Suddenly, Hajiri pounced in a vicious blur of orange speed, dispelling that theory. The well bucket went flying as he landed in front of the little Tokoloshe, his face a hairsbreadth from that of the petrified little man. He unsheathed a claw, longer than one of Joe’s fingers, and flicked the old Tokoloshe with it, sending him tumbling into a deep-red gooseberry bush. “Go away, tiresome creature, and let us drink,” he said in a mild voice, completely at odds with his tense body.
Joe picked up the bucket shakily, torn between irritating the tiger further, and drawing himself a drink from the well. The Tokoloshe melted into the shadows. The old one hid in the bush where he had landed. Joe hoped he wasn’t hurt. He drew more water from the well and drank as fast as he could, splashing some over his scratched face. The water had a greasy film on top and felt a little sticky, but it was a relief to be able to clean out his cuts. Once again Joe smelled a strong smell of pears.
“Not like that, dear boy,” the tiger said, crouching beside Joe. “You have to put the magic on the wounds.” Tapping his claw impatiently against the bucket, he scanned the area for anyone still brave enough to show their face. “You!” he said, eyeing the old lady, back in her chair on the balcony, “Fetch me a cloth.”
“Fetch your own cl...” she squealed as she disappeared into the recesses of her house, but soon a soft cloth came flying off the balcony and landed at Joe’s feet.
“Come along, let’s go and find some food,” the tiger said after Joe had wiped the dried blood from his face. “As tempted as I am, we can’t eat these creatures, their magic gives me indigestion.”
Joe mounted his unlikely companion again, nervously gripping Hajiri’s fur behind his shoulder blades, and with giant leaps they disappeared back into the forest. He wondered if the Tokoloshe would have been able to get him to the settlement on the other side of the lake if he had been brave enough to leave the tiger. Hajiri must have been joking about eating the Tokoloshe. Surely.
~~~
The second settlement they found was on the bank of a river, flowing quietly and gently out of the bottom of a low plateau.
“This is Kapichi village,” the tiger explained. “The magic flows underground from those mountains in the south, past the well at Lala Salama village and comes out at this river. If you look closely, you will see the Tokoloshe have built up the area underneath the water so that it flows smoothly, rather than falling in a waterfall. Apparently the magic loses strength if it is shaken.”
The tiger made for the center of the village. The huts, scattered untidily all over a clearing, were similar to the ones in Lala Salama, but the occupants were not so cowering. Some sort of a commotion broke out around the corner at the news of their arrival, and Tokoloshe scattered in all directions. Several came running towards them.
Not all the Tokoloshe here had spiky hair and dark brown skins. Some of them looked almost rubbery and soft. One had turned so light and glassy Joe could hardly see him. They wheeled in mild panic at the sight of the tiger and ran back the way they had come, squealing more in mirth than fright, as if they were children, up to no good.
“Not as hostile as the last lot, but every bit as stupid,” Hajiri commented. He followed them around a large prickly pear cactus and found the source of their excitement. A pile of raw honey, still attached to the honeycombs, lay dribbling off a rock table outside one of the huts. The entire hive of bees seemed to have come with it. Several Tokoloshe jostled each other for handfuls of the honeycomb, swatting bees from it and stuffing it into their mouths.
Joe slid off Hajiri’s back as the tiger sat down quietly to watch. One by one the little Tokoloshe became aware of the tiger and tried to look innocent as they stuffed a last bit of honey into their mouths.
“We found it!” one said guiltily, spitting bees as he spoke.
“Just sitting there in a tree,” agreed another with a ruddy face covered in bee stings. He was turning invisible right before their eyes.
That’s probably why they aren’t as afraid as the last lot
, thought Joe.
If they become invisible, the tiger can’t catch them.
“We’re not going to take your honey,” Hajiri said with a winning smile. “Tigers don’t eat sweets, but perhaps you could spare a bit for my friend. I don’t think he has eaten for a while.” All eyes turned to Joe as if the little creatures had noticed him for the first time. One grabbed a handful of honeycomb and offered it timidly, and then withdrew his hand in panic when Joe reached out to take it. The honeycomb dropped on the ground between them where it broke into pieces. Joe picked up a piece with a polite smile to put the little guy at ease, dusted a few bees and a bit of sand off it and popped it in his mouth. It was like no honey he had ever tasted. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it but it had hints of almond and vanilla, and again, that faint smell of pears.
“That won’t fill the tummy of a growing boy!” A larger, female Tokoloshe kicked the dust around her bare feet in disgust, scattering the honeycomb. She plunked a huge green prickly pear down on the stone table and jabbed a pointed stick into the top of it. Then, taking great care to avoid the thorns, with the precision of one performing delicate surgery, she cut off both ends of the fruit, made an incision in the fleshy peel from end to end, peeled it aside and plucked out the orange fruit.
“There.” She handed it to Joe, and then stood back, folding her arms across her chest with satisfaction.
“Thank you,” he said, glancing towards the tiger for assent.
“Go ahead, dear boy. Tigers don’t eat fruit either,” Hajiri drawled. Joe took a bite out of the cactus fruit. It was difficult to get his mouth around it but it tasted cool on his tongue and absolutely mouthwatering, a bit like watermelon.
“Delicious,” he nodded and grinned his approval, at which the Tokoloshe woman spun on her heal and stomped off as if she had other important matters to attend to.
Hajiri lounged about in the shade of a mango tree while the Tokoloshe brought them water and Joe finished his prickly pear.
As friendly as Hajiri was with the Kapichi villagers, Joe noticed that some of the Tokoloshe were wary of the tiger. He could see it in the way they looked at each other, and the way they skittered around, just out of his reach. He may not be in the habit of eating them but one or two were definitely scared of him. He wondered what the tiger did eat. He hoped it was not eventually going to be “dear boy”.
He wondered what Jimoh and Tariro were up to, and of course Ethan. Was his family looking for him yet? Would they ever be able to find him in this strange place? He somehow doubted it. His last swallow bubbled up his throat again, prickling the back of his tongue. He pressed his lips together tightly. Now was not the time to dwell on home; he needed to have his wits about him if he was going to survive.
~~~
Joe and Hajiri emerged from the forest about half a kilometre away from the edge of the escarpment where the tiger sat down abruptly, spilling Joe off his back.
“Home,” he said with satisfaction, walking towards the cliff tops. Joe followed. All he could see was endless cliff tops stretching in both directions and a valley hundreds of metres below. Assuming the tiger had some sort of cave hidden in the cliff face, Joe hoped it was not too difficult to climb down to. As they got close enough to see a little way over the crest of the cliff, Joe spotted a spire, poking up above the escarpment. He rushed forwards and peered over the edge. What he saw nearly took his breath away.
People!
A whole city lay hidden beneath the cliffs, in the shape of half a rugby stadium, but ten times as big, and without a roof. Square, flat-roofed buildings that reminded him of Morocco had been built or possibly carved into the cliff face. Below him Joe could see people in flowing robes tending vegetables and fruit trees on some of the roof tops, or hanging brightly coloured garments on wash-lines. Others sat in courtyards, open to the sky, shaded by exotic-looking trees. Thin spires towered above the city on either side.
“Lookout towers,” Hajiri said, following Joe’s gaze. “They house the spyglasses used to see what is happening on the other side of the river.” Joe peered into the distant valley below. It felt like being in a documentary, filmed from an airplane. A herd of zebra grazed just below the city, ambling slowly between flat-topped trees. They started at some sudden movement, and turned as one, like a shoal of fish, plunging into the thicker cover of dense msasa woodland. He thought he could see a herd of brown antelope closer to the river, but they were too far away to tell for sure. There was definitely a settlement on the eastern bank of the lake, although Joe was glad he had not struck out in that direction. He would never have come upon this city.
The river they had followed from Kapichi village flowed into a square reservoir at the top of the city, where it split off into smaller streams that meandered gently in a zigzag pattern to the bottom of the city. There it pooled in another square reservoir before plummeting into the valley below.
The smell of roasting meat and freshly baked bread wafted up from the houses below him. Joe’s stomach rumbled. They may not eat creatures from the forest but they were getting meat from somewhere; probably the valley below.
“Let’s go and find Galal,” Hajiri said, padding softly down the central stairs. He nodded at a group of men as they passed, each wearing a turban with a face covering that left only their eyes exposed, and long flowing cotton robes in muted shades of cinnamon, turquoise and yellow. They nodded back, their dark almond shaped eyes crinkling at the corners; then they melted gracefully away into the shade of a building.
A young girl rushed up to meet Hajiri. As she ran, the slits up the sides of her emerald green silk tunic opened up to reveal flowing baggy white trousers underneath. She stopped in front of the tiger, put her hands together in front of her chest in a spire and bowed low. Her thick, wavy, waist-length hair fell forwards across her face.
“Hello, Hajiri,” she smiled, giving Hajiri’s face a hug. Then she turned towards Joe and held out her hands to him. Metallic gold embroidered peacocks winked at him from around her cuffs.
“Have you brought this one for me? I am sorely in need of a friend,” she said to Hajiri, taking both Joe’s hands in hers and holding on to them. She seemed to be searching him for a weapon or something, the way she looked him over, but she didn’t even notice his slingshot.
Now that he was amongst people, feeling less scared, Joe was sure Hajiri was as tame as he had come to believe. The tiger seemed to be quite well liked in the city.
“No,” Hajiri said. “I will keep the boy for myself, but you are welcome to socialise with him.”
The girl looked a little taken aback. “Then so be it,” she said with a puzzled smile, then let go of Joe’s hands, steepling her hands once more and bowing low to him. “Welcome, I am Nandi, second daughter of Galal, friend of Hajiri, and therefore, I suppose, friend of yours.” She fell in beside them as they went in search of her father.
When they passed a massive hall, Hajiri peered in. The walls were lined with shelves carrying hundreds of leather bound books that smelled dusty and ancient. A group of men and a woman lounged around with their feet up on a table at the far end listening to the ranting of an intense young man who paced up and down before them until he spotted Hajiri.
“Hajiri!” he cried, with a delighted smile that Joe noticed did not quite reach his eyes. “You have come! I feared you had left us. What is this you bring before us?” He strode over to the doorway; his robes flying out behind him were more intricately embroidered than Nandi’s. The group of marimba players, who had been playing quietly in the corner, stopped in mid-note to stare at Joe.
This time Hajiri looked taken aback. “He is my human,” he said in a slightly condescending voice, as if Joe were some sort of pet. “I found him in the forest. He made me a fire and everything. He is very important – the captain of the rugby team, he tells me. He calls himself Joe.”
The man barely looked at Joe, before rounding on Hajiri. “Hajiri, you know that the next one belongs to me,” he said, his arms folded across his chest, daring Hajiri to object. Thin parallel slash marks across his cheek that appeared to Joe a little like a cat scratch, looked suddenly lighter against his flushed face.
“He is not a captive, Kitoko. He came with me voluntarily, and I am keeping him,” Hajiri said in a reasonable tone. Then he wheeled around and stalked off down the passage as if that was the last word on the matter. Joe shrugged helplessly, his palms turned up in front of him in a gesture of futility, and took off after Hajiri. Nandi ran to catch up with them, followed closely by Kitoko, and a dozen or so of his friends from the library, their richly decorated robes billowing out behind them as they went.
Galal, when they found him, was in a corner of a large crowded chamber of theatrical splendor. Intricate, jewel-encrusted mosaics and beautifully carved wooden latticework decorated the walls. Persian carpets of all shapes and sizes lay spread on the floor. More marimba players struck a quiet tune, accompanied by a kettledrum and, of all things, a man blowing into a kudu horn. Galal lounged on a divan in the cool shadows with a group of men, sipping coffee and puffing at the ancient ivory mouthpiece of a water pipe. An exquisitely carved mancala board lay between them with about thirty holes for the stones. Joe remembered Ethan loved to play the game because he always won, but he insisted that it was called bao.
The moment he entered the room Joe could feel every eye on him. Their gaze, whilst not exactly menacing, made his skin crawl just for a moment before an oddly tranquil feeling put him at ease. Too tranquil, he realised suddenly. A thought tried to formulate in his mind – a hint of danger, perhaps? – but he couldn’t quite pin it down.