The Lightning Key (12 page)

D
octor Tau-Tau, chapped, chilled and saddle-chafed, shivered in his thin shirt in the biting wind. He had been ill-dressed to withstand the sun in the daytime, and he was totally unprepared for the night. During their brief stop at the oasis he had replaced the water that his body had lost, but the sweat of their long trek was freezing on his skin. “We need to stop,” he said through chattering teeth. “A man of my position should not be expected to travel like a beggar.”

“The only position you're in is perched on a camel's hump freezing your backside off,” snapped Cortado, making a great effort not to let his own teeth
chatter. Still, it was as much as he could do to stay astride his own camel at this point, so he called a halt and tied the beasts to a spiny bush, which they promptly began to eat. He set Tau-Tau to collect some dried vegetation (there didn't seem to be any other kind in this godforsaken place), and to light a fire, then he withdrew the map that he had stolen from Baltinglass of Araby. He frowned at it for a while, muttering to himself and trying to keep his remaining eye focused. They had passed landmarks that appeared to be marked on the map, but they all seemed to be in the wrong places, or facing the wrong way. Others did not look familiar at all. He turned the map upside down, but it didn't help a bit.

He folded the map and checked on the circus freak, who was still tied to the saddle of Tau-Tau's camel and appeared oddly cheerful. “Do you think my wrists could be tied in front instead of behind me?” she asked with an irritatingly uncowed smile. “That way I might be able to sleep.”

“You can lie on your face,” said the Great Cortado nastily. He did not get the satisfaction he expected from his meanness, which only made him more annoyed as he pulled his sleeping bag from behind the camel's saddle and tried to make
himself comfortable on the rocky ground. They were in a bone-dry valley that twisted through the rock following the course of a dead river. The wind whistled and veered along the valley and stole whatever feeble heat the fire produced before he could gain the benefit. It would not be like this for much longer, he told himself. Soon he would be furred, feared and striped, free of all the petty humiliations that he endured on a daily basis.

“It's very generous of you to allow Doctor Tau-Tau to become master of the Tiger's Egg,” said the girl, interrupting his thoughts.

The Great Cortado propped himself up on one elbow and glared at Little. “What do you know about that?” he said sharply.

“Oh, not much,” said Little. “Only what Doctor Tau-Tau himself told me.”

“Which was?” said Cortado, trying not to sound too interested.

Little shrugged. “All that stuff about a Tiger's Egg taking around a week to adopt a new master. I'm sure you know much more about it than me.”

“Of course,” said the Great Cortado. He did not like the sound of this at all. He needed to winkle more information out of the freak somehow. He got
out of his sleeping bag and walked over to where she sat. “Stand up,” he said. He untied the rope that bound her wrists, then retied them in front of her. “That should help,” he muttered. It was a long time since he had attempted any act of kindness, and it felt strange, like wearing his shoes on the wrong feet. He turned his back abruptly and returned to his sleeping bag.

“Thank you,” said Little.

“Tau-Tau is just carrying the Egg for me,” said Cortado. “He might as well serve some purpose.”

“But the Egg will bind itself to whoever is carrying it,” said Little, pretending surprise.

The ringmaster frowned. “It's nothing to do with you,” he said. “Get some sleep and forget about it.”

“If you say so,” said Little. She closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply, but she was still awake when Doctor Tau-Tau returned breathless to the fire and dropped an armload of dust and twigs onto it, promptly smothering the flame.

“You're an idiot, Tau-Tau,” she heard the Great Cortado say coldly. His voice lowered, and he said, “Now, give me that thing you have in your pocket.”

“What thing?” said Doctor Tau-Tau suspiciously.

“The Tiger's Egg, you fool. Give it to me and get
your sleeping bag. We'll be up before the sun, and I don't want you taking an afternoon nap and falling off your camel.”

“The Tiger's Egg should remain in my care,” protested Tau-Tau. “I am, after all, the expert in—”

The Great Cortado's voice cut in like a scalpel before the fortune-teller could describe his expertise. It was not a voice that invited argument. “Give it to me, Tau-Tau, or I will personally stake you out at midday and send gilt-edged invitations to the league of vultures.”

 

Miles Wednesday, dry-eyed and sand-jointed, lay awake and listened to the breeze whispering tales of the sea as it riffled through the palm fronds. He and Baltinglass had been given a tent for the night, while the servants who usually occupied it slept with the camels by the water's edge. Although he knew that Kadin al Arfam's men were discreetly searching the oasis for Little, he had slept only fitfully, and as the night drew on without a sign of her he was impatient to resume their pursuit. Baltinglass, on the other hand, had stayed up exchanging stories with Kadin for some time, and now slept like a baby on the other cot, a new ivory-handled swordstick clasped to his chest.

Miles turned restlessly and watched the strip of torchlight that lay across the sandy floor, waiting for a scorpion to cross it. Only when it sidled into view did he wonder how he had known that the scorpion was about to appear. A feeling came over him that was like déjà vu but inside out. It was not that he felt he had seen that same scorpion before; rather that he had known he was about to see it. He knew this was the “far eyes” that the Shriveled Fella of the Fir Bolg had seen in him. He had no idea how it worked, but it happened only when danger loomed, and he held his breath and listened.

As the feeling grew stronger he slid quietly from under his mosquito net and crept to the other side of the tent. The scorpion was not the danger. It scuttled away at the sight of him and vanished under the tent flap. There was something else, but he could not put his finger on it. He crouched by the foot of Baltinglass's cot, trying to remember what was about to happen. There it was! A shadow on the tent wall, and moments later a long sword plunged through the fabric and straight into the bed where he had lain only seconds before.

“Baltinglass!” he hissed, giving the sleeping explorer a sharp poke in the ribs. He knew, of course, that this would have the worst possible effect on the
old man, which was exactly what he wanted. Baltinglass leaped from his cot with a hoarse shout, and Miles ducked quickly as the ivory-handled sword shot from its cane and sang through the air. At the same moment a figure with a cloth-wrapped face stepped in through the long slit in the tent wall, and the two swords sparked together as though their owners were electrically charged. Baltinglass, having risen so quickly, had his mosquito net wrapped around his head like some nightmare bride. This was no great hindrance to him, since his fighting technique involved slashing with bewildering speed at any place his opponent could possibly be, but it must have looked quite alarming to the assassin.

Miles had dropped to all fours at once and quickly crawled around behind the stranger. The nightmare bride's veil had given him an idea. As the two fighters circled each other, Baltinglass slicing the air into tiny sections and the other man warily looking for an opening, Miles stealthily unhooked his own mosquito net and crept carefully closer to the fray. He planned to throw it over the stranger and shout a warning to Baltinglass at the same moment. The net was not strong, but with luck the two of them would be able to subdue the assassin long enough for help to come.

The stranger lunged, but Baltinglass's sword met his with the force of a propeller intercepting a bird. The assassin grunted with shock, but before he or Miles could act, Baltinglass did something quite unexpected. He stopped whirling his sword and muttered, “I'm too old for this!” Then he withdrew an ornate pistol from the waistband of his long johns and fired a single shot in the general direction of his opponent.

Miles dropped to the ground again. The assassin stepped backward, clutching the side of his neck, tripped over Miles and fell with a crash onto the vacated cot, which closed around him like an oyster guarding a pearl.

“That did the trick,” panted Baltinglass, sitting down heavily on his own bed. “Is he dead?”

“I don't think so,” said Miles. The stranger was struggling to free himself, but Baltinglass's shot had brought the sound of running and shouting, and several men came tumbling in through the door of the tent.

“Are
you
dead, Master Miles?” shouted Baltinglass over the uproar.

“No,” said Miles, “just lying down.” In truth he had no choice. He had been pinned down by two of Kadin al Arfam's men, and others had swarmed
over the veiled intruder and over Baltinglass himself, who had fortunately had enough of fighting for one night.

Miles, Baltinglass and the assassin were manhandled to their feet and marched into their host's adjoining tent. The blue man of the desert sat in his habitual seat, but his hair stuck up like a parrot's crest and his robe was misbuttoned. He glowered at his guests and their attacker with his purpose-built eyebrows. “Unwrap those men,” he commanded.

The mosquito net and the long black cloth were unwound from their respective heads, and Miles gave a gasp of surprise as the assassin's face was revealed. “Captain Tripoli!” he said.

“I owe you a heartfelt apology, Mr. Wednesday,” said the captain. There was a dark welt on the side of his neck where the bullet had grazed him. “And you, Mr. Baltinglass,” he added, “though I would have been sorry to miss such an . . . unusual swordfight.”

“But . . . 
why
?” said Miles. He was beginning to shake with delayed shock.

“A regrettable error,” said the captain. “I was convinced that you were the two men who destroyed my ship.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the mad one
here,” yelled Baltinglass. “How did you manage to mistake us for that pair of hooligans?”

“Do I understand,” interrupted Kadin al Arfam, “that you intended to kill both of my guests, but that no one suffered more than a scratch?”

“That was a stroke of good fortune, wasn't it, Mr. Arfam?” said Miles.

“Indeed it was, for both of you,” said Kadin, “but it will be less lucky for your attacker, who must now lose his head.”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” said Miles. “He was really after the same men that we are.”

“If that is so,” said the blue man, addressing himself to Captain Tripoli, “why did you attempt to murder two of my guests?”

The captain stood ramrod straight, as though addressing a military court. “When I arrived at the oasis I heard that two foreigners were sleeping in your servants' tent,” he said, “and that they were in pursuit of three other foreigners—two men and a small girl, who had left after stopping to water their camels. I reasoned that the travelers who had continued on their journey must be my friends here, and therefore the ones who remained at the oasis must be Cortado and Tau-Tau, the arsonists who destroyed my ship.”

“That makes sense, in a mildly deranged way,” said Baltinglass. “And I must admit I also found our little scrap invigorating. Not a bit sorry I shot you, though. That'll teach you to knock first.”

The blue man of the desert steepled his fingers and thought for a while. “For the crime of attacking travelers who are under my protection, you will pay a fine of twelve goats, or six camels, or four white camels, before the next full moon. You will have your sword returned to you only when you leave. If you fail to pay in livestock when the debt is due I will collect your head instead.”

“Or you could get struck by lightning,” muttered Baltinglass. “It worked for me.”

They were interrupted by one of the horsemen who had met them on their arrival at the oasis. “Excuse me, effendi,” he said, ducking in through the tent flap. “I have found a boy who gave the two foreigners directions when they stopped for water.”

A serious-looking boy stepped into the tent after him. He had ears that stuck out like two coins. “I helped the strangers with their camels,” he said. “They had a small girl with them, but she was tied to a camel and could not dismount. They showed me a map, but I did not understand it, and they asked me the way to Kagu.”

“Did you tell them to follow the ridge?” asked Kadin al Arfam.

The boy shook his head. “I told them to take the wadi,” he said.

“The wadi winds like a snake,” said Kadin. “Why did you send them the long way?”

“They did not understand the desert,” said the boy, “and they did not have protection from the sun. I told them that way so they would not get lost and they might at least find shade.”

“That was wise of you,” said Kadin.

“And fortunate for us,” remarked Captain Tripoli.

“I was sorry I helped them,” said the boy. “They left me with nothing but an insult, and rode away complaining.”

“What is your name, boy?” asked Kadin.

“I am Nasir, effendi.”

“Go to the end of my tent, Nasir, and choose for yourself the reward you should have received for your kindness. Be sure also that the men who you helped will soon be rewarded for their insult.”

The boy nodded his thanks and turned to Miles. “Are you Miles?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Miles.

“The girl gave me a message for you while the men were soaking their heads,” said Nasir. “She said
her eyes were clear and her claws were sharp. I did not see any claws.”

“You wouldn't,” said Miles, smiling. “They only come out when they're needed.”