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ecognizable key that might fit the -shaped keyhole of the metal box. Two keys—and possible salvation—hanging around the neck of a tyger that
could probably swallow him down in three bites. And, since there had been no food that Tim could see in the cage, it might only take two.
This was smelling more and more like a practical joke, although only a very cruel man would find such a joke amusing. The sort of fellow who
might use a bad fairy to lure a boy into a dangerous swamp, perhaps.
What to do? Was there anything he could do? Tim would have liked to ask Daria, but he was terribly afraid his friend in the plate—a good fairy to
match the Covenant Man’s bad one—was dead, killed by Directive Nineteen.
Slowly, he approached the cage, now having to lean against the wind. The tyger saw him and came padding around the hole in the middle to
stand by the door of the cage. It lowered its great head and stared at him with its lambent eyes. The wind rippled its thick coat, making the stripes
waver and seem to change places.
The tin bucket should have rolled away in the wind, but it didn’t. Like the steel box, it seemed anchored in place.
The bucket he left for me back home, so I could see his lies and believe them.
The whole thing had been a joke, and under this bucket he would find the point of it, that final clever line—like I can’t fork hay with a spoon! or So
then I turned her over and warmed the other side—that was supposed to make folks roar with laughter. But since it was the end, why not? He could
use a laugh.
Tim grasped the bucket and lifted it. He expected to find the Covenant Man’s magic wand beneath, but no. The joke was better than that. It was
another key, this one large and ornately carved. Like the Covenant Man’s seeing-basin and the tyger’s collar, it was made of silver. A note had
been attached to the key’s head with a bit of twine.
Across the gorge, the trees cracked and boomed. Now dust came rolling up from the chasm in giant clouds that were whipped away in ribbons
like smoke.
The Covenant Man’s note was brief:
Greetings, Brave and Resourceful Boy! Welcome to the North Forest Kinnock, which was once known as the Gateway of Out-
World. Here I have left you a troublesome Tyger. He is VERY hungry! But as you may have guessed, the Key to SHELTER hangs
about his Neck. As you may have also guessed, this Key opens the Cage. Use it if you dare! With all regards to your Mother
(whose New Husband will visit her SOON), I remain your Faithful Servant!
RF/MB
The man—if he was a man—who left Tim that note was surprised by very little, but he might have been surprised by the smile on the boy’s face
as he rose to his feet with the key in his hand and booted away the tin bucket. It rose and flew off on the rising wind, which had now almost reached
gale force. Its purpose had been served, and all the magic was out of it.
Tim looked at the tyger. The tyger looked at Tim. It seemed completely unaware of the rising storm. Its tail swished slowly back and forth.
“He thinks I’d rather be blown away or die of the cold than face your claws and teeth. Perhaps he didn’t see this.” Tim drew the four-shot from his
belt. “It did for the fish-thing in the swamp, and I’m sure it would do for you, Sai Tyger.”
Tim was once more amazed by how right the gun felt. Its function was so simple, so clear. All it wanted to do was shoot. And when Tim held it,
shooting was all he wanted to do.
But.
“Oh, he saw it,” Tim said, and smiled more widely. He could hardly feel the corners of his mouth drawing up, because the skin on his face had
begun to grow numb from the cold. “Yar, he saw it very well. Did he think I would get so far as this? Perhaps not. Did he think that if I did, I’d shoot
you to live? Why not? He would. But why send a boy? Why, when he’s probably hung a thousand men and cut a hundred throats and turned who
knows how many poor widows like my mama out on the land? Can you answer that, Sai Tyger?”
The tyger only stared, head lowered and tail swishing slowly from side to side.
Tim put the four-shot back into his belt with one hand; with the other he slid the ornate silver key into the lock on the cage’s curved door. “Sai
Tyger, I offer a bargain. Let me use the key around your neck to open yon shelter and we’ll both live. But if you tear me to shreds, we’ll both die.
Does thee kennit? Give me a sign if thee does.”
The tyger gave no sign. It only stared at him.
Tim really hadn’t expected one, and perhaps he didn’t need one. There would be water if God willed it.
“I love you, Mama,” he said, and turned the key. There was a thud as the ancient tumblers turned. Tim grasped the door and pulled it open on
hinges that uttered a thin screaming sound. Then he stood back with his hands at his sides.
For a moment the tyger stood where it was, as if suspicious. Then it padded out of the cage. He and Tim regarded each other beneath the
deepening purple sky while the wind howled and the marching explosions neared. They regarded each other like gunslingers. The tyger began to
walk forward. Tim took one step back, but understood if he took another his nerve would break and he would take to his heels. So he stood where
he was.
“Come, thee. Here is Tim, son of Big Jack Ross.”
Instead of tearing out Tim’s throat, the tyger sat down and raised its head to expose its collar and the keys that hung from it.
Tim did not hesitate. Later he might be able to afford the luxury of amazement, but not now. The wind was growing stronger by the second,
and if he didn’t act fast, he’d be lifted and blown into the trees, where he would probably be impaled. The tyger was heavier, but it would follow soon
enough.
The key that looked like a card and the key that looked like an were welded to the silver collar, but the collar’s clasp was easy enough. Tim
squeezed its sides at the indentations and the collar dropped off. He had a moment to register the fact that the tyger was still wearing a collar—this
one made of pink hide where the fur had been rubbed away—and then he was hurrying to the Dogan’s metal door.
He lifted the keycard and inserted it. Nothing happened. He turned it around and tried it the other way. Still nothing. The wind gusted, a cold dead
hand that slammed him into the door and started his nose bleeding. He pushed back from it, turned the card upside down, and tried again. Still
nothing. Tim suddenly remembered something Daria had said—had it only been three days ago? North Forest Kinnock Dogan is off-line. Tim
guessed he now knew what that meant. The flasher on the tower of metal girders might still be working, but down here the sparkpower that had run
the place was out. He had dared the tyger, and the tyger had responded by not eating him, but the Dogan was locked. They were going to die out
here just the same.