The Tiger's Egg by Jon Berkeley

private,” he said to Fuat, “and you are wearing my hat.”
    The woman poked him again with her switch. “Speak now,” she said. “Fuat’s ears are open. The hat is mine.”
    Tau-Tau shifted his feet uncomfortably. He leaned forward and muttered something in the little woman’s ear. Miles could not hear what he said, but whatever it was did not remain a secret for long. The woman’s eyes sprang wide and she went rigid, as though an electric shock had run through her. She turned slowly around, and in a surprisingly strong voice she boomed out her message to the entire cavern. “Tawn t-Uv Reevoch egge!” she said. A roar went up, and the Fir Bolg began to swarm up the slope toward them. Fuat shouted something else, and they stopped where they were. Shesnapped her fingers and pointed to the little group of guards, who piled into the cave and at once began a thorough search of the startled Doctor Tau-Tau’s person. They poked in his pockets and rummaged in his hair. They took out his notebook and his eyeglasses, two squares of fudge and a number of used tissues, and examined them all minutely. Two of them yanked off his slippers and shook them out.
    â€œNot me, the boy , you hairy little nincompoops!” spluttered Tau-Tau. “The egg is in the boy !”
    Miles felt his stomach tighten. He had no idea what Doctor Tau-Tau was talking about, but he knew that it would be his turn to be searched next. He put his hand into his pocket, and grasped Tangerine firmly. If they found the little bear there was no knowing what they would do to him. Miles glanced around him quickly. The cave wall behind him was pocked with smaller holes, like a giant cheese. He spotted a Tangerine-sized hole just above him, and making sure that the Fir Bolg were still occupied in their search of Tau-Tau, he reached up and quickly tucked the bear into the hole, pushing him to the back and hoping against hope that for once Tangerine would stay where he was put.

CHAPTER TWELVE
THE SHRIVELED FELLA
    M iles Wednesday, arm-raised and egg-baffled, squirmed as a hundred bony little fingers searched him from head to toe. It was like being tickled by a pack of miniature uncles, and despite the anger rising up inside him he could barely keep himself from laughing. A hairy face appeared inches from his nose, and he felt his jaws prized open while the face’s owner peered down his throat. He wondered how they could hope to see anything in a dark mouth in a gloomy cave, but the lack of light didn’t seem to hinder the little men in the least. They made a thorough search of his pockets, where Tangerine had snuggled moments before,but there was nothing to be found.
    â€œWhat about my father?” Miles called to Doctor Tau-Tau, as soon as the fingers were removed from his mouth.
    â€œYes, yes, we’ll get to that,” said Tau-Tau distractedly. “This is hardly the time.” He seemed to be watching the search closely.
    It dawned on Miles that whatever his real reason for coming here, the fortune-teller had no intention of asking for information about Barty Fumble. Angrily he tried to shake off the remaining Fir Bolg, and received a none-too-gentle jab in his ribs from the blunt end of a spear.
    â€œExcuse me, missus Fuat,” he called to the tiny woman, who perched on her hunkers at the mouth of the cave. She cocked her head again in that birdlike way.
    â€œSpeak, a stor ,” she said.
    â€œDo you know a man called Barty Fumble?” asked Miles. “A big . . . giant with a beard. We came here to look for him.”
    The woman shook her head.
    â€œBarty Fumble,” repeated Miles. “He was the husband of Celeste. Did you know Celeste?”
    The mention of Celeste’s name had a dramatic effect on the Fir Bolg, though none of them seemedto have understood another word of the conversation. The hard little fingers instantly stopped rummaging in his clothes,