The Tiger's Egg by Jon Berkeley Page A

and the hairy heads of his searchers turned as one to look at Fuat. She remained where she was, but her eyes were fixed on Miles.
    â€œCeleste of the droch-fiach ?” she said. “You are from the line of Celeste?”
    â€œI don’t know what a droch-fiach is,” said Miles. He pronounced the unfamiliar words with care.
    â€œThat which is borrowed and not returned,” said Fuat. “Celeste took from us the Uv Reevoch —the Tiger’s Egg. If you are of her house, the debt is now yours and you must return it. Taw an t-awm cautcha . The time is passed and gone.”
    Miles opened his mouth to tell the tiny woman that he did not understand what she was talking about, but Doctor Tau-Tau got in first.
    â€œThe boy is Celeste’s son,” he said. “He knows nothing of the Egg. It’s inside him, as I keep telling you. He must have swallowed it as an infant.”
    â€œWhat egg?” said Miles. “I haven’t swallowed any egg. Is this why you brought me here? You told me we were looking for my father!”
    â€œAnd so we are, my friend,” said Tau-Tau, “but we must find the Egg first. With the Egg we will be able to find your father. We can find you a dozenfathers!” His voice rose as he spoke, to be heard over the swelling chatter of the Fir Bolg.
    â€œWait!” shouted Miles nervously over the little shaggy heads. “What is a Tiger’s Egg? Tigers don’t lay eggs!”
    â€œIt’s a tool of advanced augury,” said Tau-Tau. “You wouldn’t understand these things, and you don’t need to concern yourself with it.” In the dim light he looked a little nervous.
    â€œI think I do,” said Miles, “if you say this thing is inside me.”
    â€œWe will open the boy,” interrupted Fuat. She motioned with her switch for a little man with a particularly shaggy beard and a long butcher knife to come forward.
    â€œJust a moment,” squeaked Tau-Tau hastily. He opened the notebook that he kept in his pocket, which had been returned to him once the Fir Bolg had satisfied themselves that it contained nothing egglike. A number of pages fell from the notebook as he opened it, and fluttered to the floor like leaves. Beads of sweat glistened on the fortune-teller’s forehead as he leafed quickly through the remaining pages. The Fir Bolg watched him curiously. And Miles? Miles held his breath and prayed that Doctor Tau-Tau had something moreeffective up his sleeve than a balled-up handkerchief.
    â€œAh yes,” said Tau-Tau, looking up from the notebook. “Just as I thought. You can’t use metal to get a Tiger’s Egg. It will lose its power at once.”
    The Fir Bolg looked expectantly at Fuat. She translated Tau-Tau’s words. There was a moment’s silence, then the whole cave erupted in laughter. The man with the butcher knife advanced toward Miles, feeling the blade with his thumb. Miles felt his mind race. He wished more than anything that the tiger would appear now and save him, but in the smoky dimness he saw nothing but a mob of shaggy little men, waiting to see him unzipped like a purse.
    â€œWait,” he shouted desperately. “What if there’s no egg inside me?”
    â€œFon, fon nomaid,” Fuat barked. The butcher stopped. Another loud argument followed, with everyone joining in, even small children who appeared to be shouting purely for the fun of it. “You have a notion there,” said Fuat at last, when the hubbub had died down. “If the Egg is in you, the debt will be paid and that’s an end. But if we open you and find nothing, then your life has been spent foolishly, and our debt will be to your kin. First we must find out the truth.”
    Miles felt the knots loosen a little in his stomach. He had no idea what would happen next, but at least the immediate danger of being “opened” seemed to have receded.
    Doctor Tau-Tau cleared