A wooden frame balanced on Mr. Madan Mohan’s shoulders, and from the back of this frame rose a long stick extending beyond the man’s head. From this stick, parallel to the ground, was what looked like a fishing pole whose end dangled just beyond the man’s nose.
“What is that?”
“Just see!” He took a bag of potato chips from his pocket, attached it to the end of the fishing pole, then let the line out a little farther from a handle he held.
Even though he had just put them there himself, Mr. Madan Mohan, Esquire, went a little crazy at the sight of the potato chips. Glassy eyed and drooling, he started chasing the chips farther and farther down the street, as if not realizing that all he had to do was reel them in.
“Wait! Wait!” I ran after the little man.
He was so fast, it took me a few seconds to catch up with even his short legs.
“This is your invention? A fishing pole with a bag of chips at the end?”
“What do you know about it?” The shopkeeper seemed ready to keep running, so I grabbed the potato chips from the pole. This incensed the little man even further.
“Thief! Thief!” he shouted, his face purple.
“Wait a minute! Take the bag!” I thrust it at the man. “I didn’t steal anything from you! I was just wondering why anyone would need chips if they were running from a demon. I mean, wouldn’t that be motivation enough?”
“But they’re vinegar and chili flavored!” he said, as if this explained it all. Then his face turned purple again and he continued to shout. “Thief! Thief! You’re part of that band that stole my moustache last week!”
Mr. Madan Mohan, Esquire, yelled so much that a small crowd gathered. I tried hard not to laugh.
“This girl has stolen my moustache!” The man pointed a spindly finger at me.
A portly police constable pushed his way forward of the group. “Brother Madan, calm yourself. When did this theft occur?”
“Last week!” the little man shouted. “Yesterday! Tomorrow!” With each word, his moustache twitched and danced.
The crowd rumbled, and I felt my amusement congeal into fear. I heard someone hiss the word “stranger.”
The constable wrote down the shopkeeper’s accusations in a tiny notebook. In fact, the notebook was so tiny, he had to keep flipping pages with each and every word he wrote. “Last”—flip—“week”—flip—“yesterday”—flip—“tomorrow.” He mouthed the words as he wrote, sounding them out.
“Wait a minute!” I protested. “No one stole it—your moustache is right on your face!” But my heart was starting to gallop. What was the punishment for theft in this place? Jail? Whipping? Being forced to eat gross snack foods? Something worse?
“Don’t believe her!” The little man shook his fist. “She’s a practiced liar! She came to sell me her rakkhosh-slaying invention!”
“I didn’t!” I protested. “I wanted to see your invention!”
“You see? A liar through and through! First she tells me she doesn’t like vinegar and chili chips and now that my moustache is on my face!”
“You don’t like vinegar and chili chips?” The constable took a step toward me. I put my hands up, and tried to back away, but the people behind me pushed me forward.
“Look!” a shrill voice piped up from the crowd. It was a round-eyed boy in too-big clothes, and he pointed at the shopkeeper. “His moustache is on his face!”
It was like a miracle.
The shopkeeper touched his considerable facial hair. “So it is! She must have snuck it back when I wasn’t looking!”
The police constable frowned. “Consider this a warning, young lady! Moustache theft is a serious crime!”
Mr. Madan Mohan, Esquire, was making witchy fingers in my direction, but I ignored him, and eventually he started back for his shop. He placed the bag of chips at the end of the fishing line and once again chased it until he was out of sight.
The crowd that had formed around me began to thin. I took a deep breath, willing my heart to calm down. That was a close one.
Someone tugged at my elbow. “You are wanting something to help you fight a rakkhosh?” It was the boy with the big eyes. Just like his eyes swam in his face, his slim body swam in someone else’s enormous shirt and pants. “Come into my father’s shop, please.”
He led me to a stall filled with weapons of every variety. There were rows of glittering swords, their handles inlaid with scrollwork and precious jewels. I picked up one, but it was so heavy it practically bent my wrist all the way back. Remembering how hard it was to control Prince Lal’s weapon, I returned it to the rack.
“What are these?” I pointed to a glass shelf full of bottles and powders.
“Hot oil for pouring in a demon’s ear,” the boy explained. “Snuff for making it sneeze. A tack to put on a sitting chair. Tricky chewing gum to glue its jaws together.”
I didn’t want to ever again get close enough to a rakkhosh to pour oil in its ear or put a tack on its chair. And how I was supposed to convince one to chew gum, I wasn’t sure at all.
“What about these?” I ran my hand over a beautiful bow and a set of arrows of light ash. When I pulled it, the string of the bow sang a note pure as a bell.
“Sister, you are knowing to use a bow and arrow?”
I nodded. Archery was something they did teach at school. And despite that unfortunate accident—where I hit Mr. Taylor, the assistant gym teacher, in the thigh with an arrow—I actually loved it. Whenever we were given a choice between sports, I always chose archery. When everyone else was practicing their spikes, lobs, or dribbling, I’d been practicing aiming an arrow at a target. (And trying not to injure any more teachers, no matter how tempting.)
The bow and arrows came with a featherlight quiver I slung over my shoulder next to my backpack.
“What are these?” My attention was captured by a pair of cuffs with a swirling snake-shaped design on them. The big white orb in the snake’s mouth made it look like the serpent was trying to swallow the moon. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
“Those are for protecting an archer’s arms from the bow.” The boy glanced at my arm. Was he staring at my scar? “There is a legend …”
I made a quick gesture I’d perfected from years of being stared at by curious kids. I turned my right side away from him, tugging the T-shirt sleeve down.
“I’ll take them all.”
I was just paying for the weapon and cuffs with some more of Ma’s rupees when a familiar whinny made me turn around.
“Snowy!” I threw my arms around the winged horse’s neck. He chewed on my shoulder, which I took to mean he was glad to see me too.
“Just Kiran, we were so worried!” Lal bowed low. “We are so delighted you are alive!”
I felt all fizzy soda-pop on the inside. It was good to see some familiar faces.
“It took you long enough!” Neel muttered. But underneath his glowering brows, I could see a hint of a smile.
All right, I’d made it past the transit officer, bought a bow and arrows, and finally found my princely tour guides. Time to get this rescue on the road!