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glimpse of a dome here and a spire there, gleaming in sharp contrast to the grubby streets below.
    Sharat kept his eyes on the tiger’s golden cage as Emira sat staring stonily into the distance. He still felt anxious as he remembered Uma’s warning, but there was nothing he could do about it now. The Emperor’s soldiers were riding alongside them, and soon they were crossing the drawbridge over the moat that surrounded the fortress.
    The gateway into Shergarh was cast in the shape of a dragon’s head with bulging eyes and pointed fangs. Flames spouted from its mouth, but as they approached, the fire subsided and the jaws of the mechanical monster opened to let them in.
    “Uh oh,” said Hussein. “Looks like there’s trouble up ahead.”
    Sure enough, Baba, the old war-elephant, was refusing to go through and, moments later, even sweet-natured Tara bellowed and came to a stop while the whole circus procession ground to a halt behind them.
    “You’ll have to let me take over,” Hussein told Sharat.
    With a nod, Sharat was about to change places with him when a flurry of horses drew up beside them – the Emperor’s soldiers. Dressed in smart brown uniforms and white turbans, they were armed with steel hooks – cruel weapons that were used to trainelephants to fight in battles.
    “Stop!” cried Sharat when he saw the gleaming metal, but it was too late. With a harsh shout, one of the soldiers had swung his hook into Baba’s backside. Then another came flying towards Tara’s head.
    The metal pierced her flesh, drawing blood, and she let out a trumpet of pain, but she moved forward with a jerk. Sharat regained his balance and glared at the soldiers. He was about to say something, but Hussein put a hand on his arm.
    “Leave it,” he warned, in a low voice. “There’s nothing you can do.”
    Sharat controlled his temper and leaned over to whisper comfort into Tara’s ear as she was driven through the gates into the fortress grounds.
    Inside Shergarh, the Imperial Guard continued to escort them towards the palace. On either side they passed the mansions of noblemen and public squares that were decorated with tiled fountains and impossibly perfect flowerbeds.
    Sharat looked around in awe, then he frowned. “I thought there weren’t any gardens left in the city?” he said, remembering what Uma had told him.
    Hussein shook his head. “Look closer,” he murmured. “Those plants aren’t real; they’re made out of precious stones.”
    Sharat peered down. Sure enough, the flowers gleamed and sparkled in the sun, their leaves and petals painstakingly sculpted out of jewels to mimic the realthing. Then something else caught his attention.
    “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at a small shape that scuttled along the paving in front of them. As he watched, the creature lifted its wings with a metallic buzz and took off, flying straight at them. He snatched it out of the sky. A golden beetle wriggled in his hands.
    “It looks like some kind of toy,” he said, looking down at it in fascination, but as he leaned closer the creature lashed out with razor-sharp legs.
    “Ow!” Sharat dropped the beetle and sucked his finger. It had drawn blood.
    The mechanical creatures were crawling over every jewelled leaf, bringing the artificial gardens to life. Sharat wanted to jump down and catch another one, but they had arrived at the royal palace.
    It was a magnificent building made of white marble. At each corner rose an onion-shaped dome carved in intricate designs. Armed guards led them through an archway into a square courtyard where a pavilion had been set up for the performers and their audience.
    “That must be where the Emperor will sit,” said Hussein, pointing out an area lined with priceless carpets and strewn with cushions of brilliantly coloured silk. In front of them a low table was laid with golden plates and jewelled goblets.
    Next to the Emperor’s pavilion Sharat noticed a smaller enclosure, screened