Read Online The Tiger's Egg by Jon Berkeley - Free Book Online

out, you little feathered rascal?”
    The bird hopped among the small red and gold envelopes that lay scattered across the carpet. She stopped suddenly and tugged one of the envelopes free with her fat red beak, then she hopped forward until she came to rest by Doctor Tau-Tau’s embroidered slipper.
    Doctor Tau-Tau bent down and held out his hand, palm upward. The bird jumped on board. The fortune-teller took the envelope and opened it, as though he had forgotten about Miles altogether. He removed a small yellowing card and read it with with a frown of concentration. “Impossible,” he murmured to himself. He glanced at Miles from under his bushy eyebrows, then he looked at the card once more, before slipping it back into its envelope.
    â€œWhat does the card say?” asked Miles.
    â€œOh, nothing, nothing,” said Doctor Tau-Tau vaguely. “The cards were scattered, and Satu has had a fright. In such circumstances a mistake isunderstandable.” He delved into his trouser pocket and brought out a few seeds, which he fed to the little bird, then he crunched his way across his scattered belongings, righted the cage and placed her gently inside.
    â€œWhat kind of mistake?” persisted Miles. He was curious to know what the card could have said to make Tau-Tau’s anger dissolve so quickly into puzzlement.
    â€œLet’s just forget about it, eh?” said Tau-Tau, forcing a smile. “It’s the wrong card. It couldn’t apply to you. Why don’t you just come back first thing in the morning and help me straighten the place out, eh?” He tucked the little envelope into his waistcoat pocket, beside the notebook, and Miles noticed that his hands were shaking.

CHAPTER EIGHT
A PAIR OF WINGS
    T ariq Ali Mohammad III, bare-chested and oil-slicked, opened his mouth and blew a mighty ball of flame that would have put a dragon to shame. The audience gasped—indeed some of them ducked, and he blew another, just to keep them on their toes. Miles loved to watch Tariq make fire, but he had no time to watch now. He was behind the curtain, helping the tent boys to line up the big round platforms on which Tembo and Mamba would perform for the people of Nape.
    A roar of applause told him that Tariq was taking his bow, and as the fire-eater marched through the curtain, spitting the last of the paraffin to oneside, Miles slipped past him and ran into the ring with a large rake. He quickly smoothed the sawdust as the tent boys came out behind him, rolling the heavy platforms on their sides like hula hoops. Miles ran back through the curtain, ducking under Tembo’s trunk as she ambled in from the darkening field outside, led by Gila in a green suit with gold braiding.
    â€œSteady, Master Miles,” said Gila.
    â€œDon’t knock over the elephants,” added Umor, who was following close behind with Mamba.
    â€œI’ll try not to,” said Miles.
    â€œCan you help me with these wings, Miles?” said Little.
    She was dressed in her sparkling suit and white ballet slippers, and a small pair of wings sat lopsidedly on her shoulders. They had been carefully stitched together from goose feathers by Delia Zipplethorpe, the horse mistress. She had done a fine job, but no amount of clever needlework could match the luminous beauty of the real wings that had once graced Little’s shoulders. A tracery of graceful lines in the skin of her back was all that remained of them now; a faint reminder of what she had lost when she sang her real name to release Miles from The Null’s monstrous grip, and in doingso tied herself forever to Earth.
    Miles tugged at the elastic straps that held the wings to her shoulders. They made him feel slightly sad, and he wondered how much worse it must be for Little herself. “Are you sure you want to wear these?” he asked.
    â€œOf course,” said Little. “Haven’t you seen the playbill? I’m Little, the winged