the elephants the previous day. This one was cast in the shape of a great bird, its beak open wide. There was a guard standing on either side.
Lifting his chin defiantly, Sharat crossed the bridge as if he had every right to be there. Immediately the bird’s mechanical eyes swivelled to look at him, and the beak slammed shut with a raucous clang. Sharat barely had time to jump aside.
One of the guards sniggered. The other, a burly man with a boxer’s face, stuck out his sword.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he grunted.
“I need to speak to the Emperor,” said Sharat.
“Did you hear that, Manu?” said the guard, turning to his friend. “This little scruff wants to see the Emperor!”
Manu was a young man with a closely trimmed beard. He might have had a kind face once, but now he just looked tired. He glanced down at the circus boy. “What business would
you
have at court?” he asked.
Sharat hesitated. “I’ve had something stolen,” he said.
The guards exchanged a glance.
“Royal audience every other full moon, by appointment only,” Manu told him in a bored voice. “The next one’s in six weeks.”
Sharat stared at him in dismay. “I can’t wait six weeks!” he said.
“You’re going to have to,” snapped the older guard. “Now stop wasting our time.” He used the flat of his sword to shove the boy back across the drawbridge.
Sharat felt annoyed, but he wasn’t about to give up. There were four gates into Shergarh and he was determined to try them all. But it was no good. At the second gate he was almost squeezed in the coils of an iron snake, at the third, the teeth of a monstrous fish threatened to grind him to bits, and finally he was almost burnt to a crisp by the dragon that had allowed the circus to pass through the day before. It was as if the gates themselves knew that he didn’t belong there.
“Get out of here!” snapped a guard at the last gate, as he drove Sharat back across the bridge into the street below.
Helplessly, he stood looking up at the fortress walls. So far his only plan had been to appeal to the Emperor for Emira’s release, but now he was starting to see how hopeless his quest was. After all, he didn’t even know if Emira was alive.
Chapter Nine
MANU
A s Sharat loitered outside Shergarh wondering what to do next, a sweet smell wafted past him and he noticed that there were food stalls along the road. Suddenly he realised he was hungry. His mouth watering, he went to see what was being sold.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a slab of something white that lay glistening on the table.
“Food.” The reply was curt.
It didn’t look like any kind of food Sharat had seen before, but he took a slice and paid with a piece of his gold.
The coin had a greenish glow. The stall-keeper eyed Sharat suspiciously.
“This is palace gold,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”
“I did some work for the Emperor,” Sharat told him, keeping his voice down.
The merchant grunted in reply. “Who’s got change for palace gold?” he called out to the other stallholders.
Sharat suddenly became the focus of curious looks. He got his change in local money, but the news of his gold had spread. As he hurried off, beggar children surrounded him.
“Money! Money! Money!” they chanted, scrabbling at him with emaciated hands. He handed out all his change, and tried to escape, but a scrawny girl with one blind eye wouldn’t let him go. She tried to grab hold of his bundle.
“I don’t want your stinking coppers. Give me some of that gold!” she hissed, glaring at him sharply through her good eye.
Sharat pulled back. There were too many of them. If he started handing out gold, soon there would be none left. “Go away!” he said, but it was no use, he was surrounded, and the girl with one eye was almost on top of him.
In a panic, he pushed her away and began to run, dropping the food as he fled. With whoops of glee his tormentors set off after
Lifting his chin defiantly, Sharat crossed the bridge as if he had every right to be there. Immediately the bird’s mechanical eyes swivelled to look at him, and the beak slammed shut with a raucous clang. Sharat barely had time to jump aside.
One of the guards sniggered. The other, a burly man with a boxer’s face, stuck out his sword.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he grunted.
“I need to speak to the Emperor,” said Sharat.
“Did you hear that, Manu?” said the guard, turning to his friend. “This little scruff wants to see the Emperor!”
Manu was a young man with a closely trimmed beard. He might have had a kind face once, but now he just looked tired. He glanced down at the circus boy. “What business would
you
have at court?” he asked.
Sharat hesitated. “I’ve had something stolen,” he said.
The guards exchanged a glance.
“Royal audience every other full moon, by appointment only,” Manu told him in a bored voice. “The next one’s in six weeks.”
Sharat stared at him in dismay. “I can’t wait six weeks!” he said.
“You’re going to have to,” snapped the older guard. “Now stop wasting our time.” He used the flat of his sword to shove the boy back across the drawbridge.
Sharat felt annoyed, but he wasn’t about to give up. There were four gates into Shergarh and he was determined to try them all. But it was no good. At the second gate he was almost squeezed in the coils of an iron snake, at the third, the teeth of a monstrous fish threatened to grind him to bits, and finally he was almost burnt to a crisp by the dragon that had allowed the circus to pass through the day before. It was as if the gates themselves knew that he didn’t belong there.
“Get out of here!” snapped a guard at the last gate, as he drove Sharat back across the bridge into the street below.
Helplessly, he stood looking up at the fortress walls. So far his only plan had been to appeal to the Emperor for Emira’s release, but now he was starting to see how hopeless his quest was. After all, he didn’t even know if Emira was alive.
Chapter Nine
MANU
A s Sharat loitered outside Shergarh wondering what to do next, a sweet smell wafted past him and he noticed that there were food stalls along the road. Suddenly he realised he was hungry. His mouth watering, he went to see what was being sold.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a slab of something white that lay glistening on the table.
“Food.” The reply was curt.
It didn’t look like any kind of food Sharat had seen before, but he took a slice and paid with a piece of his gold.
The coin had a greenish glow. The stall-keeper eyed Sharat suspiciously.
“This is palace gold,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”
“I did some work for the Emperor,” Sharat told him, keeping his voice down.
The merchant grunted in reply. “Who’s got change for palace gold?” he called out to the other stallholders.
Sharat suddenly became the focus of curious looks. He got his change in local money, but the news of his gold had spread. As he hurried off, beggar children surrounded him.
“Money! Money! Money!” they chanted, scrabbling at him with emaciated hands. He handed out all his change, and tried to escape, but a scrawny girl with one blind eye wouldn’t let him go. She tried to grab hold of his bundle.
“I don’t want your stinking coppers. Give me some of that gold!” she hissed, glaring at him sharply through her good eye.
Sharat pulled back. There were too many of them. If he started handing out gold, soon there would be none left. “Go away!” he said, but it was no use, he was surrounded, and the girl with one eye was almost on top of him.
In a panic, he pushed her away and began to run, dropping the food as he fled. With whoops of glee his tormentors set off after
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