As the boys headed off for their day, another someone came to visit. Melicent knew her only from faded, brownish photos in an album.
The girl was almost a twin for Wendy, but with light red hair. She entered the house, shopping basket in hand. "Hi! You fit the description of a certain Melicent Darling."
"And I should know you from your description. Are you Jane?"
"Got it on the first try, kiddo! Your great-great-grandmum, Jane Fynnis. How are you?"
"Fine, gra... er, Jane. And you?"
"Equally effervescent, thanks. Is your brother in? I hear he's a cutie, too."
"No, he left with Peter. He'll be back tonight. Come in, I'll make tea."
"Thank you, no. I just came for my Mum to shop. Your poem was beautiful, by the way. Very accomplished for a nine-year-old."
"Don't swell her head, Jane," said Wendy. "She's a pretty feisty kid already. You should have heard her first meeting with Peter."
"Oh, a tough girl? Good for you, Melicent. Peter is a fine boy, but he can afford to come down a few notches. Don't take any nonsense, but stay charming. Ready, Mum?"
The "sisters", both aged 14 thanks to the daycloths, went off to the greengrocers to shop for dinner, leaving a cheered-up Melicent tidying up the kitchen. Per Wendy's suggestion list, she swept the fireplace ashes into bins for the boys to carry out, and set some new kindling in place to start tonight's fire. She replaced the spent candles on the table, dusted the window sills, and put the dishes and cups away. She was busy, busy, busy, but not too overworked to hum and sing.
It was between songs that she heard the odd sound.
What was that? It was a hollow sound, like a large china pot being dragged on a rough stone floor. Then, silence. Then, it would start again.
Then it came to her what it was.
It was a growl.
The floorboards in the bedrooms squeaked. Whatever it was, it was not only large and growly, but it was also in the house with her.
There was a flurry of noise as things crashed, broke and tore.
She got that numb, icy feeling all over, the sudden feeling of pure terror. What should she do? The only way out was the front door in the hall, and she knew that had to be a good idea. She kicked off her noisy slippers and headed barefoot for the door.
The noise became louder. It was out of the bedrooms, creeping up the hall towards her.
If it was a race for the door, she was determined to win it. It's time you learnt to fly, she remembered. She leapt towards the doorway and flew --
-- narrowly avoiding the swipe of clawed paws leaping at her with a roar.
She hovered ten feet up in the air, her heart pounding, as it roared at her from outside the door.
It was a full-grown tiger, in muddy white with black stripes, looking angrily at her!
The noise had drawn the attention of others, and Tootles came running up first, armed only with a long-handled peel. (That's the big paddle they use to put bread and pies in the oven.) He held it high in the air with both hands; as light and harmless as it was, it must have looked huge and dangerous. The tiger decided not to argue and began galloping towards the jungle.
"Are you all right, Melicent?"
"Tootles! I was terrified."
"Hmm, seems the appropriate way to be." Melicent came down behind him as they walked in, cautious in case another one was still prowling.
Fortunately, the house was safe again. No damage had been done, except in the children's bedroom. The tiger's target was obvious; it was time for Melicent to go numb again when she saw it.
Michael's mattress and bedclothes had been reduced to shreds.
"Oh, that's not good at all," murmured Tootles. "Not good at all. You had better bring Wendy. Quickly, now!"
Melicent took her hands from her mouth and ran for the door, but Wendy and Jane had already returned on the run. "What happened? What was that?"
"A t-tiger." That was all Melicent could get out.
"Penelope, the Bengal tigress," said Tootles. "A shy loner unless she's crossed, and then she can be a mean one. I'd wager her cub was the one Michael took yesterday, and she followed his scent from the scene. We have to find Peter and the boys and let them know he's being stalked by the mother. If she was mad enough to come into town in daylight, she's really mad."
Wendy was less confident. "Tootles, it's a huge jungle. They could be anywheres."
Melicent had a desperate inspiration. "Give me those coins off the floor."
"What?"
"The coins, quickly! It's a one-off, but it might save his life!"
Tootles looked unsure, but complied. Melicent took the gold and flew like she had never flown before.
Going high over the plain, she strained her eyes in the glaring sun to find her goal. Finally, there they were: the Crusaders, in a valley. She made a beeline for them, landed and ran to the front of the line.
Getting the leader's attention wasn't easy. He ignored her panicky gesturings, and kept the dusty, noisy parade moving. Milicent shouted to stop them. "Lord Slightleigh! I must talk to you, milord! I need your help!"
He reined in and raised his hand, waving the march to a halt.
"Do you have a quest, damsel?"
"I must ask a favour to rescue my brother."
"What would you have us do? Lay siege to a castle? Stave off an invasion? Rescue him from ..."
"None of those. There's no time. I want to buy back the tiger cub. Its mother is tracking my brother to kill him!"
Sleightleigh sniffed. "Fool of a hunter. He created his own enemy. A cub should never be left motherless, nor should a mother be left cubless."
"He's not a hunter. He's only 7 years old, and he did the easy thing. Please!"
"But the cub is beautiful, and the Vikings will give much for it."
"I'm begging you, milord! Oh, do it for Number 14!"
"I have no more time for... Number 14?"
"Yes. For the Darling family and a nanny-dog that took you in, when you were a little boy like my brother, and loved you, and dressed you, and fed you, and taught you, and made you what you are. Please, there's no time to waste."
Sleightleigh looked at the shaking, teary-eyed girl, and some forgotten old spark glimmered in his self-centered heart. "Dumric, being me the cub." A man on a two-hump camel started galumphing forward.
"Thank you, milord," said Melicent. "Here are the six coins you paid for it."
"No," he said. "It is worth a hundred; I would be foolish to sell it for six. Take it as a favour, girl, and remember my generosity until you can repay it."
"Milord. I will repay you if a favour is called."
She took the squirming sack from Dumric. It had been heavily perfumed to keep the horses from catching the scent of a predator. She nodded, and flew for the jungle, breathing in quick little pants, hoping she was in time.
The tigress would have been as hard to find as the boys if she had disappeared into the jungle, but Melicent was lucky enough to see her still running along the edge of the plain, climbing a gradual slope towards the jungle plateau, following the little boy's scent with murder in her heart.
Melicent feared for herself, but bravely landed behind the tigress and yelled "Oy!"
The tigress spun to a halt, facing her puny challenger, roaring loudly and viciously. She recognized the human-cub from the house-nest, where the hunter's scent was strong. This one must be from the same foal as the hunter. Why take just the hunter? Why not eat this cub first, in revenge? It would be an easy jump downhill. She dug her claws in, preparing to leap...
Melicent opened the sack, and released the tiger cub. It sat up, blinking at her, looked around, and quickly toddled to its mother.
To the tigress, the little one didn't smell like her cub, but it was unmistakably hers; he begged her nuzzling and attention. This need to love at a moment for hate confused the tigress. So! Her own cub was whole and alive. Why did the human-cub do this? Should she still slaughter this one, and its sibling? Where was the hate, if her cub was safe? Should she put them aside for a hungrier day?
The law of the jungle has more to it than merely eat-or-be-eaten. The tigress looked Melicent the human-cub in the eye, snorted loudly and disrespectfully at her, and turned for the jungle.
Melicent, light-headed and ashen-faced, couldn't even move. I can't believe I just did that. I must be totally crazy. But I'm still here, and if we're lucky, Michael will be safe. Thank you, Lord -- and I don't mean Slightleigh.
"That was incredible!" said a voice. She turned.
It was Peter, alone.
"Is M-michael alright?" she stammered.
"He's fine. I had just gone flying when I spotted Penelope roaring in your face. You turned her towards home, all by yourself!"
"Th-thank heavens," said Melicent, and fainted.