Sherlock Holmes and the Dance of the Tiger (13 page)

Oh, that must be me
.
 

She clenched the bullwhip in her hand—which she wasn’t supposed to need!—and moved from around the metal door, her teeth already chattering.
 

I am the only one.
 
I have to assist.
 
I can’t stand here and watch a man be mauled by five tigers!
 
And, after that, maybe the tigers would go into the audience—where there were
children
!

Perhaps between herself and Stanislav, they could get the tigers back in the cage.
 
Perhaps not.

Heaven help me, I do not wish to be mauled by tigers!
 
The only hope she had was to persuade the tigers that she, too, was in charge.
 
Or at least give them pause to wonder.

I pray to God I can convince the tigers better than I can myself
.
 
Mirabella mustered all the courage she had, walking about the stage and snapping her whip as if she were the one to be feared.

She distracted the Siberian, who moved away from Stanislav.
 
ROAR!
 
The beautiful white Bengal tiger weighing three quarters of a ton and with the strength of fifteen men moved his attention from Stanislav to her.
 

This is a terrible idea!
 
And the Bengal looked hungry.
 
She knew that the tiger hunted mostly at night, killing his prey by severing the spinal cord—or by inflicting a suffocation bite.

She continued snapping her whip, shouting to increase her courage, as did Stanislav, whose confidence had clearly increased with her presence.

Heaven help me!
 
The Bengal was charging her!
 
Her grip tightened on the whip as her mind raced.
 
What do I do?
 
I’ll be dead within seconds if I don’t do something
.
 

Mirabella tried to move her legs and could not, frozen in fear.
 
But she could still feel her fingers.
 
She struck the whip.
 
Somehow, miraculously, she struck the Bengal on the nose with the popper.
 

Oh, my goodness!
 
I didn’t mean to do that
.
 
But it was quite the move that saved her.
 
The huge cat looked stunned for a moment, a bleeding welt starting to appear on his snout.
 
The other tigers who had been moving towards her stopped in their tracks.

Stanislav popped his own whip an inch from the Siberian’s nose and the tiger finally began to get the message, backing up.
 

I saved myself from a tiger!
 
How can this be?
 
Mirabella was more astonished than she had ever been in her life.
 
This success increased her courage—as well as her determination to live.
 
She had certainly given Stanislav new hope, she could see that in his now robust movements.
 

Snapping the whips and yelling, the two managed to herd all five of the tigers back into the cage.
 
Her fingers shaking, Mirabella put the lock back on the cage, slamming the shackle home.

And then at the moment of her success, her legs began shaking uncontrollably.
 
She tripped on her high-heeled shoes, falling to the ground.
 
Stanislav helped her up, holding her firmly by the waist.
 
Her entire body shaking now, tears streaming down her cheeks, Stanislav forcibly turned her to the audience and executed a bow for both of them.

There was a roar of applause, all four thousand people rising.
 
The act had not gone off as planned, but everyone in the audience knew that this had been a close call.
 

Mirabella wondered herself if the Siberian had been drugged.
 
He was still in a rage in the cage.
 
Something had gone very wrong.

How had I let myself be talked into this?
 

I am here against all reason because it is my duty.
 
Sherlock had explained the situation, that she was to be in the inside, to watch, listen, and learn anything she could.
 
She was not one to shirk her duty.

Perhaps it was time to re-think that dangerous sort of idealism.

“You were goot zis evening.
 
You saved life,” said the large, muscular animal trainer, a softness in his eyes which seemed out of place.
 
“Want train you to be Tiger Girl.”
   

He began moving the tigers one by one into their night cages with his large whip while Mirabella watched from the greatest distance possible.
 

“Tiger Girl?”

“Da.
 
You be on stage with me.
 
Performing.
 
Girl before is . . . um . . .
sick
.”

“Oh, no, no.
 
Mr. Afanasy.
 
I wouldn’t be good at that at all.”
 
I would rather die.
 
Oh, wait.
 
That’s precisely what would happen.

“You not want job, girly?”
 
He looked at her suspiciously.
 
“Why you here if you not want work in circus?”

Oh, no
.
 
He is testing me
.
 
Any real circus performer would jump at the opportunity to be trained by the head tiger trainer.

She glanced at her lovely red heeled shoes, covered in dirt, which would have to be washed, as did her red satin outfit—what there was of it—now drenched in the perspiration of her fear.
 

“Of course I want the job!
 
I simply don’t wish to ruin your show.
 
I thought I would have more time to learn.
 
I haven’t had any training at all.
 
I actually know very little about tigers.”
 
I am rambling.
 
Terror does that to me.

“I teach you.”
 
He motioned to the bullwhip.
 
“You know whip.
 
You look pretty in red.
 
You brave.
 
That all I need.”

“GRRRRROWL!!!!” the Bengal who had circled her earlier replied.
 

What was that part about being brave?
 
In that you are utterly mistaken!

“You crack whip around tiger.
 
Don’t have to hit animal, but must crack whip.”
 
He illustrated his point.

Mirabella cursed the day Sherlock had taught her to use the whip.

“Luck was with us this evening, Mr. Afanasy!
 
What if the whip makes the very large man-eater with the long, sharp fangs angry?” Mirabella pleaded, wrapping her arms around her waist as she attempted to back up.
 
The smell of the raw meat, the animals, and the dirt made her slightly queasy, though she was not ordinarily one to have a weak stomach.
 
“I truly,
truly
don’t wish to make him angry!”

“You had bad night, but will feel better in morning.
 
Cannot be afraid!
 
Tigers know you afraid.”
 
Mr. Afanasy twirled his long, black moustache with one hand while he easily maneuvered the tigers with the whip in the other.

“Why should I be afraid of an animal with fifteen times my strength who could kill me in playfulness if it
loved
me but which, instead, gives every indication of loathing me?”
 
She glanced at the cage.

“What you saying, girly?” he narrowed his eyes at her.
 
He was tall, dark—and ominous.
 
His defined muscles were easily revealed by a skin-tight black sequined suit, a match to his long black hair falling loosely to his shoulders.
 
The hair closest to his face was pulled back and braided.
 
He was actually quite a handsome man.
 
Large.
 
Very large.
 
“My English not so goot.”

“
I am saying
what a wonderful opportunity.”
 
She swallowed hard.
 
She had no intention of complying with Mr. Afanasy’s wishes, but she had to maintain her cover until she had time to think.
 
She couldn’t jeopardize the mission and risk the lives of others—of entire countries, to hear Sherlock speak of it.

“The big cats they must know who is master.”
 
He closed the lock on the last cage.
 

Between me and the tigers, I think we all know who is the master.

“Mr. Afanasy, doesn’t it seem odd that the Siberian was so agitated tonight—and still is?
 
Do you think . . . maybe . . . he was drugged?”

Stanislav shrugged.
 
“Tigers they not like light and noise—not predict—sometimes too much for them.”

“But, shouldn’t we try to find out why—”

“Girl must
work
.
 
This much better than Russia.
 
Easy. Time to feed tigers.
 
No more talk.
 
I show you.”

Suddenly his attention turned elsewhere as the most beautiful woman Mirabella had ever beheld entered the tented area for the animal cages, just outside the main multi-sided marble structure.
 
The visitor walked on the ground as if she were gliding, and as if dirt would never dare touch her slippers as they had coated Mirabella’s.

Her long, lustrous black hair fell past her shoulders.
 
Their glamorous guest with violet-blue eyes had a figure that could make a man melt.
 
And which did, from the look of things.

She was petite, as was the style, Mirabella reflected with envy.
 
Naturally the visitor was not as tall as Mirabella—and yet was every bit the athlete.
 
She had a tiny waist and was cushioned in all the right places.
 
Her outfit was beige so as to make her appear almost nude, with sequins, and she wore a sheer lilac jacket which added to her allure.
 
She walked with the confidence of one who knew her power over men.

She would have to be an idiot not to know that
.
 
And if there had been any doubt the raven-haired beauty would have known it by the fact that the dark, muscled man, threatening only a moment ago, was now a puddle on the floor.

“Joëlle,” he bowed, his wide grin somehow strange on so masculine a face.
 
“Beautiful performance.”

“Stanislav,” she nodded, but there was condescension in her smile, as if she thought him much beneath her.

“Are you . . . what do you do in the circus, Miss?” Mirabella asked of the beauty, attempting to be polite.

“What I should do?”
 
The beauty turned momentarily to stare haughtily at her.
 
“I
am
ze circus. ”

“Joëlle is bare-backed rider,” Stanislav explained.

“Circus is nothink without me.”
 
She lowered her eyelids.
 
“You may call me
Miss Janvier
.”

“And are you a trapeze artist too, Miss Janvier?”
 
Mirabella swallowed hard.
 
“You must have very good balance to ride the horses.”

“Who is zis?”

“Her name is—“

“Does not matter.
 
What she doing here?” Joëlle demanded.

“New Tiger Girl.
 
New assistant until Ashanti get well from tiger attack . . .”

“T-t-tiger attack?” Mirabella stuttered, feeling the room spin around her as she backed into the tent, the canvas rough on her skin.
 
Mirabella’s eyes opened wide, but she could not find words.

“We have supper together, Joëlle?” Stanislav asked hopefully, his attention focused on the violet-eyed beauty as Mirabella did her best not to swallow her tongue.
 
She reached for a pole or a chair but instead found the side of the canvas tent.
 
No doubt it was an act of Providence that the tent was stabilized to the degree that she was unable to knock it down upon them all.

“
Nyet
.” Joëlle laughed as if the idea was absurd.
 
“There is fine Englishman who wishes to meet the beautiful Zsh-oëlle.”

“Who he is?” demanded Stanislav.

Joëlle shrugged.
 
“Young and handsome doctor, only arrived from London.
 
I go dressing room and await him.”

Oh, no!
 
Could it be . . .
Dr. Watson
?
 
Please, heavenly Father, tell me this ravishing beauty is not the reason we are here
.
 
Mirabella was able to inch herself to the ground and sit in the dirt, her head spinning.
 
Tiger Attack.
 
I do not stand a chance
.
 
John Watson and this femme fatale!
 
He does not stand a chance
.

Mirabella touched her hand to her cheek even as she watched the two of them verbally sparring, feeling the dirt smear her skin.
 
This is nothing like the Parisian holiday I had envisioned
.
 

This case was so much worse than anything she could have imagined.
 
Only eight hours ago she was in ecstasy, now she felt that fear might make her explode.

“An Englishman!
 
What is it with English, Joëlle?”
 
He spit on the ground before a wicked smile crossed his lips.
 
“Look what happened last Englishman.
 
Tigers got him.”