Elsie was determined to stay awake to keep John company, but she couldn’t stop wondering whether the geckos were anywhere nearby. It might be safer if she took cover. She crawled into her bed and pulled the sheet over her head. In a moment, she was fast asleep.
Three hours later, she woke with a start. Someone had turned the light on. Elsie sat up abruptly, blinking at John in the sudden glare.
‘Have you gone already?’ she said.
‘Keep your voice down!’
‘Did Mandeep escape?’
‘What does it look like?’ John said, sounding cross.
Mandeep was in the room. He bent down and tugged at the rug, positioning it to hide the crack of light beneath the door.
‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘Why aren’t you escaping?’
‘He says he doesn’t want to.’ John sat down heavily on his bed. ‘I got him out but now he won’t leave.’
‘It is true,’ Mandeep said. ‘I won’t.’
John shook his head in despair. ‘But I got you out!’ he repeated.
Elsie felt sorry for him. No matter how hard John tried to do something amazing, it never worked.
‘Why won’t you go?’ she asked Mandeep.
‘Because of certain things that Mr Agarwal told me.’
‘Mr Agarwal?’
Mandeep crossed the room and sat on the floor with his back against the wall.
‘The khansama,’ he explained. ‘The cook. He brought me a plate of food. He has an unfriendly look, but he is not unfriendly at all. He told me he is new here, he only arrived two days ago. Also, that there are three more guests due to arrive tomorrow. With Mr Gordon and Sowerby, that will make five for the hunt.’
‘We already know that!’ John said.
Mandeep nodded. ‘Yes. But then Mr Agarwal said that all the guests will shoot a tiger each. He was told it always happens that way.’
‘Look, I know that’s awful,’ John interrupted. ‘I know how much you hate hunting, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it, Mandeep. And you’re in big trouble. That beast Gordon has got it in for you.’ He glanced at Elsie. ‘Sowerby made that pretty clear, didn’t he?’
She nodded. ‘He wants to turn you over to the authorities.’
‘Now do you see?’ John said.
Mandeep wasn’t listening. He stared at a point on the wall, frowning.
‘There is something all wrong about this place,’ he said in a quiet voice.
Elsie leaned forward. So Mandeep felt it too. Even before she’d seen the contents of Sowerby’s room, from the instant she’d stepped into the building, and even earlier, in the black-green tunnel that led to the lodge, she had sensed it.
Something all wrong.
‘But what is it?’ she said.
Mandeep turned his eyes to John. ‘There is a photograph in your father’s club. It is on the wall of the lobby, not far from the entrance. I saw it once when—’ He broke off. ‘It is a picture of hunters and the tigers they have killed. Have you seen it?’
‘I don’t know,’ John said. ‘I don’t remember. What has it got to do with anything?’
‘The tigers are piled one on top of the other like sacks of grain,’ Mandeep said in a wondering voice. ‘One on top of the other, so many I could not count them.’
‘What about it?’ John said. ‘It’s just an old picture.’
‘Exactly. It is old. Sixty or seventy years ago, maybe more. In a time when there were a lot of tigers. But now…’ Mandeep shrugged.
‘Now there aren’t many left,’ Elsie said, suddenly understanding. ‘They’ve been hunted too much.’
It was something she’d learned on that trip to the wildlife centre. How people used to think that no matter how many animals they killed, there would always be plenty more.
‘I think I know what you’re getting at,’ John said. ‘You mean…’
‘Yes,’ Mandeep said. ‘In the forests around here, a good shikari with a team of beaters might find one tiger – two, if he was lucky. But even with all the luck in the world, he would not find four.’
‘It does seem rather odd, now you mention it,’ John said.
‘How is it possible?’ Elsie said.
‘I don’t know,’ Mandeep admitted.
‘So that’s why you won’t leave,’ John said.
‘I want to find out what is going on,’ Mandeep said.
John opened his mouth as if he was about to keep arguing. Then he shut it.
‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t listen to you before and look where that got us. So, if you need help, I’m in.’
‘I’m in too,’ Elsie said, although the others didn’t seem to hear her. They were already busy plotting.
‘Best if you go back to the outhouse.’
‘Yes, we don’t want them looking for me.’
‘I’ll have to bolt the door, how will you—’
‘There is a small window, if you left it unlatched, I could get out that way.’
‘No point trying to look around while it’s still dark.’
‘No. Better to wait until dawn…’
‘We can look too,’ Elsie said when she could get a word in edgeways.
John nodded. ‘She’s right. Between the three of us, we’re bound to find something.’
They looked at each other silently, and then Mandeep stood up. Elsie didn’t want him to go back to the bleak, lonely outhouse, but she knew it made sense. She lay down on her bed, her legs curled tight with excitement, the geckos on the ceiling completely forgotten.
He had made the kill just before sunrise. A fully grown barasingha deer, its antlers branching to a dozen tips. The tiger had stalked the animal for some time, his belly low, his head stretched out, moving like a snake does; without seeming to move at all, but for the slightest quivering of his hips. He paused at the edge of the pool where the barasingha stood knee-deep, a little apart from the herd.
The bond between the tiger and his prey ran deep. He knew the barasingha nearly as well as he knew himself. The tilt of its narrow face, the white, watchful roll of its eye, the tug of its jaws as it grazed among the reeds. The tiger stared at it and knew even its thoughts.
For a single, unblinking, deadly instant, he became it.
His tail swayed, searching for perfect balance. Then he exploded into the water, covering the distance in two enormous bounds, feeling the rush of certainty that always came with action; the joy that every living thing experiences when it is doing what it was made to do.
The barasingha was hardly aware of the tiger’s presence before he was on top of it, his forepaw digging into its shoulder, the other whipping around in an embrace from which there could be no escape. The tiger searched for its windpipe with his long, canine teeth. His jaw tightened.
He held on, feeling each jerk and twitch of the struggling deer’s limbs, waiting with a steady, almost tender patience for the breath to leave its body, the forest growing light around him. Then he rose and shook himself and began the work of dragging his kill to cover.
He had eaten, rested, and eaten again before finally setting off in the late afternoon, heading towards the ridge of low mountains where his ruined palace lay. He made his way with the same caution as before, although he encountered nothing more alarming than a pair of furrowed tracks crossing one of the wider trails. The tiger sniffed and caught the faint, unpleasant tang of oil and rubber.
Later, he came across a clearing in the hills. There were buildings, the signs of humans all around. The tiger drew back, making a detour to avoid the area. He had covered almost a mile when he arrived at a second, smaller clearing and another building, which was completely dark. He heard sounds and stopped.
The sounds came again; calls repeated in voices both familiar and terrifyingly strange. The tiger whined and padded back and forth along the length of the building, his head down, his nostrils flooded with the rank, desperate odour coming from behind the wall.
He was used to danger. Danger was
something that demanded a reaction. One faced it or fled from it, depending on the situation. But this threat felt different. There was nothing about it that the tiger understood. Only that it seemed to come not just from the outside, but from deep within him too; an anguished fascination that kept him there in the dusty clearing, when every other instinct was urging him to leave.
Holding his body close to the ground, the hairs rising on the back of his neck, he crept into a nearby thicket and lay still.
Waiting.
The plan had seemed simple in the middle of the night. But in the clear light of day, Elsie and John soon realised it was going to be more complicated than they’d thought.
They were woken by a young boy carrying their washed and folded clothes, and two cups of tea which he placed silently by their beds before vanishing. They dressed, and after a solitary breakfast in the kitchen, John gathered up his courage and went to find Sowerby. He was still holding on to the hope that a jeep might be sent to fetch his father.
‘Worth a shot, at least,’ he said.
‘Good luck,’ Elsie said, feeling anxious for him.
He was gone for nearly an hour, and when he returned, his face was grim. Elsie was back in the bedroom, staring rather hopelessly out of the window.
‘It’s no good,’ John announced, shutting the door and flinging himself down on his bed. ‘He made me wait for ages and ages, and then he said it was out of the question. He couldn’t spare a man to drive the jeep, not with three more guests due to arrive this morning. I knew he’d make up some excuse, I knew it.’
He paused, thinking. ‘And that’s not all. He says we’re not to go outside, and gave me a lot of nonsense about a rabid dog that the servants haven’t managed to catch and put down yet. It’s roaming around the area, apparently.’
‘A rabid dog?’
‘I haven’t seen or heard a single dog since we got here! Have you?’
She shook her head.
‘It’s just another excuse,’ John said.
‘I tried going out while you were talking to Sowerby,’ Elsie said. ‘I wanted to look around, like we said, but I didn’t get very far.’
She’d found a door in the kitchen that led to the outside and had opened it tentatively, her heart thumping. It was cool, the sky still pearly, a light breeze carrying the smell of wood smoke and kerosene. Beyond the enclosure with its scattering of trees, she saw a track that ran for a short distance before winding into the forest.
Elsie headed for the track, walking casually.
I’m just out for a stroll, she told herself.
She stopped by a tree and looked up, as though studying its branches. The tree was under siege, wrapped in the grip of an invading banyan plant. The sinister tendrils had already crept halfway up the trunk, pushing the tree’s roots aside and sending clutching fingers over a nearby boulder. As if they were trying to strangle the rock itself, Elsie thought with a dart of unease.
There was a slight sound. She turned.
The man in the turban who had shown them to Sowerby’s room was standing a short distance away, looking straight at her. Elsie didn’t know where he’d come from.
‘Hello,’ she said, giving him an uncertain smile.
He didn’t answer. Perhaps he hadn’t heard.
‘I’m just out for a stroll,’ she said in a slightly louder voice.
Still he said nothing. Elsie walked on a few more paces. She paused, scuffing the ground with her foot, then looked back again. He was still there.
He was watching her, she thought. And if she tried to go any further, she felt sure he would follow.
‘Well, I suppose I should be getting back,’ she said, trying to make her voice sound breezy.
He gave a brief nod and gestured for her to come. Elsie trailed after him around the building to the verandah. He held the front door open and waited while she went through.
‘Thanks,’ Elsie muttered, feeling stupid.
It was obvious that Sowerby had no intention of letting either her or John explore the place by themselves.
‘Do you think Mandeep has found anything?’ Elsie asked.
‘He’d have told us if he had,’ John said.
‘But how can he tell us if we’re being watched all the time?’
She heard a clattering on the metal roof of the kitchen. The monkeys were back. There were even more than before.
‘Mr Agarwal is feeding them,’ Elsie said.
The cook was standing by the kitchen door, a large bowl of scraps under his arm. Monkeys clustered around his feet, tugging at his trouser legs with eager paws. One had actually clambered up to his shoulder and was sitting with its tail draped around Mr Agarwal’s neck, tearing an orange to pieces with its teeth.
‘I hope nobody’s left a window open,’ John said. ‘Monkeys can destroy a room in minutes.’
But the cook didn’t seem worried. He distributed the scraps carefully, doing his best to give each animal a share, his bad-tempered face softened by pleasure. He liked being appreciated, Elsie thought. Perhaps the monkeys were the only ones who actually enjoyed his strange-tasting food.
If Elsie and John couldn’t go outside to look around, they decided they would at least find out all they could from Sowerby’s guests.
The guests arrived mid-morning. Elsie and John were sitting in a corner of the common room, playing draughts to pass the time, although John took so long to make each move that Elsie was starting to wish she’d never suggested the game.
‘It’s your turn,’ she reminded him for the tenth time.
‘I’m thinking.’ He placed the tip of his finger on one of his pieces, frowned, and took it off again.
Mr Gordon sat reading on the other side of the room, a glass of whisky by his side. He made a slurping noise as he sipped, sucking on his damp moustache.
The sound of approaching vehicles broke the silence. Mr Gordon sat up straight, swallowing the rest of his drink in a gulp.
‘Looks like the others have got here,’ he said. ‘Time to make yourselves scarce. We don’t want children hanging around.’
Elsie and John didn’t move. He didn’t have the right to tell them what to do.
There were voices in the hallway, and then the bearer opened the door to the common room and the newcomers trooped in, a woman and two men, with Sowerby bringing up the rear.
They milled around for a moment or two, shaking hands and exchanging how-do-you-dos. One of the men was older, of average height and build, apart from an enormous, jutting stomach, straining at the seams of a safari suit so new it still had all its creases.
‘The name’s Nottle,’ he said in an American accent. ‘W. Nottle.’
‘May I ask what the “W” stands for?’ It was the woman who had spoken. She was wearing a sailor cap perched at a stylish angle and red, sticky-looking lipstick.
‘Wylie, often shortened to “Wy”,’ the American said. ‘Geddit?’
The others looked blank.
‘Play on words,’ Nottle said. ‘Wy Nottle. Why Not-tle. Always been a motto of mine, you know.’
‘How very… clever,’ the woman said after a second or two of silence. ‘I’m Marjorie, and this is my…’ She paused, her voice fluttering. ‘My husband, Charles.’
They found seats around the fireplace, still busy with their introductions. No one seemed to notice Elsie and John sitting quietly in the corner.
‘I take it you’re all keen hunters,’ Gordon was saying. ‘I can’t wait to get out there myself.’
‘I’m here mainly for research, as a matter of fact,’ Nottle announced, reaching with some difficulty across his stomach to take a sandwich from the bearer’s tray. ‘Own a theme park, largest on the West Coast. HappyHappy Land. Maybe you’ve heard of it.’
‘Well, we have now. Ha! Ha! Ha!’ Charles said.
‘Twice the happiness of any other theme park,’ Nottle said, winking at Marjorie. ‘Geddit?’
Gordon made a coughing sound. ‘Research?’
&
nbsp; ‘I’m planning a new addition to the park. Safari ride type of thing. Jeeps on a track going through trees and bushes. Same idea as a rifle range, only visitors wear pith helmets and take pot shots at tigers. Get three hits and your next ride is free!’
‘Won’t you need rather a lot of tigers?’ Charles ventured. ‘Frightfully hard to find a steady supply, you know.’
Nottle’s stomach shifted up and down as he chuckled. ‘We won’t be using actual animals! Ever heard of animatronics? My tigers are going to be the biggest and the best. Far more impressive than the real thing…’
‘Well, we’re here on our honeymoon,’ Marjorie said abruptly, as if she’d decided it was time for her to be the centre of attention. She smiled babyishly at Charles. ‘It’s all still so new,’ she said in a breathy voice. ‘Isn’t it, darling?’
‘Got hitched only last week,’ Charles agreed. ‘Ha! Ha! Ha!’
Elsie wondered why he was laughing. Did he find everything funny? But there was another, far more disturbing question.
How was killing animals anyone’s idea of a honeymoon?
She glanced over at Sowerby sitting a little apart. He took a drag on his cigarette, his eyes flickering to the clock on the far wall. He was bored by the lot of them, Elsie decided. He was only there because he had to be polite…
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cry of delight.
‘Children!’
Marjorie had finally spotted them. She clasped her hands together rapturously. ‘You didn’t tell me there’d be children!’
‘Don’t know why they’re still here,’ Gordon muttered. ‘Ought to have gone home by now.’
‘I love children,’ Marjorie said, ‘don’t I, Charles? Come over here, let’s see you, then! Oh, one of them is a little girl!’
She gestured to Elsie, ‘Come on, don’t be shy!’
‘Marjorie won’t bite, will you, Marjorie? Ha! Ha! Ha!’
Elsie advanced awkwardly.
‘What’s your name, sweetie?’ Marjorie said, as if she were talking to a three-year-old.
The Time Traveller and the Tiger Page 11
