The beast that lay before Tilbury’s eyes was the most beautiful animal he had ever seen. It was a creature of myth and legend, a creature he had never thought he would ever see, and it reminded him a little of his very dear friend Marmalade and the stories he had told him of the great cat kings.
A huge, white tiger lay before him.
The cage was too small for such a magnificent beast, and the floor was caked in its filth. Scum floated on the dirty water in its bowl, and bones littered the floor. Tilbury didn’t want to think too hard about who those bones might have belonged to.
The tiger’s stripes were a dark chocolate brown against the white fur. But it was the tiger’s eyes that fascinated him; they were bright blue, the colour of the clear mountain sky. They held mountains and whole landscapes within them, and for a moment it felt as if Tilbury was on the tip of a mountain feeling the freezing air.
Tilbury bowed low, remembering his manners. ‘Greetings, great king,’ he said in Olde Sphinx. ‘I offer you my life as your humble servant. For you are the king of all kings. The king of all kingdoms.’
The tiger blinked and sniffed. It rose to its feet and padded over, its nose almost touching Tilbury through the bars. Long whiskers, rigid as wire, poked through.
When the tiger spoke, his voice was a low, deep growl. ‘What kind of rat thinks he is worthy of speaking to a king?’
Before Tilbury could answer, he was knocked off his feet. The felinrat shoved him. ‘What fool-ratling have we here?’ he shrieked with laughter. ‘Have you no brains? Are you so dull-witted you have no fear?’ He laughed again. ‘Maybe we should let you in to play with the beast?’ He grabbed Tilbury and pressed him against the bars such that the tiger could have pulled Tilbury through with a single claw. ‘Would you like that?’
But the tiger didn’t pull Tilbury through. It took a deep breath, opened its mouth and roared. The blast of air from its lungs sent Tilbury and the felinrat rolling backwards. Four other felinrats rushed in. They came with long sticks tipped with sharp iron nails. They poked at the tiger, stabbing at him through the bars, and the tiger spun around in anger swiping at the sticks and lashing its tail.
General Malice rode through on his spotted cat and stopped in front of the tiger. ‘I see the White Death is getting hungry. Maybe he is getting impatient. For tomorrow he will feed on our prisoners in front of the Immortal Emperor.’
‘Move it,’ said the felinrat, shoving Tilbury. ‘Get back to work.’
Tilbury picked up the pails and scuttled back with Nimble-Quick. He turned around to see General Malice tormenting the tiger, jabbing it with a spiked pole and laughing. ‘Get back, pussy cat.’
The tiger lashed at the cage again and it shook as if the bars might break. Tilbury noticed the cage was crude in design but strong. The iron bars were thick enough to prevent the tiger’s escape, and an iron bolt was drawn across the cage door. Unlike the Gilded Cage this had only one bolt, but that was no use at all to the tiger, thought Tilbury, if it still couldn’t undo the door.
‘You were a fool,’ snapped Nimble-Quick later, when they were emptying slop buckets out of earshot of felinrats. ‘What did you think you were doing? You could have got killed.’
But Tilbury’s thoughts were racing, and he wasn’t listening to Nimble-Quick.
Nimble-Quick punched him hard. ‘Tilbury, what’s the matter with you?’
Tilbury turned and gripped Nimble-Quick’s paw. ‘I think I know how to get us out of here. But I’m going to need your help.’