Tiger Thief (3 page)

A
ya squatted by the river with a look of fierce concentration on her face as she slid her hand into the water, fingers wriggling. Moments later, she was rewarded by a cold, muscular body moving in towards her palm and she felt a surge of excitement. It was a big one.

“Tickle, tickle, little fish,” she sang under her breath, waiting for the creature to settle into her hand. Then, with one swift move, she grabbed its tail and slammed it against a rock.

“Gotcha!” she cried in triumph. The fish lay dead, killed by the blow. A grin of satisfaction lit her face. “Breakfast!” she whispered. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation.

Quickly, she gutted her catch, trying not to grimace as she tossed the waste into the river. She was just building a fire to cook it, when suddenly she heard a low growl behind her.

For a moment she froze, the skin on the back of her neck prickling in warning. Then, slowly and carefully, she turned around.

She stifled a gasp. She was looking into the face of an enormous white tiger.

Too shocked to be afraid, Aya just stared. Then, with a steady hand, she reached out and picked up the fish.

“Do you … do you want it?” she offered, lifting it towards the beast.

For a few seconds, the tiger examined her with interest, but instead of bounding over to take the fish, or indeed to eat her, it just sniffed the air and growled once more. Then, to her relief, it turned its tail to carry on upriver.

Aya remained frozen as she watched the great cat make its way towards the temple. As soon as it had disappeared, she dropped the fish and allowed herself to breathe again. Her heart was pounding with excitement. She’d just seen a white tiger!

A nursery rhyme her mother used to tell her ran through her head:

The Prince of Jinnis.

Everyone else thought jinnis were wicked and dangerous, but Aya’s mother had always told her otherwise.

“
This place was called the City of Jinnis
,” she’d said. “
It used to be ruled by a beautiful queen called the Queen of the Forest. And when the jinnis were free, the people were happy and the land was fertile and green
.”

Aya knew those days were gone. Nowadays the land was barren, the trees had been cut down, and all the jinnis that used to live here had been enslaved. With a beating heart, she turned to look up at Shergarh. Even from the outskirts of town the fortress seemed to possess some sinister power.

And yet she had just seen a white tiger.

Her heart leapt in hope.

The Prince of Jinnis will come again, to overthrow the rule of men
…

“Long live the Prince of Jinnis!” she whispered.

Sharat was furious with himself for leaving Emira on her own. He looked around the bleak landscape wondering which way she’d gone. To the west he saw nothing but empty fields, nowhere for a cat to hunt or hide. To the east was the river. The tiger loved to swim,
but only in lively mountain streams where she could fish. Here the water was sluggish, muddy-brown, and crossed by boats and barges, too deep and dirty for the fastidious Emira. To the south was the city. She hated cities. She must have gone north – back in the direction of the mountains.

Praying that nobody would see him, he ducked away from the circus camp and ran along the river. Soon he passed a travellers’ inn. Here, a group of traders sat in the shade playing dice while their mangy camels dozed in the sun.

He stopped in front of them, panting. “Have any of you seen a white tiger?” he gasped. “She’s escaped from the circus.”

A leathery little man glanced at his companions as if he’d just won a bet. Then he smiled at Sharat with a flash of gold teeth and pointed towards the river and the north.

“She went that way,” he said.

Sharat felt a rush of relief. He was on the right track.

“Thank you!” he called, as he dodged past the camels and continued upriver.

Further along, he saw a little girl in a ragged dress lighting a fire next to the skeleton of a banyan tree. About seven or eight years old, she was crowned by a mop of unruly curls and there was a look of concentration on her face.

Sharat stopped again. “I’m looking for my white tiger,” he blurted out. “Have you seen her?”

The little girl’s head shot up with a look of excitement. “Is she
yours
?” she said.

“Yes,” said Sharat. “She’s run away. We’re from the circus.”

The girl’s face dropped. “The
circus
?” She sounded disappointed, but Sharat barely noticed.

“Did you see which way she went?” he asked. “I’ve got to get her back or I’ll really be in trouble.”

The girl studied him for a moment, then she picked up a small bag and slung it over her shoulder. “I think I know where she’s gone,” she said. “Follow me.”

Running lightly on bare feet, she led him along the cracked mud pathway that wound around the huts and down towards the riverbank. Soon they stopped next to a stone staircase that led down into the water. A majestic, tiered temple, covered in carvings of voluptuous goddesses, mighty warriors and marching elephants, rose up further along the bank. Nearby, several bonfires smouldered, their smoke rising straight to heaven in the stillness of the day. A cloying smell hung heavy in the air; the smell of roasting flesh.

Sharat shuddered. He knew that smell. They’d reached the burning
ghats
, where the bodies of the dead were cremated so that their ashes could be scattered into the holy river. Those weren’t just bonfires. They were funeral pyres. Covered in garlands of paper flowers, they were tended by grieving relatives, or by the silent, ghostly men who spent their whole lives at the crematorium, scrabbling through the ashes for golden teeth and anything else of
value that the dead had left behind.

The girl glanced back at Sharat. “I’m pretty sure your tiger came this way,” she said. “There’s an old woman living at the temple called Uma. She’ll be able to help you.”

“Thanks!” said Sharat.

He was just about to run off when he felt a pang of pity. The girl seemed so small and ragged. He wondered what she was doing all by herself on the banks of the river. He paused.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She held his gaze with clear, serious eyes. “Aya,” she said.

Aya. It was an unusual name. Sharat hadn’t heard it before. “Have you ever been to the circus?” he asked.

Aya shook her head.

For some reason Sharat wanted to make her smile. “Come tonight!” he said impulsively. “It’s a special show. We’re performing inside Shergarh.”

To his surprise Aya shot a dour glance at the fortress. “I’m not going in
there
,” she said.

Sharat didn’t have time to ask her why. “Come tomorrow, then,” he said. “We’ll be doing another show.”

Aya hesitated, but there was a look of yearning in her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to go to the circus,” she admitted.

“Just ask for me and they’ll let you in,” said Sharat. “I’m Sharat.”

For the first time a shy smile crossed Aya’s face. “Will
your tiger be in the show?” she asked.

Taking a deep breath, Sharat turned to face the cremation grounds.

“Only if I can find her,” he said.

T
he smell of charred flesh grew stronger as Sharat picked his way towards the temple. He passed a group of
sadhus
, holy men, with long, tangled locks of hair and serene eyes. They were naked apart from their ragged loincloths and they sat meditating in a circle around one of the funeral pyres, while vultures wheeled overhead and a pack of wild dogs lay waiting for the remains of the dead to be thrown into the river. Behind them, the carved stone temple rose up silently to the sky.

As he hurried past, Sharat glimpsed a rigid arm, partly burned, with a claw-like hand reaching out from a woodpile. He bit his lip and reminded himself that the dead couldn’t hurt him. Their souls were long gone, journeying on to be reborn into their next life.

“Emira?” he half called, half whispered.

Only the vultures cawed in reply.

“Emira!” he cried again, louder this time.

One of the dogs lifted its head and barked, but there was still no sign of the tiger.

“Emira! Where are you?” shouted Sharat as loud as he dared.

“What are you looking for, boy?” demanded a creaky voice nearby.

Sharat spun around. The most extraordinary old woman was coming towards him.

Small and thin, with high cheekbones, leathery skin and a halo of white hair, her full red skirts were covered in mirrored discs, and circles of light danced around her in the morning sun. Despite her frail appearance an aura of power surrounded her.

“What’s the matter?” she demanded. “Can’t you talk?”

Sharat stared at her. “Are you Uma?” he asked.

“I might be,” said the old woman, narrowing her eyes. “Who are you?”

“I work at the circus,” said Sharat. “Aya sent me. I’m looking for my tiger.”

The old woman’s eyes softened as she peered into Sharat’s face. “What took you so long, circus boy?” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Sharat’s heart leapt. “Have you found my tiger?”

“It’s more like she found me,” said the old woman.

Sharat looked around eagerly. “Where is she?”

Uma turned and hobbled quickly away, her skirts
scattering light as she moved. “Follow me,” she called over her shoulder.

Sharat hurried to catch up with her.

The old woman led him to the high wall surrounding the temple.

“Quickly! Quickly!” she hissed as she opened a narrow, wooden door that had been coated with mud to become almost invisible against the wall. Without thinking, Sharat bent down and went through.

As he straightened up he felt a change of temperature and moisture in the air. Then he heard the beating of wings followed by a sudden, raucous caw. A big bird circled him twice in a flurry of gold and green, before landing on the old woman’s shoulder. It watched Sharat with beady, black eyes.

Sharat looked around in amazement. It was as if he had stepped into another world. Surrounding them was a jungle of trees, vines, bushes and flowers, all planted willy-nilly, but surprisingly lush compared to the barren plains outside, and completely hidden by the high walls. In the middle of this garden was a small mud hut.

Just then there was a growl and Emira shot out of the undergrowth, almost knocking him down as she bounded towards him.

Sharat threw his arms around her. “Where have you been?” he crooned, too relieved to be angry.

Emira rubbed her head against his, but then she stiffened as she caught sight of the bird on Uma’s shoulder.

The parrot clicked his beak. “Easy, tiger!” he cawed.

Emira let out a low growl.

“She must have jumped over the wall,” said Uma. “I just turned around and there she was.”

Sharat glanced at the greenery all around them. “Maybe she was looking for breakfast,” he said. “She’s used to hunting in the forest.”

Uma’s face tightened. “She won’t have much luck around here,” she said. “This is the last garden in the City of Jewels.”

For the first time it struck Sharat how strange it was to find this oasis in the middle of the desert. “How do you keep the plants alive?” he said. “It’s so dry outside.”

A secretive look crossed Uma’s face. “Oh, it’s not so hard if you know how,” she said. “All you need is the help of the elements … and a little bit of magic.”

As she spoke a breeze lifted, and the trees shivered. Then, to Sharat’s surprise he felt a sprinkling of rain. Glancing up, he saw that the sky was still clear and that the sun burned as brightly as ever.

With a feeling of unease he stared at the old woman. “Are you a witch?” he demanded.

Uma reached out to pluck a few leaves from a nearby tree. “What do you think?” she said.

The bird on her shoulder cackled, then took off and landed on a flowering sapling.

“Mad! Old! Witch!” it cawed. Sharat watched as it shivered its brilliant feathers. In the blink of an eye they changed colour to match the emerald leaves and crimson flowers on the tree. He could hardly see the bird now,
unless it moved. It winked at him.

“Shut up or I’ll wring your mangy neck,” muttered Uma.

Nervously, Sharat glanced at the tiny door in the wall. He realised nobody knew he was here.

“Well, thank you for finding Emira,” he said, stepping back. “But I’d better be getting back to the circus. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

“No!” Uma glared at the bird. “Don’t pay any attention to Ripiraja,” she said. “You can’t go yet. Emira may be in terrible danger.”

Sharat felt a pang of fear. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

Uma lowered her voice. “You may not know this,” she said. “But Emira comes from the City of Jewels.”

With a start Sharat remembered his conversation with Hussein. “How do you know?” he said sharply.

“I know because I was the one that gave Emira to the circus,” Uma told him.

Sharat’s eyes widened. “Were you the one that made my father promise not to come back to the city?” he asked.

Uma nodded. “That’s right,” she said.

Sharat thought back to what Hussein had told him.

“But why?” he asked. He paused. “Is … is Emira
stolen
?”

“No,” said Uma, “she’s not stolen.”

Sharat frowned. “Then what’s the promise all about?”

Uma glanced around. “You’d better come inside,” she
said. “The walls have ears in this city.”

Sharat really didn’t want to go into this strange old woman’s hut, but as Uma turned to lead the way, Emira pounced on the reflections that spun from her mirrored skirt. Then, without waiting for Sharat’s permission, she slipped through the door.

“Hey!” cried Sharat, as he hurried to follow her in.

Inside, the hut was a big room divided into separate areas for cooking, sitting and sleeping. In the corner was a cauldron bubbling over a fire.

“We can’t stay long,” said Sharat, standing by the door.

Uma tipped the leaves she had gathered into the cauldron. “Don’t worry, circus boy, I won’t
eat
you,” she said impatiently. “Sit down!”

The tiger was already lying on the floor. Reluctantly, Sharat sat next to her and put his hand on her back.

“So what
is
the promise all about?” he asked.

Uma brushed her hands on her skirt and hobbled over. “It’s a long story,” she said as she squatted down next to him. “How much do you know about the City of Jewels?”

Sharat shook his head. “Not much,” he admitted. He hesitated as he thought of the creature in the rigging. “I heard it was once called the City of Jinnis.”

Uma nodded. “That’s right.”

Sharat swallowed, but he couldn’t help feeling curious.

“What
are
jinnis exactly?” he asked.

Uma’s eyes shone. “Jinnis are the spirits of the forest,” she told him. “Every tree has its own spirit, but unlike human beings, these spirits can leave their bodies and
take on other forms.”

Sharat thought of all the forests he’d travelled through with the circus. “If that’s true, why haven’t I ever seen one?” he asked.

Uma shook her head. “Nobody can see jinnis any more,” she said. “Long ago, they drew a veil between their world, Aruanda, and our own. Now the only thing that connects the two worlds is the trees.”

“But there are no trees in the City of Jewels,” Sharat pointed out.

Uma sighed. “Not any more,” she said, “but it hasn’t always been like this. There was a time, not so long ago, when the city was surrounded by forests. In those days there was a walled garden at the centre of town, where Shergarh is now. They say that this garden was the home of the Queen of the Jinnis, the Queen of the Forest.”

Sharat felt himself being drawn into Uma’s story despite himself.

“What happened?” he asked.

Uma’s face darkened.

“About twelve years ago, somebody found a way into Aruanda and unleashed the forces of evil,” she told him. She shuddered. “For one day and one night, demons over-ran the city, cutting down the trees. And once they had finished with the gardens they started on the forests.”

“But why?” demanded Sharat.

“To enslave the jinnis,” Uma explained. “Without their trees, the jinnis have no way of returning to Aruanda. That’s why the Empire is so rich. Only jinnis know how
to find the jewels that are buried under the city.”

Sharat didn’t know what to think. He’d always heard that jinnis were evil, malicious creatures, but Uma was painting quite a different picture.

“What’s all this got to do with my tiger?” he asked.

“In the middle of the upheaval I was called in to help a woman who had gone into labour,” Uma told him. “After she’d given birth she gave me a tiger-cub and asked me to smuggle her out of the city.”

“Emira!” exclaimed Sharat.

Uma nodded. “Yes, Emira,” she said. “That’s when I gave her to Lemo. I had travelled with the circus and I knew he would take good care of her.”

“But why was she in danger?” asked Sharat with a frown.

Uma lowered her voice. “Aruanda wasn’t just home to the spirits of the trees,” she told him. “There were other creatures that lived there too – magical creatures with mysterious powers. I believe Emira is one of these.”

Sharat stared at her. “Are you trying to tell me Emira’s a jinni?” he asked.

Uma tilted her head. “Something like that,” she said.

“But Emira can’t be a jinni,” protested Sharat. “She’s been with me since she was a cub. I would know if she had any special powers.”

“Really?” said Uma quietly. “Are you sure?”

Sharat hesitated. He looked down at Emira. She looked back at him, her wild eyes burning with a strange light, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure at all. He swallowed.

“Do you think she’s still in danger?” he asked.

Uma’s face was grim. “I’m sure of it,” she said. “The demons are determined to wipe out any trace of Aruanda. If they find out about Emira, they’ll want to destroy her too.”

Suddenly Sharat thought of the creature in the rigging. “I think I’ve seen a demon!” he said. “Last night, at the circus.”

Uma’s eyes flashed. “In that case there’s no time to waste,” she said, getting to her feet.

“But what am I going to do?” said Sharat in alarm.

Uma hobbled over to the door. “Go back to the circus and tell Lemo you have to get out of the city,” she said. “It’s your only hope.”

With a growl, Emira jumped up to follow her into the garden.

Sharat’s heart sank as he thought about how his father would react if he came back talking about demons and jinnis. “He’ll never believe me,” he said as he hurried after them.

“Yes, he will,” said Uma. “Tell him you’ve seen me. Remind him of his promise. He’ll remember me.”

For a moment she hesitated. Then she untied a necklace from around her neck and handed it over.

“Here,” she said. “You’d better take this.”

Sharat looked down at his hand. Lying on his palm was a golden bee with an enormous blue diamond at its centre.

“What is it?” he asked, frowning as he turned over the
amulet.

“It belonged to the woman who gave me Emira,” Uma told him. “She said it would protect my garden, but by rights it should be yours.”

Sharat glanced up at her in surprise. “Why?”

Uma’s eyes glinted. “Because
you
were the baby I delivered that night.”

Sharat could hardly believe his ears. “Are you saying Emira’s owner was my
mother
?” he gasped.

Uma nodded. “Yes.”

Sharat felt a rush of emotion. Lemo had always refused to talk about his mother. All he knew was that she’d died when he was born. He clutched Uma’s arm.

“Who
was
she? Where did she come from? What did she look like?” he blurted out, unable to hide his excitement, but before she could answer a single question, a terrible shriek broke the air.

“Uma! Uma! UMAAAGGHHHH!” Above them, Ripiraja blazed scarlet as he circled the garden like a flying banshee.

“What is is?” demanded Uma as the parrot landed with a flurry of feathers.

“Lickers!” cried the bird. “Run away! Run away!”

A look of panic crossed Uma’s face. Quickly, she hobbled over to the doorway in the wall, gesturing urgently for Sharat and Emira to follow.

“There’s no time for questions,” she said. “If they find you here they’ll kill us all!”

Sharat and Emira hurried to catch up.

Sharat was desperate to find out more about his mother, but no sooner had he passed through the hidden door when he heard a metallic buzz and lifted his eyes to see a shimmering cloud of gold rising up over Shergarh.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Uma’s face was ashen. “Never mind what it is,” she gasped. “Just go!”

“Go! Go! Go!” The parrot’s raucous cry echoed overhead.

Emira growled at the golden cloud. It was approaching fast and soon the noise became more distinct, like the sharpening of a thousand knives.

Sharat didn’t need any more convincing. Heart pounding, he swung himself on to the tiger’s back.

“You heard the witch,” he said. “Let’s get out of here!”

With a growl, Emira began to run.