Tiger Thief (10 page)

S
harat felt his heart sink. He glanced at Aya. “How much does it usually cost to summon a jinni?” he asked.

Fonke pursed her lips. “That depends on a number of factors,” she said. “Some jinnis are bound to serve only one master. They are very difficult to summon. Also, it depends on the strength of the jinni. Unfortunately there’s no way of telling how strong a jinni is before he’s been summoned, so you’ll have to leave
that
to my discretion. Finally, it depends on the customer. For wealthy customers my prices are considerably higher.” She glanced at Sharat. “You don’t look very wealthy at all, if I’m not mistaken.”

“No,” said Sharat quickly. “I’m not.”

“In that case, I’ll keep the price very reasonable,”
Fonke told him. “Let’s say, ten gold crescents.”

Sharat stared at her in disbelief. “Ten gold crescents?” He thought with regret of the gold the sewer-girls had taken. “Couldn’t you let me work off the debt instead?” he asked.

“Work off ten crescents of gold?” Fonke shook her head. “With the kind of work you can do, it would take years!”

Aya looked thoughtful. “How many wishes will Sharat get?” she asked.

Fonke eyed her. “Three wishes,” she said. “After that the jinni’s free.”

“Can’t he use one of the wishes to get the gold?”

“It’s never as easy as that,” said Fonke. “As I’ve said, until we do the summoning there’s no way of knowing how powerful the jinni will be. There are very few who can produce gold out of thin air. Most of them need to transform something else into gold, but the trouble with that is that once the jinni is free it has no incentive to maintain the spell, and the gold disappears or turns into dust or leaves, or whatever it was made of in the first place. The only way most jinnis can produce real gold is by stealing,” she said, looking sternly at Aya. “I love gold, but I don’t approve of stealing. It’s extremely bad karma.”

“What’s the use of having a jinni if he can’t bring you gold?” Aya muttered.

Sharat wasn’t interested in gold. All he wanted was to find Emira and get her back to the circus. That shouldn’t
take more than two wishes. He hesitated, then looked up at Fonke.

“Could you show me how to call the jinni in exchange for one of the wishes?” he asked.

Fonke looked pleasantly surprised. “A wish in exchange for the secret?” she mused. “Now that’s an intriguing idea.”

Sharat felt a surge of hope.

“Will you do it?” he demanded.

There was a glint in Fonke’s eye. “You know, a little jinni magic could come in very handy,” she said. “But we’ll have to hurry. I’m expecting the gentleman who ordered the sword any minute now, and I don’t want him to find
you
here.”

With a decisive swish of her dress she strode over to the pedestal where the musical instrument was displayed.

“Come here!” she ordered.

Sharat hurried over.

“The jinni will only obey the person who does the summoning,” Fonke told him. “So once it’s here you’ll have to tell it to grant my wish.”

“Yes, of course,” said Sharat. He cleared his throat. “How much time will I have to make my own wishes?” he asked. He had heard all sorts of stories about jinnis and about wishes going wrong for one reason or another. He was determined not to make any mistakes.

“Once you’ve summoned the jinni, you can take as much time as you like,” said Fonke. “Just call him. He’ll be bound to serve you until all three wishes
have been granted.”

Sharat nodded. “What do I have to do?”

“To summon a powerful jinni, you need to know its name,” Fonke told him, “but since this is just a minor jinni you’re going to use a magic word, and the magic word is Abracadabra!”

“Abracadabra?” Sharat looked at her in disbelief. “Surely if it was that simple people would be calling jinnis all the time?”

Fonke’s eyes flashed. “Magic words are useless unless you know how to use them,” she said. “Be quiet and let me explain.”

“Sorry,” said Sharat.

“The secret to using a magic word is that you don’t say it,” Fonke told him. “You sing it.”

Sharat’s heart sank. “I have to sing?”

“Yes,” said Fonke. “It’s the vibration of the notes that activates the spell. That’s where this instrument comes in.”

Fonke picked up the amulet and touched the jewel against the wooden drum. Instantly, the silver fingers began to twitch.

Aya gasped.

“That’s it,” said Fonke. She gave Sharat the bee, then lifted a small wooden hammer. “Now listen,” she said.

Using the hammer, she carefully played five crystalline notes on the quivering fingers:
ting, ting, ting, ting, ting
. Then she looked at Sharat. “Did you get that?” she asked.

Feeling miserable, Sharat nodded. “I
heard
it, yes.”

“Good,” said Fonke. “Now sing the tune without using the magic word first. Just sing la, la, la, la, la.”

Sharat practised humming the notes a few times, but when he went on to sing la, la, la, la, la, something more like a donkey’s bray came out instead.

Aya and Fonke looked at him in shock.

“What on earth was that?” demanded Fonke.

Sharat was getting irritated. “It’s not my fault,” he muttered. “I never said I could sing.”

“Relax your throat,” Aya told him. “Like this.” She opened her mouth. “La, la, la, la, la!” she sang. “See? It’s easy.”

Sharat saw, and he heard, but although he tried and tried again, he only seemed to get worse. Finally he snapped. “I can’t do it,” he said, dropping his hand in frustration. “There must be another way.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t,” said Fonke. “If you want to wake up this jinni, you’re going to have to find your singing voice.”

“But I can’t sing. I’ve never been able to sing,” said Sharat angrily. Then he glanced over at Aya. Suddenly he remembered the magical sound he’d heard by the river. He swallowed. Aya could sing, but could he trust her?

Aya seemed to read his mind. “Do you want me to do it for you?” she asked.

Sharat hesitated, uncertain.

“Make up your mind,” said Fonke impatiently. “I don’t have all day.”

“I promise I’ll wish for what you want,” said Aya.

Sharat knew he didn’t have a choice. “All right,” he said. “You do it.”

Aya looked both nervous and excited as he handed her the amulet. She looked over at Fonke.

“What’s the tune again?” she asked.

Again, Fonke played the silver fingers. Once she’d finished, Aya raised the amulet in front of her.

“A-bra-ca-da-bra!” she sang, clear and true.

At first nothing happened. Then, just when they were beginning to think that it wasn’t going to work, the bee began to flicker at the edges, a bit like a piece of paper catching fire, and then it started to vibrate as tiny wisps of smoke started curling up from the tips of the wings. Aya looked scared and glanced over at Fonke.

“Don’t drop it!” Fonke warned her.

With a nod, Aya kept her hand steady as the amulet began to buzz and the wisps of smoke turned into plumes. Then all of a sudden there was a great whooshing noise, and something shot out of the stone, expanding as it flew wildly around the room.

“That’s it!” said Fonke.

The jinni’s trajectory was becoming less erratic now. It circled Aya three times in a blur of blue and gold before landing smartly on the countertop.

It was a slim blue boy, about the size of a monkey but with translucent golden wings. His face was pointed, a pair of antennae quivered on his head, and his slanted eyes were not altogether friendly.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Aya stepped forward. She cleared her throat. “My name is Aya,” she said. “I er … I just summoned you.”

The jinni eyed her with hostility. “I never agreed to serve human beings,” he informed her.

“What nonsense!” snapped Fonke. “You’ll serve whoever summoned you. You know the rules. Three wishes and you’re free.”

“Three wishes?” exclaimed the jinni. “That will use up all my magic!”

“You should have thought of that before you allowed yourself to be bound,” Fonke told him. “Now kindly introduce yourself and prepare to serve.”

With a sigh, the jinni eyed Aya, then bowed. “Alcherisma at your service,” he said, in a surly voice. “What do you want?”

Aya glanced nervously up at Fonke. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

“First of all, you need to tell the jinni to accompany me and to grant my wish as we arranged,” Fonke replied.

Aya nodded and turned to Alcherisma.

“Er … jinni,” she said. “Please go with this lady and grant her one wish.”

“If I must,” muttered the jinni. He took off with a buzz of his wings.

Her dress swirling, Fonke led Alcherisma out through the back of the shop and closed the double doors behind her.

Aya and Sharat looked at each with a mixture of excitement and worry.

“He doesn’t seem too keen to grant my wishes,” said Aya.

“It’s
my
wishes he’ll be granting,” Sharat reminded her.

“Yes of course,” said Aya, but she seemed strangely distracted. With a frown she bent over to take another look at the instrument she’d used to wake Alcherisma. “Where did Fonke
get
this?” she said, more to herself than to Sharat.

“Don’t play it again!” he warned her.

Just then the doors into the courtyard opened up and Fonke came back into the shop with Alcherisma flying around her head. Aya spun round, her face flushed.

Fonke was beaming, her irritation forgotten.

“Thank you, my dears,” she said graciously. “This is, as I expected, a minor jinni, but he was still able to fulfill my modest requirements.”

Sharat stared at Fonke. There was something different about her face. He frowned, trying to work out what it was, but Aya was in a hurry to go. She glanced up at the jinni, who had landed on top of one of the cabinets and was looking down at them in scorn.

“What shall I do with him now?” she asked.

“Just ask him to conceal himself,” Fonke told her. “Then, when you’re ready to summon him again, all you need to do is touch the amulet and call his name.”

Quickly, Aya held the amulet up in front of her. “Conceal yourself, please,” she told Alcherisma.

“Gladly!” said the jinni.

Glowing with a golden light, his wings began to buzz
as he shrank to the size of a speck of dust and disappeared back into the sparkling blue stone.

“Now you really must be going,” said Fonke. “My gentleman caller will be here any minute.” She ushered them towards the door. “Let them out!” she snapped at the house-marshal.

Aya didn’t need asking twice. As the door swung open she hurried out, but Sharat didn’t want to leave just yet. He was still strangely captivated by Fonke. He sidled a bit closer.

“You look … um …very nice, Madam Fonke,” he said. For some reason he realised that he was blushing. He felt deeply uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop staring.

Fonke looked down at him and a smirk crossed her lips. “Irresistible is the word you’re looking for, I think,” she said, patting her hair smugly.

“Oh, is that what it is?” said Sharat, wondering why it had taken him so long to notice what luminous eyes Fonke had.

Fonke pushed him impatiently out of the shop. She hadn’t used up a wish for the likes of Sharat.

“Run along now!” she said.

Sharat tripped back into the alleyway, as Fonke closed the door in his face. For a moment he just stood there with his mouth open. Then, wondering what had come over him, he quickly pulled himself together. He had to make his wishes and get Emira back to the circus.

“Aya?” he called.

Turning to go, he ran to the end of the alleyway, but
as he looked left and right he felt his heart sink. The only people he could see along the main road were men drinking coffee and women haggling over jewels. It was just as he’d feared. Aya had disappeared, and she had taken Alcherisma with her.

A
ya ran a short way down the road and ducked behind some baskets to hide. Then, squatting down to make sure that she couldn’t be seen, she carefully opened her bag. Her heart felt as though it might burst with excitement.

“The Mazaria!” she whispered as she reached in to touch the magical instrument that she’d stolen right from under Fonke’s nose. She caught her breath as she hugged it possessively to her chest. She could hardly believe it. Her mother had been playing this instrument in their garden on the day she’d died.

Aya’s heart wrenched. It had all happened so quickly. One minute she had been playing peacefully in their little garden, and the next minute her mother had pulled her into the privy.

“Rookh’s coming!” she’d said in a panic. “You’ve got to get away.”

Thrusting the instrument into Aya’s hand, she’d pointed at the hole that led to the sewers below. “You’ll have to jump in here,” she’d said. “Find a witch called Uma. She’ll help you.”

Aya had stood there, shell-shocked, barely able to understand what it was that her mother wanted her to do. Then, before she could gather her wits, the door had flown open and
he’d
lunged in, spitting words of fury in his harsh, foreign voice.

“I’ll kill you!” he’d hissed as he seized her mother by the throat. “You’ll never escape me then!”

For a moment Aya had stood there, frozen in fear.

“Jump!” her mother had gasped as she struggled for breath. “Otherwise he’ll kill you too!”

Aya shuddered. All she could remember after that was being washed clean in the river by Nara, having her head shaved by Rajani, and being offered scented oils to take away the smell – a one-off treat for new girls. The Mazaria had disappeared.

“Where is it?” she’d asked, sobbing in front of them all.

“You dropped it when you fell,” Nara told her impatiently. “Let it go. You’ll never get it back.”

At the time, of course, she’d been innocent enough to believe it, but now Aya knew exactly what had happened. The Mazaria hadn’t fallen in the sewers at all. Nara had stolen it and sold it to Fonke. That’s just the sort of thing
she would do. And yet here it was, back in her hands again.

For a moment the triumph in Aya’s heart mingled with pain. If only her mother could have taught her to play. But there was no use dwelling on the past. Swallowing down her regrets, she slipped the little instrument back into her bag. Then, keeping a tight grip on the Mazaria, she suddenly remembered the amulet in her other hand and a thrill passed through her. So far she’d been powerless against the man who had killed her mother but now, perhaps, she had the tools for revenge.