Tiger Thief (7 page)

“G
otcha!”

Sharat heard a high-pitched squeal of joy from somewhere in the darkness. It sounded nothing like the palace guard.

“Well done, Lalita!”

There was another squeal, followed by giggles. Then, before Sharat had time to get to his feet a sack was thrown over his head and his arms were bound to his sides. He struggled as he felt himself being held tightly by several pairs of hands.

“Don’t move! We’ve got knives!” a high voice warned him. Cold metal was pressed against his throat.

By the size of their hands and the sound of their voices Sharat realised they must be children. They chattered
noisily as they pulled him along.

“We’ve been following you all day,” bragged the one who was holding his arm.

“Who are you?” demanded Sharat, his voice muffled by the sacking. “What do you want?”

“Listen to him!” someone giggled. “He talks funny.”

“I’m not from around here,” said Sharat, struggling against his bond. “I’m from the circus. Let me go!”

“They’re travellers in the circus,” piped up a little voice off to the right. “They don’t come from anywhere.”

“That’s a bit like you, then, isn’t it, Lalita!” someone shrieked with a giggle.

“Shut up!” a sharper voice called out from behind. “No fraternising with the prisoner!”

“We’re not fraternising!”

“Yes, you are! You’re talking to him!” snapped the voice. “Now take him down without a word, or there’ll be trouble.”

There was a sober silence.

“All right, Nara,” someone muttered.

Sharat’s captors tugged the rope that bound his arms to his sides, and he stumbled down some steps.

Once they reached the bottom he was shoved unceremoniously to the ground. Then the cord around his neck was released, and the sack was lifted off his head.

“Let’s have a look at you, circus boy!” crowed a high voice.

Sharat blinked. About fifteen scrawny children clustered around him. They were on a stone ledge that
jutted out into a narrow channel filled with slow-moving sludge. A fire burned behind them, lighting the space, and the nasty smell he’d caught a whiff of earlier was almost overpowering. Just then a pair of rats scampered past and plopped into the fetid waste below. With a shudder he realised that they were in the sewers.

He turned to face the children. Some of them were so tiny that they were almost babies. He examined their grimy faces in the firelight.

“You’re all girls,” he said in surprise. “What are you doing down
here
?”

“We live here,” said a little girl with a cleft lip.

Sharat looked at her in disbelief. “But why?” he asked.

“We were dumped,” hissed a voice from the back.

“Nobody wants girls like us,” another voice cut in.

“We know you think it’s disgusting, but it’s better than putting up with some of the things that go on up there,” said the dark girl defensively. “Cooler too, in the summer.”

“Rajani, shut your mouth!” It was the girl with the sharp voice. She pushed angrily through the crowd, elbowing the other girls to one side. “I told you not to tell him anything!”

She stopped in front of Sharat with a nasty smile on her face.

“I got you in the end,” she sneered.

Sharat felt the shock of recognition. It was the
one-eyed
beggar girl from the palace gates; the one who had tried to take his gold.

She grabbed his bundle and emptied his possessions on to the ground. With a hiss of triumph she picked up the bag of gold and felt its weight in her dirty hands.

“Here we are,” she said. “At last!”

“Hey!” Sharat jerked forward. “That’s mine! Give it back!” He felt the rope digging into his arms as the girls behind him tightened their grip.

Nara sneered. “You won’t be needing gold where you’re going,” she said.

“Don’t forget you’re sharing that with us, Nara,” said Rajani, stepping forward.

“You’ll get your share, don’t you worry,” Nara told her. “Once we’ve disposed of the boy.”

Sharat began to feel uneasy. He hadn’t been scared of the other girls, but this one was vicious. He could feel the force of her hatred glaring out of her good eye.

“Let me go,” he demanded. “I’ve got to find my tiger.”

“Tiger?” A murmur of interest filled the space.

“She’s a white tiger,” Sharat explained. “She was stolen when we performed for the Emperor. That’s where I got all that gold.”

Rajani’s eyes lit up. “I’ve heard stories about white tigers,” she said. “Stories about jinnis.”

“Shut up!” snapped Nara, shoving Rajani out of the way.

She turned to Sharat. “Never mind your tiger,” she told him. “You’re here with us now, and we’re leaving you for the
ghuls
.”

There was a stirring among the girls.

Sharat had never even heard the word before but it made his skin crawl. He glared at Nara. “What’s a ghul?”

Nara was about to answer when one of the smaller girls took a step forward. A birthmark stained her pretty face.

“You can’t leave him for the ghuls,” she protested. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Nara’s face twisted with anger. “Shut up, Lalita. Do you want them to get
you
instead?” she hissed.

There was a murmur of fear among the others, but the little girl held her ground.

“The ghuls never took anyone when Aya was here,” she said stubbornly.

“Forget about Aya,” spat Nara. “She abandoned you, just like your mother did.”

A shadow of pain crossed Lalita’s face. She dropped her eyes.

Something nagged at the back of Sharat’s mind.
Aya
. He’d heard that name before. All at once he remembered the little girl by the river, the one who had taken him to see Uma.

“I know Aya!” he exclaimed.

There was a buzz of chatter. Lalita’s eyes lit up. “Where is she?”

“I saw her by the river,” said Sharat, stepping forward eagerly.

“He’s lying!” interrupted Nara. “I told you not to talk to him.” She slapped Lalita’s face. The little girl fell back and hit her head on the rock. Silently, she began to cry.

“You don’t know Aya,” said Nara, scowling at Sharat.
“She’s dead.”

“She’s
not
dead,” said Sharat.

“Yes, she is!”

With a swift move, the sewer-girl snatched his hair, pulled back his head and stuffed a rag into his mouth, roughly tying the ends. Then she took out a grimy bottle and tipped something on to the cloth. Sharat felt a rush of blood to his head.

“That’ll shut you up, circus boy,” she whispered nastily into his ear.

Sharat felt his heart pounding in his ears. Dizzy, he stumbled, but he kept his eyes open and tried to steady himself.

With quick, sure movements, Nara emptied his bag of gold. Then she handed a coin to each of the girls.

“Here’s your reward,” she said. “Don’t ever say I don’t look after you.”

The girls snatched greedily at their treasure, Aya forgotten.

Nara stood over Sharat, glaring at him with her good eye. “You should have given it to me when I asked for it,” she sneered.

Sharat couldn’t answer. He could hardly see any more and his head was spinning.
What was in that bottle
? he thought fuzzily.

Nara turned to Rajani and slipped her a second coin. “You take him down,” she said. “The rest of you, get ready for the ceremony.”

The girls hurriedly withdrew to the dens they had made
at the back of the rocky ledge and hid the gold in their rags. Then, one by one, they returned to gather around the fire, carrying pots, pans, sticks and gourds.

Rajani grabbed the rope binding Sharat’s arms, and held a knife to his throat. “Come with me,” she ordered, “and don’t struggle, or I’ll kill you.”

Sharat stumbled. His arms and legs didn’t seem to belong to him any more. He desperately wanted to talk to Rajani, to beg for release, but the gag was firmly in place. Without speaking, the girl led him down some slippery steps to the level of the sludge before pulling him roughly towards the wall so that they were out of sight of the others.

“Have you really seen Aya?” she asked, her voice urgent.

Sharat’s mind was a blur, but he managed to nod.

Rajani hesitated. Then she pressed her mouth to his ear.

“When the ghuls come for you, play dead!” she hissed. “They’ll only take you if they think you’re alive.”

Sharat nodded again, but Rajani had already left him, clambering quickly back on to the ledge.

Just then the fire flared up and the lengthened shadows of the girls seemed to surround him. Dully, he saw that Nara was crouched over a big wooden drum. Then, with a cry, she began a slow, steady beat and, one by one, the others joined in, rattling and tapping their shakers and drums as they began to sing.

As the drumbeat echoed on the damp walls of the
sewers the sound of their voices seemed to reach deep into Sharat’s guts. He struggled to free himself, but in his panic he inhaled more of the drug Nara had poured on to the gag and a wave of nausea passed through him.

Knowing only that he had to stay awake, he breathed as lightly as he could through his nose. The stench was almost unbearable, but he didn’t have long to worry about that, for as the girls carried on singing a pale figure slowly appeared out of the darkness of the sewers. A ghul.

Tall and stooped, its skeletal body was dressed from head to foot in white robes, while its face was hidden by a hood. Only the glint of desperate eyes gleamed out from beneath the fabric’s ghostly folds.

Sharat’s first instinct was to scream, and to try and escape, but through the haze in his head he somehow remembered Rajani’s advice.

Slowly, he sank to the ground. Then, lying as still as a corpse, he watched as the ghul came closer and closer, its glinting eyes turning to scan every nook and cranny in the sewer walls.

W
ith a hiss, the ghul spotted its prize. Taking long, smooth strides it moved towards Sharat and bent down to prod his body with its bony hands.

Using every ounce of his willpower, Sharat tried not to breathe as he lay still as a corpse and kept his eyes clenched shut. It was a terrible struggle, but just when it seemed he couldn’t hold on any longer, the ghul finally straightened up and, with silent steps, retreated back into the darkness of the sewers.

In relief, Sharat sucked in a lungful of air, but as he did so he drew in more of Nara’s drug and his mind began to spin again.

With a groan, he closed his eyes and allowed his head to slump back. Above him the sewer girls were still
drumming. On and on they went, the wild, hypnotic sound penetrating every cell of his body as he lay helplessly on the cold, stone ledge until, at last, with one final triumphant cry, they were still.

The next thing Sharat knew, he was being shaken awake and a mouth pressed itself to his ear.

“Don’t say a word,” hissed a familiar voice.

Sharat’s head was pounding. He felt the gag being released and a cup of water was held to his mouth. Feeling nauseous, he gulped it down. Then, two pairs of hands pulled him up and guided him along the narrow tunnel without untying his wrists. Soon sunlight started penetrating the darkness through holes and cracks in the ceiling above and Sharat made out the shape of two girls. It was little Lalita and the girl who had tied him up, Rajani.

“Keep your mouth shut!” snapped Rajani when she saw him looking at her.

“This way,” whispered Lalita, tugging the rope around his wrists.

The path was slimy underfoot. Sharat tried not to think about what he was walking on as he hurried to keep up.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’re taking us to Aya,” replied Rajani, taking out her knife. “Unless you were lying.”

“I wasn’t lying!”

“Where is she, then?”

“She lives near the crematorium, close to the circus encampment,” said Sharat, praying that he was right.

“We’ll go as far as we can underground. Then we’ll have to come out near the blue mosque and follow the river north,” Rajani told Lalita.

“We need to be fast. We don’t want Nara to catch us,” Lalita pointed out.

“It’s three against one,” muttered Rajani.

“
He
doesn’t count.”

“Two against one, then.”

“Unless she brings the others.”

“Well, hurry up, then!”

They set off again, clambering out at last into a ruined hovel that hid the entrance to the sewers.

In the bright light of day, Sharat got a better look at the girls. Their greyish skin was covered in sores, their hair was matted, and they were painfully thin. They flinched in the sunlight.

“The crematorium is up here,” said Lalita.

Rajani had her knife pressed into Sharat’s side. She seemed ill at ease and her wild eyes darted nervously around, as if she were waiting for attack, but Lalita was looking at Sharat with curiosity.

“Do you really have a white tiger?” she asked.

Sharat felt a wave of nausea. “I used to,” he said weakly.

“No talking!” snapped Rajani. “We still don’t know if we can trust him.”

Guiltily, Lalita pressed her mouth shut.

As they made their way along the river, Sharat caught sight of the travellers’ inn that he’d passed on his first
morning in the city. With a pang, he saw that the camel traders were still there, playing chess in the shade of its tattered awnings.

In the distance he spotted the skeleton of the banyan tree.

“She should be around here somewhere,” he said.

“No messing about!” Rajani warned him. “If you run away we’ll get the other girls to hunt you down and give you back to the ghuls, and this time we won’t be there to save you.”

Sharat shuddered. “What
are
ghuls exactly?” he asked.

The girls exchanged a glance.

“Nobody knows for sure,” Rajani admitted.

“I think they’re ghosts,” said Lalita.

Sharat frowned. The hands that had prodded him the night before hadn’t seemed ghostly at all. “What do they want?” he asked.

“They want children,” said Rajani. “They’ve started coming every night.”

“What for?” asked Sharat. “Food?”

Rajani shook her head. “We don’t think so. They only take people alive. That’s why I told you to play dead.”

“They never used to bother us while Aya was with us,” said Lalita. “That’s why we’re looking for her. We want her to come back. She’s the only one who could ever stand up to Nara.”

“She lives near that tree, I’m sure of it,” promised Sharat, pointing towards the banyan. “I saw her there yesterday.”

“I’ll go and have a look,” said Lalita.

Rajani nodded, and the smaller girl ran off, disappearing down the slope to the riverbank. A moment later her head reappeared. “There’s nobody here,” she called, sounding disappointed.

Rajani pressed her knife into Sharat’s side.

“Did you lie to me?” she hissed.

Sharat had finally loosened one of his hands. He sized up Rajani. She might have a knife, but she was no match for him. He was about to make a break for it when a liquid noise like the call of some fabulous bird hit his ears and he froze, mesmerised by the sound. It was coming from the river.

Rajani’s face split open in a wide smile.

“Aya!” she called. She lowered her knife.

The singing stopped abruptly.

Lalita ran ahead. The other two hurried after her.

The little girl with curly hair was hidden behind a cluster of boulders on the riverbank. When she heard them coming, she jumped to her feet, her face shadowed with fear.

Rajani cut Sharat’s bindings.

“You can go now,” she said, her voice curt.

Sharat glanced over at Aya. A familiar face. He felt a spark of hope.

“I think I’ll stay,” he said.

Rajani shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Aya had caught sight of them now. Her expression turned from fear to surprise as she stepped forward.

“Rajani?” Her eyes darted over and took in the other two. “And Lalita!”

Lalita smiled shyly. “Hello, Aya.”

Sharat stood awkwardly behind the girls. He lifted his hand in greeting. “I’m Sharat,” he reminded her. “The boy with the white tiger?”

Aya looked at him coldly. “I know who you are,” she said. Pointedly, she ignored him, and turned to the girls. “What are
you
doing here?” she demanded.

“We came to find you,” said Rajani. “We want you to come back to the sewers.”

Aya frowned. “Why?”

Rajani looked uncomfortable. “It’s Nara and the ghuls,” she said.

“What about them?”

“The ghuls have started taking children,” Rajani told her.

Aya took a sharp breath. “What
for
?”

“We don’t know,” said Lalita, “but it’s getting so bad that Nara’s making us catch boys to use as a sacrifice, so that they’ll leave us alone.”

“That’s horrible!” said Aya. She finally caught Sharat’s eye. “Is that why you’re with them?” she asked.

Sharat nodded. “Nara took me prisoner,” he said.

Aya shook her head. “Oh, Nara…”

“I did try and stop her, but the others are all too frightened,” said Lalita. She gestured at Sharat. “We only rescued this one because he said he knew you.”

“Please come back, Aya,” begged Rajani. “Nothing
like this happened when you were there.”

“I’m never going back to those sewers,” said Aya with a shudder. “It’s disgusting down there.”

She reached over and took Lalita’s hand. “You don’t have to stay with Nara,” she said. “Come and live with me. There aren’t any ghuls up here.”

“I
can’t
!” Lalita whimpered. “All this sky … it gives me the creeps.”

“We aren’t like you, Aya,” Rajani agreed. “We’ve never lived above ground. It doesn’t feel safe.”

“You’d get used to it,” Aya encouraged them.

Lalita looked around nervously. “Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t stay,” she said. “Nara’s sure to come looking for us if we go missing.”

“You have to stand up to her,” said Aya.

“I do stand up to her!” Rajani protested. “But you know what Nara’s like.”

Aya sighed. “Yes, I know,” she admitted.

“We’ll visit you again soon,” promised Lalita, her eyes filling with tears.

Quickly, she turned away, and together the girls slunk off, huddled together against the immensity of the sky.

Aya watched them, her face worried. “Be careful!” she called.

They lifted their grimy hands and waved.

While the girls were saying their goodbyes, Sharat took the opportunity to dive into the river and wash away the filth of the sewers. When he was finished, he pulled himself back on to the bank and shook out his hair.

“What happened to you?” demanded Aya. “I went to the circus like you said, but there was no one there.”

Sharat glanced in the direction of the circus encampment. So they really had gone. A desperate wave of loneliness swept through him. He swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault. The circus was forced to leave town.”

“Why aren’t you with them?” asked Aya.

Sharat bent down to pick up a stone, avoiding her gaze. “I’ve run away.”

“What about your tiger?” said Aya. “Where’s
she
?”

With a quick movement, Sharat skimmed the stone across the river. “Emira’s gone,” he said, unable to hide the misery in his voice.

Aya frowned. “Wasn’t she with that old lady I told you about?” she said. “Uma?”

“Oh, she was with Uma when I saw
you
,” said Sharat, “but she disappeared again when we performed for the Emperor. Only this time it was for real.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?” said Aya sharply.

Sharat took a deep breath. “She jumped through a hoop at the end of our show, and never landed,” he said.

“Do you mean she disappeared by
magic
?” asked Aya, her eyes widening.

“Magic, or some kind of trick,” said Sharat bitterly, thinking of Mohini. “Either way, she’s been stolen.”

A look of anxiety played across Aya’s face. “Maybe she really
is
the tiger from the rhyme,” she said, more to herself than to Sharat.

Sharat looked at her, puzzled. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Aya hesitated. “It’s a nursery rhyme my mother used to tell me,” she said. “I remembered it when I first saw Emira.”

“What nursery rhyme?”

“It goes like this,” said Aya.

Sharat felt his skin come out in goosebumps. “What does it mean?” he asked.

“It’s a prophecy,” Aya told him. “My mother said that when the jinnis were enslaved, there was one who escaped – the Prince of Jinnis. She said he was the most powerful jinni of them all, and that one day a white tiger would lead him back to the city to free the Queen of the Forest and overthrow the Empire.”

Sharat stared at her. “Who is this Prince of Jinnis?” he demanded. “Uma never mentioned him to me.”

“That’s because he’s a
secret
,” said Aya. “He’s hidden by magic – only his white tiger knows where he is.”

His white tiger? Sharat felt a pang of jealousy. “We
don’t know if Emira is the tiger from your mother’s rhyme,” he pointed out.

“Oh, I know,” said Aya, “but wouldn’t it be wonderful if she was?”

Sharat bit his lip. He didn’t think it would be wonderful at all. Both Uma and Aya seemed to think that jinnis were a good thing, but he still wasn’t convinced. Besides, Emira belonged to
him
, not to some long-lost prince.

He hesitated. Aya seemed so hopeful, he didn’t know how to voice his fears. “Even if Emira is the tiger from your rhyme, she’s still been stolen,” he said. “All I want is to find her.”

“Let’s go and see Uma,” suggested Aya. She lowered her voice. “She’s a
witch
, you know.”

Sharat nodded. Aya was right. If anyone could help him now it would be Uma. Magic had made Emira disappear, and he was beginning to think it would take magic to get her back, but he couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

“When I was there looking for Emira, Uma made me run away,” he said. “There was something coming from Shergarh. It was heading for her garden.”

Aya took a sharp breath. “In that case we definitely have to go,” she said. “She may need our help.”

Quickly, she gathered her few possessions into a little bag. Then, slinging the bag over her shoulder, she turned to make her way towards the cremation grounds as Sharat hurried to follow her.

Although it was still only morning it was almost too hot to breathe. Mirages shimmered in the dusty plains all
around and the air was deathly still. Soon they arrived at the burning
ghats
. Today there were no grieving relatives sitting with their dead, but a few funeral pyres still burned here and there, guarded by the stray dogs that lay panting nearby.

The only people present were the
sadhus
, who sat together in a circle around the bones of a dead fire, their legs in the lotus position. They looked like statues as they meditated with their skin, long hair, and beards covered in ash, barely moving, except to pass their pipe. They didn’t seem to notice the boy and girl that tiptoed past them.

Sharat looked towards the temple on the banks of the river. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to get his bearings.

“This way,” said Aya, leading him towards the narrow door hidden in the temple wall.

Sharat lifted his fist to knock, but at the pressure of his hand the door fell away and came crashing loudly to the ground. Too late, he saw that it had been ripped from its hinges. With a sense of foreboding, he ducked to go through the low doorway and entered the garden.