us going back, but the minute I asked him to send for my father instead, he suddenly decided it was too late in the day. Did you notice that?’

  Elsie nodded.

  ‘Bloody fishy, in my opinion.’

  ‘I don’t understand how they can just kidnap Mandeep and talk about taking him away somewhere,’ Elsie said. ‘He’s a kid.’

  ‘That probably won’t make much difference. There’s a lot of unrest – rioting, stuff like that – going on in the country. The newspaper is full of it. My father says it makes people nervous. Mandeep could be in trouble if the authorities think he’s an agitator.’

  ‘Just because he’s Indian?’ Elsie burst out, shocked by the unfairness.

  ‘Yes, of course because of that!’

  ‘You don’t have to snap at me.’

  ‘Sorry.’ John put his head in his hands.

  Elsie’s nose itched. She rubbed it, wondering if she was allergic to something. Her friend Matilda would know. Matilda had a lot of allergies, although they mostly came on just before gym class or in the middle of a test…

  There was a rattling, pattering sound. Elsie looked out of the window to see where it was coming from. Four or five langur monkeys, their tails curled into hoops, were running across a metal roof to her right. As she watched, others joined them, leaping from the overhanging branches of a nearby tree, one with a baby clinging to its back like a tiny jockey.

  ‘Isn’t that the roof of the kitchen?’ Elsie said.

  John still had his head in his hands. ‘It’s all my fault,’ he said. ‘I got Mandeep into this.’

  ‘Not really,’ Elsie pointed out. ‘He was the one who spoiled Mr Gordon’s hunt, so he got himself into it, didn’t he? Not that he wasn’t totally in the right,’ she added.

  ‘I don’t mean then. I mean at the river. Mandeep didn�
�t want us going after the tiger. He told me that. But I knew I’d get my way, that he wouldn’t make a fuss or try to stop me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s…’ John’s voice trailed off.

  Because he’s the gardener’s son and his family works for your family, Elsie thought. They might argue about trivial things, but when it really mattered, John always had the advantage, even though Mandeep was supposed to be his best friend. Yet John was too ashamed to admit it. That was why he hadn’t been able to finish his sentence.

  ‘If I hadn’t been behaving like an ass, we’d never have run into Gordon and we’d all be home by now,’ John said, leaping to his feet and pacing across the room in agitation.

  ‘Do you really think your father will be able to sort it out?’

  ‘Not sure he’ll get the chance. I had the feeling Sowerby doesn’t want him turning up. I bet you anything he’ll fob me off with another excuse tomorrow morning.’

  ‘But why?’

  John didn’t answer. He stopped pacing and sat on the bed again. ‘I’ll find out where Mandeep’s being kept and then I’ll wait until night and get him out.’

  ‘I’ll help,’ Elsie said.

  ‘How?’

  Elsie tried to think of something. ‘I could hold the torch,’ she said at last. ‘Because of the dark,’ she added, although she could tell she hadn’t convinced him. He shook his head.

  ‘Not necessary,’ he said with an air of great conviction. ‘I’ve got it all worked out already.’

  The rest of the day passed slowly. While John went off to investigate Mandeep’s whereabouts, Elsie crept across the hall to the common room, hoping to distract herself with something to read. She peered around the door, dreading the thought of finding Mr Gordon there, or worse, Sowerby himself. But the room was empty.

  There weren’t many books on the shelf, and most of them looked like depressing reading. Elsie passed over Big Game Hunting in Every Continent, The Illustrated Guide to Pig-Sticking and Taxidermy for Amateurs, before choosing – in desperation – The Memoirs of Col. H. Featheringstone-Follerby, Vol. II.

  The book had been written nearly a hundred years ago, judging by the date on the cover. Elsie perched on the edge of the sofa and opened it at random.

  The autumn of 1858 found me back in the foothills, keen to resume my long-standing acquaintance with tigers, she read. The beaters raised a pair on the very first day of the shikar, both of them whoppers. I put two balls from my double Kennedy into the chest of the larger one, turned, and made a very pretty shot into the neck of the second. She gave a tremendous leap into the air, rolled a dozen feet and plunged into the ravine…

  Elsie looked up, caught the baffled gaze of the bear on the wall above the fireplace, and hastily turned the page.

  Tigers are cowardly brutes on the whole, although this one was cornered. I pulled the trigger and the gun missed fire! Here was a rum go! I was perfectly cool however and took a second bang at him that dropped him like a stone. It was, I decided, an uncommonly good day’s sport…

  Elsie couldn’t read any more. She closed the book and shoved it back on the shelf, wiping her fingers on her jeans with a sick feeling. Out in the hall, she met John coming in the other direction, looking triumphant.

  ‘I know where he is!’ he said, as soon as they were back in their room.

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I asked the cook. He brought Mandeep some food earlier. They’re keeping him in an outhouse. It isn’t locked, just bolted at the top and bottom.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘Too risky. I stuck a note under the door instead. Told him I’d get him out tonight, as soon as I could.’

  ‘Well done,’ Elsie said.

  ‘It was easy,’ John said. ‘Piece of cake.’

  They ate supper alone in the kitchen. The cook had left them a dish of something that John called ‘kedgeree’.

  ‘Is it supposed to taste of liquorice?’ Elsie asked.

  John grinned and shook his head.

  ‘Must be his own secret recipe,’ he said.

  The cook had told John that three more guests were due to arrive the following day and the tiger hunt would take place the day after that.

  ‘We’ll be long gone by then,’ John said. ‘Mandeep too—’ He broke off. ‘Are you picking your nose?’

  ‘I’m not! It’s itchy!’

  ‘That’s what everyone says when they’re caught picking their nose.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Have it your own way,’ John said, smirking.

  There were pyjamas, neatly pressed and folded, laid out on John and Elsie’s beds, for after they had taken their baths. Elsie didn’t know who the pyjamas belonged to, except that it must be someone much larger than she was. On the way to the bathroom, she got muddled, turned left instead of right, and found herself by the common room. Voices came from behind the door.

  ‘Awfully decent of you to spare me the time.’ It was Mr Gordon speaking.

  He was getting some hunting tips from Sowerby before the other guests arrived, Elsie thought. On an impulse, she bent and peered through the keyhole. She could see Mr Gordon’s feet and knees, his hand curled around a glass of whisky, and opposite, the craggy profile of Sowerby’s head.

  ‘Went to one of your lectures, once,’ Mr Gordon was saying. ‘You said tigers can communicate using a sound too low for the human ear to make out. Forget the word for it, something scientific.’

  ‘Infrasound,’ Sowerby said.

  ‘That’s the one. Sounded like a lot of mumbo jumbo. If you can’t make out a sound, how d’you know it’s there at all?’

  Sowerby stretched his lips in an approximation of a smile.

  ‘You can call it infra-something if you like,’ Mr Gordon continued. ‘But I call it having a sixth sense. It’s the secret of your success, my dear fellow. It’s why you’re a legend.’

  What a suck-up! Elsie thought.

  Just then, Sowerby turned his head and glanced at the door. Before Elsie could move, he was staring straight at her, his eyes boring through the keyhole, as if he could tell she was there. She jerked upright, not daring to make a sound, her face burning.

  Perhaps Gordon was right. Perhaps Sowerby really did have a sixth sense.

  They were talking again, although Elsie had stopped listening. She scurried away, her pyjamas clutched to her chest, heading for the safety of the bathroom.

  It was clean, although dimly lit, with a cast iron bath and overhead pipes that gave out a wheezing, whistling sound when she turned on the tap. The water ran scalding hot for a moment or two and then grew rapidly more and more lukewarm, although Elsie didn’t mind. It was wonderful to wash after two days tramping through the forest. She took the cracked bar of soap from the dish on the side and scrubbed herself until the bath was lined with grime.

  It was absolutely quiet. Even the pipes had fallen silent. Elsie sat with her knees up, staring at the old-fashioned silver taps. But, of course, they weren’t really old-fashioned. The future hadn’t happened yet.

  This wasn’t the past. It was Now.

  Elsie remembered what she’d said to John about her parents not missing her because they hadn’t been born yet. It had comforted her at the time, although now a disturbing thought struck her.

  Her parents might not miss her even after they’d been born.

  If she didn’t get back, nobody would miss her. Not her parents, or Matilda, or even Great-Uncle John. They’d never know she was supposed to be there. The Incredible Adventures of Kelsie Corvette would never be written. And it wouldn’t matter in the least.

  It was worse than being an extra in a film, Elsie thought, tears pricking her eyes. It was like being an extra whose scene gets cut before the film ever comes out.

  A drop from the tap broke the still surface of the water with a tiny plop. Elsie lifted her head and wiped her face. It was no use crying. Any minute now, John would be hammering on the door, wantin
g to know what she was doing. Elsie scrambled out of the bath and hurriedly dried herself.

  The good thing about pyjamas that were far too big, she decided, was that she didn’t have to bother with the bottom half. The top made a perfectly fine nightdress all by itself. Elsie was so pleased with this simple solution that she padded back to the bedroom feeling almost cheerful.

  ‘About time!’ John said. ‘It’s a complete mystery to me why girls take so long in the bathroom.’

  ‘You don’t know any girls,’ Elsie pointed out.

  He spent just as long as she had done, and when he finally returned, Elsie had to struggle to keep from laughing. He’d pulled his pyjamas up as high as they would go and tied the extra fabric in knots on either side of his waist. They made him look like a periscope, she thought, with the knots as handles.

  It was late. John went to the window and lowered the blind. He looked at his watch.

  ‘When are you going to get Mandeep out?’

  ‘Best to give it a couple of hours,’ John said. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped and his face resolute. Elsie lay down and stared at the ceiling. Across the cracked surface, two speckled brown geckos crept on sticky feet, hunting for insects. Somewhere in the building a door closed, and footsteps passed overhead with a creaking of floorboards.

  John reached for the bedside light and turned it off. ‘No need to draw attention to ourselves,’ he said.

  Elsie wondered uneasily what geckos did in the darkness. ‘I don’t like it here,’ she whispered. ‘It gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Don’t be a wet blanket.’

  ‘You don’t like it either!’

  ‘True,’ he admitted.

  ‘I just thought of something,’ Elsie said. ‘Do you remember, in the jeep, when Mr Gordon was talking about how hard it is to get invited to one of the hunts here? He said Sowerby was really choosy, didn’t he?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘But Sowerby told us Mr Gordon’s a terrible hunter. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think,’ John said, ‘that there’s rather a lot about this place that doesn’t make sense.’