Barkbelly

by Cat Weatherill

  “Thank you!” she said, beaming. “That was wonderful!”

  “I haven't told you the best bit.” Barkbelly grinned. “You have a new name.”

  “No!” squealed Candy. “What do they call me?”

  “Cotton Candy!”

  “Oh! Who came up with that? Moth Williams?”

  Barkbelly nodded.

  “I thought so. I can just imagine him saying it.” She smiled wistfully. “I liked Moth.”

  “Did you? Wow. We never knew. Do you miss the village?”

  “I suppose I do,” said Candy. “I've never really thought about it until now. But hearing all your stories…Yes, I do miss it a bit. I'd miss it a lot more if my mother were still there, but she's not. I don't want to go back, though. Oh, no! Bark— you won't believe what I am now!”

  She gathered armfuls of her skirt into her hands again and started rocking back and forth in her excitement.

  “I am… a trapeze artist!”

  Chapter 26

  ewcomers to the circus were always welcome, but they had to work for their keep. No one was allowed to laze in the sun while others toiled.

  As soon as breakfast was over on that first morning, Barkbelly was told to help the men erect the Stardust Palace. Once that was done, he was given an enormous brush and ordered to clean the elephants. Their trainer, Oat Ormsby (or Emeraldez, as he was known professionally), had taken them down to the river to be scrubbed. When Barkbelly arrived, he found the dapper little man already soaked to the skin. His long black mustache was dangling like a rat's tail, while his hair was curling riotously on his head and dripping suspiciously black drops.

  “It's nobbut a bit o' high spirits,” said Emeraldez apologetically, shaking Barkbelly's hand. “They do this to me every time. You're naughty girls, ain'tcha? Naughty! Naughty!” He tugged at a huge flappy ear and its owner lifted her trunk and squirted him full in the face.

  Barkbelly spent the whole morning scrubbing the elephants. They were grimy after the long trek over the mountains. The dust had settled into every fold and wrinkle. But Emeraldez was insisting on perfect cleanliness for the opening show. It meant hours of backbreaking work, but Barkbelly labored on. He could feel his legs growing heavier as the river water soaked into his wood. When the job was finally over, he lumbered back up to camp. But he felt like dancing. He was truly part of the circus now.

  Barkbelly's first week passed by in a flurry of sawdust and spangles. Every morning he hummed through his chores. Every evening he wallowed in the magic of circus. And every night he slept. The bad dreams had gone. Sometimes he would think about Little Pan Evans and Taffeta Tything, and wonder why the joy of saving one life did nothing to heal the pain of taking another. It made no sense. But mostly he was too busy to think. He learned how to polish saddles and groom animals. How to paint wagons and mend nets. How to tie knots and pack canvas. He heard himself muttering, “This is fantastic!” all day long. Every new experience was sheer pleasure.

  Then he worked with the skunks.

  Barkbelly found the skunk trainer at the water pump. He was a bear of a man with grizzled gray hair and eyes like marbles. His name was Samovar Rubek and he came from a distant country with an unpronounceable name. And in that country, according to Rubek, everything was massive. Enormous trees. Vast plains. Skyscraping mountains. Big people— and he was no exception. Everything about Rubek was big. His wagon was bigger than all the others. His boots were big enough to use as dog kennels. His hands were as big as buckets. He claimed the space around him and filled it with a thick stew of language and laughter. When he spoke, his voice rumbled up from his belly with such a hum that Barkbelly fancied he had a swarm of bees nesting in his rib cage.

  “You are helper today? That's good! Good!” He smacked Barkbelly hard on the back in welcome and Barkbelly felt the tremor ripple down his legs. “My babies are in tent. I fill bucket, then we go to them.”

  Rubek pumped furiously and a torrent of water sploshed into the bucket below. What a bucket! It was enormous: at least twice the size of an ordinary bucket. But in Rubek's hands it looked positively small. Then he picked up a second bucket, already full, and led Barkbelly across the campsite to his wagon. There was a fancy tent pitched alongside it, striped black and white, just like the creatures it housed. Barkbelly dashed forward and lifted up the tent flap. Rubek carried the buckets inside and Barkbelly followed.

  The smell was the first thing that Barkbelly noticed. The musky-rose scent of the skunks, mingled with the sweetness of the bedding, produced a warm, welcoming aroma. It was heavenly. There were ten skunks. Two were snuffling around the pen, but the others were asleep, curled up on little loft beds. There was a low constant hum: the sleeping skunks were purring like cats. And with the purring and the heady scent, Barkbelly felt overwhelmed by a sudden urge to sleep. He could feel his eyelids drooping. He yawned, and seconds later he yawned again.

  Rubek prodded him with a fat finger. “You are tired?”

  “No,” replied Barkbelly. “Well—perhaps a bit. I can't stop yawning.”

  “You will get used to it. Open up tent flap. Air will help.”

  Barkbelly tied back the canvas flap and started to feel brighter. He looked admiringly at the animals. They all had long, glistening black coats with a distinctive white stripe running down their backs, from nose to tail.

  “My babies,” crooned Rubek. “Have you ever seen such beautiful creatures? No! Of course you have not! They are most beautiful creatures in the world. This is Honeysuckle.” He pointed at a sleeping bundle of fur. “And this is Rose… Lavender … Lily … Violet … Magnolia … Daphne … Lilac… Camellia… and Jasmine. And they must be brushed. Every day!”

  He picked up a skunk and stroked it lovingly. “This coat must shine. Like white moon coming out from black cloud, see? Beautiful.”

  He kissed the skunk's nose and the little animal giggled. Rubek returned the skunk to the pen and strode over to a fine wooden chest at the far end of the tent. He lifted the lid.

  “Come!” he said, and he beckoned Barkbelly nearer. “Look! Best brushes! Made from—”

  “Urchin bristle!” cried Barkbelly, and he picked out a brush and started examining it. “Brown-Eared Marsh Hog,” he said. “Fine quality.”

  “You are expert!” cried Rubek, slapping him hard on the back again. “How come you know this?”

  Barkbelly didn't answer. His head was suddenly full of memories. He could see the farm and all the men standing in the yard. Old Pot Williamson, Brick Pullman, Farmer Muckledown—they were all there. Then he saw the sheds and the urchins in their pens. And Bramble. Not in a pen but in the forest, as he had seen her last.

  “Hello?” said Rubek, waving his hand in front of Barkbelly's face. “Are you still in there?”

  Barkbelly gazed dreamily at the skunk trainer. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to. His face told Rubek all he needed to know.

  Rubek smiled, revealing a generous helping of teeth. “You have memories of these things, yes? They are good memories—I see. Keep them. Hold them close to your heart. They are precious things.” He fell silent. “I have many memories,” he said at last, and his eyes brimmed with tears. He was quiet again, but it wasn't an awkward silence. It was a comradely one and Barkbelly felt strangely comforted by it.

  “My babies,” said Rubek with a great sigh. “Brushing. They like it, but use brush that is not hard. And do not lift tails. This they do not like.” He took another brush from the chest and gave it to Barkbelly. “Try this with Lily.” He indicated a small skunk that was wide awake and scratching. “I must see Carmenero to talk things. But I will return. Not too hard, remember?”

  Barkbelly nodded.

  “Good man,” said Rubek, and he strode heavily out of the tent.

  Chapter 27

  arkbelly waited till he was sure Rubek had gone, then he carefully lifted Lily out of her pen, settled her on his lap and began brushing. She seemed happy enough and he had her coat gleaming within minu
tes. He returned her to the pen and picked up Lilac. She was adorable. She nuzzled him as he cradled her in his arms. Soon she was silky soft and shining. Camellia was next, then Lavender and Magnolia. Rose. Jasmine. Honeysuckle. Then Daphne. Just one more to do! Rubek will be so impressed. I'll have them finished by the time he gets back!

  Violet next. Barkbelly couldn't find her at first. She was rolling around in the chalky dust underneath one of the loft beds, and by the time he coaxed her out, she was almost completely white. Barkbelly groaned and put her on his knee. He started brushing her with the same soft brush he had used on the others, but her fur was so matted, the bristles just bounced over it. He would have to use something harder.

  He rummaged in the chest until he found a stiffer brush. Violet sat patiently while he straightened out her knotted fur. But it was taking so long. He wanted to be finished before Rubek returned. He started to brush harder. He pulled. He tugged. He dragged the brush along her tangled back. Violet was unnervingly quiet. She had flattened herself against his lap, but Barkbelly hadn't noticed because he was so intent on finishing the job.

  With a grunt and a grimace, Barkbelly cleared the last of the snarls on Violet's back. Next—her tail. What a mess! It was like a ball of wool a kitten had been playing with. He didn't know where to begin. Perhaps it was smoother underneath.

  Barkbelly lifted Violet's tail and—pssss!— a hot shower of scent shot from her back end and hit him full in the face. And this wasn't the clear, rose-scented perfume that sprayed the audience nightly. This was hot brown goo with a smell bad enough to peel paint. It was an unbelievable stench. Positively evil. It made his stomach churn and his eyes water.

  I've got to get out. I've got to get out.

  He put Violet back into the pen, and as he did, the little devil giggled. Then, as he stumbled toward the tent opening, with the goo dripping from his hair into his eyes, all the other skunks turned their bottoms toward him, lifted their gorgeous tails and—pssss!—the whole tent was rainbowed with arcs of steaming stink. Barkbelly's clothes were soaked and, worse, his wood was starting to suck up the stink like a sponge.

  And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, the tent opening was suddenly filled with Rubek and Carmenero.

  “No!” Barkbelly wailed, and he barged past them, ran across the campsite, leapt the fence, raced through the meadow and slithered down to the riverbank. Then he hurled himself into the river and lay down in the shallows, praying he could rinse away the stink. But he couldn't. After an hour, the stench was stronger than before. Barkbelly whimpered. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Stink is bad, yes?”

  Barkbelly looked up. Rubek was sitting on the riverbank. A hint of a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. His marble eyes shone mischievously, and for all his great bulk, he suddenly looked no older than Fish Patterson.

  “Will it ever go away?” Barkbelly asked.

  “Of course,” replied Rubek. “In time.”

  “How much time?”

  Rubek shrugged. “Two weeks. Maybe three.”

  Barkbelly's face crumbled like cheese.

  “Unless …” Rubek reached inside his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a bottle of purple liquid. “Unless we use this!” He grinned and threw his arms out wide. “Come!” he cried. “Come! You must rub this into your—your—skin! Your wooden skin! Now! Right now!”

  Barkbelly dragged himself up the bank, stripped off his clothes and started rubbing palmfuls of the purple liquid onto his body. It had a strange, sweet smell. He thought he had smelled it somewhere before, but he couldn't remember where. It certainly worked. Within minutes, all trace of the stink had disappeared. He dressed himself in the fresh clothes that Rubek had brought for him and sat down in a pool of sunshine beside the skunk trainer. He felt clean and calm and wonderfully fragrant.

  “I know this smell,” Barkbelly said at last. “But I can't remember what it is.”

  “Is magic recipe,” said Rubek. “Good for all kinds of things. Is made from herbs and flowers. Sage. Rosemary. Chamomile. Wood rose.”

  “Yes, I can smell all those things,” said Barkbelly. “But there's something else.” He breathed in deeply. “It's a sweet smell. Really quite strong. What's that?”

  “Oh, that?” said Rubek with a smile. “That, my friend, is scent of very small woodland flower. You know it well, I think. It is violet.”

  Chapter 28

  arkbelly was polishing the lion cage when Candy came toward him, walking on her hands. She had a crumpled piece of paper between her teeth.

  “It's for you!” she gasped, righting herself and passing it to him. “Carmenero handed it to me himself. He wants to see you at two o'clock in his wagon. You are so lucky!”

  Barkbelly read the note but was disappointed to find that it didn't contain anything more than what Candy had already told him.

  “What's lucky about it?” he asked.

  “Well, for starters, you get to see inside his fantastic wagon. And when he serves you tea, he has the best cakes in the world. And—” She paused dramatically. “If he has decided to offer you a job, you will be rich!”

  “Rich?”

  “Yes! Well, no. Not really. I made that bit up. No one gets paid very much around here. But you will get something.”

  “But what if he doesn't want to offer me a job?” said Barkbelly. “What if he just wants me to leave?”

  “I don't think that's likely,” said Candy. “You're not exactly ordinary, are you?” She smiled, and Barkbelly noticed for the very first time that her mouth curved up like a harp. Then, without warning, she somersaulted backward and skipped away. “Don't be late!” she called over her shoulder.

  Barkbelly watched her go. As she passed the ticket booth, he saw Gossamer pounce on her from behind and she squealed. Then she giggled and they strolled on together, arm in arm, flitting like damselflies between the busy circus folk.

  “Please let it be a job,” said Barkbelly, and he put the note carefully into his pocket.

  Like all the showmen's wagons, Carmenero's was wooden, with intricate carving round the windows and the door. It was painted a deep midnight blue and the domed roof was silvered with stars. Outside, an enormous black dog dozed in the bright spring sunshine, her head resting on the bottom step.

  Barkbelly carefully mounted the wagon steps, trying not to disturb the dog. But instantly she was awake and sniffing at his legs while he knocked. Wooden knuckles on a wooden door…. The sound ricocheted like gunshots and the wagon quivered up and down its length as the force rippled its timbers. Barkbelly cursed. This was a worrying start.

  But when the door opened, Carmenero was grinning behind it.

  “Come in!” he said. “While I still have a door to close behind you! Stay, Lady.”

  The dog wagged her tail and Barkbelly stepped inside. Candy was right! The interior was fantastic. The paneling for the seats and cupboards was rich oak, lovingly polished. The seat bolsters were moss-green velvet, embroidered with tiny primroses. The carpet was green too: thick and lush as a meadow bank. And the ceiling… Ah! Just for a moment, he thought the wagon didn't have one. It was painted so cunningly, he thought he was looking straight up into the sky. But inside the wagon it was sunset, and the sky was a wonderful pink-orange, veiled with wisps of cloud.

  Even the ceiling seemed ordinary, though, when Barkbelly saw the walls. Just as he had thought the wagon hadn't any roof, now he thought it hadn't any sides. The campsite had vanished. He was looking out into the heart of an emerald forest. Sunlight filtered through the leaf canopy. Tigers eyed him from the undergrowth. Snakes hung from the branches. Gaudy butterflies festooned the flowers. Hummingbirds hovered, sipping sweet nectar. It was so unbelievably lifelike, Barkbelly swore he could smell the damp earthiness of the forest floor.

  With a jolt, he suddenly remembered where he was. He was standing in Carmenero's wagon, gaping like a goldfish and totally ignoring the most important man in the world. He had been so u
tterly entranced by the mural that he had forgotten his manners just when he needed them most.

  “Oh! I'm… Ohh! I—I am sorry, er, Mister Carmenero,” he stammered. “Just for a moment, I completely forgot where I was. I thought it was all real.”

  “Are you sure it isn't?” said Carmenero with an enigmatic smile. “Look closer.”

  Barkbelly looked at the walls again. This time he noticed a parrot sitting in one of the trees. It was looking right at him. And as Barkbelly watched, it winked.

  Barkbelly was stunned. What on earth … Then the parrot winked again. And again. Always the same lazy, knowing wink. Barkbelly was totally bewildered. He thought it was just a painting, but now…

  There was something not quite right, though. Carmenero was standing behind him, and now and then, out of the corner of his eye, Barkbelly saw him lean ever so slightly to one side. And whenever he did that, the parrot winked.

  “It's a trick!” he cried out, spinning round. “You're making it wink!”

  “Of course!” laughed Carmenero. “It's a trick of the light. See?”

  He stood aside, revealing a lantern hanging on the wall behind him. “If I lean in like this, I cover the lantern—and when I lean back out, the parrot seems to wink. It's very easy, but it fools people every time. You were quick! Some people take ages to realize, but then, Truth is a snail.”

  Barkbelly frowned. “A snail?”

  Carmenero nodded. “Have you never heard the story ‘Truth and the Dragon'?”

  Barkbelly shook his head.

  “Ask Jewel,” said Carmenero. “She's the best storyteller round here.”